NYC Underground: Part Three

NYC Underground: Part Three

Posted on October 19, 2007

I had a monster chip stack in front of me. Three big hands had given my stack a great boost, and I was easily in the top three in the room. My cousin Scott was still sitting in the corner of the club, the dealers at the cash-game tables keeping a close eye on him. In case you missed the last column, Scott and I were accused of colluding because I knocked the owner's friend out of the tournament with a big call - while Scott was standing behind him. So, Scott was banished to the corner, and the staff was keeping an eye on me too. I vowed to myself that I would win this tournament, just to stick it to them.

We were down to 45 players; half the field had been eliminated. There were no more rebuys - if you got knocked out now, you were gone. We had hit the first break, and everybody started milling around the place, hitting the bathroom, buying sodas. Get this - the club was serving lasagna! What a cliché! In what had immediately struck me as a mob-tied Italian-run card club, they were serving lasagna! I couldn't help but laugh on the inside. And eat a piece. It was heavenly.

The break ended 10 minutes later, and I took my seat at a new table. There was one other person there who was about my age, but otherwise, I was the youngest in the entire room. I got involved immediately, talking trash, trying to establish a certain table image. Nine spots in this tournament were paid, and I wanted to start accumulating chips from the outset so I could coast to the final table. Action was folded around to the cutoff seat, and he raised three times the size of my big blind to $1,200 in chips. I looked down at 10 7, and decided to float it, making the call. It was only $800 more to make the call, and I had a bunch of chips behind. The flop was A-10-7, all hearts. Not the worst flop, but not the best. But what were the chances he had flopped a flush? I quickly slung out a bet of $2,000 to see where I was at, completely regretting the call in the first place. I had $5,500 in chips left, and he had a similar stack size. Why did I tangle with the big stack? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He thought for a full minute, and he decided to move all in. Now it was my turn to make a decision. If he flopped the flush, I was dead to a 10 or a 7 for a boat. If he flopped two pair, I was just as far behind. I didn't have a read on him at all, seeing as this was one of the first hands we played at the table. But what did I have to lose? I came here for free, played for free, and I'd only spent an hour. Besides, Scott looked lonely in the corner. Let's see what's under there. There was a good chance he had flopped top pair and he had a big heart, maybe the king or the queen. I made the call. So much for the information bet.

He flipped up A-9 offsuit, with the 9. Sweet! I had a bunch of outs to dodge, but for the moment, I was ahead. The turn brought the 9, giving him a better two pair. It was heartbreak. I needed to catch a 10 or a 7 in order to stay alive. The river was the gorgeous 10! He had filled his flush, jumped up giddily, and then realized that the 10 had filled my boat. Just like that, I was sitting on more than $16,000 in chips, and he was going home with a bad-beat story. I certainly lucked out there, and now I had a large chip lead over the rest of the field. Time to coast.

We lost a few more players, and I started to bully my table, slowly building my stack even more. I picked off a few short stacks, but lost a few hands as well. By the time we were down to the final 18, I had around $22,000 in chips. I was still in the lead, but the other few players had done a fair amount of catching up. We moved tables again, and no less than two minutes after we resumed our new positions, a fight almost broke out.

It was between two men in their late 20s; one was Hispanic, the other was African-American. Nobody was sure what spurred the argument, but both men immediately got in each other's faces. There was a lot of profanity, racial slurs, yelling, screaming, until one of the fighters looked around and said, "You guys better watch your fucking backs. I'll be waiting for all of you later." They were nose to nose, and after that, they both pulled away. The African-American man left, and the Hispanic man sat back down at the table. Everybody felt really, really unsafe at that moment. I love New York, but I wasn't exactly ready to get shot in the face. Maybe in a few years it'd be OK, but, damnit, I just turned 21; let me live for a little bit longer. These are supposed to be my glory years.

After play resumed, people joked nervously about what happened, but we were all pretty scared. Two days prior, there was a robbery at a big poker game on the Upper East Side, and tensions were pretty high. I supposed there was nothing we could do but continue playing, so continue playing we did. I folded for a bit, and then I was dealt pocket nines. The blinds were at $500-$1,000, and the player under the gun raised to $3,000. I called in the cutoff seat, and everybody else folded. The flop came 8 4 J, and the player quickly bet out $4,500. I decided to move all in in an attempt to take down the pot, and he called quickly with Q-Q. I got no help, and I was down to a paltry $4,000 in chips. It was a big misstep, and I wasn't sure if I could recover. I folded until the big blind hit me, while the field had been whittled down to 14 players. It was a miracle, I was dealt K-K. Unfortunately, action was folded to the small blind, who opted to fold as well. I had gotten a walk in my big blind when I wanted action. That totally sucked! I ended up folding my small blind to a raise, and I was still sitting on the same stack. A few hands later, I was dealt A 9 in middle position, and I pushed, stealing the blinds. The very next hand, I was dealt Q-Q, and I open-pushed again, this time getting a caller in the big blind. He showed Q-10, flopped a 10, but got no more help. I had doubled up, and I was back to around $11,000 in chips.

We lost three more players, and we were nearing the bubble for the final table. Eleven remained, and nine would get paid. From under the gun, I looked down at the A K. The blinds were now $1,000-$2,000, so I just open pushed. A short stack with $6,500 in chips called quickly, and our cards were exposed. He showed K 10, and I was in a dominating position. However, he flopped trip tens, and my stack had been cut in half again. And now the blinds were about to hit me. This was miserable! With $5,500 in chips left, I was dealt a terrible big blind hand. Someone in middle position raised, and I ended up folding, leaving me with $3,000, which would turn into $2,000 after I folded the small blind to a raise as well. I had absolutely no fold equity left, so I would have to take a chance and just hope to get lucky.

Miracles do happen, though. A few minutes later, there was a three-way all in at the other table. Somebody had flopped a straight draw, another had flopped a set, and another had an overpair. The straight was filled, and two players were knocked out, guaranteeing me a spot at the final table. I had made it by the skin of my teeth, and I wasn't expecting anything more. A ninth-place finish would be fine with me, as long as I was in the money.

The field of 90 had been cut to the top nine, and we were ready to get down and dirty. Hopefully, there would be no more surprises, and we'd be able to finish the tournament out in relative peace. With $2,000 in chips left and the blinds at $1,000-$2,000, my chances of winning were slim-to-none. But anything can happen in poker.

More Articles

- NYC Underground: Poker in Spanish Harlem
- NYC Underground: Bad Luck, Bad Beats
- NYC Underground: Cash Game Mania
- NYC Underground: Part Four

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