Very Good Start

Easy Street and River Avenue. That's the intersection where I spent the last few days doing my best impression of a humble and skillful card shark. Had you seen it, you'd all agree that it was, alas, a very bad impression.

Buy-in at seat#1 (left of the dealer) for 3/5ths of my stake at the 10-20 HE table awaiting a spot on one of the more modest and abundant 6-12 HE games. Normally, I'd buy-in for a full rack of middle class society ($500) but felt somewhat squeamish at the prospect of having to play while looking down at my chips, seeing both my stake and entire bankroll at the same time. Plus, I didn't want to buy my chips with what the entire table would have correctly identified as the complete inventory of my front left pocket. I learned a while ago that it feels and looks better to buy chips with a portion of your pocket's money, rather than all of it.

Casino Arizona allows you to begin play on your BigBlind so I post with nerves and anticipation ablaze.

Naturally, my blind get raised.

As I matched the raise, my reaction to the chips I'd committed to calling was far more interesting in retrospect than was my reaction to my closely protected pitch-black pocket 8's:

"Shit, I just bet half of my cable bill on a pair of cards that will likely win only if either of the 2 remaining cards in the deck hit and no one else hits a flush, straight, or higher set".

The flop came 2h 4h 8d, and with it my entire outlook of my cable bill changed to:

"Damn, time to upgrade to HDTV programming".

I knew right away that were I to take Poker seriously, I'd have to stop associating the playing chips with the purchasing power they represent, and instead use the chips exactly as intended with complete disregard to what they're worth in the sucker, ahem, real world.

With three callers behind me, I check and find out that there is not only a bettor, but a raiser!

Mr. Cool in seat# 4 bets, Mrs. Phat in seat# 6 raises, and seat# 7 folds while accidentally exposing a 3h.

I call, and Mr. Cool also calls while looking at me in a very intimidating way. Turn comes 4d giving me the best possible hand other than pocket 4's which I defiantly dismiss as heresy given that this is my first hand of Poker in over ten years. I bet wishing to offer the impression that I have a 4 courtesy of my BigBlind. Mr. Cool raises right away without even a casual glance. Mrs. Phat in seat# 6 calls and I re-raise. This time, Cool pauses and calls. Phat also calls. I have put Phat on two small pairs or maybe a flush draw, and put Cool on the Nut flush draw. River comes Ah.

Board looks like this:

2h 4h 8d 4d Ah

The apocalyptic logic kicks in instantly. I could lose to quads -- but I've already agreed to forbid this scenario from materializing even at a level as small as the molecular free-flowing thread of thought; however, there is now the possibility of AA, but no possibility of a straight flush since the 3h was already taken into account thanks to Seat# 7's earlier fold.

In a split second, or maybe longer, I summarily discount all unfavorable possibilities based on the simple fact that I've lived in violation of only 4 of the big 10 commandments this year, and have called my mother on at least five non-festive or non-commemorative occasions.

Confidently, I check to see if it's Gabriel or Satan who's come early for me. Mr. Cool bets. I'm shocked, since it looks as though my read is completely sour. Mrs. Phat raises. I'm more shocked.

Is it possible that both Cool and Phat made flushes, or that there's another full house, or... dare I think, a pocket full of aces about to crash into my twin tower of 8's?? I cannot risk being seen as passive on my first hand. If I'm to go down, I will go down consistent with the image embracing a complete disregard for money I'd hoped to project. I re-raise.

Cool hits the roof. He undergoes what a layperson might mistake as a mini-seizure, visually emitting hate, frustration and rage, while throwing into the pot only enough to cover my raise. Ok, so he's not about to crack me. One down, one to go.

In what I've seen a million times before in a manurism soaked in regret and disgust, Phat bids her cards that familiar (and relieving) last adieux as the typical precursor to a fold. Predictably, Phat does indeed fold, and in so doing, revealing her failed nut draw, but respectable Straight 3d5d.

Cool shows down his Nut flush, Trips (best-kicker) Kh4h. Oh well. It sucks to be Cool...

And right on queue, the announcement for seat availability at the 6-12 HE game is made.
Flush with new wealth, I respectfully perhaps even arrogantly relinquish my 6-12 HE reservations.

I spend the next 10 hours playing what many would characterize as "weak tight". I call it playing not-to-lose. I play nothing but premium hands and play predictably text book in all facets.

Despite this, I finish the session by winning over 1K, having lost only my last hand on a bad beat (my set of 4's made on the flop got cracked by a set of Q's made on the river). I cash out promptly wanting to purge this last memory as quickly as possible. It's made easier with the aid of stacking two racks worth of chips! I fumble my way to the cage with $1378 and in a token of thanks and praise to the Native American Gods (and partially because I've read Stephen King's Thinner"), I tip the cashier a cool $28 for his efforts. Winning has exacerbated the spirit of giving, and consequently, the valet also gets a coolish $20 in a reassuring gesture to those temperamental Native American Gods that I wasn't full of shit the first time! This tip should help spread the tales of my image and generosity among the car jockeys so to secure a lot in the Valet Hall of Fame, and ensure that my car is not made victim to any freack "mishap" of the Valet world.

Coming up later: Super Girl forgives, but now what?