Knowing Your Opponent

If I had ever been here before, I would probably know just what to do.

Don't you?

It's midmorning at a local cardroom. Most of the overnight players have finally blinked out into the sunlight, and the morning shift is on. Breakfast is appearing at the little food tables, and the stock market news is on the TV. Me, I've got a quiet morning, so I'm settled into a comfortable $20-$40 game. Ernie, a prop, is sitting on my left. Ernie is a poster boy for what props should be like. He's always pleasant, even if he's badly stuck. He's never rude to anybody, and always has a kind word for the dealer, staff member, or fellow player. I hope they pay him well. I know Ernie takes good care of himself, as I learned when "the hand" happened.

Some of the players, including Ernie, had $30-$60 "overs" buttons in front of them, which means that if a hand gets down to just players with those buttons, it becomes a $30-$60 game for the rest of the hand. Anyway, Ernie limped in from early position, and the guy in the No. 9 seat raised. Jack, down at the other end of the table on the button, three-bet, and Bob, in the big blind, called two bets cold. Ernie called two more bets and the guy in the No. 9 seat called the third bet. At that point, there were nothing but $30-$60 overs buttons left, and here came the flop: 10-9-5 rainbow.

I don't remember the betting sequence, except that Ernie and Jack were doing the betting, and Bob and No. 9 were doing the calling. And bet they did. Before the smoke cleared, the four of them each had put in four $30 bets, with nickels ($5 chips). The dealer was glancing around the room, presumably to see if there was a dustpan or something to help him keep the pile of chips under control.

The turn was a seemingly innocuous card – a 6. Bob checked, Ernie checked, No. 9 checked, and Jack, on the button, bet $60. Now, Bob suddenly woke up and check-raised. Ernie, without much hesitation, called the two bets cold. No. 9 looked grim, but also called both bets. Jack slid in a third bet, and Bob capped the betting at four bets each. This is where things got interesting. Ernie paused, chuckled, flashed his cards to me, and tossed them toward the dealer, only millimeters in front of my grasping fingers as I attempted to catch them before they hit the muck. Not really, of course, but it was all I could do to keep a straight face. Ernie had just blithely folded pocket fives – the bottom set. "One out," muttered Ernie under his breath. And I'll tell you the rest of the story in a second.

But here's the other thing: Why is it that when we go visit another place that has poker, we play bigger than we do at home? Does that make any sense? I see it all the time; folks who are $10-$20 players at heart fly 2,000 miles to Las Vegas, get no sleep, have only a couple of days to play, and they play $30-$60 or bigger. And, of course, this relates back to the first part of my article. Not only do you have the deck stacked somewhat against you because of the reasons above, but it's likely you don't know a soul in the game (unless you make this trip frequently). In your hometown game, you know who's who. Tight Fred. Loose Charlie. See-Every-River Mike. Stay-Out-of-Alice's-Way. Against one of 'em, you three-bet with K-J offsuit; against another, you seriously consider folding A-K offsuit when he raises. But here in Las Vegas, or Tunica, or Los Angeles – wherever you are away from home – you don't know the players. Of course, they don't know you, but they know each other. And you're giving up serious expected value.

That's not to say you shouldn't play poker when you're out of town. I do it and have a great time. It's fun meeting new folks, and you do get some value from being an unknown quantity. But generally when I'm out of town, I play smaller than I do at home. The money means less and the social interaction more. And since I'm usually playing against unknown opponents, I'd rather be reducing my risk than increasing it.

I'll grant the counterargument that a thrice-yearly visit to Vegas means you can play a bit bigger and not be risking your bankroll, because you won't be there that long. It's "taking a shot." If you see it as that, and don't do permanent damage to your pocketbook, so be it. Just be aware that pro players in Vegas pay their rent on this principle.

Anyway, back to "the hand." The turn got capped three ways, with Ernie bailing out after two bets. Jack was all in on the button. The river was an irrelevant jack. Bob bet out, and now, after merely calling throughout the entire hand, No. 9 suddenly woke up and raised. Looking like a deer caught in headlights, Bob slowly pushed 12 more nickels in, calling the raise, and turned up 8-7. He had turned the nut straight. Of course, No. 9 turned up K-Q – a flopped gutshot draw that he decided to see through to the bitter end, rivering the stone-cold nuts to win a $2,000 pot. Jack sadly tossed his pocket tens onto the felt faceup. He'd flopped the top set, had it beaten in one place on the turn, and a second place on the river.

"How did you know?" I asked Ernie. "I mean, tell me now, because I'm never, ever again playing poker with you."

"Oh, Jack – when Jack puts that third bet in on the turn, he's got a monster. And if he ever three-bets before the flop with 8-7, I'm giving up the game. So, he had to have pocket tens, and I had only one out."

If I had ever been here before on another time around the wheel,

I would probably know just how to deal

With all of you.