Poker Articles

ARTY'S POKER Q & A
By Art Santella

Hey! Dummy You're Chasing Away The Live Ones.

This subject is one that really gets me hot under the collar, so in this column I am going to give you only one opinion, mine. As most of you that read my column know, I try to tell it like it is. I had to edit this story to a PG-13 from the original R rating. I want to see if it's just me that this subject makes so crazy. This topic has been getting under my skin for a long time. If you read this and don't have a clue as to what or whom the Hell I am talking about, then "you" are the problem I am addressing.

It was about 10:30 AM. There was not much going on in the poker room. Much to my surprise a 4/8 Omaha H/L game was called, and the table was filling. I would guess it was because everyone was hanging around waiting for another type of game to start. I myself was waiting for a 10/20 hold'em or Omaha game to start. I knew that the 10/20 Omaha game most likely would not start until about 1 PM or later. I scanned the people seated at the 4/8 Omaha table and noticed only three regular Omaha players that I recognized. There were also two hold'em players whom I knew were just killing time until a good hold'em game started. There were also three players whom I had never seen in the poker room before. Within twenty minutes at most, I realized that this was going to be a rare game. The three new faces were calling raises and re-raises to the river, then throwing their cards on the table and asking, "What have I got", "do I have a low?" I looked towards the ceiling and quietly thanked the poker gods for my good fortune.

Within about one hour, I was up just about three hundred dollars, with no end in sight. On this day I had it all together, in addition I was getting some really great cards. I was scooping an above average share of the pots. The thing about this Omaha game was that the pots were averaging between one hundred and fifty to two hundred bucks each. I have noticed that as I have become older, I have become a docile, sweet and lovable person. This was all to end, and the old Arty was just lurking below the surface waiting to emerge. As the hands came to the showdowns, one or two of the regulars and I would get up from the table for a break, have a drink, and discuss the game. We chatted about how we were all in disbelief that at least two of the three new players didn't have a clue on how to play the game. They were taking one hundred-dollar bills out of their pockets like they had a printing press. I always hesitate to use the demeaning term "Fish," but I found it difficult to keep it from coming to mind. Having forgotten all about the 10/20 game, I returned to the table. I noticed that most of the hold'em players had left to play in other games, which was in my opinion a mistake on their part. Replacing them were two players who I, and just about everyone else knew from past experience, were not only rude and foul-mouthed, but were rocks. When I say rocks, I mean that they are so tight that you would need a sledgehammer to drive a needle up their butts.

The game was still great, but I knew that if these rocks were in a hand, I better have, or be drawing to the stone cold nuts. They say that god protects drunks and little children, in a few hands he was also protecting a couple of the new players, who were hitting their miracle cards on the river. Of course you know whom the new guys managed to give the bad beats to with their miracle draws? Right, it was the two rock brothers. At this point I was up about three hundred and seventy five bucks. I was now being a bit more selective which hands I played and in what position I played them. In the meantime the new players were getting the hang of what it meant to be counterfeited and having to use two cards, etc. They were still continuing to pull hundred dollar bills out of their pockets, in what seemed like an endless supply. It took about a half hour after the rock brothers got their butts kicked a few times, that the BS started to hit the fan. First one of the rock heads called one of the new players who had just beat him in a hand, a jerk for playing a hand that had no chance of winning. Let us say he was drawing dead and got there. You know the type of humiliating BS I am talking about.

Here I was telling these new players that they would soon understand the game, and they would be wise to play better cards, so that they could play longer. At the same time these two (expletive deleted) cement heads really started to put the screws to the new guys. I tried to tell them politely several times to knock it off, but to no avail. After about an hour of this abuse, the three new players who must have been friends, had taken enough, they got up and left. Several of us tried to explain to these two granite heads, what they had done to the game, by driving out three loose passive players who didn't have a clue on how to play the game, were losing money, but obviously still enjoyed playing at any cost.

Trying to put a sensible thought into the rock brothers' heads was like trying to drive a needle through a diamond, with a rolled up newspaper. These two said to me "If they don't know how the hell to play the game, they shouldn't be playing." My head started to spin, I felt like Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lector, with a plate of liver and a glass of Chianti that had been placed just out of his reach. I remember mentioning something about how they wouldn't know a good poker game if it came up and smacked them in the face. At this point I must have looked like Charles Manson on a bad hair day. After about two minutes of blowing off steam, and being somewhat restrained by two of my friends, I started to return to my normal sweet lovable self. That was the first time I had ever lost my cool inside a casino, and I apologized to everyone in sight. I do remember hearing hands clapping, and a cheer or two, and even a "Give 'em Hell, Arty." I then picked up my chips and left the game fearing that if I played in that game any longer, I would risk going on full tilt, and lose back all my winnings.

I kept looking back at the Omaha table to see how the rock heads had changed the tone of the game. I noticed that the whole pot was now only running about fifteen to thirty bucks and some were not worth the time it took to play them. I felt so pleased with myself as I watched these two guys fighting with each other over a two way split for low. A pot that netted them about twenty five percent less than it cost them to play it. As I looked around the room about an hour later, I noticed the new players that had left the Omaha game, had now joined in a 5/10 hold'em game. I decided to get a seat, and join the hold'em game, to play with the new guys on the block. Hey! My secret to winning at poker is always try to play with people who play worse than I do. My friends tell me that I must be finding that harder to do everyday.

I guess what I am trying to say is, why can't some players who see themselves as good poker players, with good intelligence, fail to understand the simple concept of recognizing when they are in a good game? Is it possible that these people really don't understand that game selection is about as important as it gets? Is it that these people cannot succeed at anything but being stupid and miserable, and at that they are an overwhelming success, or am I just making a mountain out of a molehill?

"If You Ain't The Lead Dog, The Scenery Never Changes"
Now go win money.

Questions & Feedback to: arty@optonline.net