Until recently, at times I could be kind of a dick in our poker home game.
Never mind the snide comments about playing A-5 to two big bets. Occasionally I'd do that, even when I hated it when others would do the same thing.
No, the worse came two games ago, when I took my chips and went home.
That's right. Just like the rich dork down the street who owned the kickball and was mad because someone tagged him out.
I got sucked out on from a very loose, aggressive player I was waiting all night to bust. I had a higher two pair to his two pair, and he got his extra on the river. I threw the cards across the board and stormed off to the bedroom in the next room.
Regardless of my justification for it - I was trying to avoid saying anything stupid, and really got pissed only when the guy said I was "whining in the next room" - it was piss-poor behavior, especially considering the game was with friends and it was nickel-dime-quarter poker.
I took a hard look at myself and figured out what exactly was the reason for the blowout. And I realized it was my competitive nature.
My inpatient, competitive nature.
• • •
Today I ran a 5K. It's February, so I didn't expect a whole lot out of it. Racing 5Ks, truly running them the way I am capable of running them, is not only difficult, it's different than anything else I do.
You have to prepare your body to run extremely fast for three miles. And though I was doing some speed work this winter and putting in a lot of miles (in some ways I've never felt better), I still didn't expect a good time.
But I ran 22:57.
That time is hardly elite - I only finished 25/150 runners - but for me it's a really good time even during the peak summer season, and it's a great time for this time of year. I beat several runners usually faster than me and tied with another when I caught him on a steep hill near the end.
In the past 5Ks were miserable tests of will. At their worst, I'd rather have the flu than run a 5K.
But today, not only did I run well, I was never miserable. I never really wished it was over.
I know why now too.
I finally breathed deep.
• • •
I was in a live poker slump before then and a little after then, too, and the big reason was I was always forcing the issue.
This never was a problem online, and I think that's because you can multi-table, so if I"m card dead on one or even two tables, there's probably some action on the third.
But I was inpatient live, and therefore I was taking it too seriously, and therefore I was pissy and downright stupid when the cards weren't coming.
So Friday I went to my home game determined to have a good time.
And I won.
Big.
Of course, it's hard not to have a winning session when you get quads in five-card draw, and you win a big pot with Shit on your Neighbor (know it?), and you get full house over full house over full house in Crazy Pineapple (crazy, hence the name).
But I let the game come.
• • •
Usually before a big race I would go into this mode of preparing for a big time. I would jack myself up and tell myself I had to get a great time or else it would be a failure.
When the gun would finally go off, all my nerves were wound, and I'd unspool way too fast and be gassed by the second mile. Then I'd hang on and survive.
But I learned to slow down, relax the body and run the course.
And I approached this race like it didn't matter what time I got. I would just run my best, see how I felt and go hard.
• • •
The second-most important thing I learned from both the poker and the running is both are more alike than you might think.
If I relax and let it happen, good things happen as well.
But the most important thing I've learned is it's the journey, with both myself and my friends, and not the results, that truly matter.
Showing posts with label home game. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home game. Show all posts
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Sunday, July 08, 2007
It's all relative
So you're four-handed in a home tournament. After the lightning-fast blinds have reduced your once-powerful stack to an M of 3, the blinds go up again, and you now have enough for exactly the big blind and the small blind.
You have 10-6 os and the two big stacks at the table call.
You check and the flop misses you like you, the father of twins, miss sleeping in past 6 a.m.
(Yes, you have twins now. Congratulations! Man, these poker scenarios can get crazy sometimes, eh?)
And so what did I do when the big stacks checked?
What would you do?
• • •
I am not tired in the tired sense.
I am not exhausted.
I am, in fact, wrung out.
I feel the way Westley (played expertly by Cary Elwes, who would later give one of the worst horror movie overacting jobs of all time in "Saw") must have felt after Prince Humperdinck turned the life sucker up to 11.
I ran almost six miles today, and while it felt good, I've realized now that I am far from out of shape. That's a different feeling. I simply am just wrung out. Jayden, for instance, today dogpiled me and laughed and jumped around and probably could have done that for five hours.
I, on the other hand, could not.
It's not just the lack of sleep, although I'm sure that's part of it. It's a complete change in my lifestyle.
I am now getting up at 6 a.m., and even when Jayden was around, I would laugh at 6 a.m. Now I do not laugh. I cringe, I cry and I cower, but I do not laugh. Then I get up.
Part of me does like the fact that it's 9:45 a.m. and I've already accomplished a lot, such as giving a twin a bottle, running, playing with Jayden, changing a diaper, showering, changing a diaper and giving a twin a bottle.
Part of me does not like this fact.
The hard thing about parenting is you know this is not something you work through, like a bad streak in poker. This is every day, baby, even on the weekends.
Pray for me.
That's why these poker tournaments are So.Much.Fun.
I've become friends with a fellow Boot Camp for New Dads instructor, and in the last year he's invited me to his group poker tournaments. So I've gotten to know a lot of the players too. They're a great bunch. Plus they can all kinda play.
So when he invited me to this next game, I said no, unless I could bring the twins.
Bring 'em, he said.
We got a sitter for Jayden and Kate and I carted the girls off. I have to admit, I felt funny bringing two little babies to an adult BBQ, but they were a hit. It was like Show-and-Tell.
We had some steak, some good conversation and I sent Kate home for a couple hours with some worn-out (and a bit overstimulated) girls.
Then we played some poker
• • •
My only complaint about the poker is the fact that the blinds are 12 minutes. Now I understand why. These people are here to have fun, not win a WSOP bracelet, and generally playing one game with 60-minute blinds isn't much fun because they aren't serious poker players.
If they have a bad game, meaning if they "don't catch cards" the first time, there's always another game.
Fortunately, I flopped two pair with K,Q and then dealt myself A-A. I got two callers on my sizable raise (you'd better raise a lot with these people or else you'll get as many callers as a 2-4 limit casino game) and they folded to my bet on the turn, so I had a decent enough stack heading into the final table.
And this brings me to my point.
It's a simple strategy point, and probably one you turbo token players are familiar with.
I check/folded that hand up above when a blank on the turn hit, leaving me just enough for the small blind.
And why did I do that?
A tiny, tiny stack was two places down.
My relative M was pretty good.
In the past I have paid too much attention to my M without considering the other stack sizes at the table. I began to pay attention stack sizes and figuring out my relative Ms once I began playing these live, fast-paced tournaments with my new friends.
A relative M is how many blind postings you can survive compared to the other short stacks at the table.
You aren't going to have a lot of monster Ms when the blinds are so big, so fast and the players are decent but not that great. Generally what happens is one luckbox usually swallows most of the chips, leaving everyone else gasping for air when the blinds hit 100/200, as they do 48 minutes into live play. You won't even make it around the table once before the blinds raise, in other words.
My goal in these things is to win first, but it's to make the money second. Last night, as one luckbox began munching most of the chips, I knew it would be tough to win. But I also knew I could make the money.
So after that A-A, I played, maybe, three hands. I got nothing worth playing, and I was fine with my chip stack. I did get K,Q in early position at the final table, but I pitched it, rightly. I got a walk in the big blind once, and my only "move" was jamming on the small blind with K,10, but it was folded to me and K,10 is favored against a random hand, so it really was a good play. He folded.
So I didn't jam with my hand, given that it would have only been a bit more to call for the two huge stacks, and the tiny stack, instead of me, would have taken third, a significant jump in the prize money.
As it stood, I got 10,7 suited in the small blind, and it held against the big stack. Later my A,7 lost to a K on the river, but I got third when the tiny stack went in and lost too.
Relative Ms, I believe, are more important than your actual M when you're in a fast-paced tournament. If you can survive at least two more rounds than at least two other players, make sure you're hand is a good one before you shove.
It's a weak way to play poker. But it also is a winning one.
You have 10-6 os and the two big stacks at the table call.
You check and the flop misses you like you, the father of twins, miss sleeping in past 6 a.m.
(Yes, you have twins now. Congratulations! Man, these poker scenarios can get crazy sometimes, eh?)
And so what did I do when the big stacks checked?
What would you do?
• • •
I am not tired in the tired sense.
I am not exhausted.
I am, in fact, wrung out.
I feel the way Westley (played expertly by Cary Elwes, who would later give one of the worst horror movie overacting jobs of all time in "Saw") must have felt after Prince Humperdinck turned the life sucker up to 11.
I ran almost six miles today, and while it felt good, I've realized now that I am far from out of shape. That's a different feeling. I simply am just wrung out. Jayden, for instance, today dogpiled me and laughed and jumped around and probably could have done that for five hours.
I, on the other hand, could not.
It's not just the lack of sleep, although I'm sure that's part of it. It's a complete change in my lifestyle.
I am now getting up at 6 a.m., and even when Jayden was around, I would laugh at 6 a.m. Now I do not laugh. I cringe, I cry and I cower, but I do not laugh. Then I get up.
Part of me does like the fact that it's 9:45 a.m. and I've already accomplished a lot, such as giving a twin a bottle, running, playing with Jayden, changing a diaper, showering, changing a diaper and giving a twin a bottle.
Part of me does not like this fact.
The hard thing about parenting is you know this is not something you work through, like a bad streak in poker. This is every day, baby, even on the weekends.
Pray for me.
That's why these poker tournaments are So.Much.Fun.
I've become friends with a fellow Boot Camp for New Dads instructor, and in the last year he's invited me to his group poker tournaments. So I've gotten to know a lot of the players too. They're a great bunch. Plus they can all kinda play.
So when he invited me to this next game, I said no, unless I could bring the twins.
Bring 'em, he said.
We got a sitter for Jayden and Kate and I carted the girls off. I have to admit, I felt funny bringing two little babies to an adult BBQ, but they were a hit. It was like Show-and-Tell.
We had some steak, some good conversation and I sent Kate home for a couple hours with some worn-out (and a bit overstimulated) girls.
Then we played some poker
• • •
My only complaint about the poker is the fact that the blinds are 12 minutes. Now I understand why. These people are here to have fun, not win a WSOP bracelet, and generally playing one game with 60-minute blinds isn't much fun because they aren't serious poker players.
If they have a bad game, meaning if they "don't catch cards" the first time, there's always another game.
Fortunately, I flopped two pair with K,Q and then dealt myself A-A. I got two callers on my sizable raise (you'd better raise a lot with these people or else you'll get as many callers as a 2-4 limit casino game) and they folded to my bet on the turn, so I had a decent enough stack heading into the final table.
And this brings me to my point.
It's a simple strategy point, and probably one you turbo token players are familiar with.
I check/folded that hand up above when a blank on the turn hit, leaving me just enough for the small blind.
And why did I do that?
A tiny, tiny stack was two places down.
My relative M was pretty good.
In the past I have paid too much attention to my M without considering the other stack sizes at the table. I began to pay attention stack sizes and figuring out my relative Ms once I began playing these live, fast-paced tournaments with my new friends.
A relative M is how many blind postings you can survive compared to the other short stacks at the table.
You aren't going to have a lot of monster Ms when the blinds are so big, so fast and the players are decent but not that great. Generally what happens is one luckbox usually swallows most of the chips, leaving everyone else gasping for air when the blinds hit 100/200, as they do 48 minutes into live play. You won't even make it around the table once before the blinds raise, in other words.
My goal in these things is to win first, but it's to make the money second. Last night, as one luckbox began munching most of the chips, I knew it would be tough to win. But I also knew I could make the money.
So after that A-A, I played, maybe, three hands. I got nothing worth playing, and I was fine with my chip stack. I did get K,Q in early position at the final table, but I pitched it, rightly. I got a walk in the big blind once, and my only "move" was jamming on the small blind with K,10, but it was folded to me and K,10 is favored against a random hand, so it really was a good play. He folded.
So I didn't jam with my hand, given that it would have only been a bit more to call for the two huge stacks, and the tiny stack, instead of me, would have taken third, a significant jump in the prize money.
As it stood, I got 10,7 suited in the small blind, and it held against the big stack. Later my A,7 lost to a K on the river, but I got third when the tiny stack went in and lost too.
Relative Ms, I believe, are more important than your actual M when you're in a fast-paced tournament. If you can survive at least two more rounds than at least two other players, make sure you're hand is a good one before you shove.
It's a weak way to play poker. But it also is a winning one.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
There ain't no cure for the post-race blues
Sunday I ran five miles.
Every step was a struggle.
I could barely maintain a 9-minute-mile pace when just a week ago I was running at 8:35 without much effort.
So what’s the difference?
One is that not sleeping as well as I should - two tiny girls have something to say about that for now - may be catching up to me.
Two is I gave blood a few days ago, and that’s literally robbing your system of oxygen. At sea level that’s a slight problem. At 5,000 feet that hurts.
Mostly, though, I’m suffering from something else.
We runners call it the post-race blues, and I think it pertains to my life, not just my running.
The Bolder/Boulder is a tough race, and my body is still feeling the effects of running hard for 50 minutes.
This, though, goes beyond effort.
Training for an event is a tricky thing when your main goal is to be fit for life. You start to see the race, the mountain, whatever, in your bathroom mirror in the morning. Skipping a workout doesn’t happen because of The Goal. You eat well, sleep well (if you can) and take care of yourself. You are focused.
And then the day comes, and then it’s over.
It’s impossible not to have a letdown.
I have other goals for the summer. I have Race for the Cure, a 5K, on July 4. I have another 10K, the Human Race, on July 28. I have several mountains I’ll be guiding this summer. But those goals are distant, and the sense of urgency isn’t there right now.
And that brings me to the twins.
A birth, especially this birth, was much like a race. We didn’t know the exact day, but we worked for it, and when it got here, we worked and worked and worked and ran and charged up hills and got up at 3 a.m. and changed a mountain of diapers.
And then, well, now we continue to do it.
Parenting doesn’t have a finish line. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any letdowns.
The girls have been so good, I’m nervously waiting for the other, Exorcist-like side, to come out. I’m wondering if they’re good only because Mom is here, and when she leaves, will chaos, instead of being kept on the sidelines, will charge off the bench. I’m wondering if I’ll be getting up at 3 a.m. for months, not weeks.
I’ve gotten an invitation to play a home game this weekend. I hope I can make it but I’m thinking I can’t. I haven’t had a good poker game with my buddies in at least a month. I haven’t even seen a movie with them. I miss them. I am wondering how long it will take for Kate to start to view our increasingly clingy and active toddler as Dennis the Menace and not our lovable little guy.
The grind, already, is getting to me a bit.
My poker game has reflected the post-race blues a bit, seesawing back and forth $25 up and down, and yet I still believe I’m playing well. I’m playing, I believe, better than ever, dumping two pairs and sets with abandon when its so obvious my opponent has drawn out on me (and that has happened FAR TOO MUCH lately). Yes, it’s possible my opponents are merely making moves on me, but this being $25 NL, I doubt it. You just don’t see it at that level. Every other time someone else has looked them up, they’ve got their third club or that made straight.
There are days when life gets drenched in the post-race blues. One thing I have learned.
It’s best to attempt to put on your running shoes, put the feet forward, and start churning away toward the next high.
So here I go.
Every step was a struggle.
I could barely maintain a 9-minute-mile pace when just a week ago I was running at 8:35 without much effort.
So what’s the difference?
One is that not sleeping as well as I should - two tiny girls have something to say about that for now - may be catching up to me.
Two is I gave blood a few days ago, and that’s literally robbing your system of oxygen. At sea level that’s a slight problem. At 5,000 feet that hurts.
Mostly, though, I’m suffering from something else.
We runners call it the post-race blues, and I think it pertains to my life, not just my running.
The Bolder/Boulder is a tough race, and my body is still feeling the effects of running hard for 50 minutes.
This, though, goes beyond effort.
Training for an event is a tricky thing when your main goal is to be fit for life. You start to see the race, the mountain, whatever, in your bathroom mirror in the morning. Skipping a workout doesn’t happen because of The Goal. You eat well, sleep well (if you can) and take care of yourself. You are focused.
And then the day comes, and then it’s over.
It’s impossible not to have a letdown.
I have other goals for the summer. I have Race for the Cure, a 5K, on July 4. I have another 10K, the Human Race, on July 28. I have several mountains I’ll be guiding this summer. But those goals are distant, and the sense of urgency isn’t there right now.
And that brings me to the twins.
A birth, especially this birth, was much like a race. We didn’t know the exact day, but we worked for it, and when it got here, we worked and worked and worked and ran and charged up hills and got up at 3 a.m. and changed a mountain of diapers.
And then, well, now we continue to do it.
Parenting doesn’t have a finish line. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any letdowns.
The girls have been so good, I’m nervously waiting for the other, Exorcist-like side, to come out. I’m wondering if they’re good only because Mom is here, and when she leaves, will chaos, instead of being kept on the sidelines, will charge off the bench. I’m wondering if I’ll be getting up at 3 a.m. for months, not weeks.
I’ve gotten an invitation to play a home game this weekend. I hope I can make it but I’m thinking I can’t. I haven’t had a good poker game with my buddies in at least a month. I haven’t even seen a movie with them. I miss them. I am wondering how long it will take for Kate to start to view our increasingly clingy and active toddler as Dennis the Menace and not our lovable little guy.
The grind, already, is getting to me a bit.
My poker game has reflected the post-race blues a bit, seesawing back and forth $25 up and down, and yet I still believe I’m playing well. I’m playing, I believe, better than ever, dumping two pairs and sets with abandon when its so obvious my opponent has drawn out on me (and that has happened FAR TOO MUCH lately). Yes, it’s possible my opponents are merely making moves on me, but this being $25 NL, I doubt it. You just don’t see it at that level. Every other time someone else has looked them up, they’ve got their third club or that made straight.
There are days when life gets drenched in the post-race blues. One thing I have learned.
It’s best to attempt to put on your running shoes, put the feet forward, and start churning away toward the next high.
So here I go.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
A weekend so bad, it made me hurl
OK, so I don't need to go through another weekend like that one for a while.
Like, maybe, NEVER.
It had so much promise. I dropped Jayden off at Grandma-ma and Granddadas and met my brother and his family for dinner at my favorite sub place (and saw my super-cute niece) and was looking forward to a longtime friend's home poker game.
I went up to the counter and confidently ordered a cheesy crab. Now, I've been in love with the Cheesy Crab since I was a freshman in college, or about 75 years ago (drum kick). I used to order it at least once a week, but it was an occasional affair, as I could only get them when I visited Lawrence, Kan.
And then...paradise. The shops chained out and even made Denver. They aren't in Greeley. Yet. So I'm still limited. But not QUITE as limited as I once was.
So I ordered my love. And the counter guy smacked my hand.
"I don't have any crab," he said. "I discontinued that. I'd only sell like one of those a week."
But...but...but...I wanted my cheesy crab!
I wound up ordering a chicken sandwhich with red sauce and quickly discovered that a sub place is only as good as a treasured item (translation, it wasn't nearly as good as the crab).
So then I thought the poker would make up for it. And it did. For a while.
Until I started to feel funny.
Wifey, Kate, had a bit o' the stomach flu earlier in the week, and I really, really thought I wouldn't get it. Ha. I started to feel worse an hour into my arrival, and then, I had to visit the restroom.
And puked and puked and puked.
Nice.
I knew I wasn't going skiing the next day. I really thought I could continue to play poker, and I did, doubling my buy-in, but after a few more minutes, I prepared myself for the miserable drive home.
I drew on every ounce of my past experiences driving home exhausted and sometimes sick after a day in the mountains, and after a stop at McDonald's and waiting 20 minutes for a Powerade after being so thirsty I would have drank from a men's room urinal, I made it home at 2 a.m. I growled at my wife and hit the sack, praying that I could hold down the drink.
I did not get up until 5 p.m. the next day.
I haven't slept through the day like that in several years. I did manage to keep down the drink, and wifey Kate fixed me some grape Jello, which I ate and then ate some chicken noodle soup. Then I played some online poker just to be up for a while.
And I troll around for an hour and make some great folds, including a fold to two pair when I was tempted to push, and I'm rewarded for my effort by getting dealt AA. I'm the last one in, so I raise, and I get one caller, and the board flops J-high.
He bets the pot, $5, and I'm convinced he has K,J or maybe J,Q. So I re-raise, he pushes, and I gladly call.
And I'm right. When the third A hits, I figured I have it.
Until the fourth club comes down, and he wins with J,K os runner, runner, runner, runner FLOOSH, which floooshes down $62 and a good portion of my Ultimate Bet profit that I had worked hard to build for the last month.
Occasionally it's very hard not to get cynical about poker, even as it's going away and I'll miss it when it does. I work hard for three weeks and see all that work get crapped away when my 9-1 favorite doesn't hold up.
What a great way to end the night.
And the weekend.
P.S. The lone highlight was reading "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. God what a great book. You must read this now.
Like, maybe, NEVER.
It had so much promise. I dropped Jayden off at Grandma-ma and Granddadas and met my brother and his family for dinner at my favorite sub place (and saw my super-cute niece) and was looking forward to a longtime friend's home poker game.
I went up to the counter and confidently ordered a cheesy crab. Now, I've been in love with the Cheesy Crab since I was a freshman in college, or about 75 years ago (drum kick). I used to order it at least once a week, but it was an occasional affair, as I could only get them when I visited Lawrence, Kan.
And then...paradise. The shops chained out and even made Denver. They aren't in Greeley. Yet. So I'm still limited. But not QUITE as limited as I once was.
So I ordered my love. And the counter guy smacked my hand.
"I don't have any crab," he said. "I discontinued that. I'd only sell like one of those a week."
But...but...but...I wanted my cheesy crab!
I wound up ordering a chicken sandwhich with red sauce and quickly discovered that a sub place is only as good as a treasured item (translation, it wasn't nearly as good as the crab).
So then I thought the poker would make up for it. And it did. For a while.
Until I started to feel funny.
Wifey, Kate, had a bit o' the stomach flu earlier in the week, and I really, really thought I wouldn't get it. Ha. I started to feel worse an hour into my arrival, and then, I had to visit the restroom.
And puked and puked and puked.
Nice.
I knew I wasn't going skiing the next day. I really thought I could continue to play poker, and I did, doubling my buy-in, but after a few more minutes, I prepared myself for the miserable drive home.
I drew on every ounce of my past experiences driving home exhausted and sometimes sick after a day in the mountains, and after a stop at McDonald's and waiting 20 minutes for a Powerade after being so thirsty I would have drank from a men's room urinal, I made it home at 2 a.m. I growled at my wife and hit the sack, praying that I could hold down the drink.
I did not get up until 5 p.m. the next day.
I haven't slept through the day like that in several years. I did manage to keep down the drink, and wifey Kate fixed me some grape Jello, which I ate and then ate some chicken noodle soup. Then I played some online poker just to be up for a while.
And I troll around for an hour and make some great folds, including a fold to two pair when I was tempted to push, and I'm rewarded for my effort by getting dealt AA. I'm the last one in, so I raise, and I get one caller, and the board flops J-high.
He bets the pot, $5, and I'm convinced he has K,J or maybe J,Q. So I re-raise, he pushes, and I gladly call.
And I'm right. When the third A hits, I figured I have it.
Until the fourth club comes down, and he wins with J,K os runner, runner, runner, runner FLOOSH, which floooshes down $62 and a good portion of my Ultimate Bet profit that I had worked hard to build for the last month.
Occasionally it's very hard not to get cynical about poker, even as it's going away and I'll miss it when it does. I work hard for three weeks and see all that work get crapped away when my 9-1 favorite doesn't hold up.
What a great way to end the night.
And the weekend.
P.S. The lone highlight was reading "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. God what a great book. You must read this now.
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