Bigger Deal

Over a year ago I played poker in the best publishing party ever – Anthony Holden’s Bigger Deal launch. It was only the second time I had played poker. I did better than expected, finishing in the top 25. From then on I was hooked. I went on a poker odyssey that took me to the Gutshot, to home games and pub poker. On Friday night I found myself back where it all started: The Loose Cannon.

Oliver Chubb had invited me and another fellow, whom I will refer to as The Beard, to join his group of friends. We met up for drinks before the £15 buy-in tournament began. A deck of cards was already on the table in the bar, chips in an executive metal briefcase. We warmed up in beer-fuelled friendship, the aching feeling in my gut that I was back with people who knew how to play, people who were or currently are poker professionals. I tried not to let it show. Luckily we ended up being seated at different tables.

My first hand was K8, a two horse race, my heart beating too fast. I bet; my opponent, a quiet dark-haired man, called, then bet heavy on the river. I had paired my King, but he had paired his Ace. Immediately the table viewed me as the greenhorn, the sucker, which as it turned out wasn’t a bad state of affairs. A couple of hands later I peeked at my cards and saw K10, a round of betting, I called, JQ were among the cards that came down on the flop, then a 9. It was me and a cheery fellow who lasted to the river. He knocked the baize in appreciation, my table persona undergoing a sudden nip-tuck. I steamed ahead with some good hands: 66, A10, AJ. I reached a point where a bet of 500 or 1000 by me would lead to a wave of folds. By 21.30 I had 7,350 in chips. Around 10pm, The Beard, Oliver and his friends were wishing me a fond farewell. I had outlasted them – damn, we should have had a side pot!

On parting, Oliver mentioned that they were going to a place where nurses would be. Nurses. I dated two nurses in my younger days – not at the same time, that would have been messy. My mind begins to wander, as I look back and watch them leave.

A few minutes later I have A8, and a big guy in a green T-shirt bets 3,000. I call, he’s got pocket Jacks. Somehow I have shrunk to 1,500. Players have been busted out, moved away, moved in. One of the new players, with a huge chip stack, works as a dealer. He takes over the cards, which is quite pleasing for me as I hate shuffling, but also changes the pace of the game and the level to which we have been playing. His name is Dave. He sees that I’ve been taking notes in an appropriately coloured green notebook. On the sly, after hands have been played, he shows me his cards. He had folded A10, folded A8 out of position. ‘You’re going to write about this,’ he says with authority in his young voice. I nod.
It comes to the crunch, I’m the short stack with Q5, four people have played into the pot before me. I look at my cards. In any other circumstance I would have folded straight away. I think about going all in, but wimp out. Dave and another player, a posh guy in a crisp white shirt, berate me.

‘You should have played,’ they say. They speak about ‘value’.  Up until then I had only really thought about value in terms of Tesco vs. Asda.  The dealer divides up the huge pot to show me what I could possibly win, as the flop comes down. In the end, the green T-shirted giant wins it with pocket Kings. Internally I tell myself I made the right decision not to play Q5, but I don’t dare tell the dealer…

I’m busted out with J5 of all things, an all-in call against the dealer’s AK. I paired my Jack, he paired his Ace, while the posh guy had folded AQ. I have finished 16th out of 68. Not bad for a greenhorn, but I’m still off the money by quite a way. The green notebook precedes me. A blonde woman asks me what I was doing.

‘I was taking notes,’ I say as politely as possible.  ‘What for?’ she asks, genuinely intrigued.  ‘Oh, for Tony Holden’s poker blog.  ’She nods approvingly. I take my leave and head towards St Paul’s.

It’s just before midnight, the sky a bruised purple.  I’m happy that life has a habit of folding in on itself. Though, as I walked, I was still wondering whether I was right to fold that Queen Five.