A friend of mine gave me a ring at about 9:30. An Omaha Hi/lo game was getting played near Lower Greenville (Dallas, if you’re unfamiliar) and it was fit for my backer to put me in (50PL).  Charlie, my backer and close friend, would occasionally join me for these types of games. Underground games usually offer free beer and food. Since he’s the one putting up the money, they’re usually more than happy to get him good and drunk. I call Charlie and get everything set. The game starts at 10:30, giving me an hour to drive to Irving to get him and then down to Greenville to start playing. I trek up to Irving, speeding the whole way, smoking cigarettes one after another. I don’t normally admit to such things, but I’m nervous. This isn’t the bad type of nerves, however. It’s the kind of nerves you get before doing something new and fun. I love Omaha, especially Hi/Lo.  It’s just so rare to find a live game around town that I’m actually excited about. I get to Charlie’s house and we break down the game together, discussing financial plans and moves to keep our money safe. I do not like this. Charlie always tries to get a routine, a script, an exit cue lined up for us. I would much rather not think about the money. I try my damndest to only think in chips and units when I play live (and I’d do so online if it weren’t for the fact that I have a constant reminder flashing in front of me that tells me just how much I have). I can start worrying about amounts when I’m clearly short stacked and I’ve got just enough chips to bounce back in to a semi comfortable stack again. I tell Charlie my plan and he shakes his head. He wants me to come out of this game if I get remotely close to 300. I calmly explain to him the downside of playing like this. He understands, but still would rather me play safe. I continue to explain to him that I’m not going to play for a split up of 250 dollars, and if I think the game is good, I’m going to stay in it and try to potentially get to six hundred and, who knows, maybe in to four figures. Charlie begins to ponder the idea of splitting four figures. The goes through his left ear, breaks down, reforms and communicates to the brain the possibilities of the money. “Ok, let’s roll”, he says, and we’re headed towards the door. We get in to my car and speed through the ‘burbs to get back towards down town. I openly admit to my nervousness about the situation. Charlie gives me a strange looks. He’s watched me play dozens of Hold’em games, tons of tournaments, plenty of Spades and Gin, and he usually sees me cool as a cucumber. Rather than worry about his potential stake’s nervousness, he grabs a pill bottle out of his pocket and throws them at me silently. “Valium”. Word. I pop the top, grind two down with my back teeth, take a drink of my water and float myself to Lower Greenville. It’s 10:35 and we’re at the apartment. I’m greeted by a man named Clarence. Clarence is a beast. He must be in the ballpark of 300lbs and 6′1″ tops. Clarence could make my neck shit my head in to my stomach, if necessary. He smiles, shakes my hand and asks me who I am. “KB ALAN”, I say. He lets me in, pointing to the fridge and saying something about chips and dip. I do not care about the kind of chips he is talking about, and the only dips I want to see are involved in my opponents stacks. Charlie is stopped by Clarence. “You’re not on the list, sir”. Charlie is not pleased. Charlie also does not want his neck to shit his head in to his stomach, so he politely asks to talk to me outside. We step out for a moment.

“What do you want to do about this?”

“What do you mean, what do I want to do about this? I’m here, I’m going to play cards and later, we’re going to divvy up money and spend it like idiots. Isn’t that how it usually works?”

“Yeah, but they’re not letting me in.”
“Shit. Uhm… give me the money.”

“What? Fuck you”

“No, give me how much you’re willing to back me with and I’ll let you borrow my keys. There’s clubs all over the goddamned place, go to one of those and I’ll play a couple of hours. we’ll meet back up after the bars close.”

Charlie is not happy about the outcome of this. He curses and moans and bitches under his breath. He then pulls 150 out of his wallet and smashes it in to my hand.

“Don’t go crazy, and I better see some of that money come back!”

I toss him my keys and we part ways. Charlie isn’t upset because I might lose my ass and his money. He’s upset because he loves cards, but can’t play for shit. He enjoys living vicariously through me as a card player, and watching me play is actually a favorite past time of his, just like one of my favorite past times is watching HIS talent, DJing at the local clubs.

I’m back in the apartment. Clarence leads me through the house and points me to a room with three full sized tables, two full and one of them with six people. I sit as number seven, right behind the dealer. I look at my cards and see nothing but middle straight, unsuited garbage. Fuck that. I get up and get myself a beer. They have quite the selection for a house game, but I opt for the cheapest beer they have, PBR in a can. I shake off my real self and get in to a character. I’m ready to calmly milk the cows and let them think I’m some sort of white trash who has no idea what he’s about to get himself in to.

I’m back in time to see that the small blind scooped the pot and took two people out. They both buy back in. Small blind, we’ll call him Destructo-bot, has what looks like 350 dollars in front of him. Note #1: stay away from Destructo-bot unless absolutely necessary/lucrative.

The deal comes around again and I’m given a decent hand. Ah3hKd 2s. the pot gets raised early and several people call. I call as well, two behind the button. The button folds, so my biggest fear in the game is gone. The pot has 11 bucks or and the flop comes Ad-4h -8h. I’m a bit excited at the potential for this hand, but I remain calm and wait my turn. someone raises it five (16) and someone raises it again: (32), one guy calls (48) and it gets to me. the guy who made it 32 is the same guy who initially raised preflop. I’m assuming he has a set already, or he’s also got the low covered. I have a flush draw, the nut low already hit, a pair of aces, and a whole lot of money to be made. I push my remaining approx 46 (94) in to the pot and everyone at the table looks at me like I’m out of my goddamned mind.

“What, It’s my first hand to play, might as well be my last, right?”

Destructo-bot looks at me with the “I know your game” look. He gives me a nod that says “You got it, don’t you?” and I give a look back that says ” I got a part of it”.

“Glad I folded” says Destructo-bot.

the first raiser who put it to 16 folds. the preflop raiser instantly calls (140) and the calling station after him calls as well (186) we flip our cards and the outcome is relatively nuts.

Preflop Raiser:  As-Ac-2c-5d

Calling Station: 4s-4d-2h-5s

ME: Ah-3h-Kd- 2s

The Turn: Ad-4h-8h- 5h

I almost jump out of my seat as I make my flush and I open myself up for a straight flush. Calling station is praying for a four like it’s nobodies business. Preflop raiser is shrugging it off like it ain’t no thang, and I’m already about to flip myself up to almost four times my buy in. And then it happens.

River:Ad-4h-8h- 5h – 8s

I sigh and shake my head. Preflop and I split the pot and Calling station takes a “cooler” walk. I can’t understand why he got in to that mess of a hand. He starts muttering about how he doesn’t get why I called the raise preflop in the first place. I shake my head and stack my 96 in chips up. It is now 11:15 pm and the bars close in 2hrs, 45min. I do not like being put on a time limit, nor do I like the idea of a party boy DJ known all around Dallas driving my car around to clubs where people know him.

a few hands roll by and I hit absolutely nothing. I’m dwelling on the fact that my car isn’t in my possession and I’m limited on time the blinds go around TWICE before I even play a hand. Ad-2c-jd-4c. two babies, double suited, and an ace. So far I’m liking it. No raises and I’m next to the button. I’m a little worried about Destructo-bot. he’s looking at his chips like he’s going to raise, so I flat call two after. Destructo flat calls his small blind and the button checks

The Flop: 3d-8h-9h

I do not like this flop. There’s only 3 dollars in the pot. Destructo raises it (6) and everyone BUT me folds. I call. the pot is now 9 dollars.

the turn is a 6h.  Destructo checks. I check back. We give each other the look. We both know that it’s a split. The river is a blank and I raise it a dollar fifty. Destructo thinks about this raise and smiles.

“HAHAHAHA. You wanted to split it even, eh? ok, I call. I got the flush, you got the low. good hand.”

We show our respective hands and everyone at the table looks at us like we’re nuts. Destructo tells me his name is Steven. He’s been playing Omaha for a couple of years and plays online constantly. He and I share a lot of musical interests. We go to the balcony to smoke a cigarette, and I crush up and I pop an adderall. I’m beginning to lose focus because of the Valium, and it’s only 11:50.

Steven and I chat about a few choice hands in each of our favorite games, and we swap numbers. Almost immediately after saving his number, my phone rings. It’s Charlie

“HEY MAN!” he screams. I can hear blaring electro music, loud screams and an announcer on a loudspeaker. I can only assume he’s at a strip club.

“Are you at the titty bar, man?”
“YEAH, HOW’D YOU KNOW?”

“Lucky Guess. Look, I’m only up like 50 and It’s not been an especially juicy night for me. I’m thinkin’ about headin’ out in a little bit and maybe just playing online.”

“Fuck that, dude. You should come here. I met some girls here and I think you’d like them. They know me from the club. We’re heading back to their place in a few. Call me when you’re ready!”

-Click-

“Motherfucker”.

I explain the situation to Steven and he laughs, then apologizes. He and I go back to the poker room and saddle back up to the chairs. Another dozen or so hands come back up. I win a few blinds, but nothing important. I’m now up to a hundred dollars, and I decide I’m about to leave. As always, luck has a way of changing your mind. my cards come to me, and it’s As-3s-kh-2h.

the action goes around the table. it gets raised twice and it’s already to 7 dollars in the pot. I put it at 14 and get two callers, making it a 28 dollar pot. the flop comes: 3d – 3h-ks. I almost chuckle at the ridiculousness of my hand. First to act raises, making it (56) total in the potand another 28 to go. Second thinks about it, giving it a “this is a bad idea look” before he calls. the pot is now at 84. I have about 93 left. I raise it 84, making the pot 168, and leaving me with 9 dollars. First to act INSTANTLY puts me all in for my last 9 dollars and second to act reluctantly folds. I call, and there is now 270. I flip my cards and First to act is far from pleases. his Ac – 3c – jd – 4 h is miles away. I’m trying my damndest not to laugh like a jackal. The next card makes me jump.

The turn is a jack of clubs. I know that if one more jack shows up, I will lose. I will not only lose, but the momentum from the rollercoaster I will have just stepped off of will make me vomit all over this poker table. I am already getting sick to my stomach thinking about it. I know the odds. I’ve already calculated them in my head. I know one other thing. Murphy knows no odds. I look away from the table and hope for the best.

“JACK OF HEARTS” I hear first to act  say. I feel the vomit surge through me. I look up.

“FUCK, MAN! GODDAMNIT” I hear from first to act. Qh. The one time a bitch has saved me from being a sad, sad man.

First to act decides that it is his time to go home, and he lets everyone know in a not so kind manner. I stick around for a couple of hands, but I’ve already decided to go home. I find a hand, JxJx AxAx, play it to the flop, see nothing but lows and people raising and I leave.

“Let Them fight it out” I say. Steven wishes me the best of luck. I tell him my usual phrase when luck is brought up.
“If luck weren’t involved, I’d already be a millionaire”.

I call up Charlie and he answers drunkenly. “Dude, I can’t come get you, I’m HAMMERED at these girlses place”. That’s right. he said “girlses”.

“What in the fuck do you mean? You have my car, you jerk off”

Charlie rambles off some number and explains to me that it’s the address of their apartment. it’s in Downtown dallas in a very posh condo in a very BAD side of town.

“Dude… it’s going to cost me like thirty dollars just to taxi up there!”

“Yeah, didn’t you win?”

“OF COURSE I…. of course I won. But just because I won doesn’t mean I’m going to piss away thirty dollars of my hundred and ten dollars of profit on a goddamned taxi!”

“Dude.. ok… you don’t oh me the fifty back. Just get your ass over here and the other twenty dollars is yours for the inconvenience.”

I plan my argument, but I don’t see why I should even bother trying to argue with a drunk. I get ahold of a taxi and give him the addy. within ten minutes I’m there, and it only cost about fifteen bucks. I hand him a twenty and climb out of the cab. The front desk man asks me for my name and an ID. I present him my license and he calls the condo. I’m led to an elevator, told the room number, and my number is then pushed for me. On the way up, I notice there isn’t a smoke detector. I light a cigarette, watching the smoke build up as the elevator rises to the top.

-DING-

I step out and search for their casa. the valium is no match for the adderall, and I’m bouncing off of the walls trying to find their condo number. I finally find it, and I hear music somewhat loudly playing inside. I knock. I knock again.  I knock a third time. This starts to piss me off, so I grab the doorknob only to find it unlocked in the first place.

I step in and….

TO BE CONTINUED

I, my fellow cardsharks, am a freeroll junkie. I play them around town for all sorts of reasons.  You meet some of the craziest cats you’ve ever seen, and some of them are quite comical. Here are some of the better ones I can list off.

Geriatric Jimmy/Janet: This card player is ancient. They ask at LEAST a dozen times for you to move the cards closer to them so that they can see. They only drink water, they never tip (COME ON! I know it’s free poker, but for christ sake, tip your waitress. She already has to work around poker tables in her restaurant/bar and serve poker players who, admittedly aren’t the  kindest folks in the world. She probably hates her life. You didn’t have to buy in, give the lady a goddamned tip. If you can’t tip but you can play free poker, you should probably just stick to online freerolls and not make someone’s life hell). Geriatric J generally play one of two ways. They’re either total nits (I’m talking the rockiest of rocks) or they are miserably lucky calling stations that have no idea what the words “bet” or “fold” means. They don’t play ANYONE elses cards, and they ignore the boards cards that don’t hit them. there could be a flush draw, a straight draw, a paired board, and their top pair from the flop is still good to them. it is best not to bluff this player. You will lose because they will almost CERTAINLY be paying no attention to what you’re doing and they will DEFINITELY have no idea what your bets mean and what you’re trying to represent. Geriatric J also, like most elderly people in any eating/drinking establishment, will be constantly bitching. It’s either too cold or hellishly warm for them. The Coke they ordered tastes too flat (occasionally they DO order something outside of water, but not without causing SOME sort of trouble for the poor waitress), and if you beat their top pair with a shitty kicker, you’re just a lucky prick. God forbid that you’re black and you sit near one of them. Be ready for them to clutch their purse like it’s going to run away, or move their hand quickly when yours gets too close to theirs. (Oh.. I’sa sorry Ma’ams. I’za din know you’za din like no black folk. Iffin’ ya want, I can play wiff them udda coloreds at that table ova yonda!).  There’s something quite wonderful about taking one of these dust farting dinosaurs out, and I’m young and loud so they never believe a hand I have. This usually leads to them muttering how lucky I am when they’re leaving the table and I’m stacking their chips up in front of me.

Bad Beat Benny: Lordy Lord, This cat has stories. Just last week, he was at this other venue, caught a miracle flop and got busted by a guy hoping for a two outer. Bad Beat Benny is generally a terrible player. He’ll play just about any rag-tag hand and if it hits, he’ll bet it. If you call it on a draw and you catch it and beat him, he’ll embellish the story so that you look like a dumbass and he looks like a poor sap. Nevermind that he played 6h, 2c from under the gun, flop comes out 6d, 4d, 8c and  made it a minimum bet with middle pair when I have Ad, 9d in the big blind. Apparently I’m a prick for having 2 suited overcards with a flush draw to my suit on the board and calling a 200 raise in a pot of 400. Who would’ve thought that my third diamond would come out on the turn and be a blank for you, making you dead in your hand. Benny has never won anything. He probably never will win anything. Do not feel bad for Benny. Benny is a sucker.

Pseudo-Pro Joe: If there was a ship filled with the most irritating people in the world, this guy would be the captain. He knows every move that you should do, every call you should make, and every hand he’s ever played marvelously. He will let you know that his poker dick is bigger than yours. You should not totally ignore PP Joe. He does know poker, and he knows it pretty well.  The best way of combatting his style of play (super tight/aggressive) is to play loose and aggressive, but with positioning. raise with your 6h,7h. If he reraises, fold. If he calls, hit your hand with a low board, make a slight raise and wait for the chips to come your way. He will be totally clueless to any lowball playing and if you pull it off and knock him out I’m sure someone at the table with thank you. I’m also sure he’ll say something along the lines of “six, seven suited? I thought we were playing poker!” or some other comment that lets you know that, even though you won the hand, his shit still doesn’t stink.

The Pro: This is a rarity in the freeroll circuit. This girl/guy is what Pseudo-Pro Joe pretends to be. The Pro always makes final table. The Pro will make raises pre-flop that will put just enough pressure on the decent players to make them fold their weak hands.  The Pro knows when a total moron is playing against them and got lucky. The Pro knows who to bluff and who not to bluff at free poker. The Pro is inside his own head and yours. The Pro has only one enemy; Luck. Luck is the only thing that will bring down The Pro. You’ll often wonder why he/she is playing in freerolls in the first place. Practice, Practice, Practice.  If you’re a decent enough player, the Pro will do like any other good player and stay out of your way if you stay out of his. He has fish to fry, and he knows that going after one big stack is not nearly as lucrative as several average stacks.

The Silly, Drunk, Bitch: This girl is silly, drunk, and a total bitch. I could probably quit here and you’d know exactly who and what I’m talking about. She’s obnoxiously loud and usually incredibly lucky. She’ll gloat when she wins and curse you if you beat her in a hand. She probably found out about the tournament because she’s at the bar at least four times a week getting shit-housed. She’ll throw out ridiculous sayings every now and then that will put most players on tilt (”It’s not about skill. You just have to get lucky!”).  Silly, Drunk, Bitch will not believe a single bet you make. She will follow a backdoor flush all the way. She will need two cards for a straight and call all of your pot sized bets to catch a miracle card on the river and let you know that she knew she was going to catch it. Silly, Drunk, Bitch is like herpes. No matter how hard you try, she just won’t go away. The best way to combat her, outside of maybe just kicking her in the teeth, is to not combat her at all. Stay out of her way until luck finally swings the other way. If you hit a big hand and it’s just you and her, see a flop before you bet and save your money. Pre-flop raises don’t matter, and if you go all-in she’ll probably call it anyways, so it’s not like you’re trying to weasel chips out of her. You’re either going to get all of this girl’s chips, or lose. Make your decision wisely.

Any Two Will Do Stu: Stu will play anything. He’s a lot like Gus Hansen, only shit. He plays any two, hits a terrible board and generally gets out of the tourney before the first break. If Stu gets lucky, which will happen, He will triple up before break. Stu will be quite proud of himself. Stu’s chips will dwindle by the time the blinds get raised. Stu never, ever wins the tourney. Poor Stu.

New to the Game James/Jane: “Hey, I’ve never played before… can I play?”. No. No you can’t. You ruin this game, you never have any idea what you’re doing and you make the game take way too long. I hate you, the others hate you, and unless you’re going to buy us beers (I’ve had this happen) for teaching you how to play, you bring nothing to the table but interruptions and bad play. READ ABOUT THE GAME FIRST. JEEBUS!

BUT THEY WERE SUITED!: Fuck this guy/girl. Fuck them hard and in a spot that will hurt. They will play ABSOLUTELY any two suited cards. they will play 10,4. They will play Q,8. I’ve even seen them play 7,2. “BUT THEY WERE SUITED!”. If you coated a piece of dogshit with chocolate, it’d still be a piece of dogshit. The best way to beat him? Have the nut flush and slowplay the SHIT out of it. DESTROY THEM.

While I’m sure there are many other characters that you all know and love, This list is just a small portion of my favorites. If you’ve got any to add, I’d love to hear about them.

Gonzo.

By God, it’s times like these that we need a new savior in the world of gonzo journalism. Strap that rocket to your crotch and get ready for weekly rants, bad runs, blips, boops and radar jumpers from a gonzo who just happens to play cards.

KB.