Sunday, March 23, 2008

Sour

Man did I come home from the dog track in bad mood. And I'll be honest, it wasn't even about losing money that aggravated me. Here's what got to me.

During the first down, the dealer was cool. I doubled my buy-in without much risk and was rather talkative at the table. It had something to do with my mother's successful plan of having plenty of vodka for me upon my arrival. That's probably her best asset. Providing me alcohol.

I continued having dirty martini's at the dog track, even though they were room temperature and made in a fashion conducive to taste as horrible as possible. But I persevered nonetheless.

The table wasn't very talkative and there was a piss-poor player in the 4 seat who was going broke quickly with his assault on passive play. Mr. check-call I named him. He finally won a pot and said to the dealer, "I can't tip this hand, I need to make my money back first."

It was at this point that I took this opportunity to tip for him. I'm good like that sometime. The dealers need to get taken care of and when they don't, I don't mind stepping in. It's a freakin' dollar for crying out loud. Also, it's just good karma. At least for most people.

After the first 30 minutes were up, in sat the next dealer. An older woman with a penchant for obeying rules to the letter. Before her first deal, she said to me, "Only one earbud is allowed."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Yes, if you're going to listen to an mp3 player, you can only have one earbud in."

Wow. Serious downer. The previous dealer made no mention of this rule and as I'd find out later, neither did the next dealer.

But, not wanting to be a jerk, I complied. With a smile. It was forced, but I smiled still.

Meanwhile, Mr. Check-call had built his stack from about $27 to $500 thanks to some fortuitous anti-aggression. Then he did something so contrary to the nature of the game I was trying to build that it set me off.

I was in a hand with him and called a river bet, rather sure I was behind. He showed down a winner and I mucked.

Then he said it.

"Can I see his hand?"

I said nothing, but thought to myself, "You have got to be kidding me." I tipped the dealer for him, I paid him off on his river bet, and now he wanted my hand retrieved from the muck and exposed for all to see?

My mood never recovered. These jackholes have no concept of proper poker play, no concept of proper poker etiquette and no concept of the sheer amount of luck that they need to win.

It was the seed from which my hatred in my previous post grew.

7 comments:

Joaquin "The Rooster" Ochoa said...

Maybe he was like...watch me tilt this guy...and you know what...he did. Bravo Mr. No-Name in the four seat. You are my hero for tilting blood. I will send you a dollar for your make a man tilt story if I could have your stars account.

StB said...

I blame the warm booze.

Unfortunately it sounds like no one at the table said a word as well. Little you can do about these asshats.

StB said...

I blame the warm booze.

Unfortunately it sounds like no one at the table said a word as well. Little you can do about these asshats.

Random101 said...

Was the older lady who was a stickler for the rules also into metal and guns? I kid. I kid.

Drizztdj said...

Should have offered to arm wrestle him for the mucked cards.

Might have shut him up from the joke.

TheTrooper97 said...

those motherfuckers

TheTrooper97 said...

I hate them too, sons of bitches