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The Worst Play Ever
For
my birthday last year my girlfriend enrolled me in a fiction-writing course at
Stanford. ?Maybe you could get
rich by writing a book about being broke,? she said.
?Others have.? I
went to all ten three-hour evening sessions.
I did my homework and I paid attention in class.
The teacher told us, ?Don?t
let the facts get in the way of a good story.?
That hit me where it helps, and I was forever changed as a writer, no
longer confined by an allegiance to the truth. But
the story I will tell you now is true. It
must be, or there would be no point in the telling.
I am like an astronaut who walked on the moon and returned to write of
feelings unimagined on earth. I am
like a man who for years lived alone in a forgotten forest and returned to write
of his trials and triumphs. For
I am the poker player who longed to fold pocket aces before the flop at $20-40
limit hold?em,
and finally did it. Here is
my story. Thirteen
years ago, my career as a performing musician had become too financially
unreliable. I needed something I
could count on. So I quit the band
and became a professional poker player. I
played in low-limit no-rake flop-games, in homes, and apartments, and church
basements after bingo, and wherever else the action was.
The games were very, very loose. I
read a book that said to fold a lot.
So that?s
what I did, and that?s
why I was able to live well, which I define as: To never pass up a concert
because of the ticket price. As a
poker player, I was successful, which I define as: solvent. I
studied the best player, the guy who got everyone?s
respect and money. He did it
different. He didn?t
show cards or indicate in any way what he had after a hand was over.
And he didn?t
share his opinions on how others played or behaved.
And he never got upset -- by bad luck, by bad dealers, by bad anything.
He was immune to it. And I
thought, I could do that, and I should. I
will train myself -- after a lifetime of spewing information and emotion ?
I will teach myself to keep secrets.
And
somewhere around then is when an idea landed on me like a nearly unnoticed
insect. To fold pocket
aces before the flop. Just
to do it. To see if I could. To
see how it felt. Because
it is there, like a mountain, waiting to be climbed. But
some mountain climbers lose fingers and toes from frostbite.
Some get brain damage from oxygen deprivation. Some die. ?Because
it?s
there? is a stupid reason to justify a stupid act. You
are correct. And now, if you are
quite finished pestering me, would you please be so kind as to point me to the
mountain? Okay.
But are you really sure you want to climb it today?
With rent due and all? You?re
right. Never mind.
Fast-forward
ten years to 2003. I
was playing hold?em
and I lost a pot with pocket aces.
For no good reason I did a quick calculation to see how many
times that had happened before.
I multiplied out the years, hours, and hands-per-hour, and
as it turns out, I?ve
played a million hands of brick-and-mortar hold?em.
That means I have had pocket aces over 4000 times.
If I lost one out of four, then I have lost with pocket aces
1000 times. I have
lost with pocket aces 1000 times. I have lost with pocket aces 1000 times. What
if? What if the next time it
was on purpose? The bug was back
and this time it bit. I
mentioned this idea of folding aces to some of my poker buddies.
After the expected fleering, the ensuing discussions produced
two more reasons to do it: 1)
To make folding easier.
Perhaps if I folded aces one time before the flop, it would then be a wee
bit easier to fold any hand, at any time, especially when I know I should fold,
but don?t.
Yeah whatever. I didn?t
buy it. 2)
To make the worst play ever made
before the flop at limit hold?em.
Now here was a reason I could sink my silliness into.
Billions of preflop betting decisions have been made at hold?em.
It was irresistibly appealing to the hotdog in me to be able to lay claim
to having made the worst one. In
May 2003 I went to Vegas. I
was in a $20-40 game next to a friend who knew of my quest. I
got pocket aces. My friend
folded in front of me. I
raised. Both blinds called.
The flop came 8-8-2 and I lost to an eight.
Then I remembered, damn, I could have flashed the aces to my
friend before the flop, and folded.
The quest would have been over, and witnessed. Couple
days later, the same thing happened, with a different friend sitting on my
right. He folded, I got aces, and I
forgot to flash and fold. The board
came K-J- x, 10, x, and I lost to a straight.
Days
later, driving home through the Mojave Desert, I got to thinking about
this whole folding aces thing.
Maybe it would be best if I kept it a private matter.
Maybe I should do it, to see if I could, and then not tell
anyone, to see if I could do that too.
It?d
be the worst play, and the best secret, all in one.
And besides, who would believe such a tale?
I mean, besides my buddy Alex.
And
why is this simple task so daunting? Is
it the monetary sacrifice? Apparently
not. I could give away a hundred
bucks, or set fire to it, without much effort or pain. But folding pocket aces before the flop, at any limit, even
$3-6, would be far more difficult. So
it wasn?t
the money; it was something else holding me back.
Perhaps the anticipation of engaging the enemy while holding the
best possible weapon is too much for a good warrior to relinquish, under any
circumstances. (In
an online discussion, someone asked the actual dollar value of pocket
aces at $20-40. The
answers ranged from $60 to $100.
Lee Jones replied: ?How much is it worth to know that those
aces are two little pieces of plastic, that you control them, and
not vice versa??) A
few days later, on May 19, I went to Lucky Chances at 4:00 AM to play $20-40.
The game was shorthanded and fast.
I got pocket aces. Just as
my raise hit the table, I thought, damn, there goes another shot at the Holy
Grail. Next time I get 'em, I'm gonna muck. I think I can do it. I
just have to stop and remember. I
lost that hand to a flopped flush. Four
hours later the game was full and I was stuck $800. I got pocket aces again, and I forgot to fold, again.
An ace flopped and I folded on the river when a four-straight came and
it was two bets to me. Only
because of the quest was I aware that I had lost with pocket aces four
consecutive times in two states. Could
it be that I must fold AA before the flop before I can ever win with them
again? I was feeling pressure of
the oddest sort, like I had to get this over with, like an impending
coming-of-age torture. Four
hours later I was stuck $1600 with my last $400 on the table.
The game was loud and reckless, every pot swollen.
I was quiet, and snug, waiting for a hand, waiting for a flop.
My last money would not go in wrong. The
first player folded. The second
player folded. I was next.
I looked at my cards. And
there they were. One red and one
black. Time
conveniently stopped so that I might have a little chat with my selfs. What
are you waiting for? Do it! I
can't. I'm stuck too much. Do
it! I
can't. I just can't.
I never could. I know that now. D
O I T ! ! I
did it. I
mucked those aces and I felt a surge of confidence and power.
I bolted from my chair and over to the no-limit game, where Alex was. I
whisper-screamed in his ear. ?Alex!
I finally did it! Just now! Like
we talked about! I folded aces
before the flop!? Alex
is all about results. He asked,
?Would you have won the pot?? What
a question. Like I cared!
I went back to the $20-40 game and sat down and hid behind my cap bill
because I was afraid to look anyone in the face because I was very much aware
that the chemistry in my brain had been recently and drastically altered by a
recent and drastic event, and that the ends of my mouth were stretched toward
my ears. I couldn?t
make it stop, even if I wanted to, which I didn?t. Eventually
I regained sufficient control of my face so that I could speak.
I started babbling, as if I had won some pots.
I was up out of my chair ten times in the next hour after not moving
for two. A few hours later, I got even, the game got tight, and I got
in my car, still high. It
took two days for the buzz to wear off.
Now, one month and a dozen pocket aces later, I can report
that I am unchanged by what happened at noon on May 19, table 41,
seat nine. I don?t
play or think any differently.
I am like the moonwalker who returns to say that the earth
is indeed round. I
am like the wilderness dweller who returns to say that the forest
is in fact full of trees.
Nothing remains, in mind or matter, from my journey, except
that now, when I lift the corners and see ace-ace, it?s
like I'm getting winked at.
?
2003 Tommy Angelo
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