“I’m just going to call,” the guy at the other end of the table said.
And I thought to myself, “If you’d like to raise, I’d be delighted.”
But let’s back up a little.
It was a Saturday morning and I had sat down in the only game available, the absolute lowest limit in the joint. Fittingly, I bought in for the absolute minimum.
I listened to the chatter from the regulars in the game and played tightly.
I was about even when in early position, I peeked down at Kc-Qc. That felt like a preflop raise — and raise I did. Two of the regulars called and the blinds got out of the way.
There was nothing extraordinary about the flop — Ac-Kh-4d. I had flopped second pair behind the ace and there was a decent chance somebody else held the ace.
Regardless I fired out a bet. That lost one guy, but the other preflop caller decided to stick around.
The dealer burned and put out the club 10.
“Not a bad card,” I thought to myself. Besides second pair, I had picked up a flush draw and a gutshot straight draw. Counting the two available kings that would make trips, I had roughly a dozen outs.
I bet again and the lone remaining player quickly called.
I was trying to watch his face a little for a reaction and wasn’t prepared for the river card.
It was the club jack.
For the royal. A runner-runner royal, in clubs.
Somewhere deep within, I smiled. I would win the pot. There was a modest cash bonus. I would need my players card and Nevada ID.
I thought a little bit about the guy at the end of the table. He had been chatting about playing at The Venetian and how there was more to poker than ABC-style.
None of that mattered at this point. I would bet and he would likely call. Even f he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter.
But I fired out a last bet which is when he said, “I’m just going to call.”
“I think I got there,” I remarked to no one in particular as I turned over my hand.
There was a little buzzing and then a supervisor came by to collect my players card and Nevada ID.
But I could have stood a raise.
Really, I could have.
