Obviously I’m there to gamble and there is always the prospect of making some money. I enjoy playing cards and improving my game, learning new methods, etc. But a lot of what makes for a good poker session are the people that I'm playing with. Hollywood Park Casino never fails to provide a cast of entertaining players: movie producers, actors, television writers, horse jockeys, old USC alumni, NBA players and every once in a while there’s even a cute girl playing (very rare).
Then there was the time that I played with the infamous Rollin’ Sixties Crip.
I had noticed this particular strapping young fellow a few times in the 6-12 Limit Hold ‘Em games. He had a knack for ripping his hole cards in half if he lost a hand. It was quite a site. And apparently he was just too damned gangster for the floor managers to even penalize him. One time I saw him rip pocket queens in half, throw them at the dealer, then eat his dinner. Did he get kicked off the table? No. The rest of the table left in disgust (or in fear of their lives) and he remained at the table by himself. The floor manager asked him not to do it again in a joking manner, seemingly praying for his life while he spoke to Mr. Sixties Crip. When I saw this, I figured this guy must be an O.G.* if the floor manager isn’t even willing to give him the business.
So here I found myself at the same table with the guy who I had noticed bully the entire casino on several different occasions. At this point, I did not know what gang affiliation he had, although I suspected he was connected in a major way. I was just waiting for him to blow up in one of his classic tantrums, but he didn’t. He was a horrible player and re-bought for a few hundred. He didn’t talk much, just kept playing. Horribly.
I had almost forgotten about him when I looked down at my hand and found that magical poker hand—pocket aces.
I raised and in typical limit poker fashion, everyone at the table called.
The flop was nothing but rags. Three… six…ten.
I bet.
One caller.
Then Sixty Crip raised me.
I thought for a minute. Did he flop a set? No, I doubt it. He’d been raising all night with nothing.
I re-raise. Crip this!
He glared at me like he was going to provide my family with an evening drive-by visit.
Then he called my raise.
The turn was a four.
I bet.
He looked at me again. But this time it was more like he was going to just shank me and let my family live.
He called my bet.
Now I’m starting to think that maybe this isn’t worth it.
I value my life.
I love my mom and I want to see her again.
The river was another six.
I bet.
He laughed at me.
Now I’m thinking ‘Fuck. He really wants to murder me. I’m about to be a tattoo tear eternally crying from the corner of this guy's eye.’
Then he raised.
At this point I knew he had a six.
I was actually thankful that he had the hand won. I’ve lost the pot, but I’ve won my life. I called and he turned over six-deuce off-suit, a hand that I would never play even though it happens to be my birthday (June 2nd …many people play their birthdays for good luck).
I turned over my aces, just to let the table know that I had a wonderful hand and that I wasn’t bullshitting with my raises. He looked at me and laughed.
“I never fold my six, mothafucka.”
This was the point when I realized what was going on.
I looked at his right forearm, which poetically had “Rollin” scrolled from his elbow to his wrist in old-English writing. Then I looked at his left forearm, which read “Sixties” in matching tattoo scripture.
I was clearly overmatched so I said the same thing that anyone who fully appreciated an O.G. would:
“Very nice hand, sir.”
Did he play a horrible starting hand in poker? Yes. Was I a substantial favorite before the flop, after the flop and after the turn? Yes. Did I let him know I had a strong hand by betting and re-raising him? Yes. Was he a certified killer? Probably. And that is why I’ve never been so happy to lose a hand of poker in my life.
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*O.G.: Original Gangsta; the real-life definition of a street-level mentality; no remorse or concessions for a person's (or group's) behavior associated with violence, sex and crime. A way of life, of sorts, that doesn't provide explanations or apologies because this is the "reality" of aforementioned subjects.
How the odds of winning the hand played out:
2 comments:
whats up with the internet plan and are u down to play on thursday? dont invite the crip pleeeeeeeeeeeease! +__+
This might be the funniest one yet.
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