What’s that saying?  When it rains, it pours.  This seems fairly accurate in the case of poker fortune, and, I’m afraid, I’m in the midst of a mini-downpour.  I say mini, as my inability to make a winning hand has only stretched back to the beginning of the week.  That said, the frustration at losing every pot has been quite stressful, and totally unrelenting.

So, rather than waste my time driving to the brick and mortar card-room, and waste my energy putting on pants, I decided to play some online poker this afternoon, knowing full well I was still on a significant cold streak.  The only way to get out of these bad runs, I figure, is to play through them!  And really, the only online poker where I feel I have a significant edge over my opponent is in a heads-up match.  So that’s what I played!

I won’t bore you with the monotonous details of the battle, but needless to say, it unfolded predictably.  My opponent raised every hand, and I had to fold my K-2, and 9-3.  Even when I attempted a steal play with my Q-7, he’d re-raise me all-in.  So, patience was the name of the game, since, like many online heads-up players, my opponent doesn’t know how to fold.  I need to pick up a hand, make a raise or re-raise, but not an all-in.  I need to give him the ability to make the last raise, so he feels he’s still in control, and then I can call him with the nuts.

We continue until he has roughly a 2-1 chip advantage, and I pick up K-K.  He raises on the button, like he always does, and I re-raise roughly a fourth of my stack.  He, as predicted, pushes all-in, and shows a real hand for once, with 10-10.  The screenshot tells the tale, I’m afraid, and he flopped quads to win the match.

Sigh…

It’s been awhile since I’ve discussed a little strategy, so I thought I’d knock off some cobwebs, and give it a whirl!

I was playing in a typical 8-16 game a few days ago, and was in the big blind when this hand came up.  An early position player raised.  Three players behind him called, as did the small blind.  I looked down at the 2s-5s, and figured since I’d be closing the betting, and getting 11 to 1 on a call with a little suited connector, I’d come along for the ride.  I called.

The flop was 2c-5c-Qc.  The small blind checked.  This is a strange flop for me.  With so many players in the hand, it’s altogether possible that I’m beat.  However, it seems equally likely that my hand is currently best, and demands protection.  I decide to bet, and see what sort of aggression I get in response.  I concluded this was the better play than check-raising, as I may allow stranglers in for a cheaper price, particularly if the pre-flop raiser chooses to raise my bet with A-A, K-K, etc.  The pre-flop raiser just called me, as did the small blind.  The other three players folded.

The turn was the 9d.  The small blind once again checked.  This street was the easiest decision of the hand.  I have to bet.  Checking allows a free card to a flush, of course.  Beyond that, however, I can establish my hand with much more accuracy here than with a flop bet.  I like to think of the turn as “truth street.”  That is to say, if I’m up against a flopped flush, I’ll most likely know it right then and there, by somebody raising my bet.  Both of my opponents call.

The river was the Kd.  The small blind checked yet again.  I thought for a long moment before deciding how to act on the river.  It was an odd decision.  The flop and turn bets were both to establish my hand, and to protect my fragile holding.  River bets, however, serve an absolutely different purpose.  There is no more protection.  There is only the best hand and the worst hand.  If you have the best, you want to get called with the worst.  If you have the worst, you only want to bet if the best will fold.

What could my opponents have?  I figure the small-blind for a large club that missed, but was it the K of clubs?  If so, there is certainly value in a bet.  What could the pre-flop raiser have?  A-K is altogether possible, and again, a bet would be wise.  Could he have K-K?  Could he have J-10?  These are possibilities, but not likelihoods.  I come to the conclusion that another bet is indeed wise, for two reasons.  One, there is a very good chance that my hand is good.  Coupled with that is the fact that my opponents could very easily have hands with which they can call, and not beat me.  That’s value.

Secondly, however, is how my opponents would react even if they had me beat.  Let’s say the small blind had K-Q, and rivered top two-pair.  Or perhaps the pre-flop raiser had J-10, with a club, and back-doored a straight.  In either case, it would be very difficult for them to raise.  I bet the hand from beginning to end, and my hand is far too likely to be a set, or a flush.  Most players would just call with hands like these against a man driving action the entire way.  What that means is, checking and betting are virtually equal.  If I bet, and they call me with a better hand, I am out one bet on a misperceived value bet.  If, on the other hand, I check, and the pre-flop raiser bets, I’m going to call anyway.  I’m not laying down two-pair on the river for one bet.  Any way you look at it, one bet is going in the pot.

The only slight hesitation I had, even after this drawn-out reasoning, was my position versus my opponents.  If I had been first to act, this reasoning is very sound.  Because I’m second to act, however, there is a small possibility that the opponent to my right has K-Q and has checked.  There is also the outside chance that one of them has been slow-playing a much larger hand to the river.

Thoughts?

(I did bet.  I did get called in both spots.  I did win the hand.  They each mucked, without showing)

From the April issue of Minnesota Poker Magazine

Vanessa Rousso and Chad Brown

Chad Brown and Vanessa Rousso are the exception to the rule.  That is to say, it’s difficult to find a relationship where each member of the union is a poker player.  More often than not, one participant is the gambler, and the other varies in attitude from quiet tolerance to outright animosity.  My better half lies somewhere between the two extremes, and our innocuous quarrels are certainly not unique to our poker player/non-poker player relationship.  But I’m here to suggest that it’s all right!  There are a few cordial principles each party can abide by to help make this awkward discrepancy endurable.

Serving as both an educational case study and as mild entertainment, I’d like to begin with an ever-lingering debate from personal experience:

Me:            Enjoying that smoke?

Her:           Yeah, yeah.  Leave me alone.  We all have our vices, Mr. Gambler!

Me:            Vice, hmm?

Her:           Yep.

Me:            Well, fair enough.  Let’s investigate this, shall we?  My “vice” is not only fun, but keeps my mind sharp, always earns me money in the long run, and has allowed me to write leisurely for a magazine.  Your vice, on the other hand, affords you the opportunity to stand outside in a four-degree blizzard, makes you smell like an ashtray, and you get to pay to do it.  Oh yeah, and your bonus prize is emphysema.

I know, I’m a jerk, right?  The point is this: The vast majority of relationship discomfort seems to arise due to simple misperception.  [Please note: this entire discussion assumes that the poker player in question is good at poker.  Losing players, please disregard.  Your girlfriend is probably right].  The uninformed consensus image of poker players is that they’re compulsive and addicted, and the fear is that they may lose the deed to the house in some fabricated back-alley gunpoint card game.

Of course, the reality of the situation is that a good rounder knows when to quit, attends a safe and legal environment, and plays not only for the thrill of the game, but also money.  This explanation, I’ll admit, doesn’t necessarily go over too well with our skeptical significant others.  But even a vaguely accurate illustration of our day-to-day grinding may help advance their image from dangerously intolerant to begrudgingly acceptant.

So, while environment and money are certainly at the forefront of the conflict, the long, odd hours can be equally straining on a relationship.  It’s 10:00 PM, and she’s getting ready for bed, it’s been a long stressful Tuesday.  You help get her settled in, kiss her on the forehead, and rather than crawl into bed with her, you say, “Okay, honey, so long!” as you jump in your car, and head for the casino.

This emotionally rooted objection is difficult to completely overcome, I’m afraid.  Again, a little education on the subject can aid wonderfully.  The poker room has certain “primetimes” you might say, and if a player can feel sharp in the evening, this is his best chance at victory.  The room is oftentimes more populated at night, though this isn’t necessarily the reason it’s juicy.  More important than sheer numbers is the quality of these opponents.  Who would you rather sit down against: the polished fifty-something businessman who has too much free time and plays only occasionally for fun, or the worn-down baggy-eyed gambler who has been at the same table for seven hours, dumped eight racks and is ineffectively attempting to win it all back?  [Again, please note: the latter character, I’m well aware, is who our partners fear we may become.  The faint irony is that these are the poor saps we feed on].  Ultimately, as far as our inconvenient schedules are concerned, we must simply ask for forgiveness, and inform you that there is indeed a method to our madness.

Lastly, I have one piece of specific advice for the poker player in the relationship: Do not discuss specific dollar amounts.  This includes both wins and losses.  We have to recognize, as players, that our comprehension of money is perfectly out of whack with the rest of the world.  In this arena, we are absolutely the unconventional minority.  I sympathize with the “normal” person in this regard.  Envision the scenario from their perspective for just a moment.  He or she has just gotten off work, oftentimes from a low-paying job they abhor, and they slouch down stressed and worn on the sofa, only to attempt to regain the physical and mental strength to do the whole thing again the next day.  And here you come!  “Hey honey, I made $800 today in 45 minutes, and then I took the rest of the day to go see a movie!”  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Have some respect for reality!  And this is to say nothing of the lost-money conversation, which, as we know, is always vastly worse.  Even though you may understand that losing $400 in a day is going to happen from time to time, they may not, and that amount of money sounds like a dangerous figure to a youthful lower-middle class couple.  Ultimately, a little education and a lot of silence can go a long way toward making this asymmetrical union successful!

I un-rack my chips and get settled at my 8-16 game on a typical Thursday night.  The first thing I notice about the game is its liveliness; that is to say, many players are yammering, and while some of the commentary is friendly, much of it is angry irritation and frustrated tilt.  I need only wait two hands to understand my table atmosphere, as the 4-6 off-suit and 10-3 off-suit are the first victories I witness.  Fair enough.  Buckle up.

The next senses stimulated are my ears and my nose.  As it turns out, my position in the two-seat is right between two gentlemen who, while their banter seems largely innocuous, had a preexisting rivalry of sorts.  Imagine, in soprano screeches, “You donkey!”  ”No, you donkey!” back and forth, being recited as though their only means of communication was through my head.  As if the close proximity of totally self-indulgent rubes with no respect for the volume of their whimpering wasn’t enough, I realize that each time they speak my mouth crinkled in a disgusted uncontrollable response to their scent.  Their breath (inches from my face, mind you) could not have smelled worse if they had been eating diarrhea for a week.

So, here I am, stewing in the atmosphere of squealing morons, while attempting to protect my nose from the vomit-breath wafting about my face.  It is at this very moment that I happen to catch eyes with the five-seat, and begin questioning my familiarity.  Is that…?  Is that… Bill Laimbeer?

Yes, indeed.  Silent as an empty chair, current Timberwolves assistant coach, and notorious bad-boy Bill Laimbeer is sitting at my poker table!  How he managed to cram himself into the five-seat is still an incredible exercise in physics, as the man is as enormous as you’d imagine.

The novelty of having a former NBA star at my table briefly distracted me from the idiot-war I happened to find myself betwixt.  And then a funny situation occurred.  A hand came up between the rude gentleman to my left, and Laimbeer.  The river was dealt, and the three-seat bet.  Laimbeer thought for a moment, and called.  The three-seat turned over his winning hand, and Laimbeer quietly mucked.  At this point, the three-seat began berating Laimbeer: “How can you call me?  You call me, you always gon’ lose.  I gamble, you can’t beat me.  If I bet, I have better hand than you.”

Now, initially, this occurrence would go largely unnoticed, as verbal taunting is constantly present at the poker table.  But I began really pondering the dynamic between the two players in this exchange.  Bill Laimbeer is not only a notorious brawler and a world-class athlete.  These things are secondary to the very primary fact that he is a huge human being.  The three-seat, on the other hand, clocked in at 5′5″ and 135 lbs.  I truly don’t believe the small man had any idea who Laimbeer was.  But that’s the point.  It doesn’t matter.  You can see his incredible stature.  Shut your mouth!

Of course, realistically speaking, the three-seat had nothing to worry about.  In addition to the fact that the taunting happened in public, where no real incident could occur, Bill Laimbeer is a sweetheart of a man, and absolutely let the taunting roll off his back.

But it got me to thinking.  I long for the days when little wieners had to fear large men.  The possibility of a beating hardly exists any more, and in turn, little wieners like this man are created.  The fear of physical retribution kept quality control.  Even when I was a kid, which wasn’t that long ago, you knew not to talk shit to the larger guys.  It was just simple math.  ”He’s 6′5″ and I’m 5′10″.  Twelve minus seven, carry the one… yeah, I’m gonna’ leave that guy alone.”

Let’s be clear, I’m not saying Bill Laimbeer should have beaten the crap out of this guy.  All I’m saying is that I was shocked into the reality of our modern world, when a 5′5″ little guy can openly and antagonistically berate a 6′11″ 260 lb man with virtually no fear of consequences.  He should have to hesitate slightly before open derision, that’s all I’m saying.

Simple inquiry:

Why do players color up their $2 chips for $100 chips in an 8-16 game?

Initially, one may think it’s because this player intends to leave the card room with “x” amount of money, and these black chips represent that number.  When he loses all his “in-play” yellow chips, he’ll be out the door! 

However, since we live in the real world of compulsive gamblers, we know this is an overwhelmingly rare occurence.  What happens far more often is that this player loses all of his yellow chips, but must color a $100 chip to call a few additional bets on any particular hand.  But hey, when that hand’s over and he’s lost, lo and behold, he has another $70 in $2 chips in front of him!  Game on!

I’m sorry, I just don’t understand the purpose of coloring up your chips WHILE in a poker game.  If you’re planning to leave right away, sure, make your trip to the cage incrementally easier.  But we don’t use black chips in an 8-16 game.  All you end up accomplishing is a slow down of the game, making the dealer give you yellow chips for the black chips you recently purchased with… yellow chips.

If I’m overlooking a more reasonable purpose to coloring up your chips, PLEASE, enlighten me!

This’ll be my first post in awhile!  I’m sorry to say, the last few months may have been the absolute coldest of my poker career.  But, it seems, things appear to be swinging in my favor, and 2010 is a new year!

Today’s posting, however, isn’t about my recent woes.

I’d like to answer a very simple question: “What’s one thing I can do to start becoming a better poker player?”  [Note: Nobody has ever asked me this question.  I do not frequently field poker-related inquiries.  Seriously, who would ask me anyway?]

The answer is so clear to me: Fold more often.  WAY more often!

As I sit at the tables, I often wonder to myself, “Do these players know that they’re allowed to fold a hand?  Have they seen other people throw their cards to the dealer?  Are they aware that this ‘muck’ pile is where their cards generally belong, and if they so choose, they could decline the option of putting their money in the pot with their garbage holdings?”

I know, I know, a lot of players go to the tables simply for the action, and I must say, I love these guys.  But if you want to get good, you’ve gotta’ fold.  A lot.  The concept is so simple, and so fundamental to experienced poker players as to require almost no mentioning; yet, this tool, this folding tool, is ignored far too often.  At the end of a session, an extra bet not put in the pot is an extra bet won.

The easy-to-fix folds are pre-flop.  Quit playing J-7 under-the-gun, and stop calling raises with A-3.  J-10 is vastly overrated.  The trickier folds are post-flop, when your previously attractive A-K has whiffed completely.  This is where novices dump most of their chips, and end up walking out of the card room mumbling about how many times their A-K’s were cracked.

When the flop comes 6-7-8, and it’s two bets to you, holding A-K, I want you to know that folding is an option.  You’re allowed to do that.  It won’t even cost you any money!  Can you believe that?  Calling down to the river is not only expensive, but also fuels your tilt.  FOLD.  FOLD.  FOLD.  It’s an indispensable poker tool.

Generally speaking, I am a far superior live game limit player than I am a no-limit tournament player.  I did, however, decide to try my hand at one of the Fall Poker Classic lead-up events, a $200 buy-in no-limit hold’em affair.

Each player started with 10,000 in chips, and the first few rounds came and went with very little eventfulness.  At 50-100, one player limps, and the player to my right raises to 350.  At this point I had about 11,000 in chips, and look down at A-Q off.  Knowing little about my opponent, and being somewhat suspicious of the limper, I decide simply to call.  The player to my left also calls.  As does the big blind, as does the limper, and we take the flop off 5-handed, with 1,800 already in the pot.

The flop comes down A-K-K, with two diamonds.  The big blind checks.  The limper checks.  The pre-flop raiser also checks.  I thought this odd, and decided to check as well.  The player to my left made sure the action checked around, and we went to the turn for free.

The turn was a total blank, the 3 of clubs.  The action once again checks around to me.  I think for a moment, analyzing the action.  I figure both the big blind and the limper for nothing.  The pre-flop raiser concerns me slightly.  The flop check may have meant A-K, but the turn check doesn’t add up.  Of course, this player looks to be a novice, and could be falling in love with his own deception.  Furthermore, there is a player left to act behind me.  I decide once again to check.  The player to my left bets 500, and action folds around to the pre-flop raiser who calls.

I truly had to consider my options now.  The bet was very small in relation to the size of the pot, and, knowing the player to my left the way I do, he is absolutely capable of betting with position in an attempt to steal a pot, even if it was 5-handed.  The pre-flop raiser’s call could mean a number of things.  Although the possibility of him having a huge hand still lingered in my head, I figured he may have check-raised in this spot if that were the case.  I thought it was altogether likely that the pre-flop raiser had a hand like A-10, A-J, or maybe even A-Q.  He could be as soft as 9-9, calling with the hopes that the player who bet 500 was simply on a steal.  I called.

The river brought another blank, the 2 of hearts.  The pre-flop raiser checked, as did I.  The player to my left now bets 900.  The pot, before this wager, was at 3,300.  And, with the action back to the pre-flop raiser to my right, he tanks for about 30 seconds, and begrudgingly calls.  I was really quite confused, but actually thought there was at least a 50-50 chance of my hand being good, and given that my pot odds cost me 900 to call a pot of 5,100, I simply had to call.

The player to my left said, “Dammit, you guys win, I had a flush draw,” and mucks.  I thought, “Yes, my hand must be good!”  Just as I say this, and table my A-Q, the pre-flop raiser flips up his K-6 of clubs, for trip Kings.

What?!?

I replayed the action in my mind, and simply could not see how I could’ve put him on this hand.  He raises before the flop, an amount from middle position (with a limper already in the pot) that was almost certainly going to be called.  He then manages to flop golden, hitting trip Kings against his 4 opponents.  Then he runs and hides behind a rock!!  What are you doing?!?  You’re playing a prime brand of what I’d like to call anti-poker: playing aggressively when you have shit, and playing soft, missing value bets when you’re strong. (Ah-hem, Jamie Gold…)

He showed no aggression post-flop, and had no reason to suspect he was beaten.  Granted, in a field so large, he could have been beaten by a bigger King, but grow up and play your hand like a man.

So, I was really quite frustrated and quiet for the next several moments, contemplating where I went wrong, as the player to my left broke the silence.  ”Did you have a flush draw too?”  Oh my god, sir.  You’ve got a good read on me; yes, I called the river without a pair, hoping my four diamonds would be good enough to take down the pot…

Who are these people?!?  The better question then becomes, Why did I do so poorly in this tournament?!?  Haha, dammit…

The poker table is a strange place for observing social interaction.  In everyday culture, one can be somewhat anticipatory of how a group of people will get along; however, on the felt, there is a very strong ulterior motive that drives each player, while everybody sits in close proximity, feigning friendliness.

“Well played!”

“Nice hand.”

“Good luck.”

Bull shit.

Who means any of these things?  Good luck?  It’s a nice sentiment, but it suggests that you want your opponents to win, which of course, is at the expense of YOU winning!

Now, don’t get me wrong.  There absolutely needs to be a certain amount of cordiality, and I’m in no way against maintaining a friendly environment at the card table.  It certainly makes your time there more enjoyable.  Imagine a scenario where everybody said what they thought at the table, it’d be miserable!

Ultimately, however, the point is this:  You can distinguish your sharks from your donkeys along the lines of who means these statements, versus who simply says these statements.

The shark will lose a hand, and, just like most players at the table, say “Nice hand.”  On the inside, though, he’s thinking about how he could’ve played it better, where he should’ve folded, or how he could’ve taken his opponent off the hand.  He’s thinking about these things so, come next time, he won’t lose the hand.  He wants to beat you.  He wants all of your money, every single chip in front of you, and although these things sound hyper-competitive and harsh when discussed aloud, these characteristics make this man a good card player.

The donkey loses his hand, and, like the shark, says “Nice hand.”  He, however, is not thinking about how the hand played itself out.  He plays the game differently.  He enjoys the gamble, and like most mature gamblers, he recognizes that, “Hey, you win some, you lose some.”  He means it when he says “Nice hand.”  His opponent winning the pot is the next best thing to winning the pot himself.  He’s a sweetheart, and although I’d like to surround myself with sweethearts in my social life, they’re always going to go broke at the poker table.

Here’s the bottom line: While your exterior disposition may not necessarily reflect your inner attitude, that attitude had better be driven by taking every single dollar from your opponents, regardless of how sweet, kind, gentle, downtrodden, sad or down on their luck they might be.

Again, while recognizing the harshness of my statements, I full heartedly stand behind them.  In the end, if you’re not at the table to take money from your opponents, you’d better stay home…

I had Ah-10c, and the flop was 2h-7h-8s. There were five players in the hand, and one pre-flop raiser, a man who, based on the limited evidence I had gathered, was very reasonable and intelligent. I was in the small-blind, and the raiser was in middle position. The table had been an absolute gathering of nut-jobs, and every pot was a monster.

Action checked around to the original raiser, and he fires a bet. Two players call. Though I rarely float flops like these, I decide to peal one, figuring that a combination of the huge pots being built, and my Ace of hearts was just enough to take a card off. The fifth player also calls. I really don’t know what the limpers hold, but I do figure the original raiser for a pair, most likely Jacks or better. It seems silly to bet a flop like this into four players with a hand like A-K. That in mind, I close my eyes, envision that 10 of hearts, and head to the turn.

The turn: 10 of hearts! Wow, that was pretty cool… Either way, however, I don’t love my hand enough to be aggressive with it. It simply means that I’ll be seeing the river. I check. This time, one of the limpers bets into the raiser, and immediately my hand shrinks. Yes, I have the nut flush draw, but my pair seems useless. I will call a bet, but absolutely need that river heart. The original raiser begrudgingly calls. The other two players fold, and I call.

The river is the 8 of diamonds. I check. This time, the player who’d bet the turn also checks. This was significant, as his play during the session indicated he could easily have bet the turn without a flush. So, two players checking in front of him, the original raiser pauses for a moment. He thinks… thinks… thinks… Then he bets, and it’s on me.

Dammit! What a bad spot to be in! I have top-pair, top-kicker, and face a single river bet to win the pot. It seems as if I should call immediately. But hold on… For one, I have already figured my betting opponent for a large picture pair, and everything he’s done in this pot thus far has supported my theory. He bet the flop, simply called the turn when the flush filled, and is attempting a river value bet. Secondly, I am in the squeeze position. If I call, how am I to be sure that the other opponent isn’t check-raising, or even check-calling with a small flush? So… Again, dammit!

I eventually let my hands loosen grip on the cards, and I throw them in the muck. The other player calls, and they each turn over Q-10, no hearts, to chop the pot with a hand I could beat.

What the hell?!? He bet the flop with that? He CALLED the flop with that? He value bet THAT river? He took aggressive turn action?

What an irritating conclusion to a hand during an already irritating session! Frustrated, I put my ipod on, turn it up, and shake it for a random track. Dave Chappelle’s “For What it’s Worth” stand-up special came on, and within minutes, I had a startling realization. I was laughing, and I wasn’t thinking about my horrible fold at all anymore!

Dave Chappelle Video

Bottom line, I’ve found the ultimate tilt-blocker! Now, whenever I have a series of tilt-worthy plays/hands/run-downs/people yammering, I simply put on my ipod, and crank up a comedian.

I’ve since added many new ones, including Louis CK, Daniel Tosh and Mitch Hedberg. Each time I hear them, coupled with genuine audience laughter, my two-outer stresses simply wash away…

Louis CK Video

As odd as it sounds, I genuinely believe this will improve my poker game! As soon as I feel the tilt start to swell up in my soul, I throw on some Greg Giraldo, and all is well in the world.

Greg Giraldo Video

As quickly as he came, he was gone…

His attire suggested he could afford the money he was about to lose; yet his demeanor presented a certain confidence that confused my senses.

He settled himself, and before I could even form a coherent opinion, he was posting under-the-gun. I gave him an interested glance, which he noticed, only to smile with nonchalance in return.

“What a dick,” I think to myself, as I am wont to do, without any real evidence supporting my assertion.

The game progresses, and as it turns out, the mystery man proved to be a real sweetheart. He very quickly became friendly with the players surrounding him, congratulating them on their two-outers, while slowly beginning his own financial bleeding. The man may even have won me over, if I weren’t so steadfastly against poker table small talk.

An hour passes, and the gentleman has found every possible way of losing a hand. His aces lost twice, as his kings and queens equally went down in flames. As it turns out, however, the man is not only unlucky, but truly a terrible card player. His plays and mannerisms suggest that he’s never once tried his hand at a competitive poker game.

The man drops one rack, two racks, three racks…

He continues to smile, taking hundred after hundred from his wallet, gently laying it on the felt. He, of course, tips each time the chip runner brings him more ammunition.

Each time another rack is placed in front of him, however, he feels required to play each hand as if another one weren’t coming right behind it. Raise. Raise. Re-raise. Call, king-high. Raise that river, oops, missed my draw, nice hand…

$900 later, even this jovial gentleman has had enough. He gets all-in with his 4-9, loses with two-pair and laughs. He stands up, says his goodbyes and well-wishes, and heads toward the door.

I watch the man exit, as content with himself as when he first entered the card room, charismatic and friendly, boisterous and energetic.

I turn back to my table and inquire of the dealer, “Wow, who was that guy, I wonder?”

The dealer looks puzzled, as if I’d asked an absurdly outrageous question.

“Him? Oh, that was Mitch. He’ll be back tomorrow, I’m sure.”