Call your banks!

The first hand I was dealt last night at the Muck was a strange one, and even though I didn't end up in the pot I should have known it augured badly.

I've been running good lately, rebuilding a bankroll after what seemed like a long losing streak by tightening down my game, exercising patience and being more willing than previously to give up a hand when I thought I was beat. Playing better, in other words. And it hasn't hurt that I've caught some cards, made some hands and avoided deadly rivers. All of that has combined to make me feel very confident at the table. It's also given me the jones to play, and so last night when Michelle didn't feel like going and my friend David couldn't make it, I decided to try my luck anyway.

So I come in behind the button, in Seat 3, in a kill pot; although normally a $4/8 game the stakes would be $8/16 this hand. The kill button is with Seat 7, a middle-aged Asian man who has a monster wall of chips, probably $500 or so worth of one-dollar whites, and the smug look of a dude who's been running over the game. In fact, he won the kill by bulling a pot and then, after scooping it without a showdown, announcing he hadn't looked at his cards yet and turning over a 3-2 offsuit, no pair, the nut low.

When the kill-pot action got around to the guy on my right, who had laid down the winner in the previous hand and was steaming, he announced a raise to $16 "just in case you haven't looked yet." I folded, Kill Button reraised (without looking, I thought), another guy called, Mr. Steamy capped it, and they went to the flop three-handed with more than $100 already in the middle. The flop was something like K-9-3 and again there was a lot of action. By the river, with a possible straight and flush on the board, they had lost the third player but Seats 2 and 7 were still pushing a lot of chips around and it looked like Kill Button might actually have something this time.

When the betting was done, Mr. Steamy slapped his cards down, hard, on the table in front of him. But before you could even see what they were they bounced funny, flew up and hit the chest of the older man in Seat 5, halfway around the table. They came to rest on the rail in front of him, pocket 9s, for a flopped set and the apparent winner. But now Kill Button protested that Steamy had mucked his cards and the hand should be declared dead. His queen on the river, for one pair, should scoop the pot.

Wild protests and yelling all around. The floor supervisor was called over and after interviewing all witnesses decided that since the 9s never hit the carpet or even Seat 5's lap they were still good. After an admonishment Mr. Steamy could stack the chips.

Now, with the exception of angry Seat 7, there was some light joking. No spiking after a touchdown, someone said. Picking up on the sports metaphor, I added, Call your banks. This made Steamy smile.

The cards didn't bounce so well for me. It was a tough game with tricky, hard-to-read players, and I would have been smart to change tables; staying put was the first of several bad decisions I made.

In one hand I raised from the button with pocket 10s after several players limped in. The flop came 8 high, an early position player bet, I raised, he three-bet and I called. By the end there were three 8s on board but no overcards to my 10s. I wasn't worried about a straight; unless the other guy had the case 8 my boat looked good. Turned out he had pocket queens (unraised before the flop), and he took a nice pot. Later, over-afraid of his trickiness, I played passively when I flopped top pair against him and he caught running cards for two pair.

Needless to say, I didn't need to spike any monster winners. I won a few small pots but cashed out a $175 loser for the night.