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This is a question Gambling

Broke the bank at Las Vegas, or won a packet of smokes for getting your tinkle out in class? Outrageous, heroic or plain stupid bets.

Suggested by SpankyHanky

(, Thu 7 May 2009, 13:04)
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Officially the worst poker experience that can be had.
Again, no punnage. Promise.

Notwithstanding my pathetic pleading to Marlon King a couple of posts down, I am a pretty competent gambler. I'd be lying if I claimed to win money at it, but as long as I stay away from the fruit machines I can keep it to a reasonably inexpensive pastime, and I can usually sit and play blackjack all night on my original tenner while gorging myself on cheap casino food.

I've enjoyed a bit of stud (steady, now) since before the Texas Hold'Em boom ten years ago. I don't see the appeal of online poker myself, so when the world woke up to the general enthusiasm for the game, I installed myself in the corner of the pub league and won three out of the first seven seasons. This was generally recognised as being quite good, and put me through to a few regional games.

One night in the pub league, I'd gone out early, and myself and a few of the regulars had started up a little 20p/50p No Limit cash game on a spare table. For those that don't know, cash games tend to be a bit looser than the tight tournament play on TV, so at these stakes and only four players, we were raising with pretty much any pictures and throwing in notes with pairs.

It was getting pretty close to 11 o'clock and I was about twenty quid down - no biggie. Picking up the 5-6 of clubs, I made it a pound to go. Chap on the button re-raised to £2 and the small blind called. Big blind folded and I threw in another quid. A £5 pot already - this was looking good.

The flop came up 8C - AD - KC.

Small blind checked, I raised £2 hoping to get everyone to fold. Dealer raised me to a fiver. This was getting pretty serious.

Now I didn't know the dealer very well, but the chap in the big blind was a pub regular, Chris, and a good friend of mine. I knew him for playing his cards honestly and betting big on top pairs. So I wasn't all that surprised when Chris fished out his wallet and threw a tenner down. I guessed he was holding an ace. But, hey - I had a flush draw and I wanted to make my twenty pounds back. I matched his money, exhausting my back pocket of pound coins. Small blind folded, so it was just me and my mate Chris.

Turn card: 9C. I made my flush.

Chris still apparently had the top pair and he threw in another tenner. I wondered whether his ace was the ace of clubs, or whether he had A-K or A-9. Whatever, I had a fairly unreadable flush, so I doubled his money with the last twenty in my wallet.

Chris paused for hours. He furrowed his brow, looked at his cards a few times, hummed, whistled, tapped the table, and furrowed his brow some more. I liked the guy, but I knew he didn't get paid much, and I was begging him to fold so I didn't have to wipe him out. Finally, Chris spoke.

"Re-raise", he says, fishing forty quid out of his wallet and throwing it into the middle.

Fuck me.

I assumed he must have another flush. I was beaten in that case, but already committed myself to the pot. I hoped it would be over quickly.

"Just a minute, Chris." I wandered over to the bar and asked the landlord how much cashback he could do. Fifty quid better off, minus the cost of a pint of bitter, I plopped my twenty on the table.

The barman, who was dealing all this, had distinctly shaky hands as he burnt a card and turned over the River.

The seven of clubs.

Fuck me.

Fucking cocking fuck me backwards. With a fucking stick.

I was sitting on a straight flush; pretty much the best fucking hand in the deck. I'd only ever been dealt one before, and that was on a dead-draw when my opponent was already beaten. I felt sorry for Chris, and hoped he'd just check, so I could stick my whole wallet down on the table and make him fold.

"Check" said Chris.

I took the remaining thirty quid out my wallet and laid it on top of the stack of Queens Heads in the middle of the table.

No brow furrowing this time. Chris did what he had to do.

"Raise you fifty", he said, shoving four twenties on top of mine.

Fuck me.

I knew for certain now that Chris must have the ace of clubs, top flush, and would have figured himself to have an unbeatable hand.

Not only did I have to down three-quarters of a pint and go and find some more cashback, I had to suffer the ignominy of being told that there was only £45 left in the till (it was a quiet pub). Eventually, proud possessor of another beer, two pounds worth of 10p pieces and a pint of Guinness to make up the balance, I called. I was now nudging my biggest ever bet, when I staked £150 on a 1-3 hot favourite in order to win £50 back.

"I'm really sorry, Chris" I said as I showed him my 5-6.

"Woah. Shit. I can't believe it" he said.

"Look, I'll let you keep the Guinness", I conceded.

"Damn right" he said, as he turned over the 10-Jack of clubs.

So that was how my biggest ever bet became my biggest ever loss.

Fair play to Chris. He has bought me about ten pints since. And we've both been living out on the story ever since.
(, Thu 7 May 2009, 20:08, 1 reply)
I hate it
when crap like that happens.
(, Fri 8 May 2009, 9:45, closed)

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