Atlantic City II: The Flop

Finally, I’m here! I hop off the shuttle from the train station and walk inside.

I’m not sure what I was expecting. It looks pretty much like any casino in Vegas; the first thing you see when you walk in is row after row after row of slot machines. These one-armed bandits are of no interest to me whatsoever, so I begin weaving through them towards the table games. My ears are well-trained, and it isn’t long before I start hearing the clittery-click-slide of thousands of chips being shuffled by dozens of half-bored players. The smell of tobacco smoke thins out, and I see the poker room. I head straight for the board, and am happy to find that a seat is open for me.

The floorman informs me that’ll I’ll have to get my own chips, so I head over and ask for $100 to play $1/2. I was mildly surprised when she hands me a stack of $5 chips; typically $1/2 is played with $1 chips at the casinos I’ve been at. Another thing I noticed is that on the East Coast, $1 chips are white and $5 chips are red, as opposed to the blues and yellows to which I’m accustomed from playing in LA. But whatever – we could play with dollar bills or gold coins or M&M’s for all I care. I’ve never been more ready to jump into the action in my life.

I settle down in Seat 1, stowing my single travel bag and all of my winter garments on the floor between my legs. Remember, I haven’t booked a hotel yet. Hopefully I’ll make enough that I can book a hotel with my winnings. If I at least break even, then I can spend the night playing poker and not worry about a hotel.

As is my custom, I play extremely tight early on until I can get a read on the players at the table. Seat 5 seems dangerous, but he quickly proves otherwise by donking away $300 in my first 15 minutes of play. He leaves quickly, and his seat is filled by a weak-tight player. Seats 2 and 3 are older guys and very rocky, so I should have no trouble playing them. Seat 9 is really my only concern. He’s the big stack at the table, young, tight and aggressive. He’s the only one at the table that really sizes me up when I sit down. He could be trouble later on – so I’m glad I’ll have position on him for the entire session.

Anyway, after folding 100% of my hands for two rounds, I finally flop a flush draw in the big blind. I bet it against one of the rocks on the flop and turn and he calls both bets. I make a large bet on the river and he mucks. Someone asks what I had, and I show the bluff. A few hands later, I flop top pair, bet it all the way and get called by another guy with top pair but a weak kicker. So 45 minutes in, I’m up $76 and feeling good. Haven’t lost a showdown yet, but no real monster wins either. That’s just fine with me – I have all the time in the world, so I’m more than willing to keep playing small ball poker and pick up the pots no one wants.

Then the problems start. The first hand, I have K-Q and I’m heads up against the solid player in Seat 9. The flop is Queen high, and it remains top pair through the river. I bet it the whole way, making larger and larger value bets. Seat 9 just calls down, and tables A-Q. Crap. I lost $100 on that hand alone by going after the strong player instead of the weak ones. The next half hour was more of the same. I kept getting called down with my good but vulnerable hands, and then paying players off even though it was obvious they had turned or rivered me. I guess showing that bluff early on had come back to bite me in the butt.

Long story short, I lost the $300 I had in my wallet in about ninety minutes of play. And for the most part it was my own fault. I didn’t control pot size on my vulnerable hands. I showed a bluff early and gave the table a reason to chase on me. I made good reads but didn’t follow them up with action – paying to see too many river cards. I had given a C+ effort, and that just wasn’t enough to cut it at the Taj.

So I get up, collect all my belongings and walk directly to the ATM. I have $60 left in my bank account. I’ve made comebacks like this before. Could I do it one last time, now that so much was on the line? I didn’t want to be homeless. It was 37 degrees out there, and windy. My Southern California body’s not used to weather like that.

I felt I had no choice but to take one last stab at it. I think the max buy-in there was between $300 and $500. So I would be very short-stacked to start. But I’d play extremely tight until I could double up, and then go from there. I’d done it enough times at Hustler. I really felt like I could do it again.

So I go back to the poker room, ask for a seat at a different table (my image is shot at the first) and settle into Seat 8. There are some huge stacks at this table, and a couple of guys that are clearly local small-game pros. What have I gotten myself into? But I can’t allow myself to be afraid. I play the best poker I can for about 20 minutes. Hit a hand here and there to take my stack up to $150. I’m feeling much better about my situation. $150 is probably enough to get me a room in a cheap motel, and more than enough to get me a ticket out of Atlantic City. But I need more. I have to keep playing. The poker dog in me won’t let me walk away a loser on the night if I'm on a bit of a roll and have the chance for more.

Damn that dog!

The hand I bust out on is pretty nasty. Basically, I have pocket Aces vs. K-9. The flop is 9-9-9. The guy is a solid player, so I just know he has the case 9. He practically tells me when he asks me if I have it, then proceeds to bet. But I couldn’t lay my boat down. Just couldn’t do it. It cost me my stack.

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. I couldn’t breathe. My hands were shaking. I had put myself all in on so many levels, and lost. It was 10 PM, Wednesday night. I had $3 on me, which had to last until 8 AM on Friday (when I got my next paycheck direct deposited).

I bundled up, and headed out into the cold Jersey night