I sat back down at the $1-3 tables with one goal: drunkenness in three short hours.
Mission accomplished. I don't remember too many hands, but hunger, tiredness and growing rage at the endless suckouts drove me from the table. That, and one lesson in what happens when you play A-crap: you lose.
So $30 down, I wandered over to Pizza Hut for a little post-drinking food, and I packed - I was leaving in eleven hours, and I needed to be prepared. I found my way over to the MGM Grand poker room, and after an hour wait, I was sitting at a $2-4 table and looking at my first hand - pocket aces.
Miraculously, they held, and I was profitable. And it was a killer table. I met with a couple of bloggers, helilxx and Cam. Seated next to me, was the Horniest Man Alive. At one point, I thought I felt his hand on my thigh. Fortunately, there were plenty of cocktail waitresses, masseuses, and women at the table, so my virtue remained intact.
The fish at this table were particularly juicy - they called down everything. One woman sat down with $100, paid it to the rest of the table over an hour, cashed in another $100, and bled herself dry. And for once, she wasn't sucking out on everything - although her K3c did crack my pocket kings. C'est la vie.
Two guys sat down at the table and started talking about Kansas City. I mentioned I was from St. Louis, and that began talk of 1985. I let it go for about 10 seconds and asked them how the World Series went for them last year (yes, the Cards folded like I usually do, but at least they were there). When they left the table broke, I almost felt guilt. Fortunately, most of their chips were stacked in front of me, so I had some comfort.
Then came the hand.
Unfortunately, good times end. I had doubled my buy-in, and was slowly bleeding it back. The deck had run frigid. It was about 3:30, and I was starting to think about hitting the pavement. I was dealt K-10c in middle position. The button raised it preflop, but I figured I could see the flop, which came up Ac and two spades. There were four of us in the pot - first player bet, second raised, and I folded, figuring I was up against a set, two pairs, and/or a flush draw. The turn showed Jc, and the river brought the Qc. Christ. I folded a straight flush. Not only a straight flush - the nut straight flush.
I've thought this one out many times since it happened, and I can't fault myself for folding. To catch the flush, I would have had to catch runner-runner clubs - granted I had eleven outs, but the odds of catching both of them weren't that good, especially if I was up against a flush draw and a set (which I was), so this hand goes down in history as the one that got away. Shit.
Four hands later, I cashed out and emerged into the warm desert air. I needed a shower and sleep, but those were still off in the future (and splashing water in your face in the airport bathroom isn't all that refreshing).
Now I've decompressed, and I'm ready to return. Who's ready for the return trip?
