Illusions of someday, casting a golden light; no dress rehearsal - this is our life

Alright. Hello there.

Fair warning would probably include something like: limited (if any) poker content ahead

And also: moments of existential wistfulness included

And then: subtleties creating important distinctions between narcissistic self-pity and considered introspection transpire

Then lastly: unseemly long read ahead with no links first time through since I’m writing with limited time from work. I will fix that tonight, since I happen to think links look kewl.

So I bit off more than I could chew there last time around, but what else is new about my foray into this particular ‘sphere. I could have been a little more honest from the onset though. Long before that monstrosity concluded, I knew I wouldn’t be coming back for another serious go at things until this weekend. There’s been too much pressurized weather churning across the landscape of the other life, and this week it looked to break with rain. A smarter man would have read the signs and held back from playing a game designed to prey on the unfocused and the temporarily unloved by Chance. I qualified on both accounts this week, but bull-headedly pushed on, overvaluing limited successes and dismissing that pesky little voice some call insight. It turns out some of us are not well designed to play through.

Work has been grinding to a close with an attendant, almost gossamer ambivalence I have never before known in my life as a physician. It’s a strange thing to walk away from a place where you are well known and well liked. I spent eight years learning how to be a doctor here at Metro, and as a result have ended up on first name basis with myriad nurses, clinical assistants, cleaners who treat me like someone they’ve had a part in shaping. Which, of course they have. This is an unusual hospital, with a team concept that goes all the way through from the Chairman of Medicine to the night staff on the telemetry services. Having been an intern, medicine resident, cardiology fellow, electrophysiology fellow and lastly a staff physician at Metro has been an entirely contained and complete experience. No, I never got to see how others do things. But I did get to learn how we do things from the nuts and bolts beginnings to our overall strategic arc. And, although incredibly stressful and frustrating at times, it was a more of an accomplishment than an ordeal.

So why am I leaving? Well, you guys have heard me rattle on about that one. Time to get closer to my most beloved home, T.O. Once a Canadian lad, exiled from hearth and home… well maybe that crossed the line into narcissistic self-pity, so I’ll retreat somewhat upon the shores of Lake Ontario as it were. [Any of you other canucks recognize that tune? I heard it once in grade 3 and the melody has stayed with me ever since.]

But that’s pretty much it. I walk away from a job in academic medicine; a job that was the whole point of my efforts for years, in order to give the kids their grandparents, and me a chance to spend more time with my family and the friends I have abandoned for far too long under the self-righteous banner: I Am in Training. I missed weddings, births, a funeral, and every kind of get together that nourishes friendship over the long haul. And I did so with the complete confidence I was right to do so, since the training came first. But the more time I spent with better adjusted colleagues in the last few years, the more I came to see the point I had missed for many years: that training was not an end unto itself, it was not a thing at all – it was merely a process. When a process completes itself and is done, you had better have actual realities to look to for both meaning and purpose.

And thankfully, I did get one thing right in that time. I met a good girl in medical school in the Caribbean (long story), married her, and we had three kids while living the lives of young doctors very much in love. That is not to say we didn’t blow doors down screaming at each other over the years, when the individual stressors we’ve had to wrestle overwhelmed us instead. Indeed we have done so recently, as I have been trying to sort my muddled head out, and she dealt with bringing to close a job she loves for no reason other than, I asked her to. Since the kids, the aural violences we do to each other have become fewer and farther between, but remain a part of the dynamic equilibrium our shared space maintains. It is to be expected, I suppose, when you marry a woman who knows what she wants and what she is worth, and when you yourself are a Type A pain-in-the-ass with a highly inflated sense of self-worth. I truthfully wouldn’t have it any other way.

Hmmm. Perhaps I should have posted this in the other blog. I meant this exposition to lead into my play this week, but looking at it now, I see how much the world has been with me these days. Well. What can you do?

Poker is for faggots, anyway.

Now at the same time all of that is running through my head, I am playing unevenly (contain your shock) and experiencing the undulations of variance. I believe this is the first time I am actually aware of getting the business end of the probability matrix we’re all caught in. Kat, my dear, I feel your pain, for whatever that’s worth.

Since I need to go and start rounds soon, let me sum the Week in Poker:
Monday: AA cracked by QQ on the rivah… meh… I was a small stack anyway.
Tuesday: Donkery Central… bluffing with no pressure to… chasing for no reason…
Wednesday: Decent game but AK lost a race to QQ… no joy, no joy…
Thursday: DADI (thanks Trip, Gary and Jordan, that was fun). Standard 3BB with KK and UTG. Folds to my boy D, who makes it like 250 or so to go from the button. I’m down below a thousand, close to last place…feels like a steal, and only one hand hurts me…sure enough AA makes it a very short tournament for me. Sorry Eric and Fuel – I knew he could have aces there (in fact, he did), but it seemed probable I was ahead. Not so much. Congrats to Scott. And to D, Chris and JJ. Nice work. My team will settle up soon.

Er....MTT not looking so good.

Cash game developing slowly. Had a blast with Waffles (yeah, yeah…he stacked me quick and good - had me pretty confused with that Maniac on Wheels routine), Don and most of our regular crew, as documented elsewhere better than I can now. I got to play with Scott and Iggy for the first time, which was cool. My only regret from that first game is that Waffles left before I got insanely lucky and delivered Mookie one of the two hellacious beats he took like a man that night. Mookie, I remain convinced that hand is why StB’s QQ were God-ordained to outrun those bullets at MATH. Anyway, finished positive by more than two buy-ins so I was liking cash plenty, with appropriate kudos to the D.

Wednesday I tried a cash game by myself – should have stuck to 25NL, but got confused and ended up with a $50 buy-in .25/.50. About an hour into it got stacked with set over set on a guy who never raised, and hadn’t come off as Ivey’s next coming – trying to figure out what I could have done better there, but clarity even in retrospect is tricky business.

So that really wasn’t much fun, anyway you look at it.

Then yesterday, after D killed my cowboys early, I just took a deep breath and tried to drain the red from my face. Tried to mellow out and step back a little. The sun was going down, it was pleasantly chilled in the night air. We just picked up a new outdoor table to have dinner in the backyard when summer allows, so my girl and I grabbed a bottle of wine and just drank to the contentments simply before us. We laughed and joked about the kids the way all you of do; wondering how square we’d look to them 15 years from now. We laughed at what 8 years of training looked like, felt like, lived like. It was good stuff, the kind of stuff that convinces you as long as you’re capable of loving another person this much you must be okay inside.

Then, after she went up and to bed, I realized I was actually quite happy, and hoping D was doing well in DADI (we’re such lightweights…it felt late but I don’t think it was even midnight yet!). So I checked in, only to find the Waffle hanging tough and taking names. D hit me up on the chitchat line (oblique Sopranos refrence) and before I knew it I was sitting down again for paid lessons at the ring with a rotation of Wes, Iggy, D, JJ, Jesto, Mookie, PJ, Garth, ski, smokkee and surf. Lightly buzzed and thoroughly entertained by the challenge of not going broke to these guys, I took part in haranging the obstinate bots at our table, in an effort to drive them out and make more room for the brethren. Jesto has a pic of all of us in action that pretty much sums it up. Beerstud was the last bot to be bounced...

Those games may be –EV, but fuck they are fun. Rookie's luck held strong: the good cards that had eluded me and the bullshit breaks that I didn’t deserve came my way and I was up past $80 when D took me to school with 83o and quad 3’s to my 3s full of 4s. Just not good enough to lay it down yet, when its only $7 to call despite knowing, knowing I’m beat. Ah well, the game and I are still works in progress, which today feels like a good thing. Had to leave much sooner than I wanted when my son awoke with leg pains that required my expert medical care. Yeah right, he was alseep by the time I had shut the computer down!

Well that's it. Hope you all have a great and safe holiday weekend. We’ll see ya out there, and then in Vegas soon (my first time Evah). As of tomorrow, the Summer of George begins. Good times...good times...

Later.

Ill communication...aka A week spent beating Waffles like an unloved Persian rug

Ahhhh.....Blogger finally lets me get a hand under the sweater again. Now if I can just work the clasp...


Alright, any hand that results in 20+ comments on the Villain's site, probably deserves a response from that local celebrity and all round good guy: Me. *

To start with, I never thought poker bloggers could be so fucking needlessly cruel. Mel is totally fucking right about you chumbobs. I should totally have listened when she warned me about this creep. But no, I stuck up for you guys and said nice things like "they're cool" and "they're not completely ghey".

And what do I get for giving you the benefit of the doubt? His Royal Poofiness, Sir Waffles (what the hell kind of name is that anyway - isn't that a guy in some dumb Greek myth or something?) puts up a post stating I am a total donkey and shouldn't be allowed to play the tourneys any more.

No surprise there, everyone whose anyone knows that he is a total douche and has been for years. That's why no one reads that piece of crap blog he's always pimping in the teen-tranny chitchatrooms he practically lives in.

Nope, no surprise at all.

What was a surprise is that all of the rest of you fuckers just pile on board and dump your vitriol on an innocent little introvert like me. I would link up that taint-hound Slb in particular here, but he's so ghey he doesn't even have a blog.

One word, Slb, and that one word is: UberBOO. 'Nuff said.

To the rest of you: well....UberBOO to you as well.

You guys win. I quit. No more Flights. No more poker. Who gives a fuck anyway - it's well known the poker boom is over...anyone starting to blog now would just be a poser showing up for a photo-op, all Governor Arnold-style. No sir, these eyes are jaded by the grim and somewhat flabby underbelly of the poker blogging glamorati. No more. Goodbye and good riddance.

The End.
________________________________________________________




















Eh?







You say I've already committed to DADI and have about $90 in bets going? So....just not playing would be frowned upon, eh? Not cricket, as some would have it?


Very Well.

I will simply compose myself.

Collect my dignity.

And bravely (some might say heroically), carry on.
_______________________________________________________




Er...Greetings.

I read Waffles interesting take on that showdown the other day at The Knot. I was surprised it generated so much interest, but I take from the thoughtful and balanced responses that this hand really comes down to the finer points. I won't presume to provide a definitive statement on the play, but even in retrospect, I am definitely cool with it. Word to the wise: if we end up in a showdown at some point down the line, be aware I may do the same thing again. That decision will only make you happy about 5.4 times out of ten (assuming you're holding an overpair), so consider this distant early warning in advance of your push. Let's leave it an open issue that it's not simply how I manage my stack in that situation, but how you want to manage yours knowing this about me.

Now as good as Waffles' analysis is - and clearly all kidding aside he makes solid points as usual, which I'll address in a bit - he did leave a few important intangibles out of the tale. Since this is my vanity mirror we've all gathered around, allow me to treat you to a series of shots I simply call:

Waffles & Me.

ACT I: I like your girlfriend.

The Mookie. I will end up final tabling anemically, with no real chance to do damage, but still ITM when I bow out 8th of 57.

The real joy came earlier when sitting in the cutoff, and sitting beside the Lone GunMan himself, I get dealt his signature hand. I should explain that I have been experimenting with everyone's favorite hands lately - just to keep myself entertained, and see if I can reek some havoc along the way. It's been working like a rabbit foot: my favourite was the PrestoHoy I posted recently, which earned me props from Fuel after the fact.

But at the Mookie I was given a rare opportunity to play the powerhouse that is 53o in front of the guy who makes love to her whenever he can. I raise 3BB preflop, get called by the big blind and Waffles too I believe. Flop looks as disconnected as a prom queen discovering she got herpes from the time she grudge humped the president of the AV Club. Tres appropos, it's Film Geek, who seems to know Waffles, who bets an anemic 75 into a pot of 180 - which screams to me, "hey I just caught a piece of this, so please fuck off." [The fact that I will make this same error in The Hand With Waffles is what some of us call dramatic foreshadowing.] Waffles folds and its to me. But here's the thing: I just caught the ass-end of Raggedy-Ann too. So, with Waffles looking on, and getting in cheap, I decide to see if I can double through my new friend for all of 75 pesos. Good call? Meh, not if I don't find one of 7 outs. But sure enough a turn 5 sets the table for me turning a tiny pot into this monster. The beauty is I get him to push into me with what is pretty obviously TP or an overpair he's slow-playing:

GODDAMMIT BLOGGER: THIS POST HAS ALREADY TAKEN FOUR HOURS AND YOU'VE FUCKED IT OVER TWICE! WHY WON'T YOU UPLOAD THIS FANTASTIC SCREENSHOT!!

Screw it: I'll make you a drawing - I'll assume you all have IQ's in the 120-150 range and can visualize a pokerstars table without getting a headache. Here we go.

FUCK! IT WON'T EVEN LET ME MAKE A DRAWING! JOPKE! I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO!

Fine. A Trisomic doodle then:

Film Geek: JcKd
Hero (a guy who despite clearly being entitled to, is far too modest to refer himself as such): 3s5d
Also present: Kat, Garth, Rocco, Fishy, Texas Kathy, wesmotv, Waffles (as in: With Envy)


Flop 8d Js 3d

Turn 5h
Rivah Ac = home free for a pot that ships me 2335 and leaves Geek with 350 to diddle with.

Yep...sure glad that was KJ he was holding and not AJ or slowplayed bullets. Heh.

Our new friend is T I L T E D. The usual poker clinic follows...you know, "Nice call...53o, good choice to play...keep playing that stuff..." Seriously dude, you are at a blogger tourney - ie. you are surrounded by WRITERS. If you're gonna put something in the chat window to vent your spleen, at least impress people with your intelligence, wry wit or singular use of the word taint-hound (yes, I am still referring to you Slb - and I did respond to your email brotha, I swear). This doodle actually directly reinforces something Hoy recently posted on. He pointed out just how costly donking away chips here and there can get, and this is a classic example. This dude should be done like Monday's pot roast on Thursday night. But because I didn't have the chips I couldn't finish him off with this stackilicious hand. I did get him a few hands later, and got the distinct impression he hated my guts.

Ah well - stultum est queri de adversis, ubi culpa est tua.

Seriously, can you play 53o any better than that? Nope. But oddly, I could feel Waffles fuming - nay, seething - at the fact that I had taken his girl for a walk, ravished her hard and rough in the park beside his house, then refused to walk her home. So that, my friends, was the true beginning of The Hand heard round the 'sphere. But just the begining...

ACT II: Dude, she's with me, OK? She doesn't like you like that, so don't make this creepy.

I play suited connectors from the big blind to a small raise from our hapless Villain, who is dry-humping the closest thing to a monster he's seen in a while. Flop pretends to dig him, but she's just using him for help with Comp Sci, while hand-jobbing me in the library stalls. Waffles finds out the hard way here just how much the Mookie (the tourney, not good-natured, sun-drenched Host of Note) wants to be my girl. And he goes home seething. He knows better (at least he did know better) than to call me out by name when he posts on it, but our boy is R E D H O T and looking for justice.

Yep, I know he failed to mention any of that, but don't think ill of him; I'm sure this rage wasn't operating on a conscious level. As the son of a psychiatrist and a guy who spends his whole day talking to people about their personal histories, I am well trained to look deep, deep into the soul. So forgive him, for giving you an incomplete picture. After all, I am here to help. And whatever I say about any of your unconscious motivations from now on stands.

How bad did Waffles fall for my Wednesday aftenoon tug-chick?

Pretty Goddammed Hard. That's right; that is none other than your hero (and mine) busting our boy right the fuck out of there. And not on some junk uniformed push - he goes out knowing he ignored my reraise postflop after I made the tough call on his push. Sound familiar? sure he had chips left over the second time this happens to him, but the point is: Waffles tells you he hated me calling him there and insists it wasn't tilt but instead the following rational reasons....I'll channel Jordan here and let You Decide if that doesn't sound like a sack of ass. C'mon America, Bernie Mac knows bettah and so do you.

More proof? Stay tuned.

Act III: Don't check the turn if you think I haven't got shit.

Here's me conducting a Hammer clinic for Waffles, weakened only by the fact I did it with the considerable advantage of late position. Rasie pre-flop. Call the weak flop bet (see, I'm not the only one who bets indecisively from time to time). Check to his incontinent turn check, all too certain our friend is sitting on two high cards (or better 53o!). And Voila! as my 2 year old daughter loves to say; river makes a straight [in case anyone was wondering what sight these tournaments are played on]. So I bet at it weakly myself (in retrospect maybe an overbet for value would have spared us all a lot of grief) in the hopes our man in Amsterdam will pay to play. Credit where credit is due - he manages to see his junk ain't gonna get it done and gets out of the way. And I show that Hammer off, letting the Waffle crispen nicely on the underside - just the way I like 'em. Again, this is the beginning of the tournament that led to the Hand. So this wasn't far from the mind of a guy we all know has had his nads paddled by 2 and 3 outers for a week or so. He was just waiting to release that pent up, over pressurized Waffle batter, when I stepped up to the plate and decided to charge the mound instead.

Aside: For those of you thinking I am alone in perseverating on this - the Waffle and I just finished a discussion at 2am on girly chat that began with us rehashing it on his introduction - the Hand has a life all its own now, and will likely be the focus of a new chapter in Phil Gordon's new opus: The Slightly Littler, Slightly Greener Book.

Which now brings us to The Hand Itself.

Act IV: There is no wrong decision as long as you have considered all outcomes of an action and can live with the consequences. Peace of mind makes for a dangerous man.

An analysis of my game these days: I am a becoming a competent player with a familiarity and/or grasp on most (but not all) of the fundamentals of NLHE. I am now comfortable playing the blogger MTTs. Lately, sticking to a very particular kind of strategy, I have been pretty successful. Since June 1, it's been a 3rd at Mookie, a 7th at WWdN, a 2nd at MATH, and an 8th at Mookie - all ITM. Yeah, this is likely just a micro-heater - a toaster oven, or thermos even - but whatever it is, it set the table for me to make the final 7 of The Knot. [Darval my friend, consider making this K official - it gives the whole tournament an S&M/B&D edge we should all be enriched by. My 0.02] So that's five close to the ring finishes in 22 days. But here's the thing: I looked at how I played those tournaments and felt there was a fundamental flaw in my approach to them. My game was lacking about two gears. I could hobble past players bolder and more inventive than I when landmines exploded in their faces, by simply standing to the side. The strategy worked because it was balanced by a willingness to mix it up if I really had the goods. The proof of that was seen at WWdN recently, where I was mauled badly while trying to play Cowoys and Indians (that's KK followed by AA, newly minted just for you BD).

So I showed up at the Knot, with a specific goal - to amass a chip lead entering the endgame that would compensate for my lack of heads-up experience and the likelihood the opponent would be a better NLHE player. That may sound ridiculous, arrogant even, but hey we're friends and it is my space so I 'm just being honest. I didn't think it was a given I could even get HU, but this time if I did, I didn't want another fiasco like the 9:1 domination cc had over me at MATH. [By the way cc - saw your piece in Truckin' and really liked it; read like a thundercloud figuring to burst.]

That, for anyone bored enough to still be reading, is the complete preamble to the Hand, and has a lot more to do with how Waffles (seething with rage at prior humiliations dealt him by this no-name newcomer) and I (flush with recent success and hungry for an actual victory to establish some credibility) played that hand.

LEVEL 3 at least beee-atches. Leh-Vuhl Trois/Tres/Theen. Wes, you got my back on this one?

But what's my take on the Hand? Could I improve on my play in hindsight? No way man - I won and that means I was right, you backyard 'tards! Just ask anyone playing micro-limits online, they'll corroborate that, sure as shit.

But of course, I did bobble the ball.

Not fumble completely, just bobble it. And here is where the strength of blogging about hands comes in...the feedback can be very fucking helpful. I read and thought about what everyone posted and came to this conclusion: Next time there, if I want to gamble (and be clear, with two half-hearted final table appearances that week, I wanted to win, not place, and was willing to lose in trying to win) I push post-flop. Duggle, DP, Smokkee, BD and Don seemed to understand best where I was coming from psychologically. Slb, as I may have mentioned previously is merely a taint-hound, without a spot on the 'sphere from which to launch a counter-attack; ie. a sitting duck. The uniform consensus that the 750 post-flop bet was simply too weak to accomplish what I wanted it too was helpful. And to be fair, even our lovable Pom-Pom suggested the same thing. So I botched my post-flop play, and because I am reasonably trainable, I should ideally learn from this and be that much more dangerous next time around. Let's hope so anyway; Wes could fill an encyclopedia with the names of the retards he makes a living off of who have yet to get a clue.

But as to the call, which is really a separate issue, I still see nothing wrong with looking at the Hand post-flop Waffles and saying, "Yep, this is a hill I am willing to die on." Four months ago, I couldn't have done it because I would have been intimidated by the idea that all you guys would think I'm an idiot. Now that I know you guys, I no longer sweat that. And as a result I am willing to chase the win if I think it's close.

Waffles didn't like my play for the following reasons, and I quote:

1. He is at the final table. Four to the money. He has a time investment here.
2. The blinds are 75/150. If he folds here he has over 3K in chips. That is PLENTY.
3. If he does not catch a card in this race he is out. Cya. Bye Bye.
4. If he had pushed instead of making a wimpy bet I would have respected this play alot more.

Let me address them in order:

1. Think I've gone over this to death. MATH: 2nd but not even close, Mookie 8th: but not even close. In the same week. Simply making the final table wasn't the point. The money? Are any of us really worried about the Bubble from an hourly rate point of view? Of course not, what bugs us in bubbling is the loss of an opportunity to deny Waffles, Hoy, Smokkee or Surf a win. And frankly, I get my time investment paid in full by the entertainment value implicit in hanging out with this odd assortment of over-educated, highly opinionated cranks and wanks. So let me explain - no, there is not time! - let me sum up: I had no fear in losing the hand when I knew I had to be very close to 50:50 on it, which you'll admit I was. Waffles gave me 3:1 on a coinflip after I had committed a bunch already (an admitted mistake). How was I not going to call here? Ideally I'd play the flop differently, but if I didn't, I'd make that call again - it was the corrective action.

2. The blinds are low and my M looks good. I can afford the fold. True. But I was already thinking downfield, willing to lose trying to get there, and wanting to amass the stack well in advance of the blinds. I have been playing plenty of kiddie-poker, including the bet that resulted in the push - so the call was all about whether I wanted to really take a chance on going big.

3. I might lose. So what? I've had a good week with the broggers. No complaints if I do get shipped. But what if I don't?

4. I completely agree and have learned that lesson well. Stay tuned, my delicious little blueberry breakfast treat, stay tuned...

And since you probably want to know what it was that had our boy reeling for ten minutes, here's what it looked like:

So there you have it friends. The fact that Waffles completely decompensated on me after this hand was really far more than it appeared, which is why I have been so indulgent.

Until now.

However, let this post be a warning. Anyone spending more than one line or so on my poor play or overall insufficiencies from now on will be the expectant victim of 4 - 5000 words next time I put digits to keys. Deterrance, Slb, it's all about deterrance...

And from there I dominated. I had eaten a chunk of Waffles stack and used it like a Namibian warlog to pummel JJ, Surf, Kat, D and an unrecognized friend (djhomeschool). I dispatched them all then proceeded to undress Waffles HeadsUp to claim my first (of many no doubt) WWdN: The (K)Not.

Or Not.

Because there's actually a second lesson, a better lesson in that hand, that was of use to me and may be of use to some of you. For although Waffles was pretty tilted and really started to express it, I was no better off despite having won. Having made a tough call based on downfield strategy and value for the bet, placed him on close to the exact hand he showed; I was thinking QQ, then had my call rewarded - well, I was experiencing a kind of euphoria. I was truly elated. And in that state began to mix it up with Waffles in the chat, defending my position, expounding on it, all the while convinced that because I wasn't angry, I must be OK. Not so much it turns out.

Now some of you may remmber that I once made a joke at the book The Tao of Poker's expense. In actuality, it's a great and easy read, and puts little poker soundbites into your head to mull over. One of them addresses the dangers of exactly this anti-tilt euphoria and the importance of remaining balanced at the table.

How true and how wise... In less than ten hands I donked off the entire stack of Waffles' chips I had been willing to risk an early exit for. By the time I figured out why my game had loosened up ridiculously it was too late. They were gone, and I was at the back of the line again. Fuck. But ah well. Lesson learned - great and famous last words if ever there were any. I do vow to try and not mix it up like that in chat Evah Again though. I'll save my smacktalk for when I Hoy someone and can control the ebb and flow of the trash.

But I wasn't dead yet. I just needed to regroup so I could mount another assault on Waffles' perenially vulnerable and juicy big stack. This hand was my last crack at them, and I think in honor of a table-mate I can introduce them succintly:

JJROK

JJR most definitely the FUCK not OK - JESU CHRISTO! 3 OUTER? WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK POKERSTARS?!?! YOU HATE THIS FUCKING GUY AND TORTURE HIM REGULARLY!!!! WHY GIVE HIM A FUCKING BREAK NOW??!!!!??? WHHYYYYY??????!!!!

And that friends, is what it takes for Waffles to beat me these days. Fair enough. You all remember what England looked like circa 1950? All bloated fat guys with cigars, and lumpy women with bad teeth? uh -huh. It's the Beginning of the End, my carbohydrate-laden Crumpet, the beginning of the end. It's America's turn now Waffles...and she is Me (excepting of course the fact that I am A) male and B) Fiercely Canadian, but you get the idea).

Mmmmmm? What? Well, yes, that's only fair to note, Waffles did actually go on to win that tourney (albiet with my chips - to paraphrase Hoyazo; it shoulda been me, you bastard!) so maybe the empire ain't over just yet. But even the British with their death-with-wings Harrier Jump Jets managed to win the Fauklands "War" right before Maggy gave up the ghost, so it's all contextual anyway.

Whatever. No one reads poker blogs anymore anyway.

Actually, fuck that. If you made it all the way down here you had better leave a comment. That's right, you read that right, I am threatening you. This monstrosity didn't just create itself. And I only learned after the fact that it's an imbecile who tries to compose something this big in Blogger when they can simply cut and paste from Word. So yeah, this has been a big chunk of my free time eaten in the pursuit of laying this masterpiece before you insatiable, unruly, and mostly unwashed masses. All I, your humble content provider, asks is that you take 5 fucking minutes and tell me what a fucking stud I am. So do it. That's right, just do it. You'll thank me later.

Let's be clear: there will be no followup to this opus until we cross the 40 comment barrier my friends, so you better get cracking. I have deregulated comments so anyone can comment here, but I still refuse to count bots. I am looking for 40 passably sentient, non-mouth breathing individuals to get in line and get it done.

As of now, I am on a post-fast, and I clearly hear God (well, it could be my fed-up wife) calling me home, a place I've been avoiding like the plague for the last four days to bring you this.

Later.

* Anyone unable to discern a glossus placed firmly between buccinators should probably stop reading right now. And as always, PFO. Thanks for stopping by.

I amuse myself when a grownup should know better...aka Tribute to My Muse...aka Long Time No Blog v. 3.1

Irony: iro·ny Pronunciation: 'I-r&-nE also 'I(-&)r-nE
Function: noun Inflected Form(s): plural -nies
Etymology: Latin ironia, from Greek eirOnia, from eirOn dissembler

1 : a pretense of ignorance and of willingness to learn from another assumed in order to make the other's false conceptions conspicuous by adroit questioning -- called also Socratic irony

2 a : the use of words to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning b : a usually humorous or sardonic literary style or form characterized by irony c : an ironic expression or utterance

3 a (1) : incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result (2) : an event or result marked by such incongruity b : incongruity between a situation developed in a drama and the accompanying words or actions that is understood by the audience but not by the characters in the play -- called also dramatic irony, tragic irony

Mmmm....3/3 without breaking a sweat. I <3 the internet. And, Thank you, Merriam-Websters Online.

I should be speechless...and almost am...

How cool is this, JX3?

It's 0 Kelvin.

All I can say is, Thanks.

Imitation, inspiration, and a plea for information...aka Long Time No Blog v. 3.0

To atone for busting South Dakota's favorite son out of a blogger tourney for the second time in recent memory, I am going to try and emulate his style and shoot for a post which has less but more.

Fast on the heels of an idea JX3 gave me, a muse presented herself without warning. Please check two sites for your own entertainment. First go here. I read about five entries and was laughing so hard at the end I was asked to shut up by the guy in the office next door. [Edit: For the full effect, you have to read the comments she gets on each post. Priceless.] Next visit our friend Thirsty. Go to the comments of a post called "What do you think?"

Why are any of us spending our time on poker when we could be this unintentionally hilarious?

Neil - we all want the backstory.

Now back to your regular programming.

Islands of Clarity, Sounds of Frustration...aka the oceanic topography of Success and her Sister

Exit in tilt.

Not over the 10+1. Thanks to MATH, WWdN was a freeroll. Just surprised (what hubris!) to find myself bounced FOURTH, despite starting with 99, KK and AA. Care to guess which held up?

Too easy, right? And that likely because she was folded to preflop after I raised 7BB to a table of limps. The bad mojo of this experience is holding up nicely because Microsoft PP just ate the 4 slides I wanted to show and talk about. I'll work from memory, and anyone involved who thinks my memory is playing falsely is probably well justified to posit as such. Okay, I took a little more time and actually looked at the hand histories, broke out the calculator and mulled a bit. But what is the point of mining your defeats? To with old woes new wail my dear time's waste?

Fuhsuck That.

No, the only utility to would be to achieve in measured autopsy that which every rigourous physician seeks after the death of a patient; insight.

Would you care for a hand history disclaimer? I assure you said beast is nigh upon us. But are you routinely in the habit of telling your host you don't like their curtains? Or that their tea is too milky? If so, PFO. Or chill out. Your call.

I think I have learned a lesson on this one. But it may not be the one some of you think I should have learned, so if you have time, feel free to share your take.

Level 1 (ah...when will the significance of that sink in?) KcKd on the button. Folded around. Raise 3BB (my very standard raise - no originality and I am tinkering with this, but truthfully I wanted a caller here, a reraiser even). Both Blinds (Shadow and Puff the Magic Dragon) feel unthreatened enough to take a gander. Yeah that didn't make me happy but too late now.

4c 8c 6d = A Dilemna (offsuit).

I have seen Smokkee brilliantly stack better players than me by spelunking cheaply and hitting gold. That said, this board looks attackable to me. What was I hoping for - KhKsAx? Well yeah, but this should do. The pot was 180, and I bet it to find out who's interested. Yeah I am the button, my range could be wide, but I make two assumptions here, neither of which served me well.

1. As of late, I am perceived as Tight (we'll leave the Weak v. Aggressive debate for another day - Mankind cannot stand too much reality, T.S. Elliot shrewdly deduced).
2. Betting more than the pot will be perceived as a bluff (I know I get suspicious when it's done to me).

I was trying to convincingly convey that unless you flopped a set or slowplayed AA, you likely want out of the way. In retrospect, knowing the hands we held looking at this flop; Shadow with Qh8h and Smokkee with 9cTh, I was in fact well ahead, if vulnerable. I attempted to make it believably unprofitable to call a draw. I continue to rethink this bet and would really be interested in hearing how else it could have been played and why. My problem was apparent immediately: Shadow liked his TPGK and called quickly, giving Smokkee 180 for a chance at 540 (3:1) with his gutshot and three flush. All three riders take the turn.

Ever get that inexorable feeling something very wicked indeed was headed your way? That nightmare-quality intransigence that freezes you totally, leaves you unable to simply step clear?
Me too. Tarot Position 6 is the Queen of Coins - in our case diamonds, and after mulling it over I feel pretty good about her too. QQ preflop no re-raise? Don't know Shadow well enough yet, but would be surprised if Smokkee played them that way. I have to believe there's a set out there that is slowplaying or both of these guys are drawing to straights or flushes. 5 7 is a possibility, but no reraising to squeeze at least one of the other two? Pot is 720 (aka a HammerPot) and I bet out 350, trying to state I've got the goods. No luck - Shadow instacalls. I swear I state aloud in my study, surrounded by a wall full of degrees and 2 Board Certifications that attest to the fact I am not a total mouth-breather: "Cowboys ofiicially killed." Smokkee mulls it over but now he's getting 1400 for 350 and likes those odds too. 7d up and two different ways this once mighty hand is SOL.

Smokkee bets 600 and its to me. Here is the one part I spent the evening mulling over. I call believing I am dead, but at least I understand why. I was harbouring an unarticulated belief that I was perceived as too weak to call a river raise. No one had actually said anything of the like, and it may or may not be true, but the insight was that I was motivated to over-rule my own analysis of what had happened in this hand not by better information, but an emotional desire to show I could call the raise. Ridiculous but true.

Smokkee gave me better than 3:1 to see the flop, and I bit knowing one of these guys had hit his straight. Shadow bit too, which salvaged the hand in a way, because I got definitive knowledge of what both played. Turned out I was screwed at the turn. Shadow hit his second pair with that relatively inocuous queen. So I wonder: would you have bet bigger at the flop? Do I want a caller? Smokkee opined that he was sure one of us was slowplaying a monster. That surprised me a little because I felt I bet the hand I had pretty aggressively. I just didn't realize I was dead at the turn until I got called.

Kings dispatched. But at least one lesson learned, and learned relatively cheaply because I was still alive. And I knew that the beauty of trying to move early was that as long as you had something to work with you could mount a comeback.

At this point, WWdN decides to make her dislike of me patently clear. AA in MP. Yummy, and the folds begin. Again, I am under the assumption I want action here, ideally a reraise preflop, so I shoot out my reliable 3BB present-and-accounted for raise. One caller; Hollywood writer, actor, blogger of repute, Shane Nickerson - perhaps standing in for the WW in WWdN. We see Qc 6h Jc, and I am not making the same mistake again. With the pot at 120, I Hoy Shane (not sure he's aware of what a Hoy is yet, but I need all the mojo I can get) unaware he holds 4c3c. That's 289 to him for a crack at 409. Here's another spot where I think I am making a sound move. Isn't that a 1.4 to 1 call for a 1.9 to 1 shot for him? I'm not being facile here, remember some of us are new to the art of working this shit out. At the time I was briefly elated he called that bet with a four flush, but Stars had one last joke for me - sending Ac to give me a set and Shane the flush. I know I like my Push - 1, but is Shane's call a mistake? I ask because I've called in that exact situation, but would now like to move deeper. For that reward is the call worth it assuming he puts me on any pocket pair better than 22? And no, I am not calling the man who gave us Hawesome out - I am using my space to try to improve my game...that's not so unreasonable is it?

Is anyone still reading this?!?

Well I am an optimist at my core so I will end with something positive. After starting out by donking down a third of my chips at MATH in the ill advised conviction that my paired 9 with a T kicker could somehow win the day, I regrouped and got requisitely lucky. I survived another ill advised call with A rag that was dominated by an ever so slightly better rag, when we split a board that liked neither of us particularly much. After that I buckled down, and started playing better. Given the opus I just put down consisting of 10 hands approx, with 3 premium pairs that resulted in my early exit - it makes sense the time I went deep at the Hoy I never saw AK, AQ or any pair higher than JJ. It forces you to be patient and then aggressive when you do see something workable.

A couple of things that made me laugh:
1. Telling Kat her 4BB raise smelled of a Hammer Play, which I briefly contemplated calling with 79o before reminding myself what a tool move this would be if I was wrong... only to have her show me AA. I was still laughing out loud at how dumb I looked 5 minutes later...keep terrible reads to self...

2. Attempting to Hoy Hoy himself, forgetting about the bet already out there and coming up with one of the most donkulous-looking bets I have ever seen. The ridiculous look of the thing (and visible proof of my inability to subtract) literally tilted me...

Some things that made me happy about the work I am putting into this exercise in self-loathing and unrelenting masochism:

1. I know that I can fold TPGK if I have too. I just deleted the fucking slide to demonstrate this, but I let go of AJ with an A high, all diamond flop when Raz came way over top of me...bluff? maybe, but I felt I could afford to wait, and had the ability to pull back from the siren charms of AJ. That's new to me.

2. I am no longer afraid to put my stack - 1 in early, and put pressure on others in later rounds.

3. I learned I can steal blinds as much as the next guy, when the blinds and my stack request it politely.

4. I can reraise when I feel strong or sense weakness [Kat and her Hammer-Smelling Aces notwithstanding]. I will state I hated putting out Poker Jones (PJ) , my fellow Clevelander and master of the Blogger World Championship (FIFTEENTH...that is SICK). My man called with KJ and had to deal with the consequences...but he checked down the Hoy which is stylish anyway ya look at it.

5. On the bubble, I stayed pretty damn patient. This after having blown the large chip lead Guin bequeathed me when he lost a coinflip on his called Hoy semi-bluff [shed no tears: he was down to the last 2 at WWdN when last I saw him!]. I did try to get in the mix and make things happen, but when I saw it wasn't going to work I just got out of the way. Hoy got roughly used by the board, then Raz (one of the best table talkers I've evah met) was dominated and paired out of my way. The hand below is how cc took out Raz, who played A8o I think. I credit the host himself in his numerous MTT posts for curing me of the habit of calling all-ins with A-rag. Three-handed it felt like this had to be dominated. And it was by both! Is that too results oriented? Felt like a good fold. So dark the con of man...

And that was that...I wanted a crack at Raz, to put me in position to try to compete with cc, but it wasn't to be. FWIW I got in ahead by a little on second called push, but a Turn Q made my Flop 8 look a little underdressed. No complaints at all. The Hoy is the toughest out of these three blogger-go-rounds that I play. The payouts are fewer, the buy-in is a little steeper, and it changes the play, no doubt. So this was unexpected, but cool.

For anyone keeping score, that's three final tables in three weeks...my blog also recently cured a leper, raised the dead [me, see the last post] and turned the glass of water I was drinking in here into Grey Goose...Beatification will likely be short-tracked.

Yep, the Magical Wish Granting Blog is now just arbitrarily picking final tables for me, without even waiting for a request...SUNDAY MILLIONS....SUNDAY MILLIONS...

Since we're all friends, I admit its been wrong of me to hoarde her. Send me your requests and the MWGB will get to them in short order.

You Are Welcome.

Later.

P.S. Wes, thanks man, for the kind words.

It is what it is...or so it seems...

Nope - its not the Party 40k. [let alone the WSOP - nice work Hoy!]

Nonetheless, just two short weeks after my (proof that Satan holds up his end of a deal) victory (okay, okay - distant third) at the Mookie, lightning descended on the same seat again; mine. As per my previously written desire, I found myself among the last nine men and women standing at WWdN. So that's Written Goal Numero Dos accomplished.


I now formally opine it would be nice to final table the Sunday Millions on Stars....

Yeah, I agree - it's a bit of a reach, but what the fuck: if this blog truly is endowed with Magical Wish Granting powers, I'm not squandering any more JuJu impressing my friends. I'm goin' for the payday - next stop EASY STREET! Who's with me on this one?

What? No, I haven't played an MTT with more than 100 people who I already have some knowledge of - why do you ask? Alright, be that way, but when I take that bad boy down, I'm gonna expect some serious kudos...

Actually what made WWdN very cool was hanging practically the whole time with Big D, and watching him run a clinic in how to wait on your pitch and then FedEx that bastard into the upperdeck when you see it. Sometimes I think the fear of "going like Broomcorn's Uncle" pressures me to make moves that compromise my game's down-field strategy. On a related note, I realize I didn't raise to Don's blind until way late in the game, and the one time I did, he made me pay. I had a pair of 4's in the BB, D as SB completed. Hoping to get out of Dodge pre-flop, I raised with one of those patently untrustable, yet all too often dead-on BAD FEELINGS. I could practically hear D laugh when he typed "jeez, you try to be nice..." and he called. 3 over cards later, I checked to him. Yes, he could've had the Hammer, but I just didn't want to C-bet that flop with the blinds as high as they were and my stack aching for aid. He raises and I fold, well aware I looked like a total puss-puss. Just didn't feel good, and I hate busting when the Voice Inside gets to gloat.

This run was made possible by me using up most of my good fortune in one hand. Right before the first break, when I was riding high on a couple of tough reraises and a successful coinflip, with a fairly large stack I bought myself a ticket for an early exit. I ignored some of Doyle's simplest advice in SS2 and deserved to pay dearly for it. I was feeling frisky and decided to play 56s, got called by Julius in better posistion. Flop made me a straight - the low end of the straight - but drops 3 spades into my midst. I bet out, which strikes me as reasonable. I get reraised to put me all-in, and I almost insta-call, which strikes me as a little unreasonable... Whatdya know, dealer sent Julius the better end of the girl - and if you have to ask, you're not old enough to read this stuff.

So I'm done, and planning a post based on the rookiesh infatuation I felt with a flopped PeeWee straight. Then this happens:

To his great credit Julius took it like a man; although couldn't resist renaming me Travolta in honor of my ability to keep stayin alive. Fair Enough. But I was back in business.

To my credit (or can you not say something like that without sounding like a total tool?) I gave Julius a chance to polish me off. I forgot to Hoy his 3BBraise and without finesse decided I could live with busting out showing down AKo, given that earlier weasel-run had me feeling a bit guilty.

Dangerous thinking I know; Julius bit and I get (a bit) lucky to pull an A out of the rabbbit hole. Julius' nines find out the meaning of unrequited, and I double up. It's moments like that (and for that matter the rescue from the jaws of death earlier) that give you a sense this could be your night.

Moments like that lie, of course.

Proving I have a long way to go in my screenshotting technique, I missed the beat I took which just about evened out my karma for the night. I was dealt ladies, raised preflop, was called by what turned out to be ATo. Fine. Flop brings 667, which I bet near the pot to show I am not fucking around. I am called again without too much hesitation. Mmmmm? Medium pair - if 77, why no reraise? Did he call preflop with with A6? Not sure, but don't think so. In fact, it feels like I'm good here...turn is a 9. I agree it's a little concerning if our boy was one-gapping - possible. But I need to know without sealing the escape hatch. I bet half my stack - 800 or so I think. If he comes over the top...there's a straight, and I'm seriously injured, but will fold and live to fight another hand. Long pause and he types, "oh my...." and then calls. I pretty much knew then the read was ok, and he was on a straight draw that hadn't gotten there yet. Despite me making it pretty -EV to call, he moves ahead. So be it. River surfaces an 8 and our friend checks in the hope I'll fire off the rest of my stack. I knew I was beat, but I felt pretty good about my understanding of his hand, and my ability to resist the urge to try to push through the immovable. He was going to call, I believe, no matter what went in the pot. And at each street I felt I put money in with the best of it, and when I no longer had the best of it, I knew it and checked it down. Based on his mood in the chat, I think he would have called a turn push. And I would have been out when he revealed a developed straight. He was gracious about winning like that, but needn't have worried - not only was I not tilting, I was congratulating myself for surviving the hand. For that reason, I do not consider this a bad beat story - it has the important distinction of a happy ending. Ya know Korean massage style...

From there I just played the game trying to mimic equal parts Don and Hoy, which made having D at my table a huge advantage. Without meaning to sound too fanboyish - I realize plenty of you have solid games that are very effective - I would recommend this technique to anyone relatively new to the game and curious about how to final table these things. Just read Hoy and Don's strategy posts and Hoy's MTT primers and you'd be surprised how easy it is to get comfortable in unfamiliar territory. D and Hoy end up final tabling so often these days it must be getting dull. I'll be happy to take your spots, just let me know where and when...

Yeah, you have to get lucky, there's no other way about it; you need to win some races. And yes, you need the timing - but the real key is what you do between the races. For my own game, I am trying to develop a style where I can hang back, even let blinds run through without biting, and then when I do decide to play (whether packing heat or packing lunch) play hard pre- and post-flop. Patience, blended with genuine Aggression. The two times I've felt comfortable oscillating like this, I ended up doing well, thus I'm running with this for now.

And here's a shoutout to my fellow Canuck (I overlook his fundamental West Coastishness) Fuel55. Borrowed your hand and it worked out fine. Put my own (sorta) spin on it by Hoying my opponent with it. Gary and I are duking it out for Most Devoted Disciple of the Hoy these days. While he has me in the skills department, and final table finishes, I am in a different league than G when it comes to trash talking my Hoyee - which you must all know by now is the WHOLE POINT of the Hoy. Gary, sad to say, you're just too much of a gentleman. It's the what the Oklahoma night air does to a guy...

But Me? Not so much. Exhibits A through D. I woulda really tried to tilt him in the Field, but at the Mookie, I put on my nice guy hat.

Double up when it really mattered built entirely on Nickels. Lucko was very cool about the whole HoyDoubleUp, which is really your only defense to its tilt inseminating powers.

And one last thing I wanted to show, although maybe this one is a Yay Me! shot [Poor Form!], but find it in your hearts to overlook it. Hoy drops a Hoy on the blinds and the UTG raise...I hold AQs in the SB...I mull long and hard...and fold. UTG calls with...AQo. And Hoy? KTo or something equally unexpected. Yah nevah know...which is the point I guess...but the real point becomes obvious to the caller when a K hits the turn.

FEAR THE HOY!

(motto credit to Hoff - anyone cool enough to coin that bad boy has to be due many karmic breaks in short order...) So it turns out my AQs fold was a good one from a results POV. I put caller on AT to QQ, but I really put Hoy on a monster; QQ, KK, AA. Either way, I thought there would be 2 to play, with at least one of them dominating me, and AQ (even suited) didn't seem worth the risk. Too tentative? Would you call that Hoy knowing it would likely be three to go? Again, don't want to be too results focused, but this felt like a good fold.

And that was mostly it...I final tabled by mostly staying out of the way after being quite involved in the MidGame. Then it was basically pick a hand I liked at try to take it home. No joy there, but as always, a blast, and I can't complain a bit.

Epilogue:

Lousy headspace at the Mookie tonight - some of you patiently let me rant of my household tilt, so thanks bigtime for that!- yet I can still live with my bustout and play overall. I called a postflop push at a 77x flop, holding 7T - lost to 7K, who hit a K on the river for good measure. There are worse calls buried in my closet.

And, in case anyone was curious, I only use the handle Iakaris online. I've grown to really like Iak (Ike) as a nickname, which is why I don't make a big deal about using my real name. Strangely, I am something of a stickler about people using my first name at the hospital rather than my title. Eric (the father of all things boney) brought it up at the Mookie tonight, and I thought I may as well clarify things. On the odd chance a patient found this blog, I originally wanted to keep some anonymity, but the more I think about it, that's really not an issue. Anyone who plays with me who'd prefer to use my real name is welcome to. Shoot me an email, and my reply will include it in all its Pakistani-by-way-of-Toronto goodness.

Fuck it, that's too much work.

My name's Irfan (pronounced Air-fawn with accent on the second syllable).
By all means, Ike is easier, and I like it just fine. Your call.

Later.

Improvisation and improvements

I've been reading the level and limit challenges that people post for themselves. I'm struck by the honesty and difficulty inherent in staking yourself publicly to such goals, and in that spirit have decided to post my first challenge. It too is an ambitious one, and sticking to it will be tough, but I think if I don't set this out as a written goal, I won't be able to grow as a player.

My goal is to play less poker.


Yeah, I know...but this time I mean it.

Once upon a time I decided I wanted to play in Wil Wheaton's weekly on-line poker tournament. I liked his blog and for someone who has sporadic ten minute breaks during the day it became a bit of an addiction - as in turn did Pauly's and Paul Phillips' and a host of others who's voices had a "boots on the ground" feel. I became aware there was a nebulous ring of like-minded individuals playing the game and documenting it as best they understood it. One day I took the historic (or ill-advised, time alone will tell) step and downloaded Stars, beginning the strangest hobby I've ever had. I remember roaming the streets of small-town Saskatchewan as a kid, looking for people to play chess with, but in learning how to play poker I've charted a course even odder than that. Looking at the run with a little perspective, I have had two distinct phases in this process; expansion and contraction.

Expansion began with a robust confidence bolstered by that singular, defining trait of the teeming masses of fish populating this ocean; innoculated ignorance. Not simply the state of not knowing, but instead one of not knowing and not knowing you don't know. This subverbal force has been the spark behind poker's Big Bang. The game's essential kinship with chess is found in the truth that poker is also an ongoing, undulating deception. It masquerades as a simplicity while presenting profound challenges to the interested adept. And the illusion of its simplicity is what keeps the minimally gifted convinced they possess understanding, when all the while they are hopelessly outclassed by the game itself. The role of chance seems to be to provide just enough unwarranted validation to keep us from calling it a day.

It was in this soap bubble of myopic optimism I played enough hands to become a Silver Star, while dropping some serious coin - I put the exact numbers down in the first few posts - convinced I was just a little unlucky. This phase would have burned out my interest in the game completely - I'm pretty Type A, and wasn't enjoying the relentless 'nad-paddling - if it hadn't been for two fortunate developments. I began reading poker blogs on a regular basis, and I was encouraged by a friend to start a blog of my own about my time at the hospital. That synchronicity lead to this blog and Expansion, with its unimpeded flow of dollars out of my Neteller account, finally subsided. I got back to even and settled into the business of getting better. A resolution which in turn brought me to Contraction, if not clear cut profitability yet.

Ignorance is, I think, a useful place to begin, assuming you have the ability to recognize when the fire is no longer warming you, but rather peeling through the layers of your skin. It's the early lessons, the simple ones that you cut your teeth on, that have the greatest traction. I can recall losing my first straight to an unrecognized flush, my first flush to an unguessed full, and in turn running my first boat into unsuspected quadripolar perfection. But ignorance gets old, and once you're aware you're an idiot you should really work on fixing it. Which I'm glad to say, is what I've been up to for the last couple of months, with varying degrees of success.

One truth I've realized is I still play too many hands in the dark, although light has thickened somewhat. At times it's been like trying to perform maintenance on your car while driving - it can be done, but there's an easier way. So while I continue to read, I now resolve is to play less, but better poker. Of course with the notable exceptions of MATH, WWdN and The Mookie. Yes, some of my motivation here is that after a very cush research month in May I am now getting totally crushed in the ICU, and I am just too tired to play well. But the fact that I am now aware of that and willing to do something about it [ie. play less] is a big difference from 4 months ago. So as my actual play contracts, it is my hope it's quality will improve. Let's see.

I was late for MATH yesterday, but in the mood to play and feeling good, so I bought into a $55 SnG. This is the upper limit for me and my record isn't good in this stratosphere, but the choice wasn't tilt induced. I just felt clear-headed, was awake and alert and wanted to test myself at the highest limit I felt I could play at. I have been giving much consideration to bankroll management, but have also been trying to see if I can discern differences in skill levels at the various buy-ins. If you can afford it, and are not terribly outclassed, playing at the upper range of your limit makes some sense to me - better return per hour invested. Assuming you can weather the variance and your own self-maiming psychological tendencies.

I'll allow I could be dead wrong with this next statement, but to honestly share my experience of the last few months: There doesn't seem to be a clearly appreciable difference in actual skill between the 22/33/55 SnG's on Stars. What differences I can appreciate seem to be situational. There are a lot of multi-tablers at 33 and 6X38, less so at 55. Also its (much) harder to push people off hands at 22 - regardless of how you manipulate the pot with bets. But the fact that a guy like me will play 55 should convince those of you out there much better than I that the buy-in factor in no way predicts skill level. I am not being self-deprecating or falsely modest, just telling it like it is. Based on what I've seen there's usually 3 or 4 very capable people at 55, 3 or 4 testing the waters, and 3 or 4 who can afford it and simply feel if they're going to play, they want the stakes to mean something to them. How is that different from 22 or 33? In fact, if you know what you're doing and get a decent run of cards, it's a far better hourly rate to play the upper end of your range. Those are two pretty big assumptions, and a few of you may remember how I feel about the verb assume. I only make the suggestion because people have been discussing moving up limits, and while not exactly the same thing, it did mirror the issue I am turning over these days. As always, opinions welcome and appreciated.

The game was interesting and typical for a 55: there is almost no chat at all (good or bad). Everyone is out to execute their game plan, and we only had a couple of multi-tablers at work, both of whom went out early. I was able to stay relatively focused on position and hand selection, caught a few pocket pairs (I too have had a run of pairs without flopped sets which is beguiling The Matrix) and stayed ahead of the blinds. Nope, I didn't win - the guy who did was ahead from the gate practically and never looked back. But I did make the money, busting out in third with a junk-push motivated by the blinds [KTo called and killed by A7s: B.D. just so you know I call this hand the Accidental Tourist, and do so without apology!]

So there you have it. The $35 profit for a third at this level lets me free-roll WWdN and The Mookie with change. I know - you can't count on making the money all the time. But I do wonder if the SnG buy-in levels are truly all that different skills-wise, or whether its more a question of what the particular player is willing to spend on poker entertainment, independent of ability. As I get more selective about the length of time and number of hands I play, I am going to try hard to find the highest level I can realistically compete at. That is a quite a trek psychologically from where I started last year. And progress of a sort, I guess.

Imponderables and other anomalies I found in my couch cushions...

So...have any of you noticed there's a lot of luck involved in poker?

Yeah - I'm just messing around, it's been a long week...

Like all of you I've read the posts debating this and I think it's all been laid out in toto, often with great insight and eloquence, so I won't even bother. Alright, technically that's not true because I commented my [earth-shatteringly profound] thoughts in response to CJ's post on it. But aside from that you won't hear one more word about it. Scout's Honour. Or Scot's Honor, depending on your area code.

It's been almost a week since I put anything out, but in the meantime I've gotten addicted to commenting on everyone else's site. I actually enjoy reading and commenting more than blogging. I may just close this newly opened shop and go back to the enjoyable business of reacting to what's happening in your worlds. Contrary to what a few very vocal individuals have been positing, I think the quality of blogging, in the old and new schools alike, is pretty damn good. I'm a voracious reader too, so I know what I'm talking about. I could say a lot more on this point, but what would it prove or solve?

Res ipsa loquitor - or as I told a resident who flew off the handle at a nurse a couple of days ago: Your insecurities and ill manners are showing.

There's certainly more than one way to tell the story of a given hand and no real crime in doing so as far as I'm concerned. For proof, just follow the trail of good-natured tears after a given Mookie or WWdN and you get a global, but corkscrewed, version of events I find more entertaining than simply knowing everyone's hole cards and percentages to win.

I personally doubt bloglines saves anyone that much time, and I think it distances the reader from the interactive component of blogging. [Edit: Wes has pointed out I don't really know what I'm talking about on this one, and I have to admit he's right. On everything else, Wes wants you to know I'm his personal role model.] I enjoy writing this stuff and do it in the sincere hope it makes someone laugh, or at least feel better about their game by comparison. But I'll be honest, it's reading what people have to say about it that motivates me to try to improve on it with the next post. I get plenty of validation in the real world, and I will bet most bloggers do to. I truly don't see much blogging-for-glory going on. Instead I perceive the act of keeping a blog to be a fundamentally generous one; wherein busy people make time to share their experiences in order to enlighten, entertain or empathize.

So I guess I'm a little surprised to see people who are quite accomplished at the game we all enjoy, go out of their way to crap on the efforts and attempts of others. Acting like a jerk when there's no identifiable reason to is a baffling calling. Whether you resemble Matusow or Sheikhan it makes little difference. You still look like a jerk.

On the issue of commenting, I think the power of it is seen when you put out a fairly short post [yes, I know I never do, but I allow it's feasible in theory - I'm thinking specifically of Waffles and Wes here] with what you think is a cogent point. Then in the comments section, people may focus their attention on one or two presumably ancillary sentences you tacked on for style. Their feedback in turn changes the nature of the post for everyone else who reads it, making it more cooperative than singular authorship.

Unless of course you're into deleting comments you don't like, which is within your purvey, but very 10th grade anyway you slice it.

F-train, I think, observed that blogging was about sharing communal knowledge. To be truthful, that's not what this is about for me. Mostly because I don't have much poker knowledge with which to commune. For me blogging in general, and the blogger tourneys in specific, are an enjoyable social experiment; a rare example of fellowship and competitiveness coexisting easily enough - for the most part.

The reason I keep playing the WWdN, Mookie and new favourite, Mondays at the Hoy, despite being a huge underdog [see Don for the current line] is that everyone has a good time and seems to genuinely enjoy each others' company. Makes no difference whether they're new on the scene like the appropriately named (if a little premature) NewinNov at Hoy's last night, or a grizzled vet like Pauly catching the Mookie last week. Bill Rini and Matt Marroon's despair and disparagements about bloggers and blogging aside, it often looks like one big [admittedly dysfunctional] block party. Yeah, I'm mostly outclassed at these tournaments, but who cares? For the cost of a movie ticket, I get the opportunity to play with better players [always a good thing from an education standpoint], learn a few tricks and most importantly have a lot of laughs. Hanging with bloggers has been a good time - in fact it's the most fun I have playing poker. It is a little strange that the same people who clearly enjoy each other's company at the faux-felt will go so hard at each other over issues that boil down to personal preference.

No, not as strange as Don driving the Druggie Buggie, but strange nonetheless...

So that's what I've been ruminating on as I crunched through a week of running a very sick critical care unit when I'd rather be playing poker.

And I finish with Good News:
If I accidentally managed to offend anyone, don't worry; I was just kidding! That makes it okay, right? Well that, or my new Lexus, I guess.

Later.

Inescapable proof online poker must be rigged.

Would you like to know the secret ingredients of my against-the-odds performance at The Mookie?*

Me too.

I was left to speculate whether all one might need to do in order to be successful at MTTs is to write a post saying something along the lines of "hmmm, I'd like to become good at MTTs".

But then I realized so simple (and essentially stupid) an answer would not quite do.

Thus, I sat down to look over what I thought was truly screenshot-worthy from last night, and mine it for insights into why this one night things just seemed to work. As usual, I missed the hands that really meant something - like when Jordan made his TPTK with flush draw with AhQh after I had raised preflop with TT. A pot-sized continuation from me was called with clarity, and I discontinued my hand when he pushed to my check. Too late I thought to screenshot my side of it and ask for his take later. I was left to type, "boy I hope you blog that hand Jordan." Which he did today, verifying for me he held a queen and that I was on the right track when I thought I had the worst of it. I think we both did pretty much what we're supposed to in that kind of spot, which is all I can ask for at this stage in the game.

I also learned that what goes around eventually completes the circuit, if you can just hang back and wait on it.



DQB! I had a chance to bust JJOK, which would have been cool given the bounty, but had to settle for merely wounding him when he didn't reraise me here. I was hoping he made the flush, and that he'd think I was trying a steal. Instead he was on to me and just called, ensuring he'd live to fight another hand. In retrospect perhaps I should have pushed - the psychological challenge of folding the nut flush might have been too much for even JJ. I'd like your thoughts on that...Of special note, I owe JJOK a debt as he was the one who dispatched the noble Sox way earlier than is his norm, making me the Upset of the Night.**

The other real treat was the opportunity to double up -1 through a failed reverse-Hoy from none other than Hoya himself.



Naturally, he trash talks me and I trash talk him right back, as per established Hoyettiquette.



That go-round truly felt like biting the hand that feeds you. Anyone who reads this must know I pore over Hoy's posts trying to glean tricks of the trade. I teach and train people to do complicated things for a living. I know a good teacher when I meet one. There are successful MTT players all over the place, but Hoy's posts on play are well written, insightful and take you right into the mindset you need to have in tough spots. His interview with Sif F (Can't describe the letdown of finding out the origin of that bizarre handle: I was positive he was part of the Eastern European Gentry...I guess some origin tales are better left unknown!) is another example of Hoy's ability to describe his process. In response to Jordan's interesting consideration of the balance between luck and skill in poker, Hoy and Don make compelling cases for the dominance of skill through lucid explanation of what one can do if one possesses the skills. That Hoy's willing to share his process is pretty damn generous. WWHD is my new mantra for the Mookie and WWdN. Hoff, we need to get shirts made with that on the front, and your patented Motto on the back - FEAR THE HOY!

Speaking of which, I pulled a post-flop Hoy re-raise on Kaellin.



He folded (naturally) to its majesty, but not before opining that he liked the "fake think", referring to the time it took me to do drop the Hoy. An understandable point of view, but if you knew your opponent Matt, you'd know that was no 'fake' think. That was a 45 second debate between 2 of the many voices in my head as to whether or not this would be my second-to-last bet of the evening. I'm just glad I didn't time out!

Eventually my run came down to this...


I'll admit I have no idea what Waffles' range is on any given hand, and I am convinced that is exactly the point of his posts on those unusual hands he likes to develop. 53o and all her unseemly cousins in reality comprise a tiny fraction of SirF's playbook, but he has succeeded in putting it into everyone's head that he might be setting you up with nothing but a whisper. It's brilliant and centripetal psychology, and needless to say it worked perfectly on me. Heads up 45/55 for the Sir. Post-Flop I'm still in this if he doesn't have an Ace. If he does its like 30/70. Turned out he did have a bullet and my clubs do not reopen on the turn or at the river. IGH in 3rd...wow. But here's a hand some comment on could be very helpful to me. I didn't think it was a bad call pre-flop. In retrospect I wish I laid it down after his reverse push. What do you think - don't play it at all? An enquiring mind wants to know.

Anyway how can I complain - I can't! I was amazed to make the final table, and remembered Hoy's cautionary tale about the rookie mistakes people make in those situations. So I tried to steal a few blinds, stay out of trouble's way and wait for a spot. I know I had many fortunate developments, but I don't recall sucking out on anyone in a huge way [correct me if I'm wrong, please]. In fact I don't think I actually busted a single player, although I hurt a bunch on the way up. I never had a pair bigger than JJ, but thankfully, as we all know JJ turns out to be OK. I tried to play T/A and of course, dropped a few Hoys when I got in a jam.

Although not nearly as many as GCox, who played awesome and is now surpassing me as the most successful Non-Hoyazo Hoying player. Watching Gary change gears and almost pull off the upset was pretty cool. In the end, Her Majesty's Preferred Breakfast had the goods and brought them in a big way. Congratulations Sir-FWA-LGMan, it was a pleasure.

A very special thank you to my favourite Aussie Canuck for sweating me at the rail while I tried to hang with the Boys. Much obliged Jules, you are my official good luck Muse.

So what next? Hmmmmmm....I'd like to become good at final tabling WWdN....

Later.


* In truth, Don, Carmen and I made enough on scattered bets on the Big Underdog across the Five Boroughs and Vegas that we're moving to Louisville to be very, very rich people. After one of us rescues Marcellus Wallace from a gimp-suit and buggering of course...

** When Don, Carmen and I get settled in Louisville JJOK, we'll send for you.