What a wild and wonderful and educational weekend it was. It was the July 4th weekend, a long weekend because the 4th was on a Monday, and while the rest of the professional poker world (and many of its fans) were in Vegas for the World Series, I decided to take a poker weekend to Southern California. My targets: Commerce and Bicycle.
Before I get into poker, I want to plug a great travel site: biddingfortravel.com. This site, which is nothing more than a huge discussion board, provides tips for getting the best deals from Priceline. With the site’s help, I got a nice room at the Radisson in Whittier, about a 10-15 minute drive from both Commerce and the Bike, for $35/night. The hotel was comfortable, clean, and at the south end of a tree-lined main street that offered lots of non-chain restaurants and shops. If I had time for that sort of thing.
My first stop was Commerce on Friday night. I arrived at about 11pm and wandered about a bit before I figured out where to sign up for a $4/$8 game. There was a bit of a wait even though there were at least 8 tables going at that level. The big room was awash in noise and lights with tables tightly packed under the lights.
While I did win at Commerce, it was a long, grinding night. In fact, I played until 7am just to eke out a net $85 win. The table where I played was as loose at the $4/$8 game at home. The table itself was stained with worn felt and I had to hold my breath the one trip to the restroom the smell was so rank.
When I finally rolled out of bed on Saturday (and I didn’t sleep nearly as late as I wanted, although if I was able, it’s not like the room was noisy or uncomfortable), I made the trip over to the Bike, where I signed up for a $4/$8 game. The Bike also has player cards where they take your photo. I hate having my picture taken because I don’t think I’m photogenic at all.
I played there for almost 8 hours and took that game for $160. I returned Sunday intending to give the $100 buy-in no-limit tournament a try. Then I made my first mistake of the weekend.
With just 3 hours to go until the tournament began, I decided to sit down at a $6/$12 cash game, a game that turned out to be as loose as a $1/$2 game. With limited time—I had to cut off my play not when I was tired or ready to leave, but when the tournament time came—I pushed a bit too hard in some spots, made some less-then-optimal decisions, and came away with my first loss in 2 months. True, it was only $36, but I was aware of the “streak” and didn’t want it to end.
I was also going through a down streak, not getting much in playable cards. I would go an hour or more without even seeing a flop. No pairs. No 2 Broadway cards. The occasional connector—not suited—often low and out of position. And so I began loosening my standards at times.
Sometimes this can be a Good Thing, like when I want to establish a bit of a table image, at least to those who are paying attention, and a loose and wild player. But this was not my intent. I started taking the occasional flyer on hands such as Q-10 offsuit, not if the pot was raised, but I’d limp in.
Most often, of course, the flop wouldn’t fit and I’d get out. But if I hit top pair, I’d awake from my slumber and push hard. More than a couple of times I got at least one person staying with me and I got beaten a few times by hands with better kickers.
I wanted to play the NL tournament at the Bike because it was significantly cheaper than the tournament at Commerce. I played tightly early, in part because I was still in the pattern of getting utterly unplayable hands. Early in a tournament, during the rebuy period, I think it’s not that different from playing a limit game in that it’s harder to bluff someone off. Or maybe it’s that I had no guts to try and push an 8-3 offsuit early on.
Still, I played carefully, picking the occasional spot. I limped in only once or twice in the first couple of rounds and got no fits. I did get a couple of relatively decent hands and raised and won a couple of small to medium pots to build up a small stack. My mindset was that I should raise when I had a hand worth calling and fold otherwise.
In the next couple of rounds, I think that image helped me a bit. Although I wasn’t getting anything that could be termed a premium hand, when I did enter the action with a good hand, I felt comfortable enough to push all in a couple of times and that got me an outright win.
I’m not entirely sure I have the “gamble” I me to do well in a NL tournament, and as the rounds passed, I slipped into survival mode. I finally had to go all-in late when I had just 2 big blinds left in my stack and a hand of A-J offsuit. I got one caller who had just one Broadway card—and he proceeded to pull a full house out of the board, finishing my tournament day.
I still felt pretty good about my performance, and I went back to a $6/$12 cash game where I felt good and focused and I won $150 in fewer than 4 hours.
I decided I wanted to try the Monday nooner limit tournament at the Bike before I drove back home. I got there about 2 hours early and decided to once again sit down at a $6/$12 cash game before the tournament. This was another mistake.
With just 2 hours of playing time available to me, I pushed harder than I should, although to be fair, I also push a couple of premium hands where I got drawn out on. Still, I dropped $250 in those 2 hours and won just 3 pots.
I had high hopes of placing in the limit tournament. Alas, it was not to be. I saw very, very few premium hands. I limped in with medium pairs (I tossed low pairs almost routinely) and none of them flopped a set. I had a very aggressive player 2 seats to my right who raised before the flop about half the time and a very experienced player 4 seats to my left who routinely played any ace and any suited king. He was also telling lots of stories of his experience being in an upcoming poker movie and the great time he had making that movie.
My swan song here came when I was in late position with the blinds at $300-$500 and with $1200 in my stack. It was folded around to me and I found Ah-5h. I raised, and the experienced player on my left, who was in the big blind, called. The flop was rainbow, he bet, I called all-in, and he showed an A-8 offsuit. Trouble was, one of those flop rainbow cards was another 8, the pair held up, and I departed 26th (of 68), less than 10 away from the money.
If it wasn’t for paying tournament entries, I’d be up for the weekend. True, as it stands I’d be up “just” $108, but then, if I’d not been limited in time for two of my cash games, I would have played differently, more patiently, and would have increased my chances of winning.
As for the experience of playing at these two casinos, well, I’ve already mentioned Commerce. The Bike was quite a contrast. The tables all looked as if they had new felt. The bathrooms were spotless and odor free. The floors were constantly being polished. The tables left plenty of room to walk.
This was my first time experiencing a “full game’ of just 9 players. In both my home card room and in all the Vegas poker rooms where I played, a game was 10 players. At both Commerce and the Bike it was 9.
One of the interesting side effects, one that I saw more at the Bike, is that the blinds come around a lot more often. Moreso at the Bike because it seemed as if there was almost always either a player or two away from the table or a space waiting for a new player.
And the blinds! Maybe this is actually normal. Maybe I was spoiled at my local card room when I tried out the $6/$12 game at the rake was the same $3 as the $3/$6 game. At the Bike the rake was $4. Ouch.
I’m going to go on a bit of a dealer and player rant here. But it will end with a huge kudos.
First dealers. At both places, while dealers were quite competent, they also didn’t run the game. Often they barely uttered a word during play, or just announced in a low monotone “raise” when the pot was raised. While competence is qood—the pots were awarded correctly, cards were almost never exposed—really good dealers work the game, announce every action, keep players attentive, and still have the capacity to be friendly and chatty.
And some of the players I encountered were horrible. I say I saw more of it at the Bike only because I played more at the Bike, but it’s actually everywhere, it seems.
So many players seem to come to the table with a sense of entitlement, as if they are the center of the universe. They are rude and demanding. They never say please or thank you, only orders such as “Get me some ships now.” They blame everything and everyone for their misfortunes at the table—except themselves. They demand new setups every 10 minutes (each one means at least one hand isn’t being dealt). They spout expletives at dealers for not dealing them good hands. They change seats and tables thinking that’s the cause of their losses. They splash the pot with their ships (can no one actually stack a bet in front of them?), throw their cards across the table, and are generally unpleasant to be around.
It’s reprehensible behavior.
Dealers, it seems, almost always passively sit by and watch this abuse happen. Even though at the Bike they have posted rules about no abuse, it still happens.
I met one dealer at the Bike who was a shining beacon in the sea of mediocrity. She came to the table for her shift in a manner I can only describe as regal. She was a tall black woman—I forget her name—who had her hair swept up in a beautiful crown, who sat upright and attentive, who made eye contact with everyone at the table and went right to work.
She announced the game better than anyone. But it was not just that which caught my attention. As usual, there were a couple of misfits at the table. One who once again played when he shouldn’t have, as he threw his cards across the table, called the dealer a “piece of sh*t.”
Other dealers probably would have ignored the comment and kept dealing. She did not, calling over a floorman and asking him to please talk to the player. The floorman came over and in the typical “customer-is-always-right” mode asked about the problem. The player blamed the dealer for his woes, and when the floorman gently reminded the player about the language and abuse prohibitions, the continued ranting, throwing in that he wanted a table change. The dealer, finally fed up with the player’s lies, confronted the player with the floorman present and quoted what the player had said.
As I was fortunate enough to win a couple of pots while she dealt, I made sure to give her a couple of extra-large tips. Whe I finally left for the night, I also made a point to seek out a floorman and praise that particular dealer.
If I was to hazard a guess, casinos are so afraid of losing business that they don’t punish the rude and abusing people. But I think at some point the casinos should start putting their foot down. Abusive players poison the game atmosphere.
There’s a part of me, though, that doesn’t want those people to leave. I know that there’s a better chance that I’ll get their money while they are upset. That said, the dealers, the staff, and the other players should not have to put up with the abuse of a few.
Note that we’re not talking about Phil Hellmuth-like tantrums here. We’re talking about people who are genuinely dour and mean.
I recall another situation. A woman who seemed to be another one of those table changers sat down, dressed in a gaudy combination of a lavender top and green shorts, tightly stretched over a doughy body. The whining began almost as soon as she sat down, and she’d played ony a few hands when someone came over to stand somewhat behind her. I sort of got the impression that they knew each other, but this woman demanded that the other person not stand behind her. Now this was in the middle of a hand where she was a participant. It was her turn to play, and instead she was screaming for a floorman. While waiting for the floorman, to arrive, instead of playing her hand, she was wailing at the person to get away from her. When the floorman finally arrived—and she still hadn’t played—she practically screamed at him to make the person behind her move, that she didn’t like that person behind her. The floorman tried to explain that the person had a right to be there, but she’d have no part of it. When she didn’t get her way, she demanded a table change. The floorman explained that they had no seat at the moment, but she’;d have none of that either. She finally tossed her hand across the table, got up, and stalked off.
For one person who makes the playing experience so bad for the 8 other players at the table, as well as for the dealer and the casino staff, why is that person still allowed to play. Why doesn’t someone sit some of these people down and demand that they participate in a respectful manner? For every such person who is allowed to tyrannize a table, I’ll bet the casino loses several people who decide that playing in such an environment is so unpleasant that they want no part of it. They’ll retreat to their home or Internet games, depriving the casinos of customers and income.
Despite the idiots, I had an overall good time playing in Southern California. One thing though: Time flies when you’re at the poker table. Literally, my whole weekend was either sleeping or playing poker (with a little bit of time thrown in for eating, showering, and eating, and an hour or so on the Internet checking email). Even though I had a couple of bad sessions, I still like playing, and I realized that I’ve gotten to the point where I’m no longer afraid to lose. I thin part of that is because I have built a bankroll where, at the level where I’m playing, I can lose and not have it affect me, and partly because I am getting more and more comfortable with playing. I still have no illusions that I’ll ever be really good, nor do I have any aspirations to turn pro, but who knows, in a year or two or three, you may see me taking my (long) show at the WSOP.