I usually stay away from such topics, but after my recent visit to N'awlins and its local gambling parlors, I'm compelled to comment.
Holy sh!t. We went to Boomtown in nearby Harvey, LA, on a midweek afternoon. I've been here before, and most games are crap until they open their high-limit room (read: green chip) in the evening. So I left my bankroll alone and dug into my fun funds and bought in for a hundred.
There was no marquee moment. It was a series of idiotic and mindless moves that allowed me to get away with anything. One woman had a pad and pencil with her, and she tracked her wins/losses the entire time, with no heat from the pit. Of course, she was of little concern, as she would have stayed on a nine versus dealer six had I not implored her to hit (I plead for a double, even offered, but the data overload proved intimidating). Another champ stood on soft four/teen versus dealer six, but later hit seventeen versus dealer five. The only element that was remotely familiar to me was the overdressed fifty-something Viet guy standing behind the table, Monday-morning quarterbacking everyone in his native tongue (a staple at places like Cache Creek on Saturday nights).
I have no problem with idiot plops, but this episode was so extreme I found myself distracted. A new found respect has been discovered for the degenerates I share the table with at El Cortez. Indeed, they are not the worst players in America, despite their level of intoxication.
Holy sh!t. We went to Boomtown in nearby Harvey, LA, on a midweek afternoon. I've been here before, and most games are crap until they open their high-limit room (read: green chip) in the evening. So I left my bankroll alone and dug into my fun funds and bought in for a hundred.
There was no marquee moment. It was a series of idiotic and mindless moves that allowed me to get away with anything. One woman had a pad and pencil with her, and she tracked her wins/losses the entire time, with no heat from the pit. Of course, she was of little concern, as she would have stayed on a nine versus dealer six had I not implored her to hit (I plead for a double, even offered, but the data overload proved intimidating). Another champ stood on soft four/teen versus dealer six, but later hit seventeen versus dealer five. The only element that was remotely familiar to me was the overdressed fifty-something Viet guy standing behind the table, Monday-morning quarterbacking everyone in his native tongue (a staple at places like Cache Creek on Saturday nights).
I have no problem with idiot plops, but this episode was so extreme I found myself distracted. A new found respect has been discovered for the degenerates I share the table with at El Cortez. Indeed, they are not the worst players in America, despite their level of intoxication.
Some days, those moves are hilarious, and others they make your jaw just drop. Especially those "what do you have to lose" hands like those you described. 
