Some people discuss hands with friends in post-tournament analysis. I decided to write a poem.
The regs and the degens were taking their seats
Hoping to avoid the baddest of beats.
All was going great, and my chips were amounting
And villain was there, just watching and counting.
I looked down, saw Queens and slide out a raise,
Whilst trying to avoid the old lady’s gaze.
She called and I cursed. ‘A Queen dealer please!’
But the card in the window made me fall to my knees.
A King, plain to see, but then what I saw
Made my stomach do flips and my heart it did soar!
A Queen. Trips, and I’d flopped a set,
But the question I had was whether to bet.
I checked, and the lady, she pushed in her stack.
I checked on my cards and I didn’t hold back.
‘I call!’ I said, tabled my hand in a flurry.
But my opponent’s hand had me starting to worry.
Ten-Jack was her hand, and she was open ended,
The dealer burned and the quiet descended.
My heart was beating hard in my chest,
Despite my hand being obviously best.
You should have seen the look on my face,
When the turn card was dealt and, you guessed it, an Ace.
‘Pair the board’ came the cry, and I nodded real quick.
The river was dealt and twas naught but a brick.
Alas I didn’t win when perhaps I should,
But at least I can say that I got it in good.