John threw me in with the lions Thursday night at Gertie’s. Yup. Handed me six hundred bucks and said, “Go play.” I panicked at first, then went in for four, not prepared to lose six. I wasn’t prepared to lose four, either, but I had no choice but to sit down and pretend to know the game.
Two weeks ago, if you’d told me I’d be telling poker stories, I’d have laughed, but yesterday I couldn’t wait to see John to fill him in on the drama of the night before.
I started out on what they call the “feeder table” which is where people play while waiting to move over to the main table—where John occupies seat 8 when he’s there, and where the heavy hitters play. I folded almost every single hand for hours, just going in for the blinds and one or two rounds of high cards. I kept getting 9/3 or 5/2 or Q/4—all garbage hands, especially when you’re just learning. In order to hang onto John’s money, I had to keep it reigned in very tight, but I saw some great hands go by that I’d missed from lack of experience and lack of guts. You can play for a long time in a 5/10 game if you’re not betting, so I managed to hang onto about 200 bucks (or you could say I managed to lose about the same but poker players don’t discuss their losses) over the course of two or three hours. John went home without checking in on me, so I assumed he was comfortable with me just doing my thing with his money. I’m not sure who’s more insane between the two of us.
At around midnight, they combined the two tables to make one big fat game. Holy shit, I thought. I’m sitting here with eight guys and one woman who practically live at Gertie’s, trading money back and forth night after night. But I still had chips on the table and I was interested, so I kept playing—and folding.
A crazy Greek named Tony, who owns Back Alley Pizza, joined in and within twenty minutes had blown through five or six hundred bucks. He just sat down and started raising out of the gate with ace/nines or pocket fours, and kept losing. The pots were huge and everyone was excited. The game quickly seemed to be getting out of control. I didn’t dare get in on a hand even if I had something.
Finally, I got pocket jacks. The bet was on the other side of the table, so I simply called for ten bucks. Jim, the guy sitting to my left looked at me like I had just set off a bomb and folded, announcing to the rest of the table, “She never calls. She must have something.” So everyone except the woman, Linda, folded. Two jacks came on the flop and she checked. I raised. She followed. Nothing else came and I raised again. She followed. Of course I won the hand, but it was too small a pot to make much of a dent in my losses and it gave me a reputation at the table for playing nothing but pocket high pairs. Bummer.
A few hands later, I got pocket queens. This time I tried being a little quieter and managed to get into the betting without anyone really taking notice (except Jim, who folded). Bob, a guy two seats to my left, raised out of the gate. Everyone followed, including myself, making for a nice pot before the flop. The flop was junk and he raised again. Everyone followed, including myself. The turn was garbage and he raised again. We all followed. The river was nothing and he raised again. By now the pot was enormous. It was eighty bucks to call and I got to thinking he must have pocket aces. I lost my nerve and folded. Bummer. He had pocket queens.
I stayed til the bitter end, two in the morning, just to do it once. I suppose that’s where each one of those nine sitting with me started. There was one big winner of the night--the casino manager. He’d started with two hundred and raked in a thousand. Said it was his biggest win in four years. He was giddy and drunk. Some of the others, despite large piles of chips, were probably even for the night. One or two had gone completely broke. I had lost two hundred and sixty of John’s bucks. That brought my total losses to five hundred bucks. That’s the exact amount the mayor elect of Bella Coola was unable to pay back in time to make it home before winter…
I went back to watch last night and John insisted I jump on the other table again. I went in for two this time and within an hour had turned it into three with a couple of nice hands. The crash course in outa-control-chips-flyin'-everywhere-poker maybe paid off. I left the table a hundred bucks up and gave the chips to John. I’m done losing. John’s coaching me for the ladies’ tournament on Sunday. Says he's gonna feed me some meat to give me the needed aggression. It’s only a twenty-dollar buy-in so I’m more likely to get stuck here because of a gnarled tire than a poker debt. (Yukon Harley Davidson in Whitehorse is on the hunt for a new rear tire for Henk. Looks like it has to come out of Toronto.)I intend to give it my best effort, hopefully make it to the money to pay for the tire replacement, and leave this crazy place Monday or Tuesday...
Two weeks ago, if you’d told me I’d be telling poker stories, I’d have laughed, but yesterday I couldn’t wait to see John to fill him in on the drama of the night before.
I started out on what they call the “feeder table” which is where people play while waiting to move over to the main table—where John occupies seat 8 when he’s there, and where the heavy hitters play. I folded almost every single hand for hours, just going in for the blinds and one or two rounds of high cards. I kept getting 9/3 or 5/2 or Q/4—all garbage hands, especially when you’re just learning. In order to hang onto John’s money, I had to keep it reigned in very tight, but I saw some great hands go by that I’d missed from lack of experience and lack of guts. You can play for a long time in a 5/10 game if you’re not betting, so I managed to hang onto about 200 bucks (or you could say I managed to lose about the same but poker players don’t discuss their losses) over the course of two or three hours. John went home without checking in on me, so I assumed he was comfortable with me just doing my thing with his money. I’m not sure who’s more insane between the two of us.
At around midnight, they combined the two tables to make one big fat game. Holy shit, I thought. I’m sitting here with eight guys and one woman who practically live at Gertie’s, trading money back and forth night after night. But I still had chips on the table and I was interested, so I kept playing—and folding.
A crazy Greek named Tony, who owns Back Alley Pizza, joined in and within twenty minutes had blown through five or six hundred bucks. He just sat down and started raising out of the gate with ace/nines or pocket fours, and kept losing. The pots were huge and everyone was excited. The game quickly seemed to be getting out of control. I didn’t dare get in on a hand even if I had something.
Finally, I got pocket jacks. The bet was on the other side of the table, so I simply called for ten bucks. Jim, the guy sitting to my left looked at me like I had just set off a bomb and folded, announcing to the rest of the table, “She never calls. She must have something.” So everyone except the woman, Linda, folded. Two jacks came on the flop and she checked. I raised. She followed. Nothing else came and I raised again. She followed. Of course I won the hand, but it was too small a pot to make much of a dent in my losses and it gave me a reputation at the table for playing nothing but pocket high pairs. Bummer.
A few hands later, I got pocket queens. This time I tried being a little quieter and managed to get into the betting without anyone really taking notice (except Jim, who folded). Bob, a guy two seats to my left, raised out of the gate. Everyone followed, including myself, making for a nice pot before the flop. The flop was junk and he raised again. Everyone followed, including myself. The turn was garbage and he raised again. We all followed. The river was nothing and he raised again. By now the pot was enormous. It was eighty bucks to call and I got to thinking he must have pocket aces. I lost my nerve and folded. Bummer. He had pocket queens.
I stayed til the bitter end, two in the morning, just to do it once. I suppose that’s where each one of those nine sitting with me started. There was one big winner of the night--the casino manager. He’d started with two hundred and raked in a thousand. Said it was his biggest win in four years. He was giddy and drunk. Some of the others, despite large piles of chips, were probably even for the night. One or two had gone completely broke. I had lost two hundred and sixty of John’s bucks. That brought my total losses to five hundred bucks. That’s the exact amount the mayor elect of Bella Coola was unable to pay back in time to make it home before winter…
I went back to watch last night and John insisted I jump on the other table again. I went in for two this time and within an hour had turned it into three with a couple of nice hands. The crash course in outa-control-chips-flyin'-everywhere-poker maybe paid off. I left the table a hundred bucks up and gave the chips to John. I’m done losing. John’s coaching me for the ladies’ tournament on Sunday. Says he's gonna feed me some meat to give me the needed aggression. It’s only a twenty-dollar buy-in so I’m more likely to get stuck here because of a gnarled tire than a poker debt. (Yukon Harley Davidson in Whitehorse is on the hunt for a new rear tire for Henk. Looks like it has to come out of Toronto.)I intend to give it my best effort, hopefully make it to the money to pay for the tire replacement, and leave this crazy place Monday or Tuesday...
posted by Moira Nordholt | 4:35 PM
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