I forgot why I hate limit poker so much...

Last night I decided to sit down for some $4/8 limit poker at Hollywood Park. You may find yourself asking, "Why the fuck would you do that?" While I have to admit that is a very legitimate question, there are a couple of illegitimate reasons why I decided to play limit instead of no limit.

1) Last night I wanted to just relax, enjoy some poker and watch the Cavs/Spurs massacre unfold during game three of the Finals. It's a lot easier to relax and not pay attention to the game when playing limit poker with a bunch of morons.

2) When I was up in Seattle earlier this month, I played $3/6 limit poker because it was the only game available. I did prettty well and figured I am an expert at this so-called game of luck. Seriously, I'm the Phil Ivey of $3/6 limit. Ask anyone that was at Goldie's Casino in Shoreline, WA around 2:30 P.M. on June 2, 2007. It gets around.

So last night I showed up to Hollywood Park (HP) and sat down at what appeared to be a boring $4/8 limit table. Eight of the nine seats are filled and in seat seven there is a decent looking chick sipping on a cran and vodka. On my right is a young guy that looks like Roy Jones Jr. and the other five cats are all old fat guys, but one of them is apparently the chick's man of some sort (pimp? boyfriend? husband? brother? He could be any of those).

The table seemed to be pretty calm to me. Most of the time I really pride myself on my reads in poker, but this was a horrible read by yours truly.

I start playing and the chick is going back and forth with the guy that she's with (they are talking about dumb shit like his voice mails, etc.) and I quickly notice that even though she is sitting in a seat at the table, she isn't playing. She is simply stacking his chips every time he wins a pot. She kind of resembles a bootleg version of Fergie. The dude she is with just looks like a fat redneck with a blue tooth ear piece and one of those cheap ass hats with nothing on it, just a plain black baseball cap. I could see him being a next door neighbor in "Family Guy" or something. So Fake Fergie's role at the table is stacking his chips and smiling at him and going back and forth to the bar to get their drinks. I always wanted to bring a girl to the casino that would just stack my chips and get my drinks but I guess my pimp hand just ain't strong enough (yet?).

So besides the fact that three of the players (including the pimp/boyfriend/brother) are playing like shit and calling each other down with ace high, Fake Fergie seems to be giving her pimp/boyfriend/brother (will now be referred to as p/b/b) advice on calling some lady friend back. So now I've determined she is probably not his wife. She is also glancing at myself and Roy Jones Jr. quite often as we are the only two people within a decade of her age and she appears to be somewhat buzzed/drunk. I guess if I was a drunk Fake Fergie sitting at a table with Fake Family Guy, I'd be batting my eyes at Fake Phil Ivey and Fake Roy Jones Jr. too.

So it's pretty obvious that p/b/b has no idea what he's doing. He'll call the $4 blind then it'll get raised and he'll show his cards to Fake Fergie for like 45 seconds and then fold as he acts like he's making some huge laydown...in $4/8 limit...pre-flop. I'm sure he was just laying some monsters down.

In the meantime, I managed to win only one hand -- pocket aces. I have the ace of hearts and ace of diamonds on the button. I raise, everyone moans and groans and calls and the flop comes King, Jack, Nine...all hearts. This is an ugly flop but because I have the draw to the nuts it's not that bad. The turn is an ace and the river is another nine. Of course one of the old donkeys called me all the way down and I win a decent pot. Unfortunately the very next hand I had kings and the flop was AA3 and someone had AJ and I had to call his punk ass down so we could try and hit the jackpot.

Not long after that, the dealer accidentally deals a hand to Fake Fergie, even though she's not playing. The fat guy in seat nine apparently had a high pocket pair and was irate that the hand was a misdeal. He starts yelling at Fake Fergie and the dealer and Fake Fergie is yelling at him and the dealer.

Fake Fergie: "I've been sitting here for two hours and not playing, why'd you deal me a hand?!"
Fat Guy: "You shouldn't be sitting there! I had a great hand and you messed it up!"
Asian Dealer: "I sorry, I thought she in game. Please sit away from table."
Fat Guy: "Yeah, get away from the table! I already told you that when you sat down!"
Fake Fergie: "You just don't get any ass fool!"

At this point the dealer calls the floorman over and Fake Fergie is ordered to sit away from the table. Roy Jones Jr. lets me know that Fake Fergie and Fat Guy had been arguing before I got to the table. Fat Guy is really an ugly site. His hair hasn't been washed for a while and the top button on his pants is unbuttoned due to excessive beer gut, plus his shirt is too small so he's teasing us with his navel in some sort of twisted tribute to J-Lo.

In the midst of all this, p/b/b is getting kind of pissed off. Not only is Fat Guy yelling at his woman/sister/hoe, but now he has no one to stack his chips for him. I'm a little upset at this because I can tell p/b/b is gonna leave the table and he's by far the worst player. I actually felt like telling Fat Guy to stfu myself. So after Fake Fergie continues to berate Fat Guy about his lack of sexual activity, p/b/b decides to leave. But before he leaves, he steps outside his calm demeanor and unleashes an arsenal of "You a little bitch, fat bitch, you just a bitch...etc.'s" at Fat Guy. Fat Guy obviously calls floorman over and we forever lose p/b/b and Fake Fergie from the game.

While all this is going on, some extremely horrendous poker is being played and people are taking pots down with hands like Q3 off-suit, deuce-five, etc. I can't hit a flop to save my life and my stack is dwindling. Time goes by and my chips go down when I'm pre-flop capping with AK and bricking flops.

Then, about an hour later...Fake Fergie is seen speed walking towards our table. I'm thinking to myself "Aw shit, Fat Guy is about to get the business!"

However, in a suprise reverse flea-flicker, Fake Fergie walks straight up to Roy Jones and tells him "I just wanted you to know that I wish you all the luck on the table baby. Fo' Real, you been sittin' here the longest and you been mad cool the whole time and I want you to win all the money." Roy Jones Jr. is stupified and has no response. Fake Fergie is embarrassed by the lack of response and forever leaves us once again.

By the time I left, I had lost my buy-in (final hand I lost KQ to Jd5d on a runner-runner flush when I flopped the queen and he flopped the five) but had another entertaining evening in the limit section of HP. However, I will not be returning anytime soon to this section of the casino. The players are as shitty as their personalities and it is somehow a tough game to beat. It's an incredible feeling to sit at a table full of donkeys and somehow lose to them. It's like playing against a horrible basketball team and not playing hard, letting them hang in the game only to have their worst player throw a prayer from half court that banks in at the buzzer.

Did that really just happen to me?