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| | Chasing the Live Ones Out of the Game | | |      |
By Art SantellaAs most of you that read my column know, I try to tell it like it is and let the chips fall where they may.
Well gang, here we go again.
With my temper flaring I told the poker gang my story.
I wanted to see if it's just me that this subject made so crazy.I must also admit that I am not proud of my conduct during this incident, it had never happened to me, and it will never happen again.
This topic has been getting under my skin for a long time.
If you read this and don't have a clue as to what the heck I am talking about, then you are the problem I am addressing.
It was about 10:30 am.
There was not much going on in the poker room.
Much to my surprise a 3/6 Omaha H/L game was called and the table was filling.
I would guess it was because everyone was waiting for another type of game.
I myself was waiting for a 5/10 Stud or Omaha game to start.
I knew that the 5/10 Omaha game most likely would not start until about 1pm or so.I scanned the people seated at the 3/6 Omaha table and noticed only three regular Omaha players that I recognized.
There were three Hold'em players whom I knew were killing time until a good Hold'em game started.
There were also three players whom I had never seen in the poker room before.Within twenty minutes at most, I realized that this was going to be a rare Omaha game.
The three new faces were calling raises and re-raises to the river, then throwing their cards on the table and saying, What have I got? Or, I think I got low.
I looked towards the ceiling and thanked the poker gods for my good fortune.Within about one hour, I was up just about three hundred dollars, with no end in sight.
On this day I had it all together, plus I was getting some great four legged hands.
I was even scooping more than my share of the pots.
The thing about this 3/6 Omaha game was that the split pots were averaging between sixty to eighty bucks each.
With the invention of new wonder drugs to control one's temper, I have become a docile, sweet and lovable person.
This was all to end, and the old Arti was just lurking below the surface waiting to emerge.
As the hands came to the showdowns, one or two of the regulars and me would get up from the table to have a smoke or drink, and discuss the game.We chatted about how we were all in disbelief that at least two of the three new players did not have a clue on how to play the game.
They were taking one hundred dollar bills out of their pockets like they had a printing press in there.
I always hesitate to use the demeaning term "Fish," but it came to mind.Having forgotten all about the 5/10 game, I returned to the table.
I noticed that most of the Hold'em players had left to play in other games, or to maintain their sanity.
Replacing them were two players whom I knew from past experience were not only rude and foul-mouthed, but were rocks.
When I say rocks, I mean that they are so tight that you would need a sledgehammer to drive a needle up their butts.
The game was still great, but I knew that if these rocks were in a hand, I better have, or be drawing to the STONE COLD NUTS.They say that god protects drunks and little children, in a few hands he was also protecting a couple of the new players, who were hitting their miracle cards on the river.
Of course you know who they managed to cave with their miracle draws, the two rock brothers.
(Which goes to prove that there really is a god.) I was now nickel and dimeing myself up a few bucks now and then.
At this point I was up about three hundred and seventy five bucks.
I was now being a bit more selective which hands I played and in what position I played them.
In the meantime the new players were getting the hang of what it meant to be counterfeited and having to use both cards, etc.
They were still continuing to pull hundred dollar bills out of their pockets, in what seemed like an endless supply.
It took about a half hour after the rock brothers got their butts kicked a few times, that the BS started to hit the fan.
First one of the rock heads called one of the new players a jerk for playing a hand that had no chance of winning with the flop that hit the board.
(It did win.) You know the bull I am talking about.
Here I was with one of the other regulars telling these new players how well they were playing.
Also mentioning that they would soon get the hang of the game, and start to get some better cards.
At the same time these two (expletive deleted) rock brains really started to put the screws to the new guys.
After about an hour of this abuse, the three new players who must have been friends, had taken enough, they got up and left.
Several of us tried to explain to these two granite heads what they had done to the game by driving out three loose passive players who didn't have a clue on how to play the game, but obviously still enjoyed playing it.Trying to put a sensible thought into the rock brothers' heads was like trying to drive a needle into a diamond with a rolled up newspaper.
These two said to me "If they don't know how the hell to play the game, they shouldn't be playing." My head started to spin, I felt like Jeffrey Dahmer, with a plate of liver that had been placed just out of his reach.I remember mentioning something about how they wouldn't know a good poker game if it came up and punched them in the face.
After about two minutes I was raving and being somewhat restrained by two of my friends.
A floor man, who was also a friend and who knew me, remarked that in all the years he had known me he had never seen me argue with or insult any player, floor person or dealer.
He even offered me a glass of cold water to make me feel better and to cool down.
At that point I must have looked like Charles Manson on a bad hair day.Within a few more minutes I started to return to my normal sweet lovable self.
That was the first time I had ever lost my temper in a casino, and I apologized to everyone in sight.
I do remember hearing a few hands clapping and a cheer or two, and even a "Atta boy Arti, give em Hell." I then picked up my chips and left the game fearing that if I played in that game any longer, I would risk going on full tilt, and lose back all my winnings.I started to play Stud in a good game, but not like the rare game that I had been in.
I kept looking back at the Omaha table and noticed that the whole pot was now only running about fifteen to thirty bucks and some were not worth the time it took to play them.
I felt so pleased with myself as I watched these two guys fighting with each other over a two way split for low.
A pot that netted them about twenty five percent less than it cost them to play it.
I must in all honesty tell you that about an hour later, I noticed the new players that had left the Omaha game, had now joined in a 3/6 Hold'em game.
I was not too proud to leave the stud game and join the Hold'em game, to play with my new friends.
Hey, my secret to winning at poker is to always try and play with people who play worse than I do.
By the way, the response that I received from the poker gang was the usual "Been there, done that."I guess what I am trying to get across is, why can't some players who see themselves as good poker players, with some intelligence, fail to understand the simple concept of recognizing a good game? Is it possible that these people really don't understand that game selection is about as important as it gets? Or am I just going nuts or what?Art "Arty" Santella Please post them in our Poker.
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