My $34,000 Win in a High-Stakes Poker 'Team Game' Gone Wild

A Different Kind of Poker Game

I haven't felt the itch to write a poker story in a while, but a recent session left me with no choice. It was one for the books. Before I get into the nitty-gritty, you have to understand the game. This isn't your standard No-Limit Hold'em cash game. This is $100/$200 Limit at Bay101, a game that some people wrongly dismiss as 'checkers.' Trust me, it’s not.

To keep things from getting stale and predictable, we play something called 'Team Game.' We randomly break into teams, and the first team to win seven hands gets a payout from the losers. Why do we do this? Simple. It forces the A-players to gamble, to play like B- or even C-players. It makes tight, 'mathematically solved' players open up and chase. The action gets turned up to an eleven. We even have bonus hands—7-2, 7-4, and 5-4 are worth double points. It's beautiful, profitable chaos.

On this particular day, the table was a murderer's row. No soft spots, no tourists. Just a table full of stone-cold killers, guys so deadly I call them 'snipers.' You had Carlos Hathcock, the legendary Marine sniper; Chris Kyle of 'American Sniper' fame; and Simo Häyhä, the Finnish 'White Death.' Not their real names, of course, but you get the picture. Playing against them is like navigating a minefield.

The Obligatory Bad Beat

It all starts with a punch to the gut, doesn't it? I pick up AQs on the button during a team game. After an open and a cap, I just call, and a few others come along. The pot is already over $2,500.

The flop comes Ad Ks Qd. Gorgeous, right? I've flopped top two pair. But the board is wetter than a hurricane. A Jack-Ten makes the nuts, sets are possible, and diamond draws are everywhere.

Action checks to my teammate, Simo, who bets. After a few calls, I raise. Then Carlos check-raises. Simo three-bets. It’s capped four ways and everyone calls. Suddenly there's $4,550 in the pot.

The turn is a beautiful brick, the 5h. But in Team Game, no one is folding. Carlos leads out, Simo raises, and after one call, I make it three bets. Everyone calls again. Now we're playing for a nearly $7,000 pot.

Then the river: Jc. My heart sinks. That's the one card that completes the most obvious draw. It's the bullet to the brain.

Carlos, who has been firing away, suddenly checks. Danger! Everyone checks it down, and he rolls over... T7 offsuit. He rivered the straight with absolute garbage. He let out a whoop, “For the TEAM, babayyy!” while his teammates celebrated. The rest of us just heaped abuse on him. His response? “Go home and get your fuckn shinebox!” Classic.

Sweet, Sweet Revenge

I vowed I'd get my money back. A few orbits later, I look down at red Aces in the big blind. The pot is capped before it even gets to me, so I just throw in the chips. We see a flop four-ways for a $1,600 pot.

Flop: Jc 7c 2s. A flush draw and two low cards. Not ideal, but I have to bet. I bet, get raised by Chris Kyle, and three-bet by Carlos. What is Carlos doing? I cap it, and they both call.

Turn: As. The ace from space. The most beautiful card in the deck. I’ve just hit top set. It turns out Carlos was trying to get tricky with 7-2, one of the bonus hands. Without that ace, I would've been in a world of hurt against his two pair. Now, I had him crushed.

The turn is capped three ways, and the river is a harmless King. They both check to me, I bet, and Carlos—bless his heart—check-raises me again. I click it back, and the realization finally hits him. He just calls. My aces hold, and a $6,400 pot slides my way. The world made sense again.

But as Leo said in Wolf of Wall Street, making nearly a million a week would piss you off, because it's shy of a million a week. The pot could've been bigger.

The Catalina Wine Mixer of Bad Beats

You can't get too comfortable. Just when you think you're cruising, poker has a way of humbling you. My teammates and I are on game point. One more win and we take it down. I have A5 of clubs and cap it preflop. We're six ways to a flop of As Td 9s.

The flop is scary. I have top pair, but it's a mess of straight and flush draws. Shockingly, it's checked to me. I bet, and even more shockingly, everyone just calls. No raise? I practically fell out of my chair.

Turn: 5d. Boom. Aces and fives. It's the fuckn Catalina Wine Mixer. Now I'm beating hands like AT and A9. Simo checks, Carlos bets, Chris Kyle raises, and I make it four bets to go. Everyone calls. The pot has ballooned to $6,000.

The river is a 4c. Looks safe enough. Simo checks, Carlos checks, and I'm ready to scoop. Then Simo, who had been quiet, leads out with a bet. I call, and he shows... 2-3 of diamonds. He flopped nothing, turned a gutshot and a flush draw, and rivered a straight. How could I know? You can't. He called four bets cold on the turn with that! The $7,800 pot was pushed his way. I was, to put it mildly, rankled.

The Final Tally

The very next hand, I got a piece of it back. I flopped a set of sevens that turned into a full house against Simo's top pair. We went six raises on the river. He was furious, conveniently forgetting the stunt he pulled just one hand prior. Poker memory is a funny thing, isn't it?

That’s the nature of these games. It’s a violent, swingy, emotional rollercoaster. You take beats that would make a normal person quit the game forever, and you deliver them right back. You laugh, you curse, you quote movies, and you try to keep your head on straight.

At the end of the night, after all the chaos, the dust settled. I snapped a picture of the mountain of chips in front of me. I had started with $5,000 and, after loaning a buddy some cash, I was staring at a profit of $34,125. It’s nights like these that remind you why you play. It's not just the money. It's the battle, the camaraderie, and the sheer, unadulterated madness of the game.