[[[[ALERT - ALERT]]]] - We interrupt this post for an important movie audition update: I have been called back a second time for one of the roles I've read for before and for a role I haven't read for. Stay tuned! We now return you to your regularly scheduled post. This was a call-back announcement, had this been an actual casting announcement you would have been instructed to celebrate with abandon....
Before getting to this week's T-Bird report, I must send out another big, juicy, warm, huggy THANK YOU! to everyone who stopped by to wish me a happy one on Friday. I am very touched.
This week I visited Thunderbird on Friday and Saturday. Jaxia from Steal the Blinds came up from Dallas and I introduced her to some Okie Poker. It was her first time to play live and was subjected to one brutal beat in particular - I'll let her tell you all about it as I'm sure she will. Now, on to Friday's report.
Friday at the T-Bird was a tough night and not as much fun as last week. I'd more than doubled up within the first hour and a half, but then slowly bled most of it away for the next 4- 5 hours. There were a few moments toward the end of the session I was thinking "I hate this table, I hate the suckouts, I hate the lack of cards (waaah, waaah, waaaah)." There were two people at the table who were a sad reminder of the downside of this game. Both were commenting on marathon sessions at the table.
The guy on my left said he'd played from 3 pm the previous afternoon to 7 in the morning, then had to go to work. He came straight to the casino after work. He commented he was down about $200-$300. Several times he was down to his last chips and would win a pot after being all in. He kept saying "One more hand.." Eventually I started saying "Go home, the casino will still be here tomorrow." Now, those of you expert fishermen out there may be appalled that I would encourage a fish to leave the table. The thing is, I was getting tired of listening to him. After a while he did leave - broke.
The other was a woman who boasted she'd played a 26 hour session the weekend before. "I woulda played more, but I had to git home to check on the twins." Those poor kids. She was a bit of an angle-shooter, liked to verbally bluff - "oh yeah I have you now," etc. She didn't understand that bluffing at a table of naive fish was pointless. You're getting called regardless. And she did. And she'd lose.
All
in all, the table was mostly populated by unlikable and unhappy people. But,
then, there was Pat. Pat was near 90, if he was a day. He was there when I arrived
and there when I left over 6 hours later - outlasting me and earning my respect.
He was grizzled and bent by crippling arthritis and was there to have a good
time. He nursed Bud Lite's all evening (it is the "Bud Lite Poker Room",
by the way) and bought in for $50 a pop every time he'd go broke. Which he did,
several times.
The game was far slower with Pat in a hand. He had much difficulty in handling the chips and often didn't know when the action was on him. There was absolutely no putting him on a hand and, sadly, he'd often show down nothing.
One fellah earned a good amount of disdain from the rest of us when he would hammer away at Pat - raising him on the river knowing Pat would call no matter what he held. Again, I hear a hue & cry "But, that's poker!" And I answer, "There's poker and then there's down-right thievery." That fellah took malicious delight in bleeding Pat. He eventually left for another table.
Don't get me wrong, though, if the the pot was multi-way with Pat in a hand, I played my good hands aggressively. But, if I was heads up with Pat, I took it easy on him. He was an innocent, there to have a good time and I didn't want to take advantage of his naiveté. He always took his beats with a laugh and was delightful when he would win a hand. After one particular hand he was so tickled and laughing so hard he teeth came loose and nearly fell out. I giggled about that one for a good while thereafter every time I looked at him.
I left the table only up $11. But, I wasn't happy and in danger of getting really discouraged again. Pat's presence at the table, though, saved me from another dive into a pool of poker depression. Pat's worth wasn't measured by the dwindling bankroll of cash in his pocket, he had a far more valuable bankroll of a long life lived sustained by a positive attitude and a gold standard sense of humor. When I pondered that, I realized I'd left the table with a lot more than that $11 in my pocket. Thanks, Pat.
