My Disappointing Series

I drove to Vegas from the Bay Area to play in the $1,500 ace-to-five lowball event. It's a long drive, and during the nine-hour return trip, I had plenty of time to think about what I might have done differently.

I arrived at the Horseshoe poker room at about 10 p.m. on Wednesday, May 19. I asked about satellites, and was told, "Wait in that line." The line was along the rail, and it looked like I could be sixth. Even though I had been assured by a satellite official that the line was for a lowball satellite, no one in front of me seemed to have any idea what they were in line for. They just knew it was for a satellite. The guy behind me was sure it would be a hold'em satellite. Someone else told me satellites seemed to form randomly, and there was no telling what the next one would be at any given moment.

After half an hour, a Horseshoe employee asked how many were waiting for a lowball satellite. Half of those in front of me raised their hands and four or five more behind me did, also. So did I, of course. The employee told us to go to table 111 – they had lots of tables set up for satellites. Three people in front of me remained in line, and eight headed for the table.

It took a good 20 minutes to collect everyone's money, $215 each.

The game went quickly. Limits went up every 20 minutes. The dealer had a digital timer to keep track of the changes.

I immediately thought that I sure hoped everyone at my table would play in the event the next day. I have rarely seen a table filled with so many unsavvy players. Maybe they were all great at some other game, but most of them did not know lowball. Maybe they were looking for an easy way to get buy-ins to other events. The prize was to be three $500 lammers plus $90 in cash. Only one other guy at the table seemed to have a bit of an idea about the game. Before anyone was eliminated, his buddy came over to confer with him about a live-action no-limit hold'em game elsewhere in the poker room in which they had apparently jointly put up the buy-in for a mutual friend because the game was so good. He whispered something to his buddy. He later told me what he had said was that he was sure the end of this satellite would be him and me heads up.

I got off to a good start, and kept the momentum going. I was the chip leader right up to the last hand.

Meanwhile, the others were playing like total beginners. The guy on my right, who had a good run for a while, once came in cold in a raised pot to draw three cards. He told me he was from Tunica, where he played a lot of triple-draw. Well, you can't play single-draw lowball like triple-draw. Like many of the others, he usually telegraphed his actions. With something less than what he regarded as a good hand, he limped. With a good hand, he came in for a raise. Of course, what he deemed a good hand wasn't necessarily what a seasoned lowballer would. He put in the third or fourth bet a few times when drawing to an 8. He made a few of those hands and they were good, so he built up a nice stack.

But, if he limped or called a limp, I raised with whatever hand I would play in that position if there was no one yet in. His luck didn't hold, and he was the second player out.

Others played just as predictably and just as poorly, and their rough draws and multiple-card draws didn't come through.

After about two hours, we were down to three players. The limits had escalated to the point that I had maybe five small bets, and the fellow who had made the prediction had about the same. To my left, the third fellow was short-stacked, and it was his big blind, my small blind. He had maybe three chips more than the 12 needed for the big blind, so he would undoubtedly play the next hand.

On the button, the other fellow with chips limped. He had been consistent throughout the satellite. If he had a good hand, he raised. If he was drawing very rough or taking two cards, he limped. I was pretty sure he would not be slow-playing a good hand at this point. I had J-8-6-4-2. I knew the big blind couldn't hurt me, and my one-card draw had to be better than what the opener had. I raised.

The big blind put in his few chips. The opener looked unhappy and called the raise. This further convinced me he was weak. I briefly considered standing pat on the J-8, but I had done the simulation on Caro's Poker Probe when I wrote a column on this very situation. Against a two-card draw, a J-8 has the best of it whether the player stands pat or draws one card. But the hand has more the best of it by drawing one card. Plus, it can make a betting hand against a two-card draw, whereas the jack can only check. In fact, the cutoff between drawing and standing was that you should stand on J-8-7, but throw the jack from J-8-6 to draw. Also, standing on a jack became worse against two players, even though one of them was all in. I drew.

I inwardly cheered as the big blind took three cards, and I was pleased to see that my assessment had been correct when the opener drew two.

I caught a king. It did not occur to me to bet. Had I paired eights or sixes, I would have bet. But betting a king was not a bluff, since the hand might win in a showdown against a two-card draw. I checked, and the opener checked.

As soon as I indicated my check, I could see the opener mouth a silent expletive, and I wasn't so unhappy about the king. It was my turn to show cards, and I revealed the hand. The three-card draw said, "I paired," and got up. The opener showed Q-4-3-2-A and took the pot.

I think there was a very good chance that if I had bet, he would have called with that queen.

He immediately asked if I wanted to deal. He had something more than twice as many chips as I. Was I willing to settle for one lammer, and he'd take the rest? At the current limit, which would rise soon, I had about four small bets, maybe enough for one pot. I tried to negotiate for some of the cash, but he said he was going to toke $30 and wouldn't settle for anything else. It would take only one pot to wipe me out, and I'd get nothing, so I agreed. It was better to take the sure $285 profit.

Had I won the previous pot, I would have had more than two-thirds of the chips, and would not have been willing to deal if he asked. No wonder people call some satellites crapshoots. I had been a considerable favorite in the hand, but that didn't stop short-term luck from doing me in.

I saw another satellite forming, so I sat down. This one had a tougher lineup, but only comparatively. There were still four players taking all of their two-card draws. And the guy on my right, three different times, went either three or four bets before the draw on a pat jack.

My cards weren't nearly as good, but I managed to hang on till three remained.

On my button, I had about a bet and a half left. My cards were 10-9-8-7-4. I raised all in.

The small blind folded.

That guy on my right, who had gotten lucky to last as long as he did, thought for a very long time before finally putting the extra half-bet in to make his blind good. Then, he thought even longer, and stood pat.

Now what? I had nowhere to break. If he had me beat, I would likely need two cards or more to beat him, and the odds would be prohibitively against me no matter how rough his hand. On the other hand, if all of his stalling was because he had another jack, I sure would be kicking myself later for breaking the best hand. I stood pat, and he showed 10-8-6-5-2. I was out.

As soon as I stood up, the guy on my left offered the guy who had beat me the same 2-to-1 deal I had accepted at the previous table. So, that one decision had cost me maybe $700 or so.

I kept trying to second-guess myself on that one on the way home. But the more I thought, the more I concluded that I had done right. If he was capable of playing a jack strongly, the most likely pat hand he should have when there could be no bet after the draw was exactly a jack.

Ahead $70 for two satellites at 2 a.m., I left.

The $1,500 buy-in tournament the next day started shortly after noon. Where were all those live ones I had seen in the previous day's satellites? It started with 184 players, more than in recent years, so maybe a few pros were looking for an "easy" bracelet – easier at least than the huge fields for other events. But typical for my table was Perry Green, who kept saying he hadn't played this game in 10 years – but neglected to say that he held two bracelets in this very event.

The only apparent live player at the table took two cards on a few occasions. One of those times, I passed a two-card rough 8 I made in the blind. The two-card draw bet. I called. The bettor ruefully showed his king, and that was my first pot.

A similar situation came up later. He limped, the small blind raised, and I called in the big blind with a two-card draw because I was getting good odds. The small blind took one and checked. I made a 9 and briefly thought about betting. I quickly rejected that idea because the two-card draw might bluff. There were more hands with which he would bluff than hands he would make and call. As expected, he bet. The small blind folded, and I called. The two-card draw said, "I think I got you," before showing his two-card wheel. "Yeah, I guess you do."

I didn't second-guess that call later. I knew I had done right.

The cards didn't really come my way. I managed to outlast half the field, and got moved to another table.

The young fellow three to my right had a large stack. The first few hands, I saw him lose a few pots. He seemed to be on tilt. He pushed an 8 for four bets before the draw, bet it into a one-card draw, called a raise, and lost to a better 8. I was surprised that someone would raise after the draw with an 8, and that the first player would call with an 8. (I knew because he flashed the card before mucking, plus that was the only thing that made sense.)

The player two to my right raise-opened and the chip leader at the table reraised. The first player called and drew one card, and the reraiser stood pat. The first player hesitated a moment, and then bet. The pat hand thought for a long time, and finally ditched his hand. The bettor immediately whipped out a pair of eights and said, "Got you one time." This table was a lot livelier than the one I had left.

A few hands later, the fellow I thought might be steaming lost another big pot.

A round later, after I put in the big blind, I had something less than four small bets left. The limits were going up a lot more slowly than the satellite, but still the lack of cards had eaten into my stack. That pot was raised and reraised, and I had nothing close to playable.

On the next hand, my small blind, the young man who might be on tilt came in for a raise. Everyone folded to me, and I had 10-7-5-4-2. I could see that the big blind had a bit more than enough to call. Nothing would be accomplished by my reraising. The big blind folded.

I could not stand pat on a 10 here. I drew. The opener took one.

I caught a 9. I had less than a full big bet left. I saw no point in checking. If I'd had more than one bet, I would have. If I checked, the opener might bluff and I would definitely call. However, he almost certainly would call with many hands worse than mine. He would be getting odds of nearly 4-to-1, and would surely call with anything short of a pair, and maybe even with a small pair. Of course, he also would bet any hand better than mine, but I was getting a minimum of 3-to-1 by betting, likely 4-to-1, and I was a favorite on the pot.

The opener thought for a while, grumbled, and called. I had half a hope of winning as I showed my 9-7. He looked at it awhile, and then finally spread the 6-4 he had made. "I know," I said. "You're annoyed I didn't have more chips. Sorry." No big deal – I've been slow-rolled by the best in many years of playing poker.

So, I had a lot to think about on the drive back, and decided I wouldn't have changed any of my decisions.

Michael Wiesenberg's The Official Dictionary of Poker, the ultimate authority on the language of cardrooms, is available through Card Player.