Tommy Angelo

I was had.

My friend Jack is from China. When he speaks English, he does so with a very heavy accent, and his word selection has on occasion caused me to reach for my pen to capture the moment. Like this one time…

We were playing shorthanded $40-80 limit hold’em in the middle of the night. A hand came up where I raised before the flop, and I raised on the flop. On the turn, it was headsup, me and Jack. Jack bet the turn and I called. On the river, Jack bet and I folded. Jack showed his cards. He had a very strong hand.

A little while later, the same thing happened. Jack and I played a pot, and on the river, Jack bet and I folded. Again he showed a good hand.

Soon after that, Jack raised from under-the-gun, and everyone folded around to me in the big blind. I folded. Jack showed pocket kings. What he intended to say to me was something that meant “You have a good nose for sensing when I have a good hand.”

What he actually said was, “You smell good.”

Here’s a decision I made in the $10-10-20 no-limit hold’em game at Lucky Chances in the spring, when the minimum buy-in was $2,000. The lineup — what we lovingly call The Breakfast Club — was playing tight and tough, as it so often does. Inevitably, the cards slice deep cuts into some of the stacks, which causes blood to flow, and that gets the chips moving, sometimes, depending on whose nuts get cracked.

When this hand came up, the game was two hours old, and there had been no major wounds. The two biggest pots of the day had been in the $1000-2000 range, and neither of them went to showdown. On this hand, I was under the gun. I opened for $80 and only the button called. The pot was $190. On the flop, I bet $200 and he called. On the turn, I bet $500 and he called. At this point the pot was about $1600. On the river, I checked, and he went all-in for $1600. (I had him covered.)

At this point, his hand was polarized. I knew he either had me beat, or he didn’t. If I called, I would be getting 2-1 on my money which meant that if he had me beat twice as often as he didn’t, then it didn’t matter what I did. And as best as I could figure it, within the image of reality that exists only in my mind, which happens to be the only version of reality I have access to, that was how it was: the EV of calling was the same as the EV of folding.

So, what to do?

Well, that’s an easy one: move to an outer shell of parameters and weigh the decision from there.

My opponent was a player who often plays pretty snug for long stretches, and then, when he plays a big all-in pot, he will sometimes play somewhere between reckless and rukus for a while. And it doesn’t matter if he wins the big pot or loses it. He tends to get spunky either way. And when the spunkiness comes over him, his spunk can cause a few others to spunk it up, and now we’ve got a game. And let’s just say for the sake of parameter thinning that I thought I could rely on myself to be equally steady, win or lose. So now we have determined that after looking at the meta-game, the decision was simple.  Call and maybe rev up the game, or fold and keep it the same.

I asked myself: Do I feel like playing? And what kind of game do I feel like playing in? My choices were:

Fold and continue playing in a tough-tight game. (I like tough-tight games during those times when I like that kind of game. It just depends.)

Fold and quit a tough-tight game. (Never a bad idea.)

Call and play in a loose-ish game ahead $2400. (Sometimes I keep playing because I’m ahead, and independent of that, sometimes I keep playing because the game got looser.)

Call and quit a loose-ish game stuck $2400. (Sometimes I quit because I’m stuck, and independent of that, sometimes I quit because the game got looser.)

This was a difficult decision for me at the time, and I took way longer than usual on it.  And then a big grin crept over me inside when I realized that the reason I couldn’t attach to one of the options was because I was unattached to all of them. So I pulled out my most trusted scale tipper, my protector, my net. Remember when I said I thought I could count on myself to stay steady if I called this hand, win or lose? Well, that’s not actually true. Usually I can. But sometimes I can’t. And I never really know for sure which way it’s going to be. And even when I am perfectly unflustered by a big pot, it nonetheless increases the probability a little bit that the next big pot might knock me off balance.

I decided to let the first blood spill on someone else’s hand. I decided to wait for a +EV spot to play an all-in pot. And I realized I liked this tough-tight game right now, just the way it is. So I folded and posted my blind.

Acting last is like taking a drink of water. We don’t have to understand why it’s good for us to know that it is. And the benefits are unaffected by our understanding of them.

(From “Elements of Poker”)

This is an image I made in photoshop that I was going to put inside the back cover of my book and then decided not to.

When I play no-limit hold’em, sometimes I’m a minimum wager wagerer. And I don’t mean minimum wager wagerer as in “one who tries to bet the smallest amount that will get them to fold if they have nothing,” such as when the flop is A-A-6 rainbow and a bluffer bets half the pot or thereabouts. I’m talking here about minimum wager as in the absolute lowest legal limit. Sometimes I do it because I think it’s the best play and sometimes I do it because I’m a silly boy.

Last week I made three minimum wagers in one night, at The Venetian. The first two were about 20 minutes apart in a $2-5 blinds game.

Four players limped, including the small blind, and I checked in the big blind. The pot was $25. The flop was a scattered rainbow. I flopped no pair and no draw. The small blind lifted his hand to check, and I put my thunb on the trigger. As soon as his fingers hit the felt, I frisbeed a $5 chip from my stack. It landed without a bounce, just across the betting line. The script from this point typically takes one of two lines. If anyone raises, I’m out. If more than one person calls, I scrutinize them, and usually I come to the conclusion that they won’t call a big bet on the turn, because history has shown that usually they won’t. Sometimes I’ll get a feeling that a caller is sandbagging with a hand that can stand a big turn bet, such as an overpair or a set or top-pair-top-kicker, but that’s really rare, because 1) they usually don’t have a hand that good, and 2) if they do, they usually can’t stand to just call a one-chip flop bet. It’s an awkward spot for them, but not for me, because I’ve often been down this road less traveled.

Two players called the $5 bet and the small blind folded. So now the pot was $40, and I would be first to act on the turn. As soon as the turn card hit the table, I bet $50, using two backspun green chips. I mucked and tipped in one motion, a few milliseconds after the second guy folded.

So now I was well on my way to establishing my preferred image, which is WET (weird-tight).

One round and two hands later, I was on the button with pocket fives. Several players limped, I called, the small blind called, and the big blind checked. The pot was $30. The flop was K-T-5 twotone. The small blind bet $20, and everyone folded to me. We both had about $1,000. I thought he was more likely to have a draw than a pair/two-pair/set, but I wasn’t sure enough either way to make any big calls or big laydowns based on this inkling.

I made it $60. He called, and based on the way that he didn’t fold and didn’t raise, I became more sure that he was on a draw, but not super sure. The turn paired the king. I didn’t think this was the kind of player who would call a half-pot-or-bigger bet here with a draw (possibly drawing dead), and I didn’t think he’d be able to contain himself if he had three kings, so when he checked the turn, I was ready. I bet $5 into the $150 pot. There were a couple snickers from the other end of the table, which is a common play from the kibitzers on a hand like this. The small blind took a little while here, I think he was tempted to raise, but then he just called the $5. The river was an offsuit ace. That card made a straight if he had QJ, and it made top pair if he had the nut flush draw, and when he checked, I didn’t get any kind of read on whether he had anything or not, so I went ahead and slung a $100 chip out there in case he did. He folded right away.

Soon after that I moved to a $5-10 blinds game. I bought in for the minimum $400. There was no maximum buy-in. Two rounds later, there was one guy whose stack had gone from $6,000 to $2,000 while I watched. He was frustrated and tilty. During his downswing, which spanned five flops, he had shown two hands to his neighbor before folding while saying, “So you think I’m running good?” This made me think he actually had run good to get up to $6,000, and his neighbor must have said something like “You’re running good.”

On my next button, I made my stack $2,000. I start many tables this way, buying in small and then adding on later. When I have the small stack, I play very few hands, and when I have the tall stack, I play a few extra pots against certain players. I don’t know what sort of image this rates to generate. What would you think?

The tilty guy opened for $40 UTG. Folded to me on the button. I had 86o. I called and both blinds folded. Headsup. We both had $2,000. This was the first hand of the session that I called preflop. (I had reraised preflop a couple times when my stack was $400, and everyone folded.)

The flop was 9-7-5 with two hearts, giving me the okeydokes. My opponent bet $100 into the $95 pot. I made it $300. Right away he said “Call” destitutely, and then he put two $100 bills in. Would he call like that with just two overcards? I didn’t think so. Would he just call with an overpair? I didn’t think so. So I had to put him on a flush draw. I was ready to bail if a heart came and he acted weak and bet strong. The turn was an offsuit deuce. He checked. I bet $700. “Call,” he said right away. Then he put the money out. The river was an offsuit three. The instant it hit the table, he pulled his cards up off the table so that his neighbor could see them and said, “Is this what you call running good?” I didn’t think he had even ace-high. If I had to guess his exact cards I would say jack-ten of hearts. He checked. I bet $10.

When I moved to California in 1997, my bankroll was about $100,000. That was the barrier between floating freely on the breeze, and crash landing in the dank underworld of employeedom. Of this $100,000, about $40,000 of it was in the form of actual money. About $20,000 of it was money that credit card companies said they would lend me. About $10,000 was how much I thought I could borrow from my brothers if I was about to move onto a park bench. And the rest of my bankroll was tied up in my rather fine piano. (I didn’t know if there were park bench dwellings in the area that could accommodate my piano, so I was uncertain which of those last two pieces of my bankroll would be drawn on first.)

Given that I was going to have easy access to 24-hour-365-days-per-year mid and high stake poker games for the first time in my life, and given that I tended to sometimes play too long at stakes that I couldn’t really afford, my bankroll was in jeopardy from the instant I disembarked at San Francisco airport with my one way ticket to pokerdise. So, I devised some backup plans, some ways that I might generate income without actually having to get a jjj…, a jjahhh… you know, the J-word.

One of them was to give music lessons. I knew I would be meeting hundreds and hundreds of new people, many of them over and over, in the most intimate setting there is for clothed people: a poker table. To break the ice, and advertise, and maybe even build a little client base just for fun, before I even needed to, I had a custom hat made that I wore to the poker games now and then.

Five years later, I had not taken on music students, and it had been several years since I wore the hat. I was doing some packing, preparing to move. I was rummaging through dark corners of closets and ancient boxes with the excitement of an archaelogist — one never knows what one might find, and when — and I came across the Ask-me-about-music-lessons hat. I put it on my head, for no reason. A short while later, I headed out to the casino to play poker.

I was sitting there at the poker table, just sitting there, just playing, and I noticed a fellow looking at me with a frequency and intensity that told me there was something about me on his mind. I soon learned that the thing on his mind was not so much about me as it was above me. It was my hat. He looked at me with a cautious smile, and he said, “Okay. I’ll bite. Go ahead and tell me about music lessons.”

Instantly I remembered the text on my hat, and I replied, “I think they’re a really good idea.”

I was in the big blind in the $10-10-20 game. The player under-the-gun opened the pot for the minimum, $40. He had about $7,000. Everyone folded to the button, who called the $40. He had about $6,000. The small blind folded. It was my turn. My stack was $5,000, and my hand was Q-9 suited. If I wanted to see the flop, it would cost me $20. (Click here for an explanation of the Bay Area’s three blind structure for no-limit.)

Many times in this situation, I have folded. And many times in this situation, I have called. And sometimes in this situation, I have raised.

This time, I folded. Why? I have no idea. Just as I wouldn’t know why if I had called.

What I did know is that whichever option I chose would remain forever unquestioned. Why do I play one note on the piano instead of any other? What is most beneficial to me? What is most enjoyable? To question the notes, or just play them?

The flop came J-10-8 rainbow. My Q-9 lay in the muck, so I didn’t check, and I didn’t bet. The UTG player bet $60 into the $110 pot. The button made it $200. The UTG player raised again, the button raised again, and even though I would have flopped the nuts, I didn’t regretfully imagine myself putting lots of +EV chips into this pot, as the UTG raised the rest of his stack, and the button called.

Both players turned over their cards. The UTG player had pocket jacks. He flopped top set. The button showed 9-7. He flopped a straight. I didn’t see any way that this hand would be settled soon, and I did think I would be able to figure out what happened, so I didn’t resist my urge to go fill my coffee cup.

When I returned to the table, the dealer was shuffling. That was fast, I thought, and my poker sleuther told me the reason, which a glance around the table confirmed. The player who had flopped top set had a $7,000 stack, and the player who had flopped a straight had $6,000, which meant that the turn and river must have been a queen and a nine, putting a queen-high straight on board, making it a split pot. The player who had JJ was shaking his head in gratefulness. The player who had 9-7 was shaking his head in disgust. The chit chat revealed that the 9-7 player now had some tiltiness fluttering around inside, just below the surface.

There but for the grace of folding go I, I thought.

So far this year I’ve been playing almost entirely no-limit hold’em almost entirely at Lucky Chances Casino, near San Francisco. This area of the country lays claim to lots of things that have never existed anywhere else, such as The Golden Gate Bridge, Jerry Garcia, and the triple blind structure in their no-limit poker games. I intend to write blog posts about no-limit hands I’ve played or watched, so in this post I am going to describe the blind structure for future reference.

The Bay Area’s Three-Blind Structure

The three-blind structure has a small blind and a big blind, posted by the two players left of the button, just like every other hold’em game. And it has an additional small blind that is posted by the player on the button. The minimum opening bet is the sum of the blinds. (This means there are no free plays from the big blind.)

Here are the four main no-limit blind structures you’ll find today in the Bay Area:

$1-1-2, minimum opening bet is $4

$2-3-5, minimum opening bet is $10

$5-5-10, minimum opening bet is $20

$10-10-20, minimum opening bet is $40

The Kill

Any player can put out a “kill” before the cards are dealt. The amount of the kill is double the big blind. When a pot is killed, the minimum opening bet doubles. For example, in a $1-1-2 game, the kill amount is $4, and if a pot is killed, the minimum opening bet is $8.

The player who posted the kill is last to act before the flop, meaning the action skips over him and comes back to him. It used to be that kills were allowed from all seats at all casinos. Now there are some casinos that do not allow the button to post a kill.

Some casinos allow two kills. For example, in a $2-3-5 blinds game, one player could post a $10 kill, and another player could post a $20 kill. When that happens, the minimum opening bet is $40, and before the flop, the $10 kill is next to last to act, and the $20 kill is last to act, no matter what their actual seats are.

Let’s say the game in nine-handed, and there is one kill out, posted by the player in the cutoff seat. The player under-the-gun opens for the minimum, and the next player raises. The next three players fold. The action now skips over the cutoff, and the button is next to act. Let’s say the button folds, the small blind fold, and the big blind calls. Now it’s the cutoff’s turn, and after that, the action goes back to the original order of things for the second round of preflop action, which means the action does not go to the player left of the cutoff, which would be the big blind, but rather, it goes to the opener. Yes it’s a little bit complicated. But then, so was Jerry.

How and Why?

How did it get this way, and why has it stayed this way?

I don’t know how the three-blind structure came to be. But I do know when. A really long time ago. Long before California legalized hold’em in 1987. I do know why it has survived the last 20 years. I’ll write that up down the road.

People say you shouldn’t quit if the game is good. That seems like good advice. And people say you should play in good games. That makes sense too. But if you put those two pieces of advice together — that is, if I only play in good games, and I don’t quit good games — then I would never quit.