Two Hands

It’s showdown time, but no one turns over any cards. Several things happen at once. Players not in the hand become instantly impatient. The dealer prompts someone, anyone, to please turn over a hand.

Meanwhile, the players in the pot enjoy a suspenseful moment, as their cards become stronger with the passage of time. Minds race. Eyes dart. It is a pause we all know and I love, when ace-high quickly promotes to a contender.

This familiar delay at the end of a hand comes in many forms. Multiple players might all check the river. Or two drawing hands might go to war heads-up and both miss. Or there might be more to the story, as with these two hands . . .

The Agony of Victory

In a three-handed 40-80 game, I had 3§3¨ on the button. I raised. The small blind called and the big blind reraised. I called and the small blind called. The flop came Aª 6ª 5¨. They both checked the flop and I bet. They both called.

The turn card was the 2§. The small blind checked and the big blind bet out. I called, and the small blind called. The river was the K©, making the board Aª 6ª 5¨ 2§ K©. We all checked the river.

After the ensuing standstill it was clear that no one had much. The small blind announced ‘nut no-pair’ and turned over his busted flush draw: Qª Jª. The big blind and I exchanged a quick glance both hoping the other would muck.

He looked back at his hole cards, then at me, then at the board, then back at his hand, and finally he started to turn over his cards. Dang! That meant I could not win. No way he would show his hand unless he could beat the queen-jack, which meant he had a pair, which meant my pocket-threes were in trouble.

But wait. He could conceivably have a deuce, right? After all, he did bet the turn when the deuce hit. But he reraised before the flop. So what on earth could his other card be? A queen? A jack? I was grasping at strawmen.

After a second that seemed like a minute, he turned over 2© 3©, giving him a pair of deuces. No wonder I could not figure out what was going on. But so what? The main thing was, my pocket threes were good. Shove that pot over here, quick!

The Thrill of Defeat

Years ago, I saw an interview with tennis great, Ivan Lendl. He got my attention when he said, "I try to reduce the amount of thinking in my game."

I think I know what he meant. Like when I’m heads-up with a player whose entire vocabulary is "bet" and "raise." I’ll often decide early on in a hand to meet him at the river.

In a full 20-40 game, I had 6¨6§ on the button. Everyone folded to me and I raised. Charlie the chip-sprayer reraised from the small blind. The big blind folded and I called. It was headsup now with me last to act.

As soon as I called Charlie’s preflop reraise, he bet the flop in the dark.

As no-limit-Kent says, "Oooo, the pressure." Did I care? No way. I was going to call him down, come hell or high cards, so I called him in the dark. Then we saw the flop. Q-9-2, as if it mattered.

Right away he bet the turn in the dark. Lost in the momentum, I called in the dark. Then we saw the turn card: a second nine. We had a nifty rhythm going. The dealer was quick and accurate. The players were following and anticipating every shot, just like at Wimbledon, with less grunting.

Naturally, Charlie bet the river in the dark, and with my pride on the line I simultaneously called in the dark. The betting was now finished. Then we saw the river card, a queen, making two pair on board: Q-9-2-9-Q. My stubborn pocket sixes were counterfeited into a whopping six-high. I never was much good at tennis.

Nothing rattles Charlie. He is a cross between a cool cucumber and a cool customer, the kind of person I like to call a cucumber customer.

He calmly said, "Good call, I missed."

"How bad?" I asked.

That magical moment had arrived again. He had nothing, and I really had nothing. Still, I couldn’t help but concoct a winning scenario.

Sometimes tennis players hit bad shots that are headed long or wide, and get saved when their opponent hits the ball anyway. I mean, I could still win if Charlie had a lower pocket pair, right? Or maybe he had 2©3© like the guy in the first story.

Charlie turned over JªTª. He saw a busted straight draw. I saw an invincible jack-high. I cleared my throat and sheepishly said, ”Uh, that's good, nice hand." We all had a good laugh.