ParisPokerNut - Heart
My recent come from behind victory at the Wynn brought to mind a game in Paris when, playing lowball draw from nine in the evening until two in the morning, I was unable to win a single hand. Man, if ever I felt like a beat up fighter, that was the night. My head ached, my back was sore and my morale was lower than Chaliapin’s voice as Ivan the Terrible. All I wanted was to go home and sleep around the clock. Having seen my last chip disappear in the final hand, I stood up and reached into my pocket for the 8,000 francs ($1,600) I had lost. While our host began marking accounts, my friend Pedro da Silva leaned back and said:
“Hey, guys, what say we play two more rounds?”
“No way,” I said. “You bastards have beaten me bad enough as it is. Anyway, didn’t we agree not to accept any more prolongations?”
“C’mon, man, that’s only sixteen more hands.”
Since the other players were all in accord, who was I to dampen their parade? I asked our host for the minimum buy-in allowed, 500 francs or $100 worth of chips.
“Get real,” said the photographer, Herve Simeon. “Do you expect to make a comeback with that?”
“I don’t,” I said.
All night I had held face cards, trips, two pairs and pat flushes. Had we been playing regular draw, I might have been ahead several times what I was losing. Equally behind, Pedro asked for 5,000 francs worth of chips. The marble broker had drawn out on me on three separate occasions when I was dealt pat eight hands.
“Don’t you ever fold?” I asked him.
“Are you crazy? Do you know how many small cards are left in the deck?”
I did know. Sixteen cards would help his hand while twice as many would bust him. Pedro thought nothing of drawing head-to-head at a two-to-one disadvantage.
Roland-the-Corsican was kind enough to put up my 50 francs ante. On the very first hand, I was dealt A-2-3-7-K. Second in line, I opened for 400 francs. Making a raise to 800, Pedro was called by three other players, and of course by me, all-in at 500. ‘Please give me a four, please give me a four,’ I implored the poker gods. I’m telling you, the damn game can drive you up the wall. But what do you know? Dealt the most beautiful four of hearts that ever existed, I won the hand and raked in 2,900 francs. My morale mounted the scale from bass to tenor.
From half asleep I was suddenly alert. For the first time in hours, I was looking forward to the next hand. One by one I picked up my cards: 4, 2, A, 6, 3. Holy Bazooka, I was holding the perfect low. Not about to play it cool, I opened for 400 francs. Jean-Paul Alphand raised me to 3,000 and Pedro went all-in at 4,100. Poor Alphand had been dealt a pat 7-5-4-2-A. Both he and I stood pat while Pedro broke his 10-9 and caught a pair of queens. Raking in 9,100 francs ($1,820), I gave Roland back the chip he had anted for me the previous hand. Fourteen hands later we called it quits. I had given back 700 francs in antes and ended up losing 150 francs on the evening, but I’m telling you, I felt as though I were the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.
Read More Stories from a Poker Veteran of both Paris and Las Vegas at ParisPokerNut.
