We all have them. The hands that naggle at you days, months, years after you watched your pot slide across the table away from you. They lurk there stubbornly at the edge of your memory like that ratty, mangy dog who followed you home, nipping at your heels - refusing to go away.
The only hand I remember from the 1-3 table at Excalibur in December was a pair of pocket Tens which I raised with before the flop. I had two check/callers go with me all the way to the river. When the guy on my right quickly bet into me after a Queen came, I folded my Tens, patting myself on the back for making a valiant lay down. He didn't have a Queen. He had nothing. The other guy had nothing as well. The pot, my pot, which was huge, went to the guy with the better nothing. I should have been a bit less valiant.
Tonight, at an online unnamed site, I end up capping the bet preflop with my child's favorite pair. Two yahoo's stay with me and when a King hits the river...I think you know where this is going... One of them had the cheek to blab in the chat "bluffing...rookies.." I wanted to quip back what a keen bluffer he was to cold call all the way to the river with two other people in the pot - woo had me scared. Except I was scared - of that river King - the pot, my pot, was big. I had no business folding there.
Then I raise it up with my pocket Jacks and one of the yahoos from the above hand re-raises. Flop is rags and we repeat the routine from above heads up. Only this time I call the river and, of course, he flips over Kings.
Knowing when to give up your hand and when to see it through to the end at those tricky times in the low limits can feel like a crap-shoot at times. I know enough (now) that the pot is going to give a lot of guidance for such decisions. It's enough to frazzle your good senses, but over time, if you can let the wacky beats roll off your back, like that proverbial duck, you will stay afloat and stave off drowning in that murky ol' river.
