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.