I have a ton of stories from my days of dealing in the underground clubs in New York. I now live in Vegas and work here full time in the poker industry. I often get asked by the players here in Vegas to tell some stories of my club days. Maybe BBV will find it interesting as well.

This all started in 2006.

Fox's Club - 1.1
A bit of some background about me -- I basically grew up in the poker world. My grandmother was a player/dealer decades ago (her boyfriend ran a large club in Queens, NY) and she started teaching me 7 Stud, 5-Card Draw Hi, and NL Hold'Em starting when I was 6 years old. We would play with a cheap Hoyle chipset she had purchased from the local grocery store. Occasionally, I even beat her — I’ll never be sure to this day if she let me win, but I’ll always hold those memories close. Poker was something we always did together and did often. It would be unusual to see my Grandma without a deck of cards on her.

As I got older, my whole family would play together. When I reached middle and high school, I would host multi-table $20-$50 buy-in tournaments at my house and there would be about 40-50 of us at my house playing poker, socializing, eating, and doing what kids do. We were all terrible and had no idea what we were doing, but we were all having fun and little did I know it, but I was getting a taste of what was to come in terms of my career later on in life.

When I hit 16 years old, a friend of mine from high school — Joey — who had gone off to college in Queens at St. John’s had come back home for the summer. He had been introduced to a very large and popular underground club in College Point, NY. At the time, he was making a regular income from playing small stakes MTT’s on Full Tilt instead of having a regular job during college, and naturally found his way into live poker. This was my first introduction to the underground poker world. In addition to playing online with him, I accompanied him and a couple of his college buddies one night to play $1/$3 NL at a live underground club. I was able to play because I had made some substantial money from running and eventually selling my own web hosting business while in high school. My other passion that I had started learning from a very young age was computer programming. I was coding in Visual Basic by 11 years old because a friend of my father’s, who was a software developer, had decided that I had shown some aptitude for the field and took an interest in mentoring me. I was lucky to have been given the opportunity of his time, teachings, books, etc. Anyway, off we went to Fox’s Club — Fox was the connected mob guy who owned the club. The game was protected and everyone knew it. It was a very social place.

If you’ve ever been to an underground club, then you know that the quality of the customer service and experience can vary greatly from game to game. Fox’s game was the creme of the crop, it was absolutely top notch. It ran everyday, night and day.

It was located in a large, multi-story industrial lot which sat right near a main intersection, which meant lots of traffic — a very good thing because the traffic to and from the game just blended in with the usual activity.

When you pulled in, you could park anywhere you wanted out of the tens of dozens of spots. It didn’t matter where you parked anyway — I’ll get to why in a minute. Then, you would walk upstairs to the 2nd story to come stop in front of a giant steel door with a buzzer and several cameras positioned in front.

When you rang the bell, they’d ask you who you were, you’d tell them how and who invited you, and in a minute or two you’d be buzzed in through the first steel door. After entering, you’d come to a second steel door with another camera positioned in front, which only opened from the inside.

When you finally entered the room, it was gorgeous — clean, large, comfortable, and was equipped with everything you wanted in a club. A full-sized kitchen, multiple clean bathrooms (one even had a shower), a lounge area, a high limit room, waitresses, a bunch of large flat screen TV’s, and a smoking room among other things. The first thing you’d notice was that they had 6 high-quality poker tables paired with executive chairs, not including the one in the high-limit room. This club was spacious.

As you walked in, a valet would ask for your keys and he would go fetch your vehicle and park it in an organized fashion amongst the others. You’d then make your way over to the podium and tell the floor which game you wanted to play — they usually had at least several games going — $1/$3, $2/$5, and $5/$10 NL and higher when it ran, but the much higher games were much more private.

Strapped with $1,000 in cash on me, I request a seat in the $1/$3 game and eventually make my way onto the table. The max buy-in was $500, which I opted for because most stacks at the table were deep. It didn’t really matter anyway — this was my first time playing in an underground poker club and I was nervous as hell. I didn’t know how to act, was totally naive to my safety, I was 16 years old and I was clearly “the kid” in the club.

I remember winning one of my first pots, and a mid-30’s Asian guy sitting next to me taps me on the shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to tip the dealer?”

“What do you mean? Are we supposed to do that?”

“Of course, they work on tips. When you win a pot, toss them a buck, if it’s a big pot then maybe a redbird or two.”

“Oh, uh… I see… I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” and I toss the dealer a buck.

Over the course of the summer and playing there a dozen or so times, I began to take notice how much these dealers were making. Back then, in this particular club, dealers were well taken care of and I managed figure out that they were pulling in at least $1,000 per shift depending on their duties and how long they spent in the box. Some guys had multiple roles, would often spend time on the phone with players, some would work the cage area, some would floor other times, etc.

The questioned then dawned upon me — why am I risking my money playing this game, when I could learn how to deal it and be guaranteed to make money without any risk?

That was when I started to become friendly with Big Mike — one of the regular dealers. I wanted to deal and I wanted a job there… How was I going to make this happen? How could I pass up learning how to make $1k a night at a job that looked like it could be a lot of fun?

To be continued…

Fox’s Club — 1.2

Thinking about it now, the thought of a 16 year old kid wanting to learn how to deal poker in an underground club and actually turning out to be good at it… is just plain hilarious. But, I was determined to learn this skill, and even though I was a little naive about it, I made a promise to myself that I was going to study poker and poker dealing.

When you’re that young, the problem is that your brain is not yet fully developed and no matter how mature and intelligent someone of that age can be, the fact remains that they have yet to gain “wisdom” — the kind which can only be acquired through time. I say this because I grossly underestimated the amount of time on the felt it really takes to become a solid, “A”-Dealer. But again, I had drive and determination to learn how to deal.

I became friendly with Big Mike, got his phone number, and would text him whenever I wanted to come down to the club. I let him know that I wanted to learn how to deal and asked him how he learned. He told me that he had went to dealer school. I didn’t know such a thing existed. He wasn’t too enthusiastic about me learning how to deal, he said I was too young and didn’t know the game well enough yet. I came to the conclusion that Big Mike wasn’t going to help me, and sure enough, he never did in that regard. I kept him as a poker contact and would eventually be invited to other games and clubs by him, something that could be really helpful later on.

With Big Mike not wanting to teach me, my plan was to go to Fox’s to play, and when I wasn’t in a hand I was going to study what the dealer was doing — what he did with his hands, how he shuffled, what he said, what he was constantly doing with the chips in his rack? This was how I discovered rake, by the way. I didn’t even know what rake was.

At Fox’s, everybody paid $5 per half when the dealers would make their push. I thought that that was how they were making their money. What I didn’t know was that they were also taking a rake. There wasn’t a gator or dropbox for the rake. It didn’t sit out openly in front of the players as it does in casino card rooms. The dealer would quickly take out chips from the pot and they would go right into the well. Every half, the dealer that was pushing in would replace the well with the one they were carrying.

The first time I saw the rake being taken, I was puzzled by what was happening and didn’t know what was going on. No-one else at the table ever seemed to say anything or even acknowledge it so I figured it must be okay. When I saw Big Mike go into the smoking lounge for his break, I got up from the table and went inside to ask him about it. He then educated me about rake and what it was. I was dumbfounded. This place must be making a sh*tload of money. 10% of the pot up to $25? I started to do the math on all the tables running, the time being taken every half hour, an average pot size for an average rake amount, and came up with an impressive number. Damn, what a lucrative business to be in.

During the time I spent watching the dealer, I picked up lots of little things here and there, but ultimately just watching was not enough. I needed some proper instruction. I also knew I needed to learn how to “deal” the cards the way Big Mike did with that flick of his fingers — not knowing at the time that it was called “pitching the cards”.

All of this information. All of these techniques. There must be some resources and information on poker dealing on the internet, right? I mean, if Big Mike went to a school that teaches how to deal poker, then there must be some info on where to go. I’d later on make a discovery that would make a huge impact on my life.

So, I decided that moving forward, I was going to focus on getting better at the game while I spent my time at Fox’s. Maybe Big Mike was right. Maybe I didn’t know the game well enough yet. Instead of trying to learn how to deal there, I’ll just play the game and try and win as much money as I can.

This didn’t turn out so well, however, as I was not yet a competent player. I had no live experience — I was very easy to read, made the mistake of engaging in table talk and failing at every verbal jousting I took part in, and I hadn’t yet been a real student of the game. I was learning the hard way through trial and error, which of course cost me tons of money.

I didn’t always lose, because I wasn’t an idiot and was intelligent enough to realize that there actually is a skill component to this game. The Asian guy (from Part 1) in his mid 30’s, the one who politely taught me about tipping dealers, turned out to be a pretty cool guy.

His name was Andy. When we first officially met, he asked me about which college I was going to and what major I was studying.

“So, you in college? What are you studying?”

“Actually, I’m still in high school. I haven’t decided yet which school I want to go to. I still have a couple of years left.”

“What? How old are you, buddy?”

“I’m 16, I’ll be 17 after the summer.”

“So you can’t even drive, yet? Is that why you always come by with a friend?”

“Yeah, I’m still saving up for a car. I think I’m gonna buy a used Mazda 6.”

He was curious about where I was getting all of this money I had to play with at the tables. I told him about my computer background and web hosting business. He was impressed and I had earned his respect. He told me that he had initially thought that I was just another one of the college kids that came by to play — money from their parents, or playing with the extra college loan money that was left over and sent out as a check to students who got loans.

We developed a kind of student-teacher relationship. He smoked a ton of cigarettes, and every time he did, I would join him in the smoking lounge and he would tell me his thoughts on how I played certain hands, point out mistakes I made, give me positive reinforcement on things I was doing correctly, pull me off the table when I would start to tilt, and overall just looked out for me. Andy was a very good player as well, judging by the fact that he consistently won and could always give me a logical reason and argument to why I should do things a certain way.

Other people who tried to teach me the game would say things like “You should have raised on the turn”, and when I asked “Why?”, I would always get the same response — “Because you lost the hand”. That made no sense at all to me. That’s not an answer, it doesn’t answer the question at all. That’s just another way of saying that if I was a psychic and could predict the future, the way I could have won the hand was by knowing what the outcome was and making the right play.

Andy would say things like “You should have raised on the turn”, and when I asked, “Why?” He would say things like “Well, why did you decide to call instead of raise? Did you even consider raising at all? Did you consider folding? What did you think he was betting into you with? You had a set of 9’s on a board that had one broadway card and two flush draws”. That was when I realized that I wasn’t even thinking much about what the other guys had, I was just playing my own cards and when I didn’t make hands, I would try and bluff, sometimes successfully and sometimes not so much. I was starting to learn the game from a thinking player’s perspective.

Andy had been playing poker for a long time already and was an underground grinder. After graduating from college with a degree in finance, he got a job at some firm but eventually left to pursue poker. Between his investments and playing poker full time, that was how he made his income. He played in tons of games and clubs all around New York and was what you would call an underground pro.

At the time, if you were a competent player, it was quite easy to make money in those games. There were tons of fish and people who would literally donate money. In the beginning, I was one of them. So were Joey and his college buddies. Joey was a decent online MTT player — skilled enough to consistently cash in small tournaments — but he wasn’t very good at playing cash games. Especially live cash games. He was too easy to read. So was I — absolutely awful at hiding tells, let alone knowing what those tells were.

I remember one particular session at Fox’s where I was running like God. I had turned $500 into nearly $4,000. I was getting super lucky, super quickly. I’ll never forget this session as it was the first time I walked out of Fox’s with a huge wad of cash in my pocket. And it started off with the first hand I played that night.

I always waited to play until I was in the big blind, something Andy advised me to do, as you couldn’t come in for free behind the button, not that I even knew what that was at the time. Forgive my recollection of this hand, it’s rough at best, it was over a decade ago, but it was the first time I saw how brutal poker could be.

There was a raise to $15, a re-raise to $50, a call, another call, and I look down in the big blind at T9ss. I was still superstitious at the time and always played my first hand, no matter what it was. So I called and the original raiser called as well. 5 players.

The flop comes TT9 with two clubs, and I check. There’s a bet of $150, then the next guy jams, the next guy also jams, another all-in, and at this point I remember thinking to myself — holy sh*t — I quickly call, so does the guy in front of me. I then turn my hand over. What does it matter? Everybody is all in, give me the money baby!

Everyone else follows suit, and tables their holdings wondering what the hell is going on here. We’ve got a 5-way all-in, something I’d never seen before — AK of clubs, pocket aces, pocket 9’s, and QJ, which I’m fairly sure was suited.

I’d be lying if I told you what happened after this point. My body was overflowing with adrenaline. The dealer does his work and the next thing I know I have $2.5k in front of me and some really pissed off people sitting next to me.

As the session continues, within the next few orbits I manage to pick up pocket aces and pocket kings, stack two players, and it was at this point that I had around $4,000 in front of me.

Like I said, running like God. Then, it happened.

Thinking I was invincible, I re-raise a guy with 64o. The flop comes A44. The guy bets and I just go all-in, not knowing what else I could do. He then tanks for a minute, and says to me, “You’re really that lucky huh? You got that 4 don’t you?”

I remember just smiling like a teenager who had just lost his virginity.

“I don’t know what to tell you man, but yeah, I do. I have 64”, as I shook my head “yes”.

“I believe you.” And the guy open mucks AK. I show him the 64.

I get shipped the pot, and then Andy says to come join him in the smoking lounge. I didn’t smoke, but my Mother had for years so it didn’t bother me much.

“Why in the hell did you tell that guy what you had? You need to learn how to act composed at the table.”

“I didn’t know what else to do. It didn’t feel right lying to the guy.”

“That’s because you’re a good kid. This is poker, buddy. You can’t ever feel bad about taking someone’s chips, or else you’ll never succeed at this game.”

“Well what should I have done then? What should I have said?”

“For now, the next time that happens, don’t say a word. Just stare at the board until the other player makes a decision. You’re clearly not capable of table talk, yet. If you feel like you have to respond and can’t ignore the other player any longer, then just use my line and then tell him it’s on him.”

“What’s your line?”

“Well, I can’t lose if you fold.”

And I’ll never forget that line. I still use it sometimes to this day. You have to understand that this happened back when you could actually engage your opponent verbally when it was heads up. Now, you can’t discuss the contents of your hand whatsoever. That era has ended and table talk is not what it once was. In my opinion, I firmly believe that this particular change in poker was not a positive one. It made poker really fun and really interesting. It was a large contributor to the social element of the game. And it felt really, really, good when you would successfully talk your opponent into making the move you wanted them to make.

Andy continued smoking his cigarette while telling me I should cash out and go home with a huge win.

“How much more money do you really expect to make? You’re way too deep now in this game where everyone is going to start shoving on you. Trust me, cash out and hang out until your friend is done playing so you can go home.”

“What else am I supposed to do? Isn’t everyone going to get mad that I’m leaving?”

“Who cares? Sit at the table and fold everything except Aces or Kings for the next hour. If you pick up one of those hands, just go all-in. Trust me, you have nothing more to gain and only something to lose if you continue playing. For the next hour, just watch everyone else and how they play and what they showdown. You might learn something.”

And that’s exactly what I did. I folded every hand for the next hour, then cashed out.

While I was hanging out and railing Andy and my friend who I came with, I realized that I needed to buy a poker table and the same type of cards they were using at Fox’s — they used KEM bridge size, jumbo index. Something I had learned about from picking Big Mike’s brain. I figured this would be a perfect time to invest in a real poker table, considering that I just cashed out $4k.

Maybe I could start having cash games at my house with my friends and deal the game to practice? I already hosted tournaments at my house regularly, but never thought about hosting a cash game. Would my friends even want to play a cash game? What stakes would it be? I still need to figure out how I’m going to learn how to deal.

Hmm, I’ve got some thinking to do.


To be continued…

Looks like an interesting fred at first sight thanks, will indulge later

Spades — 1.1
Fast forward to 2007 — I was 17, I had gotten my driver’s license and purchased a used Mazda 6. It was silver in color, with a hatchback trunk. I loved that car. It had a Bose sound system with a 9-inch sub that packed a tight punch. It was quick too, sporting 220 horsepower, if I remember correctly. I’m not a car guy by any means, I don’t know jack about engines, I can’t drive a stick, but if it has nice features and it’s affordable then it’s for me.

By this point in time, I had learned to deal — but I was awful at it. Everybody has to start somewhere, and for me it was at Spades, a popular club in Long Island, New York. I was strictly a tournament dealer and was not allowed to deal the cash games. I wasn’t good enough, yet. I needed practice to get better, and I got the hours in by dealing their tournaments three times a week.

Going back several months, I had found a website that offered a “poker dealer school” video DVD training course. I made the purchase and completed the course.

I also purchased a book titled, “The Professional Poker Dealer’s Handbook”. Really, it was more like a 247 page manual. It had a plethora of information in it. It seemed to cover just about everything you needed to know about being a professional poker dealer. I read the entire thing, cover to cover. It was an incredibly useful tool. If you pull it up on Amazon and take look inside, you’ll see why. It is most certainly, without a doubt, the professional poker dealer’s handbook. It’s like a bible for dealing, although I’m sure it’s probably outdated by now.

The DVD video course wasn’t quite like the book. It focused more on the mechanics of poker dealing — the shuffle, pitching cards, cutting chips. It had some content in there about side pots, raking, pot-limit pot calculation, chopping pots, and other general procedures.

I was glad that I bought both of them. The video course offered what the book didn’t — visual demonstration of the mechanics required to pitch cards, which would be impossible to learn from the written word.

I purchased a poker table, Paulson chips, KEM cards, and would practice dealing on a daily basis. I would routinely set up 9 stacks of chips around my table, deal out the entire deck by pitching cards one-by-one to each stack, and repeatedly practice this over and over until I could smoothly pitch cards accurately.

Now that I knew the basics of dealing, it was time for me to find a job somewhere and start dealing real games.

One night, browsing the “gigs” section on Craigslist, I came across a post looking for poker dealers. It was a paid gig to deal a tournament for a bar poker league in Long Island, NY. I responded to the post and was hired to deal the event.

It was a typical bar poker league — a bunch of people who get together once a week at a particular bar to play some tournament poker and have some fun. They’re usually self-dealt and pretty agonizing to play in because of that fact. However, this bar league decided to pool some money together and hire a few dealers instead.

One of those dealers was a guy named Gary, who I met that night. He was an older guy, in his late 50’s, grey hair, really tan and thin, decently tall and looked like a crackhead. He spoke a mile-a-minute and constantly cracked jokes that I didn’t really find funny. He was a nice person, though, seemed goodhearted and we struck up a conversation during one of our breaks.

“You play cash? Here, take one of these,” as Gary hands me a business card with a large, black spade on it and a phone number printed below it, with the caption — “SPADES”.

“Yeah, I play cash, what’s this you handed me?”

“It’s a phone number to a poker club. It’s located in Long Island. We open everyday at 11am. $1/$2 no limit, tournaments too. If you wanna play, call or text the number and tell them Gary sent you. We met at the bar league tournament. By the way, you into men?”

He said all of that without a skipping a beat, in one breath, at the rate of about 90mph. I wasn’t sure that I heard him correctly.

“What?”

“You into men? Maybe a little P&P?”

“Nah man, I’m into women. Sorry.”

“No problemo, kiddo. You play PLO at all?”

“I’ve played it before, but I’m not good at it. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Well if ya feel like playin some PLO gimme a call good lookin, I play at The Warehouse. Good action, lotta fun. Take my number, name’s Gary.”

I took out my phone and saved Gary into my contacts. Sent him a text with my name in it. He lit up a cigarette and I listened to him talk as he smoked. He asked me if I had seen the movie Rounders, which of course, I had. He then gave me a brief history lesson.

“Ya know the Chesterfield in the movie is based on a real club that was in the city, right?”

“No, I didn’t know that actually. Is it still around?”

“Nope, shutdown years ago. Political bullsh*t. Can’t say I wasn’t happy about it though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Gave the place I was workin’ for at the time more business. Put alotta money in my pocket. Good times at The Diamond Club.”

“The Diamond Club?”

“Yep. Great cardroom. First one in the city to have dealers. Worked there for years until it closed. But, ya know, life goes on. Live here in Long Island now. Where you from?”

“I’m from here, but I lived in California for 10 years, I was born there.”

“Married? Kids?”

He clearly had no idea how young I was. Or maybe he did, who knows?

“Nah, no kids. Not married, just a girl. I’ve been with her for about 8 months.”

“Lucky lady. Good for you. She play cards?”

“Oh, no. I’ve tried to show her how to play before, but it ended up somehow turning into strip poker. She said she preferred that much more than playing with the chips. Speaking of which, we should probably head back inside and finish up this tournament.”



During the drive home from the bar, I took the business card Gary had given me out of my pocket. I felt like playing. The bar league pay was $80 + tips for the dealers, which ended up being around $200. Thankfully, they were very generous.

I had been wondering why a guy like Gary would ever deal an event like this one. He was a really, really good dealer. Without a doubt, he was a professional. But, he was there for one reason. He was recruiting.

Before I had met him during our break, I had seen him handing out business cards to every one of the bar league players. I didn’t make sense of what he was doing until he had handed me a card outside.

Now, I really wanted to check this place out. Spades. Given that I lived in Long Island and not Queens, where Fox’s Club was located, the thought of playing at a club that was local to me seemed very attractive. It was a really big inconvenience to drive all the way to Queens every time I wanted to play. It was especially tilting when I would have to drive all the way home after a losing session. I was getting better at the game, but still not yet a competent player.

I needed to play with some new players. I had only ever played live poker at Fox’s. Maybe I could learn something from a new game.

My phone vibrates.

I take it out of my pocket, then click the button on the side to spring it open. It’s Gary.

“Cards Kiddo? Game on at Spades. $100 new player bonus on me.”

To be continued…

Everyone knows who your “ gary” is. Might as well use his real nAme, calling him a crackhead is a low. Class move, just saying

Subbed! I’m liking your storytelling so far!

Great Thread so far OP!

Interesting read so far. Excited to hear more.

Man for a rake of $10/hour plus 10% pot, $25 max. I cant even imagine nowadays how they could have a daily game of multiple tables running. The comps would have to be free first class flights to and from the game, food ordered player by player personally from anywhere in the world, and free massages from super models during game.

Spades — 1.2
Every poker player knows that feeling —when you get the itch to play. I had just made $200 for dealing the bar poker league tournament. My girlfriend, Jennifer, was surely sleeping, and here I had Gary telling me to come down to play with $100 bonus. Surely, this had to be +EV. I was about to scratch that itch.

Being cognizant of the rake now, I text Gary back, asking him what the rake is and he replies, telling me it’s 10% up to $10. This sounded pretty reasonable to me, but I wanted some confirmation. Back in 2007, texting had not yet become the preferred medium of communication and although it was popular, a phone call was more often used. I decided to give Andy a call. No answer. I immediately received a text back, telling me that he’ll call me back in a minute.

I was driving on the Long Island Expressway and was a bit tired. I often stayed up late anyway, and was not much of a morning person. It was already late at night, so I decided to take an exit that had a gas station nearby. I pulled into a Valero, went inside, and purchased a sugar-free Monster energy drink. As I was walking back to my car, my phone rang — it was Andy.

“What’s up, buddy? I’m in the middle of a session, try and make it quick.”

“Hey man, I’m about to go play cards at this new spot. The rake is 10% up to $10, stakes are $1/$2 NL. Is this good?”

“That’s incredibly good. The lowest I’ve ever heard of, in fact. Where is this place?”

“It’s in Long Island, it’s a club called Spades.”

“I’ve heard about Spades. I didn’t know the rake was that low, though. Do you have to pay time, too?”

“I dunno. I just got an invite from another dealer I met while dealing a bar league tournament. He also offered me a $100 bonus for being a new player. That’s all I know.”

“New player bonus too, huh? Sounds very enticing. I might have to come by with you and play one of these days. Good luck, buddy. Let me know how it goes.”

I asked Andy how his session was going and we talked for a few more minutes.

“I’ve gotta go, I have to get back to the table. Word of advice — the first time I ever play in a new game, I’m never there to really play. I suggest that if you go, buy in for the average stack size and don’t rebuy if you get felted.”

“Why?” — Being the inquisitive type, I always asked questions.

“You need to make sure the game is clean. Watch the rake and keep track of the pot size. Play super tight. Cash out and leave if you don’t feel safe or if any of the players seem too problematic.”

“Thanks, man. Good luck in your sesh, I’ll see you soon.”

“You too buddy, gimme a call afterwards and let me know how it goes.”

With Andy’s input, I made the decision to text Gary back and give the place a shot. He texted me the address with some directions, and some instructions on how to get inside.

I was horrific with directions, though. I had purchased a Garmin GPS unit from Best Buy when I had bought my car, knowing that I would need it to get to Fox’s. I wasn’t familiar at all with Queens or Suffolk County. It was about the size of a small cantaloupe and stuck to the windshield using a suction cup. It was slow calculating directions, but it was accurate and always got me where I needed to go. I punched in the address that Gary had given me on the insensitive touch screen, and waited for it to start navigating.

20 minutes or so later, I had arrived. The GPS had brought me to large Chinese restaurant that had certainly closed for the night. It was located on a main road and was in a multi-story building with other retail stores in the same unit. I sent Gary a text, letting him know that I was there and he told me to pull into the back of the building to park.

I put my car into park and exited the vehicle. The instructions in the text Gary had provided me with directed me to ring the bell on the door that had a security camera with a red light on. I started walking up to the building and saw only one door with an active security camera. The lights were off, but the back parking lot had at least 15 cars sitting there, so I knew the game had to be going. I rang the bell and waited. Two minutes later, I see a guy who looked to be in his mid-twenties, approaching from the inside and the glass door opens.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, Gary sent me. We met at the bar poker league earlier tonight.”

“Come on in, follow me.”

I entered the building and walked up a flight of stairs to be met with, sure enough, a steel door with a security camera mounted to the top right corner. The guy gave it a knock and 15 seconds later it was opened.

As I walked inside, I took notice of the place. There was one main room, which was quite large, that housed two tables, the podium, and a tall Craftsman locking toolbox. On either side of the main room, there was a short hallway that led to another room which also had two tables inside. Both of the other rooms had a plexiglass sheet on the wall, which made it possible to see what was going on inside.

A rather tall, very muscular guy, waves me over to the podium.

“What’s up, mo? Who sent you, James?”

Not realizing it at the time, this was a simple test. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t lying about who had invited me.

“No, Gary sent me. I met him at the bar poker league tonight. He told me to come down to play and that there was a $100 new player bonus?”

“Gotcha. Sure. You get the $100 after two hours of play at the table. The game’s full right now, but you’re first up. Have a seat over there and make yourself comfortable. Drinks and snacks are in the back, the bathroom and smoking room are down the right hall. Let me get your name and number so I can put you on the text list.”

I give him my number and we exchanged names. Vinny was a tall and muscular gentleman who looked to be in his 40’s. He appeared to be very physically fit with slicked back, jet black hair. He clearly filled the role of both floorman and security. His personality was very direct and he looked you dead in the eyes when he spoke to you.

With my stomach growling and heart pumping from the Monster I had drank a little while earlier, I walk into the back to take a leak and grab a snack. I hadn’t eaten anything all night, the bar league didn’t provide any food. Only two options were available, individual bags of Wise chips or Famous Amos cookies. I opt for the cookies and head back into the main room, hovering over the full table to watch the action as I munch on my bag of processed carbs.

A couple of hands go by, and I could tell that my hovering over the table was making a few of the players uncomfortable. I was new, nobody knew me, and I didn’t want to be impolite so I took a seat at the empty table and waited for an open seat.

About a half hour passes and Vinny calls me for the open seat. He asks me how much I want and I tell him $200. He unlocks a tall, Craftsman toolbox and opens one of the drawers to reveal racks of chips inside. He hands me a rack with $200 in chips, and I sit down at the table to be greeted by the dealer.

“Welcome to the game. Would you like to post or wait for the big blind?”

“Thanks. I’ll wait for the big blind.”

Half a rotation later and I’m in the game. I took Andy’s advice and played super tight. 45 minutes go by and I open my first hand — pocket tens. I get no action, which I was not expecting. I drag in the blinds and toss the dealer a buck, not wanting to appear cheap so that I’m welcomed back.

There’s some chatter going on at the table in between hands, but no conversations that interest me. I’m starting to get bored. Music was playing in the background, and a song comes on that catches my ear.

“Anyone know what song this is?”

The player seated to my right answers me, an older Italian man who was very short in stature with a high-pitched voice and thick Brooklyn accent.

“Trooper With an Attitude, by 38 Special.”

“Thanks. You know you kind of remind me of Joe Pesci? Anyone ever tell you that?”

The room went dead silent, all that could be heard was the song playing in the background. The action came to a halt.

For what seemed like an eternity, everybody at the table was staring at me. I could tell by the Italian guy’s reaction that I had made a fatal mistake. Foot — meet mouth.

The Italian guy puts his hand on my shoulder, and with a firm grip, turns his chair, almost using my shoulder as a pivot point. He gives me a death stare, and finally the silence is broken.

“Watch your mouth, kid.”

I realized that he had taken extreme offense to my comment. I didn’t understand why, I had meant it as a compliment. I had recently seen the movie “Casino” for the first time and loved Joe Pesci’s performance. Regardless, the table was perceiving me as being in the wrong.

“I apologize. Won’t happen again.”

The action resumes and the Italian guy takes his hand off of my shoulder. I later learned that this guy was extremely connected and to never make him feel as if he was being disrespected. Evidently, his short stature and high-pitched voice made him feel insecure — it was not something to ever be pointed out.

A few more orbits go by, and I look at my stack. I’m down about $60. I hadn’t played any meaningful hands and I was card-dead. I had seen multiple players show down hands like Ace high or bottom pair for the winner, and came to the realization that I was highly outmatched. Most of the players at the table were really solid. They were constantly putting each other to the test, and applying pressure in spots they knew would make for a tough decision. I wasn’t going to make any money in this game unless I got lucky.

I see Vinny start to walk over to the table, holding a rack with a couple of chips in it. He stops at my seat and puts 4 green chips onto my stack.

“Here’s your bonus, good luck.”

I look down at my stack again to give it a count. With the addition of the bonus, I’m up $50. I felt a little trapped, because I didn’t want to look bad trying to cash out as soon as I got the bonus. I toss the dealer two greenbirds and get up to grab a rack.

I definitely wanted to come back. The level of play was much higher than I had ever seen, and I noticed that they were much more strict on the rules here. This interested me, because poker is one of the few games without a universal set of rules. I wanted to learn more about the rules of poker, feeling as if I should be well educated in the subject, considering I wanted to improve my skills as a dealer.

I head over to Vinny at the podium to cash out. He quickly counts up my chips, totaling $200, and hands me two, crisp $100 bills. It was no more than a few hours until the Sunday’s sun would rise.

“Thanks for coming. We’re having a $75 tournament later on at 3PM if you feel like playing. We usually get about 50-60 players.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be here.”

I pocket the cash and make my way over to the steel door. I leave the room, walk down the stairs, and head for the exit.

I get into my car and start driving home. I hop onto the expressway and take out my phone to give Andy a call.

“WOOP WOOP”, I hear the sound of the siren as I look into my rear-view mirror and see a cop flashing his lights, singling me to pull over.

Great, just what I need — I had never been pulled over before.

To be continued…

Spades — 1.3
In the underground poker world, it’s only a matter of time before you will eventually deal with the police. In one way or another, if you are running either a home game or a commercial club, they will eventually come knocking on — or breaching through — your door.

The cops almost always don’t care about the presence of home games that run once or twice a week, and instead are more interested in appeasing your neighbor who dialed “911” to complain about either the noise or smell of weed coming from your residence. Sometimes the complaint will be about the parking problem caused by your players taking up too much space.

However, if you own a club that is running daily, located in a commercial area, and is most definitely being run as a business, then it’s only a matter of time until you get raided.

You’ll need to preemptively switch locations every 6 months or so, in order to prolong the investigation that is being conducted on your operation. Inevitably, law enforcement will at some point acquire a warrant to search the premises and seize everything you have — all of the cash, TV’s, cards, chips, your credit book, and anything else they can use as evidence against you. The poker tables are usually too much of an inconvenience for them to take, and I’ve witnessed the cops breaking them in half so that they can’t be used again.

As you’ll find out later in my story, I’ve been in my fair share of police raids.

Getting back to the present timeline, I had just left Spades and was being pulled over by a cop on my way home. My Uncle Tommy was a cop in the city, and had told me that if I ever got pulled over, to make sure I turn the lights on inside the car, turn the engine off, put the keys on the dashboard, roll my window all the way down, and place both hands on the steering wheel.

“Good evening. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“No sir, I don’t. Was I going too fast?”

“Indeed you were. License, registration, and proof of insurance please.”

“Okay. Hold on a second while I find the insurance papers, I’m not sure where they are. I’ve never been pulled over before.” — thinking maybe this guy will take pity on me.

I look through my glovebox compartment, and within about 30 seconds, gather up all of the requested paperwork and hand it over to the police officer. Underneath my license, I slipped in the PBA card that my Uncle Tommy had given me, as he had instructed me to do.

“Who gave you this PBA card? You have a member of the family in law enforcement?”

“Yes, my Uncle. He’s an officer in Manhattan. He said I should give it to the police if I ever got pulled over.”

My Uncle had written, in Sharpie, on the card — stating to “Please call 555-827-3850” with his name and, I think, what was probably his badge number.

“Alright son, where you coming from this time of night? Aren’t you a little young to be out this late?”

“I was at a friend’s house playing poker with the boys. We lost track of time having fun, and now I’m on my way home to get some sleep. I’m really tired.”

“I see. I’ll be right back. Hang tight.”

Damn it. Was I really going to get a ticket? Had my gambit worked? It wasn’t really a big deal, I just didn’t want to pay an expensive, unexpected fine — making my night, essentially, a complete wash. The cop starts walking back to my window.

“Okay son, I’m gonna let you off with a warning. Please be more careful next time you’re driving on the Expressway. Don’t break the speed limit.”

The officer hands me back my paperwork, and I thank him for understanding. I start putting all of the documents back where they belong and the cop drives off.

I pull back onto the Expressway and dial up Andy. I knew he wasn’t sleeping because the weekend evenings were a great time to make money in the underground games. Friday and Saturday nights were when the most fish and recreational players would come down to play.

“Hey Andy, you still playing?”

“Eh, more or less. The game is going to break soon. I’m glad you called, it gave me the perfect reason to get up from the table.”

“I guess that means you’re in the black?”

“Since when does that surprise you? I’ve been playing since 5PM. I’m tired and ready to go, but it would be unwise to rack up when there’s a tilted maniac in a short-handed game. How’d you do? How was the game?”

“It was alright. I broke even. The game was clean and the rake was, in fact, capped at $10. The dealers were skilled and professional, but most of the players were really good. There were a few loose-cannons at the table, but I did what you told me to do and played super tight.”

“Good. I’ll have to come down and check the game out. What are you doing tomorrow… rather, later today?”

“I’m actually going to play in a $75 tournament they’re having at 3PM. I was told anywhere from 50-60 players. You wanna come?”

“Absolutely. I’d like to see this place for myself. $10 rake is unheard of in underground games. I’ll play in games that have really high rake, only because they manage to bring in tons of fish who really drive the action.”

“Yeah, it was nothing like Fox’s place, though. It was kind of like trying to eat meatloaf, after having gotten used to Filet Mignon.”

“Well, you get what you pay for. As long as there’s money to be made, I’m there. Besides, you said there was a new player bonus, right?”

“Yeah, $100 new player bonus. I’ll try and get you the hookup.”

“Awesome buddy, thanks. Can you pick me up from the LIRR train station at 1:15? I think the train comes in at around 1:05 or so. Lunch is on me, we’ll eat and talk some strategy before the tournament, yeah?”

“Sounds good. I’ll be there at 1:15. Call me when your train gets in.”

“Perfect. Get some rest, you’ll need it. I’ll see you later on.”

When I got home, I was starving and needed to eat. My Mother was the absolute nuts — I had told her that I was going to a bar to deal a poker tournament for the night, and she had left me a saran-wrapped plate of dinner on the counter. I nuked it and quickly scarfed it up. I then went right to bed, only to catch no more than 6 hours of sleep.

Later that afternoon, I got up around 12:30 and hopped in the shower, got dressed, and headed towards the train station to pick up Andy. I brought $450 with me, enough for two tournament entries and a buy-in for playing cash. I didn’t even know the details about the tournament, I had forgotten to ask. I had no idea about the structure, starting stack, or if it was even a re-entry tournament or not.

I didn’t really care, one way or the other. I wanted to go back to Spades because I wanted a job there. It was located no more than 20 minutes from where I lived, and I reasoned that it would be a great place to become more educated about the rules of poker. If you want to get a dealing job in an underground game, you usually have to play there regularly at first. That is, unless you have verifiable experience and references from other well-known games.

On my drive over to pick up Andy, I sent Gary a text, letting him know that I was going to be playing in the tournament and that I would be bringing a friend. It didn’t occur to me at the time that I should have been *asking* if bringing a friend would be okay.

“Hey Gary, I’m gonna play the tournament today at 3PM. I’m gonna bring my friend Andy, he’s gonna play in the tournament too and wants to play cash afterwards. Can you give him the new player bonus?”

“Kiddo, who’s your friend? How do you know him?”

“He’s a poker buddy of mine. I met him at a club in Queens last summer. He helped me get better at the game and we became friends.”

“Give me his number, I want to talk to him.” — I wasn’t really sure why he wanted to talk to Andy, I’d never had to go through anything like this at Fox’s, so I was a little puzzled, but obliged anyway.

“Okay, no problem.”

I texted Andy’s phone number back to Gary and sent Andy a text, letting him know that the guy I had met last night was going to give him a call. I didn’t get a response, but about 10 minutes later, my phone rang. It was Andy.

“Hey buddy, my train is about to arrive. You almost here?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few. Did you get a call from Gary?”

“I did. Turns out we know a few of the same people.”

“Okay, well, I asked him about the bonus, but then he said he was going to call you, and I didn’t get a chance to follow up. Did he mention anything?”

“Yeah, everything is good to go. My train just got here, I’ll be waiting by the taxis. See you in a few.”

I pull into the train station parking lot, and Andy gets into the passenger seat of my car.

“Good to see you, buddy. Where can we eat around here?”

“What do you feel like? I know a good sushi place about 5 minutes away with some cheap lunch specials.”

“You know I’m Chinese, not Japanese, right?”

“No sh*t, dude. You feel like Chinese?”

“Never mind, sushi is fine. Let’s go.” — Andy seemed quite annoyed, for some reason. He wasn’t usually like this. I wondered what was bugging him.

We arrive at the sushi joint and head on in for a quick bite. We both ordered the same lunch special, but I asked for a Diet Coke to drink, while Andy ordered a hot green tea with honey.

“Andy, you alright, man? You seem pissed off.”

“F*ck, I am. This is the last thing I need before going to sit down in a game.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, when I spoke to Gary on the phone, we got to talking about other places that I’ve played. It turns out that we know a bunch of the same people. One person, in particular, who will be dealing the tournament today.”

“Okay, and this person is pissing you off, why?”

“The little weasel owes me money. I haven’t seen him in any of the games around Queens for 6 months. I’ve tried to call him more times than I should have to, but the as*hole just keeps dodging me.”

“How much does he owe you?”

“$2,000 if I don’t factor in any interest, which I should, but at this point I’d be happy to just get back what I’m owed.”

“Did you tell Gary?”

“Fu*k, no. Don’t say anything to him, buddy. Keep this between you and me.”

“Okay, but I don’t get it, how do you know this guy will be at the tournament?”

“When I was talking to Gary on the phone, he asked me if I’d be interested in being a prop player. I said maybe, that I wanted to check out the game first. He asked me if I had been a prop anywhere else, and I said yeah, mentioning a few games.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt you, but, what’s a prop player?”

“A prop — a house player. A prop player is someone that the game pays to play in the game.” — I was shocked by what he was telling me. I hadn’t a clue that this type of arrangement existed.

“Really… what do they get paid?”

“It depends, every game is different. Usually it’s an hourly rate or a percentage of the player’s losses. But, anyway, I told Gary about a game that used to be on Bell Blvd. in Queens, one of the games where I was a prop.”

“And then…?”

“Well, the guy that ran the game is the same guy that’s dealing the tournament. When I brought up Bell Blvd, Gary asked me if I knew Matt.”

“And Matt is the one who owes you $2k.”

“Right. I told Gary that I did know Matt, and then he mentioned that Matt was one of his dealers. Like I said, I didn’t bring up the fact that he owes me money.”

“I gotcha. So what are you gonna do?”

“Let me worry about that, buddy. This isn’t the first, and probably won’t be the last time that someone has owed me money and then mysteriously vanished.”

Andy and I finish up our meal. He pays the check, and we hop into my car to head on over to the tournament.

We didn’t talk much during the drive over to Spades. I could tell that he was contemplating the current situation that had arisen, and I didn’t want to disturb his thinking. Besides, I was in my own headspace, a bit intrigued about this whole new side of poker that I had just learned about — the business side of poker. Why was there a need for prop players? What benefit did they bring? Were they necessary? How would someone become a prop?

I had a ton of questions and almost got lost in my own thoughts. Driving became secondary — I was on auto-pilot. Suddenly, we had arrived. The drive to Spades seemed to take only a couple of minutes. I pulled into the back lot and parked my car.

Andy took off his seatbelt and got out of the car to light up a cigarette. I sent Gary a text, letting him know that we were there, and he replied, directing me to come on up.

While waiting for Andy to finish his smoke, I saw several other cars pull into the lot to park. It was packed, although not at all at full vacancy, and some people were still inside their vehicles, waiting to go inside. It was about 2:30 PM, and the tournament was scheduled to start in a half hour. I had planned on arriving a bit early — I wanted to get all of the information about the tournament, and get to know some of the players before it started.

Andy puts out his cigarette on the black, cracked, concrete ground, and flicks the butt towards the street. I lock my car and we head to the glass door with the active security camera mounted at the top.

I was in a state of excitement. I had a pretty good track record when it came to playing small tournaments online, as I usually cashed, and had a good sense of how to navigate a tournament.

I wanted to make a good run today.

To be continued…

Subscribed.

Great read!

Subbed. Great so far, can't wait to read more! Excellent writing style as well!

top stuff right here, threadworthy

Yeah, really digging this. Did it get moved from somewhere? No offense to the locals, but I rarely come to BBV, but I'd already read the OP when I found it again in one of my rare BBV forays.

Thanks, man. I started it out in the Casino & Cardroom subforum, in the Breakroom thread, then decided to put it here because I didn't want to jam up the breakroom with long walls of text.

jfc, let us have at least one good thread this year!

CupOfSalt,

Started reading your thread over in the Breakroom, great stuff. Subbing to ensure I get updates.

+1, good work. You’re a good writer.

First thought walls of text, but it was a good read.

Yeah, that's where I'd seen it before. Deja vu was wigging me out.

I agree, top-notch writing. Really enjoy it and glad it's in its own thread now.

I didn't ask for it to be moved, I asked if it already had been. Apparently, kinda. By OP.

subscribed here and reddit.

This story is great!

Spades — 1.4
One of the many things that fascinates me about poker is the clear distinction between tournament players and cash players. Anyone who’s played enough live poker, both cash and tournaments, knows how different the experiences can be.

In general, tournament players are more social and laid back. They’ll usually talk strategy at the table, engage in table talk, and discuss previous hands more often than cash players will. The game seems to bring more enjoyment to them, as the vibe and overall mood of most tournament tables are usually more positive and uplifting than that of your average cash game.

Personally, I really enjoy dealing mixed game tournaments — something I wouldn’t do until moving to Vegas many years later.

In my opinion, you’re really missing out if the only games you’re familiar with are NLHE and PLO. The mixed game community is almost like a subculture that exists within poker, and the typical mixed game player has usually been playing poker a lot longer than the typical no-limit player. This isn’t always the case, but I find it to be generally true. Don’t get me wrong, though — there is no correlation between a player’s skill level and which games they play.

Being that NLHE is such an interesting and complex game, it usually takes many years until a no-limit player will venture off into other variants of poker.

Jumping back into the present, I was about to play a $75 tournament at Spades for the first time. Andy and I had just walked into the room, which was buzzing with conversation and positive energy. There was a short-handed $1/$2 NL cash game going, but it was about to break, and most of the attention in the room was focused on the tournament.

I noticed that Andy was looking around a little too much, probably trying to spot Matt, considering he owed Andy $2k and was most certainly going to be caught off-guard.

I was expecting to see Gary, but he wasn’t anywhere in sight. In fact, I never once saw him at the club. I would later discover that he was a silent partner in Spades — I don’t know what other responsibilities he had beyond player recruitment. However, it wouldn’t be the last time that I saw him.

Players who had arrived early were already in their designated seats for the tournament, waiting for play to begin. Each table had a dealer seated in the box, protecting the out-of-play stacks that were inside the well, and a suited deck of KEM cards spread face-up across the felt.

Registration was being conducted at the podium, with Vinny checking players in and handing out seating cards. I could see that he was busy doing his job, so I decided to introduce myself to one of the dealers and pick his brain.

This was how I met Chris. He looked to be around Andy’s age, in his early 30’s, although a bit younger. I would eventually get to know him very well during my time at Spades. He was Punjabi — an ethnic group from India — and had dark skin, dark eyes, and hair that was styled into a faux-hawk. He was born and raised in New York, and spoke with a typical Long Island accent.

“What’s up bro, I’m Chris. Welcome to the game.”

“Thanks, so, can you tell me about the tournament? What’s the structure like?”

“Sure, it’s a $75 buy-in with unlimited reentries until the end of the dinner break, which is after level 6. I think we’re ordering Italian tonight. The starting stack is 15k.”

Andy chimes into the conversation — “What do the blinds start at, and how long are the levels?”

“Blinds start at 25/50 and the levels are 20 minutes.”

“Does cash run throughout the tournament?” — I could tell Andy was more interested in playing cash.

“No, we need the tables available for the tournament. Cash starts as soon as the first table breaks.”

“And how much of the tournament buy-in goes towards the prize pool?” — Andy was never shy about talking business.

“$50 goes into the prize pool, $25 goes to the house. The top 10% of the field makes the money, but deals are usually made.”

Andy and I head over to the podium to register. I introduce him to Vinny, they exchange names, and Vinny puts Andy on the text list. We hand over our buy-ins and receive our seatings cards — we drew different tables and wouldn’t be sitting together. Vinny directs us towards our seats.

“Table 1 is over in the room on the left, and Table 5 is in the room on the right. Good luck guys, your stacks are at the table.”

Andy asks me to join him in the smoking room, which is unoccupied, giving us some privacy. He lights up a cigarette.

“Hey buddy, switch seating cards with me, quick.”

“Okay, but why…?” — as we trade cards.

“Matt’s in the box at your table.”

“Hmm… What are you gonna do?”

“Make him a sweat a little bit. The best chance I have of getting paid is to make him come to the conclusion that paying me off will cost him far less than dodging me.”

“I don’t understand, what do you mean?”

“I need to remind him how valuable his reputation is, and that I have the power to destroy it. He’ll pay me when he realizes that dodging me is no longer an option.”

“What if he doesn’t have the money?”

“He probably doesn’t, in fact, that’s what I’m expecting him to say. I’ll work out a payment plan with him, if that’s the case.”

“Don’t make a scene, alright? I wanna get a dealing job here.”

“Don’t worry buddy, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

I leave the smoking room and head over to my newly acquired seat. Most of the table had already arrived. My table draw consisted primarily of players who appeared to be over 40 years old, with the exception of one guy who looked like he was in college. There was only one woman at my table, around my mother’s age, and an elderly gentleman who was very soft-spoken.

I introduce myself to the table and the dealer greets me.

“Hi, can I have your seating card, please?”

“Sure, thanks.” — I toss him the white, plastic seating card and he pushes me a stack of chips in exchange. I count the stack to ensure that it’s correct, and of course, it is. The chips were clay, Monte Carlo tournament chips. They didn’t feel cheap, and I liked how they handled.

I join in on the conversation that’s happening at the table and exchange pleasantries, getting to know my opponents. My table fills up, and it’s just about 3 PM on the dot. A couple of guys are talking about sports, others about the news.

Suddenly, I hear a tap on the plexiglass window and look over to see Vinny signaling the dealers, holding his hand up with 5 fingers stretched wide. The dealer puts the button in Seat 5, then scoops the deck up from the felt and begins to give it a scramble.

“Okay guys, the button is in Seat 5. The starting blinds are 25/50. Good luck, everyone.”

The dealer gives the deck a shuffle and the clock starts. You could see the current time left in the level by looking through the plexiglass window into the main room. They were using software called “The Tournament Director”, and the clock was being displayed on a laptop.

At the time, I had more experience in tournament poker than I did in playing cash games. I regularly played in online tournaments and did quite well. The WSOP coverage was wildly popular, and I had already been hosting tournaments at my house since I was in middle school. I felt a sense of confidence.

The first hand at my table gets dealt, which I fold. Before we even have our first flop, there’s an all-in and a call — pocket 8’s against AK. The eights hold up, and the losing player gets up from the table and walks over to the podium to reenter.

Most of the players were trying to get it in preflop and chip-up as much as they could during the reentry period. I employed a different strategy — instead, I played tight ABC poker, waiting for the right spot to either jam or call off because of the table dynamic. I knew that, eventually, I’d get it in good.

I get dealt pocket Aces in the cutoff. UTG puts in a raise, and a player in middle position 3-bets. Back in 2007, it was very popular to 3-bet more often, but most players wouldn’t 4-bet unless they had Aces, Kings, or AK. There was a popular saying back then — “The 4th bet is always Aces”. It wasn’t necessarily an absolute truth, but you get the point.

Playing ABC poker, I shove with my Aces and get snap-called by the 3-bettor holding pocket Tens. My Aces hold and the double up gets through. I pick up a few value hands throughout the next couple of levels and play them straightforward, winning several pots without having to go to showdown. The only hand I had tabled at this point was the Aces, and I wasn’t opening many hands — I had a tight image.

I win a couple more pots with marginal holdings, taking advantage of my tight image. A couple more levels go by, and the dinner break is approaching. I look down at AJ in early position, put in a raise, and get called by the chip leader at the table — the young guy who looked like he was in college. The flop comes A95 rainbow, I lead out for about 1/3 the pot, and he insta-jams on me.

I had seen this spot so many times while playing online — it was always two pair, as sets would slow play in this spot. It was a move made by players who thought that their tight opponent was incapable of folding a strong Ace on such a dry board. I know that I’m beat, and announce, “I fold”, but make sure to not muck my hand, yet. I wanted to be sure.

“Nice hand. Are pocket Jacks any good?”

“You have Jacks?”

“Yeah, you bluffed me, right?” — I expose one card, the only Jack that I have.

“I did.” — He half-smiles and exposes one card, showing a 9.

“Well played.” — and I throw my hand into the muck.

Now, I was sure.

The tournament goes on break, and I walk back into the main room where a bunch of players are waiting in line for food.

Italian had been brought in — baked ziti, chicken parm, spaghetti & meatballs, salad, and garlic knots were the available options. I get in line and serve myself chicken parm and some salad.

While eating my dinner, I look around the room and can see Andy through one of the plexiglass windows — he’s talking to one of the dealers, who is I presume to be, Matt. It’s just the two of them, and the conversation doesn’t last long. Andy walks out into the main room and joins me for some food.

“I saw that. Is that Matt?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he gonna pay you?”

“Oh yeah. I told him that I’d be here playing cash until the game breaks, and he said that he’ll give me $500 at the end of the night and $500 every week until I’m paid off.”

“Is he really gonna pay you, though?”

“I’m certain he will, I think he realizes the situation that he’s in now. But, I’ll see what happens at the end of the night.”

We talk for a bit longer, right up until the break is about to end, discussing which players we think are strong, and comparing our stacks to the rest of the field.

With a minute left on the break, we both head back to our tables. I take my seat and ask the dealer how many places are being paid.

“How many people are getting paid tonight?”

“I don’t know, yet. Vinny is still calculating the prize pool. It should only be a few more minutes until he announces the payout structure.”

At six full tables, the real poker was about to begin — no more reentries.

In that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to cash my first real, live tournament. I felt like I had something to prove — I was the youngest person in the field, and I wanted to earn some respect from the other players. However, there was still a long way to go, none of the tables had even broken, yet.

Was I capable of escaping the inevitable cooler situations that show up during the course of a tournament? Could I manage to run good and win my flips? Would I be able to keep it together if I took a tough beat, or stay patient if my stack got short?

To be continued…