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So after two months, one snapped humerus bone, three hours of surgery and four loser's bracket victories, I finally found myself as one of the last two left in a yearly heads-up tournament. Having come through the loser's bracket, I now had to defeat my opponent twice heads up as this was a double elimination tourney. A dubious prospect, since this was a guy who had rather handily dispatched his opponents thus far, a guy I knew to be unafraid of making moves with any two cards and with an uncanny skill for reading his opponents' hands. Plus, the guy had had his arm broken in an ill-fated arm wrestling match during the day the tournament was originally supposed to conclude. Fate should reward that kind of suffering, no?
Well, fate might, but I won't.
Starting even in chips but at a disadvantage strategically since my opponent could play as loose as he wanted to with a match in hand, things didn't quite get started as I hoped. I made some raises, forced a few continuation bets in and folded, folded, folded when I didn't connect and was re-popped. I've detailed before that one of the things I like best about heads up is playing each and every hand, the action aspect of it all. What's not so fun is a succession of god-awful hands like 2,8 where your raise is called, a deuce flops and your c-bet is tripled. Not exactly the kind of sweet action I enjoy.
Fold, fold, fold.
Pretty soon, I was down to about 1000 chips (5000 in play) and in serious chip envy. You know, the kind where your lone big chip has about five friends, where each and every smaller denomination chip has left town and made the deficit seem insurmountable from sheer stack size alone. That's where I was.
Well, heads up is its own beast, layered with skin ready for discard. All it takes to adjust is to slide out of one mode and into another. Add that to the chipleader's inevitable desire, once ahead, to never double up his opponent and give him life and aggression is often well rewarded. I began firing at pots with pot-committing raises and saw the glances at the few chips I had behind. My opponent ceded the small pots, not willing to commit the chips to get me back in it all at once. In fairness, he probably had garbage hands, like most are. But while he was conceding blinds and small pots, I was listening to the most delightful sound of new chips clacking on top of old. Slowly, I rebuilt. Five hundred more. Seven-fifty. Soon enough, my double up to 2000 was complete, albeit done in a grinding fashion.
And patience was finally rewarded. After a pre-flop raise into me, I peeked at JJ and pushed. My opponent made a crippling call with K,J and I seized control of the match and a few hands later, it was over. We were even.
As we began the second match, I felt that the pressure had shifted the other way. No one wants to lose two in a row, especially a confident, competitive player. This match was therefore less aggressive, more cautious on both sides, as we both now had the opportunity to win the whole thing. Small swings on either side of level were the norm in the early going, as pots hovered around 10% of the overall chip count (500). And then, cautious as things had been, it exploded.
In my favor.
And again, it was a monster for me. KK. My opponent raised preflop (25/50) to 150. I re-raised to 450, he called. Flop came Q high, all diamonds. He shoved, I called. Neither of us had a diamond. He had QJ. I held up and he had a scant 600 chips. It was that quick. Again, a few hands later the match ended, when I drew out a flush against his all in.
A long time coming, and it felt good.
More poker coming this weekend, I'll keep you updated.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Big River/Bonanza/No Need To Worry
For those of you who are savvy to the songs of the man in black, you're already onto the theme of this post - cash, cash, cash.
I've been long overdue on a post as a couple of personal matters have occupied all of my time the past five or so weeks. I've managed to squeak in a few local tournament sessions however, as well as the long-awaited conclusion to August's heads-up tournament (see a previous post from August about the ugly delay in this one.) And despite the inactivity, my game hasn't suffered too much, exactly the opposite in fact, as I managed to work some modest cashes through some tough local fields.
Backtrack a bit and I was playing in my regular monthly rebuy tournament. It happened to be the same night as the Marquez/Mayweather fight and there was enough interest among the 30 or so players to order it up, so we had that going and I was half-distracted during the early stages until it became evident that Mayweather had Marquez dominated. So back to the cards and I got a little momentum going, but needed to really chip up if I wanted to make some noise, the quick blind structure and levels make rebuys almost useless after a certain point. So when I failed to connect on a draw and gave away my stack and had to rebuy for 1500 chips at 200/400, I didn't expect much. Even less did I expect to go on a tear the way I did. Pocket pairs held up, draws got there, bluffs were respected and as we consolidated to the final table I was one of the top three stacks.
While the timing of that run was much-needed, as always when it cooled off, it cooled quickly and I scrambled to make moves. In the next few levels I ran 88 into AA and doubled up a short stack, then folded a flopped top pair again to AA where I could have been felted. Later, I folded a 66 into a bad flop but then a couple hands later moved in with that same holding and one of the two overs my opponent held spiked on the river and I was out for a min cash. Cash #1.
So, even though it was five hours deep into the night, I moved right over to another table and played my delayed semifinal match in the heads up tourney. Winner hit the cash, loser was bubble boy. I had been ahead about 3500 to 1500 in chips when the break occurred but that quickly flip-flopped and I found myself on the short end of that margin. Slowly I ground my way back within 600 chips (2800-2200) when I looked at JJ. I raised, he re-raised all in with AK and I called. It held and I finished him off shortly thereafter when I drew a 3 outer, when all in blind. On to the finals, time/date still to be determined, but I was in the cash, my second of the night. Cash #2.
Flash-forward two weeks later and another home tournament, again a rebuy affair. Bigger buy in and rebuys but a smaller field and fewer places cashing. I arrive late, fold a bunch of garbage hands until about the end of the second level, attempt an ill-advised triple up with a mediocre holding and rebuy. Again, however, I go on a bit of a hot hand tear and take advantage. I three-bet preflop and get two other guys to shove behind me. The initial raiser folds and I shove with AA. Shortstack turns over A10 and big stack turns over QQ. I hold and rake a big pot and am on my way. Shortly thereafter, AK flops a K, a big stack reraises all in over the top of me and I call. He flips J,4 suited with a pair plus the flush draw but I ice the draws and bust him. Now I have a giant stack and I start raising everything in sight and smaller stacks topple quickly. Queens were good to me as I twice hit top pair and got it in for the win against small stacks. Then I made a fairly loose call of an all in with Q10 suited and my opponent showed his 8,9 sheepishly. We got down to heads up shortly after I made a bad read of a nicely disguised AA when I again flopped top pair and doubled up a good player. A bit of bad luck kept me from perhaps winning when I checked my option with 5,7 and the flop came J, 5, 5. We both checked the flop and a J came on the turn and we again both checked. The river was a blank and I don't remember the exact way it went in, suffice it to say it all did and my opponent turned over a J to best me. Oh well. Another good cash, #3.
Unfortunately I haven't been able to play at all since but it looks as if my other stuff has been straightened out and I'll be back in the mix, both on the tables and here documenting it, beginning right away. Thanks for reading and I'll keep you in the loop, as I'll fill in the details of the conclusion to the heads up tournament.
I've been long overdue on a post as a couple of personal matters have occupied all of my time the past five or so weeks. I've managed to squeak in a few local tournament sessions however, as well as the long-awaited conclusion to August's heads-up tournament (see a previous post from August about the ugly delay in this one.) And despite the inactivity, my game hasn't suffered too much, exactly the opposite in fact, as I managed to work some modest cashes through some tough local fields.
Backtrack a bit and I was playing in my regular monthly rebuy tournament. It happened to be the same night as the Marquez/Mayweather fight and there was enough interest among the 30 or so players to order it up, so we had that going and I was half-distracted during the early stages until it became evident that Mayweather had Marquez dominated. So back to the cards and I got a little momentum going, but needed to really chip up if I wanted to make some noise, the quick blind structure and levels make rebuys almost useless after a certain point. So when I failed to connect on a draw and gave away my stack and had to rebuy for 1500 chips at 200/400, I didn't expect much. Even less did I expect to go on a tear the way I did. Pocket pairs held up, draws got there, bluffs were respected and as we consolidated to the final table I was one of the top three stacks.
While the timing of that run was much-needed, as always when it cooled off, it cooled quickly and I scrambled to make moves. In the next few levels I ran 88 into AA and doubled up a short stack, then folded a flopped top pair again to AA where I could have been felted. Later, I folded a 66 into a bad flop but then a couple hands later moved in with that same holding and one of the two overs my opponent held spiked on the river and I was out for a min cash. Cash #1.
So, even though it was five hours deep into the night, I moved right over to another table and played my delayed semifinal match in the heads up tourney. Winner hit the cash, loser was bubble boy. I had been ahead about 3500 to 1500 in chips when the break occurred but that quickly flip-flopped and I found myself on the short end of that margin. Slowly I ground my way back within 600 chips (2800-2200) when I looked at JJ. I raised, he re-raised all in with AK and I called. It held and I finished him off shortly thereafter when I drew a 3 outer, when all in blind. On to the finals, time/date still to be determined, but I was in the cash, my second of the night. Cash #2.
Flash-forward two weeks later and another home tournament, again a rebuy affair. Bigger buy in and rebuys but a smaller field and fewer places cashing. I arrive late, fold a bunch of garbage hands until about the end of the second level, attempt an ill-advised triple up with a mediocre holding and rebuy. Again, however, I go on a bit of a hot hand tear and take advantage. I three-bet preflop and get two other guys to shove behind me. The initial raiser folds and I shove with AA. Shortstack turns over A10 and big stack turns over QQ. I hold and rake a big pot and am on my way. Shortly thereafter, AK flops a K, a big stack reraises all in over the top of me and I call. He flips J,4 suited with a pair plus the flush draw but I ice the draws and bust him. Now I have a giant stack and I start raising everything in sight and smaller stacks topple quickly. Queens were good to me as I twice hit top pair and got it in for the win against small stacks. Then I made a fairly loose call of an all in with Q10 suited and my opponent showed his 8,9 sheepishly. We got down to heads up shortly after I made a bad read of a nicely disguised AA when I again flopped top pair and doubled up a good player. A bit of bad luck kept me from perhaps winning when I checked my option with 5,7 and the flop came J, 5, 5. We both checked the flop and a J came on the turn and we again both checked. The river was a blank and I don't remember the exact way it went in, suffice it to say it all did and my opponent turned over a J to best me. Oh well. Another good cash, #3.
Unfortunately I haven't been able to play at all since but it looks as if my other stuff has been straightened out and I'll be back in the mix, both on the tables and here documenting it, beginning right away. Thanks for reading and I'll keep you in the loop, as I'll fill in the details of the conclusion to the heads up tournament.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Question Is How Fast, Pt. 2
Continued from previous post...(road trip theme being abandoned)
So I have just doubled my short stack and my table has broken. I'm not too upset with this, as that table had begun to eyeball my stack and take shots at me.
My new table, however, is a dream. Three ultra tight older guys, check. One insane old guy who will play and continue any hand at full speed and never slow down if he misses a flop. A couple of guys in their thirties and forties who play straightforward. One girl with a healthy stack who seems to be mixing it up pretty well. And one guy who loses a huge pot as I settle in when his top two gets shoved upon by crazy old guy's flush draw (which was for crazy old guy's whole stack, not insubstantial) who I get an immediate suspicion had been the table boss prior to that hand. He now is on a shorter stack than I and I watch him closely, as we are going to make similar plays with our short stacks.
I feel okay about it and my first hand is AcJc and I sweep the blinds with a preflop raise. Bingo, hope this continues.
It doesn't.
Neither the cards nor the plays got there for me. It was really frustrating watching the play at this table and then having to peek down at J,3 off and fold. As I got shorter and shorter, I just wanted anything that would give me a shot because I really felt as if I could make a run if I could even get a semblance of a normals stack.
Limp, limp, limp, limp to me in the small blind, ready to shove. 8,4 off. Muck.
Frustrating.
I wonder if I should shove anyway but such thoughts are nixed when a multi-way limped pot (about 4 or 5 players) that I can't enter gets shown down and the crazy old guy has pocket kings. Pocket kings.
Finally, under the gun (literally and figuratively) I get 9,9 and in it goes. I get looked up by crazy old guy who has A,8 off. Here we go.
'No ace, no ace, no ace,' I think.
Ace on the flop. I mentally check out about 95%.
'Nine on the turn. Nine, nine, nine, NINE,' I think.
Ace on the turn. I mentally check out the remaining 5%.
I stand.
Four on the river.
I walk away. I get about 10 feet from the table when the girl calls over to me. "Where are you going?"
I walk back over. She points at the board. "You made a flush."
Holy shit. It's true. I hit runner, runner (including his third ace) and provided one of the dumbest displays ever. I didn't do anything out of line, I was just that donkey who didn't even bother to consider the board or the options.
So back to it, after an apology to the table. The old guy doesn't even seem to have noticed, as I really didn't dent his stack too badly.
Unfortunately, I can't capitalize on this gift. I am ice cold and can't enter any pots. I get short stacked and shove. Everyone folds. Over and over and over. Four hours I play my short stack like this. Four hours I have zero pocket pairs, perhaps punishment for my inattentiveness with my nines.
Finally, I get it in again with a caller. The BB looks me up with AK off to my Qd9d. He looks slightly ill at my holding, one of the worst ones for his hand to be ahead of.
I flop a queen in the window!
But there's an ace underneath! An ace on the turn (deja vu?) I scan for diamonds--not this time. I need a queen. Two outer. Two outer. Two outer.
Out. Two hundredth.
(or so. top 70 got paid)
My assessment of my play? Too tight, mostly. Too aggressive with middle pairs. I think I did a good job managing my short stack in particular. I got it in against the right players, the ones who would fold when I didn't have it, and the ones who would call if I did. I tried not to let it get down to 10 BBs, preferring to move with about 13 or so to keep the gamblers at bay. I had a good feel for people at my tables and, while my starting hands limited my action, felt like I had a decent read on how people were playing. It was a good experience, good to get a big tournament feel, one I haven't had in a long time. If things go well in the next couple weeks, I might hop to Borgata to see about their WPT event coming up.
So I have just doubled my short stack and my table has broken. I'm not too upset with this, as that table had begun to eyeball my stack and take shots at me.
My new table, however, is a dream. Three ultra tight older guys, check. One insane old guy who will play and continue any hand at full speed and never slow down if he misses a flop. A couple of guys in their thirties and forties who play straightforward. One girl with a healthy stack who seems to be mixing it up pretty well. And one guy who loses a huge pot as I settle in when his top two gets shoved upon by crazy old guy's flush draw (which was for crazy old guy's whole stack, not insubstantial) who I get an immediate suspicion had been the table boss prior to that hand. He now is on a shorter stack than I and I watch him closely, as we are going to make similar plays with our short stacks.
I feel okay about it and my first hand is AcJc and I sweep the blinds with a preflop raise. Bingo, hope this continues.
It doesn't.
Neither the cards nor the plays got there for me. It was really frustrating watching the play at this table and then having to peek down at J,3 off and fold. As I got shorter and shorter, I just wanted anything that would give me a shot because I really felt as if I could make a run if I could even get a semblance of a normals stack.
Limp, limp, limp, limp to me in the small blind, ready to shove. 8,4 off. Muck.
Frustrating.
I wonder if I should shove anyway but such thoughts are nixed when a multi-way limped pot (about 4 or 5 players) that I can't enter gets shown down and the crazy old guy has pocket kings. Pocket kings.
Finally, under the gun (literally and figuratively) I get 9,9 and in it goes. I get looked up by crazy old guy who has A,8 off. Here we go.
'No ace, no ace, no ace,' I think.
Ace on the flop. I mentally check out about 95%.
'Nine on the turn. Nine, nine, nine, NINE,' I think.
Ace on the turn. I mentally check out the remaining 5%.
I stand.
Four on the river.
I walk away. I get about 10 feet from the table when the girl calls over to me. "Where are you going?"
I walk back over. She points at the board. "You made a flush."
Holy shit. It's true. I hit runner, runner (including his third ace) and provided one of the dumbest displays ever. I didn't do anything out of line, I was just that donkey who didn't even bother to consider the board or the options.
So back to it, after an apology to the table. The old guy doesn't even seem to have noticed, as I really didn't dent his stack too badly.
Unfortunately, I can't capitalize on this gift. I am ice cold and can't enter any pots. I get short stacked and shove. Everyone folds. Over and over and over. Four hours I play my short stack like this. Four hours I have zero pocket pairs, perhaps punishment for my inattentiveness with my nines.
Finally, I get it in again with a caller. The BB looks me up with AK off to my Qd9d. He looks slightly ill at my holding, one of the worst ones for his hand to be ahead of.
I flop a queen in the window!
But there's an ace underneath! An ace on the turn (deja vu?) I scan for diamonds--not this time. I need a queen. Two outer. Two outer. Two outer.
Out. Two hundredth.
(or so. top 70 got paid)
My assessment of my play? Too tight, mostly. Too aggressive with middle pairs. I think I did a good job managing my short stack in particular. I got it in against the right players, the ones who would fold when I didn't have it, and the ones who would call if I did. I tried not to let it get down to 10 BBs, preferring to move with about 13 or so to keep the gamblers at bay. I had a good feel for people at my tables and, while my starting hands limited my action, felt like I had a decent read on how people were playing. It was a good experience, good to get a big tournament feel, one I haven't had in a long time. If things go well in the next couple weeks, I might hop to Borgata to see about their WPT event coming up.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Question Is How Fast
I've never been a speeder. Owe it to my first automobile being a late 80s Chevy Sprint, aptly named since it could go dart forward about fifty yards, only to hit a max velocity that could get swallowed up by a John Deere special. That was followed by an '85 Chevy Impala, a lumbering workhorse that caused criminals to duck for cover when I rolled by due to its resemblance to the plainclothes detective car of choice during the period. Once I sold that one, I've been without a four-wheeled mode of transportation for a number of years. Speeding has not been much of a worry.
But maybe it should be. In my poker play, at least. Fire up the engines, I'm taking you for a ride through the $550 Mega Stack at Foxwoods.
"Metaphor's the worst/Are you being driven or do you drive?" -"Art Class", Superchunk.
My day began alongside 644 other dead-eyed hopefuls, including 2002 WSOP champ Robert Varkonyi and his wife Olga. The structure was why I chose to play this particular tournament, having not played anything but small rebuy tournaments for a good while. 20k in chips to start, 50 minute levels, including 75/100 and 100/200 followed by the elusive 100/200 with 25 ante. Just a good structure that allowed for a ton of action and plenty of patient play, something I pride myself on. I determined that it was not going to be a sprint and settled in, knowing that some people wouldn't, that they would get addicted to the big action they have seen/heard/read about and spew chips in efforts to be uber-aggressive. All done while elaborating on the intricacies of poker in a sonorous Massachusetts/Boston/New England accent that never gets old for me because I can picture each pontificator as Cliff Claven. "It's a little known fact..."
Sure enough, about 20 minutes in, the first player busted from the table next to me when his two pair ran into quads. 30 minutes left in the 25/50 level seems like a must-shove with two pair, no? See ya. Not ten minutes later, another yahoo from the same table made a flush on a paired board and guess what? He shoved into quads...against the same player! This guy was now up to over 60k in chips and had his table shaking their heads. "It's a little known fact that a flush is no good on a paired board," the Claven next to me puts out for the table to absorb.
Meanwhile I was having a pretty good level myself, opening pots and hitting flops. Even caught a couple wired pairs and by the first break had chipped up to about 22,500. While not avoiding big pots, I was determined to keep myself out of any kind of crippling danger. Just no need at this early stage, particularly with at least four players that I could target at my table.
"Do not pass me/Just to slow down/I have precision auto." -"Precision Auto" Superchunk
Feeling pretty good about myself, I get a little overeager with some raises and give back my chips from the previous levels and then some but don't panic. And sure enough the predictable guy next to me pays me off when his hand gets into my nut draw but I manage to back into two pair when my flush misses and he makes a terrible call. Good to go, I'm right where I need to be, though my starting hands have begun to cool.
Then things go awry. I flop top pair on a ragged board against a call station in the big blind and decide to make some ground. It's exactly the situation I have been waiting for and he's more than happy to oblige, calling me on the flop and on fourth street. I realize on fifth street that I must have missed a yield sign a ways back and pull up with a check and he checks behind and turns over a full house, made on the turn. I could only laugh, and the low hum of table antennae dipped to a brief silence as we all stared at him and his monster. Checked the river? God bless him.
So I'm a little below my starting stack now but still in fine shape with regard to the blinds. Except that I pick up pocket 8s and my raise is called by the same guy. Nine high flop misses me and he leads and I raise, hoping to take it down right then. Only he calls. We both check the turn and the river and he flops over pocket aces. Again, I can only laugh as this guy fails to even attempt to extract any value while playing from way ahead. Unfortunately, I can't hear my own laughter over his stacking of my chips, as I have now put myself into a semi-short stack situation and need to get on the road to Healthysville asap. Checking the map I see that it's a long way there, approximately 150/300 miles away and getting further. A short time after I check and it's already 200/400 and I've obviously gone down the wrong road.
Luckily, there are shortcuts. I pull a quick U-turn in the big blind when the small blind apologizes for having to raise the unopened pot but apparently doesn't see my 18 wheeler of KK about to run him down. More folding for a good while longer leads me back to the same spot and I need a GPS before I have to make a blind turn. Not quite blind but I decide that Exit J8 suited in the hi-jack in an unopened pot might be my only hope for a cup of coffee and a shot of energy. The big blind looks me up and Holy Johnny Chan, I flop the nut straight, 7,9,10. He checks, I decide to continue since I'm so short there is no point on letting anything get there if he has some sort of KQ hand. He check-Seidels me all in and I of course call. He has 7,9 for two pair and I fade his boat and double. The table, sensing my imminent dominance or demise, is at this moment broken.
-TO BE CONTINUED
But maybe it should be. In my poker play, at least. Fire up the engines, I'm taking you for a ride through the $550 Mega Stack at Foxwoods.
"Metaphor's the worst/Are you being driven or do you drive?" -"Art Class", Superchunk.
My day began alongside 644 other dead-eyed hopefuls, including 2002 WSOP champ Robert Varkonyi and his wife Olga. The structure was why I chose to play this particular tournament, having not played anything but small rebuy tournaments for a good while. 20k in chips to start, 50 minute levels, including 75/100 and 100/200 followed by the elusive 100/200 with 25 ante. Just a good structure that allowed for a ton of action and plenty of patient play, something I pride myself on. I determined that it was not going to be a sprint and settled in, knowing that some people wouldn't, that they would get addicted to the big action they have seen/heard/read about and spew chips in efforts to be uber-aggressive. All done while elaborating on the intricacies of poker in a sonorous Massachusetts/Boston/New England accent that never gets old for me because I can picture each pontificator as Cliff Claven. "It's a little known fact..."
Sure enough, about 20 minutes in, the first player busted from the table next to me when his two pair ran into quads. 30 minutes left in the 25/50 level seems like a must-shove with two pair, no? See ya. Not ten minutes later, another yahoo from the same table made a flush on a paired board and guess what? He shoved into quads...against the same player! This guy was now up to over 60k in chips and had his table shaking their heads. "It's a little known fact that a flush is no good on a paired board," the Claven next to me puts out for the table to absorb.
Meanwhile I was having a pretty good level myself, opening pots and hitting flops. Even caught a couple wired pairs and by the first break had chipped up to about 22,500. While not avoiding big pots, I was determined to keep myself out of any kind of crippling danger. Just no need at this early stage, particularly with at least four players that I could target at my table.
"Do not pass me/Just to slow down/I have precision auto." -"Precision Auto" Superchunk
Feeling pretty good about myself, I get a little overeager with some raises and give back my chips from the previous levels and then some but don't panic. And sure enough the predictable guy next to me pays me off when his hand gets into my nut draw but I manage to back into two pair when my flush misses and he makes a terrible call. Good to go, I'm right where I need to be, though my starting hands have begun to cool.
Then things go awry. I flop top pair on a ragged board against a call station in the big blind and decide to make some ground. It's exactly the situation I have been waiting for and he's more than happy to oblige, calling me on the flop and on fourth street. I realize on fifth street that I must have missed a yield sign a ways back and pull up with a check and he checks behind and turns over a full house, made on the turn. I could only laugh, and the low hum of table antennae dipped to a brief silence as we all stared at him and his monster. Checked the river? God bless him.
So I'm a little below my starting stack now but still in fine shape with regard to the blinds. Except that I pick up pocket 8s and my raise is called by the same guy. Nine high flop misses me and he leads and I raise, hoping to take it down right then. Only he calls. We both check the turn and the river and he flops over pocket aces. Again, I can only laugh as this guy fails to even attempt to extract any value while playing from way ahead. Unfortunately, I can't hear my own laughter over his stacking of my chips, as I have now put myself into a semi-short stack situation and need to get on the road to Healthysville asap. Checking the map I see that it's a long way there, approximately 150/300 miles away and getting further. A short time after I check and it's already 200/400 and I've obviously gone down the wrong road.
Luckily, there are shortcuts. I pull a quick U-turn in the big blind when the small blind apologizes for having to raise the unopened pot but apparently doesn't see my 18 wheeler of KK about to run him down. More folding for a good while longer leads me back to the same spot and I need a GPS before I have to make a blind turn. Not quite blind but I decide that Exit J8 suited in the hi-jack in an unopened pot might be my only hope for a cup of coffee and a shot of energy. The big blind looks me up and Holy Johnny Chan, I flop the nut straight, 7,9,10. He checks, I decide to continue since I'm so short there is no point on letting anything get there if he has some sort of KQ hand. He check-Seidels me all in and I of course call. He has 7,9 for two pair and I fade his boat and double. The table, sensing my imminent dominance or demise, is at this moment broken.
-TO BE CONTINUED
Friday, August 21, 2009
Brass Ring
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
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
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
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