Later McEvoy explains: "The guy limped in on the opening bet, and then drew a king and raised me. I knew he wouldn't raise me unless he had two kings." If Wiseguy had pulled anything bigger, he would have continued raising during the last rounds of betting -- but he didn't. McEvoy continues: "The way he played that hand, he might as well have pasted the hidden king on his forehead."
McEvoy's analysis matches his creed -- which is to read: Read your cards, read the other players' cards, and read what the other players are reading into your cards.
In my case, when an ordinary pair of pocket sixes turns into three sixes on Fifth Street, I try to decipher the other players' cards: No one is showing a strong hand. Also, they probably think that I've got a weak hand. McEvoy would want me to protect my triplets, in case someone with weaker cards backs into a straight or a flush. I pitch a $5 chip into the center of the table - and promptly scare everyone off. Four losing players shut down faster than a beach house in a September squall.
What happened? Wasn't I protecting my hand? Um, maybe a bit too much. "That was terrible," McEvoy scolds. "You should have played it slow, betting $2 and bringing some money into the game. Nobody had anything. You don't bet people out unless they're a threat to you."
As I collect a piddling $6 pot, I come to an invaluable realization: Even if you have the best hand on the table, you don't have to bet that way.
A few minutes past midnight, I'm back at the $1-and-$5 game, playing solo to test the day's lessons. Early on, I draw two pairs that grow into a full house. Remembering McEvoy's rebuke after I overbet with triple sixes, I go easy until Sixth Street. A couple of other players misread my modest betting. After they throw in $5 chips on the last card, I reveal my superior hand. They can't believe that I didn't bet more aggressively when I filled up. I can't quite believe it myself.
Later, with three clubs showing and my table credibility high, I bet heavily, driving out everybody except a blond guy wearing a collarless shirt. He sips his drink and throws in his bet. He doesn't raise me. He's making the same mistake that I made at the Mayfair, I think to myself. He's got good cards showing but no hand. And he won't go out. When my fourth card on board is a club, I resolve to make him fold. I bet as if I've got a flush - even though I've been dealt a pair of pocket eights. Blondie crooks his head and folds his pair of kings; had he known better, he would have beaten my hand. "Guy," he says, "you don't bet unless you have something." But the fact is, I had nothing.
I rake in the chips, sensing that I've made a giant leap over the course of the day. A game that always seemed obscure, like a grainy kinetoscope, is suddenly unfolding in vibrant Technicolor. At 3 a.m., ahead by $50 for the day, I decide to test my mettle tomorrow at a $5-and-$10 table.
Eight hours later, over plates of scram-bled eggs at the Horseshoe coffee shop, I tell McEvoy that I want to up the stakes. He's pleased, but he offers a sobering caveat when I mention that I've never played for this kind of money: If $5-and-$10 makes me queasy, stick with $1-and-$5. "Some people don't play to win -- they play not to lose," he says. "Do that, and you're dead. Everyone at the table will sense your weakness. If you're so attached to money that you can't throw it in the pot, don't gamble."
When I tell him I'm in, McEvoy gets down to business. "The ante structure of $5-and-$10 changes everything," he begins, "so you have to play aggressively on the first three cards." Unlike the lower-stakes game (which has no ante), $5-and-$10 requires a 50-cent ante. While 50 cents doesn't sound like much, pitching in a half-dollar per hand can have a debilitating effect on anyone who insists on waiting for premium cards. "It can easily cost you $25 an hour to sit there and look at cards," McEvoy says. "And when you finally do catch some cards, you won't get any action, because you've been playing so tight."
By 1 p.m., we're in the poker room of the MGM Grand, sitting together at a $5-and-$10 game. McEvoy notices that I'm taking notes after going out on hands, and he gives me a verbal jab. "Watch the players and learn their styles," he admonishes. I partly comply, and his advice quickly pays off: I notice that a bulldog-faced guy with a thinning gray comb -- over frequently bets big but then usually folds after another player raises into him for a couple of rounds. With a pair of jacks showing, I bet hard against Bulldog's flush in the making, falsely signaling that I'm holding more than jacks. Bulldog looks at my cards. He thinks. He folds. I rake in the chips, and McEvoy smiles approvingly.
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