Insecure Borders...aka Local Boy Makes Bad...aka Who would fardels bear?

I think I broke my poker game.

By nature I am an optimist. I am one of those guys who approaches situations with an ordained sense that there is a solution available, and who goes to bed confident tomorrow will be better than today, regardless of how good or bad today was. It is that simple truth that saw me through the voluntarily experienced hell that was a good chunk of my training. It is also what allows me to use the illusions that tomorrow I will be a better decision maker on the tennis court, at the dinner table, and of course, at the felt.

My play lately is fatiguing the mettle of this normally tireless sense of self-trust.

I have been tempering – yes, perhaps rationalizing away – this unfortunate fact with the idea that my “game” is a relatively new construction, and may simply be going through growing pains as I try to stretch it to a more aggressive style. As it is, I have only been trying to play thoughtful, patient, aggressive poker since May or so. At the end of July I ran red hot for two weeks, culminating in finishing 11th in the FT 20k. So perhaps I was due to cool off, and with this short a period to analyze my play, it would be hard to make drastic conclusions about the nature of my game.

Nonetheless, I am not playing the same game I was 4 weeks ago. It isn’t just the fact that I am losing a bunch of 50/50s. No, I am making choices that I hate. Choices I would not have made 4 weeks ago. I seem to have lost the fine touch at the table that lets you come to a definitive conclusion about your opponent’s holdings. Right or wrong, I rely upon those reads heavily, since I am not a huge fan of math. When the intuitive side of the game abandons someone who doesn’t live or die by the numbers, they are in very serious trouble. And that’s where we find our hero today.

Now it isn’t that I think I was playing great before. Specifically, I think I was playing very solid, middle-of-the-plate TAG/LAG poker, and enjoying a good run of cards, and winning my races in consecutive fashion. This well within reach equation was all that was required. You do not have to be able to a whole lot more to tear through the low level MTTs, with the notable exception of the occasional resteal, which I agree with Hoy on, is an advanced play and was a part of every deep run I enjoyed.

So what’s up? I think I’ve lost my nerve on some level. I am moving from TAG to TW and that is depressing. I am aware that I occasionally tend to talk down my ability at the felt. That isn’t false modesty, or a fear I will jinx myself. It has been part of my strategy to challenge myself to constantly improve. I teach residents all the time, “you’re never as good as they say, and rarely as bad as they say, and if you can internalize that, you might learn things as you go along.” I am developing my poker game the same way. I have already had a few successes that surprise the shit out of me. But even when I was running red hot (for me), I knew that I was not doing anything spectacular. I was simply playing soundly and benefiting from the odds holding up.

I am not playing soundly lately. Truthfully, I took several back-to-back low probability pummellings, which I was rolled for but not prepared for psychologically. I think this element of the game was difficult for me to appreciate from a distance. When I first started online and played horribly, I was fundamentally resigned to losing because I believed, rightly, that I was no good and deserved to lose. It was the universe validating the utility of math. However, since about June I had begun to think of myself as someone who knew just enough to be tricky, try things he’d read or seen, and with a decent run of cards could be dangerous. In late July I got the cards, got the breaks and paid attention and had the most fun with poker I’ve had to date. It was day after day of WTF?!? And slyly, in that period, I began to believe I was capable of running through and over the competition when needed. Thus I branched out my MTT game into cash and have tried repeatedly to find a groove. I was break even minus the first the couple of buy-ins up until 10 days ago when I found the dark side of the Matrix.

I will be honest (if not, what is the point of this thing?). I can afford to lose a bunch of buy-ins at 100NL. The money won’t keep me up at night. Yet I did lose four buy-ins in quick succession and it bothered me mightily. It did, in fact, keep me up at night. Why? It goes to the heart of why I even play. I am fundamentally addicted to competing. I can live with getting beaten by superior play; one of my vanities is that I think I am a pretty good sportsman, and learned from my Dad how to take my lumps like a man. I can even take (admittedly with much greater difficulty) luck determining that my 80/20 is no good. What tends to tilt me is when I defeat myself. Getting my stack in with the worst of it straight up and by odds makes me sick to my stomach. And it tilts me heavily. For days.

And now that tilt seems to have broken my game. I dropped buy-ins on consecutive days when a made turn flush was killed by two pair that found a boat on the river, a made straight I turn pushed was done in by another boat located on the rivah, and a boat of my own that was done in by an over-full that also appeared at the river. If any of you ever misplace your watercraft, contact me – I am developing a gift for conjuring boats for other people. Yes, I was a huge favourite most of those times heading into the last card, but in retrospect, in each hand I made glaring errors related to how I bet the turn or my lack of discipline in making crying calls when I knew I would end up crying. I let my opponent draw out on me too cheaply, and when he beat me, I paid him off. And I have been steaming on some level ever since.

What’s the point? Not that I lost some bucks, or a few hands, or woe is me, online poker is rigged. Rather, those “yeah but I was ahead…” beats have stung me much worse than their sizable but survivable hit to my roll. Since then, I have been chasing draws, pushing with marginal holdings, overplaying top pairs, etc. And getting spanked hard both at cash and in the MTTs. I am clearly now playing worse poker, plain and simple. Frustrating.

But this is where it ends. I had been dancing around that reality, and that’s why today I put it down. Everytime I have used this blog to remind me about what I want to play like it has worked. So here’s hoping the MWGB has more tricks up her sleeve. My short term plan is to tighten up, play fewer tables (yeah, yeah…I was three tabling the Mookie – IDIOT! I broke even for the effort by winning a token at least), and stick to my relative strength, MTTs, until I can feel the grass through my boots again.

I wish I could play like I was four weeks ago. Let’s see.

Laytah.

P.S. I played with a guy on FT who actually knew my blog. Deathhawk, I believe. Cool playing with ya. That was a first. I’ll repeat my standard greeting to the few lurkers who stop by here: Hola. You don’t have to be a blogger to comment. You should own property in a location I might like to visit – ie. the dude from Iceland, or that Kiwi who dropped in a while ago. But all are welcome to tell me I use too many words. That never fails to make me smile.

Intellectualizing defeat does not in fact improve the taste...aka 4th is not 1st...aka Rosebud, Rosebud...

Finished fourth in the Mookie, but I hope the eventual winner would acknowledge I had him dead to rights with four left when he pushed his entire 8k stack preflop with Q9s and I called with Jacks. Yes, Virginia there was a reason I mentioned his cards were suited. Yuck. Up until that point I was very much in the moment and focused on a win. I really thought it was going to happen. After that Pokerstars reality check, I think I loosened up too much, paid way to much attention to the chat box, and it was only a matter of time before I got sent home. Fair enough.

On a wholly unrelated note, can we move the Mookie to Full Tilt? Is that a possibility? Cause I wholeheartedly recommend we do it. Everything about the FT layout is better: the colors, the ability to review hands, the tourney info – everything. Why is the blogging community still glued to Stars? I understand fully why WWdN and the Not will stay put, and that’s cool…but what about Mookie and DADI – how ‘bout relocating to sunnier climes Mook, Trip, J and G? Okay – just putting that out there. Moving on…

cc doubled through me three times in about 20 minutes including finally putting me out with a dominated A. Ah well…what can ya do. The good stuff got killed, the crap got called = signs it isn’t your night.

Finally got to a final table with Eric, which was very cool, since he was across the table from me at my first blogger tourney ever (WWdN) and I’m pretty sure was the first guy I ever chatted with at one of these things. Now look at us: big MTT final tables live and online between us with some good scores, and at long last ITM simultaneously at a blogger event. I actually regret showing that bluff with 9Ts E – wasn’t trying to show you up brotha, just wanted it clear that my blind would be defended. I almost never show so I don’t know why I did it there. Rav and I have been talking about this. Because I never know when it will help, I just avoid the problem. Actually, I’m sure showing that one and the one to Hoy (see below) made it far likelier every raise would be called – thus back to nevah showing.

On consecutive hands I made an incorrect laydown to Hoy’s bluff, then a foolish call to Wonka’s kings. I survived both, but looked like an idiot. I got revenge on both when I cracked Wonka’s third set of kings in the tournament, and bluffed Hoy right back at the final table. On that note, the HammerPlayer is pretty damn good at putting me on a hand. Not perfect, and I’ll leave it deliberately vague, but he was right all but once, aside from the bluff. Bastard.

Took Jules out in fine fashion – maybe my favourite hand of the night. Nothing extravagant, but in context pretty stasisfying considering she’s bounced me multiple times lately. I limp as SB, she checks, I find two low pair on a raggy looking board – we both check it and she finds a match for her 7 on the turn. She had been pushing me off hands all night, so I knew my check to the flop would look weak and if she caught anything she was pushing. She did and then was done. Sweet, sweet Jules…thank you for that…it truly was worth the wait.

Lastly, xkm, my brotha: that suckout you pulled off on Hoy was unreal. You play that crap? AK? Against a powerhouse like AJ? Jebus! I hope the fact you got spanked and spanked good teaches you to look critically at your hand selection. Oh well, at least no one lost their cool…

I keed, I keed. You got jobbed fierce mah man, so a little tilt was appropriate enough. That’s what I love about playing the Mookie – we are constantly looking to slit each other’s throats, all the while bullshittin’ away. It’s the best part of being a blogger and playing these things. I thought it was classy of you to wish our boy GL before signing out. Also, the crap Hoy took from just about everyone - railbirds included - for calling a push with AJ should convince him EVERYONE is reading his blog, if sitemeter wasn’t confirmation enough.

Okay…that’s about it. Cash game still oscillates happily between mediocre on a good day, and almost mediocre the next. Haven’t lost enough money yet to teach me a lesson, so I’ll keep plugging away. MTT front, I am burning out, but still had a couple of deep runs this week, one minor cash. Fuck that Moving guy! He killed my best chance in weeks, every time I think about it I want to scream… I guess I’ll keep taking shots for the next few weeks. Everything was so much easier when I had no idea how hard it was to actually find the final table. Three weeks ago, it seemed to find me. Now, it’s a little slower through the snow. But I will get back there. At least I hope so.

Laytah.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree...aka the person from Porlock ruins my run.

Do you know that story? It about Samuel Taylor Coleridge, one of my favourite poets. Bruce Dickinson must have liked him a lot too, because Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner was an epic before it was reincarnated as a guitar-god fantasy. And in keeping with the circularity of this post, Maiden was the inspiration for the name of the oasis you rest at now.

In 1797, Coleridge takes two grains of opium to treat his dysentery while reading a book about Kubla Khan. He wakes from an opium dream and immediately begins transcribing the poem his brain was romancing while as high and clear as Denver on a sunny day. If you've never read it, I recommend two glasses of Merlot - yes, fuck Sideways and its sack of shit about Pinot - and a full stomach before treating yourself to this weird and lyric dreamland.

Sadly, the poem was never completed because a businessman from Porlock, a nearby town, interrupts Coleridge at work. By the time he gets rid of the guy, Inspiration has exited as well. For 200 years lesser writers have been reading this poem and wistfully wondering at the sunlight lost to the chasm, somewhere in those caves of ice...

What does any of this have to do with poker?

Yesterday I had my A-game running full steam on Full Tilt. I was in the 2pm deep stacks 6k guaranteed (my favourite for budgetary and structure reasons). I had all the signs I was final table bound. Early on I had flopped two sets and extracted max value, I won a very profitable midgame race, and most importantly made a lifesaving late midgame laydown when the big-stack MP raiser pushed at a TJQ board that I had paid 3x from LP to see with 89s. I used every second of time and reflected on what I knew about him. I told him what I was laying down and being a hell of a good guy, he showed me the AK I put him on. I was in 8th with 70 left when my queen's got cracked by a smallish stack who called my reraise push with A8o. That's why you need the big stack: to survive the lunatics out there. Still looking great 30ish out of 60 or so and most importantly feeling damn good. My Ace HUD (many thanks Wes and Rav for the recommendation. It helps. Period.) was serving me well and I felt I had a great shot at my best score in a while.

Then the guy with the moving company showed up a half hour early, ie. before my wife got home and proceeded to talk my ear off while I tried to play and still be polite.

I was doing ok until I hit the call button holding pocket 9s. What I didn't realize until too late was that I had called off 2/3 of my stack to the tightest player at our table. I am fucked, I sighed. The flop brought me nothing in the way of hope and he pushed. I suppose I could have folded and tried to regroup with my micro stack, but I called his Jacks and was done. He was a good player, one I am a little happy to say made the final table. I had obviously been avoiding him like the plague. Until I didn't. At which point I promptly got the plague.

The mover left about ten minutes later. Yeesh.

Since this stop is never about the deep insights, let me try to help by focusing on the patently obvious. Don't answer the door when making a serious run.

Beware the Person from Porlock.

They are indeed Poor Luck.

Laytah.

In Bidding You Farewell...

What an unqualified shame, Cheri.

So rude to one so sweet and so clearly my friend? Unwise, and just when it was getting interesting!

The only reason I didn't respond sooner was I missed your comment entirely, thinking Eric had posted twice, in his own inimitable (albeit belligerant) voice.

If you had to lash out, I would have happily laid Waffles or Eric out on an altar for you. The Code would have forced them to be cool about it.

But instead you insulted our fair and lovely Carmen, and brought about the end of it all. A Roman holiday is a contrivance that does not well suffer inconvenience. It does not tolerate indignities at all.

Yes, the stylist in me harbors the suspicion boyfriend wrote it. It matters not; the illusion I crafted was wafer thin to begin with, and certainly not up to the gale upon it.

C'est Fin.

Intertwined Indeed...aka my mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun...aka Vegas Redux in Tux

Who says the internet is depersonalizing things? How else could I have gotten to know my slipstream Muse if not for this confounded fabulosity?

How indeed.

Well as a lot of you know, Mel met one of my two demands, and ya have to love the title of that post. I’ll give her a pass for not commenting here, having seen the rough reception some of you cads greet her with. To quote Defamer, in turn quoting the vastly over-rated Eva Longoria, “Fuck! Be Nice! It’s Fucking Thanksgiving!” I don’t recall any of this being on my list of goals to accomplish with this corner of the sphere, but my time with Mel has really been special. So thank you O blissfully porn-strewn Ether. Thank you for Mel, in all her kilted glory.

I know what you’re wondering boys: T’is a consummation devoutly to be wished?
Only if I was feeling uncharacteristically suicidal.

First and foremost, a man has to know how to stay out of trouble.

Oh, and since there is some confusion brewing out there, untermension is not a word in the English language. But goddamn, I love it when people try to pass the pace car…


In unrelated news, I just got back from Vegas. I was there in time to visit the Rio and see the final table at the ME. Unfortunately, I missed hanging out with almost everyone I normally would have been stoked to meet. The happy exception was a great evening spent with Don and Carmen, wherein we substantiated a friendship borne out of poker can be well sustained in its absence. I count getting to know the two of them as among the best things to have come out of this blog. Yep, right up there with my Mel – high praise indeed.

I’ve spent the last few days taking care of the tedious business of preparing for work as my particular brand of electrician in New York, and just caught up on my blog reading in time to find Waffles and Duggles preparing to divorce one another. Think about the kids, boys, think about the kids…

Onto this month’s installment of the travel writer’s staple, Flights on the Road, wherein I will share a take on time in Vegas that differs from that of my esteemed, if exhausted and somewhat disheveled peer group. Without further ado:

How To Find Vegas Beautiful Without Hardly Trying...

I recommend getting things off on the right foot by flying nonstop and traveling First Class. This was a $150 upgrade at the counter, and I guarantee I will take it every time. For any of you over 6 feet, this can’t be stressed enough. Lately, my left knee has been teaching itself a new language that bears disturbing similarities to Arthritis. The extra wiggle room was the vaccine which inoculated me from limping my way to the cab stand with a wince and a grimace impaled on my face.

Now I was traveling with the Mrs. and this posed the first character check of the trip, which I addressed with a typical Y chromosome logic. Being the redoubtable individual I am, I do have to acknowledge that the joy of First Class, with its ruggedly once-hot stewardess and her perpetual attention to my beverage status and ring finger, was somewhat mitigated by the knowledge my Beloved was silently seething in Coach and planning a slow, twisted revenge. Fret not for me friends; I happily and rapidly deduced the correct combination of Greying Geese required to inculcate a state of permaglow that not even the thought of something after death could dint. We caught the movie Inside Man on the way over, which was simultaneously clever and predictable, a combination you wouldn’t think could be easily achieved.

From the flight in, I would next cover choice of accommodation. I recently read Wil opine on the Palms, and never having been, I’m not in a position to comment. However, Bellagio gets my unqualified approval. Both the hotel and the staff are elegant, restrained and attuned to a guests’ every need. Plus I have become addicted to their champagne brunch, which isn’t cheap compared to other Vegas buffets, but makes up for it implied snootiness. That said, my waiter on the first day was a bit of a downer. Not rude, but he wore an air of defeat so pungent it took the tang out of my key lime pie. The only blemish on Bellagio’s otherwise spotless record.

The first night in we stayed in and enjoyed the privileges of a couple who hadn’t been on vacation together sans kid in the last four years. Yeah, yeah, medicine is a grind, but no, I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me, and you’re all too smart to anyway. I manage adequate supplies of self-pity when called upon, but as I defrosted in the scalding hot water of the rotatable shower heads and settled in to a bed that gave my TempurPedic masterpiece a run for its money, I was actually thinking that life was pretty damn good.

Day 2 was even bettah as we met up with Don and played the tourney at Caesars – in keeping with my last visit to this sumptuous poker room, card deadness was the rule of the day. I was eventually taken out pushing shortstacked with KJs. Ah well, D went deep and came close to a cash. Chris set the bar to damn high for the rest of us!

That evening we ate at Picasso, a true gem of a restaurant. With various works by Pablo himself providing the ambience, and the Fountain show directly in front of us, we were feted well by the sommelier’s selections for our meals. The effect of my roasted pigeon and a world tour of reds and whites I had never heard of had my head reeling but my taste buds saturated. Phenomenal. One of the best restaurants I have eaten in. And I grew up in Toronto, so that is saying something.

We also managed to sneak a payperview of Xmen in, which for those of you married with kids is a real miracle. Cool, but I liked Superman Returns better.

Day 3 was highlighted by shopping at the Venetian, hitting the Rio for the final table of the ME, visiting the Star Trek Experience (my idea I am proud to admit) – my picture on Kirk’s bridge hangs proudly in my living room – then watching La Reve with Don and Carm, followed by a great dinner at Tao.

As for the WSOP, it was smaller than I imagined, with the single table dwarfed in that convention hall and seats aplenty for anyone interested. Having missed the rush, I have to say it was a little underwhelming. The booths were also a surprise, and the glamorous internet shots did not hold up to live scrutiny. They too were physically smaller than I had envisioned, and far more simple than what I imagined multi-billion dollar companies would come up with. Even most of the booth babes did not fare well under my EtOH-absent gaze. I was glad I got there in time to see it, but it was clear we had missed the insanity, which was too bad. Next year, assuming I’m not playing in it, I am definitely getting here earlier to drink the madness in. I like crowds.

We normally would have been out late that night, but with the airport scare, we were told by everyone to get there four hours early – with my tan skin tone and Pak last name, I was expecting a rough run of it, but credit to the guys at Mccarran – it was business as usual and we were through in about 15 minutes. Sadly we did get up at 6AM to get to the airport at 7 for an 11 AM flight, the only hiccup in a close to perfect trip.

Regrets? Only an inability to meet up with fellow bloggers I was looking forward to meeting. Missed cc, Ryan, Pauly, Wil and practically everyone else in town, when all spontaneously convened at the MGM on Night 2. I’ll plead spousal prioritization, and acknowledge we had a blast, but wished I could’ve been in two places simultaneously. Strangely, this trip was our first vaca without kids, and I ended up nearly devoid of the drive to play, as we dedicated ourselves to that other Vegas tradition – burning through the kids’ college funds as fast as we could.

Good Times, Good Times…

Laytah.

P.S. Played about as poorly as anyone could and made it to 69th in the 20k. That’s my third cash in it, but I am beginning to despair. Where is the solid decision maker of a month ago? Where is the guy who does not fall in love with his overpairs and can remain steadfast in the face of murderous blinds. I have been looking at my play these last three weeks and I barely recognize my thought process. Which is the aberrancy? The deep field successes or the current impatiences?

Intertwined...aka Mel Baby, can ya hear me?...aka i no likee A K, eh?

Melinda, my erstwhile Dulcinea, this post is for you. I can remain silent in good conscience no longer. My wife, grown concerned by my depressed affect and binge overeating has insisted I take action. Summoning what little will to live I still possess, I send this plea for help out into the ether, uncertain what response she shall meet, but confident I am acting with a resolve both intricate and necessary. We all miss you, princess, but I most of all. I would have you know that in your absence, Thirsty has gone on a post-fast and he is in risk of losing his membership in our hallowed Guild. Eric (the clever little Ewok who took to using your likeness as his screen icon) deleted his blog because he despaired you had been injured while visiting Japan! Those noble tributes acknowledged, still I say, none have missed you more than I.

In your absence I have been reduced to occupying this space with sordid tales of that meanish game of frat boys, degenerates and, of course, degenerate frat boys. I have tried to impress you with my feats of great worth – winning large sums of money playing this ridiculous game…enough for a plane ticket one might note…but not once did you stop by to say, “Hi there” “Congratulations, you total stud” or “I saw your picture on the Tao of Poker – Yum!”

Just silence. With all its painful implication. So wrong, as some might say when anything with less than a 35% chance to win somehow manages to triumph. So wrong, indeed.

Isn’t it clear that I am not a stalker, but instead a dashing, well-adjusted blog Artiste of great repute? And you? You are my Muse, my genetically diversified Japa Hapa. That is nothing to be taken lightly. Ask Kushibo!

But still nothing from you?

It doesn’t seem fair princess. If this oblique affair of letters and pixels is to continue, you need to put some effort into it. As I lie recumbent and resplendent on my Tempur-Pedic space bed, clad in vermillion smoking jacket, ivory gentleman’s pipe and nightshade Armani silk pajamas, I realize I desire only two simple things from you:

• I would like you to comment on this post. Even to tell me you think I am nuts, and must desist. Even to tell me you think the orange shirt I wore to the blogger's poker tournament was a bit much. [yeah, yeah, last time I link it, I promise...] Anything your heart desires, just comment.

• I would like you to mention me in your next post. Same rules apply. Even if only to tell me you’ve noticed my insanity, but you’ve had enough. As any who knows me will tell you, I require an unending stream of validation cheri, and its your turn to provide it. Why not? I know you read me, and you know I read you. You know that I, unlike most of your fan base, am not likely to be in possession of significant quantities of anime of a certain ilk. Okay there may be a few DVDs lying around, but those are for cross-cultural exchange purposes only. I knew you'd understand.

If you cannot find it in your bright pink heart to look fondly on these requests, I am sad to say princess, that our time together will come to an end. You don’t really want that do you? I don’t think so, but only you hold the answer.

If it turns out you can’t bring yourself to meet these requests - Adieu, Cheri, Adieu. We’ll always have Paris I suppose, but then so does everyone else.

________________________________________________

Requisite Poker Content:

A quick apology to mah boy smokkee. No, not for crippling your stack in the 20k. I respect you too much to apologize for playin’ ya hard, and I know you wouldn’t want it any other way. No I apologize for wasting those chips in a play a preschooler could’ve called a mile away . I busted getting all my chips in preflop holding AKo to a guy who clearly tried to tell me he held Aces. It was the same big stack you got broadsided by too. No excuses. I knew he had aces and that I should fold after he raised my reraise. I would’ve still had 1700 chips and been in the fight. Frustration trumped good sense, and I imploded. If I could give those chips back to you, I would, because I KNOW you’d have played more disciplined than that. I have affixed a sticker to my monitor that reads: You will fold AK. It couldn cost me any more money than playing it is.

As a player, I take some satisfaction in noting lately that I am exiting MTTs in one of two manners: either I am beating myself (see above) or I am getting unfortunate when I push when widely ahead. I am hopeful if I can just delete several simian impulses, I can improve and start getting deep consistently. I am obsessed I admit it.

Laytah.

In praise of good results...aka I got jobbed but made some dough anyway...aka I am FTP's abused trophy wife

Time for today's riddle:

Who won this hand?

Answer:

It took me 45 seconds to figure out why these chips were not heading towards me and, with just 11 people left, guaranteeing my final table appearance in the FTP 20k!

45 seconds. In all seriousness, I have made life and death calls in less time than that. So what occurred in the hallowed vault that is my cranium while an Edomite Hell was being wrought?

After careful recollection, I believe my thoughts read as something close to the following:

Yeah! FUCK Yeah! Fucking great push! You mothafuckin' biotch! Knew that pre-flop raise was shit! KNEW my Ace was gonna bend you over the table and give you a buttermilk enema! Gimme my chips you whore-monger! That's right biotch, get 'em up 'n ovah heyah! Huh? What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?!? There's been a computah error! It thinks that mothafuckah made a flush! HE ONLY HAS ONE FUCKING HEART YOU GODDAMNED STUPID FUCKING POKER MACHINE!!!!! TRIP ACES BEAT K high!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!?!

Then Rav calmly explained, that yeah, I had to push with my miniscule M, and yeah I looked good preflop, was obscenely ahead PostFlop, and German Snuff Film obscenely ahead post Turn. But post-rivah - we were left with undeniable if ugly fact that a straight still beats three bullets.

Online poker is rigged. Just slightly less so than live. At least that's what D and JJ tell me.

Whatevah.

This is actually a good news post. I finished 11th out of 1037 playah's in the 20k. For the second night in a row, I built a big stack without a single suckout. And for the second night in a row, it took someone getting very fortunate to do me in. I realize now that's likely to be the case because my style is loose to the flop, but I only commit my stack if I am goddamned sure I have a lock. [Blogger tourneys exempted from this highly self-serving assessment.] Rav's Ace and Tracker assessments had me laughing out loud at what a nut I must look like to the table, but I'm loathe to change much with things running so well right now. Laytah, definitely.

I do have to acknowledge Raveen's absolutely critical role in this push. Our boy is a bona fide stone cold cash game killah, and he sweated me in the girly chat. He actually loaded yahooIM specifically so he could hang with the bloggers after the Mookie, and play cash games with D, Waffles, JJ and the gang. If you for some reason frequent this site, but don't read Rav, can I do you a favor and insist you pick his over here any day. Rav is the real deal. One hand in particular I would have played very differently and probably lost, but had the brains to trust his great advice. Midgame, I tried to steal but got called to a flop out of position against a mid size stack. I found a match for my weak 6, but also an over card. I bet 3/4 and was quickly called. A K hit the turn and he checked, so I followed suit. We reach the river blank and he checks. I have been playing with this guy a while and put him on a weak jack or 77-TT. I am cooked. I am contemplating trying to push him off with maybe a half pot river bet, when Rav types: Put this guy all-in. Do it. He will fold.

I dunno why, but when he wrote it, I recognized he was absolutely right. In truth, I had briefly considered it and rejected it as suicidal. I have weak 6's, I want this hand over. But Rav's take was, you're weak but so is he. This is winnable. Without discussion I shoved 30k of hard fucking work into the middle. Rav noted calmly: nh...it's over.

My opponent mulled briefly then typed in the chat: okay...this one time. And a hand I had no business taking to war won me a pot and a shitload of table respect. For those of you who don't know Rav, he plays at limits most of us won't get to. So having him in my corner (and he stayed till the bitter end, helping me with pot odds and M) was a major advantage. Thanks, brotha. Still hoping to see ya in Vegas next week, so don't disappoint!

On that note, Don, Waffles, Kat and Slb have been real friends and hung with me on several of these late nighters. I do appreciate it. In fact, God bless you. And I mean that in a completely non-denominational way which may or may not refer to a single ominscient sexless deity looking over all (or just a few) of us. And Thanks. It was also very cool to see the HammerPlayer stop by, because as I may have mentioned, most of my interest and large chunks of my situational awareness in MTTs is a direct result of reading Hoy's blog. Would love to have final tabled this thing just for the screenshot Hoy, but ya know how it is with these things...get your money in ahead and hope for the best.

While I am registering my list of usual shoutouts, I can't forget Wes. The package arrived today. That was seriously cool of you. Danke. From it I learned that you don't live in Vale, Colorado but in Vale, South Dakota. Now I gotta admit, that makes me less inclined to show up on your doorstep, but that may be the whole point too. I also like the fact you went to the trouble of renting a PO Box just so you could send me something without giving me your home address. Crafty. But I'm still coming for dinner next week. I'm currently in the mood for Thai, so maybe you can go with that?

And lastly, since this will save me an e-mail. Eric, I got your letter, and have mulled it over to profit already with AK. Rooster, your advice with AK has also been helping plug the holes in my head. And Jules, darlin - stubborn SOB that I am, I fired up 100NL yet again today - 2 sessions, 3 1/2 hours. +17 bucks. Amusingly (and most of you should feel free to take this word and insert it into your personal vocabulary right where you are currently housing 'Ironically'), as I finished my second session, FT finally gave me more bonus money! Who says ya can't fight City Hall? Or achieve mediocrity as a cash game player, while multi-tabling two MTTs. Oh yeah, I blew chunks at the Mookie. My bad. Next time, only one table a blogger tourney. Need to focus!

Still readin? Alright, I'll wrap it quickly.

Things that stuck out:

I got to 11/1037 without ever having a rush of good cards. Moreso than ever before I stole almost every pot I won, and avoided flops like they were old girlfriends I no longer needed for Calculus tutoring. I believe you now Hoy. It can be done. It just takes the right opponents and a willingness to run the risks.

Way late in the game I dropped a Hammer (suited) but got called by the short stack and forced to sacrifice a total of 5k. Consider it a steal attmept gone awry. Actually the flop was a gorgeous 752, but he sucked out! and caught a K on the turn to set his kings. Totallly fucked my table image I think, but as Rav rightly pointed out, "No one gives a shit about table image right now. Blinds are too high. They're all playing their cards not each other." He was right of course. I think I just like saying the phrase Table Image. Sounds cool, no?

Yeah it is like 4am my time, how did you know?

Best laydown of my short MTT career? 3x from EP with JJ. Get reraised 3X by a guy whose been tightish in my brief time at the new table. Late midgame, and I am 5th in chips but he has a deep stack too. Hard to definitively put him on AA KK QQ, but that's where I end up. I drop those boys, and he shows his kings. May not seem like much, but that hand was one of those that had the potential for disaster, with me leading into him until he pushed back, and I call off my stack thinking, "hey only 3 hands really hurt me". Making that read actually inspired me for hours after. It's baby steps...baby steps...

OK. that's enough. I am disappointed, but mostly happy. I feel like progress is being made. and that is a beautiful thing. Next on list: cash game improvement.

Laytah

P.S. good luck Ryan. I stop by everyday and try to post on your site, but no joy. so let me just say it here - Wow. GL and Godspeed.

In praise of good decisions...aka I got jobbed, but at least made some dough...aka my life as a $4/hr MTT playah...

To start: as most of you know, Eric aka Bone-Daddy deleted his blog. I miss it. It was my first link. You are mentioned in my first post. I was stunned to find you had started one at exactly the same time I did. So yeah, it's gone, but he ain't dead. And we'll always have Mel to bind us togethah. soon...soon. Is that why you deleted it? To punish me? Overkill, overkill...

On with the show:

Let me be clear.

O Mighty Universal Power That Made This Happy, Somewhat Useful Dab of Clay:
Me humble idiot. Me know that. Take pity and do not punish me for screenshot or recap of largely mediocre poker results. Me no worth the time.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. For those at my table at WWdN, I apologize to Jules. Not more than 5 minutes after she sweetly complimented my play by observing I am many days removed from playing like the imbecile I used to be, I played like the imbecile I used to be. $11 bucks down the drain.

Weak overbet pushed, but we had spent the morning just girly chatting, and I thought he might be looking to pull a hammer at my expense. So I call him and his ATo with A4s. This is 12 hours after Weak analysed my tracker numbers that he had and begged me to stop dumping dead money into the pot. VP$IP = 31% bad? Now I know. And knowing is half the battle presumably.

I don't know how I even got to the point where I thought A4s would be a decent sword to do the Hammer in. So fucking dumb. Okay if you're off on your own in some nameless MTT, I guess. But not in front of your friends. It was my intent to win that thing. I think I truly despise playing on Stars now, mostly my own fault and is likely related to my hideous play there in the very recent past. I keep money on Stars solely to play our blogger tourneys. I can't even stand the look of the Stars login screen - the color scheme is as Wes noted, nastificerous in extremis [not Real Latin]. I have 6k VPP's so I guess I ain't done with it's river voodoo just yet, but FT has been the home I always wanted as a kid, so there I stay for now.

Next, to anyone who might have seen my play in the FT 20k... I know I looked like a tool. I couldn't get anything going, so I tried to be Joe Clevah. Went out pushing with A9. Not my A game. I can go deep in that tourney, I truly believe that. It's just going to take longer than I thought. $26 bucks down the drain.

But here is what redeemed the night. I was wide awake after bouncing from the 20k and feeling pretty clear headed. [Aside: I may stop looking for tokens all together, they seem to jinx whatever tourney I use them for - all my cashes to date have been direct buy-ins. It's almost as though I play better because I want my money back first! ] So I checked FT's weirdo kaleidoscope that passes for an intro screen and looked for my kinda game. But there wasn't one. Except the $109 buy-in 15k. Out of my league? Er... Crack'nAces was already enrolled. Chad came within a hair of a WSOP bracelet this year, if that gives you some perspective.

But I felt good. Smart, even. Like I could compete or at least use it as a learning experience to see where my current limits are. So in I went, with $109 bucks out of my beloved and much cherished bankroll. Want to hear something odd? This seemed less of a gamble than the 100 I post when I sit down at 100NL.

First surprise? 3k chips. Sweet. If I was the bad beat relating type I might mention my near final table performance in the deepstack 9k yesterday. But that ain't my style. Besides, if you use the mouse scrolly thing you can read that post right after this one. It's the magic of the computah, Lisa....

Second surprise? longer levels - 12 instead of 10 minutes.

Third surprise? 6 handed. Now you'd think I would have at least read all these things before spending 109 bucks. I would do it anywhere else in my life. But not on FTP. I just trust the rivah and it always makes it good. Never played a 6handed MTT before. Turns out, I like 'em a lot.

In fact, the tournament was truly fun. No other way to describe it. You had time and chips to make plays. Plus short-handed, aggression was given a hell of a lot more respect that it usualy is. Each level I nearly doubled my previous chip count. I flopped no sets the entire time, but that was counteracted by having kings hold up 3 times. AA once but no action. Other than that, just a day at the beach, where I sat in the top 20 nearly from start to finish. Stacked someone using 68s and hitting two pair to kill their TPTK. Talk about unhappy. You think Waffles tilts? This guy had to be asked by the entire table to fuck off. I laughed out loud the whole time.

Closing in on the endgame I was fourth after I made the Big Call, on a guy I was sure had at most a mid pair to my paired J with watchdog A but a very coordinated board. The plot was thickened by a murky Kc that I kept trying to represent was mine, while he stubbornly insisted was his. Long story short, I felt the whole way along I might be able to final table this thing too. That confidence to take chances and get creative came back and I built a stack that was gonna get me there, one day after I posted about it!

Right on schedule, I got a very desirable 9k pushed in by someone I felt sure I was WAY ahead of (I held AT and flopped AAx but two diamonds). She pushed to my BIG flop bet, but it had the ring of desperation. I also had her covered with 11k behind me. I make Big Call number two, and find I am 75/25 to take this whole thing down and cruise into first just when the blinds are getting nuts.

Later, after my face had been washed several times and obscenities had been uttered and typed to both peaker and slb, after I had taken a brief walk to put the broken Wiggles nightlight in the garbage...I decided that my 11k mini-stack was not going to go via tilt into some idiots purse without a fight.

I changed goals midstream, forsaking the idea of winning and focused my plans on just making it up the hill into 27th, where the greenbacks were. There were many half-assed steals and one race I probably should have let go, but I made it. The race I could have done without was on the actual bubble. I as SB find 66 just as the button, a shorter stack, pushes - so many ways to lose that hand and be left with just 3k! I still decide to call and he types, WHY?! He has AKo and doesn't find a friend. He is fucking pissed at me and I can see his point. Ah well. I moneyed, got my buy-in back and had i not gotten disconnected by SBC or ATT or whatever the fuck they call it now, I might have improved even farther for more bucks. Instead, when I frantically reconnected I was so frazzled I pushed with JQo into the big stack, who called with KQo and dispatched me with glee. If I had just waited, one of the superministacks would have been done in and I would have made 50 bucks more.

Dummy.

Still. I am very happy with this result as well as a lot if not all of my decisions. Added up it made for a meager profit, but a profit nonetheless. Two days in a row I have made the last 20 of 400+ tournaments. Unlike Waffles, that size is the biggest I can go deep in. Deep stacks suit my game too it seems, though it may be soon to say.

Thus my game (for anyone odd enough to care) is in an acceptable place and I am getting close to where I want to be. I have to say, at $109 I got good cards (though Aces only once in 4 hours of play and no action), but the play itself felt manageable. I may look for this tournament every once in a blue moon. First paid 7k, and you know I was already spending it...

As I might have mentioned: Dummy.

Laytah.

Ill at ease with success or its defeat...aka Bankroll Issues and Fyoochah Goals...aka I have met the enemy and he is me - at a cash game.

Acknowledged once and for all: He did indeed get a great run of cards, and a virgin share of unicorn favor for one halcyon, if snub-nosed, week. Positive Spin Specialist that he is, he takes no small satisfaction in noting he played well enough through that run to create an opportunity to take shots repeatedly for a goodly long time. Loudly and with much gusto then: Yay He! And exhale.

By which I mean only to note; the past is the past. Unless of course, you are dimwitted enough to conspire to make it prologue. Which, droll though it sounds, I am.

To wit: Fuck being decisions oriented. I would like more results now, please.

In an either Herculean or Sisyphusian attempt - with the metaphor of choice depending entirely on how well you know me - to prove to myself that rush was not a fluke, I have antagonized a dormant Wrath, one both old and singularly unkind. As a result, I have suffered some uniquely obscene and contrived punishments of late. Were I a lesser man, I would nurse these soul scars in cowardly isolation, giving them no name and pretending I knew not the nature of my aches. But no, dear reader, that is not what you expect, and who am I to deny your hungry mouths their much desired suckling? Who indeed…

Rest easy, friends, for I now intend to afford my unnamed, unknown and unkempt enemies no small opportunity to take surreptitious joy via my heretofore published miseries. In fact, some of my more sadistic friends and allies may derive odd and dysthymic pleasures from the recounting as well. Worry not, comrades, I would but hold it over you; it’s a human fallibility I forgive, if only because I drink deep of the same draught.

Fuckers.

Put simply, I have been two-outered twice and three-outered  thrice (with Kat, Slb and D witnessing most of these occurrences) in the mid and late stages of my favourite haunts: the FTP 3.5k, 6k, and 9k. Any of those double ups puts me in the money heading into crunch time. No guarantee of success, but my point is, I am not talking about some desperation push with a shortstack that was done off by a guy who has him covered by a mile. No, I am discussing something far more sublime and unyielding: Providence, wearing the mortal guise of statistical correction. And fuck does the handiwork ache.

As previously promised, I’ll spare the details - a dollar is a dollar, after all, and I’ll be damned if I’m giving you one. The worst to date, witnessed by slb (just one day after he and Waffles decided to play Hatfield and McCoy) happened in todays 9k deep stack – my favourite tourney. AA v. A2c (small hint there for the eagle eyed). All in pre-flop, with me re-raising and demanding this mothafuckah call off 90% of his stack to see my hole cards, which he does, as I am praying he will. Was this an important hand? If I take his stack as we all know I was ordained to, I am in 2nd with 19 left. He went on to final table, finishing fourth I believe. As it was, I finished 19th out of 404, when the Heater is clearly over. So that’s something I guess. Still, hard to be definite about these things, but that was just about the most hideous thing I have experienced in poker. And it came after 3 hours of toil. I can’t bring myself to do the math on that hand but it’s gotta be something ridiculously sick. Tres triste, the French-Canadian I keep locked in my basement would say. Tres triste indeed, Jacques.

For completeness I should also note this happened after I got stacked (again) playing cash. Which brings me to my other bankroll note.  I am a lousy fucking cash game player. If you get a chance, sit to my left and let the good times roll. In trying to work off some of this huge fucking FTP bonus that is theoretically available to me, I lost a buy-in and a half at NL100. Punchline? Still didn’t get the next 20 bucks bonus released! Fuck it. Screw the bonus. I am scared shitless of cash games and refuse to voluntarily deplete my MTT bank machine now that it is equipped to see me through this current Sword of Damocles phase I am experiencing.    

The fault, as always, is with the player [why the fuck do we even play this game?]. In my case, I have learned I want to win worse now that I know I can win. Or at least chop. Not because I have suddenly realized I am a top tier player. I am not. But rather, because I have realized how democratizing the role of chance is. I am a pretty good, middle-of-the-pack player. From the rush I learned I can occasionally make the Big Call, and occasionally make the Big Laydown. What I now know that means is that if I just outplay those children who clearly are registering in tournaments with their milk money as a schoolyard prank or until the babysitter gets off her boyfriend, I will be very in close in chips to those stone cold killers. And the differential in skill will be thin enough that with a decent rush of cards, it will not be able to keep me from going deep again. Which gets to my future goals, for Ye Old Magical Wish Granting Blog to get working on next:

• I want to become a better decision maker when it comes to playing the flop


• I want to become faster at calculating my implied odds on draws and determining my move


• I want to increase my patience in those dead periods where I donk off my vital fluids on limps with no purpose


• I want to get better with AK and AQ


• I want to final table another MTT by the year’s end

• And perhaps most ambitiously, I want to learn how to play break even cash game poker so I can unlock some more of that hellish FTP bonus (still sitting at over 500 bucks!) before October 16th

Okay, not exactly the Magna Carta, but it’s still enough to strike fear into the gentry of rural Ohio. And that’s good enough for tonight.

Laytah.