Knowing damn well I’m pretty much dead money in R’s tournament, I go anyway. Last week only 6 players, and I don’t want this game to go away, so I kiss the DW and head out to drop $60.
It wasn’t all that cut and dry. At the end of fourth level and before the add-on I was doubling up, hanging on by a thread, doubling again on the last hand before the bell, and for $30 more I magically had 11 BBs in front of me.
And there I stayed, stealing back my contributions, hitting when raising or calling, and one of the remaining five players. Santa was doing much better and was to my left. Folds around to me in SB with pockets fives and 3-bet it. Santa exclaims, “I’m going to put you all in.”
Call? Santa plays big pairs and paint the same way. I had just watched him call an all-in with J 10 off. He and the other big stack were doing a lot of splashing around. Yes, I call.
Pocket Aces. Table chatter: “Fives have been hitting all night.” I don’t think that way, and I am right in the knowledge that a third is a prescribed, objective rarity. And while I was right in allowing Santa a wide range in other circumstances, I was wrong when he 3-bet me.
Best line of the night comes after Mike questions Steve’s young future son-in-law about a play made.
“Why do you want to know? Are you writing a book?”
“Well then, you can kiss my ass and make it a love story.”