On the turn, I committed a tactical error and bet into a board that was triple-suited and screamed “flush.”
The villain immediately raised and the guy to my right re-raised. I called and the villain capped it: a bet and three raises.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The villain had been running over the game for hours. He was loose-aggressive-sloppy — pleasant and gregarious when winning, pugnacious and surly when losing. But he had been catching cards for hours, winning and amassing an impressive collection of chips.
Then with two black sixes in the pocket, I had limped from early position. The villain raised and it quickly became a “family pot” with eight players seeing the flop.
The dealer burned and out tumbled 6h-9c-Jh. I led into the field, the villain raised and everyone called two bets back to me. I bet it again and got five callers.
The pot was building.
The turn brought the heart 10, and it was probably an error to bet again. Yes, the villain raised and yes, the guy to my right reraised.
So I had a decision to make: Did they both have flushes? Or did someone have a higher set? If I filled up on the river, would sixes full be a winning hand? Or could it lose to jacks full, nines full or even 10s full?
After some rapid thinking, I concluded they had both made flushes. I called the two raises and called a third raise from the villain.
The pot was now officially humongous. The villain’s eyes grew huge, and the table was eerily silent as we awaited the river.
I knew there were 10 cards that would potentially rescue my hand — nine of them would make a full house and one them, the last six, would give me four-of-a-kind.
Slowly, deliberately, the dealer burned and turned. The nine of diamonds fell, giving me a full house, sixes full of nine.
Wary that the players who had flushes might check behind if I checked, I led out and got two quick calls.
But even before I could table my hand, the villain showed Ah-4h for the nut flush and the guy to my right showed Qh-8h for the third nut flush — and a draw to a straight flush.
So out of order, I slowly turned up my full house to claim the pot.
“Wow, what a hand,” the guy to my right said as I remembered to toss the dealer a few chips as a tip.
The villain promptly sulked. In fact, he proceed to give away a chunk of his winnings — something the entire table was willing to help him do — before he came to his senses and walked away with a few racks of chips.
Moral? Don’t think there is one.
Except sometimes you just have to play it all the way to the river. And get lucky.
