Maudie at PokerWorks

You either love ‘em or hate ‘em. Maniacs. At no time is it ever boring playing when one is at your table. Our poker playing Russian was determined, it seemed, to make Rasputin proud.

Cold-calling, min-raises and reasonable bets were not in her poker lexicon. When she entered a pot - which was often - it was in a big way. If the pot was raised, she’d triple, quadruple, quintuple with a re-raise. Her strategy worked. No-one wanted to gamble with her.

We couldn’t figure out for sure if she was over-alcoholed or flying on some other sort of brain-altered carpet ride. She never ordered a drink so the general consensus was the latter.

I’ve played with numerous inebriates (who weren’t fellow poker bloggers… *coff*) and I have to say, I’m not fond of doing so. You might as well be telling the clueless souls to look the other way while you slip their chips into your pocket. Taking their money usually leaves me feeling a tad skanky. But, only a wee tad. Poker is an adult game. If you choose to jump on whatever chemical joy ride that suits your fancy you are welcome at my table for I will do everything in my poker power to relieve you of the monetary burden which is stacked in front of you.

There were at least three of us who were salivating for a chance to trap her. Our lesbian friend in the eight seat, the chip architect in the three-seat and myself. We knew she was bullying with nothing and we were struggling to gain a foothold in order to stand up to her. Finally, Ms. Eight-seat stepped forward.

хулиган хозяйки in the four-seat pushed all-in on an innocuous flop. My fellow sharktress in the eight-seat got antsy. It was plain she was going through the mental gymnastics of deciding whether or not to pick up the gauntlet and challenge the Russian. Finally, she said “call.” Their hole cards were flipped over - the Russian had zip, far behind the pocket pair of Ms. Eight-seat.

“I knew it!! I knew she had nothing!” Eight-seat high-fived her buddies who had gathered to watch the action at our entertaining table. She immediately apologized to the Russian, admitting that her celebration was rude. The Russian wobbled a bit to the left and just shrugged as she re-bought.

But, by taking the first bite, the eight-seat had shown us that the bully could be beaten. She’d drawn first blood and the rest of us swarmed in for the kill. The chip-architect was the next to stack Svetlana. I was the third (although her stack was a small one by that time, doggone-it). Each time she re-bought, oblivious to the hemorrhage.

Now, when the Russian joined our table, I was already famished and in need of sustenance. I stayed as long as I could, but after stacking her, I decided to take a break to get some food. F-Train had drifted by and told me where I could find quick food. I sat back down to play up to my blind. “Was that your son?” queried Ms. Eight-seat.

I suppose it was inevitable. As much as I try to ignore the age difference between myself and most of my poker-blogging internet pals, it’s a fact that I am, indeed, old enough to be a thirty-something’s mother. I looked at her and said “Oh, no, he’s a pal.” She looked at me with almost a wink. I responded with “But, if he was, I’d be proud to have him as son.” Which is true, but I kicked myself for missing another chance to claim a youn-gun’ as my boy-toy….

I enjoyed a hefty burger, burning hot fries with a side of conversation with F-Train. He was awaiting the arrival of friends Dawn and company, who’d texted him “one of us has had 12 jamesons and wants to vomit, but ross and I are coming to the borgata.” Indeed.

Fed and watered, I went back up to re-join the game. Madame Ruskie was still there, and I was informed I’d missed a big show. By this time, she’d squandered over a thousand bucks and showed no evidence of slowing down. Her boyfriend was circling the table, but didn’t seemed at all concerned. We played on and she continued to be felted.

Eventually, she gave up. The party was over and she departed. Mr. Chip Architect commented that he’d played with her before and that, normally, she was a very good player. He was bemused but none-the-less sorry as his chip structure had gained a few more stories by the Russian’s lapse.

My stack was looking fairly healthy - double it’s original size. Not as big as I’d wish for the time put in, though. When I finally called it quits, I’d been at it for twelve hours. My longest live session to date. I still have a leakage problem I’m unable to staunch, it seems.

I bid farewell to F-Train and friends who were headed back to New York. Heather and I headed for the Ramada and I wasted no time slipping into snooze-ville, exhausted. Poker is, indeed, a sedentary game, but the mental effort can wipe you out. In fact, did you know playing cards can burn more calories that vigorous sex? The internet doesn’t lie.

Believe it or not, there’s one more short chapter to this tale. Hope you’ll stay tuned….

This entry was posted on Sunday, September 23rd, 2007 at 1:10 pm and is filed under Uncategorized.