Beat My 6-4

In my last column I suggested that if you play cards long enough, you'll see every possible situation. I mentioned splitting pots with wheels. I have also had 6-4 hands beaten. And I even won a jackpot once.

Before Palo Alto's Cameo Club, the legendary no-limit lowball house, got center dealers, players dealt for themselves. They had a rule that anyone except the dealer could draw five cards, and the dealer was restricted to three. The game I was in was nominally $4-to-go, played with three traveling blinds – $1 from the dealer, $1 from the small blind to his left, and $2 from the big blind to the left of the small blind. Anyone could kill the pot at any time, increasing the stakes. The only restriction was that an overblind had to be at least twice the size of the largest existing blind; the bring-in was then twice that size. Sometimes there would be more than one overkill, and the minimum bet would drastically increase. One player, for example, might throw in $4, and another would throw in $10, and, for that one hand, the bring-in would increase to $20. Blinds would come into the pot, before the draw, in the order of size. So, in the previous example, after all of the players without blinds acted, the dealer (if he had not overblinded) would act, then the small blind, then the big blind, then the holder of the $4 blind, and finally the player who had put in the $10. (If there was any raising, players would continue to come back into the pot in the order in which they had originally entered. After the draw, players acted in normal rotation, starting clockwise from the first active player to the left of the dealer.) The advantage of killing was to create larger pots and to have last action; the obvious disadvantage was that you would often put twice as much – or more! – money into a pot that you wouldn't have considered playing at the normal limits. The player with the $10 overblind might put in $20 or more on a two- or even three-card draw. You could not look at any cards before killing the pot, though; that innovation wouldn't be introduced for several years.

(Lest you get confused, the terms kill, overkill, and overblind are more or less synonymous here.)

Sometimes on my deal, to create a little action, I would kill the pot. Often, I wouldn't even get to play, but once in a while I would "wake up with a hand" and create a nice pot. On this particular deal, I did just that, adding $3 to my $1 dealer blind, which made the minimum bet $8.

No one opened early, until Fufu opened from middle position. I knew he had a decent hand, for Fufu was a fairly tight player. No one else came in. The action temporarily skipped me. The small blind and the big blind both folded, and the action came back to me. I had 6-4-K-K-Q, not much of a hand, but I was getting 15-to-4 for my call. (I needed to add $4 to the pot, which already contained my $4 overblind, $3 from the small and big blinds, and Fufu's open.) I hoped to make a big hand, and potentially win Fufu's entire stack, which was $100, giving me implied odds of greater than 25-to-1.

You may wonder about that name, Fufu. I had not played at the Cameo Club for a long time, and when I came back after about a year's absence, I heard players talking about a fellow named Fufu. The first time I saw him in a game, I made the mistake of saying, "I once had a dog named Fufu." He was a very large and fierce-looking Tongan. It turned out that his real name was Futane (pronounced Foo-tah-nee), and Fufu was his nickname. After that gaffe, we became friends, though dedicated rivals across the felt. He always tried to lull me into betting big when he had a good hand, and I always tried to overpower him when I thought he didn't, or tried to beat those good hands he more often held.

Fufu stood pat. I drew three cards to the 6 and the 4, the most I was permitted.

After the draw, Fufu didn't mess around; he bet his entire stack, $100. From most players, such a bet would mean they were betting not the strength of the hand, but the fact that I had drawn three cards and couldn't be expected to end up with much. Some players would bet that much on a rough 8 or even a 9, hoping the drawer of three cards would end up with a 10 or a 9 and think such a "miracle" draw was worth a $100 call. I knew better, though. I knew Fufu had a monster. If I made a 7, I had no intention of calling, because I thought the worst he could have in this situation was a very smooth 7; more likely, he had a 6 or better. If he had about a 7-6, he would have bet about $20, just to try to coax an extra $20 out of me. He definitely did not have a 9 or 10; I knew him better than that. Others might open with one of those hands in that position, but not Fufu.

I caught A-3-2, making a 6-4. Of course, I called. Somehow, I was not surprised when he laid down his pat wheel. While the Cameo often had jackpots during its 40-plus years of operation, there were periods when it did not, and this was one of them. I bought another $200 in chips.

There's a moral in this story: If you're going to draw three cards in lowball, it should be to a wheel. Or, be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

For a while, I did better in limit lowball, and did not play at the Cameo Club for about two years. When the games got tough and I started getting a little burned out on limit poker, I decided to try no-limit again at the Cameo Club. During my absence, the club had reinstituted jackpots. The club wasn't that big, only 13 tables. The jackpots were funded by taking $1 out of any pot in which any 6 or better was shown down, so the jackpots didn't get to the huge sizes they did in some of the Southern California clubs, which built their jackpots by taking $1 out of every pot. The Cameo seeded each jackpot at $100; jackpots would sometimes grow to $500 to $1,000 before being knocked off, but rarely larger.

Previous acquaintances told me about a new regular, Old Herman. During the previous year, Herman had won more jackpots by far than anyone else who played at the Cameo. He had had 6-4 hands beaten a staggering 13 times. Since the largest game he played in was the $4-to-go game, and since he normally bought about $50 at a time, the jackpot was almost always larger than the pot he lost, so he had made a lot on jackpots. Herman was also the biggest loser (in the small games) who ever walked into the Cameo Club. Herman won so many jackpots because he was in every pot in which it was remotely possibly for him to make a 6-4. He would call with all of his chips to draw two cards if those cards included any three from the set 6, 4, 3, deuce, ace. Everyone knew that if Herman opened for $4, you could raise him $46 with your pat 8 and he would call. Of course, some of those times you would be drawing and make a wheel, or you would even have a pat wheel.

I sat down in a $4 game and bought in for $100. Herman was in the game, and someone introduced us. About the third hand I played, Herman opened. I had a pat 6-4. I raised his $4 open by $16. He called, and asked for two cards. He bet $20 after the draw, which I think was all of his chips. Naturally, I called, and Herman showed that he had made a two-card wheel. I had seen a notice on the blackboard listing players' names for table changes and new games that announced that the jackpot currently stood at $350. Had I not seen the notice, I just might have dumped my cards; fortunately, I am observant.

The owner/manager of the Cameo personally brought me an envelope containing the jackpot amount. Nice. I had lost $40 in the pot and got $350 in return. He said to me, "So, you stay away for two years and win the jackpot the first time you sit down." I smiled and said I'd be back. I came back quite a bit, but never won another jackpot.

I have had more 6-4 hands beaten than I have split pots with wheels. Except for the one I just described, those losses have all been in limit games, and they have been in San Jose, where local ordinance does not permit jackpots, so I have won only one jackpot.

The most unusual 6-4 beat I have seen was also at the Cameo Club. This occurred early in my playing career, when I played in the smallest game. It was $2-to-go, and I had bought in for $20. Other players in the game had more chips than I. In this particular pot, there were four pat hands. I had one of them, and I liked it, 6-5-4-2-A. Four players went all in before the draw. In a limit game, this might have taken five, six, or more bets from each, but in a no-limit game, one bet and two raises is usually plenty to get everyone all in. The side pot was considerably larger than the main pot, but I was still pleased, thinking I was about to quadruple up. No one took any cards. I triumphantly showed my hand first. Then, the other hands came down. There was not one, but two 6-4 hands, and the fourth hand was a bicycle. The holder of that hand had enough chips to cover everyone, so three players called for more chips. And I think the jackpot had recently been hit, so the two 6-4 hands split $100. They lost money, since their stacks had been more than $100 each. I made nothing, of course.