Party Hearty

Monday, May 1st, 2006, 1:17 pm

I haven’t played much at Party the last year or so, confining my limited play to the good folks at PokerStars and Full Tilt. But then they threw me some free cash and instead of writing the entire weekend I found myself playing a few hands, including the ones I whined about the other day. Sorry about that; I was weak.

Anyway, after a good morning’s work and some time bashing away at the keyboard I treated myself to a little poker. I figured I’d quickly bust out and could get back to work with a clear conscience. And I thought I was dead when I flopped 2 pair with 5-6 but couldn’t chase one final caller as the board filled up with a 7 and an eight. He had to have the straight, and I called his river bet out of spite, but it turned out his bet was a stone bluff and I doubled up. Later I hit a set and doubled up again. Lucky me.

I decided to go for the gusto and play a 2-table SNG. I would’ve made the final table with lots of chips had not some jackass called with A-9 against my jacks and hit his ace on the river after a ragged flop. Here’s something I really hate about Party–once you’re bounced from a tournament, you’re locked out of chat. So my comments on the hand, like “nice call, thumbdick!” were not communicated. Perhaps that’s for the best.

I went outside and replaced two missing screens on my porch, did some cleaning, some laundry, some crying, and I sat down at a NL table to make my entry fee back. Here I ran into a character I’m becoming all-too-familiar with–the trash-talking micro-limit moron. I’m amazed at how many people playing for very low stakes regularly use language that, in some cases, would be used as mitigating circumstances in a homicide investigation. I mean, I would never say, “nice call, thumbdick” if I knew the other guy could read it. The oozing sarcasm of “nice call” would be enough to make him cringe with shame. There’s no need for name-calling. Unless he hits a two-outer to knock me out on the bubble. That’s when I get out the thesaurus.

But over and over I run into people with shocking manners. For example: I’m sitting in the small blind with AQ. The button limps and I raise the pot. He calls. The flop comes 6-4-2. He bets a quarter. Folks, the man bet a QUARTER. I raise the pot, he calls. OK, that’s a bit ominous, he could’ve paired up somehow. The turn is a nine, he checks, but I need to husband my remaining chips so I check too. The river is a very pretty queen. He checks, I bet, he calls and turns over pocket tens. Me and my lady take the pot.

Now, I think it’s fair to say he didn’t play this hand very well. He didn’t raise with his pocket pair. He didn’t re-raise when I raised. He threw a tiny bet after the flop when he held an overpair and just called my raise. He checked the turn. And, after a queen hit on the river and I bet out, he called again. He could’ve won the pot with a nice bet on the flop or turn and saved himself a big bet by folding on the river. According to the Theory of Poker, he goofed bigtime.

So how does he respond to his horrible play. “Fish” he types.

“Me?” I respond.

“Nice suckout, fish.”

“Thanks for the free card, I appreciate it.”

“You just got lucky.”

“You let me get lucky. Again, thank you for not betting and giving me a free card.”

I know, I know, you shouldn’t teach the monkeys how to use tools. But I don’t like being called a fish by someone already wrapped in newspaper and drizzled with malt vinegar. There are some decidely fishy aspects to my game, and I understand them and know how to correct them, but I’m not going to stand for someone dissing me that way. Especially when I’m having fun tilting the jerk.

Eventually he decided the best way to respond was to question my sexuality and insinuate that he’s had carnal relations with my mom. Seems a bit of a jump–from saying I hit a lucky card to besmirching the honor of my sainted mother. I shamed him into silence by saying that I doubted his own mother would approve of his language, but it got to thinking about what kind of creature would say something like that. It shows how different people behave online compared to in person. I mean, if you say something about a guy’s mother, and he’s standing right in front of you…you’ve gotta be ready to throw down, right there, right then. And all this over a five dollar pot? Perspective, people.

Sadly, my adversary soon logged off and I decided to take another SNG swing. Ah, I’d forgotten the joys of Party Poker sit-n-goes. We lost five players in the first nine hands. I rather enjoyed the hand that went raise, re-raise, call, call, call, re-re-raise, call, call, all-in, call, call, call. The flop came all clubs and jack high and all the money ended up in the middle. KJ carried the day. Of course it did.

“Jeepers,” I typed. The next hand I paid my T40 big blind and the guy who won the previous massive hand raised me. His entire stack. “Jeepers creepers,” I typed as I folded. Fly, meet sledgehammer. But this day the Poker Gods smiled upon me, as they gifted me with pocket kings when he tried one of his all-in blind steals. His J-3 did not improve and I doubled up. Love them Poker Gods. Though I ended up finishing second when my AJ was dominated by A2 and I missed taking a 9-1 chip lead. Oh well. The thing is, I had fun. And I felt good. Superior, even. Bordering on arrogant. Which of course means that tonight, it’s my junk that’s for the kicking.

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One Response to “Party Hearty”

  1. TripJax Says:

    Yeah, it is very hard to bite your tongue and take what these idiots offer up in the chat. I try to leave it alone, but on a rare occasion I bite back. I did so this weekend.

    You do what you gotta do…

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