When DZ checks the turn after raising Miniman’s donk lead, I put the pro on eight-six suited. It’s a fast check, really much too quick, because if DZ had a set he would have considered continuing his aggression, even with the severe hit the straightening card delivered to his perceived equity share. Holding eighty seven might cause him a short pause, like the brief consideration he gives the latest face on his beloved Tinder app before the inevitable swipe. DZ’s disguised eighty-six was never the nuts, of course. Worse for him, the best possible hand has changed again, filling in pair with gutshot straight draws, the internationally preferred holding of poker optimists; Miniman’s indolent air, positional indifference, and bravely pastel sweater seem to qualify him for the team. DZ will respect the board, the sweater, and thus his opponent’s range; it’s the right play, but he’s made it too many times after years of doing this. He’s on autopilot and is not really performing with this snap action of his. He’s reading the lines but not playing his role. His check doesn’t just mean two pair; it also means DZ has been doing this stuff for a long, long time.
It must be difficult showing up to the games every day and attempting to play at the same level. Winning poker, because of its endless iterations of similar circumstances, puts a severe premium on mental balance. However, being still youthful, energetic, and only barely showing signs of the slight translucency of skin brought on by the inevitable autoimmune issue he will develop from cigarettes, DZ is built for our game. He’s lean and won’t suffer from sitting. He is modest and isn’t bothered by people or their shortcomings. He makes friends and has the respect of the staff and the players. More than that, his victims love him, like the patients who thank Dr. Wilson after he informs them of their terminal condition. There is no apparent Manichean struggle in DZ’s poker life: he’s Gargamel’s good twin, and does not cause trouble. In fact, you’ve likely seen him in your casino or on LATB yet completely forgotten him: advantage DZ. He’s a true grinder, attempting to repeat quietly the same thing over and over again in the hopes of a better result.
For all these reasons, I don’t think DZ has 85. It’s true that one of his technical weaknesses is a very liberal attitude toward stack to pot ratio, and while for once, he might have actually had the depth to make the three gapper call (thanks to Miniman’s heater), I just don’t think DZ actually plays that hand. 85? Swipe. I suspect him, in fact, of being the quiet utilizer of a true static range, which makes him a unicorn hidden in the forest of looseness, the sweet girl he’ll never find online. His tight, half aggressive game is even more ageless than he is, like an all-purpose piece you could smuggle into a difficult jigsaw puzzle, or the low res photo you never stop using for your profile. Further, the micro dude betting into him has run scorched earth hot, gouging me by limp calling AA and flopping top set while I “punished” his “capped range” with barrels on a raiser’s board, then serendipitously repeating the process versus the hapless chaser in seat three. To defend against things like this and bingo players in general, DZ prefers to underplay hands than to overplay them. He understands that full ring, low stakes poker often has to be played nittily and that the honorific LAG, an impressive title especially coveted by newbies and wannabees, is usually a former position on a resume needing polishing. Lastly, and the real nail in the coffin: as is the case with most good men, DZ is basically a deadly boring human being. So really, even if he had something odd like 85 and was open ended, he would not have raised the flop and now checked the turn bewilderingly. DZ has 86.
What that means is that things are going to get interesting when the eight pairs on the river and DZ fills (surely?) up. This final card brings in every possible hand that wasn’t already there, including two straight flushes, a bottomless board of possible holdings, an overpair’s nightmare on 5th street of 87698ccc. Gin, it seems, for opponents with 200 bigs behind and who did not three bet commit on the flop. Miniman strikes first, not bothering to Hollywood other than a very brief false expression of concern, the kind of subtle acting that will earn you a leading role in the crowd scene of a middle school play, before betting out for half pot. As Miniman’s chips hit the felt, DZ flashes me an ironic glance. His eyebrows twitch upwards in a classic optimism spike, a priceless tell in the games themselves- but he’s looking at me, not his opponent. I’m a little confused by it, frankly. I think it was no more complicated than “I’ve got it.” Maybe “this pot is about to get bigger, for better or worse.” Or maybe the expression of someone who has seen it all has layers to his understanding I still can’t grasp.
DZ raises the river lead 3.2x. This is hammerlock sizing. It’s the wager of a serious, unimaginative player. It is a death knell sounding over the hand, one that should stun and silence his opponent unless he has been blessed with one of poker’s more magical holdings. DZ is not messing around here. He’s not getting into a leveling war with anyone, because he knows there is no need for it in most of these games. Think someone is fooling you? Swipe. Think he’s adjusting to you? Swipe. Humility. Straightforwardness. Discipline. Which is why, when Miniman shoves the rest of his stack, the second look that DZ gives me contains no optimism tell. It is the cornered look, the tournament life look, the stood up on a date look: the face of rerecognized reality.
After some fidgeting in his chair, DZ drops in three chips to signify the call. It is smooth and simple, so quick, nearly a sleight of hand. Cat like. Paw forward, retract. Perfect. Even, it seems, in defeat: Miniman turns over the straight flush and collects a big pot.
Show me someone who never tilts and I will rezip their body bag for you. There is no way around this. There is no silver bullet. You cannot make promises about your behavior when it is instinctive, emotional, and raw. You cannot will away every possible negative feeling in advance. Try as you might, you will never meditate your way into a completely fortressed state. Meditation is an excellent method toward full focus, a prophylactic to tilt, and I endorse it, but it will tear when your full house loses to a fish who has no idea what he is doing. When all your years of work and experience can’t match an opponent who knows so little about the game he keeps referring to his straight flush as a royal flush. (That must have been irritating to DZ!) You just lost your weekly nut to someone who doesn’t even know the card rankings. You think you’re going to avoid feeling upset about this because you started the day with a protein shake, five walnuts, stared at your navel and wished away the universe for twenty minutes?
DZ mumbles a few things to me, I to him. We’re both in a bit of shock, and of course, his is extreme and meaningful. There is no outcry, no lament, which is an aberration noticeable enough. He collects his phone and cigarettes and disappears. Good for him, but I wonder what he is thinking.
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