Grubby at PokerWorks

My chicken teryaki combo (which includes miso soup, veggie and shrimp tempura, sushi, salad, rice, and a California roll) and order of edamame comes to $26, including the $2 delivery charge and 20 percent tip (the weather’s a mess out there).

It’s a lot of food that I usually pick up weekly (it’s two blocks away) and my stomach has expanded enough that I easily eat it all in one sitting and am only slightly insulted to see them include two pairs of chopsticks with the meal.

They estimated delivery time at a whopping 90 minutes, so I’m writing while waiting.

Earlier today I had enough with sludging through the slush and freezing rain-turning-into-snow to see a play that I would’ve skipped if I hadn’t already paid for it.

It was two train rides and I arrived at the Bryn Mawr theater five minutes late and twice decided to bail along the way, but if I was already out in this weather I may as well follow through. The play ended up starting late, as plays always do because of an old theater superstition.

The Juniper Tree was a fun two-character musical and the theater was warm enough that I slept through most of it. I’d awake to loud noises or yelling by the actors, and whenever I did it seemed they were staring straight at me. Or maybe I was the one making the loud noises while napping.

I liked what I was conscious for, but was eager to escape and duck into the corner Starbucks for my usual venti soy chai tea latte before heading home.

My shoes are drying, my toes are thawing, and I don’t feel like going out again, so I decided to treat myself and will not complain at the 90-minute wait or the $26 cost.

Especially because I came out ahead at Donkey Puncher’s home game last night.

DP and I sampled burritos at a Mexican place that was the type of restaurant that wouldn’t be out of place in Mexico. Springy 1980s pop tunes covered by Mexican artists, the girl of questionable age and sobriety propped up in the corner booth, and a deck of nudie trading cards alongside the menus. They probably had a poker game of their own going on in the back room.

It was sleeting and by the time we got to his place, the sidewalk was covered in a snow that felt like walking on a fine fluffy carpet.

We ate Mexican burritos, drank his terrific hot and spicy homebrewed beer (complete with a real red pepper inside) and watched the Sports Illustrated swimsuit special before the boys arrived.

We were 10-handed most of the night and the game began slowly with pots of .25/.5 NL staying small.

Then a bad beat happened.

I had drawn the 2seat which was directly in front of the bathroom. One guy who’s prone to tilting and pissing himself was in there, and the drunker he became (assisted by DP pouring him three fingers of Scotch at a time), the more he’d bluff all-in and visit the bathroom, hopefully hitting the bowl this time.

But this was still at the start of the evening, so none of that happened yet and he was still in Dr. Jekyll good poker player mode.

I look down and see QQ, what would be my best starting hand of the night. I raise to $10, and all fold to the urinator who comes out of the bathroom, sits down, looks at his cards, and reraises all-in for at least our initial buy-in of $80.

I completely miss not only his facial expression while checking his cards but also that he pushed in the first place.

With him only two beers and one shot of whiskey into the evening, I didn’t put him on a complete bluff. I narrow down his hands to AK, AQ, AJ, JJ, 10-10, or 9-9: a hand he didn’t want to see the flop with.

I think it through and count out my chips while asking him how much he has behind him in order to gain some time and try to get a read. He quickly says, “Enough to cover you.”

After thinking some more and realizing him doubling up isn’t a bad thing to happen at the beginning of the evening, I call.

He flips KK and I would have to get lucky with a lady.

Which I did on the flop.

I was torn between hoping and not hoping to see a King. I didn’t want the tilting to begin so early, but then again, money’s money and I drag the pot with pleasure.

That beat seemed to turn his switch to Mr. Hyde mode and pots instantly became bigger with more callers and chasers.

Here and there, I’d occasionally throw out the trash talk of, “I think it’s about time you had another bad beat,” just to make sure he was still reminded of the beat. All in good fun.

We put in over four hours and when half the table left, I dealt single-deck blackjack and played the house: double-down on any two cards, dealer hits soft 17, blackjacks pay 6:5, max bet of $5.

Played through three decks and came out about even after busting twice. Over Christmas with my cousins, I played the house and cleaned out everyone for about $200. I felt sorry for them and even paid 2:1 in blackjacks. I drew so many 21s that I would’ve thought the game was rigged if I weren’t dealing and the house.

In blackjack, the house always wins. In time, the house will always win. That in itself is a big reason to leave when you’re up.

Switched to shorthanded for four more hours, alternating between NL hold’em and NL Omaha.

DP was hit hard by the deck (flopping straights) and the burrito, letting out bombs that clouded the room. Every time he’d fart, he seemed to have a good hand, so it became an easy tell.

My digestion was slower, and I was hit by the burrito a few times the next day, where my toilet became the receptacle of a similar sloppy wet snow falling from God, only a different color.

Three of the five of us ended the 8+ hour session with 1.75x, 2.5x (me), and 5x our buy-ins.

The other day I lost $550 on Stars but in two days I won it back, right before DP’s game.

So now I’m watching SAW III (which I really like) and enjoying my sushi poker treat, which arrived 45 minutes early.

This time, they included four sets of chopsticks.

***

Book seen being read on the CTA:

My Stroke of Luck by Kirk Douglas
The Borgia Bride by Jeanne Kalogridis

This entry was posted on Monday, February 26th, 2007 at 12:55 am and is filed under Uncategorized.