Bad Beats

One of the perks of being a professional poker player is the opportunity to listen to a wide variety of fascinating anecdotes from the felt. For example, I am always intrigued to hear about how someone's top set just got outrun by a runner-runner flush. Since I have never had similar misfortune befall me, I really appreciate the opportunity to do my part and sympathize with the plights of my fellow poker players in arms. Naturally, this is even more true when I happen to be stuck.



Over the years, I have pretended to listen to thousands of bad-beat stories, and have rudely pre-empted countless others. I think it's time that a number system was developed for labeling specific bad beats. That way, someone could come up to me and say, "Mark, you won't believe what happened to me today. I took a number 7, a number 45, and then some moron put a number 82 on me!" This is nice and crisp, and it conveys the same information as the traditional bad-beat tale. My eyes won't even have a chance to glaze over in the time it takes to spit out a few numbers. You won't get any less sympathy this way, either.



The real tragedy from the proliferation of bad-beat stories is that a few genuinely interesting stories have been lost in the shuffle. I would like to present two of my all-time favorites. To me, these are interesting not only because of the unlikelihood of what happened, but also because they have an added twist that makes the events even more bizarre.



World Series of Poker, supersatellite, early '00s: This story was told to me by Mark Tenner, co-owner of Card Player Cruises and co-author of Winning Omaha/8 Poker (does this guy do anything by himself?). Mark was playing in a supersatellite at Binion's Horseshoe to try to win a seat in the championship event. In a super, one seat is awarded for every $10,000 in the prize pool. In this particular super, the prize pool was $50,000. So, the final five players would get seats, and sixth place would win a hot dog.



We pick up the action with six players left. One player had a huge chip lead, and the other five, including Mark, were about even in chips. The chip leader had already won a seat in the main event in a previous supersatellite, so assuming that he held on to survive in this one, he would be given $10,000 in cash.



At this point, nobody wanted to walk away with merely a hot dog. One of the players suggested this deal: The five short-stacked players would take the five seats, and each would pay the chip leader $2,200. Naturally, the chip leader didn't object, as he figured to pick up an extra $1,000 this way. End of tournament.



The tournament director was summoned, and the players all shook hands, congratulating each other. When the tournament director arrived, he was told of the agreement. He approved, but then asked the dealer why a deal had been struck while a hand was in progress. Unbeknownst to the players, the dealer had dealt out the next hand in the midst of the negotiations. The director stated that this hand had to play (hmm…), and that the deal could be concluded after the hand.



Now, I wasn't there, but it would seem to me that just tossing in the cards facedown would have safely ended things. But then we wouldn't have a story. Mark happens to look down at his cards, and, naturally, finds pocket aces. So, he puts in a big raise. The chip leader looks at his holding and finds the mighty A-K in the pocket. What can he do but move all in? Mark immediately calls (if he didn't do it immediately, this may not have happened). Naturally, the A-K wins and Mark busts out. Ketchup and mustard, please. Meanwhile, the winner of the pot is stacking his chips when he realizes that he just cost himself a grand by winning this big pot.



Gardena, California, sometime in the Dark Ages of poker (aka the '70s): This story was told to me by David Sklansky, and it took place in a high draw game called "jacks-back." In this game, there was an ante but no blinds, and the player to the left of the dealer acted first. Each player could either "open" or "pass." To open, you had to hold at least a pair of jacks in your hand, although it was legal to pass a strong hand if you opted not to open with it. If action went all the way around the table and nobody opened, the game became ace-to-five single-draw lowball, with the same cards.



These games featured a bad-beat jackpot, with a payout that often grew quite large. In order to qualify for the jackpot, you had to get aces full beat in the high hands, or you had to lose with a 6-4-3-2-A in lowball. In this particular situation, the stakes were $2-$4, and the jackpot had grown to several thousand dollars. The player who took the bad beat would get approximately 70 percent of the jackpot, while the player who won the hand would win the remaining 30 percent.



On the pivotal hand, the action was passed to the player next to the dealer. He looked down at the dream hand: 6-4-3-2-A. This was a no-lose situation. Nearly every time, he would win the pot, and if he was really lucky, somebody would make a wheel and he would win the jackpot.



This was contingent upon the button not having a hand with which he could open, of course. Much to the pat 6-4's chagrin, the button opened. Everyone folded around, and he showed his 6-4 in disgust. The button was now obliged to show his "openers," as players were not allowed to open on a bluff in this game. He stated, "I had a straight!" as he proudly turned over his A-2-3-4-5.