Ten to 15 years ago when I played in Indiana on one of the riverboats near Chicago, I first heard the term “Indiana Aces.” The games were loose and many people played three/five suited the same way they played a pair of aces—hence the hand was referred to by some affectionately (the winners) and some sarcastically (the losers) as “Indiana Aces.”
When I first played in Colorado’s casinos, the rules of play made the Indiana games appear to be tight. The games had $5 maximum bets each round, with two $5 blinds and five raises per round. The pots were huge and anyone with anything often stayed to the end.
Four/six suited became my favorite hand in this game where “any two would do” as far as starting hole cards went. I somewhat affectionately (usually when I won) and somewhat sarcastically (usually when I lost) referred to this hand as “Colorado Aces.”
One weekend, I was stuck substantially in a Hold’em game playing good, and by the book. I decided to change gears, play super-aggressive Colorado casino style poker, build some pot, and either go broke or on a rush.
The next hour every time I stayed in any hand until the turn, I won. During this stretch, one particular woman, who had won a lot of my chips rather ungraciously earlier, lost to my Indiana Aces with pocket Kings. I somewhat affectionately told the woman I was playing a rush and she liked the action, just not the result. However, she wanted to hear none of what I had to say. I now had several racks of chips in front of me, which were once hers. A little while later, we went head to head again. The flop was 557 with two diamonds. This time I had Colorado Aces (4/6 of hearts). I bet, she raised, and I re-raised. She called. The turn was the two of hearts giving me flush and straight draws. I bet and was called. The river was the 7 of clubs. I checked. My opponent quickly bet. I was playing the two pair on the board with a six kicker and about to fold when I replayed the hand quickly in my mind. Could she have a busted draw?
As I put in a bluff raise and said, “Sorry I almost overlooked my hand, I think I have aces,” my opponent angrily threw what would have been her winning straight flush draw (the 6/8 of diamonds) face up in the muck and said, “You are luckiest and worst player I’ve ever seen. You really play BAD.” As she stomped off, I turned over my Colorado Aces and said (somewhat affectionately?) “Yes, but don’t I do it excellently?”
