Know when to fold'em.

To demonstrate how much my writing has matured and grown, here is a blog posting from two years ago. You can very well see that I am now on my way to being the next Margaux Hemingway.

Texas Hold'em is hard. The game has entirely too many human variables--is he bluffing, does she have a set, and I am hungry, pass the pizza are but a few. My complete inability to calculate hand permutations is a different story entirely; math is for losers with future prospects.

Last Friday night, I went against my better judgment and attempted to play in a Texas Hold'em game with a few friends. Nine people were involved and forty-five dollars was at stake. My goal was to not finish in last place, like my mom always said about competition: you will probably always be a loser, but at least you can strive to not be a total bitch.

The game consisted of two women, six guys and one homosexual. I started off slow, my strategy was to bide my time until I managed pocket aces, apparently that wasn't a reasonable idea. A half hour passed and nary an ace had come my way. Inspiration struck in the form of pocket kings. It was now or never, my time was literally in hand.

I started off strong; I raised five-hundred chips and saw the flop. The highest card showing was a ten, three suits were represented and a straight draw was all but an impossible feat. I raised another five-hundred chips, only three people remained and I had a two thousand chips left. The next card was a five, which matched the other five on the board; I figured no one was chasing a trio of fives and decided to raise the bet one-thousand chips. My two opponents, who happened to be married, were still very much game.

Fear boiled in my gut, sweat drenched my unibrow; however, I was pot committed, reason no longer played a part in the hand. The next card was a deuce, it was lonesome on the table, so I knew my Kings were high pair and a straight or flush was now impossible. Three fives would beat me as could two pair,, so I decided to raise five-hundred more chips and let logic be damned. The married duo called my bet and we all showed our hands. The wife had a five, the husband wouldn't show, I had two kings; my prayer to Che Kung had went unheard.

Even with fewer than five hundred chips, I managed to stay in play for over an hour; I rebuilt my chip stack, lost it once again and eventually ended up sixth. I accomplished all of this without looking one person in the face. Reading people is difficult and I had trouble enough deducing when to bet. Next time I am going to stare into the eyes, gaze into the portals of their souls; who knows, I might just manage fifth.

Oh, and least you feel too sorry for me, I was only out five dollars and had an entire pizza to myself. She who perpetuated three fives had cheese and pepperoni connections galore. All in all, it was a good night's work that ended with a long morning on the porcelain throne.

It is not that I am honest, competitive or smart. I am just an asshole.

The Texas hold 'em poker tournament started with twenty four people, it was now down to me, my friend and two ancillary characters. The top three places paid out cash money.

My friend bets out big in first position, I raise him all-in, as I have substantial edge in chips, he calls. I have an AJ suited, he has a pair of 9s. I catch a J on the turn that holds up for the win. He finished in fourth place, netting him zero dollars for several hours of work. My friend quietly begins to fume.

I won the tournament shortly thereafter. First place paid $200.00. After we left the church – I am seriously considering a career playing on the Catholic Charity Poker Circuit - my friend lays into me for knocking him out. He makes the very valid point: we would have likely finished 1st and 2nd, thus netting more money overall, had we not butted heads against each other.
In my defense, I really wanted to win. I also don't like to share.