Hitting the wall

I've been moderately successful over the years playing low-limit hold 'em -- mostly $4/8, with occasional $3/6 games and some $6/12 -- but whenever I've tried to step up to $10/20 I've been spanked, taken a hit to my bankroll and had to drop back down.

Actually, that's true primarily here in Seattle, where I'm beginning to realize the games are rougher than in a lot of other parts of the country. Even in Las Vegas, which has a reputation as a tough poker town, I've won playing $15/30. And I've beat the L.A. games pretty good, up to $20/40. (That reminds me, I still need to file a trip report on our recent Los Angeles vacation.)

This annoys me. I've been playing this game for a long time now, more than 25 years, and at this point I ought to have sharpened my skills enough to compete with the "big boys" (really, at $10/20, just the mid-size boys). It's also important financially. The "rake," the amount taken out of each pot by the house, is proportionally smaller in larger-stakes games. And a healthy win in a bigger game obviously is more profitable, which is the whole point.

So what's going on? I know I understand hold 'em well and I have great confidence at the table. I played in the World Series of Poker this summer and even there I didn't feel intimidated. In fact, if anything, as I've said before, some of my biggest leaks come from hubris, too much confidence.

My WSOP table, with "the joker," pro Jeff Madsen

Some of my poor results at $10/20 fairly can be chalked up to bad luck -- I've got stories to tell from a Diamond Lil's session a week or so ago -- but I'm sure a lot of it is me. Sometimes I tighten up too much, afraid of losing at a faster clip, and turn weak/tight. Sometimes I'm too suspicious that the players -- who are clearly a level or two above the low-limit fish I'm used to -- are "making moves," trying to steal pots, and I pay them off with inferior hands. And in some cases, especially at the Muck, the $10/20 players are just better than I am; they play with more discipline for longer periods, exploit even smaller margins of potential profit, and instinctively (or through deeper study) know when to ratchet up the aggression and when to back off. They outplay me.

But I'm determined to break though this barrier.

After my profitable games in LA, I took a shot at the Lil's $10/20 game last week. Not so great. I burned through my "rack of red" -- 100 red $5 chips -- in less than two hours without winning a pot. Argh. I didn't rebuy.

Instead I rebuilt my stack a bit in my next couple of sessions, down in $4/8, and decided I'd look for a spot to try again.

Yesterday, with an afternoon to spend playing while Michelle worked, I drove to the Muck and sat into my normal $4/8 kill game. From my first hand I was on fire -- flopping straights, hitting flush draws, making big pairs stand up, even bulling my way into a few pots. Before long they started a new $10/20 game and, $160 up already, I changed tables and took a seat.

Fortunately some of the tougher regular players weren't around; nobody in the game spooked me. In the first hand I was dealt A-Q of clubs, raised, got called in two places, hit an ace on the flop and got paid off all the way. Nothing to it. Deal me in.

For the next hour or two my papers went cold, but not disastrously so. In fact, I was lucky in a way: I was so card dead that I couldn't get into much trouble. Still, inevitably, chips dribbled away and after a while I realized I was $200 down for the day, even counting my profit from the $4/8 game. Man.

But I kept my cool, finally made a hand or two and rallied a bit. When it was time to cash out I was up $200 for the day -- $160 from the small game, and $40 profit at $10/20!

Not a killing, clearly. But not a loss either. Sometimes just breaking even can feel like winning. Maybe I'm over the wall.

Justice!

In addition to the fun and good fortune of winning a couple racks worth of chips this afternoon, I had the satisfaction of exacting a tiny punishment from the dealer who jacked Michelle out of a pot last month.

After that horrible hand Michelle and I both vowed to stiff "Triple H" from our customary one-dollar tokes when dragging a pot. Unfortunately, in subsequent trips to the Muck either H didn't make it to our tables or we weren't able to win a hand when she did. In fact, I knew it was time to leave in one game last week when Triple H pushed me a pot and I inadvertently tossed her a chip. I'm not paying enough attention, I thought to myself, and I got up and cashed out.

But today, playing in a softish $4/8 game that included my friend and former boss David, I happened to hit a little rush during H's down. Four pots I won while she was dealing, and four dollars I didn't slide back in her direction. I think she noticed too. She looked at me kind of funny and then, when other players tipped her, pointedly knocked the felt and thanked them before glancing back at me.

Is my no-tip policy mean? Oh well.

I'm sure she'll never connect the toke drought with her own bad dealing on that sorry night. But who knows, maybe she'll concentrate a little harder if only to figure out for sure whether I'm stiffing her. That's a good outcome right there.

And anyway, those are four bucks I can use to tip the waitresses, who work harder and are more deserving.

Your lucky number for this week ...

I got off to a pretty good start tonight in my $4/8 game at the Muck, playing the tight, solid style that I think works best here, especially at the beginning of a session. In fact I took down the first four or five pots I entered, all but one without a showdown. Seemed like easy money.

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.

Think you're going fishing?

If you watch any poker on TV like we do, you've seen those clever commercials for Milwaukee's Best Light (the spots are much better than the beer). The setups change, but always a bunch of guys are standing around talking and one of them does something girlie or seems whipped by a wife or girlfriend, and a giant beer can comes crashing down on him.

"Men should act like men," or something like that, is the tagline. It's a pretty funny campaign.

OK, so last night Michelle and I were out playing poker, sitting at the same table, and when we found ourselves contesting a pot she punished me with a classic, made-for-TV dis. Michelle had raised before the flop and then reraised me again after the flop when I bet, trying to take the pot away from her. I sat staring at the board for a minute, trying to figure out what she might have, and she said, "You look like a beer can's going to fall on your head."

Ouch.

I folded, of course, and everyone laughed.