The Hand of the Year - Updated with sober(ish) recall

Here's the beginnings of my recap of my last couple of weeks. It'll all come in dribs and drabs over the next little bit.

That's Southern for "you'll get it when you get it."

Overall I think I enjoyed this gathering more than the last few, because I wasn't in charge of shit. Everyone has been very appreciative of my kitten-herding efforts the last few trips out, but it did cut into my enjoyment of the trip. And I have to manage people at work, so damned if I wanna do it for free on my vacation. This trip promised to be much more low-stress, and it was. It gave the few of us that were there a chance to really spend time with each other, without feeling like we were neglecting anyone. So I had fun. Can't wait to see the rest of you when I see you next. Like at the Bash, maybe? Suzy and I are planning on driving up to Philly for the Bash, getting there a couple days early, taking the train into NYC for a day of shopping and tourist-ing, and then drinking like college kids at the Bash.

I've been running bad in June, losing about 1/3 of my bankroll between a couple of ill-fated trips to an underground game and my small losses on my Vegas trip. I'm not sure what exactly went wrong with my game, except that no one can fold in that underground game and as such, I should never play there. My sick run of cards at the home game dried up the last couple of sessions, and I actually posted a loss the last time I had folks over to Casa Falstaff. Then I made my typical mistakes in Vegas - played mixed games and the smallest fixed limit games the casino offered. All my losses in Vegas could be attributed to those two facts. If I stuck to No Limit or at least a bigger limit game, I did well. When I played mixed games or 2/4, it was UGLY.

But I did play the hand of my year against Dr. Chako in the blogger mixed game at the MGM. We're playing 2/4 Stud, and Doc and I have been playing like the most brutal donkeys in the world. I'm pretty sure we straddled and capped blind more hands than not, so we were definitely bringing the action. There were a few people playing like they had more brains than balls. We weren't them. Anyway, on to the hand.

We're playing Stud Hi. Not my best game in the Horse rotation. But not my worst. Stud 8 is my worst game. So my 2nd-worst game in the rotation, and I'm blotto. We had dinner at the Hofbrauhaus, where I consumed 1/2 gallon of Dunkelweiss (or however the fuck you spell it). Upon arriving at the MGM I promptly acquire a quart of Stella, putting myself at the 3/4 gallon mark for beer consumption. For some people, this is not a big deal, but 3 quarts of real beer in a one evening will put me on my ass.

So we're playing a game I suck at, I'm drunk as a lord, TheWife is sitting next to me in a smoking hot little outfit, and at some point prior to this hand CK has given me a backrub. So I'm feeling no pain. I have AK in the hole, with some raggedy piece of shit in the door. Doc completes the bring-in, and I raise. I assume he has nothing, because he's had nothing all night. He pops it back and I cap it. I pick up a 6 on 4th street, and either bet or raise. Remember, I'm drunk and it's been a couple weeks, so my recounting of the hand may be fuzzy. But I either lead out or raise, because I'm sure as shit not calling. I think by this point it's just me and Doc, but maybe one more poor lemming is still around. By the time he pairs his Ace on fifth, we definitely get heads up. He fires, I raise. He looks a little confused by the fact that I just raised into his Aces, but he pops it again. I cap it, and he calls, perplexed.

Somewhere in the back of my head, the spirit of any decent stud player is jumping up and down screaming, but he is quickly quashed by the manic action junkie that has control of my chip hand.

Doc picks up a second pair showing on sixth, and I pair my six. I now have a pair of sixes up, and Doc has two pair showing. He bets. I raise again. He's even more baffled, but raises me. I ask if there's a cap, and protest that we're heads-up when the dealer tells me there is. I cap it, and seventh street is dealt. Doc checks dark, and I pick up four little blue chips. I slur down to his end of the table "There's no way you're folding to one bet on seventh, is there?"

He responds, "You'll have to bet to find out." Or something equally witty. We were both half-crocked, and we at least thought we were witty. I drop my four little blue chips onto the felt, knowing that the only way I can win this hand is if he folds, since I can't beat his board. I bet with the supreme confidence of someone who can beat Aces up, or someone who is astoundingly intoxicated (it is frequently difficult to distinguish between the two). Doc grins at me, shakes his head, and folds.

I am stunned. Not only have I won a hand of Stud, which in and of itself is reason for rejoicing, but I just bluffed an action junkie off the best hand. I show my hand proudly, revealing my dominating pair of sixes. An incredulous Wife kisses me full on the mouth for my poker prowess.

And in punishment, so does Doc Chako.

I think I lost $100 in that session of blogger mixed games, but I certainly played the Hand of the Year. For me at least. Then I took Doc, CK, F-Train and TheWife off to the Spearmint Rhino, where I indulged in the stripper sampler platter while my friends were a little more gourmet in their tastes.

UPDATE - Here's Doc's recollection of the hand, which I think is certainly more valid than my own, if not quite as "poetical" in the words of Sir Andrew Aguecheek (name that play, theatre geeks!).

It's nice to see that someone has even worse hand recall than I do. You had 6s showing by 5th street and you led into my Aces. Of course, I raised. When you re-raised, I got nervous. You led into me again on 6th street. At this point all I had was Aces. I raised. You re-raised. I called. The nine on the river gave me Aces up, but when you led into Aces showing yet again, I figured the only hand you could have was a set of 6s. That's when I made the "incredible" lay down.

He's right - I was representing a set, and it worked. Now, why can't I bluff bad players when I'm sober, as opposed to bluffing good players when I'm drunk?