When we left off, I had twenty minutes before registration closed on the Saturday tournament, my car was in the back yard, why? Would I make it in time? Answerers to those heart-stopping questions will be revealed in part two.
you can read part one here:
Saturdays in Maison part one
***
I had forgotten that every other Saturday a man comes over and washes the car, his name is Gilbert and he does magnificent job. This day I didn't care if he washed it or pissed on it, I just wanted to get out as soon as possible.
“How far along are you Gilbert?” I asked.
“Just got done vacuuming,” he said “you've got somewhere to be?”
“Yeah, poker tournament,” I looked at my watch, it read 1:45 P.M. “it starts in fifteen minutes.”
I lied. It actually starts at 2:15 P.M.
“I'll have it done in ten!”
I quietly pumped my fist and walked around, waiting for Gilbert to finish drying my car.
I walked back and forth with my bag thrown over my shoulder, it was quite a bit heavier then it normally is. I threw it over my side and opened the flap, inside were Harrington on Hold 'Em Vol. 1 and 2 and various jazz discs that were all due back at the library. I figured I'll drop them off after I bust out of the tourney. I never last more than a few hands after the first break in the tourney so I'll have plenty of time to do it afterwards.
“You car is ready,” Gilbert exclaimed. “Good luck!”
“Thanks Gilbert,” I shouted as I drove off at 90 mph. I still had twenty minutes to spare, but still I needed to be there five minutes ago. Parking takes time, signing up takes time. So in my mind, I'm late.
I drove down 4th St. cranking Hella on my VW's stereo, something felt different today.
I made it down to Union Ave. and missed every stop light. Hella was still blasting, my feet were toasty in my Doc Martens, my hair was messy, my breath was fresh and I'm sure my body was a little smelly. I fit in all right.
I found a parking spot fairly quickly and walked in to the side entrance of the once grand chateaus. Golden West Casino – formerly Maison J'Ausauds – used to be Bakersfield's premier restaurant and night club. In the 50's people like Johnny Carson would come specifically to eat there. This was before the 99 freeway. Back then, the only way to get to Los Angeles was through the Golden State Highway. Union Avenue was the heart of the Golden State Highway, eventually as the 99 was finished less and less people used the G.S.H. and it slowly deteriorated and became home of no-tell motels, prostitutes and drug dealers. Soon, husbands stopped taking their wives to Maison J'Ausauds for a night out on the town, funny men refused to perform their comedy routines and eventually the building was transformed in to a casino.
That actually made me a little depressed.
I was greeted by two familiar faces as I waited in line for my seat card, Sue and Alex. Sue, a woman in her late sixties, though you couldn't tell it unless she personally told you about one of her great grandchildren, then and only then would you be able to piece together bits and pieces of her true age. She is the woman in charge of collecting the entry fees for the tournament.
Alex is the tournament director. He's the one announcing the blinds, running around coloring up chips and is one hell of a Omaha player.
When it was my turn I stepped up to the podium and handed Sue my twenty-dollar bill, “Long time no see, Sue!” I said.
“Been a while Michael,” she said “Lee is the last name right?” I nodded as she pulled out a seat card and wrote down my name on the list “Table A, seat 9, Michael.” she said.
“Thanks, Sue!” I said as I marched back to my table. Table A has a funny aura around it. Some people love it because they don't have to move if they manage to make it all the way to the final table, some people hate it because they never manage to make it to the final table if they're seated at Table A. Today, I feel good about it.
I sit down in seat 9 and instantly recognize some familiar faces:
Seat 1: Coors light, he drinks more then he plays, but is surprisingly good.
Seat 2: Mr. Jive, he's decent, extremely tight player, I don't play with him if he's in a pot
Seat 3: Bob, he always wears the same suspenders and baseball hat, nice guy, probably the best all around player in the building. Always tell the same corny Detective Lincoln joke. Third on the board.
Seat 4: Toby, very analytical player, likes to do the right move 99% of the time, but usually ends up doing the opposite.
Seat 5: Manuelle, the top ranked player on the G.W.C.'s freeroll board. He's a hard player to make out as he constantly makes a facial ticks when he talks. Kind of arrogant, but thats the nature of the game. He's the top player on the freeroll board.
Seat 6: Glasses. He kind of looks like Tim Conway, minus the funny personality.
Seat 7: David Cross, well not really, but he's the 5th ranked person on the free roll board
Seat 8: Didn't get his name but he was allright
Seat 9: Mr. Blogger
Seat 10: Jason. He's incredible, I'm presuming he was in an accident or something, he has a rather large dent in his fore head, his hand shakes constantly and is completely blind. He's ranked second on the board.
If you're wondering about the board I keep mentioning it's basically a list of the top twenty players' score based on how many final tables they make in the Saturday and Sunday tournaments.
“Shuffle up and Deal! Cards are in the air!” Alex yells as he usually does, I am relaxed and excited, as I always am.
The first hand I get, I'm looking down at K-7 offsuit and I get in a battle with Manuelle. My lonely pair of kings is beaten by his straight. I didn't have many playable hands after that. 'I'm going home early' I thought to myself. The button passes by at least twice and I'm looking down at Ace-King off suit, I raise and I get three callers, Toby, Manuelle and Jason. The flop doesn't help me a bit, it's checked to me and I bet. Jason calls and every one else folds. The turn is a rag and I check and Jason checks behind me. The river is a King, I bet he calls. He flips over K-9s. I scoop up the pot and manage to survive a little longer.
The very next hand I'm dealt Ace-King suited. I raise and everyone calls. I resist the urge to smile as the flop comes and gives me both a straight and flush draw. The flop is J-10-10. Two hearts on board. My foot begins to shake up and down at a million miles per hour. Toby bets out and every ones calls, I raise and Jason folds. Mr. Jive however, decides to re-raise. Hmm. Interesting. Maybe he has a set. Yeah, he must have a set. The turn is a blank and it's checked to me. Jive bets out and only Toby calls, I fold hoping I don't see a heart on the river. A ten comes out and its checked around Jive flips over J-10. QUAD TENS!!! Crazy!
Eventually, I'm down to 1,200 in chips down from my nice stack of 12,000. I look down at an 8 and a 9. They're off suit. The blinds are at 300-600. I raise all in and just wait to see what happens. I pair my eight on the flop and wait it out. There wasn't a sidepot between the two remaining players, Bob and Toby. They just kept checking down to the river, they're two Ace King's didn't improve and I scooped up the pot and in the process I mange to triple up my stack.
I continue to play tight and aggressively and mange to scoop up a few nice sized pots. It's hard to believe that me, the guy who was on the brink of being eliminated, had somehow managed to build his stack up to a very comfortable size of around 30,000 in chips. I'm second to Bob who has around sixty thousand. He had just won a very large pot. “This pot determines who wins this thing today” I said to the guy on my right. He just politely nodded and continued to watch as Bob managed to bully Toby out of a pot and become table captain.
I'm excited, I've never had this
many chips in front of me before. I've always managed to stay in the game with the short stack. I'm feeling good. I'm feeling like I belong at table A. Alex announces that we'll be going on break after this hand for ten minutes. I look at my watch, it's three-thirty.
The library may have to wait.
to be continued...
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