Mads: Foxwoods

Me and my Boston friend needed a break from the city, so we hopped in a car and shot down to Foxwoods. Nothing like gambling to make one feel better, you know.

While my friend spent his money on exotic horse bets and high stakes craps tables, I went for the gusto: grinding it out at the 2-4 limit poker table. Sure, I have more cash than I’ll ever spend, and the money I make or lose at that table over the course of 16 hours is nothing, but playing 2-4 limit is more than just about the money: it’s about the love of the game-- kind of like playing professional soccer for the Major Indoor Soccer League.

So my Boston friend shows up so we can go to dinner right as I get the hand of the night. I'm dealt pocket queens. I’m in the small blind, so I limp into the flop with another dude-- one of those losers who talks about poker strategy and bad beats while everyone else at the table wants to kill him. Anyway, I know his hand before he bets: Ace and some face card kicker: no problem.

The flop comes Ace-Queen-Seven. Now I know I’ve got him. He’s betting his 2, raising to four, raising to eight, and I’m calling him. The turn comes up: Queen. Quad Queens. Now I’m golden. The kid’s betting his life off: I know he’s holding Ace Queen. River’s meaningless: 8. The pot’s like $40 or so, and the kid smugly turns over his Ace-Queen.

As I left the table, my Boston friend chided me on my play:

"You moron, you could’ve raked in 50 Gs with a hand like that at the tables I play in. That won’t even pay for our meal at The Dragon."

"You know," I said. "You’re the reason for the teardrops on my guitar."

"Am I the only one with enough of you to break your heart?"

"Yep."