When You Hit the Flop in Fixed Limit Omaha
If you have a few minutes to spare, I would like to tell you a little story based on my own personal experience that may have some instructive value for you the next time you sit down to join a game of fixed limit Omaha. Just pull up one of those comfy Afghan pillows over there in the corner, cross your legs yogi-style and make yourself at home. Take a deep breath of incense, listen to the invisible sitar playing somewhere in the background... and ask yourself why the hell this doublewide parked in an Alabama trailer park is decked out in an Indian motif? Determining there’s no logical answer to that query, settle your mind to be enlightened by the tale I am about to unfold.
Two weeks ago, I was playing poker over at a friend’s house. I cannot give the name of this individual for security reasons, but he resides in upper Beverly Hills and currently stars on a TV show that constantly ranks within the top ten in its prime time slot. The night began with starting hands in fixed limit Omaha. My host was not a particularly experienced player, which is why I insisted that we played the fixed limit variant. As much as he begged me to indulge him with a pot limit game, I always recommend that newer players stick with the fixed variety until they have a firm handle on the intricacies of Omaha.
Well, we were deep the game when a situation arose which essentially started a riot. In short, I hit the flop, and I mean I hit it on the sweet spot. My starting hand was very strong to begin with: ten of spades, jack of diamonds, nine of spades and queen of diamonds. Obviously, there was a whole range of major combination that could have come into play at the flop that would leave me in the proverbial catbird seat. And that is precisely what happened. By the time the three flop cards had been turned, I was holding a wealth of potentially powerful hands, each of them strong enough to obliterate whenever my sad host was holding. From flush draws to a very solid three of a kind, it seemed I could do no wrong.
This is a truly giddy feeling, when you know that, based upon the cards currently in play (not even mentioning the yet-to-be revealed turn and river cards,) that you are in possession of a monster. I could almost taste the big juicy pot I knew was mine for the taking.
But, here is the point: how did I respond to this situation? Would it be better to aggressively bet, forcing my opponent into a game of chicken? Or, would it be smarter to slow play, creating a false sense of security and luring him in for a devastating knockout blow? This was quite a dilemma I faced. But my ultimate choice was not hard to determine. Why? Because I knew the temperament of my opponent, and had exploited it many times before. He is the type of player who cannot back down from a challenge. Simply cannot, under any conditions. Something inside him will not allow another player to dominate the action, so I knew he would take the bait if I made an aggressive bet.
He took it. I won the hand, and started to do a little victory dance on his marble-topped card table. He made dash for the 12-gauge in his oak gun rack next to the Mrs. Pac Man machine. And it was right around then that the riot police had to be called.