Story: FROM GOLDEN TOUCH TO LOSING TOO MUCH

Being a typically broke college student, when I recently fell into a small pile of money, my course of action seemed clear: hit the local casino and try to parlay the cash! When I strolled into the card room, however, something just didn’t feel right. A little voice inside my head was telling me to leave immediately. As I would soon learn, sometimes it’s good to listen to the little voices in your head.

I sat down at a $5-$10 no-limit game and the foreboding I’d felt quickly evaporated. I mean, I practically couldn’t lose at this table. I would play absurd hands like 10-3 off suit and the flop would be A-3-3. People were taking notice of my apparent wizardry; the other players were generally respecting my raises and folding (which, of course, made it pretty easy to steal pots here and there). 

I’d originally bought into the game for $450, but after a few hours of the Midas touch, I was up to a whopping $3,200. For a moneyless student, it was basically like hitting the lottery. I consider myself to be a fairly smart man, so I was well aware of the fact that my luck couldn’t last forever. I decided, therefore, to continue playing only until the big blind came around. Then I would cash out, go home, and celebrate.

I was a mere two hands away from this admirable goal when fate intervened. I was dealt pocket eights and raised the pot to $50. The next player to act folded. The guy after him, a semi-aggressive player who liked to try to take down pots before the river but normally played at least quasi-decent cards, re-raised me to $200. The rest of the table folded around to me, so now it was just semi-aggressive man and me, heads up. I figured him for a strong hand such as A-A, K-K, or, given his aggressiveness, maybe even A-K suited. I knew that if he had A-A or K-K, I would be in huge trouble — seeing as how he had my stack covered by about $300 or so. I also knew that if I flopped an eight, I was going to get paid big time. I decided to see the flop for $150 more. 

The flop came 8-8-3. Not only did I hit my eight, but I also made quads! I threw out a bet of $300, hoping that he would think I was trying to buy the pot. Sure enough, the bait was taken and he raised me $1,000. At this point, I couldn’t possibly be beaten. I had visions of going back to the frat house rich as hell and being treated like a god for the evening. I re-raised and went all-in.

My opponent debated with himself for a long time. No matter what, I was a tremendous favorite to win the hand. Whatever he was holding, he’d need two more specific cards to help him. After what seemed like a month, he looked at me and said, “I’ll call you . . . on the condition that we don’t flip over our cards until the river is dealt.” This seemed like an odd request to me, but I figured he was thinking that his two aces probably wouldn’t hit and he didn’t want everyone at the table to see that he couldn’t get away from pocket rockets. I agreed to his request and he called.

The turn was a queen. It seemed that there was no hope for him now — two cards in the deck that could help him, but only one chance to hit it. The river produced . . . another queen. Okay, no aces, it’s over, I thought. I proudly flipped over my hand and proclaimed, “Four eights!” A look of absolute disbelief appeared on my opponent’s face. But there was also a sparkle in his eye — to go along with the smirk on his mouth. I starting feeling noticeably less confident when he finally turned his cards over: pocket queens. He’d made runner-runner quads and I lost everything. 

It’s been several months now and I still haven’t recovered from this catastrophic bad beat. One thing I have done, though, is begun paying more attention to my inner voice. These days, when it speaks, I listen!