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I have another writing career separate from this blog and in it I find myself exploring a few of the same themes over and over. What it is that draws me to them is not very difficult for me to figure, without delving too deep into my subconscious. One is existence and the other is work. Often I integrate these themes together for I find their relation is more than superficial. Why do we exist? Why do we work? Are our lives, our existence, validated by the work we do? If so, how does the connection affect the way we live, the choice of what we spend our lives doing, the path we stumble down? And how, upon further reflection years later, do those choices, of work, of lifestyle, look with the benefit of hindsight? More often than not, survival becomes a skeletal connector, as we alter our ideals and continue to work at jobs for necessity, for practical rather than idealistic reasons.
I, for one, have taken a roundabout route to where I am at the moment. While I have altered my worldview and the rosy-eyed view I had of my career goals, I still maintain them, persevere and sacrifice where necessary. I haven't been beaten down by less glamorous aspects of the written word, the written work and constant hum of reassuring rejection. In fact, poker has helped me a great deal in the last half year or so, giving me something outside of my regular realm to analyze, ponder and twist around in my head and on these nonexistent pages.
Perhaps my musings can be best summed up by this exchange from an old script of mine.
INT. UNMARKED POLICE CAR NIGHT
Detective Carver knifes the car through the industrial district. Detective Breaux sits in the passenger seat, eyeing the scattered individuals they pass. He cracks his window as the hot air from the dash blows on him.
CARVER
So something has to come after, huh, Breaux? After death?
BREAUX
Thats right.
CARVER
What about before?
BREAUX
Before? What do you mean?
CARVER
I mean before. If there is something that comes after life, doesnt that mean there had to have been something before it too?
BREAUX
There is no before. Life is the before. Were granted life to experience mortality so that we can try to achieve divinity.
Carver pulls up to a red light. He looks at Breaux.
CARVER
Alright. So, let's say that there is a heaven and let's also say that you're going to get there. How long are you going to be there?
BREAUX
How long?
CARVER
Yeah, how long? A week, a month, what?
BREAUX
Forever. Eternity.
Carver laughs. The light changes and he throws the car in gear.
CARVER
Now, to me, that sounds like a pretty uneven plan. Eighty years as a mortal and just like that, eternity as an immortal.
BREAUX
It fits. See, all of life is a prelude to the one time, the one day, the one minute that salvation is in your grasp. We all face it. How we respond in that moment is what ultimately determines the fate of our soul.
CARVER
And you'll be ready?
BREAUX
My faith will get me through.
Carver looks at Breaux.
CARVER
I'm not much for religion, Breaux. I'm more of a believer in balance.
BREAUX
Balance?
CARVER
Balance. Like a see-saw.
Carver tilts his hand up and down.
CARVER (CONT’D)
Nothing before, nothing after. Life exists to sustain itself, nothing more. Sometimes it can't even do that.
BREAUX
You're way off.
CARVER
Am I? You ever hear of the seventeen year cicada?
BREAUX
No.
CARVER
Sounds just like its name. It's a type of cicada that lives as a nymph underground sucking on tree roots for seventeen years. Then, it makes its way to the surface, molts into an adult and spends six weeks trying to reproduce. Then it dies. The newborn nymphs burrow into the ground and the process repeats itself again seventeen years later.
BREAUX
So?
CARVER
So what do we, as humans, do that is so different from the cicada? Instead of burrowing down into the ground we do stuff. We play golf, we go to the beach, we shoot two guys in the back in an alley. Seems a bit of a waste doesnt it? We all end up in the same place as the cicadas.
BREAUX
Why do anything then? Why do you do this?
CARVER
I'm no good at golf and I cant swim. But youre missing the point.
BREAUX
I'm missing something, that's for sure.
Breaux shakes his head.
BREAUX (CONT’D)
Your theory doesn't make sense. If life only exists to sustain itself how did it begin in the first place?
CARVER
It's a fluke, a series of coincidences, luck.
BREAUX
You think life is luck?
CARVER
I think you're lucky to be sitting there next to me and I'm lucky to be driving this car.
BREAUX
I think you're full of it.
CARVER
I'm sure you do. But you're evidence of it yourself.
BREAUX
Me?
CARVER
Your wife is pregnant?
BREAUX
She's in labor right now.
CARVER
Congratulations, Breaux. You've succeeded in replacing yourself. Existence for the sake of future existence. Just like the cicada. Balance.
Breaux looks at him, seething. Carver glances at him.
CARVER (CONT’D)
No need to get angry, Breaux.
BREAUX
How do you expect me not to be? You ridicule my religion, you ridicule me and you expect me to just take it with a smile?
CARVER
I'm not ridiculing you, Breaux. You've got your beliefs, I've got mine.
A small smile grips Carvers mouth. Breaux sees it.
BREAUX
You get off on this, don't you? This is why you like rookie partners, so you can boss them around and give your goddamn lectures.
CARVER
Careful, you're blaspheming.
BREAUX
Fuck you.
Carver nods. He pulls up to another red light and looks at Breaux. His smile disappears.
CARVER
You've got it wrong. I don't like rookie partners, I request them.
BREAUX
What the fuck does that mean?
CARVER
It means that when shit goes down, I know what I'm doing, that I'm not the one whos going to make the mistake and get my ass shot.Life is luck, Breaux, but death isn't. In our line of work death is intentional, not accidental.
Carver smiles.
CARVER (CONT’D)
You are my balance, Breaux.
The light turns green and Carver pulls forward.
Aaaaaand Scene.
I haven't read that in awhile, just popped into my head with some existential thoughts the other day.
Why all this existential babbling? Perhaps it comes on the heels of having the privilege to see a band, an unbelievably talented band that sings songs that make your guts twist, that sings songs that you feel like have been with you forever the first time you hear them? A band who never made it. Maybe they will, someday. Maybe. But in the meantime they work. They play on regardless, over two hundred shows a year, withstanding the barren nights of five people in a bar in the middle of nowhere for a show, for the pleasure of that elusive night when there is a full club, people singing along. They put out albums full of songs dripping with the scars they've suffered, the same bloody knuckles, torn hearts and raspy whispers that you and I know all too well but have never been able to describe.
Here's a taste.
I was able to catch a couple of their recent shows and it only reinforced the decisions that I have made. Watching these guys do something they love, in defiance of society's rules and ideas of what a person has to be by a certain age, flaunting the conventions of what the limits of one can hope to achieve by doing things a certain way, it all struck home. It all became personal. Which is what good music is supposed to do. Good writing too. I hope I can not make it as much as they did.
TWO COW GARAGE TOUR DATES
Aug 21 2009 8:00P
the brass rail Ft Wayne, Indiana
Aug 22 2009 8:00P
Mac’s Bar lansing, Michigan
Aug 23 2009 8:00P
Schuba’s Chicago, Illinois
Aug 24 2009 8:00P
The Triple Rock Minneapolis, Minnesota
Aug 25 2009 8:00P
The High Noon Saloon Madison, Wisconsin
Sep 9 2009 8:00P
Off Broadway St. Louis, Missouri
Sep 10 2009 8:00P
The Bottleneck Lawerence, Kansas
Sep 11 2009 8:00P
Suburban Home Anniversary @ Three Kings denver
Sep 12 2009 8:00P
Suburban Home Anniversary @ Three Kings Denver, Colorado
Sep 13 2009 8:00P
Urban Lounge Salt Lake city, Utah
Sep 14 2009 8:00P
The Badlander Missoula, Montana
Sep 15 2009 8:00P
Tractor Tavern Seattle, Washington
Sep 17 2009 8:00P
Sam’s Bond Garage Eugene, Oregon
Sep 18 2009 11:00P
MusicFestNW- Ash Street Saloon Portland, Oregon
Sep 20 2009 8:00P
Thee Parkside San Francisco, California
Sep 21 2009 8:00P
Cranes Hollywood tavern Los Angeles, California
Sep 22 2009 8:00P
The Radio Room San Diego, California
Sep 23 2009 8:00P
Yucca Tap Room Tempe, Arizona
Sep 25 2009 8:00P
Emo’s (inside) Austin, Texas
Sep 27 2009 8:00P
Double Wide Dallas, Texas
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Ready or Not
Just a quick poker update after three more sessions - two tournaments, one cash game - and one misread. Busted out of both tournaments early on, couldn't get anything going and was mostly card dead for both. No real hands to dissect from either since I mostly folded or swept blinds with my raises. Cash game was more successful as I had been playing a little sloppily in past weeks and wanted to tighten up a bit. Luckily for me I was able to catch some decent starting hands early and build up a little bit of a stack when my biggest hand of the night came through. I raised from middle position with 9,9 and got a call from the button. Flop came 8,9,9 and I had a pretty good idea that my quads would be good. I checked and my opponent led out. I called. Turn brought a blank. I checked and my opponent bet out, a pot-sized bet. I thought about the last film I had seen in order to seem like something was on my mind and when sufficient time had passed, called. River was meaningless to me, of course, and I led out for half the pot. He thought and thought but then laid it down. Poker is easy.
Until you misread an opponent, that is.
One of the last hands of the night, I limped with AQ, hoping to trap a late position raiser. No raise came and the flop was good to me, A,K,x rainbow. I bet out and got one caller, very quick call. Turn was a club, now two on board. I bet again and again my opponent called. At this point I had him squarely on A,x, definitely not AK, not his style to limp from late position with it. I began to think about my river bet. Then it came with another K so I downsized a bit to around half the pot. My opponent thought for a couple minutes (during which time I relaxed, if a raise was coming it would have come quicker) then called. I confidently flipped my AQ and he showed a K for trips. We talked about the hand after the game and he said he thought that I had been playing bottom set on the flop. He had also picked up the nut flush on the turn (which surprised me even more because he didn't raise me on that street) to go with his pair of kings, and was worried I had filled up with his third queen. As I had him covered, he was worried about getting stacked late in the night, so he just called it and took it down. It was a very surprising result and threw me off for the rest of the game (only about another 10 minutes.)
I'm looking at playing the $550 deep stack event at Foxwoods on August 22nd. If I do, I will obviously post the lead up and results.
Until you misread an opponent, that is.
One of the last hands of the night, I limped with AQ, hoping to trap a late position raiser. No raise came and the flop was good to me, A,K,x rainbow. I bet out and got one caller, very quick call. Turn was a club, now two on board. I bet again and again my opponent called. At this point I had him squarely on A,x, definitely not AK, not his style to limp from late position with it. I began to think about my river bet. Then it came with another K so I downsized a bit to around half the pot. My opponent thought for a couple minutes (during which time I relaxed, if a raise was coming it would have come quicker) then called. I confidently flipped my AQ and he showed a K for trips. We talked about the hand after the game and he said he thought that I had been playing bottom set on the flop. He had also picked up the nut flush on the turn (which surprised me even more because he didn't raise me on that street) to go with his pair of kings, and was worried I had filled up with his third queen. As I had him covered, he was worried about getting stacked late in the night, so he just called it and took it down. It was a very surprising result and threw me off for the rest of the game (only about another 10 minutes.)
I'm looking at playing the $550 deep stack event at Foxwoods on August 22nd. If I do, I will obviously post the lead up and results.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Bad Liver and a Broken Heart
I'm old. I'm not gonna lie. I aged out of the bar scene a few years ago by any reasonable measure, yet it somehow always draws me back in. In that way I can sympathize (on an obviously lesser, more pitiful scale) with the athletes, actors and others who refuse to give up the spotlight, hoping for one more run of glory, one more rush of adrenaline when the eyes of the world focus squarely in their direction. Being in bars is kind of looking at a past life, when I was new to everything and all was new to me. Every turned corner brought excitement, new possibility and an introduction to the great equalizer, disappointment. When you're young, disappointment is a piercing shiv to the gut, the cruelest imaginable twist to the purest of plans. Broken hearts, broken dreams. The stuff that make up life when it's new. When you're young, you recover quickly from such cruelties. Years later, however, these things just make you feel tired and, well, old.
But there's always hope.
And the hope always looks similar because the hope is fresh-faced, exuberant and idealistic. The bastards of young, indeed. The sip from this fountain of youth, as well as the sip from a decent beer, are what brought me out of hiding, hoping to find something to catch me up in the swirl of my ancient youth.
What I found was The Stranger Waves. A three piece from Chicago, they pounded a couple certainties through my head: 1 - yes, I'm old 2 - rock and roll still has the power to instill an infusion of energy unparalleled to almost anything else. It stirs a re-kindling of emotional cues from our lives, for what is a love of music if not a back beat, and at times a sharp relief, a primary focus, for the events we embark upon? Why do we spend hours figuring out the songs to play at our weddings? How many times has every single song that played after a heartbreak been solely written for one's own situation? The themes of music are universal but individually interpreted, the best of which can be enjoyed on many levels, from a pure pop aesthetic to a primal, immediate response which we might not even understand.
So it was with the Stranger Waves. Jangly guitars, reverberating vocals and harmonies, a vicious, unrelenting percussion all held together a Buddy-Holly-on-amphetamines sound recorded at 33 1/3 but played at 45. Undeniably catchy, unmistakably talented and furiously eager to serve up a memorable string of songs, they banged out a set that left me in a strange spot - basking in the glow of a remembered glory, of a needle full of sound building to a few minutes of ecstatic revelry in support of a trio of guys barely more than half my age. It was a high worth the effort of making the scene, even after mine has long gone.
Check them out if you can.
www.myspace.com/thestrangerwaves
But there's always hope.
And the hope always looks similar because the hope is fresh-faced, exuberant and idealistic. The bastards of young, indeed. The sip from this fountain of youth, as well as the sip from a decent beer, are what brought me out of hiding, hoping to find something to catch me up in the swirl of my ancient youth.
What I found was The Stranger Waves. A three piece from Chicago, they pounded a couple certainties through my head: 1 - yes, I'm old 2 - rock and roll still has the power to instill an infusion of energy unparalleled to almost anything else. It stirs a re-kindling of emotional cues from our lives, for what is a love of music if not a back beat, and at times a sharp relief, a primary focus, for the events we embark upon? Why do we spend hours figuring out the songs to play at our weddings? How many times has every single song that played after a heartbreak been solely written for one's own situation? The themes of music are universal but individually interpreted, the best of which can be enjoyed on many levels, from a pure pop aesthetic to a primal, immediate response which we might not even understand.
So it was with the Stranger Waves. Jangly guitars, reverberating vocals and harmonies, a vicious, unrelenting percussion all held together a Buddy-Holly-on-amphetamines sound recorded at 33 1/3 but played at 45. Undeniably catchy, unmistakably talented and furiously eager to serve up a memorable string of songs, they banged out a set that left me in a strange spot - basking in the glow of a remembered glory, of a needle full of sound building to a few minutes of ecstatic revelry in support of a trio of guys barely more than half my age. It was a high worth the effort of making the scene, even after mine has long gone.
Check them out if you can.
www.myspace.com/thestrangerwaves
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Blister In The Sun
A quick recap as this is a continuation of my previous post: So I had withstood a combined avalanche of my own bad play and a decidedly mediocre stretch of cards to break even at the Borgata and managed to snag the last seat on the bus to get me back home in time to my heads up poker tournament. This tourney is an offshoot of my monthly one, run by the same guy and usually featuring many of the familiar faces from those tournaments, albeit far fewer of the newcomers to the game. Not a tournament for which I should have been operating on two hours sleep and caffeine and expected to sail through. Stranger things have happened, though. And stranger things did...
Heads up is always an interesting time. Playing virtually every hand is an anomaly unless you are heads up. It's also fun as hell. Who doesn't want to be involved in each deal of the cards? More often than not it is with just two god-awful cards in hand, so the play is contingent on the player, not the cards. Because of this aspect it also allows terrific opportunities to set up an opponent who makes a lesser hand after you have pushed him around a bit.
So it was in my first match. Playing aggressively and raising, c-betting and re-raising nonstop, my opponent finally made a stand and shoved preflop when I re-raised him. Unfortunately for his AJ, this was a legitimate hand and my AK had him dominated and took him out. Bang. Fifteen minutes, one victory.
My second match saw me against a very, very aggressive player so I decided to mix it up a little bit, play a little slower and let my re-raises and other moves convey a little more power, all the while hoping to catch a big hand and disguise it, knowing that my opponent would likely make a move into it.
And it worked.
Kind of.
He raised (with 7,7 as it turns out). I peeked at Q,Q and re-raised. He didn't believe me and likely figured he could get me to fold anything except a premium hand, and shoved on me. Perfect. I called, of course. But the flop came 5,6,8. Ugh. The turn was a blank and he had 10 outs to get there. He got there the hard way, by flipping a river 7 to make trips.
So now I was in a quandary, left with only about 10% of chips in play. But I did have one slight advantage and I began to use it.
All in. All in. All in. All in.
Finally he called, and I was behind. We both made pairs on the flop but he made top and I made middle, until the river brought a beautiful, redemptive 7, making me trips and getting me healthy again. But then he took the initiative again and started popping each pot and I got whittled away, chip by chip. Finally, I made a move and got it in what I thought was in great shape - top pair, open ended. But he had a set and I was looking at 10 outs, same as he had earlier. And same as he had earlier, the 7 came on the river. Straight for me, double up.
On it went, back and forth like that. Any time the shorter stack went in, their hand held. Finally, at the 90 minute mark (playing 30 minute levels) with blinds about to go to 200/400, which would have been ridiculous for my stack, and basically made it an all-in each hand either way, I made a stand when the board threw out three nines. My opponent boated up and I was done, for now. For this was a double elimination event and I merely proceeded to the loser's bracket.
Once there, whether it was caffeine, adrenaline or the mid-afternoon sun, I perked up and played some pretty good poker. I made a tough call of a post-flop all-in holding 4,4 in my hand and it held against my opponent's ace high. I battled back in my next match from a 3:1 chip deficit, rallying to take it after over an hour. Then I went on a true rampage in my next match, winning in fewer than ten hands as the cards found me quickly and I took it right at my opponent with a barrage of raises that he had no answer to.
The tournament, however, was not completed. And it was an ugly reason why not.
A couple months ago, the host of this tournament had purchased a professional-quality arm wrestling table. At the events since then, people have taken shots at each other on this table, always for fun, and always entertaining. That day? Not so much. At one point, there was a sickening "CRACK" similar to if you had a thick tree branch and you somehow snapped it clean. I had thought that the table leg had cracked. Not so lucky. I turned to find one of the tournament players holding his arm where it had sickeningly broken, in the middle of the humerous bone (the large bone in your upper arm). Just a sick accident, but apparently not one uncommon to arm wrestling, as Wikipedia notes http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arm_wrestling (see the "Avoiding Injury" section and the two pictures to the right of it, exactly what happened.) Straight to the emergency room he went and he awaits surgery in a few days. Just an ugly few minutes and we all felt awful for him.
Anyway, he was one of two guys left in the winner's bracket, while I had made my way to being the only one left in the loser's bracket. So play was obviously postponed and I await the loser of the other match to see who will advance to the finals against the winner. To win I'll need three straight wins, one against the loser of that match and two against the guy who advances from the winner's bracket, thus far unbeaten.
By this point it was about 8 pm and another full day of poker had been played. I was beat and needed to crash and crash I did. I will update the tournament results once it finishes.
Heads up is always an interesting time. Playing virtually every hand is an anomaly unless you are heads up. It's also fun as hell. Who doesn't want to be involved in each deal of the cards? More often than not it is with just two god-awful cards in hand, so the play is contingent on the player, not the cards. Because of this aspect it also allows terrific opportunities to set up an opponent who makes a lesser hand after you have pushed him around a bit.
So it was in my first match. Playing aggressively and raising, c-betting and re-raising nonstop, my opponent finally made a stand and shoved preflop when I re-raised him. Unfortunately for his AJ, this was a legitimate hand and my AK had him dominated and took him out. Bang. Fifteen minutes, one victory.
My second match saw me against a very, very aggressive player so I decided to mix it up a little bit, play a little slower and let my re-raises and other moves convey a little more power, all the while hoping to catch a big hand and disguise it, knowing that my opponent would likely make a move into it.
And it worked.
Kind of.
He raised (with 7,7 as it turns out). I peeked at Q,Q and re-raised. He didn't believe me and likely figured he could get me to fold anything except a premium hand, and shoved on me. Perfect. I called, of course. But the flop came 5,6,8. Ugh. The turn was a blank and he had 10 outs to get there. He got there the hard way, by flipping a river 7 to make trips.
So now I was in a quandary, left with only about 10% of chips in play. But I did have one slight advantage and I began to use it.
All in. All in. All in. All in.
Finally he called, and I was behind. We both made pairs on the flop but he made top and I made middle, until the river brought a beautiful, redemptive 7, making me trips and getting me healthy again. But then he took the initiative again and started popping each pot and I got whittled away, chip by chip. Finally, I made a move and got it in what I thought was in great shape - top pair, open ended. But he had a set and I was looking at 10 outs, same as he had earlier. And same as he had earlier, the 7 came on the river. Straight for me, double up.
On it went, back and forth like that. Any time the shorter stack went in, their hand held. Finally, at the 90 minute mark (playing 30 minute levels) with blinds about to go to 200/400, which would have been ridiculous for my stack, and basically made it an all-in each hand either way, I made a stand when the board threw out three nines. My opponent boated up and I was done, for now. For this was a double elimination event and I merely proceeded to the loser's bracket.
Once there, whether it was caffeine, adrenaline or the mid-afternoon sun, I perked up and played some pretty good poker. I made a tough call of a post-flop all-in holding 4,4 in my hand and it held against my opponent's ace high. I battled back in my next match from a 3:1 chip deficit, rallying to take it after over an hour. Then I went on a true rampage in my next match, winning in fewer than ten hands as the cards found me quickly and I took it right at my opponent with a barrage of raises that he had no answer to.
The tournament, however, was not completed. And it was an ugly reason why not.
A couple months ago, the host of this tournament had purchased a professional-quality arm wrestling table. At the events since then, people have taken shots at each other on this table, always for fun, and always entertaining. That day? Not so much. At one point, there was a sickening "CRACK" similar to if you had a thick tree branch and you somehow snapped it clean. I had thought that the table leg had cracked. Not so lucky. I turned to find one of the tournament players holding his arm where it had sickeningly broken, in the middle of the humerous bone (the large bone in your upper arm). Just a sick accident, but apparently not one uncommon to arm wrestling, as Wikipedia notes http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arm_wrestling (see the "Avoiding Injury" section and the two pictures to the right of it, exactly what happened.) Straight to the emergency room he went and he awaits surgery in a few days. Just an ugly few minutes and we all felt awful for him.
Anyway, he was one of two guys left in the winner's bracket, while I had made my way to being the only one left in the loser's bracket. So play was obviously postponed and I await the loser of the other match to see who will advance to the finals against the winner. To win I'll need three straight wins, one against the loser of that match and two against the guy who advances from the winner's bracket, thus far unbeaten.
By this point it was about 8 pm and another full day of poker had been played. I was beat and needed to crash and crash I did. I will update the tournament results once it finishes.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Prove It All Night
Had a rather unreal 26 hour stretch of poker on Friday and Saturday, which I felt needed a couple days to breathe before I put it down. Honestly, I may have forgotten half of it already since the 26 hours were virtually one, with only a minor two hour nap thrown in between the first fifteen and the next nine.
Backtracking to the beginning, I got an email that immediately piqued my interest from the subject line alone. "AC?" it read.
Um, yes please.
Turns out a couple of the regulars from my weekly cash and monthly tournaments were driving down to the Borgata in Atlantic City and had room available in their car. I confirmed my interest, grabbed some essentials and we were off. Friday afternoon traffic being brutal to the Jersey shore, it took a good four hours to get down there but we sauntered into the Borgata's poker room and were all immediately seated at separate 1/2 NL tables.
For anyone who hasn't been to the Borgata, the room is absolutely immense. 85 tables but it seems like even more when it's crowded, just a mammoth space teeming with players of all styles, all abilities and all attitudes, with basically any game you could want available to spread.
Back to my game, the first pot I enter gets limped to the button, who pops a raise. From the SB I see KQ off and come along, as does one of the limpers and the BB. Flop comes Q, 4 3, just about as good as I can hope for in this spot. I lead for half the pot, the BB raises me, the limper goes away and the button re-raises. Ugh. I get out of dodge, however reluctantly, and the other two mix it up, with the button eventually taking it down with his Q,3 two pair.
And a pattern is set.
For the next six to eight hours any pot I entered with a decent holding (middle pairs, A,10 or above, good suited connectors) might allow me to see a flop but was immediately bet or raised right out of it after whiffing. Nothing was working for me, raising, calling, limping, re-raising, it all was going awry and I began to spew some chips in frustration. One particularly awful hand was flopping second pair on a flop of all spades, putting my opponent on AK with the nut draw and craftily (so I thought) let him bluff at it for three streets when no other spades fell. Of course, my read was half correct, he did have the A of spades but he also had another in his hand and was value betting the donkey the entire way. Hee-haw.
Two add-ons later and I had been resigned to the ugly fact that when my last fifty bucks got swallowed by whomever played the next hand with me, I was going to hit it and call it a night. Defeatist attitude was in full swing, bad posture, the head-shaking, bitter folding, I had all the plays in the loser's handbook working hardcore.
And then, strangely, things changed.
How, I don't know. Maybe I had indeed just had a stretch of tough beats, bad cards and players not conducive to my style but in a flash it turned. Welcome to poker 101.
I look at pocket queens and re-raise a raiser all in for my last $45. He calls with...JJ. Queens hold. Two hands later my A10 off flops trip aces and I get it all in again against...A6. From there, the drunks from the clubs rolled in, as well as a few players deciding to go on a bender right there at the table. Flush with new confidence from actually winning hands, I took a few more chances and when I hit a few more flops, I was on a legitimate heater. Then, I came tantalizingly close to making a truly memorable run. Probably 6 of 12 hands, I looked down at wired pairs. None hit sets, which would have allowed me to make the big score but several of them were enough to take down pots. So, so close and I could feel the table around me start to be wary of me, now it was their attitudes that were shifting when I played hands.
My last hurrah, now thirteen hours deep into it, was when I raised with AcQc and a kid sitting on about $75 re-raised all in from the BB. My first instinct was to call and I was a split second from doing so when I remembered how much he had been overplaying AK all night, way over-raising that particular holding. So I thought about it and decided to wait for a bit better of a spot. And funnily enough, the very next hand saw me with 10,10. I raised again, everyone cleared out, the kid from the previous hand again shoved on me and I snap called him. His face fell and he showed KJ off and I managed to avoid any trouble from the cards and felted him.
So at this point, I had come back to break even, a pretty amazing accomplishment after hours of terrible play, and felt the redemption of avoiding such a big loss flowing through me. However, I also realized that I had been playing for almost fifteen hours and in approximately three and a half hours from that time I had a heads-up tournament back home. So I clocked out, cashed out and hit up the bus station in a hurry. I got the last seat on the next bus, took it and immediately fell out. The ride home, just over two hours, went by in a matter of seconds for me and I was up again and navigating the trains to my heads-up tournament.
To Be Continued...(but enjoy the link until tomorrow)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEkyaoPdar8
Backtracking to the beginning, I got an email that immediately piqued my interest from the subject line alone. "AC?" it read.
Um, yes please.
Turns out a couple of the regulars from my weekly cash and monthly tournaments were driving down to the Borgata in Atlantic City and had room available in their car. I confirmed my interest, grabbed some essentials and we were off. Friday afternoon traffic being brutal to the Jersey shore, it took a good four hours to get down there but we sauntered into the Borgata's poker room and were all immediately seated at separate 1/2 NL tables.
For anyone who hasn't been to the Borgata, the room is absolutely immense. 85 tables but it seems like even more when it's crowded, just a mammoth space teeming with players of all styles, all abilities and all attitudes, with basically any game you could want available to spread.
Back to my game, the first pot I enter gets limped to the button, who pops a raise. From the SB I see KQ off and come along, as does one of the limpers and the BB. Flop comes Q, 4 3, just about as good as I can hope for in this spot. I lead for half the pot, the BB raises me, the limper goes away and the button re-raises. Ugh. I get out of dodge, however reluctantly, and the other two mix it up, with the button eventually taking it down with his Q,3 two pair.
And a pattern is set.
For the next six to eight hours any pot I entered with a decent holding (middle pairs, A,10 or above, good suited connectors) might allow me to see a flop but was immediately bet or raised right out of it after whiffing. Nothing was working for me, raising, calling, limping, re-raising, it all was going awry and I began to spew some chips in frustration. One particularly awful hand was flopping second pair on a flop of all spades, putting my opponent on AK with the nut draw and craftily (so I thought) let him bluff at it for three streets when no other spades fell. Of course, my read was half correct, he did have the A of spades but he also had another in his hand and was value betting the donkey the entire way. Hee-haw.
Two add-ons later and I had been resigned to the ugly fact that when my last fifty bucks got swallowed by whomever played the next hand with me, I was going to hit it and call it a night. Defeatist attitude was in full swing, bad posture, the head-shaking, bitter folding, I had all the plays in the loser's handbook working hardcore.
And then, strangely, things changed.
How, I don't know. Maybe I had indeed just had a stretch of tough beats, bad cards and players not conducive to my style but in a flash it turned. Welcome to poker 101.
I look at pocket queens and re-raise a raiser all in for my last $45. He calls with...JJ. Queens hold. Two hands later my A10 off flops trip aces and I get it all in again against...A6. From there, the drunks from the clubs rolled in, as well as a few players deciding to go on a bender right there at the table. Flush with new confidence from actually winning hands, I took a few more chances and when I hit a few more flops, I was on a legitimate heater. Then, I came tantalizingly close to making a truly memorable run. Probably 6 of 12 hands, I looked down at wired pairs. None hit sets, which would have allowed me to make the big score but several of them were enough to take down pots. So, so close and I could feel the table around me start to be wary of me, now it was their attitudes that were shifting when I played hands.
My last hurrah, now thirteen hours deep into it, was when I raised with AcQc and a kid sitting on about $75 re-raised all in from the BB. My first instinct was to call and I was a split second from doing so when I remembered how much he had been overplaying AK all night, way over-raising that particular holding. So I thought about it and decided to wait for a bit better of a spot. And funnily enough, the very next hand saw me with 10,10. I raised again, everyone cleared out, the kid from the previous hand again shoved on me and I snap called him. His face fell and he showed KJ off and I managed to avoid any trouble from the cards and felted him.
So at this point, I had come back to break even, a pretty amazing accomplishment after hours of terrible play, and felt the redemption of avoiding such a big loss flowing through me. However, I also realized that I had been playing for almost fifteen hours and in approximately three and a half hours from that time I had a heads-up tournament back home. So I clocked out, cashed out and hit up the bus station in a hurry. I got the last seat on the next bus, took it and immediately fell out. The ride home, just over two hours, went by in a matter of seconds for me and I was up again and navigating the trains to my heads-up tournament.
To Be Continued...(but enjoy the link until tomorrow)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEkyaoPdar8
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