A Bad-Beat Story at the World Series of Poker - With a Twist

So, how did you get busted? After making the mistake of telling my friends that I was playing a World Series event (Omaha eight-or-better), I was faced with having to tell them that I busted out before the first break. They, of course, wanted a great story. They wanted to hear how I got all of my chips in with A-A-2-3 double-suited, hit the perfect flop, got drawn out on the turn, and then got counterfeited on the river. The truth is that I can't even remember the hand that broke me.

Not to worry, though, as I found my way to a juicy Omaha eight-or-better ring game. It was $30-$60 with a kill to $50-$100 if a pot of more than $200 was scooped – which was most of the time. As a rule, I think most players tend to overvalue pocket aces in Omaha eight-or-better without flush draws and wheel cards, but when I picked up A-A-5-8 rainbow and it was folded to me in middle position, I happily raised it to $100. I was even happier when everyone folded, except the player who had killed it – let's call him Jose – who proudly gloated, as he had all night, "I always defend my blind."

Even though Doyle Brunson was referring to hold'em, I couldn't help thinking about his famous words about pocket aces: Either you win a small pot or lose a big pot. So, with $245 in the pot and Jose acting first in a heads-up pot, the flop came 10-7-7 rainbow. When Jose checked, my bet was a no-brainer. It's not that Jose couldn't have a 7, but I figured to have the best hand and wasn't going to let him get a free card to make a straight or pick up a backdoor-low draw. I bet $50, and Jose thought for a long time.

At the time of this hand, I had been playing with Jose for about five hours. I like to look at the flop in Omaha as much as I can, but even with relatively loose starting-hand requirements, I rarely had found a hand to play. It was one of the first times I've ever been at a poker table and felt like an empty seat. I was never more than a $500 winner or loser at this point in the game, and my table image was tighter than Dick's hatband. Most of the people at the table recognized me as a Card Player columnist, and I spent more time being pitched article ideas than I did dragging pots.

Jose, on the other hand, was a semimaniac. Several times during the session, he would say, "Check and raise," and sure enough, when it came back to him, he would shoot it up. It seemed to me that he was more of a hold'em player, because he was very aggressive and overplayed lots of his hands. Like many hold'em players who excel at the "push" aspects of hold'em, Jose didn't have a clear grasp of the "push and pull" nuances of a split game.

All of this information was at the forefront of my thoughts when I made my $50 bet on the flop. With Jose thinking for a long time, I thought I had a good read on him: His hand wasn't quite strong enough to justify taking one off, but his desire to gamble was too much for him to lay it down. Reluctantly, he called, and I was pleased. When an ace came on the turn, I didn't feel any worse. When Jose checked to me, I hesitated. I wasn't acting; I simply needed time to decide if I would lose him by betting, and whether or not I was better off keeping him in to get at least a bet out of him on the river. In Omaha high – or hold'em, for that matter – I might have checked, but since my 8-5 low draw was all but worthless, I didn't want Jose drawing to half the pot. I bet $100, and this time, Jose didn't waste any time.

He raised.

At this point, his Hollywood hesitation on the flop started to make sense. I was all but sure that he had flopped trip sevens and was setting a trap. I made it three bets at the same time that I told myself that I didn't want a low card on the river. As my mind was willing a queen on the river, Jose beat me to the pot and made it four bets.

Well, at this point, I reasoned that Jose had enough sense to put me on aces full, yet he was still raising. I would have laid 100-to-1 that he had four sevens, so I called – quite proud of myself for not having to put in two extra bets – and changed that wish of a river queen to a river deuce, and prayed that Jose didn't also have a better low.

The river brought … an ace!

Jose checked, I bet, and he just called – and turned over the four sevens that he knew were no good. On the flop, I had a 1-in-820 chance to scoop him, and I got there. Of course, all anyone at the table could say was, "So, are you going to write about that in your column?"

Greg Dinkin is the author of three books, including The Poker MBA and Amarillo Slim in a World Full of Fat People.