Friday, February 17, 2006

Playing QJ: or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Hate Instead

An open letter to poker players who call all-in bets with QJ:

Dear Fuckwit,

Yeah, I’m talking to you. You’re the guy who keeps calling my all-in bets with QJ and busting me off the final table. You’ve done it a few times now, and it’s starting to bother me. You see, I moved in from early or middle position. There were maybe 6 or 7 or 8 people left at the table. I hadn’t played trash at any stage during the night. In fact, I’d only ever shown down very strong hands. I didn’t have a brain explosion; I simply had a good hand.

But you called me with QJ.

You weren’t pot committed, were you, dickhead? You had plenty of chips left. My all-in was at least 5 times the big blind, if not more, and the blinds were very large at this point.

But you called off your whole stack with QJ.

I saw you looking at your cards. I saw that you thought you were beat. So why did you call me anyway, fucker? Are two picture cards just too tempting? Do they draw you in, inexorably, making it impossible to fold? Is QJ your crack cocaine? Do you just have to take that hit?

Sometimes, you don’t even think when you call me; you insta-call with those pretty pictures. ‘Call’ you cry, shoving in your chips, grinning at me with that shit-eating grin. Are you grinning because you think you have an unbeatable monster, or because you know that no matter what I am holding, be it 99 or AQ or JJ, that you’ll fucking hit every fucking time?

How do you know, QJ man? Are you in cahoots with the dealer? Did you put a Voodoo curse on me? Perhaps you are grinning because you just remembered the time your parents took you to the doctor for an enema. Last month.

Sometimes it’s not QJ. Sometimes you call with KJ, sometimes even KQ. But you’re always behind. Always. I just want you to know this. It’s almost always a bad call.

And there’s just one more thing I want you to know, QJ man. It’s nothing personal, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way – but I hate you.

I fucking hate you.

Sincerely

The Royal Sampler

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