Always Protect Your Beverage

An axiom of live poker is: "Always protect your hand." If a hand is fouled or mucked by mistake, a player often has no recourse. To protect their cards from misadventure, many players will use a card protector or "capper"—a chip, coin, medallion, or small trinket placed on top of their cards to weigh them down and signal to the dealer the hand is live. 2004 WSOP Main Event champion Greg "FossilMan" Raymer famously uses small fossils as card protectors, and often gives them away to players who beat him.

I got to thinking today about the "protect your hand" rule and card protectors because of a blog post by Rob, over at the cryptically named Rob's Vegas & Poker Blog (here's my memory of one of my first times meeting Rob). Rob may be the last poker blogger left in the wild. He writes regularly, often posting entertaining trip reports (remember those?) about his poker outings in Vegas. With posts filled with wacky hand histories, outlandish characters, and hilarious hijinks, Rob keeps it old school. Nobody consistently puts the "long" in "longform" quite like Rob.

Today, Rob posted a vignette (an "anecdote" by Rob's standards) about having his drink "stolen" from him while he stepped away from the poker table during a tournament at Aria. Now "stolen" is probably a bit of an overstatement. In reality, what likely happened is that a cocktail server saw a glass which appeared abandoned and picked it up in the normal course of her rounds. Look, beverages are free in Vegas poker rooms (though Rob, like most poker players, typically tips the server a buck per drink). So if your glass is picked up with a couple of sips left, no big deal, right? Well, not for Rob, who has—to date—been inspired to pen more than 2,500 words over two posts on the grave injustice of removing his beverage glass before he has consumed every drop of liquid and every cube of ice. 

Given the quirky nature of many poker players, it should not surprise anyone that some poker players can be a little over-protective of their free beverages. Back during our annual Ironman of Poker (IMOP) trip in March 2012, my buddy Santa and I were playing 4/8 Limit Omaha8 at Venetian. As you might expect for such a game, Santa and I were the only players born after World War II. One of the players—let's call her Ruth—reminded me of a raptor; beady-eyed, with talon-like hands that pounced on any pot she drug. 

Ruth, like most of the other players, was a regular in the game. Also like most of the regulars, Ruth complained loudly about everything—the room temperature, the drafty ventilation, her chair, the dealers, the other players, her cards, the board cards, the food and beverage service, the comp system, and whatever topic was brought up at the table. I think it's safe to say that low stakes Omaha8 players are the pettiest, most miserable class of people in any poker room, and possibly in the entire casino.

I had the dubious privilege of sitting next to Ruth. Needless to say, a couple of drunk young guys yucking it up and splashing around did little to lighten the mood at the table. Losing money to a couple of luckboxes who played too many hands and chased (and caught) too many draws was just the latest indignity the regulars had to endure; many of the regulars, including Ruth, were rather vocal in sharing their displeasure at our style of play.

At some point, Ruth ordered dinner. When her food was delivered, it was placed on a side table between us. Of course, we heard a litany of complaints—service was slow, they hadn't gotten her special instructions right, the food was too cold, blah, blah, blah. Nonetheless, Ruth ate her dinner, then got up and went for a walk.

About 15 minutes later, a food server came by and asked if he could remove the dishes from the side table. I told him he could. The server left the side table because I and another player had our drinks sitting on it (the Venetian's tables did not have cup holders).

Another 15 minutes went by, and Ruth returned. Immediately upon sitting down, she snapped: "Where is my soda? Who took my soda?" At that outburst, I remembered Ruth had been drinking a soda with dinner out of a standard glass. When she left, the glass was less than half full, and she had tossed her napkin over it. It certainly had appeared ready to be cleared. But ...

"Why would they take my soda? 

"I told them I thought you were done with dinner."

"I was done eating." Beady eyes glared at me. "Why did you tell them they could take my soda? I put my napkin over it so they wouldn't take it."

Now, I'm not certain if a napkin over a glass is a high society etiquette maneuver which indicates, "please don't take my beverage", or if the Venetian's napkins serve as magical cloaks of beverage invisibility. But Ruth was clearly peeved about her missing soda. So naturally, every server the rest of the evening was given imperious instructions not to touch her beverage glass. And, every time she left the table, the dealer was given strict orders to protect her beverage as though it were an irreplaceable family heirloom. I got the impression—via several glares and snide comments—that Ruth did not find the situation nearly as amusing as I did. Of course, I may have needled her just a little whenever she brought up the topic.

In any event, about a month later I was back in Vegas for a work conference. One night I went over to Venetian to play 1/2 NLHE. As I wandered through the room, I noticed Ruth was back at the 4/8 Omaha8 game. And again, Ruth had a side table next to her to hold her dinner plate and a glass of soda. But this time, Ruth was prepared. Covering her glass was a laminated coaster with a straw hole. Above a large black skull and crossbones on bright yellow background was neatly typed:

"PLEASE—DO NOT TAKE THIS DRINK"

Based on Rob's posts, I bet there's an untapped market for poker drink protectors.

"Please Do Not Take This Drink"
--Venetian Poker Room (April 2012)

Making Poker Fun Again

"We have to find a way to make people realize [poker] has to be a social game. You have to allow certain things. In other words, if I ran this room [TI], which I don’t, it’d be, “phones off the table.” And I do it too when I’m playing. This is ridiculous. Because nobody talks anymore. And that’s why they don’t have fun."

~ TI poker dealer Dominick Muzio, interviewed for Rob's Vegas & Poker Blog

I caught the Vegas poker bug just over a decade ago, and since then have averaged five or six trips to Poker Mecca each year. I've seen a lot of poker rooms open (Venetian, Aria) and close (Paris, Hilton, Imperial Palace/Linq, Tropicana). Although the Vegas poker scene is still vibrant, there is no question the bloom is off the rose—fewer rooms, fewer games, more local grinders, fewer drunken tourists.

The decline, or perhaps the maturation, of the Vegas poker scene undoubtedly has had a number of contributing factors. Black Friday and the evaporation of online poker has meant fewer new players being introduced to the game. The recession certainly didn't help the poker industry. And younger people are flocking to Vegas, not to gamble, but to party all day, club all night.

Nobody can do anything to unwind Black Friday or create another poker boom. But based on my recent visits to Vegas, between poker players and poker rooms, it feels like the poker industry is shooting itself in the foot. Longtime Vegas poker dealer Dominick Muzio addresses this issue and hits on several key problems in a recent interview. I agree with many of his points, but want to add in a couple of additional thoughts.

In recent years, many poker rooms are catering to players by adding cell phone charger outlets, offering free WiFi, and generally eliminating most restrictions against use of cell phones and tablets at the poker table. These changes are generally a good thing. Players can make plans, keep up with friends and family, or take care of routine work emails between hands. Heck, I've even negotiated a couple of multi-million dollar settlements while playing at Aria.

But, like all good things, some poker players have found a way to abuse this accommodation of electronic devices. During my last trip to Vegas in late December, I played at several tables in three different rooms (Aria, Ceasars Palace, and Planet Hollywood) where one or more players were watching movies or TV shows on their phones or tablets. In three different games I played in, there was at least one player (each an obvious local grinder) who would have a tablet out with large, noise-canceling headphones. Each of these players was completely oblivious to the action, and had to be nudged by the dealer every time the action was on them preflop. Even when they played a hand, the headphones never came off, often slowing the game further when they missed verbal declarations of bet sizes or other action. These players could hardly have been less engaged in the game. And from looking around the rooms, these players are surprisingly common and apparently tolerated by poker dealers and management.

Poker rooms also continue to ruin the poker environment with poorly conceived promotions. The biggest, busiest, most successful rooms (e.g., Aria, Venetian, Bellagio) seem not to need promotions beyond generous hourly comps and a reasonable rake. But some of the smaller rooms still take a jackpot drop to fund promotions. And, as long the promotion is a high hand jackpot or something similar, these promotions really are fairly innocuous, and may even achieve their purpose of making Joe Tourist excited about the game.

The problem is that some rooms are still using promotion dollars to chase "regulars" who far too often are more interested in the promotion than in the game itself. During my December visit, I decided to check out the recently renovated and relocated poker room at Caesars Palace. Now, the room has greatly improved in two respects. First, the rake has been dropped from $5+$1 to $4+$1, comparable to many of the mid-sized rooms on the Strip. Second, the new location adjacent to the sports book and in the middle of the casino floor offers better visibility for casual, "walk-by" players.

Unfortunately, Caesars was running a promotion in December which involved several weekly drawings and a monthly main drawing. Eligibility was based on playing a minimum number of hours for each week and for the month, and also required the player to be present at the time of the drawing. Essentially, the promotion was targeted at local players who were much more likely to qualify for and be present for the drawings than were tourists. The result was a predictable mess. Every table I played at had at least four or five players who were constantly checking to see if they had enough hours to qualify for the drawings. These players rarely played a hand preflop, and postflop there was little action unless two players hit the flop hard. The room was chock-full of nits who were reading magazines, drinking comped drinks, and checking their phones; basically doing anything except playing poker. Thrill a minute, I tell you.

It seems like many poker room managers and serious poker players don't grasp the concept that live poker—at least low-stakes poker—is really about entertainment. I'm not saying every game needs to involve drunken Brits tackling players or a Sherminator look-alike. But when Joe Tourist sits down with a few hundred dollars in his pocket, he would like to win money, but mostly he wants to enjoy himself for a few hours—have a few beers, share a few laughs, get a few stories to take back home. A table filled with local nits grinding hours, folding every hand, watching a movie, paying no attention to the game, and interacting mostly in grunts is pretty much the opposite of what casual players want to see. Sure, Joe Tourist may stick around and lose a buy-in to the game. But a casual player who is not enjoying himself won't pull out a second buy-in, or come back the next day. Treating low-stakes poker like a boring day job—even if is exactly that—is a terrible business decision.

Two Kings Dead in Hit and Run at Aria

Last week, I managed to squeeze some poker into my busy vacation schedule of chaperoning drunks around Vegas. As I was taking advantage of an excellent Bellagio room rate, I wanted to keep my play focused on MGM Megalith rooms, so I strolled over to Aria one morning to check out the action.

With the WSOP in town, Aria's poker room was humming, with maybe ten tables running by 11:00 a.m. and long lists for $1/$3 and $2/$5 NLHE, as well as $1/$3 PLO. Not feeling up for the roller coaster of gamboooling that early in the day, I put my name on both the $1/$3 and $2/$5 NLHE lists, figuring I would play whichever game opened up first.

The floor soon opened a new $2/$5 NLHE table, so I vaulted to the top of that list. Shortly after, I was called for a spot at an established $2/$5 NLHE game. As I approached the table, it was pretty obvious this was a game that had run all night, with several players having wads of $100 bills and stacks of green and black chips in play. A glance around the table confirmed that this was not the game I was looking for; eight players, all in their 20s, all wearing hoodies and sunglasses. Yes, I had stumbled into a nest of WSOP pro-wannabes. So I pulled $400 out of my pocket and nodded when the floor asked me if I wanted to remain on the $1/$3 NLHE list.

Working on the assumption the table would play loose and aggressive, I vowed to play tight for an orbit or two to feel out the exploitable spots. It's good to have plans.

First hand, I was in the big blind. Action folded to hijack who raised to $15. Button thought and smooth called. Small blind called. I looked down to find 9h8h. Well, I would complete the action, and my cards were soooooted, so of course I called.

Flop was JhTh4d. Yahtzee!

I checked, assuming Hijack would c-bet, allowing me to check-raise with my monster draw and take down a nice first pot. Hijack did not disappoint, auto-betting $40. But then Button threw a monkey wrench into my plans, thinking a bit before raising to $110. Small blind insta-folded. Yikes! Here's where not knowing the table really makes poker tough. Was Button a tight player, raising with strong hands like sets, and top two pair? Or was Button betting top or second pair, or maybe a draw of his own, albeit bigger than mine, say the nut heart draw, KQ, or even something like AhQh? Or was Button just aggro-barreling with an underpair or air, leveraging a night of plays and reads of Hijack in an attempt to steal a pot?

After a bit of thought, I decided my draw was too strong to fold against two obviously aggro opponents. I pushed all-in, and was rather indifferent to whether either or both players called. Hijack snap-called, and Button nearly beat him into the pot, going all-in for maybe an additional $30. Hijack auto-called, and we were off to the races.

Just then the floor announced a new $1/$3 NLHE game starting at the table next to our table, and my name was called for the game. I watched as the board ran out. Turn—Qd. Donkey Kong! Well, unless I was up against AhKh ... Just so the board didn't pair, I had a shot. River—Qs. Ruh roh, Rooby!

I had a feeling I was beat somehow, somewhere. Still, I rolled my hand, and channeled my best Santa Claus drawl, announcing, "I have ... straight." My opponents stared at each other, and I started to feel a little better when Hijack asked the dealer, "Is there a side pot?" The dealer confirmed there was a side pot, and Hijack showed pocket Kings. Button looked disgusted, but mucked without showing. I suspect Button had JT for altos dos pairs and was counterfeited by the running Queens.

As the dealer broke down our stacks to figure out how much I had won, I strolled over to the new $1/$3 game and put down my player card to lock up a seat. I grabbed two racks on my way back to the table, just as the dealer was pushing me a ~$1,200 pot. I tossed the dealer three red chips, then racked up the rest of the pot. As the table stared at me, I politely said, "Good playing with you gents, but my game is starting." Then I headed over to my new table where I had a lucrative session before heading back to Bellagio.

And I didn't end up in a hole in the desert. Truly, I run good.

One Dealer to a Hand

Last month, I was playing a session of $4/$8 Omaha8 (Gamboool8) at the Venetian poker room. As my readers know, I enjoy the Pot Limit all-high version of Gamboool, but the hi/low split version is still a game I’m trying to learn. I have done some reading about it, and played occasionally in the regular Friday morning $6/$12 game at the Meadows ATM. But a low stakes game like the Venetian spreads is a solid training wheels opportunity that was too good to pass up, particularly on a night where I had decided to lock up my poker profits for the trip and was looking for a recreational game to kill a few hours.

The table was generally friendly, and the action was pretty straightforward. One of the young gun local pros at the table openly discussed his plans for “getting baked” later in the evening, which was hardly surprising once I learned he had attended Grinnell College back in Iowa (a fine institution of higher learning proud of its ultra-liberal culture). When he later let on that he was born and raised in West Virginia, I inquired how he wound up in small town Iowa for college. “Because I wanted to hang out with hippies,” he replied rather matter-of-factly.

Now one reason I enjoy the various forms of Gamboool so much is that novice and casual players are prone to misreading their hands and making rather boneheaded mistakes. Often players making the transition from Hold ‘Em forget the “must use exactly two cards from your hand” rule, and put money in the pot thinking they have a flush, straight, or even full house when they actually have a very weak hand, or they fail to realize when their made hand on the flop or turn has been counterfeited by the river. These mistakes are more pronounced in the hi/low version of the game, where novice/casual players have two different hands to misplay and misread each time they get involved in a pot. Combine these hand reading mistakes with a Hold ‘Em mentality about hand strength, and novice/casual Gamboool players are among the juiciest fish around.

Since it was the smallest limit game being spread at the time, there were three tables with maybe six solid players spread among them (and no, I do not count myself among the ranks of solid Gamboool8 players). So most pots were multiway to the river, and the showdown often resembled a troop of monkeys, cackling and picking lice out of their hair while they figured out what high and low hands they held.

On one hand, I was in late position with As-Qx-Jx-Ts. Now this is a solid high-only hand, but without a low draw, it’s a little more speculative in Gamboool8 since my hand is looking to connect with a high board for a scoop pot (and on a high-only board, you typically get fewer bets in the pot from the low chasers). Still, my hand had some decent value, and I limped in along with pretty much the entire table. The flop was decent, J-T-5 with one of my suit, giving me top two pair (on the rare Omaha board where that holding has much value), along with a gutterball Broadway draw and some potential additional straight and flush draws that could develop on the turn (there’s always hope in Gambool). Six or so of us called the big blind’s bet; I probably should have raised here, but I tend to be a little passive in early rounds of Gambool8 with just altos dos pairs. The turn was a beautiful King, giving me Broadway and the current nuts, but also foreclosing any low draw while also putting a backdoor flush draw (not mine) on the board. A middle position player bet, got a couple of callers, and I raised, getting two callers. The river was an annoying offsuit Queen. Obviously I had just been counterfeited, chopping the pot with any player holding an Ace with any other Brodway card. Still, when it checked to me, I bet, hoping to get some value from a yahoo with a King-high straight, or maybe even getting an inattentive player to fold a Broadway chopping hand. Unfortunately, I got one caller.

I rolled over my hand and declared, “Nuts. Broadway.” I waited for the other player to table his hand, but as is often the case with Gamboool players, he held his hand up in front of him gin rummy style and shifted cards around as he tried to parse out what his best hand might be. The player held an Ace, which I could see, but the player was confused: “I don’t think I can make Broadway.” The dealer was looking at his hand and helpfully blurted out, “Oh yes. You got it.” The player looked back at his cards in confusion. The dealer said, “You have the Ace and the King, that’s Broadway.” The player yanked those cards out, put them on the table, then threw his other two cards down as well. Presto, chopped pot.

It should go without saying that the dealer was out of line here. Nobody, including the dealer, should help read a player’s hand. This is especially true in Gamboool, where players often misread their hands and muck winners. In a bit of irony, this dealer had earlier warned players about reading hands that weren’t tabled. To be fair to the dealer, however, the practice is endemic to low stakes Gamboool, and short of tasering offenders, the practice is just a hazard of the game. But, for those of you playing Gamboool tempted to be the helpful hand reader, just don’t.

Just STFU.

The Appearance of Poker Impropriety

Last week I had a work conference in Poker Mecca, which meant I had a free ticket to Vegas. In between seminar sessions and fabulous dinners, I managed a few sessions of poker. As a firm believer in dancing with the one that brung ya, I played mostly at Wynn and Mirage, and both poker rooms rewarded me with fun and profit. However, I couldn't resist the siren song of a session of $4/$8 Omaha8 at Venetian, so I headed over for a Friday night marathon session of degeneracy with a half kill.

The session was entertaining, as only a Vegas poker table can be. I met a young guy from Virginia who had graduated from Grinnell College in Iowa "because of the hippies"; he's currently playing poker for a living in Vegas, and talked openly of getting baked later that night (standard for a Grinnell alum). There were a couple of crusty old gents, and a couple of funny younger gals. Generally speaking, it was a pretty fun and profitable table.

Then, the drunk yahoo sat down. His red face indicated he either had golfed too long in the Vegas sun, or imbibed a dozen too many Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters. Yahoo sat down with with three racks of white ($300), but immediately began spewing them to the table as he ordered additional beverages. Yahoo was most certainly not a good loser, channeling his inner whiner as his questionable play never seemed to come up a winner. The inevitable race between broke and belligerent was well underway. Yahoo's night almost certainly would not end well.

Leticia rotated in to deal our game, and proved to be both friendly and competent (consistent with many other sessions she has dealt to me on prior trips). As something of a specialty game, limit Omaha8 tends to draw a lot of regular players—even in a tourist poker room like the Venetian—and our table was no exception. By chance, most of the regulars were on the opposite end of the table from where Yahoo and I were sitting; the two of us were in Seats 2 and 3, respectively, while the regulars were all in Seats 7 through 10. Leticia obviously knew the regular players and engaged in some friendly chatter with a couple of them. It was all innocuous stuff—updates on family, recent poker sessions, weekend plans, etc. Just another friendly dealer keeping a game moving and entertaining.

That's when Yahoo threw a monkey wrench into the game. Leticia and Seat 10 were chatting as she dealt a new game. Seat 10 was the big blind, and the action went as follows:

• Yahoo was UTG, called $4.
• I called $4.
• Folds to the Button, who raises to $8.
• Small blind folded.
• Action paused on Seat 10 (the big blind).
• Yahoo, not paying attention, calls $8.
• Me, not paying attention and seeing Yahoo's call, calls $8 myself.

At this point, Leticia firmly but politely said, "Time. Action is back here, guys," and gestured to Seat 10. Just another standard amateur hour moment at the poker table.

That's when Yahoo went into total meltdown mode. "What the hell? How can he [Seat 10] have cards? His hand is dead. Kill his hand and let's play!" Leticia patiently tried to explain that the action had paused at Seat 10, and that Yahoo and I had acted out of turn. Yahoo was having none of that explanation: "The rest of us are at $8, so his [Seat 10's] hand is dead. He can't be at $4! That's just wrong." Leticia tried again to explain the action, but Yahoo was crossing from contentious well into belligerent. Leticia discretely pressed the Bravo system button to call a floor, and said, "Let's get a floor ruling." Yahoo angrily muttered, "Yeah, let's get this fixed now!"

The floor arrived in just a few seconds. She listened to Leticia explain the action and listened patiently to Yahoo explain his theory as to why Seat 10's hand should be killed. Yahoo finished his rambling by blurting out, "She [the dealer] is just helping out her friend. She's been talking to him all night, and now she's lying for him." The floor calmly explained that the action was on Seat 10. Yahoo continued to mutter his disagreement with the ruling, repeatedly claiming that Leticia was somehow colluding with Seat 10. Seat 10 finally folded, at which point Yahoo raised to $12. Predictably, Yahoo lost that pot, and busted out and left the table still angrily muttering about Leticia within the next few hands.

The dealer and the floor handled this rather bizarre situation professionally, calmly, and quickly. And, as our esteemed President might say, "Let me be clear, I don't think the dealer acted improperly, nor did she show favoritism toward any of the players she knew. She was just being friendly." However, a situation like this illustrates the slippery slope poker dealers must tread between being friendly toward players they know, and going too far and creating the appearance of favoritism toward those players.

Two years ago, I was playing at Aria when I was involved in a situation where a dealer's apparent friendship made me doubt her objectivity. As I described the situation on All Vegas Poker:

A female dealer was having a very animated and lengthy conversation with a player at the table who was also a dealer and at least a casual friend. I get AK in EP, raise, and get called by the button and also her buddy in the big blind. Flop is Ace high with a couple os small suited cards. Buddy checks, and I take some chips and begin cutting them next to the rail as I debated the amount of the raise. Next thing I know, dealer says, "checks around" and begins to burn and turn. I immediately say, "wait, I haven't acted." Dealer says, " you checked" and makes a gesture with all five fingers in a claw shape tapping the table. Now, my only hand on the table always had chips, was by the rail, and never tapped anything. I said, "I was cutting chips." Dealer's buddy piped up, "that was an obvious check," but other guy in the hand said he didn't know, and nobody else at table saw a check. Buddy pipes up again, "you checked" and dealer backed her buddy. I was as furious as I can remember being at a poker table, but I knew it was pointless to ask for a floor.

Poker dealers are going to get to know regular players; it's inevitable. Poker dealers, particularly the more outgoing ones, are even likely to get to know regular players socially. Heck, back when I played at the Meadows ATM four nights a week, I got to know many of the dealers well, and played in dealer home games, performed some pro bono legal work for a few of them, and even was invited to a couple of graduation parties for dealers' kids. So no player should be surprised that dealers may know and even be friends with players.

Problems obviously can arise when a dealer is called on to make a ruling involving a friend. Even if the dealer acts with utmost professionalism in making a ruling, the appearance of favoritism can taint the entire process from the perspective of other players. In many situations, calling a floor is of limited value in defusing the situation, as the dealer's rendition of events will often be the determining factor in how the floor rules. The problem of the appearance of impropriety can extend to situations where a floor or supervisor gives preferential treatment to a friend with respect to getting seated ahead of the list, or getting a table change to a juicy game. Or, what about situations where a poker tournament director has dinner or a couple of drinks with several elite poker players the night before a major tournament where the director is called on to rule on a situation involving one of those players?

Honestly, I don't know where to draw the line. Despite poker's widespread popularity, live action poker actually operates within a series of rather small, insular communities, even in tourist resorts like Vegas. Requiring dealers or floors to never interact professionally with players they know socially would be nearly impossible to enforce, and frankly would be overly restrictive and detrimental to the game. On the other hand, if dealers or floors regularly socialize with players away from the poker tables, then reasonable questions can be raised as to whether those dealers and floors are able to be objective when dealing with their friends on a professional level. Even if the dealers or floors go out of their way to be objective, players who feel they were on the wrong end of a biased ruling will leave the poker room with a bad taste in their mouth and a story of how they were jobbed by collusion to share with any friend or poker player they might encounter.

I really don't have any insightful solutions to offer. All I can say is that the appearance of impropriety is a recurrent problem that poker rooms need to find a way to address.

D'Bag O' the Day (v. 3.1)—Splashing Zee Pot at Aria

"In my club, I will splash the pot whenever the fuck I please."

~Teddy KGB (John Malkovich), in Rounders

As my faithful readers are aware, I enjoy playing a little Pot Limit Gamboool (PLG) from time to time. In Vegas, the poker rooms at Aria and Venetian have been spreading fairly regular low stakes PLG games the past year and half or so, while the Pokerati half-n-half NLHE/PLG game has been rotating around several Vegas locales for at least three years (home base has been at the Palms for the past year or so). [FN1] During that time, I've managed some big scores (e.g., hitting both ends of a straight flush draw while running it twice for a monsterpotten at Venetian during IMOP-VI), and some memorable flameouts (e.g., getting felted by Orel Hersheiser's quad ducks at Aria during WPBT 2011). The PLG deities giveth, the PLG deities taketh away, praise be the PLG deities.

This past December I was in Vegas for the WPBT (for those of you unfamiliar with the WPBT, my 2010 tournament summary and trip report, and my 2011 food porn report should give you some flavor). On my last evening, after most of the WPBT crew had departed, I was playing a session of PLG at Aria. The game was playing deep and aggressive, so I played pretty tight and walked away with a triple up after about a three hour session. But the most interesting dynamics at the table didn't involve me at all.

When I sat down at the game, it took less than an orbit to figure out that three young guns were engaged in a full-fledged cock-measuring war (and not in the entertaining gay porn way). Each of the guys had over a thousand dollars behind, and there was a lot of jawing, taunting, and generalized verbal warfare. One of the guys was a know-it-all expert who critiqued every hand, refused to run it twice, and never acknowledged drawing out while always bitching about losing to a draw. Another of the guys was an uber-aggressive hoodie-n-shades player, who loved to mix it up and jaw with his opponents. Expert had gone on a mini-rush to build his stack to over $2,500, while Hoodie had a healthy stack over $1,000. Expert and Hoodie sparred back and forth, but generally avoided each other and made money by bullying the weaker players at the table.

Until "The Hand". It was probably inevitable that Expert and Hoodie would have an epic clash, given their styles of play. Still, one has to acknowledge the PLG deities have a pretty sick sense of humor. The Hand started innocuously enough. Preflop, action limped to Hoodie who raised the pot. There was a caller to Expert on the button, who reraised the pot (to ~$75 total); only Hoodie called. At this point, I felt Hoodie had a good hand, maybe a rundown hand like J-T-9-8 double suited, or a decent pair with straight and flush cards, like Q-Q-J-T with a suit. Expert could easily have been on a position steal, but he likely had a decent fallback hand, with some kind of bigger pair with straight or flush cards.

The flop came out Ks-Jd-5s. Hoodie checked, Expert bet pot (~$225), Hoodie called. So far, pretty standard. Expert might have anything from a set to pure air, while Hoodie might have straight and/or flush draws, maybe with top pair.

The turn brought the Th. Hoodie checked, Expert bet $400, and Hoodie moved all-in for roughly $600 more. Expert thought, groaned, and called. Hoodie asked if Expert wanted to run it twice. Expert waved his hand dismissively and barked, "I only run it once." Hoodie nodded, picked two cards out of his hand, and tabled them:

AsQs ... giving Hoodie the nut straight and nut flush redraw. Expert started carping about how Hoodie had "gotten so f@#$ing lucky," showing his KdKhXdXh for top set. Hoodie pointed out he had a big draw, which Expert dismissed. Expert said to the dealer, "Come on, give me some justice! Pair the f@#$ing board!"

And so the dealer did:  Jh

"Justice!" shouted Expert.

"Quads," muttered Hoodie, rolling over his other two cards: JsJc

Expert stared at the board, looking like his puppy or his nuts had been kicked. The dealer counted down Hoodie's stack, and calmly stated, "$985 more." Expert muttered something profane under his breath, so the dealer began to reach forward to Expert's stacks to pull out the requisite chips. Expert snapped, "Don't touch my chips! I'll handle it!"

Then Expert deliberately counted out $85, breaking it down. He picked up the chips and flicked them forward into the pot, "splashing the pot". As the dealer scrambled to pull the chips out to verify the amount, Expert deliberately slid out a series of nine stacks of twenty $5 chips each. Instead of letting the dealer verify the stack size and slide the stacks to Hoodie, Expert deliberately picked up each stack and lobbed each of them forward into the pot, one at a time. Once Expert's tantrum was over, the dealer silently re-stacked the entire pot, re-worked all four streets of betting, verified the pot size, and slid the chips to Hoodie.

In a bit of poker justice, Expert went on super monkey tilt and burned through his remaining stack of about $1,000, plus another $3,000 in the next hour.

Moral of the story—Don't splash zee pot.



How could I not include the "splash zee pot" scene from Rounders?


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[FN1]  The Venetian PLG game has $1/$2 blinds, which are counted as $5 for pot-calculation purposes, with a $5 bring-in (if you call preflop, it's $5; first raise without a limp is to $15). The Aria PLG game has $1/$3 blinds, which are counted as $3 for preflop action, with post-flop action in $5 increments (first raise without a limp is to $12). The Aria game plays a bit smaller if there is a lot of preflop action, otherwise the games play pretty much the same. Buy-ins are $200-$500 at Aria, $200-$1,000 at Venetian. Overall, the skill level is a bit tougher at Venetian, but there are plenty of relatively novice players at both games. Dealers at both rooms generally are pretty knowledgeable and skilled at handling a pot limit game.

Both rooms also spread $2/$5 PLG on a fairly regular basis. However, the skill level and pot sizes in those games are not for the faint of heart or low of bankroll. As a rule of thumb, PLG plays twice as big as a NLHE game of the same blind structure. So, to play $1/$3 PLG, you should have a bankroll at least big enough to play $2/$5 NLHE. To play $2/$5 PLG, you should have a bankroll big enough to handle the swings at $5/$10 NLHE.

Rube Goldberg Showdowns

Dr. Evil:  All right guard, begin the unnecessarily slow-moving dipping mechanism.

[guard starts dipping mechanism]

Dr. Evil:  Close the tank!

Scott Evil:  Wait, aren't you even going to watch them? They could get away!

Dr. Evil:  No no no, I'm going to leave them alone and not actually witness them dying. I'm just gonna assume it all went to plan. What?

Scott Evil:   I have a gun, in my room, you give me five seconds, I'll get it, I'll come back down here, BOOM, I'll blow their brains out!

Dr. Evil:  Scott, you just don't get it, do ya? You don't.

~Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)

Forgive me while I channel a little Poker Grump.

Showdowns in poker should be quick and orderly. The last aggressor (bettor or raiser) to act is called by one or more players. The last aggressor turns his hand face up on the table, showing both cards (unless he chooses to muck). If there was no betting on the river, the player in earliest position tables his hand (unless by house rule the last aggressor in the prior round of betting is required to show first). The remaining callers then table their hands going in clockwise order from the first player required to show his hand (again unless they choose to muck). The dealer reads the tabled hands and pushes the pot to the winner. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Based on my recent trip to Vegas, as well as recent sessions at the Horseshoe in Council Bluffs and at Harrah's in Kansas City, showdowns have devolved into an overly complicated, poorly choreographed dance routine. I'll bet at least once every couple of hours I have been involved in a showdown that goes something like this:

• Yahoo bets.
• I call.
• Yahoo stares at me.
• I stare back.
• Yahoo says, "I have a ten," which, if true, gives him second pair on the board.
• I gesture, making a couple of small circles with my forefinger, indicating he should show his cards.
• Yahoo holds up one card in the air, showing he does in fact have a ten.
• I gesture again, making a couple of slower, larger circles with my finger, hoping he catches on.
• Yahoo stares at me.
• I stare back.
• Yahoo tables his hand, either showing only the ten, or placing his cards carefully so the ten is on top of his other card, hiding it.
• I gesture again.
• Yahoo shoots me a death glare, finally tables his hand with both cards visible.
• I either table or muck my hand.

The whole routine is incredibly annoying and needlessly slows the game. The "hold one card up in the air in lieu of an actual showdown" dance seems to be almost endemic, occurring at least once or twice per orbit. What part of showdown is giving players trouble? Show your damn cards, and put them down on the table. Trust me, it's easy.

Now I'm not getting petulant about showdowns because I'm a rules nit. In many situations, I don't care enough to get picky about showdown order. For example, a bunch of players limp preflop, and then there is no betting on later streets. Usually, a small pair or even Ace-high is good, so when everyone is sitting around waiting for someone to show, I'll jump start the process by just tabling my hand. Or, if I happen to make a pretty big hand for the board, I'll just declare and table my hand, again to jump start the action.

However, if I'm in a decent-sized pot, and there has been betting action on all streets, I am very interested in seeing my opponent's hand, even if I lose the pot. I want to know both cards in order to see how his hand matches up with the betting action. Was he floating or check-raising with air and caught a pair? Was he semi-bluffing with a pair and a draw, or betting naked draws for pot control? In these situations, I am entitled to see my opponent's hand first; as some players are fond of saying, I paid for that privilege. I'm not looking to cause a scene, but I don't think it's too much to ask that my opponent table his hand without delay when I call his bet or raise on the river.

As you might expect, Poker Grump has written on showdown etiquette on several occasions; see HERE and HERE for his posts dealing with the "showing one card" issue, as well as HERE and HERE for some related (and entirely meritorious) showdown grumpiness. Grump's theory was that the "showing one card" routine originated in home games. I suspect there is some home game influence to the phenomenon, but I personally think the issue is also somewhat generational. Most of the flagrant and recurrent offenders seem generally to be in their early-to-mid-20s, a group that also seems far more likely to commit other poker etiquette faux pas, like talking about their hand during action, calling the clock too quickly, hollywooding during routine decisions, or slow rolling at showdown. These players likely cut their poker teeth online, where many live game etiquette matters are either handled automatically by the software, or simply have no online analogue. Be that as it may, if a player sits down at a live poker game, that player has an obligation to know and follow not only the rules but also the generally accepted etiquette for live action poker.

To be blunt:  Just turn your cards over and put them on the table already.

A Rube Goldberg machine (image source: Penn St. College of Engineering).

Am I a Cheapskate?

In a recent post, I discussed a big pot I won where I flopped the nut straight and made nearly $950 in profit after surviving a five-way all-in. I mentioned that I tipped the dealer and the cocktail server $10 each. An anonymous commenter took me to task:

You win a $1250 pot, while fading half the deck, and you give the dealer ten bucks; the same as some chick that brought you a drink. Cheap dude, very cheap.

Now when it comes to tipping, one thing I know is that I tip far better than average for meals (dine-in, carryout, and delivery), taxis, bags/concierge, etc. So if someone wants to call me cheap, they obviously don't know me.

That being said, this comment does raise a couple of interesting points. First is the premise that a poker dealer tip should be proportional to the pot size. Now I tip at least $1 on every hand, even when just winning or even chopping the blinds. I usually tip $2-$5 on big pots or when I hit a monster hand or a big suckout. In this particular hand, I tipped more ($10) in part because it was a big pot, and in part because the dealer needed to sort out several side pots, which slowed the game and denied him tips from hands he would've dealt in the normal course of events.

That all being said, I simply can't agree that merely because my hand held up, or I hit a draw, or some other such outcome occurred that the dealer deserves a bigger tip. The dealer has no influence on the outcome of a hand (assuming no dealer errors). The dealer's duties are to deal the cards, run the action, and award the pot. The dealer has no influence on whether I happen to hit a big hand or win a monster pot. So if the dealer's actions don't influence whether I win or how much I win, why should my tip size vary significantly based on the size of the pot, or whether I hit or dodged a draw?

The other implicit criticism is that the cocktail server did not deserve the same tip as the dealer. However, I had ordered a drink prior to this hand occurring, and the server brought me my drink while the hand was being completed. Since my money was in the middle of the table, I couldn't tip the server (all I had in my wallet were $20s and $100s). I specifically asked the server to wait for the hand to play out so I could tip her. Given the multiple side pots and big action, the denouement of the hand took some time to play out. So, I tipped the server extra because she delayed serving other tables and presumably lost tips while waiting on me. Now perhaps my $10 tip was too generous, but that is hardly the basis for any criticism of my tip to the dealer, which should be evaluated on its own merits.

As I've discussed previously, I accept dealer tipping as a necessary part of the game. I believe most dealers work hard to make the game fun and profitable, and I have no qualms about tipping generously. I have tipped more than $10 on a hand on occasion, and I likely will again in the future. I simply don't agree with a contention that a $10 tip—10 times the standard tip—is "cheap" merely because I won an unusually big hand.

What do you think? Am I a cheapskate?

My First Big Bluff

The recent closure of the Sahara had me reminiscing about my first trip to Vegas in 2006. At that time, I had been playing poker in Iowa casinos for a couple of years, though the standard game had only recently evolved from limit to no-limit hold 'em. The game played a lot differently then, as well, with lots of soft players who could be run over by my uber-maniac style. Ah yes, the good ol' days!

In any event, my vacation was mostly focused on hanging with college buds who weren't into poker, so I had only two days / one night left to myself at the end of the trip to devote to poker. I had booked a West Wing room at MGM, a mere minute's walk to the MGM poker room. At that point, the MGM room was easily the biggest and most impressive poker room I had ever played in. The marble ring around the tables was the most decadent thing I had ever seen in a poker room, and the crazy vibe from the Centrifuge bar nearby (with its bartenders and servers dancing on tables and the bar) was just too wild for my innocent Midwestern mind to comprehend. I had brought along $1,000 for gambling, so I should've stuck to $1/$2 NLHE. But the action was slow, limited by the max buy-in of $200. So, young arrogant me decided to jump into the $2/$5 NLHE game. Predictably, my stack suffered the wild fluctuations inherent in the LAG style (and the Stupid Style), and I quickly found myself putting my entire roll into play via rebuys and top offs.

Now, back in those days, there were plenty of soft spots at the $2/$5 level, and I managed to build my stack to nearly $2,000. But with several stacks twice that size in the game, I was always at risk of busting out. I played through the night, with a strange new sensation of tense anxiety clawing at my gut the entire time. Yup, for the first time in my poker career, I was actually scared money. As good poker players know, scared money might as well be dead money. But hubris wouldn't let me leave the game, whispering that there was tons of easy money to be made. Apparently God watches over drunks and poker newbies, and somehow I managed to dodge any big confrontations. Surprisingly soon, morning was rolling around, and I was thinking about cashing out to head to the room for a nap and shower before heading to the airport. Then, the hand happened.

I wish I could remember the details of the hand better, but all I can recall now is that I called a small raise on the button with a middle suited connector. I flopped a monster draw, which normally I would've played aggressively. But I was scared money, and with $2,500 behind at that point, I was looking to play cautiously. I called near-pot-sized bets on the flop and turn, figuring if I hit one of my draws, one of the two characters in the hand would pay me off for decent value on the river with an overpair. On the river, I missed my draws, but hit top pair no kicker on a raggedy board. Preflop raiser checked, so sensing weakness, I pushed all-in, getting the second yahoo to fold.

My remaining opponent was a young kid, one of those short, scrappy guys who liked to do a little good-natured trash-talking. He and his buddy at the table were fraternity brothers celebrating their recent graduations, and the three of us had grown friendly while playing together for nearly 20 hours, as other players cycled through the game. There was a sense of rapport between us, and we'd exchange knowing glances at yahoos and donkeys, while informally soft-playing each other, overbetting with big hands and checking it down with marginal hands.

My river shove on this hand was a major overbet of the pot, and was consistent with our practice of betting our big hands when playing each other. My opponent tanked. Then, he asked me, "Can you beat a set?" That fist of anxiety was clubbing me even harder in my gut. I was going to go home broke from my first Vegas trip.

My opponent rolled over a flopped top set. I threw up a little in my mouth. I casually said, "Wow, I didn't know you were that strong!" This was probably the first honest thing I had said in over twelve hours. My opponent said, "Why bet so much? Did you hit the straight?" I looked at the board. Yes, the river had made an open-ended straight draw get there. I said, "Do you think I'm crazy enough to call you with a draw?" and laughed. My opponent laughed, too. "Yeah, you love your draws!" Yes, yes I did.

I had one last card to play, literally. I casually rolled over my non-paired card, which was one of the cards needed to make the obvious straight. I leaned back, took a swig of my Captain & Coke, and said, "You'll have to call to see the other card." My opponent tanked, but finally said, "I have to believe you. You haven't lied to me all night." As he mucked, he asked to see my other card. I obliged as I raked the monster pot. My opponent came unglued. "How could you do that to me? After we've played together all night, you do that to me? That's bullshit!" Suddenly, his baseball cap went flying across the poker room, landing near the Centrifuge bar.

His buddy laughed.

Hilarity ensued.

I racked up and cashed out with a very fortunate profit.

And so began my love affair with poker in Sin City.

(Image source).

The Cuckoo Gambit

Note:  The Ironman of Poker wrapped up last Sunday, and the official trip report is being compiled by cruise director Santa Claus. In the meantime, I'll share a few random posts that I'm certain won't make the final report.

"The hours of folly are measured by the clock; but of wisdom, no clock can measure."

—William Blake

After a tasty lunch at Holsteins in the swanky new Cosmopolitan resort, I headed off to Planet Hollywood for some casual afternoon poker. Over the past year or so, Planet Hollywood has become my new "go to" poker fishing hole, with a fairly reliable offering of drunks and bad players. I've had several big scores in the room, and there is a seemingly infinite supply of strange and entertaining characters to add some fun to the profit.

I was buying chips when a commotion erupted at the game in progress right by the podium. It appeared this middle-aged guy with a decent stack—let's call him "Chunk"—had called the clock on a young player in full internet poker uniform—hoodie, sunglasses, and vodka-Red Bull. From the heated discussion, it sounded as if the clock call had come a bit quickly in the youngster's view, a sentiment shared by several other players at the table. Nonetheless, the countdown began, and after a little more chatter, the youngster made the call. Chunk rolled over AK for a rivered top pair top kicker, and the youngster mucked his pocket Queens face up.

I initially didn't think a lot of the clock-calling folderol. I quickly made a couple hundred during the first orbit, flopping a wheel with 53 sooooted against one of the two college kids who had girlfriends sweating them, then bluffed the other college kid off a nice pot by floating the flop and representing the flopped Ace with a stiff bet when the kid checked the turn. All pretty basic ABC stuff.

Then I ran into Chunk. Chunk loved to call any preflop raise, then float the flop and bet or raise any turn. He was stealing a lot of pots by doing this, and it was clear most of his bets were on the light side. But, nobody would play back at him or even call him down with anything less than a monster, so Chunk was working up a decent stack. But Chunk's favorite move was to make a big raise, then call a quick clock. Based on the cards he showed after the maneuver, he was making the move when he wanted a call, apparently thinking that calling the clock would induce a call by his opponent. In our first big encounter, I laid down KQ on a Queen-high board when Chunk pulled the clock move with a $200 raise on the turn; he tabled QJ for top two pair as he raked the pot.

Now, I'm generally not much of a believer in most supposed physical tells. In my experience, there is too much variance in player personalities and reactions to get a reliable read on a player, particularly a stranger whom you have only observed for a short duration. Sure, there are some helpful rules of thumb—notably a major change in demeanor during a hand, strong means weak, shaking hands, and the quick chipstack glance followed by a check—but for the most part, I find betting patterns to be the best indicator of an opponent's holdings.

In Chunk's case, however, I was fairly certain that the clock-calling maneuver was his pet play, and I figured Chunk, like any mediocre player, would go to his signature pitch once too often. I just had to sit tight, wait for that pitch, and smoke it for a home run.

Sure enough, opportunity knocked in short order. I picked up Yaks in the big blind. There were several limpers, and I popped it to $25 total. Chunk called in middle position, and we saw the flop heads up.

A-J-5. Yahtzee!

The pot was about $65, so I bet out for $50, hoping to look weak with my "overbet". Chunk immediately raised to $100 straight. At this point, I was pretty sure Chunk had an Ace, so I decided to see if Chunk would help me sell him the idea I held a pocket pair under the Ace. Sure enough, as I "pondered" my play, Chunk started chattering, telling me I was beat. I responded, "Queen-Jack again? I can beat Queen-Jack." Chunk immediately called for the clock, less than a minute after his raise. I let the floor start the count, and asked Chunk if he had a flush draw, while I tried to suppress my inner Snoopy dance. Once the floor announced ten seconds, I made the oh-so-reluctant call. The trap snapped close on Chunk, though he could not yet see it. The turn was a blank. I thought, then checked. Chunk insta-pushed while puffing himself up and glaring at me, and I snap-called looking like the Cheshire cat. I rolled over my Yaks, and Chunk looked like someone had stolen his dessert. Chunk showed A9 offsuit, drawing deader than Elvis, netting me a nice double up.

Sometimes, poker is easy.

(Image source).

Doing the Hokey Poker-y at the 'Shoe

You put your red chips in.
You put your red chips out.
You put your red chips in,
And you shake them all about.
You do the Hokey Poker-y and you change your bet around.
That's called an angle shot!

This weekend I played a 1/3 NLHE cash game session at the Horseshoe in Council Bluffs. After seven or eight years of playing live poker, I thought I had seen just about every possible poker rules issue.  I was wrong.  There truly is something new under the sun.

To provide the appropriate context, the Horseshoe has two rules which factor into this situation.  First, the 'Shoe uses a betting line, with any money put in the pot while action is pending being required to stay in the pot, even if the player made a mistake (e.g., player puts out a call, not seeing a raise; the call money must stay in the pot if the player folds). Unlike some poker rooms, however, the 'Shoe does not enforce any rule about chips crossing the line in the air; it's only chips in the pot that must stay in the pot. Second, there is this ridiculous house rule:

On called all-in bets, once all action is complete, all live hands must be tabled.  If the all-in action occurs prior to the river, all live hands must be tabled before the remaining board cards are dealt.

During the hand in question, there was a multi-way pot with a small preflop raise.  On the flop (J-9-7 with two to a flush), Yahoo #1 bet, Yahoo #2 raised, and Yahoo #1 was the only caller.  Now the Two Yahoos were two younger guys who had been jousting with each other and a couple of the other young guys at the table in fairly typical aggressive internet hoodie style.  The Two Yahoos clearly had some history and seemed to be gunning for each other.  Also, an important factor in the events was that the two Yahoos were across the table from each other, occupying Seats 3 and 8.

The drama occurred on the turn.  The turn card was a Jack, giving the board two Yaks to go with a variety of straight and flush draws.  Yahoo #1 checked.  Yahoo #2 thought, then grabbed roughly half a stack of red chips and crossed the betting line, started to cut off three red chips as if to bet $45-$60 (three or four stacks of $15 each), then stopped, took back his chips to his stack, and then pushed his entire stack of roughly $175  across the line while saying, "All-in" (he actually cut three chips, then picked up all his chips, put them on top of his stack, and pushed all of his chips into the pot).  Yahoo #1 immediately says, "Call" and triumphantly stands up and slaps down Ace-Jack.  The dealer was still looking at Yahoo #2's bet and says, "I can't let you make that bet."  Yahoo #2 pulls back his stack, and the dealer reaches out and grabs $45 in red chips from Yahoo #2's stack and says, "I'm going to hold you to this amount as your bet." Honestly, I think Yahoo #1 acted so quickly in calling, while the dealer was focused on Yahoo #2's strange action, that the dealer was oblivious to Yahoo #1's "call".  In any event, Yahoo #2 looked at Yahoo #1's hand, laughed, and mucked, taking back his remaining stack.

So, this is a fine kettle of fish.  Yahoo #2's action seems to be a pretty clear string bet.  But, it seems possible that he was angle-shooting, using the betting line rules to gain an advantage.  On the other hand, although Yahoo #2 said "all-in" and pushed his stack across the table, Yahoo #1 did act a bit precipitously in tabling his hand, even though it was required by house rule, prior to the dealer indicating action was on him or clarifying whether the all-in was a legal bet.  On the third hand, the dealer was slow to issue a ruling on a string bet and correct Yahoo #2's action prior to Yahoo #1's "call".

So, dear readers, what do you think?

• Should Yahoo #2's "all-in" stand?
• Should the dealer have handled things differently?
• Is Yahoo #1 at fault for tabling his cards?
• How should a floor rule if he is called to the table by Yahoo #1?

(Here are Robert's Rules of Poker for basic betting and no-limit betting, though this situation seems not to be contemplated within those rules).

On a Slow-Roll

Recently, F-Train had a thoughtful post on slow-rolling, the rude and rather unsporting practice of keeping your cards hidden from your opponent at showdown, when you have a strong or even nut hand.  Frankly, it's rather reminiscent of a cat playing with a mouse—giving the poor victim what appears to be a chance at survival, when their doom is, in fact, sealed.  Now, cats do what they do out of instincts hard-wired by evolution; none of us think of cats "choosing" what they do, at least in a morally culpable sense of "choice".  But people do make choices, including whether to be a jerk or not.  As F-Train put it:

I've been slow-rolled before, of course.  Play the game long enough and it will happen at some point (although being flat-out lied to on top of that was a new one to me).  My question: what possesses people to act like that?  Are their lives so miserable that the only way they can get any joy is by trying to give others a false sense of hope, just so that they can watch those other people deflate?  Are they so insecure that they can only find any self-worth by tearing down the people around them so that they feel better about themselves?

Consider these two scenarios I've recently encountered, and debate whether the player slow-rolled or not:

• During a recent eventful session at the Meadows ATM, I'm in the small blind, UTG player raises, couple of callers, so I call with JTs, and the big blind calls.  Flop is J-7-3 rainbow, I check, UTG bets, I check-raise, BB and UTG call.  Turn is a Ten.  Donkey Kong!  I bet, both players call.  River is an 8, with no flush possible.  I bet, BB calls, UTG raises!  This perplexes me, since I put him on top pair good kicker or an overpair.  I figure he would have played a set faster.  There was a four-card straight on board, but I couldn't figure him for a 9, unless maybe 99.  Finally, I call.  Then, the BB snap-calls, which confuses me.  We all sat there for a few seconds, and even though it wasn't my place to show first, I fear heat death so I finally shrug and say, "Top two" and roll over my hand.  BB pauses, then shows 97o for the straight.  UTG pauses a bit longer, looks at both of our hands, then finally rolls over ... Q9s for the nuts!  I say something snarky like, "Wow, you weren't sure if a straight was good?" and mentally debate which of various medieval torture devices to use on the both of them.  Anyway, the situation was rather annoying, and it has me rethinking my practice of showing first even if I don't have to in order to keep the game moving; being a nice guy isn't always the right play at the table.
• During a recent session at Riverside Poker Emporium & Donk-A-Rama, I found myself in a hand with a maniac who was playing literally any two cards, and doing some good-natured trash-talking.  I had AA in the blinds, and 3-bet his usual button-raise; he came back over the top, and we got it all-in right there.  Now, I usually don't show my hand on a preflop all-in, though it's not a hard and fast rule, and if someone else shows their hand and it's been a friendly game, I may roll mine as well so the table can sweat the hand.  So, first question—is it wrong not to immediately roll over AA/KK in a preflop all-in?  In any event, because this kid had been running like god, I didn't roll my hand.  The flop came down A-Q-T with two to a suit.  Yahtzee!  I said, "That can't be good," half in jest, and half certain in a fatalistic way that the kid had KJ.  The turn completed the flush.  I looked at the kid and said, "That really is bad for me."  Kid was silent, but looked at his cards.  The river was an innocuous small card.  I rolled over my hand as I said, "I doubt these are good."  Kid looks at my hand and mucks, then asks, "Your hand was no good, huh?"  Second question—Since I showed in turn and without delay on the river, was this a slow roll?  Third question—Was my joking about not liking the flop or being behind out of line?

Now consider this scenario from the IMOP Tournament of Champions, when I found myself in a hand against buddy Santa Claus playing 1/2 NLHE at the Venetian.  Here's Santa's official version of the hand:

I am in BB with 73off and get to check my option.  Flop comes 3-5-9.  One small bet and Grange and I both call. Turn is 7 for my two pair and I lead out for $25.  Grange comes along with a flat call that doesn’t feel right.  Turn is a paint card, no flush.  I think for a few moments knowing that Grange will raise a bet here whether he has it or not.  I decide pot control and check to him.  He bets $65.  I sit and ponder, mumbling nonsense that he makes fun of.  I decide he’s got either nothing at all or 7/5s for two pair.  I call and say, “Do you have two pair?”  He replies, “No…” and before I can let him finish I proclaim, "Well I do!" and flip up my hand.  He then grins and finishes his sentence, “…no, I don’t have two pair.  I have a straight,”  And flips his cards over one at a time showing 6/4s.

Just for some background, Santa and I have this running joke where we imitate Sammy Farha, saying, "I have ... straight" in a dramatic tone with a bad accent.  So, I was using that line when the showdown occurred.  Also, I'm certain Santa was mentally preparing some taunt against me as he stacked the chips from the pot he was sure he had won.  Oh yeah, he's a good friend.

So, where do you draw the line for what's ethically acceptable and unacceptable practice at the table?  Consider these ethical questions:

• Does a player with the nuts need to show immediately at showdown, without regard for the order of showdown (thereby forfeiting his right to see his opponents' cards)?  Or does slowrolling only occur if a player delays when it is his turn to show? 
• Can a player with a strong hand pause to "read" his opponents' cards?  What if he has the nuts; does he still get a moment to read his opponents' cards to see how they played the hand? 
• Does the size of the pot matter; should a player get more leeway with a big pot while we are more strict with small pots? 
• Is it OK to slow-roll for dramatic effect, as with quads or a straight flush, or with some kind of improbable winning hand? 
• Is slow-rolling acceptable when the opponent has been a jerk in this hand?  Prior hands?  Has slow-rolled you?  Has slow-rolled another player? 
• Is it slow-rolling if another player asks if you have a certain hand (e.g., "You got an ace?" when an Ace is on board and he is clearly indicating a pair of aces is good), and you do not show that hand, even when you have it or a stronger hand (say, middle set)?
• Is slow-rolling OK if it tilts a player?  After all it's not against the rules, and isn't poker about getting opponents to play poorly?

 So, to put it another way, a slow-roll is neither slow nor a roll.  Discuss!

Weird Night at the Meadows ATM

Posting has been a bit light this week as I had that annoying "work" thing to deal with in advance of a long holiday weekend, and the start of football season.  I had a good chuckle, though, when one of my law partners walked into my office to talk fantasy football.  I'm manager for a league that's been around for 15 years now, and it has the usual 5 or so guys who are passionate about it, and another 9 guys who just like to meet for beer and wings every now and then.  Anyway, I had sent an email to the league last week setting the draft date and location.  Kelly had emailed me back withing 10 minutes:  "I'll be there."  Then, yesterday, he asks me again when the draft will be held.  I remind him of the date, and he says, "Oh.  Well, we [he and his wife] feed the homeless on Thursdays.  Guess I'll need to find someone to draft for me."  Now, I'm somewhat boggled by how his charitable activities escaped him when he initially confirmed he'd attend the draft, but I'm equally intrigued by the possibilities of this line being a useful way to avoid social activities I despise, but can't find a good way to avoid.  Rubber chicken awards dinner?  Sorry, feeding the homeless.  Retirement reception?  Wish I could, but I'm working the soup kitchen.  Hmmm, it even makes the other person feel slightly guilty for attempting to impose on your time in the first place.  Awesome!

Anyway, late afternoon I was talking to an expert witness when Ironman Bonnie starts twittering that he was in Des Moines for biz and wanted a Meadows ATM outing.  I wrapped things up and headed out.  After a short wait, we both got seats in the same new 1/2 NLHE cash game.  It's hard to do justice to that game, but let's just say statistical variance was in full effect, as bad play was constantly rewarded with weird two pairs, gutterball draws, runner-runners, and backdoor flushes happening repeatedly.  Bonnie was playing his usual LAG style, so we had the table in a frenzy in short order:

• Bonnie felted a guy when his 52o ("the Sahara") flopped bajos dos pairs and rivered a canoe.
• Bonnie turned pocket ducks into quads against me (stupid SVB!).
• Bonnie gifted me $75 when he mucked his bluff with the best hand on the river, letting my 44 win.  And he wasn't even drunk!  I may buy him a steak sometime.  Maybe.
• I got a little revenge for the quad ducks, bluffing Bonnie off QQ with a palindromic near-all-in bet of $232, leaving myself $1 for a river bluff.
• Bonnie hung around a hand with 32o, going runner-runner 54 for the idiot straight.  When he led out for a big river bet, and finally got called, I named his hand before he rolled it to tilt his victim.  Classic Bonnie.
• I ran bad for a while, getting down to my last $80 on my third buy-in, but I rallied to get back to even before I cashed out, starting when my Spanish Inquisition used fear, surprise, and a fanatical devotion to a flopped straight to torture out a quadruple-up.
• My Groundhog Day hand du jour was AQ.  I had that hand easily two dozen times in an eight hour session.  I probably lost over $1000 with it, misplaying it every way possible, before getting a little back in a $350 pot when my TPTK held up versus two draws.  I would have made a monster profit if I had merely mucked AQ preflop all night.

AVPer "zzjitterzz" was at the Meadows ATM for the Thursday tourney, and ended up taking third, apparently eschewing my final table advice to "Play better."  Maybe next time he'll listen to me.

Also, there were a couple of "Grumpy" moments.  Early on, a gentleman joined the game who clearly was something of a newbie.  Newbie sat next to legendary uber-nit Fred.  Newbie and I get into a hand, and my 8h6h flops a flush draw with gutterball.  I check-raise Newbie, who calls.  Turn makes my straight open-ended, so I pushed, in large part because Newbie seemed reluctant to call the flop.  Newbie thought a long time, then called off his last $75 or so.  I turned over my cards and say, "I just have the big draw."  Newbie looks at my cards, but doesn't say anything.  River is a blank, and I'm left with 8-high.  Newbie is staring at his hand, says, "I missed", and looks about to muck, when Fred helpfully pipes up, "Well, you have Queen-high."  Newbie looks back at my hand, then tables his Q6s (for a missed straight draw, natch).  Gee thanks, Fred.  Next time, stick to walking old ladies across the slot machine aisles.

The other annoying moment was late in the session when a young guy joined our table while waiting for a seat in the 3/6 LHE game.  He lost a buy-in, then got involved in a multi-way raised pot.  I called in late position with JTo, and the flop obligingly came down K-Q-9 rainbow.  Pac-Man!  Long story short, I bet, Young Guy raises, I push, Young Guy calls all-in for about $150 total.  Young Guy, who clearly fancied himself a player, says, "I got ya".  I rarely roll my cards on an all-in, but I do when I have the nuts or something close to it.  So, I tabled my hand and said, "I don't think so.  I've got the nuts for now."  Young Guy stands up and starts chanting, "pair the board, pair the board", so I figure he has a set.  Turn is another 9, and Young Guy goes all Hevad Khan, slams his hand down, and yells, "Ship it!!", then starts pacing behind the table in triumph until he gets pushed the pot.  Seriously dude, it was a pretty average pot in a 1/2 NL game, not the final table of a WSOP tourney or a monster pot on High Stakes Poker.  Act like you've won a hand before.  Thankfully, Young Guy busted out in the next two orbits; "Vengeance is ours!", sayeth the poker gods.

Annoying Angle Shots—The Two Pair Gambit

Forgive me while I get all Grumpy, but this past week I've seen a couple examples of what is quickly becoming the most common and most odious of lowstakes angle shots, at least at the low stakes games I play—the "two pair" gambit.  Here's how the play usually goes:

The hand is at showdown, and the board is paired—say K-K-9-5-4.  The victim is reluctant to roll his hand, so the angle shooter—who holds a hand like A5 or 54—very loudly says, "Two pair!"  If the victim is fairly new to poker, he may muck a hand like A9 or 88 without showing, focused on the idea he has one pair using his hole cards, not taking into account that the board also has a pair, giving him a decent two pair hand as well.

I saw this angle shot used three times in the past two cash game sessions I've played.  It worked once, and nearly worked a second time.  In the second case, the player rolled up her hand to show she had caught an Ace to pair her AQ; she thought she had gotten unlucky, and inadvertantly won the pot.  In the first case, the angle shooter (a stereotypical young poker d-bag, complete with sunglasses, scruffy beard, and Ed Hardy sweatshirt) rolled his "winning hand" (pocket fours) after his victim mucked, and couldn't stop grinning like the Cheshire Cat when his victim caught on and tried to complain about his mucked hand.  The victim cashed out less than an orbit later, still agitated about the hand.  Our studly angle shooter won himself a nice $30 pot, and drove a bad player and his remaining $200 (and who knows how much more) from our game, and possibly from live play altogether.  I hope it was worth it.

(Image by "Geyzerrr" at DeviantArt).

Girl, Irritated

Tonight I finally caught up on my TiVo'd WSOP 2010 episodes.  As usual, early round coverage focused on various celebrities and poker royalty as ESPN sought to manufacture a story.  During one episode, ESPN featured several hands involving WSOPE main event champion Annette Obrestad (a/k/a Annette_15) as she played in her inaugural WSOP Main Event.  Although she came into the WSOP with high hopes and high pressure, Obrestad's results were rather pedestrian, if not disappointing.

Now, I have previously played poker at the same cash game table as Obrestad during IMOP-V.  I found Obrestad to be a very pleasant, humble, and fun player.  Watching her during the WSOP coverage, Obrestad showed a markedly different attitude of arrogance mixed with petulance:

• After two-barrel bluffing with ATs on a Queen-high board, she gave up on the river when a second 8 hit the board, giving her opponent trips (he had middle pair with the 8 on the flop).  She whined about how she could have bluffed her opponent off any other river card.
• She pushed all-in with 99 on a Ten-high board, and made a sharp remark about slowrolling when her opponent thought briefly before calling with JJ.  She managed to suck out another 9 to stay alive, and was admittedly rather gracious in acknowledging she had gotten lucky.
• In the hand that spelled her WSOP Main Event doom, Obrestad again pushed all-in on a Nine-high flop with just AJ, and complained about her opponent calling her with QQ, claiming that she thought her opponent could never call her with an overpair.

Although I was rooting for Obrestad to have some real success, I found her attitude both surprising and disappointing.  Now, to be fair, Obrestad is nowhere near the level of poor sportsmanship exhibited by a significant number of male players over the years, including notables like Phil Hellmuth, Mike Matusow, Eric Molina, Hevad Khan, and Shawn Sheikhan, among other infamous poker d-bags.  In fact, Obrestad was probably no worse than any of the hundreds of generic whiny poker players in the Main Event field, most of whom were never within 50 yards of the TV table, and all of whom returned home to regale their buddies with tales of how they busted out on Day 1 because a bunch of yahoos made a ton of donkey plays.

Obrestad is clearly an incredibly talented player who will likely continue to have great success in poker (Exhibit A is her amazing laydown of 44 after flopping 4s full of Yaks, only to have her opponent turn Yaks full of 7s).  I guess I had just expected, or at least hoped, her elite talent would be accompanied by a more decorous attitude.

Girl Interrupted at Her Music—Johannes Vermeer

(image via Wikipedia commons)

Just the Tip—Getting Shafted, Gratuitously

Janice, I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating.  I don't like the feeling.  You're sitting there, you're wondering, "Do I have food on my face?  Am I eating?  Am I talking too much?  Are they talking enough?  Am I interested?  I'm not really interested, should I play like I'm interested?  But I'm not that interested, but I think she might be interested, but do I want to be interested, but now she's not interested?"  So all of the sudden I'm getting, I'm starting to get interested.  And when am I supposed to kiss her?  Do I have to wait for the door cause then it's awkward, it's like well goodnight.  Do you do like that ass-out hug?  Where you like, you hug each other like this and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to get too close, or do you just go right in and kiss them on the lips, or don't kiss them at all?  It's very difficult trying to read the situation.  And all the while you're just really wondering are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions?  Perhaps play a little game called "just the tip". Just for a second, just to see how it feels.  Or ... ouch, ouch you're on my hair.

—Jeremy Grey (Vince Vaughn) in "Wedding Crashers"

I ran across an interesting article this weekend by Greg Beato at the Smart Set examining the historical context for the recent phenomenon of "automatic gratuities" being added to dining bills in a rapidly expanding range of restaurants (hat tip Andrew Sullivan at the Atlantic).  One interesting anecdote:

These days, the idea of not tipping is almost as impossible to comprehend as the idea of paying for news.  Who does that?  Crazy people?  Criminals?  Last fall, a pair of college students in Pennsylvania tried to settle their bill at a local tavern.  Brazenly and rebelliously, they tendered $73.87 for the food and beverages they’d consumed.  But they didn’t want to leave a tip, even though the tavern had thoughtfully applied an automatic gratuity of $16.35 to their tab. (The tavern presented this automatic gratuity as an 18 percent charge, but $16.35 is actually 22 percent of $73.87.)  Because they’d had to get their own napkins and utensils, fetch their own soda refills, and wait for their food as their waitress grabbed a smoke, they decided a more appropriate gratuity would be zero.  The tavern’s manager insisted otherwise and called the cops, who promptly handcuffed the Bonnie and Clyde duo and hauled them off to jail.  Eventually, the local district attorney had to let them go.  There isn’t any law against not tipping.  Not yet anyway.

Now, I understand imposing an automatic gratuity for large parties, so that a server stuck waiting on one big group rather than several smaller tables doesn't risk being stiffed on the tip (fewer tables with larger parties adds tipping variance for servers).  But adding automatic gratuities for routine diners essentially destroys the entire concept of tipping.  If restaurants need more money to cover wait staff payroll expenses, why not just raise prices, or impose a "service charge" in lieu of tipping?  Is it a psychological ploy, where restaurants assume their customers won't dare complain about a charge that purportedly is going to their server, not the business?  Although I have no problem with tipping as an essential part of the service industry, I do strongly disagree with the concept of a mandatory tip.  Unfortunately, I fear mandatory tips will catch on, as the restaurant industry will find the "automatic gratuity" trick a sneaky way to stick it to their customers.

Anyway, the reason this article caught my eye was that I was musing about poker tipping this weekend.  I played in an Ironman home game, where most players bought in for less than the $200 maximum for a $1/2 NLHE cash game.  Yet, at the end of a marathon session, there were some big winners cashing out.  On the other hand, I played a $1/2 NLHE cash game at the Meadows ATM on Sunday, where most players bought in for $200-$300, yet by the time I went to cash out, there were only one or two big winners, and plenty of short stacks at the table.  So, where did all the money go?

Obviously a big chunk of the cash went to pay the rake and the jackpot drop.  If you figure ~30 hands/hour, with ~20 of them hitting maximum rake ($4+$1), you're looking at ~$100 in rake and ~$25 in jackpot drop per hour coming off the table.  That's bad enough, but let's look at tipping.  Assume most players tip $1 on pots over $20-$30.  Also, some players tip $2-$5 on a large pot or to a dealer they like.  Plus, most players tip $1/drink, and a couple of bucks for food service.  All told, tips probably take an additional $30-$50 per hour off the table.  Add in the rake and jackpot drop, and you're looking at a mid-range buy-in coming off the table every hour, a buck or two at a time.  It's the proverbial death of a thousand papercuts.

Now, before getting all indignant about dealer tips, we need to look at the alternatives.  Assuming dealers make a small base hourly rate on the house's dime, dealers probably take in ~$20-$40 per hour, mostly in tips.  If a dealer works 20-40 hours per week (and many dealers likely work fewer than 40 hours per week), then a typical dealer's pay is in the range of $20K to $80K per year, with most dealers likely earning in the lower-middle part of that range.  Not bad, but not exactly getting filthy rich either.  A few dealers at the best casinos with the seniority to work the most lucrative shifts and most hours likely make better money, but they are the elite exceptions to the general rule.

Casinos obviously are not operating poker rooms for charity, so they need to turn a profit to keep the lights on and cards in the air.  Employee wages are obviously a major, if not the major, overhead expense.  Setting up a tipping system passes the bulk of the payroll responsibility to the players, and at least ostensibly motivates dealers to provide optimal service to players.  If tipping were abolished, poker rooms would need to come up with some other method of paying dealers.  Poker rooms could raise the rake—say an extra $1-$2/pot would permit rooms to pay dealers at roughly the same rate of pay, which would effectively be an "automatic gratuity" charged to the winner of every (or most) pots.  However, the incentive for dealers to deliver exceptional service would be blunted.  Also, who doubts that poker rooms would find some way to keep more of that extra rake for themselves, at the expense of dealers?

It seems like dealers and players should all prefer the current tipping system.  Players only participate (read: pay) to the degree they feel tipping benefits them, while dealers are motivated to provide excellent service.  Or are they?

Michael Lynn, a professor at Cornell, has studied tipping for decades.  “There is a rather weak relationship between the size of the tip and the level or quality of service one receives from their waiter or waitress," he concluded in a 1996 study.  Four years later, he determined that we tip better when a server crouches to take our order or lightly touches our shoulder.  In May 2010, he confirmed that we tip better when a server has large breasts.

Alrighty then, I'm willing to concede that tipping may not correlate strongly with quality of service.  Actually, I'm a good example of why tipping may not correlate with performance.*  I tend to tip above the norm, including tipping for small pots (even just winning the blinds), or tipping incompetent dealers.  Since I'm obviously immune to the breast-size factor, I can confidently say that I tip more out of a combination of habit, friendliness, and social expectation than out of a rational evaluation of a particular dealer's skills.  I do tend to tip better for dealers who are funnier, friendlier, or add something positive to the game experience.  I also tend to tip better at my local casino, or in Vegas poker rooms where I routinely log a significant percentage of my sessions.  But I have yet to encounter a dealer so bad I won't tip them on most hands, simply because that's how the live poker playing system works.  Maybe I'm actually contributing to the perpetuation of mediocrity in dealing—should I withhold tips from poor dealers and tip the best dealers even more, to encourage poor dealers to find another line of work, while giving the best dealers more incentive to stick around?  It's certainly food for thought.

Dealer Jake, who deserves his tips, shills for the Meadows ATM.

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* Of course, "what makes a good poker dealer?" is a tough question to answer, and the answer may vary by player.  To me, technical skill is obviously necessary, but not sufficient, to make a good dealer. Surly dealers who clearly want to be somewhere else, or "Soup Nazi" dealers who rule with an iron fist, are no good for a game, no matter how wizardly their card skills may be.  A certain level of interpersonal skill is critical, at least at the lower level "recreational" type of games most of us play.  A good dealer will add to the playing experience with some degree of personality, whether with humor or pleasant banter.  A truly great dealer can help loosen up a tight table, or help nervous newbies relax and enjoy the process of giving away their money.  I'm more than happy to tip well when a dealer makes a game more fun, more profitable, or hopefully both.