A Matter of Principle

A recent hand in the $20-limit lowball game that I sometimes grace with my presence illustrated several interesting principles. The blinds in this game are $5 on the button, $5 in the middle blind, and $10 from the big blind. It's Northern California-style ace-to-five lowball, with the bring-in always being twice the size of the big blind; all bets before and after the draw are multiples of $20, which is why this game is also called single-limit lowball, as opposed to Southern California's two-tiered double-limit lowball, in which players can choose to open for the size of the blind (gypsy in) or come in for a raise.

Sally, immediately to my right, opened from early position. I had 10-7-6-2-A. Sally had been considerably stuck, but was now on her way back up. She had been down below $100, and now had around $300. When losing, Sally played looser and looser, but when she was winning, she tightened her playing requirements. Normally when a tight player (or one temporarily trying to play well) opens from early position, I do not call with a hand that's likely to be worse than that of the opener. (Some players even raise with a 10. It can be a good option against a player who habitually opens to draw to rough hands and to draw two cards, but not when several players remain behind you to act. So, I never gave that thought serious consideration.)

Nonetheless, I called. I had won several pots, and my image was good. My intention was that if only she and I were in the pot, and she passed, I would bet if I made a 9 or better. If she bet, however, I would have to wing it; that is, try to figure out whether she had a good hand or not – depending, of course, on what I made. I still felt somewhat uneasy about the hand, though, because I was potentially risking two bets (this call and a bet after the draw) with a hand likely worse than hers. My calling was not a bad play, but folding was probably a better play. Raising, either with the intention of standing pat on the 10 or drawing one, was likely the worst of the three choices I had.

Everyone folded to Steve in the big blind, who raised. Steve is a solid, aggressive player who would raise in this position with any decent draw – say, to a 7 or better – and with any pat 9 or better.

Sally called.

I groaned inwardly and called, thinking to myself, I've now put two bets in on a hand that could have cost me nothing. I could not fold. That one more bet offered odds of better than 5-to-1 in a situation in which I was probably no worse than a 3-to-1 underdog.

Steve took one. Obviously, he was drawing better than I.

Sally took one. Likely, ditto.

I took one. Standing pat was not a choice. I wanted to be able to bet if passed to if I made an 8 or better, and have a chance of ending up with a hand that might win if bet into.

After the draw, Steve checked. Steve did not bluff a lot, and was smart enough to give up on a missed hand in a situation in which a high probability existed of being caught. Steve would have bet if he had caught an 8 or better.

Sally now bet, but she did it in a strange way. She exhibited a classic tell, right out of Caro's Book of Tells. The tell in the book illustrates a seven-card stud principle, but was just as applicable here. In Tells, under the category of "Misdirected Bets," three players are in at the river. The player showing a pair of aces checks. The player with a truly ugly board, something like J-8-5-2 of three different suits, also checks. The other player, whose upcards are K-9-8-4, flings his bet directly at the player with the ugly board. He has to reach past the player with the aces to do this.

Caro writes: "Discussion: It seems reasonable that the man's hand at the right contains garbage – possibly a failed straight. Ask yourself why the player would be reaching way across the table and betting into the weaker-looking of his two opponents. The answer is not very involved. This guy's bluffing. He probably holds something like a pair of kings.

"Look at the expression of the man in the middle. He's thinking, and rightly so, 'Hey, what about me? I'm in this pot, too!' Suppose you were the bettor and you wanted to be called. Say you had a hidden full house. Would you reach halfway to Cleveland to threaten a player who doesn't figure to call? Well, neither would this guy.

"Best strategy: Call as quickly as your fingers will allow."

Here's how Sally did it. She grabbed four chips for her bet and flung them toward Steve. She never even looked at me. But why would she ignore me? I was the threat, not Steve. I was the potential caller. Steve had already indicated that his hand was not strong, so why challenge him?

I looked at the card I drew. I had paired sevens.

I already knew that Sally was afraid of me. I had beaten some of her big hands, and she had not given me much action on them. Against some players, she would go three or four bets with a rough 9, but earlier against me, she had chickened out on the third bet with a pat 7-5-3-2-A, and when I stood pat behind her, had actually checked it to me. (And since most lowball games have something called the sevens rule, the best she could hope for would be to get her bet back if my hand was worse than hers. If you check a 7 or better, you cannot win any action after the draw.) As it happened, I had a pat 6 on that hand, and at the showdown, she congratulated herself for losing only four bets, but she had badly misplayed her hand. Even other tight players would have put the fourth bet in, then called the reraise, and then bet after the draw and called the subsequent raise. I knew why she was afraid of me, of course. It was because I picked on her unmercifully when I thought she was weak. On more than one occasion, I had gone four or five bets with her, and then when she broke her pat hand, drew right behind her. I might lose several bets in some confrontations, more than other players in a similar situation, but I usually managed to get extra bets in when I thought I had the best of it, and I was usually right.

So, now I was pretty sure she had a weak hand and possibly was bluffing, and wanted to test whether this tell, which I had not seen from her before, was accurate. I hesitated for just a moment, and then raised. As expected, Steve folded. Even if he had a 9, he could not call two bets cold with it. Sally finally looked at me and asked somewhat incredulously, "You raised me?" I smiled and said, "I raised you." She thought awhile, and folded. I think her thinking was just to save face. Sally often bets nines after the draw, and usually is smart enough to lay them down for a raise. Perhaps she would have laid down a rough 7 for my raise at this point, remembering other times when I had raised her and always had the nuts, but then I doubt she would have bet in the manner she did (exhibiting that tell). So, while I did not see her hand, I think it's more likely that she was value-betting or bluffing than really laying down a good hand.

One of the biggest mistakes most players make is calling too much. I wanted to encourage this behavior, not discourage it, particularly in her. She was basically a loose player and I did not want to push her in the direction of playing too tightly against me. So, while normally I do not show bluffs, I first faced the 7 I had caught toward her. Her face eased as she congratulated herself for having laid the hand down. I slowly slid the hand open, revealing the 6-A-2, as she continued to look pleased for having figured out my cards, and then peeled it back further to expose the 7 that paired me. Now, she frowned. My hand was definitely the worst of the three, but I was stacking seven bets with it that would not have been mine had I not picked up on that tell.

Ralph, one of the know-it-alls across the table, now said, "I knew it. I knew you were bluffing." This was fine. I wanted to reinforce that I was capable of anything. Ralph then added, "That was a great play." I knew that stung Sally. It also brought me more chips later on.

Somewhat later, I changed to a different seat at the table to get position on a live one who had just sat down. On Sally's big blind, I opened from two seats to the right of the button with an 8-7 to draw to. I had tells on both the cutoff position and the button that let me know they would not be in this hand, allowing me to open with a hand that I might not otherwise play from that position. The small blind also folded.

Sally called, and asked for two cards.

I asked for one.

Sally checked.

I caught a 10, hesitated a moment as before, and bet.

Sally called.

I showed my hand, and Sally ruefully pulled a jack out of hers. "You bet a 10?" she demanded.

I shrugged. "I made my hand; I had to bet." Most of the players did not believe that I had actually drawn to a 10, but I didn't mind sowing a few seeds of doubt. I had accomplished my purpose by showing the bluff earlier; she was back to calling too much, and I wouldn't be bluffing her much for a while.

My earlier play, as echoed at the time by Ralph, reaped further results. I had the button on Ralph's big blind. Everyone passed to me. I had 6-4-joker-K-J, and opened. I could see that the middle blind was getting ready to pitch his cards; if he had expressed interest in the pot, I probably would not have opened. Ralph called, and asked for two cards.

Often when I open with what was originally intended as a two-card draw and the big blind draws two cards, I just stand pat. Nearly three-fourths of the time, the blind would pass, I would bet, and the player would fold. Of the remaining one quarter of the time, the player would bet maybe half the time, and I would fold, because I was probably beat. No one would see my cards, and anyone would assume I had stood pat on a rough 9 or a 10 and didn't want to call a bet from someone who almost certainly had made a better hand. Thus, I would risk seven chips to win five three-fourths of the time (when the blind passed after the draw and folded), lose three chips outright one-eighth of the time (when the blind bet), and actually lose seven maybe only an eighth of the time (when the blind made an 8 or 9, passed, and called). I did not try this against players who were suspicious of me, though, and Ralph was one of these players. So, I also requested two cards. I was drawing better than he, anyway, so I still had the best of it.

Ralph sneaked up on his draw cards, as is his habit. That is, he left them facedown on the table, and very slowly lifted up the edge of the first one until eventually he could make out what it was, and then did the same with the second. This exercise, which Ralph goes through every time, slows the game down considerably, but I never say anything, because if I do, he progresses from first gear to reverse. Ralph bet. I knew that he would bet with any 9 or better, and probably even a smooth 10, because he likes to make value bets.

By this time I had had plenty of time to see the cards I had drawn. I had made 7-6-4-2-joker, not bad for a two-card draw. Most tight players would just call in this situation, not wanting to raise for fear of being reraised, and then having to chide themselves later for having lost three bets on a hand that ought to have cost just one. They also would figure that there was no point in raising, because if the original bettor had an 8 or worse, he would not call the reraise. All that could happen from their fearful viewpoint was a fold by a worse hand or a reraise from a better hand. I don't think that way. As soon as Ralph's chips went into the pot, I immediately grabbed what felt like eight chips from my stack, and splashed them into the pot. It was probably more like nine or 10, but that didn't matter. If I lost, I could ask for a count. The way I bet was deliberate. Earlier when I had raised Sally, I had put the two bets into the pot in two nice, neat stacks. Ralph would be thinking that if I was bluffing, I would not do it in the same way I had against Sally for fear of alerting Ralph, who I knew that he knew that I knew him to be observant. (Sorry about the complicated sentence structure. This is three levels of abstraction, or a double-reverse.) Thus, he would think that an immediate confident raise, since calculatedly different from the celebrated hand of not too long previous, had to be a bluff. Ralph called. I showed my hand, and Ralph mucked his. If almost any other player had raised in that situation – that is, with Ralph having bet something like a 9 – Ralph would have folded. But his congratulating me on the earlier bluff had had the added ancillary effect of talking himself into this call.

My simple bluff had had ramifications far beyond those of the actual hand. I had enhanced my wild and unpredictable image in the minds of most of the players, yet could continue to play solidly – and aggressively, of course.