Then, in one hand, I had 10-8 in the big blind, checked along with several limpers and was happy to see a flop of 10-9-7, giving me top pair and an open-end straight draw. So I bet right out, happy to lose players or get callers, and felt OK when two players came along, no raise. The turn was a jack, giving me a straight, although if either of my opponents were playing K-Q (or, less likely, Q-8), I'd be toast.
I bet again, to see what's what. Now I was called only by the late-position guy in Seat 1, a solid player with a big chip stack who hadn't been in a lot of pots. At this point I didn't figure him for a straight or he'd have raised heads-up. My best guess was A-10 for one pair on the flop, or J-10 for two pair and a straight draw on the turn. When the river brought another 9 I guessed my straight was still good. This time, though, when I bet Seat 1 raised. I groaned and paid him off -- J-9, for two pair on the turn (my read was close) but a full house on the end.
OK, fine. The point of this isn't to bemoan the beat. But minutes after that hand ended I finished my plate of fried rice and cracked open my fortune cookie:
I passed the fortune around, including to the guy who spiked the 9 on the river to beat me, and we all had a good laugh.
Happily, the 9 did turn out to bring some luck, mostly because of the joke about the fortune. From then on, every time a 9 came on the board everyone looked at me and chuckled, and I managed to hit one 9 for a straight and another for two pair. Another time I played pocket 9s aggressively and took down a pot despite overcards, then showed my pair to the good-sport opponents.
On my last hand of the night the flop was 10-9-9. I had nothing but bet out anyway. A couple players laughed about "there are your nines again" and everyone mucked.
I cashed out an $81 winner -- $90 if you count the lucky nine chips I spent on my dinner and tip.
