usually on the grill.
The usual crew was there. Won Ton John, Internet Mike, Bennie Sniffles with the box of tissues, Donny from Hudson County. I was glad to see Donny: as big a fish as they came. Bluff Daddy, a fat guy from Brooklyn with a moon face and speckled gray skin. Sort of reminded you of an uncleaned ashtray. And a guy called Bruno. New guy. Vinnie told me to watch out for him. He was huge. Not fat huge. Bodybuilder huge. Impossibly good-looking, in that square-jawed, blue-eyed way. And with enough arrogance to tell you he was well aware of both. Had the Nazi-style motorcycle helmet next to him. Oh yes, he was telling you, you can see me on the Harley—it had to be a Harley, one of the biggest, loudest and most obnoxiously beautiful of Harleys—rocketing down the turnpike, all in black, anonymous and massive, stray dollars from that night’s take flying out behind me like the sparks of the hellhounds’ claws on the blacktop. Oh yes. A walking, talking comic book hero. A towering heap of intimidation.
The kind of guy, he got run over by a semitrailer one day, you held a party.
He bought in huge as his shoulders. Banded stacks of hundreds, ten thousand dollars each. Made a nice handsome pile in front of him. Made sure he had more money on the table than anyone else. Had to be that way, for his style to work. I knew the type. Big bets. Very big. Always putting the question to you: Are you good enough? Do you want to invest your whole bankroll with that lousy pair? No? Ship it! Ship those chips over here. Of course, half the time the guy would have air. Seven, Four off suit. But when you stood up to him, and you’d guessed wrong, and he had Kings, or two pair, you just lost all your money. That’s what he counted on. Fear.
Those guys were hard to play against. But not impossible. Everybody has a weakness. Anybody can be exploited.
There are two ways to play against the big-stack bully, the Bruno type of guy. Both ways require that you have a hand, though. You’re certainly not going to bluff the guy, because if he re-bluffs you, it’s going to be for all your money. The old saying, you can’t bluff a bluffer, has far more than a grain of truth in it. So, you wait for a serious hand. Jacks, say. Or a premium drawing hand. King, Queen of hearts. You can flop a flush, a straight, two pair, all sorts of good stuff. And when he shoves his chips at you, you push back over the top. Put him in for all his money.
Since, most of the time, a guy like Bruno is shoving his chips in with less than a monster hand, he’ll usually fold. He doesn’t want to play a pot with you. He’s looking to intimidate you. Shove you off your cards. And since against most guys at the table it works eight times out of ten, maybe nine, he doesn’t need to look you up. Take a risk for a lot of chips. He’s making lots of money without having to do that.
The other way is the rope-a-dope. You get a monster, a pair of beautiful Aces, you just call. The flop brings another Ace, he bets, you just call again. He keeps betting, you keep calling. What’s he got? Ace, King, probably. Or Kings, or Queens, and he thinks you’re on a draw. Or air. He’ll play air like this. And on the river, there’s no flushes on board, no pairs that could make a full house for him. There’s a straight out there, but not something he’s likely to have. So when he bets again, you come over the top.
Of course, you can’t be too obvious about it. You’ve got to mix it up. The guy’s no fool. He’ll pick up on it if it’s all you do. But since you’ll use both of these techniques with big made hands as well as draws, it’ll be hard for him to read you. He’ll have to keep betting. He doesn’t want to give you a free card if you’re on the draw.
That’s how you play a guy like Bruno.
The problem was, I found out, Bruno was also sick lucky. There are guys like that. You don’t want to believe it. You want to think it’s all random. The luck evens
The usual crew was there. Won Ton John, Internet Mike, Bennie Sniffles with the box of tissues, Donny from Hudson County. I was glad to see Donny: as big a fish as they came. Bluff Daddy, a fat guy from Brooklyn with a moon face and speckled gray skin. Sort of reminded you of an uncleaned ashtray. And a guy called Bruno. New guy. Vinnie told me to watch out for him. He was huge. Not fat huge. Bodybuilder huge. Impossibly good-looking, in that square-jawed, blue-eyed way. And with enough arrogance to tell you he was well aware of both. Had the Nazi-style motorcycle helmet next to him. Oh yes, he was telling you, you can see me on the Harley—it had to be a Harley, one of the biggest, loudest and most obnoxiously beautiful of Harleys—rocketing down the turnpike, all in black, anonymous and massive, stray dollars from that night’s take flying out behind me like the sparks of the hellhounds’ claws on the blacktop. Oh yes. A walking, talking comic book hero. A towering heap of intimidation.
The kind of guy, he got run over by a semitrailer one day, you held a party.
He bought in huge as his shoulders. Banded stacks of hundreds, ten thousand dollars each. Made a nice handsome pile in front of him. Made sure he had more money on the table than anyone else. Had to be that way, for his style to work. I knew the type. Big bets. Very big. Always putting the question to you: Are you good enough? Do you want to invest your whole bankroll with that lousy pair? No? Ship it! Ship those chips over here. Of course, half the time the guy would have air. Seven, Four off suit. But when you stood up to him, and you’d guessed wrong, and he had Kings, or two pair, you just lost all your money. That’s what he counted on. Fear.
Those guys were hard to play against. But not impossible. Everybody has a weakness. Anybody can be exploited.
There are two ways to play against the big-stack bully, the Bruno type of guy. Both ways require that you have a hand, though. You’re certainly not going to bluff the guy, because if he re-bluffs you, it’s going to be for all your money. The old saying, you can’t bluff a bluffer, has far more than a grain of truth in it. So, you wait for a serious hand. Jacks, say. Or a premium drawing hand. King, Queen of hearts. You can flop a flush, a straight, two pair, all sorts of good stuff. And when he shoves his chips at you, you push back over the top. Put him in for all his money.
Since, most of the time, a guy like Bruno is shoving his chips in with less than a monster hand, he’ll usually fold. He doesn’t want to play a pot with you. He’s looking to intimidate you. Shove you off your cards. And since against most guys at the table it works eight times out of ten, maybe nine, he doesn’t need to look you up. Take a risk for a lot of chips. He’s making lots of money without having to do that.
The other way is the rope-a-dope. You get a monster, a pair of beautiful Aces, you just call. The flop brings another Ace, he bets, you just call again. He keeps betting, you keep calling. What’s he got? Ace, King, probably. Or Kings, or Queens, and he thinks you’re on a draw. Or air. He’ll play air like this. And on the river, there’s no flushes on board, no pairs that could make a full house for him. There’s a straight out there, but not something he’s likely to have. So when he bets again, you come over the top.
Of course, you can’t be too obvious about it. You’ve got to mix it up. The guy’s no fool. He’ll pick up on it if it’s all you do. But since you’ll use both of these techniques with big made hands as well as draws, it’ll be hard for him to read you. He’ll have to keep betting. He doesn’t want to give you a free card if you’re on the draw.
That’s how you play a guy like Bruno.
The problem was, I found out, Bruno was also sick lucky. There are guys like that. You don’t want to believe it. You want to think it’s all random. The luck evens
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