A giant, gaping hole appears in your poker face – you need a medic. No – get a surgeon – you need a complete chin to forehead graft to cover that baby up. So goes another day at the table; watching the people that really think they are players but their behavior patterns open up that gaping hole, leaving them behaving like little whiney asses that can’t take a beat or stand the fact that they might get outplayed. It goes like this:

I’m in a fairly spicy little $4-8 H game a few weeks ago – with a bunch of new faces. A local Asian woman takes a seat. She likes to play. She busted off A-K for me, when I flopped Aces, by catching runner-runner for a straight. No reason to get upset, it always comes back around.

But the 6s was taking a beating at about the same time. He’s somewhere close to 30, would be my guess, and taking his beats like his poker face is going to blow and shoot off into the poker room – never to be found again. The Asian woman put a runner-runner beat on his flopped set of Aces…she made a Flush. Holy Cramolie! How in the hell could she do that to him? He was fried. His face started to split in an obnoxious, zigzag pattern that looked like it could never be repaired. He was also there with the 5s. The 5s was getting beat to death but he didn’t know any better and he was having fun.

The 6s was convinced that he was ‘a player’. The rest of us were just there to fill seats and send him our chips when he entered into a hand. He zinged the cards at every dealer’s hands as he waited for the next playable hand – and I can’t give credit to one dealer for telling him to ‘just set them down’ – they just lifted their hands up and allowed the bad behavior to continue.

Finally, three way action, the 6s raised it pre-flop. I was the BB with J-10 and called $4 more. The Flop brought J-10-little, I bet, the 6s raised, the straggler folded, and I raised. I thought the 6s had an electrical current attached to his testicles. He groaned and stared at me, waving his hand in the air at something I couldn’t see. But he called. The Turn was a blank. I fired. He called. The River brought an Ace. I quietly announced, “That was a very bad card for me,” as I checked.

The 6s bet, I called, and he turned over A-J. I held my cards, flat with the table so they were easily exposed, looked directly at him, and calmly asked, “Is this the part where I throw them at the dealer or have a fit because I got beat?”

He stammered and acted like he was trying to come up with something brilliant as I asked, “Well how about this?” and gently turned them face down a few inches from my hand. He never gave me any eye contact…but he sure as hell settled down and quit ‘whiney assing’ his cards at the dealer.

A few minutes later, I had to make a bathroom run, and I knew I’d been a little bit hard on him – but if I was a guy, I’d have been a lot harder on him for his behavior – and as I walked past him, I touched his shoulder. He looked up, I put my hand out, “Perhaps I was little harsh there. My name’s Linda.”

He took my handshake, told me his name was Pat, and the game went on. Damn it! Some of these people need instruction.

Well…a few nights ago, I got into another $4-8 H game with another guy that has a tendency to look like his testicles are hotwired to the generator that runs Bellagio’s air conditioning when he gets a hand beat or gets raised when he thinks he’s won the pot. He was in the 3s. I’ve played with him a few times before and he’s quite smug and arrogant when he sucks out on someone else.

I was in the 8s. I know this is horrible – and I try not to do the body beautiful or bizarre thing with people – but I can’t help it. The 7s was a fairly large, older man – with the biggest ears I have ever seen on anyone. I don’t mean ears that stand out from the head – I mean ears that are just huge. They were almost as long as my hands and close to as wide. He appeared to be quite serious about his game and joined the dance a number of times as I sat and pitched hands.

Suddenly, I picked up a few big hands, back to back, and won the pots. I had A-J suited, raised, and won that pot – A-K off, raised and won that pot too – both of those pots with callers and showdown. The very next hand, I picked A-J off and raised. I ended up with three callers, one of them being the 3s.

The Flop brought A-9-little. I bet, one caller, the 3s raised. Umnhhh!!! I called, so did the straggler.

The Turn brought an Ace. I said something like, “The hell with it!” and bet again.

The straggler folded. The 3s did a melodrama, my testicles are frying, hand waving in the air, looking at me like I had my finger on the generator switch. I swear…he even twitched a time or two. He called.

The River brought a 9. I fired. He called. I turned up A-J and the 3s turned up A-Q. Split it up baby.

The 7s said, “You drew out on him.”

I replied, “I really don’t care.”

He persisted, “You needed that 9 to get even half of the pot. He had the best hand.”

I was laughing, “Who cares? People draw out on me all the time. If I knew what everyone had before we turned them up, I’d never lose”

He huffed, “Never mind!”

I wanted to just bust out laughing my ass off over his attitude. He wasn’t even in the hand. But instead…”I’m only having fun, don’t get upset with me.”

He looked at me. I went on, “I’m a little loco from playing poker.”

He blurted out, “I know!”

Hysterical! I ignored him for awhile. I also wanted to laugh at the way the 3s behaved when I bet into him on the Turn.

Then the 7s made the comment that if I played there all the time, he didn’t know how I could stand the noise the machines in the casino made. Those machines really are noisy and obnoxious. I wanted to say, “My…what big ears you have…”

But I behaved myself and agreed with him.

Although I hate to watch people twitch and jerk and behave like little whiney asses at the table, I know that’s what makes the game of poker what it is. There’s no reason for me to even let it bother me. It normally doesn’t if they don’t act like such pious little bitches when they suck out on me or someone else. Have to admit that I’m guilty of paying attention – I can pick up an emotional read faster than you can shake a stick and sometimes I wish I couldn’t. It ain’t always purty.

The ‘whineys’ aren’t in every game though.

I hit work to sign the E/O list again. Marie was on her way to Bellagio to play with me and the table I was at went through several changes in a relatively short time. I landed in the 7s. It was the only one open, and managed to win a pot when the 5s and I went to war. The 5s was hysterically funny. I found out later that his name is Roger. He was convinced that he couldn’t beat me. I like it when it plays down that way.

It was a good game, nice action, nothing to noisy or flashy, and as seats opened up, we picked up new players. The 8s left and I moved over, a guy sat down in the 6s, and we went to war in a few hands. I beat him with a kicker in both hands…and I raised his bet on the Flop each time, with him checking and calling me down on the River. He was quite gracious about it and pretty quiet in general. Marie arrived, took the 7s, and I took a bathroom break.

As I returned from the break, the 6s walked up, stopped in front of me, and asked if I was Linda. Hello Terry Wiggs – straight in from Honolulu, here for a few days, and he came to Bellagio to meet me. He asked about me – in the room – of course none of the dumb butts I work with know anything, and he wasn’t sure I was working. Then – BOOM – he ended up in the game with me. He said he was sure it was me, just from the photos here in blog land. We went back to the game and jammed it up. Me and Terry:

It turned out that our end of the table, from the 5s over, was a laugh a minute. We did. Roger kept us in stitches with his banter and drinking. Ali was in the 1s and he offered to ‘buy’ the tequila for Roger. Don’t think a time span bigger than a gnat’s ass went by before Roger quipped, “Order it!”

Ali and Roger were both drinking…hell, we all were. Except David. He was in the 9s, laughing and having a great time, drinking soda or something droll. He’s originally from Australia and lives in Frisco now. He comes to Vegas on business and plays almost exclusively at Bellagio. He remembered playing with me last week when I put ‘lumpy’ on the table. Yes, he remembered Lumpy and not me, although he got out of it by saying that I looked familiar to him when I got in the game. Nice cover, David.

Meet Lumpy:

What is Lumpy? My nephew is a glass blower – hell yes – you all know what that’s all about. He had a jumble of odds and ends that he put together and managed to break it…all except for the base. He gave it to me. The first thing I thought of was ‘card protector’. That’s what Lumpy is/does. And I’ve got the boy making some way kewl card protectors – I’m trying to get him in gear so I can put them on the market.

I had an absolutely GREAT time playing in this game. I won a little – that was nice – but it wasn’t the major part of the deal. It was just plain damn fun, listening, laughing, and jamming. The only other person that came into the game that I’d seen before was the 7s from a previous play – the one with the giant ears – and he only stayed for about a half an hour and transferred out of our table. We were having way too much fun for him – IMHO.

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All you wonderful poker bloggers and those that are considering starting one – get on it! We’re having a WPBT Tournament/hang-out/drink-athon/fun-bash again this summer. Details are here. See you there! Just remember, BLOGGERS RULE!

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Let me leave you with this beauty – head out the back door of The Peppermill around 5:30ish PM – look to your right.