6 Degrees of Seperation
Mediocre Poker
S. G. Lacey
Miserable: Seat #8
As my second card slides face down across the green felt table, I feel an instinctive jolt of nervous anticipation. The blue and white checkered pattern rectangle moves steadily forward, hopefully matching its hidden friend already sitting in front of me.
The card bounces off the spongy yellow leather bumper, compliance provided by the foam pool noodle underneath. I should know, since I helped my older brother build this octagonal poker table eighteen months ago. The colorway is an ode to the Green Bay Packers, the best National Football League squad ever. We grew up here in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, and most of our childhood clothing was of these same recognizable hues.
As my important additional hole card rebounds off the rail, I instinctively trap it with my left pointer finger. I’m sitting just to the right of the dealer, currently my slightly older sibling. In reality, over half of the eight players sitting at the table are my relatives on some level, including an uncle, a second cousin, and my wife’s older brother.
This is a strictly male-only gathering, complete with the prerequisite stocked beer fridge, accepted indoor farting, multiple televisions tuned to sports coverage, unhealthy snack spread, and other general debauchery.
Bending the near corner of my cards, I check one, then the other. 5 of Hearts, 4 of Diamonds.
Not ideal, but I haven’t played in a dozen hands. Currently, I’ve got a good table position here in Seat #8, if I could only get something to bet on. Maybe I can just limp-in with a call, then test my luck on the flop.
As I watch the betting action play out in front of me, this plan quickly deteriorates. A raise to $4, double the big blind, from Seat #5, my uncle, makes my hand, like pretty much all of them I’ve received thus far tonight, completely obsolete.
When my turn to act comes, I simply dump the menial duo off next to the remaining deck sitting in front of my brother, conceding defeat for another round. This has been a miserable stretch of cards.
The only good part about having terrible starting hands is that I haven’t gotten into too many betting spots, so my chip stack hasn’t diminished too much. It’s hard to lose money if you never play.
I glance down at my brother’s chip stack. He appears to be worse off than me; down to about half of his initial tally based on a few middling losses. This home game has only been going for an hour, so there’s still plenty of time to recover. Or rebuy.
We are both very competitive, being just eleven months apart in age, always challenging and pushing each other in games of skill, luck, or both, in this case. We’re both adorned with a variety of scars from various combative and collaborative encounters as boys, but recently we’ve mellowed out and grown together. Still the competitive juices are ever-present.
Since he’s on the button at this eight-person table, I anticipate a call with any marginally viable hand.
From his pile, my brother extracts $4 to make the smooth call, and the betting opportunity moves to the blinds, who are last to act before the flop. Looking left, past my sibling, I see the player in the small blind has amassed a massive pile of chips which is approaching double the starting total of $60 that each of us originally put in.
However, we’re playing no-limit Texas Hold’em, as we always do on Thursday evenings. This format offers lots of opportunity for big swings, and the night is young.
​
Mediocre: Seat #3
I never understand why I have to pay before I get my cards. At least this blind system is better than a straight ante. I’ve already placed my obligatory two white clay poker chips, each signifying a dollar, on the felt in front of me; an honor associated with being the big blind.
Once I get some money committed in a pot, it’s hard for me to fold, even though I know the blinds are a terrible spot to play from.
I enjoy this weekly poker home game. I went to school with the brothers who host this game, and have been playing cards with them since middle school, back when we didn’t have any money to lose. Now we’ve all got real jobs, for the most part, which has only intensified our interest in gambling, and our bankrolls.
Apparently, I’m a second cousin to them, though none of us are sure on the exact lineage, which occurred through a few divorces, and potentially some inbreeding along the way. It seems like pretty much everyone native to this part of Wisconsin is related in some manner.
Speaking of breeding, I used to play every week, but with the newborn daughter at home, I’ve been relegated to a once-a-month cadence by the old ball and chain. That restriction makes me enjoy every minute of this relaxing, testosterone-filled, comradery even more. However, my play has seemed to deteriorate with the lack of practice. I definitely participate in more hands than I should, trying to maximize my limited playing time.
I watch as the action moves around the table. Lots of callers, then a raise by the oldest gentleman in attendance, some relative of our hosts as well. He’s been a good addition to the game, always showing up with plenty of cash, and a willingness to rebuy.
I have a hard time taking him seriously, with his patchy grey beard, and receding hairline, which conspires with his tangled, curly mess of long, brown hair in the back to create an impressive mullet. Still, his play is unpredictable enough to keep me on my toes.
Yep, I’m going to call. As the action moves past the dealer, I reach forward to grab the necessary two additional white chips, anticipating the small blind just to my right will fold; he plays fairly tight.
Instead, the guy in the small blind reraises to $6, simply dropping a red $5 piece on top of his single white $1 small blind. I’m sure there’s some calculations I could do with regards to pot odds, anticipating how many players will call the reraise, but that’s too much thought. Plus, my fingers are already headed towards my chips, and my mind is committed to play.
Scooping up four white discs, instead of the two I’d originally planned, I drop them on top of the duo already committed as the big blind.
Leaning back, I peek at my hole cards again, hoping they have magically changed in the past thirty seconds. Nope, still a King of Diamonds and 6 of Spades. A mediocre play at best. Nobody is going to write up this hand in the annals of poker strategy. But all I need is a chip and a chair.
No one else seems deterred by this reraise either, as everyone calls around, leaving seven players, and a substantial starting pot. Let’s see what the flop brings.
Muscle: Seat #6
I stare intently at the center of the octagonal table, as the dealer slowly flips over three cards, arranging them in a neat row. 9 of Clubs, King of Hearts, 10 of Clubs. As the last face-up rectangle hits the felt, my heart skips a beat.
A perfect flop. I love playing any hand with two colorful face offerings, and now that strategy has paid off. Assuming my short-term memory is correct. I’m used to being able to continually see my hole cards on the computer screen.
As I watch the betting pattern unfold, I take a quick peak to confirm my hidden hand. Both red, so no luck there, but the large “Q” and “J” letters I spot slot in nicely with trio of cards on the board.
Now it’s time to make a decision on how to play the hand. Patience is not my specialty. May as well raise now, and muscle the weaker holdings out.
This is my first night playing in this home game. Actually, it’s my first time ever playing live poker. Granted I haven’t provided any of the other players at the table with these minor details. Still, I’ve logged over 500 hours of online poker already this year, if you count the time from each game individually, though I’m typically playing four sessions at once.
I’ve known about this local card gathering since the summer. While mowing the lawn, and doing other assorted yardwork at a house down the street, I struck up a conversation with the clientele as I often do, hoping to boost my tip.
In this case, my employer was an aging woman, who was very eager to chat. The conversation quickly turned to complaining about how her sons are always hanging out in their basement cave at the end of the road, playing cards, watching sports, and drinking beer, when they should be over at her place doing chores like they used to.
I can’t blame them, this den is sweet, and these guys look to be roughly thirty, so probably have better things to do than pushing lawnmowers and piloting snowblowers. Heck, I don’t plan on partaking in landscaping exertions any longer than necessary to build up my online poker bankroll.
Fortuitously, earlier today I was over at the lady’s house clearing the driveway and sidewalks after the first Midwest snow of the year, and she mentioned her sons were playing poker tonight if I was interested. An exchange of phone numbers, along with a few texts later, here I am.
I’ve been trying to lay low, even though that kegerator is calling my name. Granted, I’m only seventeen years old, and drove over here in my parents’ station wagon, so should probably stay sober. However, the unofficial drinking age in the state of Wisconsin is roughly twelve years old, with the local cops turning a blind eye even if they don’t know you by name. Maybe if this straight pays off, I’ll reward myself with a pint.
I do like the vibe of this crew thus far. My stack is slightly below neutral, plus I’ve already pounded several colas, and scarfed down over half a bag of potato chips. Not the best snack for fingering cards, or my budding acne, but I’m perennially hungry.
The bratwursts in the crockpot smell great, but I’m trying not to take advantage of all the amenities on my first night here.
The small blind has come out with a modest bet, $4, with surprising calls all the way around to me. Everyone likes the flop apparently.
This past hour hasn’t provided enough time to establish a full profile of the raiser, or anyone at the table, for that matter. Sporting a red flannel shirt and backwards mesh trucker cap, he’s the chip leader, having premium cards on the three hands he’s shown thus far.
Right now, I’ve got the top hand, so could slow play and just call. However, the opportunity for a flush worries me. Better to force those drawing characters out now.
I’m used to simply clicking a button to place my wager: a quarter, a half, or a full pot bet, executed digitally and instantaneously. This live table experience with physical chips is quite different.
I take time to calculate the growing total pot, then bet roughly a quarter of it. $13 into a $58 pile, taking some slight creative license to incorporate my luck number into the action. I make sure to place down two red and three white chips as opposed to one red and eight white. They seem very particular about betting protocols here.
Miss: Seat #7
Well, that flop was a complete miss. There’s another decent opening hand gone to shit.
This young kid to my right is starting to wear on me. I’ve been playing poker in this basement for over two decades, and now this punk thinks he can come here and start a raising spree on his first night at the table.
With all the other players remaining in the hand, I can’t rationally justify calling the initial bet, let alone the reraise. Even if I hit my inside straight draw, there’s still a chance I’m beat. Begrudgingly, I toss away my collection of face cards, an Ace of Spades and Jack of Hearts, which seemed a lot better when the hand started.
Time for another beer to wash away my sorrows. My stack has dwindled down to below $20. I’ll need to push all-in soon, so could use some liquid courage. As I rise and walk over to the basement fridge, chips continue to clink into the pot. Apparently, everyone except me is paying to see the turn card.
I remember when we played five card stud in this unfinished cellar, balancing on rickety folding chairs around a square table with a warped cardboard top, a cooler full of light beer always easily within reach. Actually, based on the action tonight, I wouldn’t mind moving back to that more casual format.
Granted, the amenities have improved, as evidenced by the pair of 50” flat screen TV’s mounted on adjacent walls in the far corner, and the beer tap extending out the side of the fridge, complete with frosty mugs in the freezer up top, and shiny drain shelf for foam management below.
After the Navy veteran who lived in this house kicked the bucket, the brothers pooled their money and bought the place. I’m not sure if they purchased it out of nostalgia from our neighborhood poker games, or because it’s located right down the street from where they grew up.
Either way, two years later the basement, along with the rest of the house, has been fully renovated. They rent out half of this duplex, which apparently covers most of the mortgage costs, and live together in the other side. Not a bad gig; potentially there’s a budding residential rental business in the family’s future.
One of our hosts always occupies the seat of honor, which offers the prime view directly at one of the televisions, which is perpetually tuned to live or replay football, Packers or Badgers always taking precedent. The other large screen, easily visible with a slight head turn from the throne of power, revolves through various broadcast sporting events depending on the time of year.
Uncapping a bottle of brown glass with the cast metal bottle opened mounted to the wooden countertop, I plop down into one of the plush corduroy recliners which sit behind the poker table. From here, both TV’s can be easily viewed, as opposed to my current seat at the octagon, where one screen is directly behind me, and the other tight on my right, barely perceptible through peripheral vision.
That’s what I get for being the last person to show up tonight. I should know better.
Since inception, there’s been a general structure for the poker game start time and format. $60 buy-in, dealer’s choice, cards start flying at 7 PM, get a seat early before they’re full. Granted, when the old military man and I started this game ages ago, we had a black and white television with rabbit ears, often having to revert to the AM radio for sound on the desired local sports match.
As long as there are four willing players, the game keeps going; we’ve gone well past midnight on many an occasion. This tradition still holds. However, the next generation of hosts has made a few welcome structure modifications.
Now, the first hand is dealt when the Thursday night NFL contest kicks off, and you can’t cash out until the game ends. How far we have come, thanks to this new class of motivated young lads.
In the summer, we adjust the start time back an hour, to allow for enjoyment of the extra sunlight, and so those who are inclined can head down to Milwaukee for the Brewers traditional Thursday matinee contests when they’re playing at home.
The Brew Crew was unfortunately bounced out of the playoffs in the initial NL Wild Card series this year, but there’s still plenty of MLB playoff baseball to watch. October is a great time for poker and sports viewing.
Turning my attention back to the poker table, I see the remaining six players have all called the aggressive $13 bet, bringing the pot well over $100, as evidenced by the four black chips the dealer has consolidated in the pile.
This is shaping up to be our largest pot of the night, and I’m sitting on the sidelines. Figures. May as well watch the rest of the hand from this comfortable chair and enjoy my beer. No need to moderate, my house is an easy two block walk away.
Math: Seat #1
Analytics. Logic. Calculations. All critical variables of a useful poker decision.
I’m on the dealer button this hand, the best position in Texas Hold’em, as it offers the opportunity to see all the betting action play out in front of me. There’s been no shortage of drama with this pot thus far.
I replay the sequence of events on the hand in my head, then mentally take stock of the pot size, and my remaining meager stack.
It seems like I’ve been one step behind all session, limping in and simply calling reraises, rather than utilizing the aggressive style I prefer to execute. But now I’m pretty much pot committed. I should have wagered more pre-flop, to get some of these players out, though no one has seemed very interested in folding to any bet thus far.
The board looks harmless enough. No pairs out there, so if the flush hits it’s got to be good with my suited hand, which includes the Ace of Clubs. With my moderate kicker, a jack, I’m skeptical that this ace will capture top pair, even if it does come off. However, there’s still the inside straight draw potential as well. Best case, I’ve got sixteen outs: nine clubs for the flush, four queens for the straight, and three aces for the over pair.
Still, the pot is pretty substantial, already the most substantial of the evening, and we haven’t even seen the turn yet.
We have clearly defined rules for this home game, which has been going for years now, even though the cast of characters has rotated through over time. We always play on Thursday nights, always have a crock pot of meats, and always have eight players to start.
Five of us who are essentially shoe-ins to participate, unless travelling out of town. I have another half dozen who I can text on a moment’s notice. As a result, having a new player at the table, like tonight, is rare. But the boy who takes care of my mom’s yardwork has been nagging me to get in the action. We had a last-minute drop-out, so this pimply-faced Mexican kid is at our home game. And currently has a larger chip stack than me.
My high school buddy in Seat #3 just bet out $5 from the big blind, then my uncle directly across the table from me tripled the bet to $15. The red chips are piling up. There aren’t many hands that would have been helped by the 6 of Diamonds that came on the turn, at least not many hands that anyone should still be holding, based on the fast and furious betting recently.
The big blind has been check-calling, and plays pretty loose, so could have anything. My uncle concerns me, as he raised pre-flop also. Maybe a pair of sixes, which just turned into a set. Even that hand would leave my flush and straight draws in play.
Yep, the math says I should call. I shove my remaining chips, all $14, into the mix. Now I’m pot committed, but don’t even have enough money to get all the action.
One nuance of our home game, which we’ve refined over time, are the chip amounts. Currently we use only three colors: white, red, and black, corresponding to $1, $5, and $25 respectively. With $10 in white chips, and a lone black gem, each player has just sixteen betting tokens to manage their initial account.
We’ve experimented with other chip breakdowns, more singles, a $10 blue offering, etc., but this has been our format for over a year now. The benefit of the $25 black chip is two-fold: it limits wild betting action, which can be a double-edged sword, and, more importantly, makes keeping track of the total pot count in real time much easier.
Assuming everyone calls around, I’ll need to swap out a few players black chips to organize the main pot. And there’s going to be a pesky side pot to manage, on account of my all-in bet. Confidence isn’t high.
In fact, I’m reaching into my pocket with my left hand to extract more cash from my wallet even before I peel the river card off the deck with my right, and place it in position at the end of the line. But the math doesn’t lie.
​
Methodical: Seat #2
$15 to me, a bet and a larger reraise, with two additional callers already, before I even get to act. This round started so promisingly, but now it seems to be deteriorating rapidly.
I haven’t looked at my cards since they were dealt to me at the beginning of the hand, I never do after the initial check. However, I know I’ve got the top pair, a King of Spades, with the top kicker, an Ace of Diamonds. What are these other fools betting on?
My methodical play has been working well, per usual, as evidenced by my chip stack, which started the hand over $100. I like to keep my chips in tidy piles so I can count them with a quick scan. This also allows for more rapid chip selection on calls and raises.
The way be betting action has gone, I could see someone having a straight, with a few different potential suited connector options. And there’s always the possibility of a set, likely not kings since I have one of them. Plus, that pesky flush draw, which people always seem to overplay.
The three players directly to my left all have substantial chip stacks of their own. So far, I’m only into the pot for $14, but could see this getting expensive before the end. I really despise playing from early position, so should probably just lay Big Slick down, and see how the sequence plays out.
This game is a great break from my daily grind, but allows me to apply some of my strong analytical skills. As an electrical engineer, math, science, and general mental aptitude have always come naturally. Granted, there are probably more valuable uses for my brain power than calculating amperage requirements for breaker panels, and specing out conduit sizes based on fiber optic cable port locations.
My coworker, currently sitting just to my right and dealing, has just pushed his last $14 chips into the pot. We both work at a small construction firm; he’s a mechanical engineer doing HVAC design, while I’m focused on electrical drafting. It’s fairly menial work, but pays the bills, and doesn’t require working weekends or other random hours. Freedom has its value.
He went to UW Madison and I attended Marquette, so we didn’t know each other in college, but over beers have determined we may have crosses paths playing travel baseball growing up. It’s a small world apparently, even in the expansive state of Wisconsin.
We get along well enough at work, but interacting with him outside of the office, first through these poker games, then via mountain bike and snowmobiling adventures, has been a blessing. I always look forward to slinging cards with the boys on Thursday nights. Even if every hand isn’t a winner.
I’m not sure how I could have played this hand any differently. I figured the pre-flop reraise from the small blind would have eliminated at least one player. Maybe a larger lead-out bet on the flop. I hate getting too much money committed in a position of weakness. Yep, may as well stay conservative. There will be more opportunities tonight.
Hesitating for just a second longer, I flip my high-ranking cards into the discard pile and sit back, adjusting my reverse baseball cap in a subtle release of tension. I hate to abandon an opportunity for $25 chips, but I’ve still got three of my own.
I’ll be observing the rest of this battle from the sidelines to see if I made the right decision. There’s always information to glean about your opponents, even when out of the hand.
Miracle: Seat #4
This is a complex board. With lots of betting. But my hand definitely feels like a winner now. Good thing, I need a double up. Now I just wish I had more money to put to work.
I put most of my stack to work before the river, with an open ended straight flush draw after the flop, and the straight locked in on the turn, there’s no way I was getting away from this hand.
But I never anticipated one of only two necessary cards actually landing. I’ve been gaping at that glorious 6 of Clubs ever since it dropped as the river card, the final delivery in the row of five shared offerings.
I need to pull myself together after this miracle. And act normal, despite my racing heart and sweaty palms.
Fortunately, I’ve already taken off my suit coat, having come to the game right from the office. Trying not to provide any visual cues to my opponents, I subtly tug at the knot of my tie a couple times before realizing it’s already loose.
I’ve never scored a straight flush at a live table; but in video poker lightning has struck for me a few times. I guess playing seven hours a day for an entire week in Las Vegas, while supposedly attending a work conference, I was bound to get on a few promising runs.
I had a bad beat on a flush draw earlier tonight, but have slowly worked my way back. Fate was bound to shine down eventually. The chip action has been fast and furious on this hand. I know the players on both sides of me from past poker battles, one’s loose and one’s tight.
My gaze shifts from the beanie-clad, twitchy individual on my right, to the stoic, balding old man on my left. On one combatant, plump, chubby, white appendages are twitching uncontrollably, blood pulsing through the raised veins, while the other’s wrinkled skin and thin, boney knuckles could easily be attached to a corpse at the morgue.
However, my main focus keeps returning to the pile of chips in the center of the table. Nearly $200 already in the middle; raking this haul in would give me the chip lead.
I glance directly across the table at my brother-in-law. He’s already committed all his chips on the turn, like me limping in and calling down raises throughout the hand. That worries me. Or did. Now a higher flush, or full house for that matter, is no longer a concern.
Feeling good about my upgraded straight status, there’s no reason not to move all of my remaining chips to the center of the table.
Granted, I bill out at a few hundred dollars an hour at the firm working as a lawyer, but the pit in my stomach on a big poker hand rivals any nervous tension ever experienced in the courtroom. At least during trial, I can talk my way out of a tough situation. Here, all interactions are nonverbal, macho, and brutally definitive. There’s nothing like gambling, where the thrill of winning never matches the despair of a loss.
But with a 7 and 8 of Clubs in the hole, a hand no one can put me on, this result is more of a lock that any case I’ve ever tried in front of a jury. There’s only one combination of hole cards that beats me, and if that shows up, I’m going to need to take a little break from betting.
I move my last $17 forward in a tidy stack, leading out the betting action in a feinted casual manner, and looking for as many callers as possible.
Matched: Seat #5
I check the board one more time just to confirm. Five cards exposed face up, three of which must factor into my final hand.
I know my duo of hole cards, as they represent one of my favorite starting hands. Everyone in Wisconsin seems to be addicted to football, but my time spent growing up across the border in Canada has made me decidedly more of a hockey fan. Hence my love of the pocket pair termed “Gretzky”, in this case represented by the 9 of Spades and 9 of Hearts.
I actually had a chance to skate against the Great One in an Ontario Province travel hockey league nearly half a century ago. Even at that young age, he was playing several levels above anyone else on the ice. That’s probably what makes this poker starting hand so sentimental to me.
I feel like I’ve played this hand perfectly, and the cards the dealer has been peeling off haven’t hurt either. That last 6 of Clubs was ideal, pairing the board to complete my full house, while also luring in the flush draws. I’m especially happy with my check a few rounds ago; that’s my favorite move when flopping a set, and the strategy really makes it difficult for opponents to put me on a specific hand.
My mind turns over the potential holdings that would beat me. Not many possibilities. I don’t have the nuts, but the better combinations of hole cards for this five-card board can be counted on one hand.
Time to extract some money from the last two fools remaining in the hand who still have chips, the erratic big blind who’s still hanging, and the teenage kid who was so gung ho on the flop.
These young whipper snappers have no idea what they’re getting into. I’ve been playing cards since before some of these chaps were born, especially that pimple faced boy just to my left.
The all-in bet from Seat #4 was inevitable, and doesn’t concern me too much. I reckon making it $35 to call will test the mettle of the remaining players.
Even if I’m somehow crushed by one of the two players who are now all-in, if everyone calls the side pot will be approaching my original buy-in. There’s no way that the two remaining hands have me beat.
Almost before I get my single black and two red chips shifted forward, the kid next to me is folding. One player down, one to go.
I do get one call from the guy in the big blind, he’s been playing marginal cards all night, so could have anything. It’s time for the showdown.
At this home game, we stick to traditional poker reveal format, anyone who paid to call gets to flip their cards last. The dealer, my sister’s son, having pushed his stack way back on the turn, shows first, disclosing the Ace-high nut flush of Clubs. Makes sense, but not an issue for my full boat.
Next the big blind flips his cards, having called down both a raise and a reraise on the river. This must be a solid hand. Runner, runner to a full boat, sixes over kings. Not sure how he got this far down the path with such a terrible starting hand, but I’ve still got the lead.
Lastly, the middle-aged man directly to my right reveals his hidden offerings. Another flush, I think initially. No worries there. Then, I look closer, and see that his cards slot in perfectly with the board to make a straight flush, ten high. My confidence quickly melts to despair. I did not see that coming.
Still, I’ve got one of the side pots. I flip my cards, not as confidently as I would have just a few seconds before, and accept my fate.
Suddenly, the fool in the big blind Seat #3 starts reaching for the second side pot, my money. Apparently, he doesn’t realize how the rank of hands for a full house works, with the higher trips winning, as opposed to the highest overall cards used. No worries, our dealer host quickly straightens this confusion out.
I watch solemnly as the gentleman to my right, properly dressed in a button-down shirt with loose tie, rakes in a substantial stack of chips, over half of the bankroll currently in play. Based on his wardrobe, he’s not hurting for money. Still, it’s a well-deserved pot to claim with a straight flush.
Across the table, the dealer nods silently in approval to both of us, then slides the “D” button one spot to the left, and extracts three crisp $20 bills from the pocket of his jeans. You have to spend money to make money, apparently.
With only three red chips left, before claiming the $36 from the second side pot, I was on the verge of rebuying as well. Time to wins some loot back. Shuffle up and deal.
