ACES

                                                     

              If there is any single point on which no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em players are able to agree, I would say it’s that wired aces have a tendency to win little and lose big.  Is there a player alive - or dead - who has not suffered a bad beat when dealt top pair?

 

 My personal memory of getting ripped apart holding two aces occurred one afternoon in Paris when The Boston Philharmonic Orchestra was in town.  Not only did I have complimentary tickets, two of my favorite pieces were on the evening’s program.  At the beginning of the poker game I announced I would be leaving an hour before eight PM quitting time. 

 

“You can be sure no one will be sorry to see you go,” said a smart aleck who harbored little love for me.

 

At seven o’clock I was ahead by eight thousand francs, or sixteen hundred U.S. Dollars.

 

“Last hand for me,” I said.

 

We were ten players.  Seated next to last, I casually picked up a pair of black aces.  The convention we employed at the time consisted of the dealer putting up fifty francs ($10) and the first player blinding twice that amount.  In this particular hand, one player called.  That put a total of fifty dollars in the pot when my turn arrived.

 

“All-in,” I announced.

 

You can be sure Monsieur Smart Ass snickered at the absurdity of such a bet.  If that weren’t bad enough, Eric, the blind kept on examining his cards with a curious smile plastered on his face.  After a while, he said:

 

 “I call.”

 

“I guess you know what I have,” I said.

 

“Don’t we all?” said my heckler.

 

Eric laid down the six and a three of diamonds.  Good Lord did we have loose players back then!  Eric was in his late twenties.  He was single, handsome and soft-spoken.  Everyone liked him.  Not because he lost consistently but because he never carped, complained or caused a problem paying.  As an only child, he was being groomed to take over the family’s manufacturing business.  Don’t ask me what they manufactured.  Whatever it was, it was making them all sorts of money.

 

“Hurrah for Eric,” said my Number One fan.  “Tear the American to pieces.”

 

            He did not have to wait long.  The flop was the five, eight and king of diamonds.  Showing no sign of awe or disbelief, Eric allowed his enigmatic smile to expand.  He looked at me before shrugging his shoulders apologetically.  The turn and the River were of no consequence.  While my opponent was gathering in the chips, I stood up and reached into a pocket for a check of his I had won the previous day.

 

            That was an advantage we had in Paris compared to games here in Las Vegas.  Facing the same suckers day in and day out, skillful players were occasionally torn apart by wild opponents.  What of it?  Soon enough the crazies were sure to give back whatever they had won.

 

            I thought of Eric yesterday at the MGM Grand when a jackass with a suited ten-nine outdrew my pair of aces.  Apparently my fifty-dollar raise did not impress him.  Shortly afterwards, the man was busted, but not by me.  As he got up and walked away, I realized it was unlikely I would ever see him again.

 

 Can you believe it?  Not ten minutes later I was again dealt wired aces.  Before the flop I went all-in. Gathering up the small and the big blind I was happy nobody called.

 

            “How the hell can you chase everyone out with such a good hand?” someone asked.

 

            “I don’t know,” I said.  “I guess I just got carried away.”