Oops.
First, bless you, TripJax, for putting this little blog in your white-hot spotlight. And I can't wait to put that banner above the blog. Man, is it cool.
And, of course, TripJax features me just as I spew forth my angriest, politicalist, bloggiest post yet. I was pissed, and blogging seems to be the cure for that, even better than smashing the little itty-bitty ants that seem to be invading my basement bathroom.
I have many people to thank for the muses (Change), the bruises (Felicia) and the schmoozes (Questy), but mostly, I have to thank TripJax, who stopped by early and often to comment on my blog and tell me to keep it up. Look to the right for the best of the best. They are my inspiration.
I will, I promise, keep it up and try to match the writing on this blog with my writing as a journalist. Here what you'll read about me if you continue to stop by:
• Yes, I'm a bit liberal, but for the most part I stay away from Rush-like rants on politics. This is supposed to be about life, poker and fun, not a weak imitation of talk radio. I won't shy away from that if I feel the need, especially if our politicos tend to keep picking on poker, but I rarely feel the need.
• My son, Jayden, is 1 and gives me and Kate our biggest adventure to date. You'll get to hear about the Continued Rampages of Jayden. Those with kids can relate. Those without can thank me for helping control the Earth's population.
• Poker. Yes, of course, poker, and what's better is I don't play $1,500 NL every night, as many of you seem to play. I play $5.50 SnGs and .50 NL. I am, as they say, low limit. So for those of you starting out, you'll get some good advice here. For those of you who played poker in Mum's womb, well, you can laugh and remember when.
• Mountain climbing and running. My other passions. Peaking. I've climbed mountains since I was 14, way before I started playing poker, so you'll get your fill, especially in the summer, when climbing season peaks, sorry for the pun.
• Life. I'm not as good as interspersing life as, say, Joe Speaker, but then again, who is? I'll do my best.
Thank you once again.
I must go now.
I've got a mountain to climb.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Play your 7,2 os while you can
Fuck you, Republicans.
I can't tell you how many times I've said that in my life. But now I'm pissed.
Look, prevent gays from marrying all you want, even though it's an incredible and just plain asinine waste of time and energy. And if you want to pick away at abortion, well, fine, whatever, let's just hope those daughters you've been ignoring your whole life don't have a little "accident" with their high school softball coach who they see as a father figure and who the softball coach sees them as "hot young chick to bang."
But why attack one of my true loves?
Why attack online poker?
Look, you bastards, I know you're supposed to appease all those SNL Church Lady types who believe that anything that doesn't have to do with watching the Hallmark Channel, reading the Bible or wearing uncomfortable wool outfits is immoral and will send us to the Ninth Circle. And I know gambling calls on Saaataaaan and that Hell is actually a casino where they play HORSE tournaments all day long and 2,7 cracks AA every time (at least I hope so, except for the 2,7 part). And, hey, it makes perfect sense to ban online poker when we still allow it in casinos and we'll still allow horse racing and lotteries.
And that's exactly the point here.
Republicans are in an election year, Bush's popularity is about at the level of mosquitoes, 100-degree days and brussel sprouts, and it looks like their only hope is to appeal to the churchy masses who have no other option but to vote Democrat. This is their way of saying, "Look, we're here for you. We'll get rid of all that nasty gambling, and then we'll work on those nudie magazines that your husband keeps under his mattress."
Well, sort of.
We'll still allow horse racing, which boggles my mind. Horse racing is gambling. Poker is a skill game. If anything, horse racing should be on the top of the list. But no. And we'll still allow the lottery. If we did that, we wouldn't make any money, would we? This is so contradictory I can't even begin to break it down. And we'll still allow live gambling, we'll just shut it down online. Now THAT makes perfect sense.
But sense has nothing to do with this bill. Republicans want it easy. They want to prove that they can scratch their conservative flock behind the ears without much of a challenge. And banning horse racing, the lottery and live gambling would be a real challenge. Casinos have power. You don't think so? Colorado just passed a statewide smoking ban. The only places that are exempt? Casinos.
So fuck you, Republicans. Try and stop me. Neteller is offshore, so you can't do anything about my EFT, I don't believe. And just try enforcing the Internet. You're doing a great job with music downloads, for example, or Internet porn. Just keep up the good work.
But you've done one thing. You've given me another reason to hate you.
And for that, I thank you.
I can't tell you how many times I've said that in my life. But now I'm pissed.
Look, prevent gays from marrying all you want, even though it's an incredible and just plain asinine waste of time and energy. And if you want to pick away at abortion, well, fine, whatever, let's just hope those daughters you've been ignoring your whole life don't have a little "accident" with their high school softball coach who they see as a father figure and who the softball coach sees them as "hot young chick to bang."
But why attack one of my true loves?
Why attack online poker?
Look, you bastards, I know you're supposed to appease all those SNL Church Lady types who believe that anything that doesn't have to do with watching the Hallmark Channel, reading the Bible or wearing uncomfortable wool outfits is immoral and will send us to the Ninth Circle. And I know gambling calls on Saaataaaan and that Hell is actually a casino where they play HORSE tournaments all day long and 2,7 cracks AA every time (at least I hope so, except for the 2,7 part). And, hey, it makes perfect sense to ban online poker when we still allow it in casinos and we'll still allow horse racing and lotteries.
And that's exactly the point here.
Republicans are in an election year, Bush's popularity is about at the level of mosquitoes, 100-degree days and brussel sprouts, and it looks like their only hope is to appeal to the churchy masses who have no other option but to vote Democrat. This is their way of saying, "Look, we're here for you. We'll get rid of all that nasty gambling, and then we'll work on those nudie magazines that your husband keeps under his mattress."
Well, sort of.
We'll still allow horse racing, which boggles my mind. Horse racing is gambling. Poker is a skill game. If anything, horse racing should be on the top of the list. But no. And we'll still allow the lottery. If we did that, we wouldn't make any money, would we? This is so contradictory I can't even begin to break it down. And we'll still allow live gambling, we'll just shut it down online. Now THAT makes perfect sense.
But sense has nothing to do with this bill. Republicans want it easy. They want to prove that they can scratch their conservative flock behind the ears without much of a challenge. And banning horse racing, the lottery and live gambling would be a real challenge. Casinos have power. You don't think so? Colorado just passed a statewide smoking ban. The only places that are exempt? Casinos.
So fuck you, Republicans. Try and stop me. Neteller is offshore, so you can't do anything about my EFT, I don't believe. And just try enforcing the Internet. You're doing a great job with music downloads, for example, or Internet porn. Just keep up the good work.
But you've done one thing. You've given me another reason to hate you.
And for that, I thank you.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Rain, rain, go the hell away
Variance, as any poker player will tell you (including this one), is a bitch.
What I'm finding out is variance doesn't just apply to poker. It applies to mountaineering as well.
Mountaineering, like poker, takes luck. The average person doesn't realize how much skill poker takes to win. But people don't also realize that how luck mountaineering takes to "win" as well.
You could debate this point, and many of my fellow mountaineers would, but I consider a summit a "win." Many are content to have a day out in the woods, and I do get some enjoyment out of that, but mostly I'm bummed if I don't get another check off my list.
And to get that checkmark, things have to go right.
You have to feel good, both the night before and during the climb, not always a given with the difficulty of mountaineering and the altitude, which is always there to put a bad beat on you if something doesn't agree with you from the night before. You have to have the right conditions, i.e. reasonably dry rock or good snow or And most importantly, the weather has to be good.
There's nothing you can do about the last one. All the dances, prayers and obessions over checking the weather page 20 times a day won't help. You just have to be lucky.
This year, I have not been lucky.
At all.
In fact, I'm in the weather equivalent of a losing streak.
I returned a few hours ago from a climb up Mount Audubon, a 13er in the Indian Peak range. I took a group from a Fort Collins fitness club, Miramont, as a part of my new part-time job this summer. I will lead them on three hikes, including Saturday's, and including two 14ers, Quandary and Elbert.
I was soaked.
I was soggier than a kid's sugar cereal during Saturday morning cartoons.
Oh, boy, did that shower feel good. Funny how getting wet again is the best cure for getting soaked all day.
We did make the peak. Unbelieveably, we made the peak, despite the heavy sleet and scraping winds near the top. We walked through a fog so thick someone disappeared if they walked just a few feet away.
Last Saturday, as I already wrote, my attempt up Ice Mountain wasn't much better, despite being in position to make the summit by noon.
I'm doing everything I should. I'm getting up way too early to summit the peak early in the morning, before the afternoon thunderstorms hit.
But, as in poker, sometimes you can do everything right and still lose to variance.
Variance, after all, is a bitch.
The best thing to do, of course, is to push through it and hope that my luck continues.
Or just hope, a little bit, anyway, that variance decided to take on something else besides my mountaineering.
Hey, variance, my bankroll is pretty fat right now.
Let's work out a chop.
What I'm finding out is variance doesn't just apply to poker. It applies to mountaineering as well.
Mountaineering, like poker, takes luck. The average person doesn't realize how much skill poker takes to win. But people don't also realize that how luck mountaineering takes to "win" as well.
You could debate this point, and many of my fellow mountaineers would, but I consider a summit a "win." Many are content to have a day out in the woods, and I do get some enjoyment out of that, but mostly I'm bummed if I don't get another check off my list.
And to get that checkmark, things have to go right.
You have to feel good, both the night before and during the climb, not always a given with the difficulty of mountaineering and the altitude, which is always there to put a bad beat on you if something doesn't agree with you from the night before. You have to have the right conditions, i.e. reasonably dry rock or good snow or And most importantly, the weather has to be good.
There's nothing you can do about the last one. All the dances, prayers and obessions over checking the weather page 20 times a day won't help. You just have to be lucky.
This year, I have not been lucky.
At all.
In fact, I'm in the weather equivalent of a losing streak.
I returned a few hours ago from a climb up Mount Audubon, a 13er in the Indian Peak range. I took a group from a Fort Collins fitness club, Miramont, as a part of my new part-time job this summer. I will lead them on three hikes, including Saturday's, and including two 14ers, Quandary and Elbert.
I was soaked.
I was soggier than a kid's sugar cereal during Saturday morning cartoons.
Oh, boy, did that shower feel good. Funny how getting wet again is the best cure for getting soaked all day.
We did make the peak. Unbelieveably, we made the peak, despite the heavy sleet and scraping winds near the top. We walked through a fog so thick someone disappeared if they walked just a few feet away.
Last Saturday, as I already wrote, my attempt up Ice Mountain wasn't much better, despite being in position to make the summit by noon.
I'm doing everything I should. I'm getting up way too early to summit the peak early in the morning, before the afternoon thunderstorms hit.
But, as in poker, sometimes you can do everything right and still lose to variance.
Variance, after all, is a bitch.
The best thing to do, of course, is to push through it and hope that my luck continues.
Or just hope, a little bit, anyway, that variance decided to take on something else besides my mountaineering.
Hey, variance, my bankroll is pretty fat right now.
Let's work out a chop.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Racing for myself (and for a cure)
I love the 4th of July and Thanksgiving in Greeley. They happen to be the best two races in Greeley.
I did Race for the Cure, and I shattered my personal best in a 5K, running 22:36, or a 7:17 pace. It beat my personal best by 30 seconds, which in a race is something like
I'm thrilled with the time. I was really hoping for under 23 minutes but wasn't too confident heading into the race. It was my first 5K of the year and I didn't exactly stomp up the mountain Saturday.
But I really felt good in the first mile, felt OK enough in the second, all uphill, and then had just enough to get through the third.
5Ks don't really challenge my endurance, but man o man, they can be painful because you have to run so fast. I almost puked at the end but walked around just enough to help it pass before I passed my breakfast.
It's for a great cause, too, a cure for breast cancer. My mother had breast cancer a couple years ago and had surgery but did not need any other treatments. She was lucky. I have to admit, I thought of her more than once, glad for the ability to feel this kind of pain and push myself beyond what I thought was possible. Some don't get that chance until it's too late.
Have a great 4th!!!
P.S. Yep. Poker continues to go well.
I did Race for the Cure, and I shattered my personal best in a 5K, running 22:36, or a 7:17 pace. It beat my personal best by 30 seconds, which in a race is something like
I'm thrilled with the time. I was really hoping for under 23 minutes but wasn't too confident heading into the race. It was my first 5K of the year and I didn't exactly stomp up the mountain Saturday.
But I really felt good in the first mile, felt OK enough in the second, all uphill, and then had just enough to get through the third.
5Ks don't really challenge my endurance, but man o man, they can be painful because you have to run so fast. I almost puked at the end but walked around just enough to help it pass before I passed my breakfast.
It's for a great cause, too, a cure for breast cancer. My mother had breast cancer a couple years ago and had surgery but did not need any other treatments. She was lucky. I have to admit, I thought of her more than once, glad for the ability to feel this kind of pain and push myself beyond what I thought was possible. Some don't get that chance until it's too late.
Have a great 4th!!!
P.S. Yep. Poker continues to go well.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Ice Mountain - A cold-hearted slave
Editor's note: This is the "peaking" section of my poker/peaker blog. You'll see a few more like these as the summer goes on. They have nothing to do with poker. If you can't stand that, go deal yourself AA and watch a rerun of "Poker Superstars III" while I post this.
P.S. OK. Poker continues to go well in the cash games. I was down $25 Saturday but finished up $40 playing mostly .25 NL.
There. Happy?
Mountain: North Apostle (and Ice Mountain attempt)
Feet: 13,840
Date: 7/1/06
People: Mike Schumacher and Dan England
I’m starting on my quest for the Centennials and my partner for the day, Mike Schumacher, and I thought Ice Mountain would be a good preview for our planned trip up Dallas with Ryan Kowalski and possibly Piper.
Mike planned to camp at the South Winfield trailhead, while I didn’t want to fight the 4th of July traffic and all the yahoos planning to fish and drink Milller High Life, so I opted to roll out of bed at 1:45 a.m. and get on my way at 2 a.m.
The good news: At 2 a.m., even I-25 is empty, for the most part.
The bad news: It’s 2 a.m.
Fortunately I had Pearl Jam’s new album to help keep me alert, as well as the best of Sade (an underrated pop artist) and an icky Power Bar and Banana and tea. I arrived at the trailhead at 5:45 a.m. and met up with Mike, where we bounced our way to the start on the 4WD road.
The weather forecast didn’t look all that great, a 40 percent chance or greater for storms, but the sky was clear and sunny when we started. I wore just a fleece top and pants.
The trail was fine, save for the trees and plants swiping us with water on the way. By the time we got to the Apostle Basin and Lake Ann junction, my pants were soaked, an omen for the day ahead.
We crossed the huge log and then the icy logs written about by Mark Fisher, who wrote a much more detailed trip report than I will (I’ve got a story to write after this). We used that one most of the way.
We arrived at a basin right after the icy logs across the creek and Mike found a game trail to the left of the basin up a steep slope. Fisher apparently bushwacked through willows to the right up the hill. You could go both ways, but the trail we found was fairly nice and somewhat easy to follow. It spit us out above treeline, right under the slope where you want to start heading up to the saddle between North and Ice.
It’s a straightforward trip over crappy loose rock once you get beyond the few hundred feet of tundra that follow up a small lake. I struggled over it all day, as it was my first time out for the summer season, while Mike, who has already been out many times this year and just spent a week in Chicago Basin, looked like Peter Pan, flying over the rocks and leaving me in the dust.
I really believe I’m in good shape - I ran the Bolder Boulder in 50 minutes - but these guys from 14erworld are stomping all over me. Am I getting older? Is it because I have a baby now? I do think I performed all right but I”m getting tired of not keeping up.
Anyway, we made to the saddle, looked up and, almost like magic, a cloud appeared before us, building by the second. Mike and I decided to go for North and see how it would play out.
We made it to the top of North about 11 a.m. while the skies got worse. Ah, so THAT’S why the forecast didn’t look good.
By the time we made it back to the saddle, I had heard a couple of thunder claps in the far distance and it looked black to the right of us. Crap. We were less than 300 feet from the top of Ice but it wasn’t going to happen today.
In the past, this would disappoint me. It still did, but instead of arguing with Mike for a try at Ice, as I might have in the past, I knew he was right and started heading down with him. In fact, I never considered it. I’ve got more important things at home now, waiting for me, and I can’t risk it.
Mike and I started to head down and picked up the pace a bit as the lightning got closer and closer and it started to dump little pellets of ice on us.
There was still enough snow for a couple short glissades, so we took advantage. (The Fridge, by the way, still looked to be in great shape), and by the time the lighting was less than a mile away, we were close to treeline. Once we got through the trees, it was raining, or rather sleeting, pretty hard, and we wound up getting pretty soaked.
We made it back to the car wet but I was happy for the day. It was great to hike with Mike and we did get a peak in.
My climbing season has begun. I just hope it improves.
P.S. OK. Poker continues to go well in the cash games. I was down $25 Saturday but finished up $40 playing mostly .25 NL.
There. Happy?
Mountain: North Apostle (and Ice Mountain attempt)
Feet: 13,840
Date: 7/1/06
People: Mike Schumacher and Dan England
I’m starting on my quest for the Centennials and my partner for the day, Mike Schumacher, and I thought Ice Mountain would be a good preview for our planned trip up Dallas with Ryan Kowalski and possibly Piper.
Mike planned to camp at the South Winfield trailhead, while I didn’t want to fight the 4th of July traffic and all the yahoos planning to fish and drink Milller High Life, so I opted to roll out of bed at 1:45 a.m. and get on my way at 2 a.m.
The good news: At 2 a.m., even I-25 is empty, for the most part.
The bad news: It’s 2 a.m.
Fortunately I had Pearl Jam’s new album to help keep me alert, as well as the best of Sade (an underrated pop artist) and an icky Power Bar and Banana and tea. I arrived at the trailhead at 5:45 a.m. and met up with Mike, where we bounced our way to the start on the 4WD road.
The weather forecast didn’t look all that great, a 40 percent chance or greater for storms, but the sky was clear and sunny when we started. I wore just a fleece top and pants.
The trail was fine, save for the trees and plants swiping us with water on the way. By the time we got to the Apostle Basin and Lake Ann junction, my pants were soaked, an omen for the day ahead.
We crossed the huge log and then the icy logs written about by Mark Fisher, who wrote a much more detailed trip report than I will (I’ve got a story to write after this). We used that one most of the way.
We arrived at a basin right after the icy logs across the creek and Mike found a game trail to the left of the basin up a steep slope. Fisher apparently bushwacked through willows to the right up the hill. You could go both ways, but the trail we found was fairly nice and somewhat easy to follow. It spit us out above treeline, right under the slope where you want to start heading up to the saddle between North and Ice.
It’s a straightforward trip over crappy loose rock once you get beyond the few hundred feet of tundra that follow up a small lake. I struggled over it all day, as it was my first time out for the summer season, while Mike, who has already been out many times this year and just spent a week in Chicago Basin, looked like Peter Pan, flying over the rocks and leaving me in the dust.
I really believe I’m in good shape - I ran the Bolder Boulder in 50 minutes - but these guys from 14erworld are stomping all over me. Am I getting older? Is it because I have a baby now? I do think I performed all right but I”m getting tired of not keeping up.
Anyway, we made to the saddle, looked up and, almost like magic, a cloud appeared before us, building by the second. Mike and I decided to go for North and see how it would play out.
We made it to the top of North about 11 a.m. while the skies got worse. Ah, so THAT’S why the forecast didn’t look good.
By the time we made it back to the saddle, I had heard a couple of thunder claps in the far distance and it looked black to the right of us. Crap. We were less than 300 feet from the top of Ice but it wasn’t going to happen today.
In the past, this would disappoint me. It still did, but instead of arguing with Mike for a try at Ice, as I might have in the past, I knew he was right and started heading down with him. In fact, I never considered it. I’ve got more important things at home now, waiting for me, and I can’t risk it.
Mike and I started to head down and picked up the pace a bit as the lightning got closer and closer and it started to dump little pellets of ice on us.
There was still enough snow for a couple short glissades, so we took advantage. (The Fridge, by the way, still looked to be in great shape), and by the time the lighting was less than a mile away, we were close to treeline. Once we got through the trees, it was raining, or rather sleeting, pretty hard, and we wound up getting pretty soaked.
We made it back to the car wet but I was happy for the day. It was great to hike with Mike and we did get a peak in.
My climbing season has begun. I just hope it improves.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Thoughts stuck in my brain cells
I'm hoping by letting these out of my brain, my head won't feel so tight, and I'll be able to sleep better at night:
• Five questions:
1) Do I have the worst hair in the world? Metrosexual I am not. At least it's not a mullet anymore from my high school days.
Still, it ain't good.
2) Is Pandora the coolest Web site ever?
3) Is "High Stakes Poker" the best poker show on TV?
4) Don't you love poker players who raise just the minimum all night long?
5) Is this format as annoying to read as it is to write?
***
I smell a losing streak coming. I've had a very good run in these last two months, with 11 of my last 12 weeks posting significant wins (and the one losing week was like $1 off), so I know variance is lurking around the corner, knife in hand, ready to slash my bankroll like a naked teenager in a "Friday the 13th" sequel. So far I've avoided her greedy little claws, but lately I've had some terrible beats in my SnGs, far too many suckouts to mention, and even my cash game is starting to get pecked at by dominated hands who find two pairs on the rivers under the shit in their outhouse.
I'll stick to my game as much as I can and hope variance decides that I'm far too nice to hurt (and that my tiny little bankroll isn't worth the trouble - there are people who have thousands, even tens of thousands, in their bankroll, variance. I'm a low-calorie meal. Honest.)
Editor's note: Two hours after I post that, my AA loses to 3,3 and K,K when they push me all in and they BOTH get sets, the 3s on the flop, the K on the turn. Oops. Losing week, here we come. OK, variance, fine, nibble on my bones, if you must.
***
I need to sorta apologize to Iakaris by saying I didn't really love his writing style on TripJax's Web site. Too much is probably too much, but I do love his voice.
He responded very well, by leaving a nice comment on this poor, little, comment-starved blog of mine.
Although a feud would have been kinda cool.
A blogging feud.
Yeah.
Or kinda geeky.
***
So I'm heading up Ice Mountain this weekend. Ice Mountain is a tough, tricky and somewhat dangerous peak near Winfield, CO. In the past, I looked forward to these challenges, even relished them, but now, I find myself hesitating a bit. Why do I continue to do these peaks when I've got Jayden waiting for me at home?
It's not the time away. God knowsI need it. It's the danger.
I can't completely change who I am, and even with the danger, the chances of me being killed are less than 1 percent.
Still, I"ve lost three hands this week when I was a 9-1 favorite.
All three times, they knocked me out.
Makes you wonder.
***
Finally, as I sort of alluded to earlier, my cash game seems to be going better than my tournaments right now. I'm bonus whoring, so I'm totally fine with that, but I wonder.
I also wonder if I'm aggressive enough in cash games.
What are your starting hand requirements? Mine tend to be pretty tight, especially if there's a raise out there.
That's your homework.
• Five questions:
1) Do I have the worst hair in the world? Metrosexual I am not. At least it's not a mullet anymore from my high school days.
Still, it ain't good.
2) Is Pandora the coolest Web site ever?
3) Is "High Stakes Poker" the best poker show on TV?
4) Don't you love poker players who raise just the minimum all night long?
5) Is this format as annoying to read as it is to write?
***
I smell a losing streak coming. I've had a very good run in these last two months, with 11 of my last 12 weeks posting significant wins (and the one losing week was like $1 off), so I know variance is lurking around the corner, knife in hand, ready to slash my bankroll like a naked teenager in a "Friday the 13th" sequel. So far I've avoided her greedy little claws, but lately I've had some terrible beats in my SnGs, far too many suckouts to mention, and even my cash game is starting to get pecked at by dominated hands who find two pairs on the rivers under the shit in their outhouse.
I'll stick to my game as much as I can and hope variance decides that I'm far too nice to hurt (and that my tiny little bankroll isn't worth the trouble - there are people who have thousands, even tens of thousands, in their bankroll, variance. I'm a low-calorie meal. Honest.)
Editor's note: Two hours after I post that, my AA loses to 3,3 and K,K when they push me all in and they BOTH get sets, the 3s on the flop, the K on the turn. Oops. Losing week, here we come. OK, variance, fine, nibble on my bones, if you must.
***
I need to sorta apologize to Iakaris by saying I didn't really love his writing style on TripJax's Web site. Too much is probably too much, but I do love his voice.
He responded very well, by leaving a nice comment on this poor, little, comment-starved blog of mine.
Although a feud would have been kinda cool.
A blogging feud.
Yeah.
Or kinda geeky.
***
So I'm heading up Ice Mountain this weekend. Ice Mountain is a tough, tricky and somewhat dangerous peak near Winfield, CO. In the past, I looked forward to these challenges, even relished them, but now, I find myself hesitating a bit. Why do I continue to do these peaks when I've got Jayden waiting for me at home?
It's not the time away. God knowsI need it. It's the danger.
I can't completely change who I am, and even with the danger, the chances of me being killed are less than 1 percent.
Still, I"ve lost three hands this week when I was a 9-1 favorite.
All three times, they knocked me out.
Makes you wonder.
***
Finally, as I sort of alluded to earlier, my cash game seems to be going better than my tournaments right now. I'm bonus whoring, so I'm totally fine with that, but I wonder.
I also wonder if I'm aggressive enough in cash games.
What are your starting hand requirements? Mine tend to be pretty tight, especially if there's a raise out there.
That's your homework.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
A year to celebrate
Whew.
Presents are scattered about the living room, a mostly-munched tray of baked beans sits on the stove, and Jayden is sacked out in his crib, snoring for one of the first times in his life.
I'm seriously considering joining him.
Instead I'm down here, playing poker on a late Saturday afternoon, after Jayden's first birthday party.
I told Kate it felt like our wedding, and she laughed and agreed before collapsing on the couch. There were so many friends and family members, so many we wanted to talk to and yet we were so busy with everything we barely had time to sit and eat.
Funny. That's how our life has felt, to some degree, since he was born.
It's been an amazing experience, more than I ever thought it would, and I'd like to share a column I wrote for the paper here, at www.greeleytribune.com. I am the Adventure editor and entertainment reporter and projects editor (that's a lot of titles!), but I also enjoy writing columns about Jayden from time to time.
Here you go:
ust work through the baby stuff, I thought when Kate told me she was pregnant, and everything will be all right.
They say you are never really ready to have kids. It's true. I certainly wasn't even as we drove to the emergency room after Kate's water broke just a couple of hours before June 25, 2005.
The sky flashed colors I'd never seen before, even during my many mountaineering adventures. Lightning speared through the sky, flashing through the night and making the clouds explode. There was no rain, nor wind, only the constant sparking of the so-called "heat" lightning, nature's own fireworks display two weeks before our own meager attempts during the Fourth of July weekend.
The sky was in chaos.
How appropriate, I thought, a perfect metaphor for what my life was going to become in just another 24 hours.
When I thought of kids, I shuddered at the wisecracks, the power struggles and the late-night discussions about doing something with your life. I stuttered when parents told me about weekends lost to baseball, soccer and football games. But threats of diapers, sleepless nights, screaming, puking on new shirts and hours of free time snatched away simply made me shake.
Just work through the baby stuff, I told myself, and then you can enjoy Jayden.
I was actually looking forward to the delivery and my last few hours of freedom.
Jayden, and Kate, had other ideas.
Kate was looking forward to the hospital for months, and not just because she would finally shed what felt like a sack of rocks from her belly. She was ready for kids. Kids were a dream of hers. She would love the baby stuff. She wanted to breast feed. I think she wanted the diapers. And the late nights? In fact, she might enjoy them.
Me? I had a plan.
I would, at times, stuff Kleenex up my nose to avoid the smell of diapers. I would watch him in the afternoons at first, when I was home from work, because he napped in the afternoons and was much quieter then. I would walk around with him when he cried and take him outside, hoping that the view of the mountains would calm him down as much as it did me.
I would go back to work and relish the days apart from the crying. And, finally, Mom would come out to visit, and I would take four days to climb three of the last four 14ers I had to complete my goal of climbing them all.
I would focus on that trip during the tough times.
I would work through the baby stuff.
But, as I said, Jayden had other ideas. He came quickly, just six hours after we entered the hospital, and it would have been even faster, had Kate not wanted an epidural (which, by the way, I was completely fine with after she nearly broke my fingers during one especially gnarly contraction).
I let the nurse give him his first bath, but I was there. I changed the first diaper, a mess of what they call meconium, but I left the Kleenex on the table. I walked around with him when he cried.
Then, on the second day, as he screamed, I spoke.
I'm here, I said.
He stopped his screaming at the sound of my voice and opened his eyes and looked at me.
Oh. Hello.
He was my son.
And he knew it.
Since then, I have spent many happy days with Jayden. I have laughed with him, played with him and just about burst with love every time he's smiled at me, which, I'm proud to say, has numbered in the thousands.
Jayden will be a year old next Sunday. He babbles and sometimes says, "Da Da," though I'm still not convinced he knows what he's saying. He shares our meals now, at times grabbing my shake out of my hand and planting his lips on my straw before I can protest. He can stand on his own and has even taken a step or two.
He is close to becoming a little boy.
I never lived up to my plan.
I will miss the baby stuff. Terribly.
But that's just something I'll have to work through.
Presents are scattered about the living room, a mostly-munched tray of baked beans sits on the stove, and Jayden is sacked out in his crib, snoring for one of the first times in his life.
I'm seriously considering joining him.
Instead I'm down here, playing poker on a late Saturday afternoon, after Jayden's first birthday party.
I told Kate it felt like our wedding, and she laughed and agreed before collapsing on the couch. There were so many friends and family members, so many we wanted to talk to and yet we were so busy with everything we barely had time to sit and eat.
Funny. That's how our life has felt, to some degree, since he was born.
It's been an amazing experience, more than I ever thought it would, and I'd like to share a column I wrote for the paper here, at www.greeleytribune.com. I am the Adventure editor and entertainment reporter and projects editor (that's a lot of titles!), but I also enjoy writing columns about Jayden from time to time.
Here you go:
ust work through the baby stuff, I thought when Kate told me she was pregnant, and everything will be all right.
They say you are never really ready to have kids. It's true. I certainly wasn't even as we drove to the emergency room after Kate's water broke just a couple of hours before June 25, 2005.
The sky flashed colors I'd never seen before, even during my many mountaineering adventures. Lightning speared through the sky, flashing through the night and making the clouds explode. There was no rain, nor wind, only the constant sparking of the so-called "heat" lightning, nature's own fireworks display two weeks before our own meager attempts during the Fourth of July weekend.
The sky was in chaos.
How appropriate, I thought, a perfect metaphor for what my life was going to become in just another 24 hours.
When I thought of kids, I shuddered at the wisecracks, the power struggles and the late-night discussions about doing something with your life. I stuttered when parents told me about weekends lost to baseball, soccer and football games. But threats of diapers, sleepless nights, screaming, puking on new shirts and hours of free time snatched away simply made me shake.
Just work through the baby stuff, I told myself, and then you can enjoy Jayden.
I was actually looking forward to the delivery and my last few hours of freedom.
Jayden, and Kate, had other ideas.
Kate was looking forward to the hospital for months, and not just because she would finally shed what felt like a sack of rocks from her belly. She was ready for kids. Kids were a dream of hers. She would love the baby stuff. She wanted to breast feed. I think she wanted the diapers. And the late nights? In fact, she might enjoy them.
Me? I had a plan.
I would, at times, stuff Kleenex up my nose to avoid the smell of diapers. I would watch him in the afternoons at first, when I was home from work, because he napped in the afternoons and was much quieter then. I would walk around with him when he cried and take him outside, hoping that the view of the mountains would calm him down as much as it did me.
I would go back to work and relish the days apart from the crying. And, finally, Mom would come out to visit, and I would take four days to climb three of the last four 14ers I had to complete my goal of climbing them all.
I would focus on that trip during the tough times.
I would work through the baby stuff.
But, as I said, Jayden had other ideas. He came quickly, just six hours after we entered the hospital, and it would have been even faster, had Kate not wanted an epidural (which, by the way, I was completely fine with after she nearly broke my fingers during one especially gnarly contraction).
I let the nurse give him his first bath, but I was there. I changed the first diaper, a mess of what they call meconium, but I left the Kleenex on the table. I walked around with him when he cried.
Then, on the second day, as he screamed, I spoke.
I'm here, I said.
He stopped his screaming at the sound of my voice and opened his eyes and looked at me.
Oh. Hello.
He was my son.
And he knew it.
Since then, I have spent many happy days with Jayden. I have laughed with him, played with him and just about burst with love every time he's smiled at me, which, I'm proud to say, has numbered in the thousands.
Jayden will be a year old next Sunday. He babbles and sometimes says, "Da Da," though I'm still not convinced he knows what he's saying. He shares our meals now, at times grabbing my shake out of my hand and planting his lips on my straw before I can protest. He can stand on his own and has even taken a step or two.
He is close to becoming a little boy.
I never lived up to my plan.
I will miss the baby stuff. Terribly.
But that's just something I'll have to work through.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Paradise Island?
I took many lessons away from my trip to Hawaii. But probably the most important is paradise comes in many different forms.
Even though I had to continually ask my wife for the date we were leaving, I was looking forward to this trip for months.
It’s Hawaii, man! White sandy beaches! Aqua-blue water! Women with leis around their necks!
But instead of Hawaii, we got Waikiki, a medicore time-share with a 20-minute walk to the beach, a semi-sketchy part of town and more tourism than Branson. Seriously, this place made Vegas look as non-threatening as a garage sale. Everywhere you turned, people were trying to sell you stuff. Cheesy dinner cruises. 7 T-shirts for $20. “Aloha” shirts for $15, in patterns that were replicated throughout the dozens of cheap stands that dotted the landscape like the moles on your grandmother.
You can only dodge so many of these angles, especially when you’re traveling with in-laws. I learned something about myself on this trip. I am not a touristy guy. Every vacation I’ve ever taken, except for my Honeymoon, involved some sort of adventure, usually up a mountain. Relaxing on a beach is not my thing. A dinner cruise is not my thing. Hell, even parasailing struck me as a bit boring, and I thought that was one of the highlights of the trip.
So, given that, this trip report may seem like a bunch of poodle-prissy whining about my POOR trip to Hawaii, but like I said, paradise comes in many forms.
The mediocrity, and the tasteless tourism of the place, were magnified severely by the fact that this was the first time Kate and I had spent more than a day away from Jayden since he was born about a year ago,and I missed him bad, way more than I thought I would. He had taken a few steps and seemed to be getting ready to walk right when we left. I was already regretting missing the milestone that was sure to come. At least I got to see the first few steps before we climbed into our plane with what seemed like 1,500 other passengers.
And I was traveling with my in-laws. Maybe you love your in-lawns. I don’t mind mine. I could have done much, much worse. They are nice, kind, friendly people who paid for our trip.
But holding conversations about farts, what we were gonna eat tonight for dinner and the weather is not what I would call an intellectually stimulating conversation, and after holding these conversations for a week, I could actually feel my brain start to wiggle and wobble like a Jello surprise. Yes, I am a bit of an intellictual snob, and that’s a problem.
But Kate’s family is also a problem. Kate’s family is why there are TGIF’s, Chili’s and McDonalds on every corner. I suggested we eat at a local fish place one night - they were offering lobster and shrimp and other dishes for $11.95, a pretty good deal - and Kate’s brother, instead, went to...Chili’s. In Hawaii. There were so many instances like this, that I found myself stewing at the end of the week about them. They spent one day inside, all day, for instance, watching the Hallmark Channel.
“If that’s what they want to do, that’s fine,” Kate’s push-button answer was to all my observations.
Well, no, the problem is this attitude feeds into why beautiful places like this are turned into spots that look like my town of Greeley, CO and other spots that look like a carnival stand. Here’s a quote, a perfect quote, from a NY times article I read on vacation last week: “As anyone who has flown over the monocultured American heartland will attest, we have carried out a policy of biiological purification with theorganisms we eat - an elimination of the random in favor of the predictable.”
OK, so there were some highlights. Snorkling at a preserve was awesome. The hiking was reasonably good, even if their “mountain,” Diamond Head, took me 20 minutes to climb and did not have a spot on it that wasn’t guarded by a handrail (I chuckled at the “I Climbed Diamond Head T-Shirts”). Later that week we went on a waterfall hike through a rainforest that was short but beautiful. And I got to read actual books, something I hadn’t done much of since Jayden was born. “Positively Fifth Street” is a great, great read, and if you haven’t read it, stop wasting your time with this blog and pick it up today.
But perhaps the best part of this vacation was, in fact, perhaps the best part of my mountaineering trips. It made me appreciate what I have at home. I ran in the door and gave Jayden about 1,000 hugs and kisses.
He had,in fact, started to walk when he was gone and learned how to play Patty Cake. He also seemed to really enjoy being around me and Kate, which was nice and reaffirming at the same time.
That night, I played softball again, spent hours with Jayden and had a nice dinner with Mom, who watched him all week. Then I went downstairs and finally, oh man, finally, got to play poker again.
Paradise comes in many forms. Home, I’ve found, seems to be the best.
Even though I had to continually ask my wife for the date we were leaving, I was looking forward to this trip for months.
It’s Hawaii, man! White sandy beaches! Aqua-blue water! Women with leis around their necks!
But instead of Hawaii, we got Waikiki, a medicore time-share with a 20-minute walk to the beach, a semi-sketchy part of town and more tourism than Branson. Seriously, this place made Vegas look as non-threatening as a garage sale. Everywhere you turned, people were trying to sell you stuff. Cheesy dinner cruises. 7 T-shirts for $20. “Aloha” shirts for $15, in patterns that were replicated throughout the dozens of cheap stands that dotted the landscape like the moles on your grandmother.
You can only dodge so many of these angles, especially when you’re traveling with in-laws. I learned something about myself on this trip. I am not a touristy guy. Every vacation I’ve ever taken, except for my Honeymoon, involved some sort of adventure, usually up a mountain. Relaxing on a beach is not my thing. A dinner cruise is not my thing. Hell, even parasailing struck me as a bit boring, and I thought that was one of the highlights of the trip.
So, given that, this trip report may seem like a bunch of poodle-prissy whining about my POOR trip to Hawaii, but like I said, paradise comes in many forms.
The mediocrity, and the tasteless tourism of the place, were magnified severely by the fact that this was the first time Kate and I had spent more than a day away from Jayden since he was born about a year ago,and I missed him bad, way more than I thought I would. He had taken a few steps and seemed to be getting ready to walk right when we left. I was already regretting missing the milestone that was sure to come. At least I got to see the first few steps before we climbed into our plane with what seemed like 1,500 other passengers.
And I was traveling with my in-laws. Maybe you love your in-lawns. I don’t mind mine. I could have done much, much worse. They are nice, kind, friendly people who paid for our trip.
But holding conversations about farts, what we were gonna eat tonight for dinner and the weather is not what I would call an intellectually stimulating conversation, and after holding these conversations for a week, I could actually feel my brain start to wiggle and wobble like a Jello surprise. Yes, I am a bit of an intellictual snob, and that’s a problem.
But Kate’s family is also a problem. Kate’s family is why there are TGIF’s, Chili’s and McDonalds on every corner. I suggested we eat at a local fish place one night - they were offering lobster and shrimp and other dishes for $11.95, a pretty good deal - and Kate’s brother, instead, went to...Chili’s. In Hawaii. There were so many instances like this, that I found myself stewing at the end of the week about them. They spent one day inside, all day, for instance, watching the Hallmark Channel.
“If that’s what they want to do, that’s fine,” Kate’s push-button answer was to all my observations.
Well, no, the problem is this attitude feeds into why beautiful places like this are turned into spots that look like my town of Greeley, CO and other spots that look like a carnival stand. Here’s a quote, a perfect quote, from a NY times article I read on vacation last week: “As anyone who has flown over the monocultured American heartland will attest, we have carried out a policy of biiological purification with theorganisms we eat - an elimination of the random in favor of the predictable.”
OK, so there were some highlights. Snorkling at a preserve was awesome. The hiking was reasonably good, even if their “mountain,” Diamond Head, took me 20 minutes to climb and did not have a spot on it that wasn’t guarded by a handrail (I chuckled at the “I Climbed Diamond Head T-Shirts”). Later that week we went on a waterfall hike through a rainforest that was short but beautiful. And I got to read actual books, something I hadn’t done much of since Jayden was born. “Positively Fifth Street” is a great, great read, and if you haven’t read it, stop wasting your time with this blog and pick it up today.
But perhaps the best part of this vacation was, in fact, perhaps the best part of my mountaineering trips. It made me appreciate what I have at home. I ran in the door and gave Jayden about 1,000 hugs and kisses.
He had,in fact, started to walk when he was gone and learned how to play Patty Cake. He also seemed to really enjoy being around me and Kate, which was nice and reaffirming at the same time.
That night, I played softball again, spent hours with Jayden and had a nice dinner with Mom, who watched him all week. Then I went downstairs and finally, oh man, finally, got to play poker again.
Paradise comes in many forms. Home, I’ve found, seems to be the best.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Aloha for now
Don't worry, I'm only going away for a week.
Signs that perhaps you are playing too much poker or may even be kinda-sorta addicted to the game:
• You mumble in your sleep "can't believe that guy called my brilliant bluff with a pair of 4s."
• You start to feel edgy when there's not a poker show on TV. What the hell am I gonna watch now?
• You are going to Hawaii, and you aren't looking forward to it as much as you should because you won't get to play poker for more than a week.
I'm guilty of all three (at least I think so on the first, Kate claimed that I mumbled that last night but I think she was joking).
I'm heading to Hawaii Monday for the first time. I haven't really spoken about it here much, mostly because I didn't want to brag, but also because people make assumptions that when you're going there for a vacation, you must be rich.
I'm far from rich. Kate's parents have a time share and paid for our plane tickets. So we're lucky in the sense that for a week we get to live like we belong on "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous," even though we really belong on the show "Lifestyles of the Lower Middle Class" ("for breakfast he eats Frosted Flakes, for lunch hot dogs and for dinner...chicken fingers with a special kind of honey mustard, the kind normally bought for salads").
The trip has me a little antsy. It's the first time we'll spend any extended time away from the little guy. He's almost a year old, and just today, Jayden cried when I walked away from the cart to get a box of mac and cheese, even though my mother, who will stay with him a week, was right there.
It makes you realize how much they rely on you, even though he seems to be favoring Kate at the moment. I hope he does all right, even though I know he'll be fine. I hope he doesn't miss us too badly, even though I'm not sure he has the capacity to miss us at all. I hope I don't miss him so much that I don't have a good time in Paradise Island, or that Kate doesn't cry every minute of every day, even though it might feel good to feel like adults again.
But I also know I'll miss poker. I can't believe how much it's become a part of my life. It's now one of my passions, which include writing, mountain climbing, running, music and college basketball. And it's going well lately. I've had winning weeks in nine of the last 10, but that's not as important as the light that is starting to illuminate my dim cellar of a poker mind. I'm reading hands, reading players and reading situations better than ever.
A week away might be a good thing however. I plan to bring some poker books - don't worry, I'll do other things than read poker books while I'm in Hawaii - and maybe study the game a bit on the plane.
Everyone needs a vacation. Even from a fun yet addicting pastime that poker has become.
Signs that perhaps you are playing too much poker or may even be kinda-sorta addicted to the game:
• You mumble in your sleep "can't believe that guy called my brilliant bluff with a pair of 4s."
• You start to feel edgy when there's not a poker show on TV. What the hell am I gonna watch now?
• You are going to Hawaii, and you aren't looking forward to it as much as you should because you won't get to play poker for more than a week.
I'm guilty of all three (at least I think so on the first, Kate claimed that I mumbled that last night but I think she was joking).
I'm heading to Hawaii Monday for the first time. I haven't really spoken about it here much, mostly because I didn't want to brag, but also because people make assumptions that when you're going there for a vacation, you must be rich.
I'm far from rich. Kate's parents have a time share and paid for our plane tickets. So we're lucky in the sense that for a week we get to live like we belong on "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous," even though we really belong on the show "Lifestyles of the Lower Middle Class" ("for breakfast he eats Frosted Flakes, for lunch hot dogs and for dinner...chicken fingers with a special kind of honey mustard, the kind normally bought for salads").
The trip has me a little antsy. It's the first time we'll spend any extended time away from the little guy. He's almost a year old, and just today, Jayden cried when I walked away from the cart to get a box of mac and cheese, even though my mother, who will stay with him a week, was right there.
It makes you realize how much they rely on you, even though he seems to be favoring Kate at the moment. I hope he does all right, even though I know he'll be fine. I hope he doesn't miss us too badly, even though I'm not sure he has the capacity to miss us at all. I hope I don't miss him so much that I don't have a good time in Paradise Island, or that Kate doesn't cry every minute of every day, even though it might feel good to feel like adults again.
But I also know I'll miss poker. I can't believe how much it's become a part of my life. It's now one of my passions, which include writing, mountain climbing, running, music and college basketball. And it's going well lately. I've had winning weeks in nine of the last 10, but that's not as important as the light that is starting to illuminate my dim cellar of a poker mind. I'm reading hands, reading players and reading situations better than ever.
A week away might be a good thing however. I plan to bring some poker books - don't worry, I'll do other things than read poker books while I'm in Hawaii - and maybe study the game a bit on the plane.
Everyone needs a vacation. Even from a fun yet addicting pastime that poker has become.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
It's not always your fault
Poker is hard on the competitive, Type-A personalities like me.
Whenever I lose, there's always something I think I could have done better. I could have been more aggressive. I could have been more paitent. I could have been, er, playing Doom 3 and avoided playing all together.
This weekend, after a horrible weekend of live tournament poker, I've changed my mind. A little.
So Friday night I played tournament poker at our Relay for Life in Weld County. Relay for Life is a really fun charity event that is all night long for cancer. The fun comes from all the different tents and "teams" who pick their own theme. We were Tour de Cure and pretended we were bike racers for the Tour de France.
We walked a little. Mostly we ate and played poker.
We found a Bank tent offering Texas Hold Em on the hour, every hour, so we started playing at 11:45 p.m. If you have the most chips at the end of the hour, you get a free beer mug.
So the stakes were high.
So two friends of mine and I played against two 11-year-olds, a fat guy who "likes to play those bar tournaments" and a loud, screechy 22-year-old woman who liked to raise and then talk about her raise (I gotta raise, I can't leave it there, I can't just not call) until the flop hit.
In a 10-hour cash game, I know I would have come out ahead. But the time limit, and the horrible play, beckoned variance.
On a table like this, the results can either be very good (see my post about my first time in a live casino playing limit, when I came out $200 ahead in three hours) or very bad (see my writing after this sentence). Really, it depends solely on luck. You can't raise with nothing because you'll get called. You can't bluff because you'll get called. And sometimes even these people wake up and find, say, AK, usually when you are holding A,Q.
Well, in the first game, it was down to me and 11-year-old #2, who had a huge stack after winning a three-way all in with a,9 (the other two had A,2, egh). And I had K,Q with a Q-high flop, with 4 and an 8, so I bet, bet and finally pushed, and the kid called me down with...
9,4.
Oh. I forgot to mention he hit his 9 on the river.
Three hands later, he won after calling another all-in with K,J and flopping two Ks after the dude had A,Q.
He didn't really understand why I was laughing so hard. And I didn't want to tell him.
Saturday night I played a home game with a $20 buy-in. I have no bad beat stories in this one. I got no hands.
Now, I"m looking for suggestions here. I had 9,3 all night. If I raised preflop I got 5 callers. So I could never bet. It was the perfect situation, all I need is a few solid hands and I'm winning it. Only the hands never came. A,10 never came. Nothing came. I was clueless. If you can't bluff, and you get crap, really, what can you do?
You lose.
The experience has made me relax a bit in the low-limit SnGs I play now. I've played hundreds of SnGs now, and every time, I always think I could have done something different if I don't cash. That's a good exercise to go through. It's how you improve. I have, for instance, improved my position play as a result of this.
But sometimes you just lose because sometimes those SnGs aren't much different than Relay for Life poker.
But that's OK. Poker, after all, is just one long Relay.
Whenever I lose, there's always something I think I could have done better. I could have been more aggressive. I could have been more paitent. I could have been, er, playing Doom 3 and avoided playing all together.
This weekend, after a horrible weekend of live tournament poker, I've changed my mind. A little.
So Friday night I played tournament poker at our Relay for Life in Weld County. Relay for Life is a really fun charity event that is all night long for cancer. The fun comes from all the different tents and "teams" who pick their own theme. We were Tour de Cure and pretended we were bike racers for the Tour de France.
We walked a little. Mostly we ate and played poker.
We found a Bank tent offering Texas Hold Em on the hour, every hour, so we started playing at 11:45 p.m. If you have the most chips at the end of the hour, you get a free beer mug.
So the stakes were high.
So two friends of mine and I played against two 11-year-olds, a fat guy who "likes to play those bar tournaments" and a loud, screechy 22-year-old woman who liked to raise and then talk about her raise (I gotta raise, I can't leave it there, I can't just not call) until the flop hit.
In a 10-hour cash game, I know I would have come out ahead. But the time limit, and the horrible play, beckoned variance.
On a table like this, the results can either be very good (see my post about my first time in a live casino playing limit, when I came out $200 ahead in three hours) or very bad (see my writing after this sentence). Really, it depends solely on luck. You can't raise with nothing because you'll get called. You can't bluff because you'll get called. And sometimes even these people wake up and find, say, AK, usually when you are holding A,Q.
Well, in the first game, it was down to me and 11-year-old #2, who had a huge stack after winning a three-way all in with a,9 (the other two had A,2, egh). And I had K,Q with a Q-high flop, with 4 and an 8, so I bet, bet and finally pushed, and the kid called me down with...
9,4.
Oh. I forgot to mention he hit his 9 on the river.
Three hands later, he won after calling another all-in with K,J and flopping two Ks after the dude had A,Q.
He didn't really understand why I was laughing so hard. And I didn't want to tell him.
Saturday night I played a home game with a $20 buy-in. I have no bad beat stories in this one. I got no hands.
Now, I"m looking for suggestions here. I had 9,3 all night. If I raised preflop I got 5 callers. So I could never bet. It was the perfect situation, all I need is a few solid hands and I'm winning it. Only the hands never came. A,10 never came. Nothing came. I was clueless. If you can't bluff, and you get crap, really, what can you do?
You lose.
The experience has made me relax a bit in the low-limit SnGs I play now. I've played hundreds of SnGs now, and every time, I always think I could have done something different if I don't cash. That's a good exercise to go through. It's how you improve. I have, for instance, improved my position play as a result of this.
But sometimes you just lose because sometimes those SnGs aren't much different than Relay for Life poker.
But that's OK. Poker, after all, is just one long Relay.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Summertime...and the living ain't easy
Summer's already looking like one big, fat stretch of chaos from June to September.
Just off the top of my head, we've got a trip to Hawaii coming in a couple of weeks (and my mother's visit as a result), Jayden's birthday party, house showings and a possible move (pray for us, we really need that now), an extensive climbing schedule that will take me all over the state, several races, a trip to Salina, Kan., in August, a possible trip to the San Juans to help a friend complete the Hardrock 100 (and do a story on it), the Fourth of July, my Dad's visit in mid-July, entertaining Jayden every day (not an easy feat, he sure gets bored for a 1-year-old), a project at work, work in general, some more climbing trips in September, trying like hell to catch at least ONE summer movie (we're so behind thanks to the baby) and taking at least one hike with Jayden, probably at the end of June, in Estes Park.
And, of course, there's always the need to feed my addiction to poker.
Wow. All that fun is already wearing me out.
I love summer because of that. But sometimes I find myself looking forward to fall, when I don't feel the pressure to live so much.
Just off the top of my head, we've got a trip to Hawaii coming in a couple of weeks (and my mother's visit as a result), Jayden's birthday party, house showings and a possible move (pray for us, we really need that now), an extensive climbing schedule that will take me all over the state, several races, a trip to Salina, Kan., in August, a possible trip to the San Juans to help a friend complete the Hardrock 100 (and do a story on it), the Fourth of July, my Dad's visit in mid-July, entertaining Jayden every day (not an easy feat, he sure gets bored for a 1-year-old), a project at work, work in general, some more climbing trips in September, trying like hell to catch at least ONE summer movie (we're so behind thanks to the baby) and taking at least one hike with Jayden, probably at the end of June, in Estes Park.
And, of course, there's always the need to feed my addiction to poker.
Wow. All that fun is already wearing me out.
I love summer because of that. But sometimes I find myself looking forward to fall, when I don't feel the pressure to live so much.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Winning a race
I glanced over at the alarm clock, and 4:15 a.m. was staring me in the face. Ah, well. Might as well get up now, I thought.
I haven't slept much anyway.
I'm not exactly sure why the body wakes up every half-hour before a day that you know is going to be long, exhausting and, at times, painful. You usually need your rest before such days. Instead, before a big climb and, now, before Monday's Bolder Boulder, I wake up more often than a hooker on call in Vegas during the World Series of Poker.
I woke up at 1:17 a.m., 2:10 a.m., 3:05 a.m.,
4 a.m. and 4:10 a.m. before my alarm was supposed to wake me up at 4:30 a.m. On nights like these, you don't ever feel like you've actually been asleep, and you tend to pray for the time to get up to just get here, so you can end the misery, until 10 minutes before it's time to get up, when all you want to do is lay your head on your sweet, sweet pillow, as soft as cotton candy.
Instead I rolled out of bed, put on my running clothes (wicking T-shirt, running shoes, shorts), grabbed my workout food (banana, which always tastes GREAT at 4:30 a.m., ugh, and a piece of toast, and Gatorade) and my GPS and prepared to run my first 10K.
I was, suprisingly, sort of confident today heading into the race. I'm really thought I could reach my goal of 50 minutes, about an 8-minute-mile pace. I'm not sure where that confidence came from. Maybe I knew I could finish because I did a 15-mile run three weeks ago. But I still wasn't sure how fast I could go. I'd run that far before. I'd never run that far, that fast.
Sitting in a coffee shop, in Boulder, near the start, at 6 a.m., quickly sapped my confidence, as my stomach started churning, as it usually does after I'm all in with TPTK and someone calls me with a flush draw that I'm sure is going to hit.
Uh, oh.
I visited the toliet twice, and let's just say I'll leave out the details.
Damn.
In my first competitive 5K, last year, I didn't bother to visit the toliet and almost wound up crapping my pants about halfway through the race. It was quite possibly the worst feeling I've ever had (Kate's labor about 11 months ago may have been comparable), and I swore I would never, ever go through that again.
So, five minutes before my wave, scheduled to start at 7:08 a.m., a qualifer, was gonna go, I had to, well, go. OK, I thought. If I'm late, I'm late. I ran back to my wave start, practically shoving the other 45,000 runners out of the way, and got there.
"Is this CB wave?" I said to the woman next to me.
"Yes," she said.
"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?"
I barely had time to answer before the gun went off.
My plan was to run the first two miles in a 7:50 pace, run the next two under 8:30 and run the final two as fast as I could, maybe 7:15, maybe 7:30.
Starting a race always reminds me of the beginning of a poker tournament, at least at the levels I play. The beginners always start too fast, pushing with A,K on their first hand, and the veterans always start too slow, refusing to gobble up the fish money before it gets eaten by someone else.
By the second mile, my average pace, measured by my Garmin GPS, measured 7:55. Perfect.
Now the hills would start.
I'm not sure what's worse: Having AA cracked by K,J (to me the ultimate fish hand) or running up a steep hill during a race. I'm still not sure after the Bolder Boulder. The hills were plentiful and gradual, which is almost worse than short and steep (ask a Hamster whether he'd like his wheel stuck on a peanut that will eventually come loose or just sort of rusty and slow, and you'll know what I mean).
By the time I was done with the hills, my average pace was up to 8:05, and my right knee was sort of shouting at me a bit. I think it was saying, "Hey, Jackass, we're done with the hils now, OK?"
I agreed.
The road was flat.
Time to hit it.
I hit it, pushing my pace up to 7:15 at times, until 9.3 kilometers, when my stomach-o-meter was starting to reach BARF and my legs were getting weak. The sun beat down on my forehead, mashing it with unwelcome heat after a beautiful, cool morning.
And I heard Jamiroquai.
Now, I have what I consider to be eclectic but fine taste in music. Yes, I like my share of hair metal, but I'm also a heavy metal fan, I love jazz, pop, some hip hop and a whole lotta funk and soul. Many of my favorites are in the Hall of Fame. Steeley Dan, Stevie Wonder, Metallica, etc., all have been overplayed in my car.
But I can't help but love Jamiroquai. The dude plays some FUNK, even if it does sound like Disco to the untrained ear (OK, to many trained ones as well). And Jamiroquai was exactly what I needed. The Bolder Boulder does a great job of attempting to take your mind off how much pain you're in by supplying live bands along the route. This band was playing "Canned Heat," yes, that song from "Napoleon Dynamite" (which, by the way, really isn't that great a movie, get over it).
A surge of electricity went through my body, and my pace not only bumped back up, it surged past 7:15, all the way into Folsom Field and the last, steep, torture hill you face until you get to run a victory lap around the stadium, which I sprinted, of course, to the finish.
I looked at my GPS.
50:17.
7:56 pace.
Wow.
I did it.
I'm so happy I could puke.
(Editor's note: Upon reflection, my pace was actually 8:05 when I entered it in a pace calculator. I'm not sure why my GPS measured 7:56. It may have something to do with the fact that my GPS measured 6.33, and that may be because I turned it on a little early and it measured the distance I walked. Next time I'll have to reset it completely right before the race. I'm still happy about my time, especially for my first year, but I have to admit that news was a touch disappointing as well).
(In fact, I almost did, until a race official came over and insisted I needed to see a medical person there, which I answered to her that I had in fact climbed through puking sessions many times and was fine, and she annoyed me so much I forgot to be sick and started walking past the finish to get a snack).
Sometimes, winning a race does not mean winning with 7,7 against K,A, and sometimes, winning a race doesn't mean crossing the finish line first.
Sometimes, you win only by staying just ahead of the doubts in your head.
I haven't slept much anyway.
I'm not exactly sure why the body wakes up every half-hour before a day that you know is going to be long, exhausting and, at times, painful. You usually need your rest before such days. Instead, before a big climb and, now, before Monday's Bolder Boulder, I wake up more often than a hooker on call in Vegas during the World Series of Poker.
I woke up at 1:17 a.m., 2:10 a.m., 3:05 a.m.,
4 a.m. and 4:10 a.m. before my alarm was supposed to wake me up at 4:30 a.m. On nights like these, you don't ever feel like you've actually been asleep, and you tend to pray for the time to get up to just get here, so you can end the misery, until 10 minutes before it's time to get up, when all you want to do is lay your head on your sweet, sweet pillow, as soft as cotton candy.
Instead I rolled out of bed, put on my running clothes (wicking T-shirt, running shoes, shorts), grabbed my workout food (banana, which always tastes GREAT at 4:30 a.m., ugh, and a piece of toast, and Gatorade) and my GPS and prepared to run my first 10K.
I was, suprisingly, sort of confident today heading into the race. I'm really thought I could reach my goal of 50 minutes, about an 8-minute-mile pace. I'm not sure where that confidence came from. Maybe I knew I could finish because I did a 15-mile run three weeks ago. But I still wasn't sure how fast I could go. I'd run that far before. I'd never run that far, that fast.
Sitting in a coffee shop, in Boulder, near the start, at 6 a.m., quickly sapped my confidence, as my stomach started churning, as it usually does after I'm all in with TPTK and someone calls me with a flush draw that I'm sure is going to hit.
Uh, oh.
I visited the toliet twice, and let's just say I'll leave out the details.
Damn.
In my first competitive 5K, last year, I didn't bother to visit the toliet and almost wound up crapping my pants about halfway through the race. It was quite possibly the worst feeling I've ever had (Kate's labor about 11 months ago may have been comparable), and I swore I would never, ever go through that again.
So, five minutes before my wave, scheduled to start at 7:08 a.m., a qualifer, was gonna go, I had to, well, go. OK, I thought. If I'm late, I'm late. I ran back to my wave start, practically shoving the other 45,000 runners out of the way, and got there.
"Is this CB wave?" I said to the woman next to me.
"Yes," she said.
"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?"
I barely had time to answer before the gun went off.
My plan was to run the first two miles in a 7:50 pace, run the next two under 8:30 and run the final two as fast as I could, maybe 7:15, maybe 7:30.
Starting a race always reminds me of the beginning of a poker tournament, at least at the levels I play. The beginners always start too fast, pushing with A,K on their first hand, and the veterans always start too slow, refusing to gobble up the fish money before it gets eaten by someone else.
By the second mile, my average pace, measured by my Garmin GPS, measured 7:55. Perfect.
Now the hills would start.
I'm not sure what's worse: Having AA cracked by K,J (to me the ultimate fish hand) or running up a steep hill during a race. I'm still not sure after the Bolder Boulder. The hills were plentiful and gradual, which is almost worse than short and steep (ask a Hamster whether he'd like his wheel stuck on a peanut that will eventually come loose or just sort of rusty and slow, and you'll know what I mean).
By the time I was done with the hills, my average pace was up to 8:05, and my right knee was sort of shouting at me a bit. I think it was saying, "Hey, Jackass, we're done with the hils now, OK?"
I agreed.
The road was flat.
Time to hit it.
I hit it, pushing my pace up to 7:15 at times, until 9.3 kilometers, when my stomach-o-meter was starting to reach BARF and my legs were getting weak. The sun beat down on my forehead, mashing it with unwelcome heat after a beautiful, cool morning.
And I heard Jamiroquai.
Now, I have what I consider to be eclectic but fine taste in music. Yes, I like my share of hair metal, but I'm also a heavy metal fan, I love jazz, pop, some hip hop and a whole lotta funk and soul. Many of my favorites are in the Hall of Fame. Steeley Dan, Stevie Wonder, Metallica, etc., all have been overplayed in my car.
But I can't help but love Jamiroquai. The dude plays some FUNK, even if it does sound like Disco to the untrained ear (OK, to many trained ones as well). And Jamiroquai was exactly what I needed. The Bolder Boulder does a great job of attempting to take your mind off how much pain you're in by supplying live bands along the route. This band was playing "Canned Heat," yes, that song from "Napoleon Dynamite" (which, by the way, really isn't that great a movie, get over it).
A surge of electricity went through my body, and my pace not only bumped back up, it surged past 7:15, all the way into Folsom Field and the last, steep, torture hill you face until you get to run a victory lap around the stadium, which I sprinted, of course, to the finish.
I looked at my GPS.
50:17.
7:56 pace.
Wow.
I did it.
I'm so happy I could puke.
(Editor's note: Upon reflection, my pace was actually 8:05 when I entered it in a pace calculator. I'm not sure why my GPS measured 7:56. It may have something to do with the fact that my GPS measured 6.33, and that may be because I turned it on a little early and it measured the distance I walked. Next time I'll have to reset it completely right before the race. I'm still happy about my time, especially for my first year, but I have to admit that news was a touch disappointing as well).
(In fact, I almost did, until a race official came over and insisted I needed to see a medical person there, which I answered to her that I had in fact climbed through puking sessions many times and was fine, and she annoyed me so much I forgot to be sick and started walking past the finish to get a snack).
Sometimes, winning a race does not mean winning with 7,7 against K,A, and sometimes, winning a race doesn't mean crossing the finish line first.
Sometimes, you win only by staying just ahead of the doubts in your head.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Sometimes, I'm too honest
”Felicia Lee” just wrote a great post on being honest with yourself when you play poker.
I agree with every word, as I usually do when I read her.
Sometimes, though, I carry it too far.
Sometimes I'm too honest.
Editor's Note: Felicia is actually a sweetie and not quite the cranky blogger she makes herself out to be. I got to speak to her for a bit and she was very nice. I love her blunt honestly in her blog but if you ever get the chance, say hi to her. She probably won't bite your head off. :)
Lately I have tried to expand my game by bluffing more than I would normally bluff and calling when I wouldn't always call. The calling part is dangerous. The bluffing part is a way to improve. When I'm too honest with my own poker play, I tend to play far too tight. Tight poker is winning poker at my limits, .25 NL and occasionally .50 NL, and $5 SnGs; but I"m trying to win not only more consistently but move up. To do that, I can't just wait for a 10 percent hand and play it aggressively.
When I"m too honest, that I still can't read other players as well as I would like (it's improving but still not there) and that I tend to play scared far too often, I tend to follow my honesty instead of pitching it aside and trusting my instincts.
I've never been a totally confident person in some respects.
I am with my writing (although you wouldn't know that by reading this blog. Blogging, in my mind, is not writing, unless you are Joe Speaker or Pauly or Felicia. I am a much better writer than blogger. And I'm really not dismissing blogging as an art form when I say that. Blogging is its own skill). I am in my ability to play Halo. And I am in my ability to think through a problem and solve it.
I am not confident in my athletic ability. I plan to run the Bolder Boulder on Memorial Day, one of the largest races in the U.S. and a 10K. I think I can run under 50 minutes. In fact, everything I've read says I can. But I'm not sure I can. I'm warning people I may not. I'm warning myself I may not.
I'm too honest about it.
Honesty is a way to improve yourself. Honestly is still the best policy when it comes to many things, including poker. But honestly, sometimes I wonder what would happen if I wasn't so damn honest.
I agree with every word, as I usually do when I read her.
Sometimes, though, I carry it too far.
Sometimes I'm too honest.
Editor's Note: Felicia is actually a sweetie and not quite the cranky blogger she makes herself out to be. I got to speak to her for a bit and she was very nice. I love her blunt honestly in her blog but if you ever get the chance, say hi to her. She probably won't bite your head off. :)
Lately I have tried to expand my game by bluffing more than I would normally bluff and calling when I wouldn't always call. The calling part is dangerous. The bluffing part is a way to improve. When I'm too honest with my own poker play, I tend to play far too tight. Tight poker is winning poker at my limits, .25 NL and occasionally .50 NL, and $5 SnGs; but I"m trying to win not only more consistently but move up. To do that, I can't just wait for a 10 percent hand and play it aggressively.
When I"m too honest, that I still can't read other players as well as I would like (it's improving but still not there) and that I tend to play scared far too often, I tend to follow my honesty instead of pitching it aside and trusting my instincts.
I've never been a totally confident person in some respects.
I am with my writing (although you wouldn't know that by reading this blog. Blogging, in my mind, is not writing, unless you are Joe Speaker or Pauly or Felicia. I am a much better writer than blogger. And I'm really not dismissing blogging as an art form when I say that. Blogging is its own skill). I am in my ability to play Halo. And I am in my ability to think through a problem and solve it.
I am not confident in my athletic ability. I plan to run the Bolder Boulder on Memorial Day, one of the largest races in the U.S. and a 10K. I think I can run under 50 minutes. In fact, everything I've read says I can. But I'm not sure I can. I'm warning people I may not. I'm warning myself I may not.
I'm too honest about it.
Honesty is a way to improve yourself. Honestly is still the best policy when it comes to many things, including poker. But honestly, sometimes I wonder what would happen if I wasn't so damn honest.
Monday, May 22, 2006
American Poker Idol
Am I the only one who hasn't fallen for the American Idol craze?
Don't these people see that the contestants are marginally talented, karaoke specialists who sing with about as much feeling as Huey Lewis? That the Simon/Paula feud is as tired as a Hulk Hogan/Sgt. Slaughter match? That the show has produced zero legitmate stars since it got lucky with Kelly Clarkson? I wonder what Reuben is doing these days, besides eating Twinkies.
Here's my idea for a reality show. Take 12 amateur, nickel-dime-quarter poker players and put them through the ropes. The Professor, already a TV star, could be the host/teacher, with special appearences by professionals such as Phil Ivey (shit, just have Full Tilt sponsor this and each one of its pros could do it) teach one thing a week (how to read the texture of the board, how to bluff, how to play a tournament, etc.), and at the end of the show, a tournament determines who gets knocked out. I suppose that could be determined by who has the fewest chips at the end of the tournament, or maybe they just play and Lederer and the pro committee votes off a player, maybe the one who played the weakest and not necessarily had his AA cracked so was first to get out.
The winner gets a seat to the World Series of Poker main event. We could even follow that person through the main event and see who he or she does.
And, yes, I'm available. :)
Don't these people see that the contestants are marginally talented, karaoke specialists who sing with about as much feeling as Huey Lewis? That the Simon/Paula feud is as tired as a Hulk Hogan/Sgt. Slaughter match? That the show has produced zero legitmate stars since it got lucky with Kelly Clarkson? I wonder what Reuben is doing these days, besides eating Twinkies.
Here's my idea for a reality show. Take 12 amateur, nickel-dime-quarter poker players and put them through the ropes. The Professor, already a TV star, could be the host/teacher, with special appearences by professionals such as Phil Ivey (shit, just have Full Tilt sponsor this and each one of its pros could do it) teach one thing a week (how to read the texture of the board, how to bluff, how to play a tournament, etc.), and at the end of the show, a tournament determines who gets knocked out. I suppose that could be determined by who has the fewest chips at the end of the tournament, or maybe they just play and Lederer and the pro committee votes off a player, maybe the one who played the weakest and not necessarily had his AA cracked so was first to get out.
The winner gets a seat to the World Series of Poker main event. We could even follow that person through the main event and see who he or she does.
And, yes, I'm available. :)
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Hey, TripJax, look!
1. What is the biggest mistake people make at a NL table?
Calling, not raising or folding. This applies to NL as well as Limit, in my mind. My biggest mistake is playing too tight.
2. What is the biggest mistake people make at a Limit table?
See above, but not folding soon enough, which isn't quite the same as calling.
3. Why do you play poker?
I love games. I caught the poker bug from a home game I played at just for fun and now it's a great way to pass the time in the evenings.
4. If you weren't playing poker, what would you be doing?
I run, climb mountains, play softball, play X-Box, spend time with the fam, but mostly I'd probably be reading or doing something productive, lol.
5. What is your favorite poker book and why?
Harrington's books are simply awesome. I also liked Phil Gordon's Little Green Book.
6. Who is your favorite poker player and why?
I have too many for many different reasons, but the guy I admire most is Phil Ivey because of his ability to read hands so well.
7. Which poker player do you dislike the most and why?
Shawn Sheikan. I'm not even bothering to see if I spelled is name right. What a jackass.
8. Do your coworkers know about your blog?
A couple.
9. What is the most you have won in a cash game or MTT (both live and online)?
Cash game was that $171 I picked up recently in a casino (hey, I'm new, back off). Online I once cleared $85 in a .25 NL game. Basically because of my conservative play, I'm never going to have monster nights unless the cards really come my way.
10. What is the most you have lost in a cash game or in one day total (both live and online)?
I haven't lost much more than $25 in a day. See above for the reason why.
11. Who was your first poker blog read?
Pot Committed. I love her writing.
12. What satisfies you more, your aces holding up for a big pot or a bluff working for a big pot?
AA if I played them correctly.
13. Why do you blog?
I love to write and I write for a living, so blogging helps me sort out my own thoughts about the game as well as try to share tips with others. I don't think it's very good, especially for my standards of my own writing, but it does help me sort out my thoughts.
14. Do you read blogs from an RSS reader like bloglines or do you visit each blog?
I just read what I have linked from my own blog.
15. Would you rather play poker for a living than do what you currently do for a living?
Poker for a living? Hell no. It's far too much fun for that; it would be really hard to make a living from it. I'd be a stressbag.
16. Do you wear a tin foil hat on occasion?
No. But occasionally I wear donkey ears.
17. If you had to pin it down to one specific trait, what does a great poker player have (or do) that separates them from an average player?
The ability to put players on a hand. Anyone can bluff and play a big hand aggressively, but I'm amazed at how well the pros can put a guy on a hand.
18. Is Drizz the coolest person on the planet for naming his baby Vegas?
Drizz really seems more like the geeky type (even if he does play softball), which is another reason why I love his blog, but I have to admit, that's an extremely cool move.
19. What is your primary poker goal and are you close to accomplishing it?
To finish ahead at the end of the year, and I'm going to have to lose a lot to not make that goal.
20. What is your primary online site and why?
Hollywood Poker for the good reload bonuses and Pokerroom because I have a Mac.
21. What site do you dislike and why?
I don't realy dislike one.
Calling, not raising or folding. This applies to NL as well as Limit, in my mind. My biggest mistake is playing too tight.
2. What is the biggest mistake people make at a Limit table?
See above, but not folding soon enough, which isn't quite the same as calling.
3. Why do you play poker?
I love games. I caught the poker bug from a home game I played at just for fun and now it's a great way to pass the time in the evenings.
4. If you weren't playing poker, what would you be doing?
I run, climb mountains, play softball, play X-Box, spend time with the fam, but mostly I'd probably be reading or doing something productive, lol.
5. What is your favorite poker book and why?
Harrington's books are simply awesome. I also liked Phil Gordon's Little Green Book.
6. Who is your favorite poker player and why?
I have too many for many different reasons, but the guy I admire most is Phil Ivey because of his ability to read hands so well.
7. Which poker player do you dislike the most and why?
Shawn Sheikan. I'm not even bothering to see if I spelled is name right. What a jackass.
8. Do your coworkers know about your blog?
A couple.
9. What is the most you have won in a cash game or MTT (both live and online)?
Cash game was that $171 I picked up recently in a casino (hey, I'm new, back off). Online I once cleared $85 in a .25 NL game. Basically because of my conservative play, I'm never going to have monster nights unless the cards really come my way.
10. What is the most you have lost in a cash game or in one day total (both live and online)?
I haven't lost much more than $25 in a day. See above for the reason why.
11. Who was your first poker blog read?
Pot Committed. I love her writing.
12. What satisfies you more, your aces holding up for a big pot or a bluff working for a big pot?
AA if I played them correctly.
13. Why do you blog?
I love to write and I write for a living, so blogging helps me sort out my own thoughts about the game as well as try to share tips with others. I don't think it's very good, especially for my standards of my own writing, but it does help me sort out my thoughts.
14. Do you read blogs from an RSS reader like bloglines or do you visit each blog?
I just read what I have linked from my own blog.
15. Would you rather play poker for a living than do what you currently do for a living?
Poker for a living? Hell no. It's far too much fun for that; it would be really hard to make a living from it. I'd be a stressbag.
16. Do you wear a tin foil hat on occasion?
No. But occasionally I wear donkey ears.
17. If you had to pin it down to one specific trait, what does a great poker player have (or do) that separates them from an average player?
The ability to put players on a hand. Anyone can bluff and play a big hand aggressively, but I'm amazed at how well the pros can put a guy on a hand.
18. Is Drizz the coolest person on the planet for naming his baby Vegas?
Drizz really seems more like the geeky type (even if he does play softball), which is another reason why I love his blog, but I have to admit, that's an extremely cool move.
19. What is your primary poker goal and are you close to accomplishing it?
To finish ahead at the end of the year, and I'm going to have to lose a lot to not make that goal.
20. What is your primary online site and why?
Hollywood Poker for the good reload bonuses and Pokerroom because I have a Mac.
21. What site do you dislike and why?
I don't realy dislike one.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Nice try
Note to gas station:
You can play Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" all you want.
It doesn't ease the pain of paying $3 a gallon at all.
Not even a little bit.
You can play Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" all you want.
It doesn't ease the pain of paying $3 a gallon at all.
Not even a little bit.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Grab the fish money before your opponents do
OK, I'm not Felicia Lee, and after bubbling out of my SnG last night when I was in second place deep into the tournament (hint, K-10 is NOT a hand to go to war with, ever, even four-handed, yes, even sooooted) I'm not sure I should be giving any poker advice, but here goes.
Dan's Guide To Winning (Or Cashing, Which Is Good Enough At Times) SnGs:
(it's a short list)
You know how to play tight/aggressive, follow up your raises with continuation bets, play your high pocket pairs strong, etc., etc., etc., so here's just one piece of advice.
Grab the fish money before it disappears.
Conventional wisdom says to play tight in the beginning and loosen up as the blinds get higher and the pots get bigger.
It's good advice.
It's also wrong.
More and more, I'm cashing and winning more SnGs because I go after fish money.
In the beginning of an SnG, especially a full table SnG, you'll always find fish ready and willing to give their money over to the highest bidder, or at least those with TPTK.
I play low-stakes SnGs. And I'd say, at every full table, I can find at least four fish who are just begging to hand you their chips.
Shorthanded? I'd say 2/5.
Higher levels, like the $10 or even $20 SnGs? There are less out there. But they're still there.
It's your job to eat those chips before another shark grabs the snack.
So, in the beginning of a tournament, if I have TPTK, I play it hard. I might even move all in if challenged.
Most of the time, I'm right.
If a guy moves all in right away, I immeaditely lower my hand requirements. I might even call with A,J, but I would certainly call with A,Q or a pocket pair 10,10 or higher.
Grab that money while you can.
In the middle of the tournament, once the blood leaves the water, I tend to play even tigher than conventional wisdom says to play in the beginning. Oh, I'll still play strong hands aggressively, but it better be really strong, like 10-20 percent strong. Why? This is when most of the fish money is gone, and the other players, panicked over seeing some big stacks (like yours, hopefully, if you've gobbed a fish or two), tend to fight a little hard over the scraps. They get themselves pot committed even when they don't really need to do so.
In the last third of the tournament, I loosen up again and try to bully a bit and also steal when I can. But I'm still not a maniac. By this time, you've probably built a fairly high stack and just need to wait it out to cash. It doesn't always work. But it usually does.
Bait your hook with TPTK and reel in that fish money. You'll find your bankroll growing fatter off the krill.
Dan's Guide To Winning (Or Cashing, Which Is Good Enough At Times) SnGs:
(it's a short list)
You know how to play tight/aggressive, follow up your raises with continuation bets, play your high pocket pairs strong, etc., etc., etc., so here's just one piece of advice.
Grab the fish money before it disappears.
Conventional wisdom says to play tight in the beginning and loosen up as the blinds get higher and the pots get bigger.
It's good advice.
It's also wrong.
More and more, I'm cashing and winning more SnGs because I go after fish money.
In the beginning of an SnG, especially a full table SnG, you'll always find fish ready and willing to give their money over to the highest bidder, or at least those with TPTK.
I play low-stakes SnGs. And I'd say, at every full table, I can find at least four fish who are just begging to hand you their chips.
Shorthanded? I'd say 2/5.
Higher levels, like the $10 or even $20 SnGs? There are less out there. But they're still there.
It's your job to eat those chips before another shark grabs the snack.
So, in the beginning of a tournament, if I have TPTK, I play it hard. I might even move all in if challenged.
Most of the time, I'm right.
If a guy moves all in right away, I immeaditely lower my hand requirements. I might even call with A,J, but I would certainly call with A,Q or a pocket pair 10,10 or higher.
Grab that money while you can.
In the middle of the tournament, once the blood leaves the water, I tend to play even tigher than conventional wisdom says to play in the beginning. Oh, I'll still play strong hands aggressively, but it better be really strong, like 10-20 percent strong. Why? This is when most of the fish money is gone, and the other players, panicked over seeing some big stacks (like yours, hopefully, if you've gobbed a fish or two), tend to fight a little hard over the scraps. They get themselves pot committed even when they don't really need to do so.
In the last third of the tournament, I loosen up again and try to bully a bit and also steal when I can. But I'm still not a maniac. By this time, you've probably built a fairly high stack and just need to wait it out to cash. It doesn't always work. But it usually does.
Bait your hook with TPTK and reel in that fish money. You'll find your bankroll growing fatter off the krill.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Blowing the head off a zombie can be theraputic
Poker is going well again, and I think I know why.
Have the suckouts stopped? They're not as plentiful, but they're almost more painful, many times the difference between a cash or the bigger payoffs or first and second (lately, the trend is for me to have the villian dominanted, only for him/her to get the fucking other card on the river for two-pair; last night my A,Q versus her Q,8 on a Q-high flop cost me $10 when she got her 8 on the river).
So, no, they haven't stopped. So what's the difference?
I've added a little violence to my life.
Don't worry. The dog's fine, the wife gets hugs and kisses and the only violence the baby feels is when he's tossed in the air two feet above my chest, which, by the way, he loves. That and an occasional tickle.
But I'm blowing the heads of lots of zombies, aliens and the occasional innocent.
The X-Box has really helped me decompress and, in some cases, take out some frustration after a long and difficult SnG that ends in yet another suckout. The current choice is Doom 64, but I've also played Fable a second time (this time I was Evil, slaughtering innocents on the path along the way, I just pretended they were poker donkeys and it really helped) and will move onto Half-Life and Gun soon enough.
I've discovered I must do something else every night other than play poker. I like to play an SnG a night and spend an hour at a cash game.
In between, I shoot and kill as much as I can. I stop when I'm starting to jones for poker. I have a clear head when I get to the cash game, and since I started decompressing, I'm way up in my cash game.
A cash game, especially online, is all about patience, but it's hard to have patience when you're pissed and, I hate to say it, tilting.
Blow the head off a zombie. It will give you patience.
Side note: I'm really digging NBC's "National Heads-Up Poker Challenge." It's a great format, almost like the NCAA tournament, and is a wonderful change from the long line of poker tournaments. Plus Gabe Kaplan is probably the best poker commentator out there. He's even better than Lederer and far better than Vince "Frat Boy" Van Patton.
But the theme music is cheesy. Like Supertramp or Air Supply cheesy.
NBC treats poker like it was a cribbage tournament, acting SHOCKED at the Shiek's "antics" and asking Doyle Brunson about it and assigning a guy to call the action who knows NOTHING about poker (thank God Kaplan is there or else it'd get really bad). Here's how he calls the match: HE CALLS!!!! I'm sorry, but I could that.
Poker ain't a nice game. Don't try to make it so by giving it a funny little theme song and treating it like the Olympics.
Get your act together, NBC, and look at how the Game Show Network handles poker. Shit, even Poker Superstars III has better commentary than this. You've got a good game. Now match it with the production.
Have the suckouts stopped? They're not as plentiful, but they're almost more painful, many times the difference between a cash or the bigger payoffs or first and second (lately, the trend is for me to have the villian dominanted, only for him/her to get the fucking other card on the river for two-pair; last night my A,Q versus her Q,8 on a Q-high flop cost me $10 when she got her 8 on the river).
So, no, they haven't stopped. So what's the difference?
I've added a little violence to my life.
Don't worry. The dog's fine, the wife gets hugs and kisses and the only violence the baby feels is when he's tossed in the air two feet above my chest, which, by the way, he loves. That and an occasional tickle.
But I'm blowing the heads of lots of zombies, aliens and the occasional innocent.
The X-Box has really helped me decompress and, in some cases, take out some frustration after a long and difficult SnG that ends in yet another suckout. The current choice is Doom 64, but I've also played Fable a second time (this time I was Evil, slaughtering innocents on the path along the way, I just pretended they were poker donkeys and it really helped) and will move onto Half-Life and Gun soon enough.
I've discovered I must do something else every night other than play poker. I like to play an SnG a night and spend an hour at a cash game.
In between, I shoot and kill as much as I can. I stop when I'm starting to jones for poker. I have a clear head when I get to the cash game, and since I started decompressing, I'm way up in my cash game.
A cash game, especially online, is all about patience, but it's hard to have patience when you're pissed and, I hate to say it, tilting.
Blow the head off a zombie. It will give you patience.
Side note: I'm really digging NBC's "National Heads-Up Poker Challenge." It's a great format, almost like the NCAA tournament, and is a wonderful change from the long line of poker tournaments. Plus Gabe Kaplan is probably the best poker commentator out there. He's even better than Lederer and far better than Vince "Frat Boy" Van Patton.
But the theme music is cheesy. Like Supertramp or Air Supply cheesy.
NBC treats poker like it was a cribbage tournament, acting SHOCKED at the Shiek's "antics" and asking Doyle Brunson about it and assigning a guy to call the action who knows NOTHING about poker (thank God Kaplan is there or else it'd get really bad). Here's how he calls the match: HE CALLS!!!! I'm sorry, but I could that.
Poker ain't a nice game. Don't try to make it so by giving it a funny little theme song and treating it like the Olympics.
Get your act together, NBC, and look at how the Game Show Network handles poker. Shit, even Poker Superstars III has better commentary than this. You've got a good game. Now match it with the production.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Thursday Thoughts
Poker is going so well right now, I don't think I have any right to bitch. But bitch I will. Last night will inspire most of the following thoughts.
I left $8 ahead, but it was one of those nights when I might have cleared $75 with better moves.
• I am a NL player, and my biggest strength is avoiding trouble. I am very good at dodging bullets (not just AA in this case, although even then I have a Hellmuth-like ability to "dodge bullets, baby"). Some can semi-bluff. Others can bullshit. Others can bully. I dodge bullets.
It's not sexy, but it works for me.
OK, so given that, I seem to lose the most money when I simply call and not raise or fold, even when, according to the odds, a call is justified.
Last night I called a guy down when I was holding AA because I refused to believe he had a flush, even when he was betting a flush and three diamonds were out there. A pot-sized call was justified, in my mind, because I held the nut diamond, so if a fourth came down (even with one card to go), I thought I would take him for all his money, so the implied odds were huge.
When a heart fell, and he bet $5 into the $23 pot, I had to call, given that there was a 25 percent chance my hand was still good, even though I knew it wasn't.
This is why I don't play limit poker. I tend to make far too many "odds" calls, and by the time I keep calling $1 bets, my stack shrinks like Costanza's penis once it hits a swimming pool.
• I also tend to lose money when I've made a lot of money. When I haven't won a hand, I play tight. Too tight. Tighter than a nun's... (OK, you've heard the joke).
When I'm winning, however, I make too many "what the hell" calls. I am very good at holding onto my chips in a tournament. I need to do the same in a cash game.
I lost more money on two other weak calls, just like the fish do, because I was up $25, so what the hell, right?
• My least favorite hand? KQ. Every time I don't call a raise with it, it flops two pair, as it did last night. Every time I play it, I lose money on it, as I did last night, when I lost $8 with a Q-high board, all rags, no flush and no straights. The guy flopped a small set.
• My favorite hand? AA. I know. Duh. But I rarely lose with it. Why? I don't slowplay it. I bet it aggressively. Too many players see those As and think their hand is golden. The only time it's golden is pre-flop. Even though I lost earlier with it, I won a $17 pot with it later that night.
• I still have a problem calling raises, even 3x raises, with anything but a very strong hand, like pocket pairs down to 10,10, A,K or maybe A,Q. I don't think this is a bad thing. But I'm starting to think I should loosen up a bit.
Of course, probably nothing depends more on your read of an opponent than calling his or her raise. If a tight player (me) raises, you better fold unless you have the goods or we're in a tournament and the blinds are worth stealing. If a loose player raises, well...maybe you can call.
It still bothers me, in a cash game, to invest a lot of money preflop unless I have KK or AA or, maybe, AK.
It's a weakness of mine. But maybe it's also a strength.
• Poker is going well for two reasons. One is I'm getting good hands after a couple of mostly card-dead months.
That's easy. Even donkeys get good hands and sometimes even win with them.
But the second reason is I'm reading opponents better than ever.
I'm actually improving! Wow!
Last night I held K,J, the ultimate donkey hand because of how many times it's overplayed. I never call a raise with it. Last night, after playing an opponent for 15 minutes, I held K,J, threw my .25 out there, and four others called.
Rag, Rag, J. No draws out there.
OK. I bet $1, about half the pot and usually what I always bet on the flop regardless of what I have in .25 NL.
Everyone folds except for THE opponent, who was talking a lot and lost $5 to me earlier chasing a heart draw even when he didn't have the odds to play it because I priced him out of it (or so I thought). The guy was going back and forth with another donkey, about how bad this donkey was, about how, even if he did lose a pot to him earlier, the donkey sucks.
The turn comes a blank, and I fire $2 into the pot. He raises me back $2.
Ah. Now. Does a guy who is chatting about how a donkey plays crap all the time in fact play crap himself? I make sure he's not on a blind. Nope. He would have raised me with J,A, I believe, because he's raised a fair amount, every time with high cards.
I take the raise as a sign that he has a pair and would prefer to take the pot down now.
I hold K,J, and I bet my whole stack, $20.
He calls.
He holds Q,J.
I win.
I would not make reads like this three months ago. In fact, I would have probably been the guy berating me (wouldn't that be weird) a coupe of months ago for pushing all his stack in with K,J.
Lately I've made many calls or, even more importantly, raises like this one. I"m not Phil Ivey. But I am a winning poker player because of them.
I left $8 ahead, but it was one of those nights when I might have cleared $75 with better moves.
• I am a NL player, and my biggest strength is avoiding trouble. I am very good at dodging bullets (not just AA in this case, although even then I have a Hellmuth-like ability to "dodge bullets, baby"). Some can semi-bluff. Others can bullshit. Others can bully. I dodge bullets.
It's not sexy, but it works for me.
OK, so given that, I seem to lose the most money when I simply call and not raise or fold, even when, according to the odds, a call is justified.
Last night I called a guy down when I was holding AA because I refused to believe he had a flush, even when he was betting a flush and three diamonds were out there. A pot-sized call was justified, in my mind, because I held the nut diamond, so if a fourth came down (even with one card to go), I thought I would take him for all his money, so the implied odds were huge.
When a heart fell, and he bet $5 into the $23 pot, I had to call, given that there was a 25 percent chance my hand was still good, even though I knew it wasn't.
This is why I don't play limit poker. I tend to make far too many "odds" calls, and by the time I keep calling $1 bets, my stack shrinks like Costanza's penis once it hits a swimming pool.
• I also tend to lose money when I've made a lot of money. When I haven't won a hand, I play tight. Too tight. Tighter than a nun's... (OK, you've heard the joke).
When I'm winning, however, I make too many "what the hell" calls. I am very good at holding onto my chips in a tournament. I need to do the same in a cash game.
I lost more money on two other weak calls, just like the fish do, because I was up $25, so what the hell, right?
• My least favorite hand? KQ. Every time I don't call a raise with it, it flops two pair, as it did last night. Every time I play it, I lose money on it, as I did last night, when I lost $8 with a Q-high board, all rags, no flush and no straights. The guy flopped a small set.
• My favorite hand? AA. I know. Duh. But I rarely lose with it. Why? I don't slowplay it. I bet it aggressively. Too many players see those As and think their hand is golden. The only time it's golden is pre-flop. Even though I lost earlier with it, I won a $17 pot with it later that night.
• I still have a problem calling raises, even 3x raises, with anything but a very strong hand, like pocket pairs down to 10,10, A,K or maybe A,Q. I don't think this is a bad thing. But I'm starting to think I should loosen up a bit.
Of course, probably nothing depends more on your read of an opponent than calling his or her raise. If a tight player (me) raises, you better fold unless you have the goods or we're in a tournament and the blinds are worth stealing. If a loose player raises, well...maybe you can call.
It still bothers me, in a cash game, to invest a lot of money preflop unless I have KK or AA or, maybe, AK.
It's a weakness of mine. But maybe it's also a strength.
• Poker is going well for two reasons. One is I'm getting good hands after a couple of mostly card-dead months.
That's easy. Even donkeys get good hands and sometimes even win with them.
But the second reason is I'm reading opponents better than ever.
I'm actually improving! Wow!
Last night I held K,J, the ultimate donkey hand because of how many times it's overplayed. I never call a raise with it. Last night, after playing an opponent for 15 minutes, I held K,J, threw my .25 out there, and four others called.
Rag, Rag, J. No draws out there.
OK. I bet $1, about half the pot and usually what I always bet on the flop regardless of what I have in .25 NL.
Everyone folds except for THE opponent, who was talking a lot and lost $5 to me earlier chasing a heart draw even when he didn't have the odds to play it because I priced him out of it (or so I thought). The guy was going back and forth with another donkey, about how bad this donkey was, about how, even if he did lose a pot to him earlier, the donkey sucks.
The turn comes a blank, and I fire $2 into the pot. He raises me back $2.
Ah. Now. Does a guy who is chatting about how a donkey plays crap all the time in fact play crap himself? I make sure he's not on a blind. Nope. He would have raised me with J,A, I believe, because he's raised a fair amount, every time with high cards.
I take the raise as a sign that he has a pair and would prefer to take the pot down now.
I hold K,J, and I bet my whole stack, $20.
He calls.
He holds Q,J.
I win.
I would not make reads like this three months ago. In fact, I would have probably been the guy berating me (wouldn't that be weird) a coupe of months ago for pushing all his stack in with K,J.
Lately I've made many calls or, even more importantly, raises like this one. I"m not Phil Ivey. But I am a winning poker player because of them.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
So.Very.Sore
Last week:
Played poker. Finished up $100 for the week, playing mostly .25 NL and a few low-stakes SnGs.
Played Fable, a game on the X-Box, and a fun one at that. This is my second time. I'm evil this time. An evil badass. Grrr!
Feel good!
Sunday:
Ran a "mini" marathon, 15 miles, in 2:12, or about 9 minutes a mile.
Can barely walk.
Remind me, again, which activity is healthier?
Played poker. Finished up $100 for the week, playing mostly .25 NL and a few low-stakes SnGs.
Played Fable, a game on the X-Box, and a fun one at that. This is my second time. I'm evil this time. An evil badass. Grrr!
Feel good!
Sunday:
Ran a "mini" marathon, 15 miles, in 2:12, or about 9 minutes a mile.
Can barely walk.
Remind me, again, which activity is healthier?
Thursday, May 04, 2006
One big pot, one tiny turnaround
Playing poker while tired, physically or mentally, is dangerous.
But sometimes I need poker to relax.
It sounds funny, poker can be and should be intense, but at times it's also a nice way to end the day. If that costs me a couple bucks because I haven't analyzed a hand enough to see through that guy's bluff, so be it.
So I sat down to a .25 NL cash game last night, after a softball game when it rained THE ENTIRE TIME and a 15-mile, mini-marathon is staring at me, in the face, at a time when I've rarely felt so worn-down, tired and just plain dead.
Maybe I overtrained. It's possible. Maybe I'm just sore from softball, the first two games of the new season. That's possible as well. Maybe I'm just worn down mentally, from considering giving one of our dogs away and dealing with a situation I don't want to get into right now (it involves ebay and an undelivered computer) and selling our home and trying to do all this while raising an active 10-month-old who thinks he MUST explore every inch of every open door, cabinet or toliet.
Then again, I may have just been pissed and down after bubbling out of a $10 SnG and a completely frustrating last half when my cards were deader than the cast of "Night of the Living Dead." My play was lamer than that analogy. The other two guys were raising, raising, raising, pounding my stack into nothing, and yet, when challenged, they would back off. Whenever I had any scrap of a hand, J,10, Q,9, K,8, even 8,7, I would pound back, but more often than not, they would raise me when I had 4,9 or 8,3 in my blind. That means, of course, that even if they are bullshitting, they probably have you beat. It's the most frustrating feeling in poker, at least it is for me, a tight-aggressive player who prefers to make a move with a good hand rather than bluff and push with bad ones.
I finally get another scrap of a hand, A,5, after three blind levels, and I have to push, and I do, and the guy flips over A,K.
Sigh. IGHN.
Anyway, so after an hour of X-box to decompress, I went back to poker, to my cash game, still exhausted but not on tilt.
I was whining about my cash game, at least in my head. These last two months, I have scraped together enough winning sessions to make a profit for the month (I was ahead $50 in April, who-hoo), but I've also had lots of losing sessions.
Here's what I was whining about in my head:
"I'm a tight player, especially in cash games. I never seem to lose a lot. The problem is, I never seem to win a lot, either. So many other players, bad ones, walk away with these $75 takes (200 BB). I'm happy to scratch out $5 profit for the night. Lately I'm either raised out of a decent hand or not called when I raise with a good hand. My hands also never seem to hit the flop. Maybe I'm not playing enough hands. Wait, I play sooted connectors, my blinds, any pocket pair, As down to A-7, Ks down to K-10 and a few other fliers. So is that too tight? I don't think so.
But there are so many players playing crap all the time, and with so many players in every hand, they don't mind the gamble. Is Poker really a glorified lottery? Is it really a skill game? How can anyone call a 7-hand game a skill game?"
My game plan is always to not lose a whole lot and wait for the big score.
I was down another $2 when I got Q,J hearts. I call. Three other players call. The last guy raises another .25. In an effort to loosen my game up, as I have lately, I call.
A,7,3.
All hearts.
One card can be me at this point, and only if it's paired with another hand.
One guy bets $5.
I call, taking a small risk, but hoping that the third guy calls.
He raises all in for his $25, a full buy-in.
Sweet. If he has the K and another heart, I suppose he deserves a payoff.
I call.
The third guy calls.
The pot is $66, or more than 300 BB.
10 diamonds, 8 spades.
One guy turns over 10,9 of hearts.
Last guy turns over a set of 4s.
Sweet.
I love my style. I love my game.
I love poker.
And I'm awake.
Today I'm tired, but that pot still brings a smile to my face. Maybe it will give me a little more energy Sunday.
But sometimes I need poker to relax.
It sounds funny, poker can be and should be intense, but at times it's also a nice way to end the day. If that costs me a couple bucks because I haven't analyzed a hand enough to see through that guy's bluff, so be it.
So I sat down to a .25 NL cash game last night, after a softball game when it rained THE ENTIRE TIME and a 15-mile, mini-marathon is staring at me, in the face, at a time when I've rarely felt so worn-down, tired and just plain dead.
Maybe I overtrained. It's possible. Maybe I'm just sore from softball, the first two games of the new season. That's possible as well. Maybe I'm just worn down mentally, from considering giving one of our dogs away and dealing with a situation I don't want to get into right now (it involves ebay and an undelivered computer) and selling our home and trying to do all this while raising an active 10-month-old who thinks he MUST explore every inch of every open door, cabinet or toliet.
Then again, I may have just been pissed and down after bubbling out of a $10 SnG and a completely frustrating last half when my cards were deader than the cast of "Night of the Living Dead." My play was lamer than that analogy. The other two guys were raising, raising, raising, pounding my stack into nothing, and yet, when challenged, they would back off. Whenever I had any scrap of a hand, J,10, Q,9, K,8, even 8,7, I would pound back, but more often than not, they would raise me when I had 4,9 or 8,3 in my blind. That means, of course, that even if they are bullshitting, they probably have you beat. It's the most frustrating feeling in poker, at least it is for me, a tight-aggressive player who prefers to make a move with a good hand rather than bluff and push with bad ones.
I finally get another scrap of a hand, A,5, after three blind levels, and I have to push, and I do, and the guy flips over A,K.
Sigh. IGHN.
Anyway, so after an hour of X-box to decompress, I went back to poker, to my cash game, still exhausted but not on tilt.
I was whining about my cash game, at least in my head. These last two months, I have scraped together enough winning sessions to make a profit for the month (I was ahead $50 in April, who-hoo), but I've also had lots of losing sessions.
Here's what I was whining about in my head:
"I'm a tight player, especially in cash games. I never seem to lose a lot. The problem is, I never seem to win a lot, either. So many other players, bad ones, walk away with these $75 takes (200 BB). I'm happy to scratch out $5 profit for the night. Lately I'm either raised out of a decent hand or not called when I raise with a good hand. My hands also never seem to hit the flop. Maybe I'm not playing enough hands. Wait, I play sooted connectors, my blinds, any pocket pair, As down to A-7, Ks down to K-10 and a few other fliers. So is that too tight? I don't think so.
But there are so many players playing crap all the time, and with so many players in every hand, they don't mind the gamble. Is Poker really a glorified lottery? Is it really a skill game? How can anyone call a 7-hand game a skill game?"
My game plan is always to not lose a whole lot and wait for the big score.
I was down another $2 when I got Q,J hearts. I call. Three other players call. The last guy raises another .25. In an effort to loosen my game up, as I have lately, I call.
A,7,3.
All hearts.
One card can be me at this point, and only if it's paired with another hand.
One guy bets $5.
I call, taking a small risk, but hoping that the third guy calls.
He raises all in for his $25, a full buy-in.
Sweet. If he has the K and another heart, I suppose he deserves a payoff.
I call.
The third guy calls.
The pot is $66, or more than 300 BB.
10 diamonds, 8 spades.
One guy turns over 10,9 of hearts.
Last guy turns over a set of 4s.
Sweet.
I love my style. I love my game.
I love poker.
And I'm awake.
Today I'm tired, but that pot still brings a smile to my face. Maybe it will give me a little more energy Sunday.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
A fun beat
There are days when you know it's going to be a tough day. Maybe you get QQ, your first hand after six orbits, and it runs into KK.
Saturday I knew was going to be tough, and it had nothing to do with poker. I was up at 3 a.m. and left my house at 3:45 a.m. to climb my first mountain of the year.
It was a beautiful night. The stars shone, and the forecast of less than 20 percent looked good.
And then I reached Copper Mountain, a few miles before my turnoff near Breckenridge, and it started to snow.
Hard.
It was the same feeling I would get after getting that QQ. You gotta be kidding me. My first climb (my first hand) in a long time (in xxx orbits) and I run into snow (KK)?
The weather, however, cleared a little as I headed up the road that would lead to the trailhead. My partner greeted me and said the weather looked good, huh? I glanced up. Blue sky.
Sweet.
And then I saw the clouds racing across the sky like big, white, poofy aeroplanes.
Uh oh.
That means wind. Wind means ugh. Especially in winter, when a strong wind can turn a cold day into a frostbite-inducing terror.
I wanted to climb Peak 10 and Crystal Peak near Breckenridge. Many don’t chose to stop at Peak 10.
I didn’t really choose to stop there, either, but I did.
Saturday I attempted Crystal, a 13,852-foot peak, to try to knock off one of my Centennials, one of the top 100 peaks in Colorado. Now that I’ve finished all the 14ers, I’m going for those next, in the hopes of finishing them in the next 15 years.
I enjoy climbing in the winter. The mountains are even more beautiful, you don’t have to worry about thunderstorms or roasting in the heat, and the snow can be really fun, giving you chances to slide down some slopes and plunge step down others.
But, as Saturday showed, winter can also turn Colorado’s peaks into challenges worthy of any mountaineer.
Crystal, when hiked through the Spruce Creek Trailhead, isn’t much more than a difficult day hike in the summer, something you don’t want to take too lightly but well within the reach of anyone in good shape and some understanding of a peak’s potential dangers.
Saturday we faced steady, punishing winds of more than 30 mph, slapping the wind chill down to sub-zero temperatures, clouding our visibility and sending the snow pellets up to sting our faces. Our packs were loaded down with ice axes, snowshoes and extra clothing. And walking in snow is always harder than walking on bare ground, no matter how much more fun it is.
Hiking in the area would be fun regardless of the season, even if you don’t want to climb Peak 10 or Crystal. Once you take the Crystal Creek Road after traveling 300 yards on the Spruce Creek Road and make it just above treeline, you’ll run into Francie’s Cabin.
The area is beautiful, with outstanding views of Father Dyer, Mount Helen and a chance to visit Lower Crystal Lake, and the cabin gives you a place to stay for the night. For information on the cabin or to make a reservation, visit www.summithuts.org.
If you want to continue, follow the Wheeler Trail, which is marked with large carins (we could see them even with all the snow). Continue up and soon you’ll see Peak 10’s summit.
The final ridge that leads to Peak 10 is an exciting walk but shouldn’t give anyone the willies. The summit is a quaint little spot, like a den with just enough room for a chair and a typewriter. I’m told skiiers like to get high there, but I was already feeling a little dizzy and chose my gatorade and my (ironically named) summer sausage and cheese instead. The views are inspiring enough.
If you want to continue to Crystal, head down to the saddle between the two peaks and climb the steep ridge to the summit. In the summer, it won’t be anything but a climb up talus, but in the winter, bring your ice axe and some confidence on steep snow.
Mistakes compound each other in the mountains. I didn’t get enough rest the week before, thanks to my infant son, Jayden, so leaving the house at 3:45 a.m. was especially painful. It was so cold my water bladder froze, which meant I didn’t hydrate enough, and I didn’t want to eat in the cold, but I didn’t eat enough breakfast to get away with that. And I didn’t bring goggles or enough face protection, so the snow stung my face and made it impossible to see.
I really thought training for my half marathon, something I’ll do next week, along with my previous experience, would make me strong enough to overcome any obstacles.
But what I needed to remember is that the mountains, sometimes, will win even when you’re at your best. On days like Saturday, they don’t need any help.
I didn't get to summit my main goal, but I did get to climb a peak.
It was a fun day and a tough beat. Sometimes the two do actually go hand in hand.
Saturday I knew was going to be tough, and it had nothing to do with poker. I was up at 3 a.m. and left my house at 3:45 a.m. to climb my first mountain of the year.
It was a beautiful night. The stars shone, and the forecast of less than 20 percent looked good.
And then I reached Copper Mountain, a few miles before my turnoff near Breckenridge, and it started to snow.
Hard.
It was the same feeling I would get after getting that QQ. You gotta be kidding me. My first climb (my first hand) in a long time (in xxx orbits) and I run into snow (KK)?
The weather, however, cleared a little as I headed up the road that would lead to the trailhead. My partner greeted me and said the weather looked good, huh? I glanced up. Blue sky.
Sweet.
And then I saw the clouds racing across the sky like big, white, poofy aeroplanes.
Uh oh.
That means wind. Wind means ugh. Especially in winter, when a strong wind can turn a cold day into a frostbite-inducing terror.
I wanted to climb Peak 10 and Crystal Peak near Breckenridge. Many don’t chose to stop at Peak 10.
I didn’t really choose to stop there, either, but I did.
Saturday I attempted Crystal, a 13,852-foot peak, to try to knock off one of my Centennials, one of the top 100 peaks in Colorado. Now that I’ve finished all the 14ers, I’m going for those next, in the hopes of finishing them in the next 15 years.
I enjoy climbing in the winter. The mountains are even more beautiful, you don’t have to worry about thunderstorms or roasting in the heat, and the snow can be really fun, giving you chances to slide down some slopes and plunge step down others.
But, as Saturday showed, winter can also turn Colorado’s peaks into challenges worthy of any mountaineer.
Crystal, when hiked through the Spruce Creek Trailhead, isn’t much more than a difficult day hike in the summer, something you don’t want to take too lightly but well within the reach of anyone in good shape and some understanding of a peak’s potential dangers.
Saturday we faced steady, punishing winds of more than 30 mph, slapping the wind chill down to sub-zero temperatures, clouding our visibility and sending the snow pellets up to sting our faces. Our packs were loaded down with ice axes, snowshoes and extra clothing. And walking in snow is always harder than walking on bare ground, no matter how much more fun it is.
Hiking in the area would be fun regardless of the season, even if you don’t want to climb Peak 10 or Crystal. Once you take the Crystal Creek Road after traveling 300 yards on the Spruce Creek Road and make it just above treeline, you’ll run into Francie’s Cabin.
The area is beautiful, with outstanding views of Father Dyer, Mount Helen and a chance to visit Lower Crystal Lake, and the cabin gives you a place to stay for the night. For information on the cabin or to make a reservation, visit www.summithuts.org.
If you want to continue, follow the Wheeler Trail, which is marked with large carins (we could see them even with all the snow). Continue up and soon you’ll see Peak 10’s summit.
The final ridge that leads to Peak 10 is an exciting walk but shouldn’t give anyone the willies. The summit is a quaint little spot, like a den with just enough room for a chair and a typewriter. I’m told skiiers like to get high there, but I was already feeling a little dizzy and chose my gatorade and my (ironically named) summer sausage and cheese instead. The views are inspiring enough.
If you want to continue to Crystal, head down to the saddle between the two peaks and climb the steep ridge to the summit. In the summer, it won’t be anything but a climb up talus, but in the winter, bring your ice axe and some confidence on steep snow.
Mistakes compound each other in the mountains. I didn’t get enough rest the week before, thanks to my infant son, Jayden, so leaving the house at 3:45 a.m. was especially painful. It was so cold my water bladder froze, which meant I didn’t hydrate enough, and I didn’t want to eat in the cold, but I didn’t eat enough breakfast to get away with that. And I didn’t bring goggles or enough face protection, so the snow stung my face and made it impossible to see.
I really thought training for my half marathon, something I’ll do next week, along with my previous experience, would make me strong enough to overcome any obstacles.
But what I needed to remember is that the mountains, sometimes, will win even when you’re at your best. On days like Saturday, they don’t need any help.
I didn't get to summit my main goal, but I did get to climb a peak.
It was a fun day and a tough beat. Sometimes the two do actually go hand in hand.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Can you smell what the rock is folding?
AA.
I folded it last night after the turn, when all I had was the pair, and the flop was 3,Q,J, and two guys called my first $3 bet.
The guy bet $5, or about a fifth of the buy-in and a quarter of his stack, after a K hit.
Not only do I not like that bet, I don't like the fact that I don't know what the other guy is gonna do.
This was not a tournament. It was a cash game.
So I folded.
I am much more aggressive in a tournament. That's not saying much, as I am still picky about my starting hands in a tournament.
But I sure am a rock in cash games.
I'm a successful cash game player, but lately, in these last couple of months, I'm probably break even. I seem to be treading water quite a bit. I've had far more losing sessions than I care to admit these last couple of months, but usually they amount to losing a couple bucks and no more.
It bothers me, but I don't know if I'll be able to ever really push, bluff and raise the way I do in a tournament. The losses hurt too much in a cash game. I'm never confident I'll be able to win it back, as I can in a cash game. And I rarely take chances because I don't have to: I haven't sucked out in a cash game in a long, long time, and that tells me I refuse to get my money in unless I know I have the best of it.
It's still not a bad way to play, at .25 NL, when there are so many bad players that patience will win you pots.
But it's also a tough way to play, as the levels are so erratic, I have a hard time knowing what the guy has. TPTK, especially, is a tough hand for me to play lately. I've pushed with it and lost, and I've also folded it many times, only to find out the guy thought his TPNK was golden or even his second pair was good.
And I usually get my best hands in the first 15 minutes, when I haven't really pegged the donkeys. By the time I do, others have already dragged them off to feed.
I know everyone, including me, loves to talk about how bad the players on the Internet are, but quite frankly, many aren't as bad as you think. Yes, there are many bad players, but there are also many decent ones who, yes, do have a hand when they push you.
Poker is about calculated risks. Maybe I need to take more risks and look for less sure things. It's called gambling for a reason.
Or I can just wait for AA again.
I folded it last night after the turn, when all I had was the pair, and the flop was 3,Q,J, and two guys called my first $3 bet.
The guy bet $5, or about a fifth of the buy-in and a quarter of his stack, after a K hit.
Not only do I not like that bet, I don't like the fact that I don't know what the other guy is gonna do.
This was not a tournament. It was a cash game.
So I folded.
I am much more aggressive in a tournament. That's not saying much, as I am still picky about my starting hands in a tournament.
But I sure am a rock in cash games.
I'm a successful cash game player, but lately, in these last couple of months, I'm probably break even. I seem to be treading water quite a bit. I've had far more losing sessions than I care to admit these last couple of months, but usually they amount to losing a couple bucks and no more.
It bothers me, but I don't know if I'll be able to ever really push, bluff and raise the way I do in a tournament. The losses hurt too much in a cash game. I'm never confident I'll be able to win it back, as I can in a cash game. And I rarely take chances because I don't have to: I haven't sucked out in a cash game in a long, long time, and that tells me I refuse to get my money in unless I know I have the best of it.
It's still not a bad way to play, at .25 NL, when there are so many bad players that patience will win you pots.
But it's also a tough way to play, as the levels are so erratic, I have a hard time knowing what the guy has. TPTK, especially, is a tough hand for me to play lately. I've pushed with it and lost, and I've also folded it many times, only to find out the guy thought his TPNK was golden or even his second pair was good.
And I usually get my best hands in the first 15 minutes, when I haven't really pegged the donkeys. By the time I do, others have already dragged them off to feed.
I know everyone, including me, loves to talk about how bad the players on the Internet are, but quite frankly, many aren't as bad as you think. Yes, there are many bad players, but there are also many decent ones who, yes, do have a hand when they push you.
Poker is about calculated risks. Maybe I need to take more risks and look for less sure things. It's called gambling for a reason.
Or I can just wait for AA again.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Change of season
Poker is a pastime, not a job.
Poker is a game, not an exercise.
Poker is a hobby, not work.
Poker is supposed to be fun.
The game, however, was not fun during March, my worst month, a month when I actually lost money, when suckouts were a plenty (and none for me) and card-dead sessions blossomed like tulips in a cemetary.
That's poker. That's the game. That's also what makes those sessions when you're on a rush so much more fun, you know, like Easter, a fun holiday that only happens a few times a year.
But March got to me a little bit too much. Restless nights. Occasional upset stomachs. Many, many pillows slammed on the floor.
I think I know why.
Two reasons.
The first, unfortunately, is that I'm uber competitive. I like to win. Don't worry: I'm not the guy who will scream at my kid's wiffle ball game when he gets old enough to play, or beat up his friends when we play tag (do kids play that anymore? They will at my house).
But I do like to win a little too much. I keep it under control for the most part because I'm aware of my need to win. However, it has caused a couple embarassing moments out on the softball diamond, for instance.
The second was a goal. I wanted, no, needed, to buy a new computer, and I planned to pay for it with poker money.
So even $50 lost for the week put me $50 away from my goal. I actually started saying scary things to the screen, like, "come on, I really need this pot." Like, if I don't win this $35 pot, the mob will break my 10-month-old's legs.
I am not a gambler. I am a poker player. Yes, there is a difference. But chasing that computer, I became a gambler, someone who "needed" to win all the time, someone who played just another hour, honey, and then I'll go to bed.
Well, it's April now, and my poker game is in a rebirth, much like our new season. After my incredible, fortunate takedown at the casino in Blackhawk, CO, and a nice tax refund (thank you, tax credit, I knew kids were good for something besides lots of love, lol), I had enough to pay for a new computer,
I purchased it on E-bay, and while I'm still waiting for it, a bit uneasily, I might add, the guy assured me he sent it Friday.
And I'm enjoying the game again.
If I lose, and I have, it's not a big deal. If I win, and I have, I get to keep playing. My bankroll is paltry after my huge cashouts, but that's OK, too.
I am up this month, by quite a bit, actually, thanks to some live home tournaments filled with fish. My ring game isn't kick ass, not like it was in February, but I'm not losing much on it, either. The small-stakes SnGs, as they always do, are going fine.
Most of all, I'm enjoying myself.
Poker is not a game. It is fun. Again.
Poker is a game, not an exercise.
Poker is a hobby, not work.
Poker is supposed to be fun.
The game, however, was not fun during March, my worst month, a month when I actually lost money, when suckouts were a plenty (and none for me) and card-dead sessions blossomed like tulips in a cemetary.
That's poker. That's the game. That's also what makes those sessions when you're on a rush so much more fun, you know, like Easter, a fun holiday that only happens a few times a year.
But March got to me a little bit too much. Restless nights. Occasional upset stomachs. Many, many pillows slammed on the floor.
I think I know why.
Two reasons.
The first, unfortunately, is that I'm uber competitive. I like to win. Don't worry: I'm not the guy who will scream at my kid's wiffle ball game when he gets old enough to play, or beat up his friends when we play tag (do kids play that anymore? They will at my house).
But I do like to win a little too much. I keep it under control for the most part because I'm aware of my need to win. However, it has caused a couple embarassing moments out on the softball diamond, for instance.
The second was a goal. I wanted, no, needed, to buy a new computer, and I planned to pay for it with poker money.
So even $50 lost for the week put me $50 away from my goal. I actually started saying scary things to the screen, like, "come on, I really need this pot." Like, if I don't win this $35 pot, the mob will break my 10-month-old's legs.
I am not a gambler. I am a poker player. Yes, there is a difference. But chasing that computer, I became a gambler, someone who "needed" to win all the time, someone who played just another hour, honey, and then I'll go to bed.
Well, it's April now, and my poker game is in a rebirth, much like our new season. After my incredible, fortunate takedown at the casino in Blackhawk, CO, and a nice tax refund (thank you, tax credit, I knew kids were good for something besides lots of love, lol), I had enough to pay for a new computer,
I purchased it on E-bay, and while I'm still waiting for it, a bit uneasily, I might add, the guy assured me he sent it Friday.
And I'm enjoying the game again.
If I lose, and I have, it's not a big deal. If I win, and I have, I get to keep playing. My bankroll is paltry after my huge cashouts, but that's OK, too.
I am up this month, by quite a bit, actually, thanks to some live home tournaments filled with fish. My ring game isn't kick ass, not like it was in February, but I'm not losing much on it, either. The small-stakes SnGs, as they always do, are going fine.
Most of all, I'm enjoying myself.
Poker is not a game. It is fun. Again.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
"High-Stakes Poker" high-class late-night TV
So Baby England, aka Mr. Spaz, decided that at 10:30 p.m., just as I was coming home from work, that he had had enough sleep for the night.
Ah. Nothing like a four-hour nap to make you feel refreshed. I think I'm gonna crawl around for a while.
I guess that was his thinking. So, as I finally decided to dig into a new X-Box game after a long day of work and watching Baby England before that, Mrs. England (Mrs. Pokerpeaker?) brings down an active boy and says, "Can you watch him?"
OK.
Inevitably, of course, that means no more X-Box, although he did sit with me so I could finish the first level. Thanks man. I brushed my teeth and went upstairs and flipped on the tube as he squirmed around Midnight.
Sweet. High Stakes Poker is on, Monday's last episode, I guess.
Boy, did that ease the pain.
This might be my favorite poker show, save for watching the World Series poker on ESPN. This is how these guys make their living, at these high stakes matches, so I felt like I really got an idea of their true lifestyles. Getting to watch Barry Greenstein and Sam Farah battle it out for $350,000 was awesome, even if it did make my $20 taken that day seem a little, well, puny.
Some observations:
• Watching Daniel Negreanu come back to almost even after losting nearly a $1 million is a great example of how Tilt shouldn't exist in your vocabulary. It's no excuse to blow half your bankroll because "you were on Tilt." Each hand is a new one, each game is a new one, and all you have to do is play every hand with exactly the same calm emotion as the one before it. There's a great lesson there. I hope I can follow it in the future.
• Phil Helmuth is a better player than I thought. I know the guy has won nine world championships, but his game seemed a little too predictable for me, especially in this age of poker, when he just bitched about guys playing K,J instead of adjusting his play to fit the new, wilder style.
Helmuth mixes it up as well as anyone and bluffs well. He got Jennifer Harman to call a big bet on the river with a pair of 9s. I know it was difficult for her to put him on small cards given his reputation, but he got the pot because he mixed it up. Lesson learned: Going against your reputation or table image is how you'll make the most money, as long as you do it well.
• I wonder how much these guys really make every year. $25,000 seems like nothing to them.
• I felt better about my own play after watching them. They make mistakes, too, and play hands like K,10 "just to see the flop." They get outkicked, flushed out and straighted just like the best of us. I beat myself up too much for making one bad call, and I shouldn't. Poker is not a perfect game.
The key is they don't do it very often. For every bad decision they make they probably make 10 good ones (even if it doesn't always work out for them). My ratio isn't that high, but it's probably higher than many Internet players (I'm a winning player, so I think this is true). Even so, try to work on upping that ratio but not destroying yourself when you do play a hand badly.
• I do need to loosen up more at the tables, just a little more. Yes, chances are at a large table that someone has a good starting hand, but that doesn't mean they've got the nuts once the flop hits. Monsters were rare in that game.
Bring the show back for a new season, GSN. It's one of the best things on TV right now. Besides, I need something to watch late at night if Jayden decides to punch in another late-night session.
Ah. Nothing like a four-hour nap to make you feel refreshed. I think I'm gonna crawl around for a while.
I guess that was his thinking. So, as I finally decided to dig into a new X-Box game after a long day of work and watching Baby England before that, Mrs. England (Mrs. Pokerpeaker?) brings down an active boy and says, "Can you watch him?"
OK.
Inevitably, of course, that means no more X-Box, although he did sit with me so I could finish the first level. Thanks man. I brushed my teeth and went upstairs and flipped on the tube as he squirmed around Midnight.
Sweet. High Stakes Poker is on, Monday's last episode, I guess.
Boy, did that ease the pain.
This might be my favorite poker show, save for watching the World Series poker on ESPN. This is how these guys make their living, at these high stakes matches, so I felt like I really got an idea of their true lifestyles. Getting to watch Barry Greenstein and Sam Farah battle it out for $350,000 was awesome, even if it did make my $20 taken that day seem a little, well, puny.
Some observations:
• Watching Daniel Negreanu come back to almost even after losting nearly a $1 million is a great example of how Tilt shouldn't exist in your vocabulary. It's no excuse to blow half your bankroll because "you were on Tilt." Each hand is a new one, each game is a new one, and all you have to do is play every hand with exactly the same calm emotion as the one before it. There's a great lesson there. I hope I can follow it in the future.
• Phil Helmuth is a better player than I thought. I know the guy has won nine world championships, but his game seemed a little too predictable for me, especially in this age of poker, when he just bitched about guys playing K,J instead of adjusting his play to fit the new, wilder style.
Helmuth mixes it up as well as anyone and bluffs well. He got Jennifer Harman to call a big bet on the river with a pair of 9s. I know it was difficult for her to put him on small cards given his reputation, but he got the pot because he mixed it up. Lesson learned: Going against your reputation or table image is how you'll make the most money, as long as you do it well.
• I wonder how much these guys really make every year. $25,000 seems like nothing to them.
• I felt better about my own play after watching them. They make mistakes, too, and play hands like K,10 "just to see the flop." They get outkicked, flushed out and straighted just like the best of us. I beat myself up too much for making one bad call, and I shouldn't. Poker is not a perfect game.
The key is they don't do it very often. For every bad decision they make they probably make 10 good ones (even if it doesn't always work out for them). My ratio isn't that high, but it's probably higher than many Internet players (I'm a winning player, so I think this is true). Even so, try to work on upping that ratio but not destroying yourself when you do play a hand badly.
• I do need to loosen up more at the tables, just a little more. Yes, chances are at a large table that someone has a good starting hand, but that doesn't mean they've got the nuts once the flop hits. Monsters were rare in that game.
Bring the show back for a new season, GSN. It's one of the best things on TV right now. Besides, I need something to watch late at night if Jayden decides to punch in another late-night session.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Playing with new players is confusing, frustrating but ultimately rewarding
So I played a private, home tournament Saturday night.
I didn't really know what to expect. The guy hosts card games every once in a while and wanted to host a hold 'em tournament.
The buy-in was $20, which was a teensy bit stiff for a guy with a baby and a reporter's and teacher's household income, but I thought I might be able to win it back, and I always enjoy playing with new people. Plus I can't resist live poker,and I haven't gotten to play it as much as I would like.
The first hand, I look at A,10. Eight of the nine players call, so I nervously call, too.
The flop comes A,10,3 rainbow.
I bet $300 into a $300 pot. Everyone looks at me and complains about the size of the bet, letting me know that the players may not be as good as I feared.
It's a stiff bet, but I want to pick up the pot and drive players out. And we only start with $200, with an aggressive, Internet-like blind structure (every orbit they double, I guess they don't want to be there all night), so I need to take advantage of the hands I have.
Five callers.
Uh oh.
A 5 comes on the turn, and two people call my $500 bet. It's another stiff bet, in the hopes of picking up the pot right there.
On the river comes a 2, and I wonder if they were chasing. I check, not ready to put all my money, and $20, into the pot just yet.
One flips over 5,5, and the other flips over the 4,6 for an impressive straight.
Wow. Ouch.
One called my huge bets with nothing, and the other had only a pair of 5s.
I'm here to have fun, so I don't bitch. Nice draw, I say (remember my new edict?).
What's a draw, they ask.
Okaaaaaay.
This is what it's like to play with new, beginning players. Donkeys, they were, but I don't want to be mean. Half of the table barely even knew how to play.
That, as I've shown up above, can be a great thing, but it can also be the most frustrating draw in poker, as you all know by playing with so many donkeys online.
You can't bet them off a hand. They won't raise themselves but they call all your raises, preflop, postflop and pre-post flop.
If they have a draw, they're chasing it, even if they have less than a 5 percent chance of making it. Then they say things like, "I knew that was coming." And so you never know where you are in a hand.
Of course, they will also call your A-high flushes with, well, nothing, just pretty face cards.
It works both ways.
Twice I had A-high, top two pair and lost both times to sets and flushes that shouldn't have been called. And twice I got lucky, once when my pair of 5s held up (my BB put me all in) and another time when a J appeared on the turn to help me through another all-in with the other guy holding A,Q.
I took second, gathered up my $60 and went home.
I promptly put it on a poker Web site.
After all, playing with bad players is frustrating, but, ultimately, it's rewarding as well.
I didn't really know what to expect. The guy hosts card games every once in a while and wanted to host a hold 'em tournament.
The buy-in was $20, which was a teensy bit stiff for a guy with a baby and a reporter's and teacher's household income, but I thought I might be able to win it back, and I always enjoy playing with new people. Plus I can't resist live poker,and I haven't gotten to play it as much as I would like.
The first hand, I look at A,10. Eight of the nine players call, so I nervously call, too.
The flop comes A,10,3 rainbow.
I bet $300 into a $300 pot. Everyone looks at me and complains about the size of the bet, letting me know that the players may not be as good as I feared.
It's a stiff bet, but I want to pick up the pot and drive players out. And we only start with $200, with an aggressive, Internet-like blind structure (every orbit they double, I guess they don't want to be there all night), so I need to take advantage of the hands I have.
Five callers.
Uh oh.
A 5 comes on the turn, and two people call my $500 bet. It's another stiff bet, in the hopes of picking up the pot right there.
On the river comes a 2, and I wonder if they were chasing. I check, not ready to put all my money, and $20, into the pot just yet.
One flips over 5,5, and the other flips over the 4,6 for an impressive straight.
Wow. Ouch.
One called my huge bets with nothing, and the other had only a pair of 5s.
I'm here to have fun, so I don't bitch. Nice draw, I say (remember my new edict?).
What's a draw, they ask.
Okaaaaaay.
This is what it's like to play with new, beginning players. Donkeys, they were, but I don't want to be mean. Half of the table barely even knew how to play.
That, as I've shown up above, can be a great thing, but it can also be the most frustrating draw in poker, as you all know by playing with so many donkeys online.
You can't bet them off a hand. They won't raise themselves but they call all your raises, preflop, postflop and pre-post flop.
If they have a draw, they're chasing it, even if they have less than a 5 percent chance of making it. Then they say things like, "I knew that was coming." And so you never know where you are in a hand.
Of course, they will also call your A-high flushes with, well, nothing, just pretty face cards.
It works both ways.
Twice I had A-high, top two pair and lost both times to sets and flushes that shouldn't have been called. And twice I got lucky, once when my pair of 5s held up (my BB put me all in) and another time when a J appeared on the turn to help me through another all-in with the other guy holding A,Q.
I took second, gathered up my $60 and went home.
I promptly put it on a poker Web site.
After all, playing with bad players is frustrating, but, ultimately, it's rewarding as well.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Eureka!!!
I've got it!
I've got a way to insult all those donkeys calling you with crap and getting rewarded for it.
I can't bring myself to say np or nh. I just can't do it. It was not a nh or a np. It was a bs play and you got lucky. Congratulations.
But I don't want to berate people either. I don't want to educate them. And I don't want to continue to hate poker at times, as I do now.
So here it is.
Instead of np or nh, say nice draw.
Nice Draw, sir.
I love it.
1) You've insulted them a little, essentially saying "Boy, that was a fucking stupid play, asshole, but, hey, you were able to draw out on me, and that's poker." Most donkeys, however, won't see the hidden meaning behind that statement, and they'll happily say to you, "ty." Or they'll tell you, yeah, sorry, AA versus KK is a coin flip anyway.
Um, actually, no, it's not, but keep thinking that, sir!
Nice Draw.
2) You've complemented them on their play, encouraging them to call you with shit again.
3) It prevents you from making a fool of yourself by whining about the suckout.
See, my SnGs are still riddled with suckouts lately. In fact, suckouts are the only way I've been getting knocked out lately. It's certainly not from my good opponents' good play. I looked over my notes last week during my disasterous run in SnGs, and all six knowckouts were from horrible suckouts.
Yeah, yeah, that's poker. I'm not complaing anymore. I've bought my brand new computer, mostly with online poker money, so now I can have fun again and not worry so much about trying to make a ton of money. And after Saturday night's successful run at the live casino, I don't think anyone wants to hear any whining. After my SnG last night, when I had A,10 shorthanded and the guy had Q,10 and flopped two Qs, I went to a ring game and quickly made $30.
So the losing streak appears to be over.
So instead of cursing, closing my eyes and hammering at my legs with my fist, I just grit my teeth and type it in the box.
Nice Draw, sir.
Nice Draw.
I've got a way to insult all those donkeys calling you with crap and getting rewarded for it.
I can't bring myself to say np or nh. I just can't do it. It was not a nh or a np. It was a bs play and you got lucky. Congratulations.
But I don't want to berate people either. I don't want to educate them. And I don't want to continue to hate poker at times, as I do now.
So here it is.
Instead of np or nh, say nice draw.
Nice Draw, sir.
I love it.
1) You've insulted them a little, essentially saying "Boy, that was a fucking stupid play, asshole, but, hey, you were able to draw out on me, and that's poker." Most donkeys, however, won't see the hidden meaning behind that statement, and they'll happily say to you, "ty." Or they'll tell you, yeah, sorry, AA versus KK is a coin flip anyway.
Um, actually, no, it's not, but keep thinking that, sir!
Nice Draw.
2) You've complemented them on their play, encouraging them to call you with shit again.
3) It prevents you from making a fool of yourself by whining about the suckout.
See, my SnGs are still riddled with suckouts lately. In fact, suckouts are the only way I've been getting knocked out lately. It's certainly not from my good opponents' good play. I looked over my notes last week during my disasterous run in SnGs, and all six knowckouts were from horrible suckouts.
Yeah, yeah, that's poker. I'm not complaing anymore. I've bought my brand new computer, mostly with online poker money, so now I can have fun again and not worry so much about trying to make a ton of money. And after Saturday night's successful run at the live casino, I don't think anyone wants to hear any whining. After my SnG last night, when I had A,10 shorthanded and the guy had Q,10 and flopped two Qs, I went to a ring game and quickly made $30.
So the losing streak appears to be over.
So instead of cursing, closing my eyes and hammering at my legs with my fist, I just grit my teeth and type it in the box.
Nice Draw, sir.
Nice Draw.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
My Casino cherry gets popped
My heart started thumping as I rode the elevator up to the poker room at the Lodge Casino in Black Hawk, Colorado.
I admit it. I was scared.
Life rarely scares me. If you can:
1) Walk along a ridge no wider than a staircase and stare at a 2,000 foot drop on either side and continue on, as I have many times in my mountain climbing adventures
2) Raise a 9-month old who loves to endanger his life about 20 times a day
3) Drive down Interstate 25 in Colorado,
well, then, you can do anything.
But walking into the pokerroom at the Lodge, with 15 tables, terrified me. The place was mouse-quiet, with the clinking of chips and an occasional groan the only sounds bouncing around. Cigarette smoke drifted to the ceiling.
I immeaditely assume most people are better than me at poker, even though, most of the time, I'm actually one of the better players. It's sort of a habit, actually, of mine to assume that most players are better than me at anything, softball, running, mountain climbing, when, again, usually, I'm one of the better ones.
I never have to prove that to others. I just need to prove it, over and over, to myself.
My $200 in my pocket already seemed gone. My worst month since I started playing for real money, in October, sure as hell didn't help boost my confidence.
A guy who looked 20 and had 80s, Anthony Michael Hall hair, sneered at my question, "So, um, what are the betting structures?" Normally, I could slip into Reporter Mode and tell Mr. Feathered to go F himself, but I meekly slinked away and stared at the 10-person tables.
My wife saw this, raised her eyebrow at my meek reaction to the jackass and came up to me.
"What the hell? You've been looking forward to this for weeks."
"Yeah, but..."
"And you do well at online play all the time."
"Yeah, but..."
"And you've read about 15 books and studied and you watch that damn poker all the time on TV."
"Yeah."
"So get up there and sign up."
OK.
The poker manager, another guy with glasses, thin, wiry hair, and a Don Johnson beard, was much nicer and explained $2/5. There's only one blind, it's $2 to call, and you can bet $5 per round. Yes, you can raise, and the betting is capped at $30.
Or you can play 5/5, when it's $5 to call, you bet $5 every time, and if you're heads up against someone, the betting is unlimited.
"Well, I've never done this before," I said, gaining confidence, even though I have rarely played limit.
"OK, start with $2/5."
OK.
"Should I get my chips now?" I asked.
"Nah, have a seat. A table will open shortly."
Two minutes later, they put together a new table, and I was off.
I brought out my notepad to take a few hands down, but I was amazed at how fast everything seemed to be, as fast as online play. I made up some rules right then:
• Don't worry so much about pot odds. It's limit, so you'll have the odds to call if you want to.
• Play solid, not fancy, poker.
• Fold to most raises.
• Watch, watch and watch everyone there.
• DON'T BE INTIMIDATED.
The last, of course is easier said than done, but as my wife said, "once you sit down, you'll realize it's just poker."
I watched how others bet by grabbing their chips and flipping them across the felt and tried to imitate them, with mixed results. My face probably went a little white when I realized that three at the table knew all the dealers and also knew each other. Shit.
But I soon realized how lucky I was. The table was chatty, not serious, and the guy on my right, a good, solid player, talked to me right away. OK, he was cool. And the guy to my left was from Weld County, my county, and he read my articles all the time and was very nice. A classy-looking woman, with a hairsprayed do and four buttons off her white shirt, smiled at me and said she was waiting for her boyfriend. An old guy with a Broncos hat, a mousey, stone-quiet woman with, I would later learn, an accent, puffed on her cigarettes called everything and Played. Very. Slowly. Even. When. It. Was. Time. To. Turn. The. Cards. Over.
• Then I'm dealt JJ in EP on my fourth hand, and I reach for my chips for the first time. My hands, strangely enough, were not shaking. The conversation calmed me.
"Raise," I say, throwing out another $5 in chips. It's $7 to call.
Six callers.
Shit.
Of course, I had no idea that calls would mean nothing tonight. People were there to play, and play they did, even if that meant calling a raise with nothing. There were, on average, six or seven players in every hand. It was Saturday night, the feeling was right, and they were there to gamble, not play poker.
The cool guy to my right calls, too, and the flop comes trash, trash, trash, with no chances for a straight or a flush. I bet $5, everyone folds, which was a common theme: People wanted to see the flops, but they would fold to the first bet if they had nothing, unless they had draws (which we'll talk about later). Everyone except cool guy to the right, who I knew was good after scooping a $175 pot on the second hand of the night. The way he played his cards told me he knew what he was doing.
But then he opened his mouth.
"I think you've got pockets, and I think your pockets are higher than mine, but I"ll call you," he said.
Why would he say that? Is he fucking with me? I don't think he's fucking with me. He's a nice guy and doesn't believe, so far, anyway, that he needs to lie to me to win.
So he has either QQ or 10,10 or maybe 9,9. He doesn't have a set because he would have re-raised me. So I think I've got him beat.
My question is, in another theme for the night, why would he tell me what he had? Players, all night long, talked far too much. If a third card came down, they would say, "dammit, there's the straight." And if I had the straight, I knew I was good, and yet, they would continue to call my raises.
It blew me away. The play was worse than my home game Friday night. It was worse than online play, much worse, actually.
I was sitting on a gold mine.
Trash card, trash card, and I flip over my JJ and take my first pot of the night.
Now, suddenly, I have a lot of confidence.
I made beginners mistakes too. I tried to take that first pot myself, until the dealer, a cool one, said, "I know you do that at your home game, but let me push it over to you here."
I fiddled with the button until he told me that it could ruin the hand. I needed to be reminded to post my blind a couple times.
But I said, at the table, "This is my first time," and everyone was cool. If they thought I was dumb, all the better. When the hairspray woman said my nose twitched when I had a hand, I twitched it every time I had a hand extra hard, so she thought I was exaggerating. I had fun and started talking to any player, not just my two "friends" on my right and my left. I made jokes and people laughed.
• I'm dealt K,A sooted, and I raise to $7. A few callers, but they all fold to my $5 bet when an A flops. (By the way, I"m sorry I don't have more details on the hands. I tried to take notes but had trouble keeping up with them and observing the table as well).
Mousy woman with accent calls.
Nothing too worrisome on the turn or the flop, and I bet every time, the max.
I win another nice pot.
• I am dealt J,Q, I throw my $2 out there, and I see J,3,7, rainbow. I bet $5, MWWA calls again.
Same deal. Bet, bet, bet, call, sweet.
It was almost irritating, actually. I saw many suckouts that night - thankfully, I never had one against me - because most hang in there, hoping to catch their card. Fold, people.
I saw pocket AA six times and it didn't win the whole night. Too many callers. Guy on my left lost it two times in a row.
• I pitch 7,2 and two other 7s come down, with a fourth on the turn. I obviously don't berate myself for folding 7,2.
• My favorite hand of the night. I have K,K, I raise, hairspray calls. J,10,3 comes down. She bets, I raise, she calls. K on the turn. Sweet. No flush draw, and she bet on the flop, so I'm not that worried about the straight. She bets, I raise again, and she stares me down before calling.
K falls on the river.
OMG.
THEM'S QUADS BEEECHES.
I bet, hoping and praying she will raise me, but she just calls, and I flip over the cards to the oohs and aahs of the table.
Now I"m a badass.
• And then my only suckout of the night comes on the next hand. I have A,10 sooted and I raise. Hairspray lady, who lost her two pair to my quads, is wary but calls it. She would later get drunker and worse as the night went on.
The flop comes A,8,K, rainbow, so I bet $5 and she calls. I put her on a weak A.
3 falls, and she raises my bet. Did that two pair her? It may have, but there's enough money in the pot to call, and I'm on a roll.
The K falls on the turn, I bet, she just calls, and her two pair, A,3, is counterfeited.
I apologize. She accepts.
Then she says, "I'm coming after you now."
I smile.
"I thought you said this was your first time," she said.
"I said it was my first time playing in a casino. It wasn't my first time playing," I say.
"You're cute," she says.
I'm also doing much better than I ever thought I would.
• And just to prove it was my night, I play Q,5 sooted for the hell of it, just for fun, and I get a flush on the turn, and I take another guy who had a lower flush under me to the cleaners.
• I get QQ in the second hour and raise to $7. Everyone except one person folds.
"Well, at least you're paying attention," I say, making fun of my rock image.
I bet the hand when nothing threatening comes down, and the caller, another good player, folds.
My rock image, however, has me up by quite a bit. I don't realize by how much until I ask for the dealer to color me up, trade some chips in, and the floor manager racks up some chips and brings me back my $100 buy in.
Oh.
I misplay two hands, but even then, I believe, the plays were justifiable.
• I have A,Q, and the guy to my right raises $5. I throw out my chips and notice that a red one is one top. The reds are $5. The whites are $1.
"Re-raise," the dealer says.
I pause and don't worry about protesting. I also curse myself and start digging out my red chips out of my white stack. Idiot.
The guy re-raises my raise.
Uh oh.
A,Q, at this point, looks weak. I fold. Everyone at the table seems stunned. The dealer says, "Wow." Yeah. Wow. I folded a good hand. Funny how that works, isn't it?
Guy shows me Q,Q.
Pretty good fold, I think, and maybe, down the line, that mistake re-raise saves me a lot of money.
• I have J,9 on my blind, and it's checked around to me (for some reason, the table stopped raising after the first hour, allowing me limp in with some marginal hands, which we'll see helped me later. I was card-dead for the second hour, mostly, so I didn't care about the lack of action).
J high again, so I bet, and the right to my right raises.
Hmmm. A good player. The flop doesn't look too bad but not too good either.
I fold. Two others call.
He eventually wins with J,3.
Now I did have top pair, and top pair was golden that night (I would win a big pot with K,9, of all things), but I also had a weak kicker. I make that fold again, no problem.
Things settle down a bit. I fold a lot. I have A,9 but fold it to a raise. I get lots of small pocket pairs but none of them flop a set and I pitch them when overcards appear, as they are sure to do.
• Near the end of the third hour, I get 8,9 diamonds, a perfect hand to limp on, and I do, even when I'm in EP, because I know no one will raise me out of it.
The flop? 10,J,7. Yeah, baby.
Two spades, so I bet the max, and a frequent caller to my right raises me.
My wife slinks up behind me. I don't know she is there.
I raise him back another max.
He raises again.
I look things over. I have the nuts so far, and the more times he raises, the more I"m not worried about the flush draw. He must have a set or two pair. I reraise. He looks me over and calls.
• An 8 falls on the turn. Well, Q,9 has me beat now, but I'm not worried about that, especially after this comment:
"Shit, there's the straight."
OK, now I KNOW I'm good, and I raise him to death, and he bets or calls regardless.
"Geez, that took guts," my wife says. "It was fun to watch that."
It was fun for me too.
• On the final hand, the dealer asks me, while I'm stacking chips, if I want to see the cards. Sure, why not? It's free.
I get J,10.
Worth a $2 call, I think.
Flop comes J high again, and I bet out and get a call.
We eventually split it, two pair. I shake hands with everyone, tip the dealer and leave $175 up for the night in three hours. I probably tipped the dealers $15 or $20 for the night.
They deserved it after giving me those sweet hands.
I did it. I proved I could play and win. Maybe not at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday, but on a Saturday night, filled with fish, I proved that I could be the shark.
Thanks go toTrip Jax for his continued encouragement on my blog and my play, Poker Princess for answering my questions on live casino play, Will Wonka Poker for just being encouraging as well, Quest of a Closet Poker Player for the encouragement on my blog the day before I left to play and Low Limit Grinder for yahooing me and reassuring me that, yes, I could do this.
Footnotes:
Yes, I got sweet hands throughout the night. But I still, in my mind, did many things right.
Here they are:
• I folded most of my hands. I didn't play crappy hands. I was lucky because many times the flop did hit my good hands, making it easier to fold mediocre hands later because I could be patient.
• I rarely called. Instead, I raised or folded. I raised if I thought I had the best hand instead of calling. I folded if I wasn't sure if I had the best hand and a player bet at me. I did not lose one showdown that night. That's partly because of luck, of course, but it's also because if I took a hand to the river, I thought I had the best hand.
• If I had a hand, I bet at it, instead of checking. The players checked far too often, letting people hit their draws or not getting value for their hands. People slowplayed AA, which is deadly in limit. No free cards.
• If someone raised, I usually folded, even at that loose, wild table.
• I did not chase.
• I folded if the flop did not hit.
• I was patient. I was so, so patient.
• Finally, and this is important, I did not drink. I ran 11 miles earlier that day, farther than I've ever run before, and I knew I would be a little tired. So I did not drink anything except water.
It helped. A lot.
I admit it. I was scared.
Life rarely scares me. If you can:
1) Walk along a ridge no wider than a staircase and stare at a 2,000 foot drop on either side and continue on, as I have many times in my mountain climbing adventures
2) Raise a 9-month old who loves to endanger his life about 20 times a day
3) Drive down Interstate 25 in Colorado,
well, then, you can do anything.
But walking into the pokerroom at the Lodge, with 15 tables, terrified me. The place was mouse-quiet, with the clinking of chips and an occasional groan the only sounds bouncing around. Cigarette smoke drifted to the ceiling.
I immeaditely assume most people are better than me at poker, even though, most of the time, I'm actually one of the better players. It's sort of a habit, actually, of mine to assume that most players are better than me at anything, softball, running, mountain climbing, when, again, usually, I'm one of the better ones.
I never have to prove that to others. I just need to prove it, over and over, to myself.
My $200 in my pocket already seemed gone. My worst month since I started playing for real money, in October, sure as hell didn't help boost my confidence.
A guy who looked 20 and had 80s, Anthony Michael Hall hair, sneered at my question, "So, um, what are the betting structures?" Normally, I could slip into Reporter Mode and tell Mr. Feathered to go F himself, but I meekly slinked away and stared at the 10-person tables.
My wife saw this, raised her eyebrow at my meek reaction to the jackass and came up to me.
"What the hell? You've been looking forward to this for weeks."
"Yeah, but..."
"And you do well at online play all the time."
"Yeah, but..."
"And you've read about 15 books and studied and you watch that damn poker all the time on TV."
"Yeah."
"So get up there and sign up."
OK.
The poker manager, another guy with glasses, thin, wiry hair, and a Don Johnson beard, was much nicer and explained $2/5. There's only one blind, it's $2 to call, and you can bet $5 per round. Yes, you can raise, and the betting is capped at $30.
Or you can play 5/5, when it's $5 to call, you bet $5 every time, and if you're heads up against someone, the betting is unlimited.
"Well, I've never done this before," I said, gaining confidence, even though I have rarely played limit.
"OK, start with $2/5."
OK.
"Should I get my chips now?" I asked.
"Nah, have a seat. A table will open shortly."
Two minutes later, they put together a new table, and I was off.
I brought out my notepad to take a few hands down, but I was amazed at how fast everything seemed to be, as fast as online play. I made up some rules right then:
• Don't worry so much about pot odds. It's limit, so you'll have the odds to call if you want to.
• Play solid, not fancy, poker.
• Fold to most raises.
• Watch, watch and watch everyone there.
• DON'T BE INTIMIDATED.
The last, of course is easier said than done, but as my wife said, "once you sit down, you'll realize it's just poker."
I watched how others bet by grabbing their chips and flipping them across the felt and tried to imitate them, with mixed results. My face probably went a little white when I realized that three at the table knew all the dealers and also knew each other. Shit.
But I soon realized how lucky I was. The table was chatty, not serious, and the guy on my right, a good, solid player, talked to me right away. OK, he was cool. And the guy to my left was from Weld County, my county, and he read my articles all the time and was very nice. A classy-looking woman, with a hairsprayed do and four buttons off her white shirt, smiled at me and said she was waiting for her boyfriend. An old guy with a Broncos hat, a mousey, stone-quiet woman with, I would later learn, an accent, puffed on her cigarettes called everything and Played. Very. Slowly. Even. When. It. Was. Time. To. Turn. The. Cards. Over.
• Then I'm dealt JJ in EP on my fourth hand, and I reach for my chips for the first time. My hands, strangely enough, were not shaking. The conversation calmed me.
"Raise," I say, throwing out another $5 in chips. It's $7 to call.
Six callers.
Shit.
Of course, I had no idea that calls would mean nothing tonight. People were there to play, and play they did, even if that meant calling a raise with nothing. There were, on average, six or seven players in every hand. It was Saturday night, the feeling was right, and they were there to gamble, not play poker.
The cool guy to my right calls, too, and the flop comes trash, trash, trash, with no chances for a straight or a flush. I bet $5, everyone folds, which was a common theme: People wanted to see the flops, but they would fold to the first bet if they had nothing, unless they had draws (which we'll talk about later). Everyone except cool guy to the right, who I knew was good after scooping a $175 pot on the second hand of the night. The way he played his cards told me he knew what he was doing.
But then he opened his mouth.
"I think you've got pockets, and I think your pockets are higher than mine, but I"ll call you," he said.
Why would he say that? Is he fucking with me? I don't think he's fucking with me. He's a nice guy and doesn't believe, so far, anyway, that he needs to lie to me to win.
So he has either QQ or 10,10 or maybe 9,9. He doesn't have a set because he would have re-raised me. So I think I've got him beat.
My question is, in another theme for the night, why would he tell me what he had? Players, all night long, talked far too much. If a third card came down, they would say, "dammit, there's the straight." And if I had the straight, I knew I was good, and yet, they would continue to call my raises.
It blew me away. The play was worse than my home game Friday night. It was worse than online play, much worse, actually.
I was sitting on a gold mine.
Trash card, trash card, and I flip over my JJ and take my first pot of the night.
Now, suddenly, I have a lot of confidence.
I made beginners mistakes too. I tried to take that first pot myself, until the dealer, a cool one, said, "I know you do that at your home game, but let me push it over to you here."
I fiddled with the button until he told me that it could ruin the hand. I needed to be reminded to post my blind a couple times.
But I said, at the table, "This is my first time," and everyone was cool. If they thought I was dumb, all the better. When the hairspray woman said my nose twitched when I had a hand, I twitched it every time I had a hand extra hard, so she thought I was exaggerating. I had fun and started talking to any player, not just my two "friends" on my right and my left. I made jokes and people laughed.
• I'm dealt K,A sooted, and I raise to $7. A few callers, but they all fold to my $5 bet when an A flops. (By the way, I"m sorry I don't have more details on the hands. I tried to take notes but had trouble keeping up with them and observing the table as well).
Mousy woman with accent calls.
Nothing too worrisome on the turn or the flop, and I bet every time, the max.
I win another nice pot.
• I am dealt J,Q, I throw my $2 out there, and I see J,3,7, rainbow. I bet $5, MWWA calls again.
Same deal. Bet, bet, bet, call, sweet.
It was almost irritating, actually. I saw many suckouts that night - thankfully, I never had one against me - because most hang in there, hoping to catch their card. Fold, people.
I saw pocket AA six times and it didn't win the whole night. Too many callers. Guy on my left lost it two times in a row.
• I pitch 7,2 and two other 7s come down, with a fourth on the turn. I obviously don't berate myself for folding 7,2.
• My favorite hand of the night. I have K,K, I raise, hairspray calls. J,10,3 comes down. She bets, I raise, she calls. K on the turn. Sweet. No flush draw, and she bet on the flop, so I'm not that worried about the straight. She bets, I raise again, and she stares me down before calling.
K falls on the river.
OMG.
THEM'S QUADS BEEECHES.
I bet, hoping and praying she will raise me, but she just calls, and I flip over the cards to the oohs and aahs of the table.
Now I"m a badass.
• And then my only suckout of the night comes on the next hand. I have A,10 sooted and I raise. Hairspray lady, who lost her two pair to my quads, is wary but calls it. She would later get drunker and worse as the night went on.
The flop comes A,8,K, rainbow, so I bet $5 and she calls. I put her on a weak A.
3 falls, and she raises my bet. Did that two pair her? It may have, but there's enough money in the pot to call, and I'm on a roll.
The K falls on the turn, I bet, she just calls, and her two pair, A,3, is counterfeited.
I apologize. She accepts.
Then she says, "I'm coming after you now."
I smile.
"I thought you said this was your first time," she said.
"I said it was my first time playing in a casino. It wasn't my first time playing," I say.
"You're cute," she says.
I'm also doing much better than I ever thought I would.
• And just to prove it was my night, I play Q,5 sooted for the hell of it, just for fun, and I get a flush on the turn, and I take another guy who had a lower flush under me to the cleaners.
• I get QQ in the second hour and raise to $7. Everyone except one person folds.
"Well, at least you're paying attention," I say, making fun of my rock image.
I bet the hand when nothing threatening comes down, and the caller, another good player, folds.
My rock image, however, has me up by quite a bit. I don't realize by how much until I ask for the dealer to color me up, trade some chips in, and the floor manager racks up some chips and brings me back my $100 buy in.
Oh.
I misplay two hands, but even then, I believe, the plays were justifiable.
• I have A,Q, and the guy to my right raises $5. I throw out my chips and notice that a red one is one top. The reds are $5. The whites are $1.
"Re-raise," the dealer says.
I pause and don't worry about protesting. I also curse myself and start digging out my red chips out of my white stack. Idiot.
The guy re-raises my raise.
Uh oh.
A,Q, at this point, looks weak. I fold. Everyone at the table seems stunned. The dealer says, "Wow." Yeah. Wow. I folded a good hand. Funny how that works, isn't it?
Guy shows me Q,Q.
Pretty good fold, I think, and maybe, down the line, that mistake re-raise saves me a lot of money.
• I have J,9 on my blind, and it's checked around to me (for some reason, the table stopped raising after the first hour, allowing me limp in with some marginal hands, which we'll see helped me later. I was card-dead for the second hour, mostly, so I didn't care about the lack of action).
J high again, so I bet, and the right to my right raises.
Hmmm. A good player. The flop doesn't look too bad but not too good either.
I fold. Two others call.
He eventually wins with J,3.
Now I did have top pair, and top pair was golden that night (I would win a big pot with K,9, of all things), but I also had a weak kicker. I make that fold again, no problem.
Things settle down a bit. I fold a lot. I have A,9 but fold it to a raise. I get lots of small pocket pairs but none of them flop a set and I pitch them when overcards appear, as they are sure to do.
• Near the end of the third hour, I get 8,9 diamonds, a perfect hand to limp on, and I do, even when I'm in EP, because I know no one will raise me out of it.
The flop? 10,J,7. Yeah, baby.
Two spades, so I bet the max, and a frequent caller to my right raises me.
My wife slinks up behind me. I don't know she is there.
I raise him back another max.
He raises again.
I look things over. I have the nuts so far, and the more times he raises, the more I"m not worried about the flush draw. He must have a set or two pair. I reraise. He looks me over and calls.
• An 8 falls on the turn. Well, Q,9 has me beat now, but I'm not worried about that, especially after this comment:
"Shit, there's the straight."
OK, now I KNOW I'm good, and I raise him to death, and he bets or calls regardless.
"Geez, that took guts," my wife says. "It was fun to watch that."
It was fun for me too.
• On the final hand, the dealer asks me, while I'm stacking chips, if I want to see the cards. Sure, why not? It's free.
I get J,10.
Worth a $2 call, I think.
Flop comes J high again, and I bet out and get a call.
We eventually split it, two pair. I shake hands with everyone, tip the dealer and leave $175 up for the night in three hours. I probably tipped the dealers $15 or $20 for the night.
They deserved it after giving me those sweet hands.
I did it. I proved I could play and win. Maybe not at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday, but on a Saturday night, filled with fish, I proved that I could be the shark.
Thanks go to
Footnotes:
Yes, I got sweet hands throughout the night. But I still, in my mind, did many things right.
Here they are:
• I folded most of my hands. I didn't play crappy hands. I was lucky because many times the flop did hit my good hands, making it easier to fold mediocre hands later because I could be patient.
• I rarely called. Instead, I raised or folded. I raised if I thought I had the best hand instead of calling. I folded if I wasn't sure if I had the best hand and a player bet at me. I did not lose one showdown that night. That's partly because of luck, of course, but it's also because if I took a hand to the river, I thought I had the best hand.
• If I had a hand, I bet at it, instead of checking. The players checked far too often, letting people hit their draws or not getting value for their hands. People slowplayed AA, which is deadly in limit. No free cards.
• If someone raised, I usually folded, even at that loose, wild table.
• I did not chase.
• I folded if the flop did not hit.
• I was patient. I was so, so patient.
• Finally, and this is important, I did not drink. I ran 11 miles earlier that day, farther than I've ever run before, and I knew I would be a little tired. So I did not drink anything except water.
It helped. A lot.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
The streak is starting to crack..
So wish me luck this weekend.
I'll be playing live poker two days in a row.
Friday night it'll be buddies, a little nicker-dimer stuff, so that won't be a big deal.
But Saturday will be my first time in a casino.
I've always wanted to play poker in a casino, even before I knew you could put percentages on hands and I thought poker on TV was boring to watch.
Now, after more than a year under my poker belt, I figure I'm ready to dive in.
I don't know what's going to happen. I could lose the $200 I plan to bring (I got the money from a freelance article, so it's almost free money. At least that's what I've told my yet-to-be-convinced-wife).
Or I could win a lot.
Or I could break event.
Two out of three sound pretty good to me.
It comes at the right time, when my tournament play has been good, even if the results don't show it in some ways. I've bubbled out of far too many SnGs when the blinds swallowed me up and my good hands lost their races in the inevitable all-ins (my JJ versus QK or my K,10 versus Q,J, for example),, but I have crushed the $2.25 tournaments at work, cashing 6/7 and making $26.
The ring games, however, continue to be bleechy. This week hasn't been too bad, but it's been far below what I like to think are my standards. The suckouts have disappeared, but that's mostly because I've played very few hands. I've been so very, very card dead. I've seen more 9, 5s than an office worker. And watching decent players take advantage of all the donkeys I've seen spewing chips because they think their second pair is gold (but there's an A attached!) has been so frustrating.
People raise me, and I either call and get burned or they raise and I fold TPTK and they show me nothing.
Sigh.
It'll come back. It has to. But I'm ready for a hot streak. let's hope Saturday starts it.
I'll be playing live poker two days in a row.
Friday night it'll be buddies, a little nicker-dimer stuff, so that won't be a big deal.
But Saturday will be my first time in a casino.
I've always wanted to play poker in a casino, even before I knew you could put percentages on hands and I thought poker on TV was boring to watch.
Now, after more than a year under my poker belt, I figure I'm ready to dive in.
I don't know what's going to happen. I could lose the $200 I plan to bring (I got the money from a freelance article, so it's almost free money. At least that's what I've told my yet-to-be-convinced-wife).
Or I could win a lot.
Or I could break event.
Two out of three sound pretty good to me.
It comes at the right time, when my tournament play has been good, even if the results don't show it in some ways. I've bubbled out of far too many SnGs when the blinds swallowed me up and my good hands lost their races in the inevitable all-ins (my JJ versus QK or my K,10 versus Q,J, for example),, but I have crushed the $2.25 tournaments at work, cashing 6/7 and making $26.
The ring games, however, continue to be bleechy. This week hasn't been too bad, but it's been far below what I like to think are my standards. The suckouts have disappeared, but that's mostly because I've played very few hands. I've been so very, very card dead. I've seen more 9, 5s than an office worker. And watching decent players take advantage of all the donkeys I've seen spewing chips because they think their second pair is gold (but there's an A attached!) has been so frustrating.
People raise me, and I either call and get burned or they raise and I fold TPTK and they show me nothing.
Sigh.
It'll come back. It has to. But I'm ready for a hot streak. let's hope Saturday starts it.
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