Busted

I realized earlier this week, after my trip out with Ferrari et al., that I really prefer playing live to playing online. There's so much more that goes on at a live table, both in hands and out of hands. And quite frankly, I've never really been that impressed with the play that I've seen at the 1/2 NLHE tables in New York -- and I'm prone to being pretty tight-weak at times.

Last night, I decided to hit one of the rooms for the second time this week. Try to pad the roll some more (still trying to erase all of my losses from my January meltdown, after all) and just generally have more fun while playing. I settled on the room that was closest to my house -- the one on the Lower East Side.

I got there a bit after 10pm, a grand total of ONE buy-in in my pocket. Stop loss at it's best, right? You can't lose what you don't have. There were two 1/2 tables going, and I got seated at the three seat of one of them inside of fifteen minutes. Typical line-up: a slick Asian guy, a couple of total fish, a few tighties (one of whom looked positively neurotic) , and one super loose-aggressive. Fine.

First half hour, I didn't hit much and was done about $40. I picked up the Hilton Sisters in late position, raised to $10 and took three callers to the flop (J-high). They checked it to me, I bet pot and got one caller. The turn was a beautiful queen, no straight or flush possible. He checked it to me, I bet $100, he pushed and of course I called with the nuts. He had QJ for the turned two pair, and just like that I doubled up. Nice!

A few more orbits went by. I won a couple of small pots to build up to $700. In the meantime, the loose-agg had amassed a helluva stack by bad-beating two guys on back-to-back hands. He must have had close to $1,000 in front of him.

It got to be midnight and I was still bouncing between $650 and $700. I thought about getting up, but figured one more half hour wouldn't kill me and paid my time.

Twenty minutes in, I limp in from late position with JTd. Flop looked pretty good: 8d-7d-2s. Inside straight flush draw and two overs. The loose-agg bet $10 and one guy called. I bumped it to $30 and they both called.

The turn was the ace of spades. Ugh. Not a good card. Action checked to me, though, so I elected to take one off. It came the 2d to bring my flush but also pair the board.

Loose-agg led out for $100. Fuck. The other guy dropped and I went into the tank. One thing was clear: there was no was I was folding. The only question was whether or not I should raise. I just couldn't shake the feeling that he was trying to buy the pot with two pair, and after misplaying the 8-8-8 hand the other night, I was determined not to show so much weakness all the time. "$250," I practically croaked.

"I'm all-in," was the response. Ugh. What was that shrinking feeling I just felt? Was that my nuts shriveling up into my abdomen? I put my chin down on the padded railing of the table and went into the tank again.

There was no way I could call this. Not only could he have filled up, but he could easily have the nut flush. Or at least, a better flush than mine. I started mentally berating myself for not just taking the $100 showdown.

And yet, I couldn't let go. Was he still trying to buy it?

I looked over at him, but there was no read to be had. All I had were hunches and a pair of very, very tiny stones, getting smaller by the second. And then I heard myself saying "I call."

"Two pair," he said, flipping up the Ad 7c. Holy crap. My hand was good! I showed him my flush and the dealer pushed a gynormous pot my way. I'm quite certain it was the biggest pot I've ever won - about $1300.

Three hands later, I was still racking my chips. It was definitely time to go. And then I'm not really sure what happened. There was a bit of shouting. The neurotic guy bolted out of his chair, sending a spray of redbirds all over the table and floor. And then one very loud voice pierced the din:

"I WANT EVERYBODY'S HANDS ON THE TABLES, NOW!"

Oh. Fuck.

Yep, it was the NYPD raiding the club, and they were pointing guns in my general direction. I don't know how many of you follow the trials and tribulations of the NYPD, but let's just say I don't have much confidence in them not having itchy trigger fingers (never mind the fact that one of my fellow players might try something really dumb like pull a knife or gun of his own.) And I thought my nuts were shrinking when I had to contemplate calling the all-in!

I'll spare you the details of the rest of the night, but in summary I'll just say that being processed through the New York detention system is a bit like being in the Army: hurry up to wait. By the time I had been cuffed, thrown into the paddy wagon, "taken downtown", fingerprinted, and the whole nine yards, it was 9am this morning. I still had to go home, shower and change for work, so I didn't make it in to work until almost 11. Thankfully, I haven't had to explain yet where I was.

I was charged with a class A felony of "gambling in excess of $500" and a misdemeanor of "conspiracy to gamble". So, in addition to the indignity of central booking, I'm facing at the very least some serious fines (never mind the prospect of time at Rikers Island). I will undoubtedly also be facing sanctions from the bar for this and could very well lose my license to practice law.

The most humiliating part was having to get a friend to bail me out.

Me: X?
X: asphnxma?
Me: yeah.
X: what time is it?
Me: 6:30
X: 6:30?
Me: yeah. listen, you know that one call you never want to have to make?

And the greatest injustice of all of it was that I didn't even get to cash out. In fact, the NYPD seized all the chips as evidence, so instead of being up $1,000 for the night, I finished down $300 and with a criminal record.

Un-fucking-believable.

In fact, so unbelievable that it must be April Fool's Day.