Online Poker Articles.
Bluff writer Carl “The Dean” Sampson’s pursuit of a good poker game has led him into the kind of places that you thought only existed in British gangster flicks. In the following article, the names have been changed to protect Carl’s thumbs. It was the middle of November 2003 when I received...
....my first invitation to Big Mik’s cash game. My good friend Andy called me one evening to ask me if I was interested in playing. For Andy to call me like this probably meant that the game was good.
“What do they play?” was my first question.
“Dealers choice pot-limit, mainly Omaha and Stud,” said Andy, “and its £1,000 (about $1,800) minimum buy-in with 10/20 blinds.”
“Do we know anybody?”
“I know a couple of people, but it’s run this Greek guy called Big Mik,” explained Andy.
I had heard the name before and suspected it meant trouble. “Is this the same Mik that once hospitalized a guy who slow-rolled him?” I asked.
“He’s done far worse than that, and he’s also a 300lb mountain who’s a very sore loser. Some of the guys who will be at this game will be there because Mik invited them, which means that they are gonna be either complete psychos or local mobsters.”
“Count me in,” I said, without waiting to think it through. “I’ll only bring a couple of thousand just to be on the safe side”.
I don’t trust private cash games of any description, especially ones that have utter low life for opponents. But according to Andy, this game was very, very good. Andy also informed me that a local casino poker dealer would be dealing the game on his day off. While this is no proof that the game would be straight, it offered, at least, a slight reassurance.
“How’s your pot limit? Are you still playing mainly limit?”
I hadn’t played any pot limit for about six months, but I felt that I could comfortably feel my way into the game. “Just make sure you keep your mouth shut and don’t piss anybody off,” was Andy’s parting advice. “Oh, and by the way, don’t stare at anybody.”
On the night of the game, I had a 100-mile drive to my appointment with doom. I had been pro for about six months, but about 90% of my play had been on the net. I had played in sizeable live cash games before, but always with respectable people. All kinds of thoughts were running through my head as I drove, and, by the time I arrived, I had formed a battle plan.
My instructions were simple: I was to call a cell phone number when I was in the area and would then be directed to the house where the game was being held. I was surprised to find myself in a respectable suburban neighborhood – not at all what I had expected. I had no need to ring the doorbell; the door swung open as I made my way up the path, and a dead ringer for Odd Job stood framed in the doorway. It was a clear indication that any trouble would be swiftly dealt with. Hopefully, Odd Job wouldn’t be the one causing the trouble.
I was led upstairs into a very large room, which, to my surprise, was crammed full of people. There must have been about 50 of them, of which a quarter were women. As I walked up to the table, I immediately saw Andy who gave me a wave and summoned me over to take the remaining empty seat. “Looks like your friend can’t tell the fuckin’ time,” spat a large, menacing guy at the table. This, then, was the infamous Big Mik who I had heard so much about. “If your poker’s as good as your time keeping, boy, then you’re screwed already.”
I just smiled back. I was determined to not let this guy get to me. Andy had warned me that this was a part of his game and that he loved to mess with players’ heads and tilt them. I took my seat quietly and instantly recognized the dealer, a guy in his twenties called Danny, who worked for a local casino as a croupier and a poker dealer. This is strictly forbidden as, in England, it is taboo for any casino employee to have contact with customers outside of the casino. I simply nodded in recognition and said nothing.
I had already decided not to put the entire two thousand in play straight away. If I needed more funds, then Andy could fix me up and he knew that I was good for it. The sensible thing to do was to buy-in for the minimum and sit and watch for a while. My buy in of £1,000 ($1,800) was met with yet another remark from Mik. “Thought you came to play poker, boy, is that all you can afford?” This guy was starting to annoy me, and I began to imagine what it might be like to
introduce his head to a cricket bat. But I remembered what Andy had said, and I resolved to make controlling my emotions my first priority of the night. Despite the fact that I was in my mid-thirties, he still insisted on calling me “boy.”
“We don’t play any of that limit shit here, boy.”
Andy had told me that he’d been telling everyone in the game that I only played Limit Hold’em on the net. If the other players bought this, then I could use it to my advantage. Big Mik was certainly talking the talk, but from what I had heard, that was about all he could do. He had about fifteen thousand on the table – easily the largest stack. He was big on intimidation, but any guy who had as many underworld connections as he did was intimidating without even opening his mouth.
Another story that had circulated about Mik was that he had once had two of his guys bust the fingers of a couple of players who he had suspected of collusion in his game. He couldn’t prove anything, but that never stopped Mik. It was then that I remembered that my best friend was at the table with me, and Mik knew this. Suddenly I didn’t feel too good. “What the hell am I doing here?” I thought, and I hadn’t even seen any cards.
Looking around the room, I couldn’t help but notice a number of shady-looking types engaged in business meetings. I certainly wasn’t going to ask what was on the agenda, I was just going to keep my nose clean and just do what I came here to do. A smartly dressed Chinese guy to my left, who was on the button, elected to play a form of poker that no one at the table had heard of, much to Mik’s annoyance: “I hope we aren’t going to spend half the fuckin’ night explaining rules,” screamed Mik. For once, I had to agree.
I do not like being dominated in cash games, but here, I had to be cautious. You might ask why, if I was not sure about the integrity of the game, in heavens name was I playing in it – a question I was now seriously asking myself. I was spending more time looking for anything suspicious than I was studying the players and their patterns. “Andy better be right about how good this game is,” I thought.
I had noticed Mik staring at me a lot and I kind of got the feeling that he was looking for a confrontation. For reasons known only to himself, he had targeted me from the moment I’d entered the room. I had been playing about 30 minutes and Mik had raised probably half of the total pots played. I was down about a hundred, when a player on the button called “Hold’em” as his game of choice. Mik, who was four seats to my right, open-raised the pot, making it £70 to go. This came as no surprise; he had been doing this constantly, his confidence buoyed
by the fact that the table seemed happy enough to fold behind him.
Everyone folded to me. I was in the big blind and I looked down at my hand and saw aces. I knew that Mik would attempt to move me off this hand; it would be just a matter of when. He had barely seen me play a hand in half an hour. This was a situation where I could either let him bet his money off and rake a sizable pot, or it could cost me a fair percentage of my money. I quickly called the extra £50 without thinking through the complications – it felt the right thing to do. The pot stood at £150 and the flop came A-8-7 rainbow.
A lot of players had been betting weakly and Mik had been calling and then taking the pot away from them later in the hand. I felt that this is what he would do to me. A bet of £70 would let him think that I was trying to take the pot without risking too much on a hand that I was not overly confident about. Mik called very quickly and the pot now stood at £290. The turn brought an offsuit non-connecting low card and I quickly bet £150. Mik instantly tossed £700 into the
pot, whispering menacingly, “I raise you all in.” It was £550 to me and I was holding the nuts; I gave Andy a look and he knew what this meant.
If I lost this pot to an outdraw, I would curse myself for playing it this way, especially as I only had one buy-in left. I called quickly which seemed to visibly shock Mik. I showed my aces; Mik threw his cards at the dealer – literally – one of them hit Danny in the face.
“I don’t believe this shit!”
Andy was right about this guy being a bad loser. Danny retrieved Mik’s cards from the floor and attempted to deal the river card. “What the fuck are you doing? Give Limit Boy the fuckin’ money!” Danny looked confused and shaken; he flipped Mik’s cards to reveal K-7, infuriating him even further. Now the entire table could see what Mik was raising and betting with. I had nearly doubled my stack, but I was far from comfortable, especially because, thanks to Mik’s outbursts, the focus of the entire room was now on the game.
Mik had one of the most threatening faces I had ever seen on a human being, and I’m far from being a timid guy. He gave you the impression that he was capable of anything and that he wasn’t entirely mentally stable either, which made him even scarier. I began to think that just getting out of there unharmed would be a result.
We were now about a couple of hours into the game. Mik had been looking for another confrontation with me, which I had skillfully avoided. I was no longer playing optimal poker. This was a far cry to the online $20-$40 that I was used to. I was spending more time plotting my way out of the game without further infuriating Mik than I was concentrating on my poker.
Mik was down about £2,000 as far as I could tell. The fact that his brother had been sentenced to 18 months in prison just hours earlier only added to his fury. The guy was seriously tilting and was fortunate that he was not up against a skilled big stack. Despite this, I refused to put any more money into this game; the atmosphere had turned sour.
The game was now Omaha; Mik had been straddling a lot and effectively doubling the stakes of the game. I had noticed two very imposing, immaculately dressed Chinese guys standing behind us, watching the action intently. The Chinese guy seated to my left had been going head to head with Mik in numerous pots, and I kind of got the impression that he was in the game without an invite.
I had flopped the nut straight, but without any redraws, which is never a good situation to find yourself in a multi-way Omaha hand. The action was very heavy by the time it had got back to me, so I decided to fold. It was turning into a major confrontation between Mik, his Chinese adversary and another guy who had been playing solidly throughout. I don’t quite recall the boardcards, but they weren’t important. What was important was that a major disruption was about to occur that would present me with an opportunity to get myself out of this game and back down the highway.
As it turned out, the smartly dressed Chinaman to my left just happened to be one of the leading Triads in the area, let’s call him Mr Tang, and the two scary looking dudes who were watching him were his minders or “soldiers.” These two individuals stood impassive and imposing and scared the shit out of me.
Mik had been drinking heavily throughout the game and was becoming increasingly abusive; the only benefit of this was that he was now targeting anyone and everyone in his immediate zone, not just me.
This Omaha hand was starting to turn into the biggest pot of the night, with around £5,000 ($9,000) in the middle. While I don’t recall the exact sequence of the cards, the upshot was that Mr Tang outdrew Mik on the river, in a situation that is entirely normal in Omaha. The situation, however, did not seem normal to Mik and he was now losing heavily and tilting very badly. The level of abuse was now directed at Mr Tang directly. I kind of got the impression that Mik did not know who this guy was, or the purpose of the two dudes standing behind us. I was starting to
get a very nasty feeling about this and began to exchange nervous glances with Andy.
I looked around to see one of Mr Tang’s minders with one hand in his inside pocket. I knew full well that Mik had many of his own guys in the building and this was shaping up to be very nasty.
The very next hand was Omaha again and I was dealt a premium hand, which I folded immediately. I sensed that a serious confrontation was imminent and I did not want to have a large amount of my stack stuck out there when it did.
Seconds later, Mik staggered to his feet and shouted, “Do I look fuckin’ stupid or something?”
Mr Tang, who spoke perfect English, politely asked him what he meant by this remark. Mik then accused him of cheating and using his two accomplices to look at his cards. You do not insult a member of the Chinese Triads, not ever, and Mik had broken the golden rule.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Mr Tang was on his feet, his soldiers had their revolvers drawn, and there was so much shouting and screaming that it was difficult to tell what was being said and by whom. Luckily for me, all the money on the table was in cash and instinct told me to start grabbing mine off the table and stuff into my pockets. Mik’s guys were running over to us from the other side of the room and I had a terrifying feeling that I was not going to get out of this unscathed.
This was a scene from a movie that I didn’t want to be in. There was now a crazy stand off, à la Reservoir Dogs, with guns pointed at heads. All of my cash was now entirely in my pockets and I signaled to Andy that we should attempt to leave. Andy shook his head slightly by way of telling me that we couldn’t. My mind was racing as panic set in, and it was then that I noticed Odd Job running over from the main hallway. If this meant that no one was guarding the door
then it also meant that there was no one to stop me from leaving.
I stood up and walked away from the table, feeling like Clint Eastwood in Firefox when, amid total chaos and confusion, he calmly makes his way from the locker room and climbs inside the cockpit of the top secret Russian aircraft. I have to admit that Clint probably wouldn’t have left with such a wimper, but, then again, this wasn’t Hollywood baby.
I was outside and running through the night. My car was parked nearby and there was no going back for Andy at this stage. The little shit had dropped me in it anyway. If he had scouted this game properly in the first place like he was told to, then none of this would have happened.
This was my first experience of “backstreet” poker at its worst. I had finished about £600 ($1000) ahead and was out in one piece. And somehow, I think I actually loved the experience it in a macabre kind of a way. Who ever said poker players were smart?
(© 2005 BluffMagazine. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistribute
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