Poker Safari

Last night, after no less than three aborted outings, I finally got in some cards with the poker gang at work. I missed playing a few hands of cards, and these guys didn’t seem too hardcore, most of them anyway, so I figured I was on equal ground.

We were to meet at Tonka’s place, on the cliffs across from New York City. I dreaded the trip, as I’ve always found that area in near the New Jersey-side entrance to the GW Bridge to be confusing as hell, but I was free to play and didn’t want to cancel again so off I went.

I spare the gentle reader the tale of my reaching Tonka’s apartment, as I did indeed get very, very lost. I blew about a half-hour fumbling around River Road and finally found the steep, winding road up to Tonka’s. When I arrived the guys—Tonka, Steve, and Rob—were gathered around a thick hardwood table gobbling down cooling pizza (pepperoni, of course). Chips and two decks were already out on the table, as was a frightening stack of greenbacks (“change money” set out by our host that largely went unused except as a mood prop).

All personalities were represented: Tonka, a serious online Hold ‘em addict who rarely folds and bets big, Rob, educated on neighborhood poker and a fairly tight player, and Steve, our resident wildman and “let’s try this game” player. This was going to be good, worth my miserable trip there.

We broke out the cold brews and soon set about the task at hand, each dropping $30 onto the table and receiving our chips: red worth $2 each, blue worth $1, and white worth 50 pips. The stack looked very small.

My fears were soon confirmed as we started out with a round of Texas Hold ‘em. I’ve never been particularly good at the game, although I understand the basic strategy. Tonight my main tactic was simple: Fold early, Fold often. I wasn’t about to let an Ace sucker me into sticking around with an Ace–seven coupling or what-have-you. I needn’t have worried—my first pull was a mighty 3–5. I folded so quick a sonic boom echoed over the table. A man can’t even bluff that bad a hand with a straight face. Subsequent hands were no better: deuce–4, 4–10, …where were the good hands the guys got on TV anyway?!?

My steady decline continued until I considered holding a Congressional vote to raise my debt ceiling. I only had about 4 chips left, and had to constantly make “chip change” by betting with larger-denomination chips and pulling back 50-centers. As Daffy would say, “How humiliating!” I got out my wallet and gingerly pulled out a ten-spot. Barry, my old radio station manager, used to have a saying: “That is the bad road.” Well, pulling out that greenback sure seemed like the bad road alright. Rob happily accepted my $10 and my chips grew a wee bit. I kept playing as tight as a sumo wrestler’s mawashi.

We played through a progression of games … Follow the Queen, Five-Card double-draw, Baseball, Pass the Shit (their version off Pass the Trash), and more. I introduced them to Chase the Ace (really just Follow the Queen) and Control. I made jokes about Tonka’s pair of $25 decks that were so slick and new I could hardly hang on to them, forget shuffle them properly. My stack of chips again dwindled and I pulled another $10 from my wallet with a curse.

Then came the moment … Steve, who, with Tonka, was happily ahead hesitatingly asked, “You guys alright with some Acey-Ducey?”

A blossom of hope appeared in my heart. Acey-Ducey is probably the most dreaded of games for most poker players, either because it doesn’t remotely resemble poker or, moreover, because it can create terrifying pots. I’ve seen $30–$70 Acey-Ducey pots appear in nickel–dime–quarter games before. It’s the great equalizer—equally capable of turning poor players into rich or reducing sharks into mere minnows. A few lucky pulls and I would be back in business. Worse yet, these guys played the goalpost rule, meaning that hitting one of the bracketing cards with a similar card meant paying double your wager. Going for a large pot and striking the post was pretty much destruction for any player, or in my case, eating a Snickers Bar lunch for the next few days.

I went for broke, getting reasonable spreads and pulling the pot twice. Steve groaned and steadily threw away his chips into the center. Rob kept pulling sequential cards. And I kept winning. Soon the pot, fueled by numerous bad hands and crappy luck, had grown to a good 15 dollars. I drew a Queen–3. Not a great hand, but the best in a while. I wordlessly waved my hand over the pot and forced a grin on my face. Steve threw down my card with great deliberation … a 9. I was back baby!

Things progressed quickly after that, and fortunes changed. Tonka began throwing good money after bad and Rob, who had been ahead, was doing so poorly he now had to borrow money from me! Hoo-hah! God, life is great when your luck improves in poker. Steve continued to win hand after hand, and he seemed to be a wildcard loadstone, often having two wildcards showing on the table and being forced to bet low just to keep someone in. Rob found Steve winning so odd that he called it Bizarro World and, later, "a Twilight Zone episode in which Steve actually wins." Tonka was shaking his head and muttering in Turkish. Craziness. I bluffed one good hand, driving out Steve and Rob (both of which had high three-of-a-kinds) with my pair of 9s. Like I said, craziness.

Eventually came the vaunted best hand of the night (confirmed later unanimously). The game was Five Card, double draw, fours wild. I started brilliantly with two aces and a wildcard, not quite believing my luck. The bet was mine first and I went soft, as not to scare away what I felt would soon be easy pickings. Rob bet high, a bad sign. Steve instantly called him, another bad sign. Tolga matched and looked pleased. Uh oh. Still, three aces were three aces. I dumped my two garbage cards and received more garbage in return. The others exchanged one or two cards each. They looked even more pleased. Double uh oh. Still, three aces were three aces!
I gave two cards to the last exchange and Tonka flipped me two back. Rob took one. Steve took one. Tonk took one. I bet $4, one of my highest of the night, in an attempt to scare off these brigands. Rob immediately saw me and raised two fins. Steve, a wild gleam in his eye, raised that.
“How much is all that?” asked an exasperated Tonka.
“Eight dollars to you, I think,” replied Rob.
Tonka waged an inner battle and after a very long pause cursed and tossed his cards aside. “Call them, dammit!” he cried.
“You’re toast!” cried Steve, and threw down four Jacks with an Ace kicker.
“Not so fast,” cried Rob, stopping Steve’s hand as he reached for the pot, “get this—four Kings! Beat that!”
I held up a hand. Rob turned.
I dropped my cards on the table … two Aces and two (wild) 4s … four Aces.
“Aw SHIT!” yelled Rob.
Everyone screamed and laughed at that. Tonka’s new girlfriend(?) from upstairs, who had joined us in the meantime, nearly fell out off her chair. Tonka meanwhile, who I think had been clutching a straight, thanked the Almighty that he had ejected when he did. I raked in the loot, feeling like a million bucks.

We continued with more Seven Card and more Acey-Ducey (the second time wasn’t the charm for me) and I managed to get back the $20 I had hocked and turn the biggest profit of the night to boot. Steve won nearly as much. Rob and Tonka were down by roughly the same amount when the smoke cleared. How fortunes change!

I followed Steve and Rob to Steve’s car, when Steve realized he had left his keys behind.
“Oh man, Tonka’s gonna be pissed, he’s probably involved in something personal.” I ferried them back to the apartment, as Rob apologized to Tonk on his cell phone. Soon the keys were captured and we again headed out, me carefully following them as not to get lost. Suddenly, after about a mile, they pulled over. I slowly drew up next them, mindful of the still-busy near-midnight traffic. The window rolled down and they were in tears, hysterical.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I forgot my keys!” Rob cried, and we all howled as that.

After that we separated, them heading back to the apartment again and me winding my lonely way toward Route 4.