David1 said:
David1, I don't usually do that. I try not to be a smart-ass most of the time. What is funny is that there is no way for you to know this BUT, when I posted that 'quote' that you are pointing out there were SEVERAL MORE posts between mine and the initial post. Those have been removed as they were derogatory and offered nothing to the thread.....several were removed which made mine move relatively far up into the thread making it seem odd that I would do that.
No smart ass here today, David1. I just posted that when it was necessary to get back on topic following the (now missing) inflammatory and off-topic posts which were made. Best of luck. tulsa
One I remember ... I think it was in the early 90s ... Thursday nite game on ESPN with Berman doing the play by play
Dodgers at home .... end of 7th inning they are up 11-1 and I do to sleep
They lose 12-11 .... yeah, they lose 12-11 ... nice huh?? Phillies scored I believe 8 or 9 in the top of the 9th
Dodgers at home .... end of 7th inning they are up 11-1 and I do to sleep
They lose 12-11 .... yeah, they lose 12-11 ... nice huh?? Phillies scored I believe 8 or 9 in the top of the 9th
Right Wing:
sorry ... I chuckled when I saw that cause we have all shared a jar of vaseline many times over ....
I can still see Duhon throwing in that bastard from like 40 ft as the gun goes off in the National Semis game ... I can remember Webber calling that flappin timeout to get a flappin technical with like 6 seconds to go in the National Championship game vs NC ....
And the list goes on and on and on ... funny part, is how many of the games where you were on the other hand can ya recall ???
sorry ... I chuckled when I saw that cause we have all shared a jar of vaseline many times over ....
I can still see Duhon throwing in that bastard from like 40 ft as the gun goes off in the National Semis game ... I can remember Webber calling that flappin timeout to get a flappin technical with like 6 seconds to go in the National Championship game vs NC ....
And the list goes on and on and on ... funny part, is how many of the games where you were on the other hand can ya recall ???
<header class="article-header" style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 10px auto 20px; max-width: 700px; position: relative; z-index: 1000033; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: BentonSans, -apple-system, Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">[h=1]The ultimate bad beat[/h]2/2/2006
While attending college at Arizona State University, I would often play poker at Casino Arizona, a good-sized card room with a wide variety of games. For those of you who haven't mixed it up in one of the Grand Canyon State's casinos, they are all Native American-owned, and the majority offer impressive perks and giveaways. But since poker is our primary concern, the only "perk" worth mentioning are the bad beat jackpots.
If you've never played in a poker room with a bad beat jackpot, the rules are simple: using both hole cards (for hold'em), if your high hand (normally aces full of 10s or better) is cracked by a higher hand (often quads or better), congratulations, you just netted yourself a hefty bonus. At most card clubs, the loser of the hand receives 50 percent of the jackpot, the winner gets 25 percent, and the other players seated at that table divide up the remaining 25 percent. What's more, most of AZ's bad beat jackpots are progressive -- increasing daily until they are hit. If memory serves me correctly, Fort McDowell Casino in Fountain Hills holds the record for the world's largest bad beat jackpot ever paid, somewhere in the neighborhood of $160,000.
While biding my time for a more lucrative $20/$40 limit hold'em game, I snagged an open seat in a $6/$12 game. Shortly after unracking my chips, I realized there was a significant amount of tension at the table, all of it between two players: the No. 3 seat, a young guy, mid-30s, stocky, with a crew cut, and the No. 9 seat, an older woman, possibly way north of the century mark. Had someone handed her a broom, I would've grabbed Dorothy and Toto and whisked them to safety.
Seated in the center of the table, the first few hands I played felt like a ping-pong match as Crew Cut continuously spouted muttered-but-audible off-color remarks, all directed at the Wicked Witch of the West, who had absolutely no qualms about issuing verbal retaliations. Being impartial, I nevertheless gave props to the elder combatant; her replies were much more creative: "The height of your hair is a direct reflection of your IQ," and other statements along those lines.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me and I turned to my neighbor for enlightenment. Apparently, the bad
blood began the way it usually begins at a poker table: he had a high pocket pair (in this case, queens) and she stayed in with a small pair (fours), and eventually snapped him off when she paired her kicker (an unsuited 7) on the river.
OK, it happens, let's move on. However, Crew Cut had no intention of letting the events of Bad Beats Past
fade quietly into the night. Oh, no.
A few hands later, nearly the entire table stuck around to see the preraised flop (Casino Arizona is well known for ultra-live action, regardless of the game -- must be the desert sun!) of K-K-A. After a bet and a call, only two were left in the hunt: yup, you guessed it, Crew Cut and the Witch (sounds like the title of the next Harry Potter novel, doesn't it?).
Something irrelevant, an 8, I think, hit the turn and all hell broke loose. Because they were heads-up, there was no cap on raises, and the two kept coming over the top of one another as if they were playing leapfrog to the death.
The rest of us were amped by the furious action and we were all reasonably confident that a boatload of "found money" was about to land in each of our laps. Expecting to dole out some serious cash -- the jackpot was around $60,000 at the time -- two floormen raced over to watch the hand play out.
Crew Cut got it all-in first and the pot was now somewhere in the vicinity of $500, pretty decent for a $6/$12 game. With no betting action left, and only the river to come, Crew Cut proudly flipped over his hand, pocket
rockets, giving him aces full of kings, the minimum qualifier for Casino Arizona's bad beat jackpot.
"Go ahead and beat it," Crew Cut said antagonistically. "Gimme a bad beat."
A rag on the river changed nothing and all eyes turned to the old hag, now nodding her head in the affirmative. "Okey-doke," she said, and turned over her pocket kings, giving her quads, the winning hand, and the small end of the bad beat jackpot.
Crew Cut threw up his hands in victory. "Boom!" he screamed, mentally spending his lion's share of the jackpot, right around $30,000.
But the drama wasn't finished yet. Before anyone could convince her otherwise, Witchy-Poo scooped up her pocket kings and held them out to her younger, wise-cracking nemesis.
"Here's your bad beat," she said with unflinching satisfaction and casually tossed her hand into the muck.
We were all dumbfounded -- the players, the dealer, the floormen, not to mention all the lookie-loos who always run to a table when a jackpot has been declared. A chorus of "Holy [expletive]" spread through the crowd.
As for Crew Cut, he turned more colors than a chameleon on a Twister board and collapsed heavily into his chair, mouth agape, his hands locked onto his near hairless scalp.
"Why would you do that?" he queried, mouth aquiver. "You were gonna get 15 grand."
<article class="ad-300" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; overflow: hidden; position: relative; z-index: 1000026; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; float: right;">
</article>"I don't need the money," she said with complete disdain, while racking up the remainder of her chips. "But knowing you did … " She stopped racking, stared at him and smiled wide, a grin so wide, it would give a fly the chills.
To say we were all pretty pissed was a major understatement, as we were just intentionally hosed out of our players' shares, a smidge over $2K each. But I gotta hand it to the old gal -- she definitely got the last laugh, and taught that kid a valuable lesson he'll never forget.
Ol' Ace wasn't kidding: Sooner or later, it all comes around.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/poker/columns/story?columnist=bluff_magazine&id=2316427
- Bluff magazine
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While attending college at Arizona State University, I would often play poker at Casino Arizona, a good-sized card room with a wide variety of games. For those of you who haven't mixed it up in one of the Grand Canyon State's casinos, they are all Native American-owned, and the majority offer impressive perks and giveaways. But since poker is our primary concern, the only "perk" worth mentioning are the bad beat jackpots.
If you've never played in a poker room with a bad beat jackpot, the rules are simple: using both hole cards (for hold'em), if your high hand (normally aces full of 10s or better) is cracked by a higher hand (often quads or better), congratulations, you just netted yourself a hefty bonus. At most card clubs, the loser of the hand receives 50 percent of the jackpot, the winner gets 25 percent, and the other players seated at that table divide up the remaining 25 percent. What's more, most of AZ's bad beat jackpots are progressive -- increasing daily until they are hit. If memory serves me correctly, Fort McDowell Casino in Fountain Hills holds the record for the world's largest bad beat jackpot ever paid, somewhere in the neighborhood of $160,000.
While biding my time for a more lucrative $20/$40 limit hold'em game, I snagged an open seat in a $6/$12 game. Shortly after unracking my chips, I realized there was a significant amount of tension at the table, all of it between two players: the No. 3 seat, a young guy, mid-30s, stocky, with a crew cut, and the No. 9 seat, an older woman, possibly way north of the century mark. Had someone handed her a broom, I would've grabbed Dorothy and Toto and whisked them to safety.
Seated in the center of the table, the first few hands I played felt like a ping-pong match as Crew Cut continuously spouted muttered-but-audible off-color remarks, all directed at the Wicked Witch of the West, who had absolutely no qualms about issuing verbal retaliations. Being impartial, I nevertheless gave props to the elder combatant; her replies were much more creative: "The height of your hair is a direct reflection of your IQ," and other statements along those lines.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me and I turned to my neighbor for enlightenment. Apparently, the bad
blood began the way it usually begins at a poker table: he had a high pocket pair (in this case, queens) and she stayed in with a small pair (fours), and eventually snapped him off when she paired her kicker (an unsuited 7) on the river.
OK, it happens, let's move on. However, Crew Cut had no intention of letting the events of Bad Beats Past
fade quietly into the night. Oh, no.
A few hands later, nearly the entire table stuck around to see the preraised flop (Casino Arizona is well known for ultra-live action, regardless of the game -- must be the desert sun!) of K-K-A. After a bet and a call, only two were left in the hunt: yup, you guessed it, Crew Cut and the Witch (sounds like the title of the next Harry Potter novel, doesn't it?).
Something irrelevant, an 8, I think, hit the turn and all hell broke loose. Because they were heads-up, there was no cap on raises, and the two kept coming over the top of one another as if they were playing leapfrog to the death.
The rest of us were amped by the furious action and we were all reasonably confident that a boatload of "found money" was about to land in each of our laps. Expecting to dole out some serious cash -- the jackpot was around $60,000 at the time -- two floormen raced over to watch the hand play out.
Crew Cut got it all-in first and the pot was now somewhere in the vicinity of $500, pretty decent for a $6/$12 game. With no betting action left, and only the river to come, Crew Cut proudly flipped over his hand, pocket
rockets, giving him aces full of kings, the minimum qualifier for Casino Arizona's bad beat jackpot.
"Go ahead and beat it," Crew Cut said antagonistically. "Gimme a bad beat."
A rag on the river changed nothing and all eyes turned to the old hag, now nodding her head in the affirmative. "Okey-doke," she said, and turned over her pocket kings, giving her quads, the winning hand, and the small end of the bad beat jackpot.
Crew Cut threw up his hands in victory. "Boom!" he screamed, mentally spending his lion's share of the jackpot, right around $30,000.
But the drama wasn't finished yet. Before anyone could convince her otherwise, Witchy-Poo scooped up her pocket kings and held them out to her younger, wise-cracking nemesis.
"Here's your bad beat," she said with unflinching satisfaction and casually tossed her hand into the muck.
We were all dumbfounded -- the players, the dealer, the floormen, not to mention all the lookie-loos who always run to a table when a jackpot has been declared. A chorus of "Holy [expletive]" spread through the crowd.
As for Crew Cut, he turned more colors than a chameleon on a Twister board and collapsed heavily into his chair, mouth agape, his hands locked onto his near hairless scalp.
"Why would you do that?" he queried, mouth aquiver. "You were gonna get 15 grand."
<article class="ad-300" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; overflow: hidden; position: relative; z-index: 1000026; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; float: right;">
</article>"I don't need the money," she said with complete disdain, while racking up the remainder of her chips. "But knowing you did … " She stopped racking, stared at him and smiled wide, a grin so wide, it would give a fly the chills.
To say we were all pretty pissed was a major understatement, as we were just intentionally hosed out of our players' shares, a smidge over $2K each. But I gotta hand it to the old gal -- she definitely got the last laugh, and taught that kid a valuable lesson he'll never forget.
Ol' Ace wasn't kidding: Sooner or later, it all comes around.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/poker/columns/story?columnist=bluff_magazine&id=2316427
Well, I am going to add mine, since the whole thing still pisses me off, several years later. It wasn't the amount of money, but how I lost it.
Also happened at an Arizona casino (Gila River). The poker room had a "high hand" promotion during the early hours to keep games going all night. Anything full house or better goes up on the board. Best hand after the hour and a half wins like $250. In order to win, you must be playing when time is called. On this particular early morning, we were the only table playing and there were four of us, the minimum needed to keep the official game going.
At the time, I was already on the board with quad queens, almost assured the $250. As time got close, one local asshole (Sal) decides he is going to leave and go home. I have 15 minutes left till I collect, and his leaving would close the game. Even the other players couldn't believe this idiot was going to be such a loser. Sal only offered to stay the last 15 minutes if I would split the bounty with him. As I assume ANY of you would do, I told him to f@ck off. No way in hell was I giving him a penny. I'd rather lose the money. So he does leave and the two remaining guys decide to wait it out for me. They tell me to go pull some guy off the casino floor for one hand and offer him a free $25. So we wait.
With about 5 minutes to go, I walk out, grab some guy from the slot area outside the poker room with my offer. He has never played poker before, but what he hell. First hand. THE FIRST HAND... guy ends up with quad kings and wins the $250 high hand. Nice guy that he was, he did ship me $25 for the opportunity.
I still see Sal coming in all the time. Smug 80 year old douche that is still completely unaware who I am now or how the night unfolded after he left. I tell the story often, but no one seems to believe that Sal would ever do that. Pisses me off.
Also happened at an Arizona casino (Gila River). The poker room had a "high hand" promotion during the early hours to keep games going all night. Anything full house or better goes up on the board. Best hand after the hour and a half wins like $250. In order to win, you must be playing when time is called. On this particular early morning, we were the only table playing and there were four of us, the minimum needed to keep the official game going.
At the time, I was already on the board with quad queens, almost assured the $250. As time got close, one local asshole (Sal) decides he is going to leave and go home. I have 15 minutes left till I collect, and his leaving would close the game. Even the other players couldn't believe this idiot was going to be such a loser. Sal only offered to stay the last 15 minutes if I would split the bounty with him. As I assume ANY of you would do, I told him to f@ck off. No way in hell was I giving him a penny. I'd rather lose the money. So he does leave and the two remaining guys decide to wait it out for me. They tell me to go pull some guy off the casino floor for one hand and offer him a free $25. So we wait.
With about 5 minutes to go, I walk out, grab some guy from the slot area outside the poker room with my offer. He has never played poker before, but what he hell. First hand. THE FIRST HAND... guy ends up with quad kings and wins the $250 high hand. Nice guy that he was, he did ship me $25 for the opportunity.
I still see Sal coming in all the time. Smug 80 year old douche that is still completely unaware who I am now or how the night unfolded after he left. I tell the story often, but no one seems to believe that Sal would ever do that. Pisses me off.
