Slam Pigs

After work on Friday, I rolled down to 15 and Q to pick up Alex and Louis before we hit the road for AC. We encountered very little traffic and, soon enough, we were pulling in to the Borgata’s garage.

Alex had booked the room, and some of his buddies were already there: Justin, Brendan and Scott. Those guys were a trip and over the course of the weekend I learned a new word (or phrase): slam pig. I’ll leave its meaning to your imagination. Let’s just say that Jersey has tons of slam pigs.

I spent about 8 hours playing poker Friday night, and about 15 hours (with a 2-hour dinner break) on Saturday. It had been a while since I had played poker at a casino and I was definitely auditioning for amatuer hour. Besides losing two big pots on house vs. bigger house and A-high flush vs. house, I mucked a winning KQ two-pair when the other player showed a pair of Aces. I was making two big mistakes:

1) Playing for fun and not for profit. I guess I was so happy to be playing live that my discipline slipped. And while I enjoyed myself, I forgot that the fun that lasts is the fun of winning. I was too often the kind of player that I regular goof on, which was disappointing.

2) Playing tired. I lost most of my money on the last couple of hands on Friday night. Why? Because I was practically falling asleep at the table. Once again, I was having fun and didn’t want the ride to end. I need to know when to stop. It was telling that once I got up to leave the table on Sunday morning, two players immediately left. They had seen me yawning on several occassions and were eyeing my stack the entire time. I never want to be a mark again.

On the plus side, besides Alex and his boys, I ran into a bunch of people. Anthony, Matt G, and Steve were up from DC. F-Train, Dawn and Joaquin were down from NYC. I was lucky enough to sit down with F-Train for some $1/$2 NL, but he peeled out after deciding to head back to NYC rather than spend the night in AC. We had a great time at the expense of a player at our table who labeled himself “the forclosure king of New York”. He was rather vocal about it. I had a big hand against him where I held the nuts and tried to goad him in to a large call. I told him, from across the table, “I think your hand has been forclosed”. He was this close to calling, but laid down his hand, much to my chagrine.

In any event, it was great to be back in Atlantic City. I forgot what a no-brainer good time it is. I’m eagerly awaiting the next trip up.