I Limped and Got Punished

It was Saturday night in Las Vegas. The tourist crowd was in for the weekend and gambling it up. I was under the gun in a $30-$60 hold'em game at Bellagio, and peeked down at my cards and found the A 8. Generally, I am not all that enthused with this holding up front, particularly if the game is tight. I am even less enthused with that type of hand if the game is both tight and aggressive. Those factors affect the implied odds I am getting.

Since making just aces may get me into trouble, I need to hit this hand solidly - two pair, three eights, or a flush - in order to be reasonably confident with my holding. Fewer flops solidly hit a hand like this than more premium starting hands, which is part of the reason why they are premium hands. This type of hand plays well in loose-passive games, where there is large volume and a cheap entry price, and drawing to hands tends to be cheaper. All of these factors increase the implied odds the hand is receiving, giving the hand a greater edge.

This game was loose, for sure - but also pretty aggressive, with a lot of preflop raising. I would have preferred a less aggressive group behind me, but this is an imperfect world, and in poker, as in life, you must make the best decision for the situation at hand, and go with it.

I still thought a call was correct in this situation, and threw my chips in. A few other players called, the player two to the right of the button raised, and a local wannabe pro three-bet from just to the right of the button. The button and the big blind called, as did everyone else, and we took the flop off sevenhanded for three bets.

Here is a not-quite-true poker aphorism: Limp and get punished. The idea held by those who say this is that when entering a pot with a marginal hand, you ought to take control by raising and driving it through, blowing out as many opponents as possible. In some situations, that can be correct strategy. The problem is, most players overuse this concept, and get spanked more often than not.

I felt joy when I saw the flop, J-9-7 with two clubs. I had flopped a gutshot-straight draw (although one likely to induce a split) and the nut-flush draw. Plus, because of the texture of the flop, the size of the pot, and the number of players involved, I was likely to get a lot of action on the hand.

The big blind checked and I led into the field, looking to gamble (yes, I know that was very courageous of me in that spot). Two players called, as did the preflop three-bettor. The button, a loose-aggressive player who liked to raise with a wide range of hands, shot it up with a raise and the big blind folded.

It was time for the "Roy Cooke Huddle." I thought about my best move and decided I had almost no chance of stealing this pot. The button was paying off any hand in which a bunch of chips lay on the table; he was a keep-'em-honest-for-the-size-of-the-pot type of guy. Plus, other players would be likely to look me up, and rightly so if they held much. If I just called, I was pretty confident the field would come with me and I would get a nice price on my draw.

However, this pot was big, and was getting bigger. I considered my opponents' hands. I thought the three-bettor was highly likely to have an A-K or A-Q type of hand, and was the sort of player who would be likely to fold it under pressure. If I reraised and the raiser had only one pair (which could well be the case with this player), I could increase my chances of winning the pot if an ace came. Plus, I might be able to get rid of another 8 if I folded a player with a gutshot draw. A small increase in the chances of winning a large pot can be worth a lot of dough! Of course, there was a cost associated with this play; by eliminating opponents, I would be reducing the price I was getting on my draw.

I chose to reraise, unsure of what would happen behind me, but certain that whatever happened, it couldn't be too bad with as powerful a hand as I held. One player called behind me, to my delight the three-bettor folded, and the button called.

A warm feeling flowed through my veins when an ace hit on the turn. I glanced at the three-bettor who was now on the sidelines, and he seemed to stiffen a little. Sweet, I thought. I bet, and the middle player called. I was feeling pretty smart about the play I had made on the flop, and was visualizing that it had worked like a charm. I was all full of myself - until the button raised. That really humbled me. I called, pretty sure that I was beat and looking to pick up a call from the third opponent. He didn't disappoint me, and called. I sat back, rooting a club in on the river.

The river brought the 9, giving me the nut flush but pairing the board. The aggressive button player was the type of fellow who didn't miss any bets, so I checked with the intention of check-raising him. The middle player also checked, and the button fired in a bet just as if I'd scripted it. I raised.

Then, he reraised, and my heart parked itself in my shoes. I reluctantly paid him off, hoping he held a smaller flush - or was trying to move me off the pot. He was the type of player who was capable of playing his hand in that manner. But, no such luck … he had wired sevens, giving him sevens full. I watched glumly as the dealer, a huge guy with hands the size of bulldozer blades, pushed him the pot. It took three giant scoops to move the chips from the middle of the table. I hate that feeling!

As I always do when results dictate that I may have made the wrong play, I reviewed my decision. Could the button have had a hand with which I was correct in shorting my price in hope of increasing my chances of winning the pot? My answer was yes. Plus, the hand I thought I wanted to fold did in fact fold; I still believe it contained an ace. While the play I made was wrong and I paid a high price for the predicament, I believed it would be right enough times in identical scenarios to make it correct.

Yeah, I limped and got punished, but in the same spot, I'd do it again. Believing that I made the right play made me feel much better, although not nearly as good as I would have felt had I been stacking the chips. But in poker, as in life, we all make better judgments after knowing the results. I mean, wasn't it obvious in February that the New England Patriots were going to beat the St. Louis Rams in January? Shouldn't we have known? In order to maintain the mental toughness required to continue the daily/weekly/monthly grind at the poker table, we can't beat ourselves up over results when we did the best we could based on sound reasoning at the time. All we can do is suck it up and play the next hand.

Roy Cooke played winning professional poker for more than 16 years. He is a successful real estate broker/salesperson in Las Vegas - please see his ad below. If you would like to ask Roy poker-related questions, you may do so online at www.UnitedPokerForum.com.

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