I had the sad honor to play in a limit hold'em tournament at the Mirage recently. I say sad honor because it was a benefit for one of the nicest guys to grace the Vegas poker industry - indeed, one of the nicest guys anywhere - Dennis Jackson. At the time that the tournament was scheduled, it was a benefit for Dennis. By the time it took place, it was a benefit for his widow and children. At 50 years of age, he passed away on Jan. 29.
Dennis was a friend of mine and a very good friend of my collaborator, John Bond. He was the graveyard supervisor at the Mirage poker room for years. Donna Harris, Mirage cardroom manager, arranged the tournament, with no fee for the house; 50 percent of the buy-ins went to the Jackson family, with 25 percent to the first-place winner, and the rest divided between the second- through fifth-place finishers.
Dennis was a religious man, without ever wearing his religion on his sleeve or forcing it on anybody else. He almost always wore a toothy grin. He was fair and kind to the people who worked for him, and always responsible to the people for whom he worked. He never let the hard edge of either Vegas or the poker world affect him.
As I said, he was a very, very good guy - and everybody who knew him will miss him, mostly his wife, Debbi, and his children.
Ninety-two people showed up to play in the benefit tournament for the family, many of them Vegas regulars. There was much sadness in the air, but there was also a little joy in recognizing a wonderful man and his life.
We were about an hour into the tournament. Most tournaments are no-limit hold'em these days, a result of poker on TV. However, this tournament was limit hold'em. Like players in most tourneys, everyone was playing tighter than usual standards dictated - except for one fellow who seemed to want to either win the tourney before dinner or bust out so as not to miss a meal. Mr. Loose-Goose was jamming just about every pot, and was winning more than his fair share.
We were playing the $150-$300 level. I had $1,800 in chips left, which was not a secure position, by any means. The field folded to me on the button, and I looked down to see two red kings. Mr. Loose-Goose was in the big blind. I tossed in $300, raising the pot, not thinking for one minute that the big blind wasn't going to play.
The small blind folded and Mr. Loose-Goose called. The dealer turned the Q
8
4
flop, and I had no spade! That said, I still had an overpair in a heads-up pot.
Mr. Loose-Goose checked to me. I fired, and was immediately check-raised. I thought about my situation. One component of tournament play is that you can't reach into your pocket and buy more chips when you go broke. That makes the chips you possess when short-stacked much more valuable. Protecting yourself from busting out is key. That said, you don't want to lose a pot that you could have won out of passivity, either - or ante yourself into oblivion.
I had two real options, raising or calling. I wasn't folding an overpair to Mr. Loose-Goose. I had no clue what he had. It could be a pair, a draw, a made flush, a set, or two pair. If he had a pair and a flush draw, we were about even money, as I didn't hold the K
. If he had a flush, I was drawing virtually dead. If he held a pair with no spade, I was in pretty good shape. One thing I was almost certain of, though, was that he wasn't folding if I raised.
I counted down my bets. If I went to the river and paid him off, I would have $600 left, which wasn't much, but I'd still be alive in the tournament. Many a poker tournament has been won from a worse position. I decided to flat-call, not wanting to get into a raising war, in which I might be played off the best hand or stuck drawing thin to dead.
The turn card was the 3
, which was favorable for my holding. Mr. Loose-Goose fired $300 into me. I thought about raising him, but couldn't find the value in it. He wouldn't fold a hand or a draw. I had to beat whatever he held at the river to take the chips, and I didn't want to risk my short stack.
The river brought the A
. Mr. Loose-Goose now checked. When I read hands, I try to see the situation through my opponent's eyes and through his level of thought. When the ace came and Loose-Goose checked, I believed he could not beat aces. Believing that I held the best hand, the next thing I had to consider was whether or not my opponent would call with a worse hand. My answer was definitely yes, as he paid off like a broken slot machine. Confident that I held the best hand and would likely get paid, I fired $300 into the pot. Mr. Loose-Goose flat-called and turned over the Q
8
, having flopped top two pair and then checked when the ace came.
I was very surprised when he turned his hand over. When I get my money in poorly, I examine my thinking in retrospect, and determine if it made logical sense. I thought it did, and in spite of the fact that I was wrong in regard to the consequences of my play, I did not find an error in my thinking. I had no reason from the past events/plays that I had observed from my opponent to think that he would check such a strong hand on the river. As long as I believe my logic is sound, I don't overly critique my thinking. I just shrug it off and play the next hand.
Now I was in dire straits. The limit went up to $200-$400 and I had only two laps of blinds. I went all in for the $600 with an A-K and lost to the K
J
, which made a straight. Busted and disgusted, I headed for a live-action game, anxious to redeem myself in a different forum.
Longtime Vegas player Kenny Pyle won the tournament, but he and Mario Genzone chopped up first- and second-place prize money evenly. Mario (a former dealer who recently retired) donated his entire win of $1,961 to the family! With the tournament and donations, nearly $15,000 was raised for the family.
Services for Dennis were held on Feb. 3, and everybody who was there said they were unbelievable. Donna Harris said, "It was so upbeat, so positive, and, believe it or not, fun!" Dennis was an upbeat, positive, fun guy who lived life honorably and well. He would have been happy that his friends gathered to remember him that way.
You can help out Debbi and the kids by writing a small check, making it payable to Debbi Jackson. Mail it to: Debbi Jackson, c/o Mirage Poker, 3400 S. Las Vegas Blvd, Las Vegas, NV, 89109. Dennis would have appreciated it, Debbi would appreciate it, Donna would appreciate it, and so would I.
I've played in quite a few poker tournaments in my day, though not many recently, and this one was special. It was for a special guy, and it was my sad honor to be there.
Roy Cooke has played more than 60,000 hours of pro poker and has been part of the I-poker industry since its beginnings. His longtime collaborator, John Bond, is a freelance writer in South Florida.
