Thanks for all the Respect

NOTE:  This entry was originally posted on a different site on September 7, 2016 and has been slightly edited prior to re-posting here.

“Thanks for all the respect!”

That was me being sarcastic, at a cash game after raising to 7 big blinds and getting four callers.  It was getting late, and I had told our host about eight minutes earlier that I’d be leaving in 10 minutes.  We were playing 6-handed, as one of our original eight players left early, and another left after going bust, driving to the nearest ATM for more cash, and busting again.

Nobody raised in front of me, and with Ad Kd in the small blind, I’m going to make it expensive for anyone who wants to see this flop.  I’ve been pretty quiet most of the night, but still nearly doubled my starting stack of 100 BBs thanks to one big hand where my KK doubled up through QQ.  It might look like I’m protecting my chips and running out the clock… until I raised to 7 BBs.

I wanted to thin the field, and going to the flop 5-handed from the worst possible position at the table is sub-optimal.  (First-world problems, I know that, but I digress…)

Flashback:  Early last year I was playing a cash game at the Aria.  It seemed like I had folded every hand for at least an hour.  Then I look down at TT and put out a nice raise.  Five other players call, like they are clueless that the nittiest player in all of Las Vegas has just raised.  TT is a fine starting hand, but with this many callers many more things can go wrong than right.  In my best, driest, most sarcastic voice, I commented “thanks for all the respect.”

Anyway, the flop was T42 rainbow, giving me top set.  Lack of respect instantly converts to generosity.  I’m feeling true love for each and every villain.  Everybody checks and a J on the turn improves another player’s AJ hand. There is a bet, call, raise, call, re-raise and shove.  Three of us are all-in, with my set of tens holding up over a set of fours (he thought he was trapping me!) and pair of jacks / ace kicker.  It was one of those wonderful moments when you can hear heavenly choir.

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And memorable for the phantasmagoric emotional shift from finally seeing a decent hand, to the sarcasm, to hating five callers to loving a monster flop to raking in all those chips.

[FLASHBACK ENDS]

Lightning strikes again.  The dealer turns over T32, all diamonds.  I have flopped the nut flush, the pot is already a decent size, and there are four other players.  Hopefully, somebody else also connected with this flop.

I make a smallish opening bet, about 1/3 of the pot.  The next three players fold, but the button (for purposes of this blog entry, I’ll refer to him as “Jason”) calls.  Jason is a pretty tight player who doesn’t make many crazy moves, but he can get stubborn at times when he just doesn’t believe the aggressor has it.  There is no reason for him to believe that I flopped a flush after my pre-flop raise.  The turn is Kh, I bet and he calls again.  The river is 5c.  Perfect… no more diamonds, no pair on the board, absolute nuts for me.  Jason hasn’t made any aggressive actions during this hand, so I don’t think an all-in bet will get called.  I bet a again, but still less than 1/2 of the pot.

Jason starts counting out chips as if he is going to raise.  Or perhaps just seeing how much he would have left over if he called my bet and lost.  Or perhaps just fiddling to kill time and see if I give off any tells.  “I’m all-in!” he announces, and slides his entire stack towards the center.  I feel ever-so-very-very-teeny-tiny-slightly bad for him.

I call and quickly turn over my cards.  He turns over Qd 8d, for a weaker flopped flush.  Poor guy, he was drawing dead on the flop and had no idea, although he handles this cooler very graciously.

[SCROLL UP AND LISTEN TO HEAVENLY MUSIC AGAIN]

Although it feels a bit like a hit-and-run, I had already told our host that I was leaving in 10 minutes, and now it is 14 minutes later.  Cash me out please…

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