Last night I played in an inexpensive tournament on The Hill. I play this particular event because, while the stakes are minimal, it's a good chance to chat with some reasonably decent players and, more importantly, there's always a good chance of an Omaha cash game developing after the tournament (and I do like me some Omaha).
This tournament started out with a bang and a whimper. I was chip lead at my table and got into a hand reasonably early on with two other players. I was playing low to middle suited connectors (7s-8s). I don't normally do this from middle position but decided to play a few more pots. I correctly bet preflop as opposed to limping in which would have been a poorer decision.
Flop came Qs-RAGs-Rag. I was first to act and bet 3/4 of the pot with my flush draw. I got an all in from a villain who I will call "Mr. Grumpy Cufflinks." To call would cost me half my stack, which I could afford but wasn't thrilled to do. Based on how he played earlier, I knew he likely had two over cards or a low pair on the board. I was getting ready to fold my hand when the 3rd player in the hand called the all-in from Cufflinks, putting himself all-in in the process. At this point I had to stop and think because that 2nd all-in just gave me spectacular pot odds (at least 4-1). To me it was a no-brainer... early enough in the tourney that, if I lost half my stack, I could recover. Enough money in the pot to justify the call and to possibly bust out two players (who would then rebuy and increase the prize pool).
I call.
Cufflinks predictably flips over his two overs. 2nd caller flips over As-Js. Shit. At this point, even if I hit my flush, the 2nd caller would have the nut flush. The only thing that could save me was to pair one of my suited connectors without hitting a spade. Which I did... on the river.
Mr Cufflinks was flabbergasted. As he put it, "Why would you call half your stack with that?!" I normally would have calmly replied, "Pot odds and I could afford it." But, I let it go and plugged back into my ipod. Several hands later, he was still going on about it. I jokingly said, "Are we still talking about this?!" I plugged back in. Two more hands later, he was STILL going on about this, so I commented, "Dude, are you going to Phil Hellmuth about this all night? Try playing a tourney with real stakes and then complain. I lost a $1200 pot last night that I was a 70% favorite to win. And you know what? I didn't complain to a single person at the table. Move on."
That was the point I realized that, in the process of calling him Phil Hellmuth, I had become Phil Hellmuth myself. We both should have kept our traps shut and played some poker.
I generally shut up for the remainder of the evening except for a text message to the host to let him know about a little tell of his that I'd started to notice at last week's game. When he has called a hand and the flop comes down, when his hand is weak and he's going to fold, he turns his thumbs in slightly. I let him know about the tell and sent him a link to the following article written by an FBI profiler:
http://www.anteupmagazine.com/featured-column/digging-their-digit-poker-tells.htm
I don't know if telling him about the tell was the right thing to do or not. But, it seemed like the friendly thing to do; and, after my run as Hellmuth on Hellmuth, being polite with the thumbs seemed the only way to go.
Finished final table, just escaping bubble-girl status and cashing out in 8th place.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
When They Think You're a Narc
My last cash game didn't go well. And, not just because my two pair (AJ, raised preflop, raised post flop, and raised the turn) got sucked out on the river by a weak 6-2 flush draw (the villain had no pairs on the board and only a draw to call and still put all his chips in without proper pot odds to do so).
No, the major issue this time came in the form of a scene straight out of the movie 21. The host called me and my best friend to a back room in the middle of my cash game. He brought his muscle man with him. At first I had no idea what the issue was and thought he just wanted to tell me a joke. Then he explained (albeit nicely) that someone at the table thought that my best friend had been taking a video of the game. My best friend had photographed me and my chips, but that was the extent of the recording of events. But, when you're dealing with 20-year-olds who take poker a little too seriously and who are throwing around large amounts of cash, these kinds of things can turn nasty very quickly. It also didn't help that they know I work for the federal government, that I've occasionally broken out into Russian at the tables (a couple of the Mongolian players speak a bit), and that I'm relatively new to the group.
Hell, even I'd have thought I was a narc.
But, as much as I may complain about the situation with the back room, it was 100% my fault. He was my guest and, while he didn't do anything wrong, I should have been more sensitive to how things might appear to the other players. After all, even though I have a good repore with most of the players there, a couple them I really don't know well enough to have assumed that lax social behavior would be okay. And it was someone among those couple I don't know well who complained.
On my way out, the host said that he hoped we weren't mad at him and that we'd come back. I explained that he had every right and obligation TO say something to us and that I completely understood, which I did.
That being said, I don't think I'm going to bring guests along anymore unless they also decide to play... having someone watch you for hours when you know they're bored out of their skull isn't fair to them, isn't fair to you (since it makes you distracted and you feel the need to entertain them), and creates an environment where odd things are bound to happen.
This weekend I'll be playing a tournament out in Gainesville, VA. I'll bring my best frind along if he plays the satellite entry tournament. This group is MUCH more easy going, so I doubt anyone would care if photos were taken (in fact, the hosts always take photos themselves). But, to be on the safe side, we'll be on our best behavior. It's hard enough finding places to play. It's even worse when the places that you do find assume you're a narc and there to bust them.
Tempted to wear a suit, tie, and federal badge to the next event just to make them really nervous.
No, the major issue this time came in the form of a scene straight out of the movie 21. The host called me and my best friend to a back room in the middle of my cash game. He brought his muscle man with him. At first I had no idea what the issue was and thought he just wanted to tell me a joke. Then he explained (albeit nicely) that someone at the table thought that my best friend had been taking a video of the game. My best friend had photographed me and my chips, but that was the extent of the recording of events. But, when you're dealing with 20-year-olds who take poker a little too seriously and who are throwing around large amounts of cash, these kinds of things can turn nasty very quickly. It also didn't help that they know I work for the federal government, that I've occasionally broken out into Russian at the tables (a couple of the Mongolian players speak a bit), and that I'm relatively new to the group.
Hell, even I'd have thought I was a narc.
But, as much as I may complain about the situation with the back room, it was 100% my fault. He was my guest and, while he didn't do anything wrong, I should have been more sensitive to how things might appear to the other players. After all, even though I have a good repore with most of the players there, a couple them I really don't know well enough to have assumed that lax social behavior would be okay. And it was someone among those couple I don't know well who complained.
On my way out, the host said that he hoped we weren't mad at him and that we'd come back. I explained that he had every right and obligation TO say something to us and that I completely understood, which I did.
That being said, I don't think I'm going to bring guests along anymore unless they also decide to play... having someone watch you for hours when you know they're bored out of their skull isn't fair to them, isn't fair to you (since it makes you distracted and you feel the need to entertain them), and creates an environment where odd things are bound to happen.
This weekend I'll be playing a tournament out in Gainesville, VA. I'll bring my best frind along if he plays the satellite entry tournament. This group is MUCH more easy going, so I doubt anyone would care if photos were taken (in fact, the hosts always take photos themselves). But, to be on the safe side, we'll be on our best behavior. It's hard enough finding places to play. It's even worse when the places that you do find assume you're a narc and there to bust them.
Tempted to wear a suit, tie, and federal badge to the next event just to make them really nervous.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Bankroll Management
It's been a few days since my last entry and, since then, I've participated in two additional home cash games -- One in which I crashed and burned (never play poker when you've just gotten bad health news about your family) and the other last Friday where I walked away with $910 (which more than compensated for the previous loss).
But, an odd thing happened with that win. I started calculating profit-to-date in my head and not only forgot to subtract out my initial buy-in ($250), I also somehow completely forgot about my earlier loss two days prior. I've always had a selective memory, which I think accounts for my generally positive attitude, but when it comes to managing profits and losses in poker, a selective memory is borderline dangerous.
I found a free app for the iPhone called Poker Income, which is just that. It's a way of logging all poker activity (it even allows for player/hand logs) and let's you categorize poker games by type (cash/tournament), buy-in, stakes, cash-out, and more. So, now that I had this seemingly excellent tool, it was time to go go back through past email to determine exactly how many games I'd played, where, and what my profit or loss was at each.
May was a bad month for poker. I was just learning how to play live and hadn't even figured out chip denominations. The fact that I only lost $450 or so total during this time is pretty amazing. June was much better. My total profit for June was $1400. This seemed a little low to me, but as I started looking back over the fields I'd filled out, I noticed that the software correctly accounts not only for your buy-in amount, but that it also subtracts out your tips to the dealer and that steak dinner that you spring for after the Charlestown visit. It's interesting to look at the reporting and see how much of your profit gets chipped away by meals out, tips, the house rake, and more.
That being said, I now officially have a bankroll. For all intents and purposes, since I'm pretty admittedly overpaid, I've always had a bankroll, but this one's official. This was built solely using poker earnings, and, ideally, I'd like to work only from this official bankroll and not have to dip into the money I've sucked off the teet of the federal government.
So, today's bankroll stands at $1140. It's not a lot, particularly given that the average buy-in for a $1/$2 table is $250. But, it's a start. For a gal who couldn't even tell you within a couple hundred dollars how much her bi-weekly paycheck is, having an actual, accurate bankroll reporting tool is pretty impressive.
Now if I can just start avoiding those steak dinners.
But, an odd thing happened with that win. I started calculating profit-to-date in my head and not only forgot to subtract out my initial buy-in ($250), I also somehow completely forgot about my earlier loss two days prior. I've always had a selective memory, which I think accounts for my generally positive attitude, but when it comes to managing profits and losses in poker, a selective memory is borderline dangerous.
I found a free app for the iPhone called Poker Income, which is just that. It's a way of logging all poker activity (it even allows for player/hand logs) and let's you categorize poker games by type (cash/tournament), buy-in, stakes, cash-out, and more. So, now that I had this seemingly excellent tool, it was time to go go back through past email to determine exactly how many games I'd played, where, and what my profit or loss was at each.
May was a bad month for poker. I was just learning how to play live and hadn't even figured out chip denominations. The fact that I only lost $450 or so total during this time is pretty amazing. June was much better. My total profit for June was $1400. This seemed a little low to me, but as I started looking back over the fields I'd filled out, I noticed that the software correctly accounts not only for your buy-in amount, but that it also subtracts out your tips to the dealer and that steak dinner that you spring for after the Charlestown visit. It's interesting to look at the reporting and see how much of your profit gets chipped away by meals out, tips, the house rake, and more.
That being said, I now officially have a bankroll. For all intents and purposes, since I'm pretty admittedly overpaid, I've always had a bankroll, but this one's official. This was built solely using poker earnings, and, ideally, I'd like to work only from this official bankroll and not have to dip into the money I've sucked off the teet of the federal government.
So, today's bankroll stands at $1140. It's not a lot, particularly given that the average buy-in for a $1/$2 table is $250. But, it's a start. For a gal who couldn't even tell you within a couple hundred dollars how much her bi-weekly paycheck is, having an actual, accurate bankroll reporting tool is pretty impressive.
Now if I can just start avoiding those steak dinners.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Poker is a Woman
Poker is a woman. Just when you finally coax her into liking you and bed her, she berates you for your lack of skills in the sack.
This is perhaps hyperbole at its worst, so I'll start at the beginning.
Last night Lance and I played a $1/$3 cash table game at a home game in Arlington. I bought in for $300 and ended up walking away with a bit over $1100. Normally this post would be about what I did (or thought I did) right and wrong during the game; or, perhaps about the truly crazy-eyed young Asian whiz kid who, just when I started to figure him out, cashed out and left; or, how I made a killer conservative lay-down of my pocket JJ to Lance (even thought I would have won the hand with them). But, instead, this post is going to have to be about Emily Post.
Last night I apparently did the poker equivalent of scooting my butt along the felt.
Some background's required. For the last ten years, although I've played poker online off and on, I've never played live games with the exception of my daily lunchtime free poker meetup that Rick and I play at the Hyatt Grand Slam. There, we are encouraged to talk about our hands while in the middle of them (example: Brian says in the middle of a hand involving 6 people, "Rob, I have top pair, should I call?" Or, Rob might say in the middle of a hand, "Damn, I'd folded pocket 10s!"). Not only is it encouraged to discuss your hands, to some extent, if you have the nuts and don't give half of your bar friends a heads-up to get the hell out before they lose their virtual chips, it's considered downright rude.
But, this is free poker. Last night was not free poker and the rules are different.
You aren't supposed to discuss your hand nor anyone else's hand while the hand's going on, with the possible exception of banter during heads-up play. So, when I folded pocket nines and mentioned that with three people left in the hand, it was not only inappropriate, it irked Lance more than you could imagine since he considered it "cheating." Partly, it's because if he brings me to one of his events, I think there's the expectation on his end that my behavior reflects badly on him. Partly, it's because Lance can be exacting to compulsion, so anything that deviates from proper poker play -- including etiquette -- will warrant a swift and brutal reprimand.
Lance's Rules of Table Etiquette (So Far):
-- Do not discuss your hand or anyone else's during live play.
-- Do not "slow roll," which means taking too long in turning over your cards at the end of play when you know you have the best hand and/or when play is dead (to my credit, I was tired, didn't know I had the best hand, and was kind of out of it, so I should have gotten a pass on this one, particularly after I apologized).
-- No string betting.
-- Use proper poker terminology. Bets and raises are different things and, if you use them interchangeably, you are going to hell.
Needless to say, this all resulted in a bit of an argument last night. I walked away with $1100 and expected my poker teacher to correct the couple of mistakes I made, but, once we got in the car, to discuss how -- even with variance -- the lessons I learned from him had, to some extent, paid off. I expected some discussions on how my bet sizing had improved.
I wanted a gold star from my favorite teacher. Or at least a silver one. Instead, I got "bad dog."
I sent an apology email to the organizer of the event as soon as we got back. I don't know if he was nearly as upset with my behavior as Lance was, but I thought it was the right thing to do. Personally, if they don't have me back, I have a theory that it might be slightly more because I took everyone else's chips than it would be because of etiquette, but we'll see.
While we're discussing tangentals to poker, I have a few rules of my own to pass along -- lessons learned from a month or two of live play. I would imagine that most people would disagree with the majority of these; but, for me, they've held true so far:
-- If you felt out, it's usually best not to rebuy because the amount of time it's going to take you to get back even half of the money you lost is not worth the late night Taco Bell run that you could be making instead. Not to mention your increased risk of playing on tilt.
-- If you're at a table with young men who don't know you, it's extremely advantageous to stare at them for 3-5 seconds and smirk. They don't know if you're flirting with them, if you're an asshole, or if you're just a psychopath. It almost always guarantees a fold in a head-up situation.
-- Always watch for the older men who are playing to have fun and not because they're psychotically obsessed with poker like the rest of us. These will be your chip bleeders and the people who will call you 2 cards after they should have folded.
-- Watch out for twitchy Asians. They'll play loose-aggressive, and usually reasonably well.
-- Don't fall in love with a weak Ace or middle pairs. These will cost you more money than you can possibly imagine.
-- If you're at the poker tables on a date, unless you both walk away with a profit, shut your trap and don't act too happy if you're the major chip winner.
-- You can have poker or you can have sex. You rarely can have both and most certainly not on the same night.
Despite all the apologies and kowtowing to Lance about the events of last night, as Cheers so brilliantly reminded us, "it's a dog eat dog world and I'm [still] wearing milkbone underwear." You know they're still mad at you when your "I love yous" are met with grunts. I'm still waiting on that gold star from my most favorite teacher and I think I'm going to be waiting for a while.
In the mean time, I'm walking around with a wad full of cash and a hankering to play solo against some twitchy Asians.
This is perhaps hyperbole at its worst, so I'll start at the beginning.
Last night Lance and I played a $1/$3 cash table game at a home game in Arlington. I bought in for $300 and ended up walking away with a bit over $1100. Normally this post would be about what I did (or thought I did) right and wrong during the game; or, perhaps about the truly crazy-eyed young Asian whiz kid who, just when I started to figure him out, cashed out and left; or, how I made a killer conservative lay-down of my pocket JJ to Lance (even thought I would have won the hand with them). But, instead, this post is going to have to be about Emily Post.
Last night I apparently did the poker equivalent of scooting my butt along the felt.
Some background's required. For the last ten years, although I've played poker online off and on, I've never played live games with the exception of my daily lunchtime free poker meetup that Rick and I play at the Hyatt Grand Slam. There, we are encouraged to talk about our hands while in the middle of them (example: Brian says in the middle of a hand involving 6 people, "Rob, I have top pair, should I call?" Or, Rob might say in the middle of a hand, "Damn, I'd folded pocket 10s!"). Not only is it encouraged to discuss your hands, to some extent, if you have the nuts and don't give half of your bar friends a heads-up to get the hell out before they lose their virtual chips, it's considered downright rude.
But, this is free poker. Last night was not free poker and the rules are different.
You aren't supposed to discuss your hand nor anyone else's hand while the hand's going on, with the possible exception of banter during heads-up play. So, when I folded pocket nines and mentioned that with three people left in the hand, it was not only inappropriate, it irked Lance more than you could imagine since he considered it "cheating." Partly, it's because if he brings me to one of his events, I think there's the expectation on his end that my behavior reflects badly on him. Partly, it's because Lance can be exacting to compulsion, so anything that deviates from proper poker play -- including etiquette -- will warrant a swift and brutal reprimand.
Lance's Rules of Table Etiquette (So Far):
-- Do not discuss your hand or anyone else's during live play.
-- Do not "slow roll," which means taking too long in turning over your cards at the end of play when you know you have the best hand and/or when play is dead (to my credit, I was tired, didn't know I had the best hand, and was kind of out of it, so I should have gotten a pass on this one, particularly after I apologized).
-- No string betting.
-- Use proper poker terminology. Bets and raises are different things and, if you use them interchangeably, you are going to hell.
Needless to say, this all resulted in a bit of an argument last night. I walked away with $1100 and expected my poker teacher to correct the couple of mistakes I made, but, once we got in the car, to discuss how -- even with variance -- the lessons I learned from him had, to some extent, paid off. I expected some discussions on how my bet sizing had improved.
I wanted a gold star from my favorite teacher. Or at least a silver one. Instead, I got "bad dog."
I sent an apology email to the organizer of the event as soon as we got back. I don't know if he was nearly as upset with my behavior as Lance was, but I thought it was the right thing to do. Personally, if they don't have me back, I have a theory that it might be slightly more because I took everyone else's chips than it would be because of etiquette, but we'll see.
While we're discussing tangentals to poker, I have a few rules of my own to pass along -- lessons learned from a month or two of live play. I would imagine that most people would disagree with the majority of these; but, for me, they've held true so far:
-- If you felt out, it's usually best not to rebuy because the amount of time it's going to take you to get back even half of the money you lost is not worth the late night Taco Bell run that you could be making instead. Not to mention your increased risk of playing on tilt.
-- If you're at a table with young men who don't know you, it's extremely advantageous to stare at them for 3-5 seconds and smirk. They don't know if you're flirting with them, if you're an asshole, or if you're just a psychopath. It almost always guarantees a fold in a head-up situation.
-- Always watch for the older men who are playing to have fun and not because they're psychotically obsessed with poker like the rest of us. These will be your chip bleeders and the people who will call you 2 cards after they should have folded.
-- Watch out for twitchy Asians. They'll play loose-aggressive, and usually reasonably well.
-- Don't fall in love with a weak Ace or middle pairs. These will cost you more money than you can possibly imagine.
-- If you're at the poker tables on a date, unless you both walk away with a profit, shut your trap and don't act too happy if you're the major chip winner.
-- You can have poker or you can have sex. You rarely can have both and most certainly not on the same night.
Despite all the apologies and kowtowing to Lance about the events of last night, as Cheers so brilliantly reminded us, "it's a dog eat dog world and I'm [still] wearing milkbone underwear." You know they're still mad at you when your "I love yous" are met with grunts. I'm still waiting on that gold star from my most favorite teacher and I think I'm going to be waiting for a while.
In the mean time, I'm walking around with a wad full of cash and a hankering to play solo against some twitchy Asians.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Deep Stack Tournament and An Unlikely Cash Win
Saturday's Deep Stack poker tournament at G-Spot was problematic for me for a number of reasons, although I finished far higher than I did in the last tournament (15th place this time -- which was a little better than middle-of-the-pack -- versus an early bust-out with KK in the first one). Lance, as expected, made final table; I donated some substantial chips to that worthy cause.
The first problem I had with the tournament was that I've only been playing live games for a month or two now and I'm, embarrassingly, not used to the chip denominations yet. So, because this was a deep stack tournament, we had some rather large chip denominations. I'll admit that, at the beginning of said tournament, I couldn't tell a green chip amount from a yellow chip amount. It's a wonder I didn't lose more early on since, for the first 20 or so hands, I don't think I even knew how many chips I actually had, much less what the other players had!
I got lucky and took down a huge pot in the first or second hand of the tournament, giving me the 1st bust out and a chance to double up. At that point, I was the chip leader by a ton and I should have just tightened up. But, I hit an A-K, raised pre-flop (correct move and amount), and couldn't fold it when the flop came down 4-9-Q and my continuation bet against one other player (Amber) got check-raised. That was the point I should have folded, but I simply didn't believe her and made a bad call. I at least had the common sense to get out on the turn, but not before it cost me about 10,000 in chips, or 1/3 of my stack.
I then moved tables and ended up two seats down from Lance. Luckily I was to his left and not the other way around, although I still donated a lot to him with some middle pairs against his higher pairs. Could have been worse, but those calls cost me about another 10,000. I got a small amount back off of a suck-out against a better, more conservative player, but was still getting short stacked.
By the time I moved to the final two tables, I was down to 12,000 and the bb was up to 1,000. It was time to push all in, which I should have, but I had a horrific string of cards. I eventually had to push in on K-9 offsuit and, up against, AK and QQ, busted out of the tournament.
Lessons learned:
-- If you're the chip leader, don't get into a pissing match for a huge stack when all you have to back it up is an uneducated hunch.
-- Don't call a substantial raise from Lance if you're in middle position and all you have to back it up with is a middle pair.
-- Skip the tournament and just play the follow-up cash game. Here's why:
Lance spotted me $200 and I bought into the $1/$2 table. At the time, the table was full. I sat down next to Dave Lewis, who's like a combination of the Unibomber and a military man. He had an enormous chip stack of at least a few thousand. Also at the table were a couple of players I knew to be good, one gentleman who was obviously on tilt, and a weaker player who was nice but donating rapidly.
I flopped a set on one hand and took down a pot of around $150. I immediately pulled aside $200 to give back to Lance. I also started to realize that Dave Lewis and one of the asian players would tend to make bad decisions when playing one another because they had some kind of silly "my penis is bigger than yours" rivalry going on. I used this to my advantage and avoided their pots until I had a really good hand (in this case, I flopped the ace-high nut flush). I checked and let Dave do his thing. I called. The asian called. Down came some cards that luckily helped both Dave and the asian, but that didn't at all threaten my chances of winning. I checked, Dave bet, I called, the asian called and the river came down. At this point I knew I'd won the pot. Dave bet the river, I raised by a hundred into the pot of a couple hundred. The asian smartly folded. Dave called. I took the pot which ended up being at least a few hundred dollars.
I took a few small pots here and there after that but mostly tightened up and didn't play any cards that would have been risky. I also set aside an addition $210 in chips to cover my tournament buy-in loss. At that point, I knew I had a few hundred leftover in profit for the day but since most of it was in $5 chips and I didn't bother to count those, I had no idea that the day had been as profitable as it had been. The final chip count when I cashed out was $901.
It's taken me this long to post an entry for a couple of reasons: 1) I had a hard time being truly, honestly excited about the cash win because I realize that I made some major, major errors in the tourament prior; 2) I was too busy playing other tournaments on Bodog; and 3) Lance is a grammar nazi.
Have at it, handsome. I'm only a diet mountain dew into the morning, so this one should be easy pickings.
The first problem I had with the tournament was that I've only been playing live games for a month or two now and I'm, embarrassingly, not used to the chip denominations yet. So, because this was a deep stack tournament, we had some rather large chip denominations. I'll admit that, at the beginning of said tournament, I couldn't tell a green chip amount from a yellow chip amount. It's a wonder I didn't lose more early on since, for the first 20 or so hands, I don't think I even knew how many chips I actually had, much less what the other players had!
I got lucky and took down a huge pot in the first or second hand of the tournament, giving me the 1st bust out and a chance to double up. At that point, I was the chip leader by a ton and I should have just tightened up. But, I hit an A-K, raised pre-flop (correct move and amount), and couldn't fold it when the flop came down 4-9-Q and my continuation bet against one other player (Amber) got check-raised. That was the point I should have folded, but I simply didn't believe her and made a bad call. I at least had the common sense to get out on the turn, but not before it cost me about 10,000 in chips, or 1/3 of my stack.
I then moved tables and ended up two seats down from Lance. Luckily I was to his left and not the other way around, although I still donated a lot to him with some middle pairs against his higher pairs. Could have been worse, but those calls cost me about another 10,000. I got a small amount back off of a suck-out against a better, more conservative player, but was still getting short stacked.
By the time I moved to the final two tables, I was down to 12,000 and the bb was up to 1,000. It was time to push all in, which I should have, but I had a horrific string of cards. I eventually had to push in on K-9 offsuit and, up against, AK and QQ, busted out of the tournament.
Lessons learned:
-- If you're the chip leader, don't get into a pissing match for a huge stack when all you have to back it up is an uneducated hunch.
-- Don't call a substantial raise from Lance if you're in middle position and all you have to back it up with is a middle pair.
-- Skip the tournament and just play the follow-up cash game. Here's why:
Lance spotted me $200 and I bought into the $1/$2 table. At the time, the table was full. I sat down next to Dave Lewis, who's like a combination of the Unibomber and a military man. He had an enormous chip stack of at least a few thousand. Also at the table were a couple of players I knew to be good, one gentleman who was obviously on tilt, and a weaker player who was nice but donating rapidly.
I flopped a set on one hand and took down a pot of around $150. I immediately pulled aside $200 to give back to Lance. I also started to realize that Dave Lewis and one of the asian players would tend to make bad decisions when playing one another because they had some kind of silly "my penis is bigger than yours" rivalry going on. I used this to my advantage and avoided their pots until I had a really good hand (in this case, I flopped the ace-high nut flush). I checked and let Dave do his thing. I called. The asian called. Down came some cards that luckily helped both Dave and the asian, but that didn't at all threaten my chances of winning. I checked, Dave bet, I called, the asian called and the river came down. At this point I knew I'd won the pot. Dave bet the river, I raised by a hundred into the pot of a couple hundred. The asian smartly folded. Dave called. I took the pot which ended up being at least a few hundred dollars.
I took a few small pots here and there after that but mostly tightened up and didn't play any cards that would have been risky. I also set aside an addition $210 in chips to cover my tournament buy-in loss. At that point, I knew I had a few hundred leftover in profit for the day but since most of it was in $5 chips and I didn't bother to count those, I had no idea that the day had been as profitable as it had been. The final chip count when I cashed out was $901.
It's taken me this long to post an entry for a couple of reasons: 1) I had a hard time being truly, honestly excited about the cash win because I realize that I made some major, major errors in the tourament prior; 2) I was too busy playing other tournaments on Bodog; and 3) Lance is a grammar nazi.
Have at it, handsome. I'm only a diet mountain dew into the morning, so this one should be easy pickings.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Double Up
In online poker, most tables have a unique name that helps you identify the table. It's particularly useful if you have a friend who you'd like to have join your table so you can point him or her to the correct table in the list. Some of the names evoke action and winning and testosterone, such as High Roller, Beats All Odds, or Winning Streak. Some take you back to your childhood or to cozy, wholesome fantasies such as Sherman's Lagoon, Get Fuzzy, or Masters of the Universe.
I've always wondered what percentage of players pick a poker table based on those names. Much like the percentage that Harrington assigns to bluffers, I'd put it at about 10%. Even in poker, people are superstitious and people love their packaging.
My best friend Rick is someone who loves packaging, contests/promotions, and etymological word play. If there were two identical poker tables except that one was green and the other purple, he would take the purple one 100% of the time. If one table was named Afterburner and the other was named Lovely Lolly's Lips, he would likely pick the latter because of the alliteration. For some people -- especially people who love words as much he does -- the table names matter.
I could care less. I have never picked a table based on these names, although I occasionally will note the name of the table, assess who's seated there, and make a guess as to whether 10% of the people may have picked the table based on the name and, if so, what that might say about their style of play (High Roller might indicate a slightly more aggressive player; Sherman's Lagoon will get more conservatives, middleagers and Washington Post readers, etc).
Last night Lance was kind enough to let me hijack his computer for a little Bodog tournament. I typically play in the $6 to $30 range because, honestly, I have the attention span of a tse fly and don't want to risk getting bored and losing a lot of money. Last night, though, there was little to no action in that range, so I had to struggle to find any tournaments with more than one or two people already signed up. I finally worked my way up to the $50+ range and noticed a 10-person single table Turbo sit-n-go tournament for a $56 buy-in. This seemed reasonable so I sat down.
I couldn't get to the tournament lobby for some reason to see the payout structure, but I assumed that at a 10-person table, the top three spots would pay out. I briefly noticed that the table name was Double Up, which was cute. I figured that might indicate a few slightly more aggressive players based on my 10% word-lover theory from earlier.
Lance started wildly gesturing and said, "Do you even know how to play a double up tournament?!?!" Shit. It wasn't the table name after all. It was the type of tournament. Given the fact that I had no idea what I was doing, it could have gone worse. I made a few bad plays, particularly with some pocket 4s that I overplayed early. But, in the end I shoved in at probably the correct time and busted out with AK suited to KK.
The lesson learned is to always remember to look at the payout structure before entering a tournament. Because Sherman's Lagoon may just be be a new style of poker of which you've never heard.
I've always wondered what percentage of players pick a poker table based on those names. Much like the percentage that Harrington assigns to bluffers, I'd put it at about 10%. Even in poker, people are superstitious and people love their packaging.
My best friend Rick is someone who loves packaging, contests/promotions, and etymological word play. If there were two identical poker tables except that one was green and the other purple, he would take the purple one 100% of the time. If one table was named Afterburner and the other was named Lovely Lolly's Lips, he would likely pick the latter because of the alliteration. For some people -- especially people who love words as much he does -- the table names matter.
I could care less. I have never picked a table based on these names, although I occasionally will note the name of the table, assess who's seated there, and make a guess as to whether 10% of the people may have picked the table based on the name and, if so, what that might say about their style of play (High Roller might indicate a slightly more aggressive player; Sherman's Lagoon will get more conservatives, middleagers and Washington Post readers, etc).
Last night Lance was kind enough to let me hijack his computer for a little Bodog tournament. I typically play in the $6 to $30 range because, honestly, I have the attention span of a tse fly and don't want to risk getting bored and losing a lot of money. Last night, though, there was little to no action in that range, so I had to struggle to find any tournaments with more than one or two people already signed up. I finally worked my way up to the $50+ range and noticed a 10-person single table Turbo sit-n-go tournament for a $56 buy-in. This seemed reasonable so I sat down.
I couldn't get to the tournament lobby for some reason to see the payout structure, but I assumed that at a 10-person table, the top three spots would pay out. I briefly noticed that the table name was Double Up, which was cute. I figured that might indicate a few slightly more aggressive players based on my 10% word-lover theory from earlier.
Lance started wildly gesturing and said, "Do you even know how to play a double up tournament?!?!" Shit. It wasn't the table name after all. It was the type of tournament. Given the fact that I had no idea what I was doing, it could have gone worse. I made a few bad plays, particularly with some pocket 4s that I overplayed early. But, in the end I shoved in at probably the correct time and busted out with AK suited to KK.
The lesson learned is to always remember to look at the payout structure before entering a tournament. Because Sherman's Lagoon may just be be a new style of poker of which you've never heard.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
On Variance and Pot Odds
So, today is one of those rare, non-poker-related posts. Although, I will say that I think the results from today are directly analogous to some of the lessons learned in poker.
The background in short detail is that my father has a condition called myleofibrosis. It's unfortunately terminal. When he was first diagnosed, shortly before my birthday last year, I was devastated. My mother had just gone through her second cancer -- this one far more aggressive than the first one -- and my brother had just had an extremely bad scare with his cholesterol (which was so bad that the doctor immediately brought him to the emergency room). It would only get worse when my father -- on top of the terminal cancer -- suffered an aortic dissection, which is fatal within 24 hours in 80% - 90% of all people who experience it. It's -- quite literally -- when your aorta splits apart.
So, in September of last year, the morning after he suffered the dissection, I flew down to Florida with a black dress, "Mangy Dog" poems that I planned on reading at his funeral, and two boxes of Kleenex.
I had never felt so helpless or out of control as I had during that time and in the months that followed. It was made all the worse by me living so far from home. Aside from the few times that I was able to fly back to help, my brother and Mom were the ones emptying the catheter bag, taking him to the emergency room in the middle of the night, and dealing with the horrific mood swings brought on by the medication. In the week after he survived his dissection, I stayed with them and we ended up in the emergency room 6 out of 7 nights. To say it was touch-and-go would be an extreme understatement.
Once I left my family and went back home, it seemed like there was nothing I could do. That feeling was a far worse feeling than anything I've ever encountered.
In the coming weeks, once the threat of my Dad's aortic dissection was outweighed by the ongoing threat of his myleofibrosis, we started to look more seriously into experimental treatment options that could help. The only one present to date is Revlimid, which still isn't FDA approved for myleofibrosis -- only for multiple myleoma, which is different. Initial tests show that it works in 30 - 40% of all patients with myleofibrosis; so, still not great odds. But. it's, to date, the only known treatment for the condition.
Worse still is that, even if your doctor recommends the medicine, if your insurance denies you coverage like my family's insurance did (because of the lack of FDA approval), it costs $11,000 - $12,000 a month. If my Dad took the drug, my family (who were frugal and saved their entire lives) would have been -- quite literally -- bankrupt in 2 and a half years.
My father told me privately that he would not die and leave my mother penniless. He would refuse the medicine. I believed him.
The next two weeks I spent more time online than I have ever spent in a row. I didn't sleep. I wrote to the FDA. I wrote to my Congressmen. I wrote to anyone who might possibly listen. I researched trial cases in Europe. I looked into experimental trial cases in the U.S. I looked for generic versions of the drug in the U.S. I had nearly given up when I had an idea at about 4am, 3 weeks into the problem: Why not look for generics abroad? So, I finally found the right combination of obscure Google terms and, after looking at approximately 200 pages, I found it: A reputable company abroad that promised a generic version of this drug for my Dad for $600 a month.
Today I got the news that the blood counts are back and that my father is looking to be in the 30% to 40% who respond to this drug. He will still die, but we're potentially looking at 6 or more years versus 1-2.
This is a terribly emotional post for a poker blog. But, I think it has applications. I can't recall how many times I've been at a table with a player who, after a few bad beats, gets frustrated, loses his or her brain, and starts playing poorly. In this case, after a good many nights of crying and wallowing in the situation, I decided to take a stand and use my wits (or what little wits I had). While I stood a slim to nill chance of being able to get my Dad the medicine on the cheap and an even slimmer chance that it would actually work for him, the payoff/pot odds for the effort were indescribably, immeasurably high.
While, most of the time, when you're on such a desperate draw against all odds, you can take comfort that you made the correct decision mathematically; on occasion, you luck out, save the day, and, against all odds, win the tournament.
It's not every girl who gets to say with some certainty that she saved her father's life -- at least for a while. But, in this case, he would have never taken that medicine if we didn't find the cheaper alternative (I get my stubbornness from him). In this case, I hit my unlikely four-of-a-kind on the river.
It reminds me to always remember the possible payoff, despite the occasional less-than-favorable odds. Because, in this case, 3 weeks of sleepless nights and research more than accounted for the pot odds of an extra few years.
The background in short detail is that my father has a condition called myleofibrosis. It's unfortunately terminal. When he was first diagnosed, shortly before my birthday last year, I was devastated. My mother had just gone through her second cancer -- this one far more aggressive than the first one -- and my brother had just had an extremely bad scare with his cholesterol (which was so bad that the doctor immediately brought him to the emergency room). It would only get worse when my father -- on top of the terminal cancer -- suffered an aortic dissection, which is fatal within 24 hours in 80% - 90% of all people who experience it. It's -- quite literally -- when your aorta splits apart.
So, in September of last year, the morning after he suffered the dissection, I flew down to Florida with a black dress, "Mangy Dog" poems that I planned on reading at his funeral, and two boxes of Kleenex.
I had never felt so helpless or out of control as I had during that time and in the months that followed. It was made all the worse by me living so far from home. Aside from the few times that I was able to fly back to help, my brother and Mom were the ones emptying the catheter bag, taking him to the emergency room in the middle of the night, and dealing with the horrific mood swings brought on by the medication. In the week after he survived his dissection, I stayed with them and we ended up in the emergency room 6 out of 7 nights. To say it was touch-and-go would be an extreme understatement.
Once I left my family and went back home, it seemed like there was nothing I could do. That feeling was a far worse feeling than anything I've ever encountered.
In the coming weeks, once the threat of my Dad's aortic dissection was outweighed by the ongoing threat of his myleofibrosis, we started to look more seriously into experimental treatment options that could help. The only one present to date is Revlimid, which still isn't FDA approved for myleofibrosis -- only for multiple myleoma, which is different. Initial tests show that it works in 30 - 40% of all patients with myleofibrosis; so, still not great odds. But. it's, to date, the only known treatment for the condition.
Worse still is that, even if your doctor recommends the medicine, if your insurance denies you coverage like my family's insurance did (because of the lack of FDA approval), it costs $11,000 - $12,000 a month. If my Dad took the drug, my family (who were frugal and saved their entire lives) would have been -- quite literally -- bankrupt in 2 and a half years.
My father told me privately that he would not die and leave my mother penniless. He would refuse the medicine. I believed him.
The next two weeks I spent more time online than I have ever spent in a row. I didn't sleep. I wrote to the FDA. I wrote to my Congressmen. I wrote to anyone who might possibly listen. I researched trial cases in Europe. I looked into experimental trial cases in the U.S. I looked for generic versions of the drug in the U.S. I had nearly given up when I had an idea at about 4am, 3 weeks into the problem: Why not look for generics abroad? So, I finally found the right combination of obscure Google terms and, after looking at approximately 200 pages, I found it: A reputable company abroad that promised a generic version of this drug for my Dad for $600 a month.
Today I got the news that the blood counts are back and that my father is looking to be in the 30% to 40% who respond to this drug. He will still die, but we're potentially looking at 6 or more years versus 1-2.
This is a terribly emotional post for a poker blog. But, I think it has applications. I can't recall how many times I've been at a table with a player who, after a few bad beats, gets frustrated, loses his or her brain, and starts playing poorly. In this case, after a good many nights of crying and wallowing in the situation, I decided to take a stand and use my wits (or what little wits I had). While I stood a slim to nill chance of being able to get my Dad the medicine on the cheap and an even slimmer chance that it would actually work for him, the payoff/pot odds for the effort were indescribably, immeasurably high.
While, most of the time, when you're on such a desperate draw against all odds, you can take comfort that you made the correct decision mathematically; on occasion, you luck out, save the day, and, against all odds, win the tournament.
It's not every girl who gets to say with some certainty that she saved her father's life -- at least for a while. But, in this case, he would have never taken that medicine if we didn't find the cheaper alternative (I get my stubbornness from him). In this case, I hit my unlikely four-of-a-kind on the river.
It reminds me to always remember the possible payoff, despite the occasional less-than-favorable odds. Because, in this case, 3 weeks of sleepless nights and research more than accounted for the pot odds of an extra few years.
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