Bahamas + Poker = Paradise (mostly)

This is the story of a moral dilemma in the Caribbean. I imagine that part of the world has been the scene of far more than its fair share of those. This one, however, doesn’t involve anything extramarital, any offshore accounts or an under-the-influence-under-insured-jet-skiing-dolphin-collision incident.

This one took place across the green baize. I was playing some cash poker, as I do, after hard days work. Of course by work I mean hanging out talking to some poker players and sitting on the beach (come on it’s not like I was going to write the whole column without at least one lame attempt to make you jealous).

Now whisper it quietly but I’m starting to have some problems with live poker. I mean I’ve loved it for so long but compared to online it’s very very slow, it’s not in my house and then there’s this…

A couple of hours into my late night chill out poker session (complete with mellow grooves on the mp3) a guy from a bigger game sits down on my left and slams down about double the table maximum in chips. He’s friendly, has clearly sampled the traditional local drink a lot (rum by the way) and is ready to gamble.
He plays about half the hands he’s dealt always trying to be the bully in any pot and succeeding against what was quite a weak table. He’s been doing this about 20 minutes when I pick up Ace King of spades in the small blind. There are two limpers so I make a decent raise. Almost without thinking Mr. big game triples my bet.

Now because of the way he’s been playing and the way he jams his chips in I‘m very sure I have the best hand. I think a bit about how to play it and get more of his money in the middle. As we’re both deep stacked I decide to call and check raise all in on a lot of flops confident he’ll be betting whatever happens. (this is probably an over complication on my part and I should have just shoved it in pre flop – thinking too much is a curse)

I call and the flop brings the 4 diamonds, 9 hearts and the beautiful ace of clubs. I check as planned and he bets following the script. I then think a little (you know …for the cameras) before moving all in and he…. Insta calls. I’ll be honest with you this is not ideal.

I flip my cards over with the still desperate hope that the sun and rum have gone to Mr. big game’s head. “I’ve flopped top two” declares as he shows A9 to have me completely crushed.

Now don’t panic this isn’t a bad beat column it’s about what happened next. Before I get to that I should mention the delears at the tournament were a mix of poker dealers from U.S. card rooms and non-poker dealers from the hotel casino. Now our man running things definitely wasn’t a poker dealer. I’m not sure what he was used to dealing – I’m guessing Happy Families – but most straight forward poker dealing is causing him a problem.

As my opponent tables his Ace 9 nonsense time slows down – suddenly we’re inside the matrix where all things are possible. Slowly from nowhere the dealer reaches out, picks up my opponents cards and places them calmly on top of the muck. There’s a pause of suspended animation as the madness of what just happens sinks in and then people start shouting. Mr big game is shouting… a lot… most of it is potty mouth. Other people are shouting. Strangely even I’m shouting at the dealer?!

Panicked into action (by the way a Bahamian panicked into action moves at about three times the speed of a normal Bahamian which is still half the speed of you or I) – the dealer takes the cards off the muck puts them back on the table and states, ‘I didn’t realise you called’.

It’s as if rather than dealing the game he was gently replaying a favourite movie in his head – I mean there were a few clues for him to work off….all the money went in the middle, he had two pair and – you know – he said ‘I call’. Small clues I grant you but they were there for the observant dealer.

So now what am I supposed to do? Of course technically the dealer has killed his hand and I’m well within my rights to declare it so. I also know if the floor is called they’ll kill the hand. But why should he lose the pot because the dealer is spending his time trying to find Mr Bun the Baker in the deck between deals?
After a few seconds thought it was an easy decision. I’d been coolered but he had the best hand and if you can’t take your lumps you can’t play poker. I let it go and we ran the hand. There were no miracles and he took down the pot – generously giving me some of my money back for letting it stand.

Now this game was at one of the lowest limits I play and on a fabulous trip when I was totally mellowed by sun and fun. The question is could I have been the same magnanimous guy in a huge pot in a bigger game – or what about at the final table of a big event? After all it’s easy to be nice for fun money underneath the Bahamian sun.

Originally published in Poker Player magazine.

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