Poker in the Caribbean

It was not a surprise to discover that the poker room, while an integral part of the casino, was completely vacant for most of the day. Although the Hollywood Casino, right on the campus of the Simpson Bay Resort on Dutch Sint Maarten, opened its doors each day at 1pm (more or less), there wasn't a soul to be found anywhere near the four baize-topped tables until after the dinner hour had passed. Sometime after sundown, a sign-up list appeared on a clipboard atop one of those tables, along with a pen, inviting would-be rounders to indicate their interest by adding their name. The pre-printed data on the form promised that the $2/$5 game would begin “around 9pm”, and only required a minimum buy-in of $100, with no maximum. I added my name next to the Seat Two line, and since Seat One was already claimed by a punter named “Steve”, I signed as “Devo” – my college nickname – to  identify myself more uniquely.

At precisely 2100 hours I dutifully returned to the site of my upcoming triumph … to discover that it was still vacant. (“Island Time” is the term I came up with to describe the punctuality of the St. Maarten residents.) A subsequent visit fifteen minutes later was only slightly more fruitful; a terminally bored dealer had materialized, sitting behind three full chip racks (one each for $1, $5, and $25 chips). Arrayed around the remaining circumference of the table were three would-be players, looking equally bored. I joined them to become the fourth.

The next fifteen minutes I spent amiably chatting with the lady in Seat Five (Angela from Chicago, so it emerged). A fifth player then grabbed a seat, and as this was apparently the magic number, the dealer and her floor manager began buying our American currency, exchanging it for the equivalent in clay-composite chips, and we were shortly underway. Most folks, including me, considered $300 to be sufficient ammunition for the battles to come.

As I anticipated, actually getting the cards into the air served as the siren call for the rest of the players to join us. At 51, I was clearly one of the youngest at the table; it soon became equally clear that I was the best.

The aforementioned “Steve”, at Seat One, turned out to be a rather chunky guy, laden down with gold jewelry to a point just this side of tacky. He was accompanied by a varied posse of attendants who came and went throughout the evening. He was not left alone for a single moment, conversing with one companion after another throughout his entire time at the table occasionally slipping into some Slavic language (Greek? Croatian?). I pegged him as a big drug dealer; perhaps mafia. Contrary to the rest of us, he bought in $1000 at a time, proceeding to give it all away on a consistent basis.

Steve quite literally played every hand dealt to him. Regardless of whether a pot had been raised (or even re-raised) ahead of him pre-flop, or if he was the tenth limper, he had to see every flop. It goes without saying that this is what led to his disastrous results (of which he seemed quite oblivious). But what I found annoying about his style was the pace of his play. Each action on every street required excruciating deliberation. He’d look at his cards; cut them several times; look at them once more (his thumb flipping their corners with a satisfying “fwap”); cap them with a chip; count the rest of his chipstack; cut out calling chips; cut out raising chips; study the board cards carefully; reassemble his chipstack and look at his cards again …

But worse than that; the rest of the table, clearly looked at Steve as some sort of poker model to be imitated (and he certainly looked, if not played, the role). Consequently, every single player (save me) went through the process of carefully contemplating every move. A pre-flop fold holding 7-2 required a Solomonic degree of consideration prior to acting. I marveled that these people were even capable of selecting “paper or plastic” at the grocery store check-out.

The other troubling aspect of the game was the overwhelming rake. Winning a hand in the States will set you back 5% of the pot, capped at a maximum of somewhere around $3 to $5 depending on the room (not counting jackpot drop or dealer toke). However, I was never able to get a handle on the rake in this game. Dozens of chips were flying into the pot with each hand, fueled largely by Steve and his $1000-at-a-time re-buys. And each time the dealer dropped so many chips down into the rake box that, near as I could tell, it was amounting to 10% of each pot with no cap.

Generally speaking, a game of this sort simply cannot be beat. The only exceptions are when the players are particularly bad, or the game is particularly loose. And both of these elements were present in this game. When I finally calculated my overall win rate during the entire week of play, it amounted to around $100/hour, a phenomenal rate for a $2/$5 game. How phenomenal? Well, let me put it this way: It’s something I've never achieved before; and I predict that, no matter how long I live, I’ll never see it again.

Most of these earnings actually came at the Aruban poker room at the Excelsior Casino, located at the Holiday Inn resort. The rake there, I discovered by careful enquiry, was an only slightly more reasonable 5% with a $10 cap and $2 jackpot drop.

At this room they had a $4/$8 limit game with an interesting rule variation. In the States, a $4/$8 game would have blinds of $2 and $4, with pre-flop and flop betting increments of $4, and turn/river bets in increments of $8. Here, though, you could choose to bet either $4 on the flop or go straight to $8 a street early.  The math related to this flop bet modification, combined with the aggressive rake, called for an overly tight game.

I experimented with this feature somewhat, although when I discovered that I was consistently betting low with draws and high with made hands, I shifted gears to betting the max on the flop. I had no desire to make myself so easily readable; although at this table I could have played each hand face up and still come away winner.

I pretty much kept my limit play to a minimum, playing only until a seat at the red-chip game opened up. There was so much more money to be made there. Even so, to give an example, I played a 30-minute session at the limit game, buying in for $100 and cashing out for $265.

When I toted up the figures at the end of my Caribbean adventure, I discovered that I had pretty much paid for the hotel, airfare, and meals for the whole trip. I suppose this might just mean that a follow-up visit is called for at some point.