Oh, hello there, dear reader. Yes, it has been a while since I've played poker. Yes, it has been even longer since I've written anything.
See, what had happened was, my poker game blew up. And when I say "blew up" I mean exploded. And when I say "exploded" I mean imploded. And with it, so went my brain.
If you'll recall, the beginning of 2012 was pretty amazing. Out of 13 sessions, 11 of them were winning sessions. I was reading everything in sight and improving my game on an almost daily basis. The only problem, and a problem I didn't see, was that I was getting over-confident. I thought I could crush any game I played in. I started overplaying my hands. I started pushing my stack around in bad spots.
Then I started losing.
I wasn't ready for that. For as big as my upswing was at the beginning of the year, the following downswing was just as bad. Over the next 12 sessions I had 10 losing sessions. I know a lot of that was the standard variance that happens in this silly game we play, but my over-confidence didn't help. Because I was "high" on myself, I wasn't emotionally ready to deal with the variance. I would push and push, trying to get my bankroll to bounce back to where it was, when all I needed to do was take a deep breath and go back to the basics.
I destroyed my bankroll.
I scraped together enough money for a trip to Vegas in May; couldn't win a thing. I had a Skype coaching session with a couple of Stack'em coaches that I thought would help. I put together a little bankroll for the WSOP in June, including selling percentages to family and friends; couldn't win a thing.
It was at that point that I decided to walk away.
I was drained. I wasn't enjoying my job. My best friend got married and moved. I had a hernia repair fail. And I sucked at the one thing I really loved doing: playing poker.
But about a month ago I started getting the urge. It had been three months since I'd even looked at a deck of cards, and I wanted to get back to it. I felt emotionally settled. I felt calm.
So last night I played. And I played well.
Everything I've learned came into play, and I was picking the right moments to use it. I think part of my downfall during the early part of the year was my urge to use EVERYTHING I was learning, right now, right away, bluff, steal, raise, go go GO. What I wasn't paying attention to was that I was doing things in situations that weren't right. But last night I was patient. I was folding most of my hands. When I did see a flop, I was aware of who my opponents were and how they played. I was always willing to muck my hand if I knew I was beat. In just over three hours, I turned $200 into $545. Boom!
It's good to have knowledge of the game. But knowledge of the game doesn't help at all if you don't know how and when to use it. You can't force a bluff. You have to wait for the right bluff situation against the right player. You can't get into "chase mode" just because someone else at the table is doing it and it's working. That player will eventually go broke, and you don't want to be like him.
I've heard it said that sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can get back up. I think that's what I did. Luckily, my rock bottom didn't involve losing my job and living on the streets, but I think you know what I mean. I needed to my poker game to be completely torn to shreds before I could move forward.
So now I'm back. I have a better understanding of myself, my life, and my poker game. And it's time to make this work.
-KDiggity-
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
Operation: Skinny Diggity
On May 1, poker pro Sorel Mizzi issued a challenge to the poker community. He had found recent success in changing his lifestyle and losing weight and found that it directly affected his poker game in a positive way. His challenge was open to anyone willing to participate. Basically, get on a 90-day weight loss/fitness program and blog about how it changes your life and affects your poker game. Each entry would be judged by Sorel and two fitness gurus. The winner would win a year of free coaching from Sorel, along with the possibility for continued coaching and even a backing arrangement.
That sounds pretty amazing, and I decided to do it. After all, what did I have to lose (other than the extra 30-40 lbs I've been carrying around for way too long)?
I was explaining the challenge to a co-worker of mine and she asked me where he was from. I couldn't tell her, so I Googled him when I got home and this is what I found...
Cheating? For real? I went ahead and clicked "sorel mizzi cheating" and got a list of sites referencing numerous occasions in which he allegedly cheated...
After reading a few articles, it looks like he's admitted to two online scams while the incident with John Racener is still being debated.
I've known how being overweight has affected my mindset and depression over the last few years. I thought this would be a great opportunity to have some motivation to get fit, especially with the potential reward of free coaching from a pro with a significant amount of success. But I'll be damned if I'm going to be associated with a known cheater.
So, to steal a line from one of my favorite movies, "You don't help me now, I say "fuck you" Jobu. I do it myself."
I don't need the promise of free coaching to help me get in better shape. I just need to understand that it's what is best for me. Back in 2008 I was in a good habit of going to the gym very regularly and lost about 30 lbs in three months. I got off track and I've slowly been putting it back on over the last three years. Right now I weigh 210 lbs, with my goal being 180. I've started cooking at home again. Two days ago I played my first softball game in about 10 years (further motivation) and yesterday I went for a run for the first time in about seven. I would have gone to the gym today, but I'm so sore I can barely move. But it's a good sore.
Here are some "before" pics I took so I can track my progress (not for the feint of heart, lol)...
I can't wait to be skinny(er) again and I really can't wait to see how exercising helps my mental game when it comes to poker.
That sounds pretty amazing, and I decided to do it. After all, what did I have to lose (other than the extra 30-40 lbs I've been carrying around for way too long)?
I was explaining the challenge to a co-worker of mine and she asked me where he was from. I couldn't tell her, so I Googled him when I got home and this is what I found...
Cheating? For real? I went ahead and clicked "sorel mizzi cheating" and got a list of sites referencing numerous occasions in which he allegedly cheated...
After reading a few articles, it looks like he's admitted to two online scams while the incident with John Racener is still being debated.
I've known how being overweight has affected my mindset and depression over the last few years. I thought this would be a great opportunity to have some motivation to get fit, especially with the potential reward of free coaching from a pro with a significant amount of success. But I'll be damned if I'm going to be associated with a known cheater.
So, to steal a line from one of my favorite movies, "You don't help me now, I say "fuck you" Jobu. I do it myself."
I don't need the promise of free coaching to help me get in better shape. I just need to understand that it's what is best for me. Back in 2008 I was in a good habit of going to the gym very regularly and lost about 30 lbs in three months. I got off track and I've slowly been putting it back on over the last three years. Right now I weigh 210 lbs, with my goal being 180. I've started cooking at home again. Two days ago I played my first softball game in about 10 years (further motivation) and yesterday I went for a run for the first time in about seven. I would have gone to the gym today, but I'm so sore I can barely move. But it's a good sore.
Here are some "before" pics I took so I can track my progress (not for the feint of heart, lol)...
I can't wait to be skinny(er) again and I really can't wait to see how exercising helps my mental game when it comes to poker.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Life Leaks & Doubt
I almost began this post with an apology for not writing anything for two months. But I'm not sorry, so I won't. The only person that's going to be mad at me is me. And I'm not. So there.
The last two months have been particularly trying. I know I'm not the first poker player in the world to go through a downswing, but it's the first one for me since I made the decision to work towards doing this for a living. And after the massive upswing I had during the first couple months of the year, the negative effect has been exponentially bad. Briefly, out of the first 14 sessions of the year I had only three losing sessions, whereas out of the last 12 sessions I've had only three winning sessions. My bankroll now sits at a measly one and a half buy-ins.
I suppose I can stand it. Poker income is not (yet) what my livelihood depends on. But I've let the downturn at the tables mess with my head in regards the rest of my life, and that's turned into one big negative snowball.
I almost quit my job at the bar. Through a series of (fortunate) circumstances I ended up not quitting. But what would have happened if I had? I probably would have just found another job at another bar dealing with another group of drunks and cheapskates and incompetent co-workers. The truth is, the job I have is pretty sweet. I make insanely consistent money, the regulars are great, and I only work three days a week. I let my frustration with my poker game magnify the "problems" I had at my day job. I realize now just how dire the situation would have been if I'd actually quit. Yes, I have money in the bank. But the last time I left a bar job, I couldn't find another one for almost six months. I don't have that much money in the bank. Luckily, what happened happened and my head is on straight in regards to the bar job. I just have to keep reminding myself that the bar is not the end, it is a means to an end.
About a month ago I sat down with my financial planner/life coach (read: Mom) and we worked out a schedule. We figured out a good balance of work, poker, poker study, writing, exercise, and fun. We also worked out a grocery shopping and cooking schedule. Yes, I have to be that detailed, because if I'm not, I lose focus and the whole thing goes to shit. Well, I did really well for a week. Then the whole thing went to shit.
They say it takes three weeks to change or create a habit. After seven days the schedule was toast. I can't really pinpoint where and when it started to falter, but I know how my brain works, and there were probably a couple days when I let one or two things slide and then it became increasingly easier to let other things slide. Then the whole thing slid. It slid right down the hillside and ended up in the creek, washed away.
This is probably the scariest part of this whole endeavor: my brain. I honestly don't know if I have the discipline to maintain the lifestyle I'll need to maintain in order to make this whole poker thing work. I don't know that I have the discipline to play my best game all the time and not spew my entire bankroll when I'm running bad. I feel like I'm more Stu Ungar than Daniel Negreanu.
The frustration is that as much as I want to make these changes, I'm not doing it. I'll still go get fast food when I should go to the store and buy chicken and vegetables and breakfast stuff for the week. Instead of going to the gym, I'll turn off my alarm and convince myself that the extra two hours of sleep will do me good. Then two hours turns into four and it's time to get ready for work. Oops. I should be writing on a semi-daily, if not daily, basis, but when Epic Poker filed for bankruptcy protection right after publishing an article of mine (that can still be found here, for what it's worth) I lost a lot of my enthusiasm for blogging. I guess, just like my poker game at the beginning of the year, I got a little too much success a little too quickly.
I know these things won't come easily. I guess it's a little scary for me, though, because 1) I've never had to work terribly hard to be successful at most things in my life, and 2) I've run from the few things that did get difficult: college, restaurant management, and relationships.
I recently read a quote that really struck a chord with me, even though I can't remember where I saw it or who said it. It reads (paraphrased), "A year from now, you'll wish you started today." Damn. If that ain't the truth, I don't know what is.
So, if you'll excuse me, I must be off. Time to go to bed so I can wake up a little earlier tomorrow and begin my new life. Because I don't want to, one year from now, wish I'd made these changes; I want to be glad I made them.
The last two months have been particularly trying. I know I'm not the first poker player in the world to go through a downswing, but it's the first one for me since I made the decision to work towards doing this for a living. And after the massive upswing I had during the first couple months of the year, the negative effect has been exponentially bad. Briefly, out of the first 14 sessions of the year I had only three losing sessions, whereas out of the last 12 sessions I've had only three winning sessions. My bankroll now sits at a measly one and a half buy-ins.
I suppose I can stand it. Poker income is not (yet) what my livelihood depends on. But I've let the downturn at the tables mess with my head in regards the rest of my life, and that's turned into one big negative snowball.
I almost quit my job at the bar. Through a series of (fortunate) circumstances I ended up not quitting. But what would have happened if I had? I probably would have just found another job at another bar dealing with another group of drunks and cheapskates and incompetent co-workers. The truth is, the job I have is pretty sweet. I make insanely consistent money, the regulars are great, and I only work three days a week. I let my frustration with my poker game magnify the "problems" I had at my day job. I realize now just how dire the situation would have been if I'd actually quit. Yes, I have money in the bank. But the last time I left a bar job, I couldn't find another one for almost six months. I don't have that much money in the bank. Luckily, what happened happened and my head is on straight in regards to the bar job. I just have to keep reminding myself that the bar is not the end, it is a means to an end.
About a month ago I sat down with my financial planner/life coach (read: Mom) and we worked out a schedule. We figured out a good balance of work, poker, poker study, writing, exercise, and fun. We also worked out a grocery shopping and cooking schedule. Yes, I have to be that detailed, because if I'm not, I lose focus and the whole thing goes to shit. Well, I did really well for a week. Then the whole thing went to shit.
They say it takes three weeks to change or create a habit. After seven days the schedule was toast. I can't really pinpoint where and when it started to falter, but I know how my brain works, and there were probably a couple days when I let one or two things slide and then it became increasingly easier to let other things slide. Then the whole thing slid. It slid right down the hillside and ended up in the creek, washed away.
This is probably the scariest part of this whole endeavor: my brain. I honestly don't know if I have the discipline to maintain the lifestyle I'll need to maintain in order to make this whole poker thing work. I don't know that I have the discipline to play my best game all the time and not spew my entire bankroll when I'm running bad. I feel like I'm more Stu Ungar than Daniel Negreanu.
The frustration is that as much as I want to make these changes, I'm not doing it. I'll still go get fast food when I should go to the store and buy chicken and vegetables and breakfast stuff for the week. Instead of going to the gym, I'll turn off my alarm and convince myself that the extra two hours of sleep will do me good. Then two hours turns into four and it's time to get ready for work. Oops. I should be writing on a semi-daily, if not daily, basis, but when Epic Poker filed for bankruptcy protection right after publishing an article of mine (that can still be found here, for what it's worth) I lost a lot of my enthusiasm for blogging. I guess, just like my poker game at the beginning of the year, I got a little too much success a little too quickly.
I know these things won't come easily. I guess it's a little scary for me, though, because 1) I've never had to work terribly hard to be successful at most things in my life, and 2) I've run from the few things that did get difficult: college, restaurant management, and relationships.
I recently read a quote that really struck a chord with me, even though I can't remember where I saw it or who said it. It reads (paraphrased), "A year from now, you'll wish you started today." Damn. If that ain't the truth, I don't know what is.
So, if you'll excuse me, I must be off. Time to go to bed so I can wake up a little earlier tomorrow and begin my new life. Because I don't want to, one year from now, wish I'd made these changes; I want to be glad I made them.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Losing My Way
Tonight there was a hiccup. A big hiccup. The kind of hiccup that sneaks up on you in the middle of your little sister's dance recital just as she's about to begin her performance of Swan Lake and the whole audience is silent, when all of a sudden . . . HICCUP!!! And everyone looks at you with disdain.
I had a bad night at the poker table. Like, a really bad night. Like, I've only lost this much in one session when it was a WSOP buy-in.
Granted, tonight was just a $400 loss, not actually a whole lot, and the WSOP buy-in was $1500, but it sure felt like that much. I sat down after the session and wrote down my thoughts on what happened and why I lost and I came to one realization: It was all my fault.
The loss tonight was 1/5th of my bankroll; a bankroll I've been diligently building since the start of 2012. I've studied the game, I've worked on my mental strength, I've been crushing the local $1/$2 game over the last six weeks, and tonight it all came crashing down.
Okay, I suppose that's a little dramatic, but it certainly felt like it. And that's probably a good thing.
Like I said before, I sat down to write down my thoughts on the session, a practice highly recommended by Jared Tendler in his book The Mental Game of Poker, and one of first practices I adopted after reading the book. When you write about each session, you get to instantly analyze how things went: what you did well, what you did poorly, what you observed about others, and, most importantly, what you observed about yourself. In the middle of writing down my thoughts, I realized I hadn't done this very thing in a couple weeks. Why not? I think the very obvious answer is that I just didn't think I had to anymore. I had been successful enough in the previous month or so that I didn't feel like I needed to take the time for such an arbitrary practice. I much preferred to make my way back to town to have drinks with my friends and celebrate yet another winning session at the poker table. My confidence was getting the better of me.
And my confidence has definitely gotten the better of me at the poker table. Tonight I found myself overplaying some hands that I knew I shouldn't be overplaying, but I think I thought I was entitled to it. More than a couple times I found myself being stubborn when the flop missed my hand and I was sure I could outplay my opponent. No, stupid, he just flopped top pair with top kicker, it's okay to fold your hand. But I wouldn't. I started playing the but/if game with myself: but if this happens on the turn; but/if this card comes on the river . . . etc, etc. That's probably the worst thing I could let my brain do.
With my overconfidence, I started opening up my range of starting hands. Even worse, I started opening up my position at the table for that same opened up range of hands. All of a sudden I was playing poker completely backwards. As I learned from reading Annie Duke's Decide To Play Great Poker, the main thing you want to do is make your own decisions easier while making your opponents' decisions more difficult. All I was doing by opening up my range and starting position at the table was making my decisions more difficult and those of my opponents easier. It was complete idiocy.
While I was writing down my thoughts about the session I realized that I had been steadily moving in this direction for the last week or so, I had just gotten lucky a couple times, and it hadn't come back to bite me in the ass. Well, this session took a big chunk out of my backside.
Good.
This setback is going to force me to get back to the basics. I had stopped focusing at the table and concentrating on what my opponents were doing and how they were playing. Instead I was Facebooking about my success or Tweeting about a recent hand or texting friends about what was going on later that night. No more phone at the table.
I haven't cracked open a poker book in at least three weeks. Well, I obviously haven't absorbed everything I needed to, or I wouldn't be having this talk with you. It's time to get back to studying the game. I have enough down-time during the week that this shouldn't be an issue, I just have to do it.
Most importantly, I have to ingrain in my brain (unintentional rhyming) that this what I want to do for a living. This is how I'm going to pay my rent. This is how I'm going to afford to go on dates. This is how I'm going to eat. So I owe it to myself to make sure that I'm totally focused on the task at hand every time I sit down at the table. I know a lot of the people I know don't see it that way, and I've succumbed to their whimsical attitudes towards poker. But it's my responsibility to make sure they understand that this is going to be my job, and just like any other job I can't just call out whenever I feel like it. And if they can't, or refuse, to understand that then they have no place in my life.
This is it, kids, this is the dream. So I have a responsibility to myself to make sure I'm prepared each and every time I sit down at the poker table.
Let's get back at it.
I had a bad night at the poker table. Like, a really bad night. Like, I've only lost this much in one session when it was a WSOP buy-in.
Granted, tonight was just a $400 loss, not actually a whole lot, and the WSOP buy-in was $1500, but it sure felt like that much. I sat down after the session and wrote down my thoughts on what happened and why I lost and I came to one realization: It was all my fault.
The loss tonight was 1/5th of my bankroll; a bankroll I've been diligently building since the start of 2012. I've studied the game, I've worked on my mental strength, I've been crushing the local $1/$2 game over the last six weeks, and tonight it all came crashing down.
Okay, I suppose that's a little dramatic, but it certainly felt like it. And that's probably a good thing.
Like I said before, I sat down to write down my thoughts on the session, a practice highly recommended by Jared Tendler in his book The Mental Game of Poker, and one of first practices I adopted after reading the book. When you write about each session, you get to instantly analyze how things went: what you did well, what you did poorly, what you observed about others, and, most importantly, what you observed about yourself. In the middle of writing down my thoughts, I realized I hadn't done this very thing in a couple weeks. Why not? I think the very obvious answer is that I just didn't think I had to anymore. I had been successful enough in the previous month or so that I didn't feel like I needed to take the time for such an arbitrary practice. I much preferred to make my way back to town to have drinks with my friends and celebrate yet another winning session at the poker table. My confidence was getting the better of me.
And my confidence has definitely gotten the better of me at the poker table. Tonight I found myself overplaying some hands that I knew I shouldn't be overplaying, but I think I thought I was entitled to it. More than a couple times I found myself being stubborn when the flop missed my hand and I was sure I could outplay my opponent. No, stupid, he just flopped top pair with top kicker, it's okay to fold your hand. But I wouldn't. I started playing the but/if game with myself: but if this happens on the turn; but/if this card comes on the river . . . etc, etc. That's probably the worst thing I could let my brain do.
With my overconfidence, I started opening up my range of starting hands. Even worse, I started opening up my position at the table for that same opened up range of hands. All of a sudden I was playing poker completely backwards. As I learned from reading Annie Duke's Decide To Play Great Poker, the main thing you want to do is make your own decisions easier while making your opponents' decisions more difficult. All I was doing by opening up my range and starting position at the table was making my decisions more difficult and those of my opponents easier. It was complete idiocy.
While I was writing down my thoughts about the session I realized that I had been steadily moving in this direction for the last week or so, I had just gotten lucky a couple times, and it hadn't come back to bite me in the ass. Well, this session took a big chunk out of my backside.
Good.
This setback is going to force me to get back to the basics. I had stopped focusing at the table and concentrating on what my opponents were doing and how they were playing. Instead I was Facebooking about my success or Tweeting about a recent hand or texting friends about what was going on later that night. No more phone at the table.
I haven't cracked open a poker book in at least three weeks. Well, I obviously haven't absorbed everything I needed to, or I wouldn't be having this talk with you. It's time to get back to studying the game. I have enough down-time during the week that this shouldn't be an issue, I just have to do it.
Most importantly, I have to ingrain in my brain (unintentional rhyming) that this what I want to do for a living. This is how I'm going to pay my rent. This is how I'm going to afford to go on dates. This is how I'm going to eat. So I owe it to myself to make sure that I'm totally focused on the task at hand every time I sit down at the table. I know a lot of the people I know don't see it that way, and I've succumbed to their whimsical attitudes towards poker. But it's my responsibility to make sure they understand that this is going to be my job, and just like any other job I can't just call out whenever I feel like it. And if they can't, or refuse, to understand that then they have no place in my life.
This is it, kids, this is the dream. So I have a responsibility to myself to make sure I'm prepared each and every time I sit down at the poker table.
Let's get back at it.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Decisions, Decisions...
I know it's been a minute since I've written a blog. I'd tell you that I've been really busy, which I have, but there's no place for excuses. I've been working what has been a not-so-set schedule at the bar, playing poker twice a week on my days off, reading any poker book I can get my hands on, watching my 49ers get bounced in the NFC Championship, and now shopping for a new car.
My poker play is continuing to improve and every time I sit at a table I learn something. I'm staying humble and making good decisions. Out of the nine cash sessions I've played this year, six have been winning, two have been losing, and one was a marathon break-even. Probably the most important thing I've learned is that if I sit down and play a good, solid, straight-forward game I will make at least $200. This is perfect. If I want to play poker for a living I need to make $650 a week, and making $200 a session will make that achievable. Obviously, there will be times when I make more or less than that, and I'll need to open up my game a little bit to have bigger nights and make up for the inevitable downswings, but for right now I'm encouraged by my consistency.
I've also gotten some outside interest in a couple of blogs I've written, which is something I can hopefully parlay into more of a full-time gig. Plus, it's fun to be on the verge of being able to call myself a published writer. I truly love this game and I'm fascinated by everything associated with it. If I can make a living not only by playing poker, but also by writing about it, I imagine I will be truly happy.
All this is leading me down the path towards a question that I suppose was inevitably going to be asked: Do I move to Vegas?
Right now I'm consistently winning at poker here in Colorado. But is that going to change? Will my time and success at the poker tables lead other players to not want to play with me? I've already identified half a dozen players I don't like being at the same table with. We don't have the tourist flow that Vegas does, and in the month since I've increased my play I already recognize the majority of the players in the poker room when I go play. As of right now there's no reason to try and move up to the $2/$5 game from the $1/$2 game in which I currently play, but will that change if the action dries up at $1/$2? My goal isn't to play against good players; my goal is to make money. It wouldn't make sense to move into that game and sit at a whole table of sharks. Vegas provides the anonymity and player pool to be able to take advantage of the fact that most people that sit down at a poker table, while understanding the basics of the game, aren't all that good.
In regards to my writing, I think the answer is actually more clear: Vegas would help. I can write all I want about being a $1/$2 grinder and the experiences I have, but to truly be involved in the poker community, well, there's only one place in the world for that. This summer I want to go to Vegas for a month during the WSOP. This is a task that is complicated by having a "day job." I don't know that my employer would be okay with me leaving for that long. Additionally, I'm struggling with the time-frame. If I go out for July, I get to be there for the Main Event but miss the bulk of the tournaments. If I go out for June, I'm there for the bulk of the tournaments but miss the Main Event. Easy solution that's not so easy: go to Vegas for two months. If I did that, I guarantee that I wouldn't have my job when I came back. But I think being in Vegas for an extended period of time during the WSOP is vital to continuing to develop my writing career.
My goal is to have one year's worth of expenses in the bank before I quit "working" altogether and play poker for a living. Right now I'm 1/33rd of the way there, so losing my job to stay in Vegas for two months to write about stuff I'm probably only going to be posting on my blog doesn't seem very prudent. Granted, I'm also going to be playing a ton of poker, but what if I go on a losing streak? Then I'll be stuck.
The comforting part of all of this is that I do still have my "day job," Vegas will always be there, nothing is going to stop me from writing, and we're still four months away from the beginning of the WSOP and a TON can happen between now and then.
It's something I need to keep on the back burner and be ready to move to the front burner if the opportunity presents itself.
My poker play is continuing to improve and every time I sit at a table I learn something. I'm staying humble and making good decisions. Out of the nine cash sessions I've played this year, six have been winning, two have been losing, and one was a marathon break-even. Probably the most important thing I've learned is that if I sit down and play a good, solid, straight-forward game I will make at least $200. This is perfect. If I want to play poker for a living I need to make $650 a week, and making $200 a session will make that achievable. Obviously, there will be times when I make more or less than that, and I'll need to open up my game a little bit to have bigger nights and make up for the inevitable downswings, but for right now I'm encouraged by my consistency.
I've also gotten some outside interest in a couple of blogs I've written, which is something I can hopefully parlay into more of a full-time gig. Plus, it's fun to be on the verge of being able to call myself a published writer. I truly love this game and I'm fascinated by everything associated with it. If I can make a living not only by playing poker, but also by writing about it, I imagine I will be truly happy.
All this is leading me down the path towards a question that I suppose was inevitably going to be asked: Do I move to Vegas?
Right now I'm consistently winning at poker here in Colorado. But is that going to change? Will my time and success at the poker tables lead other players to not want to play with me? I've already identified half a dozen players I don't like being at the same table with. We don't have the tourist flow that Vegas does, and in the month since I've increased my play I already recognize the majority of the players in the poker room when I go play. As of right now there's no reason to try and move up to the $2/$5 game from the $1/$2 game in which I currently play, but will that change if the action dries up at $1/$2? My goal isn't to play against good players; my goal is to make money. It wouldn't make sense to move into that game and sit at a whole table of sharks. Vegas provides the anonymity and player pool to be able to take advantage of the fact that most people that sit down at a poker table, while understanding the basics of the game, aren't all that good.
In regards to my writing, I think the answer is actually more clear: Vegas would help. I can write all I want about being a $1/$2 grinder and the experiences I have, but to truly be involved in the poker community, well, there's only one place in the world for that. This summer I want to go to Vegas for a month during the WSOP. This is a task that is complicated by having a "day job." I don't know that my employer would be okay with me leaving for that long. Additionally, I'm struggling with the time-frame. If I go out for July, I get to be there for the Main Event but miss the bulk of the tournaments. If I go out for June, I'm there for the bulk of the tournaments but miss the Main Event. Easy solution that's not so easy: go to Vegas for two months. If I did that, I guarantee that I wouldn't have my job when I came back. But I think being in Vegas for an extended period of time during the WSOP is vital to continuing to develop my writing career.
My goal is to have one year's worth of expenses in the bank before I quit "working" altogether and play poker for a living. Right now I'm 1/33rd of the way there, so losing my job to stay in Vegas for two months to write about stuff I'm probably only going to be posting on my blog doesn't seem very prudent. Granted, I'm also going to be playing a ton of poker, but what if I go on a losing streak? Then I'll be stuck.
The comforting part of all of this is that I do still have my "day job," Vegas will always be there, nothing is going to stop me from writing, and we're still four months away from the beginning of the WSOP and a TON can happen between now and then.
It's something I need to keep on the back burner and be ready to move to the front burner if the opportunity presents itself.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Mr. Aggro and the Fearful Kevin
Ameristar Casino, Blackhawk, CO, $1/$2 NL, buy-in: $200
I want to talk about a hand that I played recently, because I think it exemplifies how many different things you have to take into consideration when playing this game that we love so much. Not only do you have to do the appropriate math on any given hand, but you also have to think about how the table is running and what the different interactions are between the different players.
On this occasion it was a Friday night, so there was the expected mix of serious and recreational players, both older and younger. After a few hours at the table I was comfortably up a couple hundred bucks, and I felt like I had good control of my play and a decently aggressive table image. I hadn’t played anything “out of line”, so nobody was trying to come after me and I felt like I was attracting a solid, predictable line of play from the other players. In other words, my play had been solid enough that the other players knew the only way they could beat me was with a good, solid hand, which in turn made my evaluation of their play very easy.
All this changed when a hyper-aggro older man joined the table. He bought in for $200 and dusted it off in about thirty minutes. He was raising with any two cards and calling all the way to the river with them. This immediately put everyone at the table on their heels, including me.
He bought in for another $200 and continued this same line of play. This time, however, he started hitting his hands. I tried to play back at him a couple times, but the cards just weren’t coming for me to continue to punish him after the flop. It got very frustrating.
KEY HAND:
The aggro guy was in the BB and I was in the cut-off. There were three limpers when the action got to me and I decided to limp with As4s. The button and the SB also limped and the BB raised it to $12. One of the limpers called and I called, so we were three-handed to the flop.
My reasoning for making this call was that 1) he had been playing and raising with all sorts of hands, so 2) there was a good chance that I had the best hand, but if I didn’t, then 3) the flop could hit me over the head and I could punish him, but 4) I don’t want to re-raise here because he could still have a real hand and if he comes back over the top, I have to fold. Obviously, if the board bricks or an A comes on the flop and there’s a bet, it’s an easy fold for me.
The flop came out 3c5s7h.
Mr. Aggro immediately bet $100 into the $46 pot and the other caller folded. With the action on me, I tanked. I wanted so badly to play this hand, but my stack had dwindled to about $230, and I was afraid of losing the chips, especially after I had been up so much earlier. I ended up folding and the Mr. Aggro showed KK. However, the more I’ve thought about it, the more I think I should have played, and here’s why:
Obviously, in the face of the $100 bet on the flop, I would have re-raised for my whole stack. There was a good enough chance that I still had the best hand and that he would have folded to make that a good play.
After the flop, I had a double-belly straight draw (8 outs), I think any A on the board would make me good (3 outs), and I could have gone runner-runner flush (8 outs), for a total of 19 outs. By my amateur math, that put me at about 50/50 to win the hand after the flop. If you factor in that I would have had to go runner-runner for the flush, let’s call it 45% that I win.
As we all know, though, the math is just one part of the game. You also have to take into account the table dynamic and whom you’re up against in each hand. In this case I feel like I was almost obligated to play this hand, based on my opponent. He had been pushing and pushing and it was time for someone at the table to really push back. I missed my chance.
What got in the way of making the right decision was my fear of losing my money. In the future, I can’t let my fear of losing cloud my judgment on what I now know would have been both a mathematically, as well as, for lack of a better word, emotionally, correct decision.
I ended up cashing out with a +$50 session, but I’ll always remember this hand and focus on making good decisions, regardless of how much money is involved.
I want to talk about a hand that I played recently, because I think it exemplifies how many different things you have to take into consideration when playing this game that we love so much. Not only do you have to do the appropriate math on any given hand, but you also have to think about how the table is running and what the different interactions are between the different players.
On this occasion it was a Friday night, so there was the expected mix of serious and recreational players, both older and younger. After a few hours at the table I was comfortably up a couple hundred bucks, and I felt like I had good control of my play and a decently aggressive table image. I hadn’t played anything “out of line”, so nobody was trying to come after me and I felt like I was attracting a solid, predictable line of play from the other players. In other words, my play had been solid enough that the other players knew the only way they could beat me was with a good, solid hand, which in turn made my evaluation of their play very easy.
All this changed when a hyper-aggro older man joined the table. He bought in for $200 and dusted it off in about thirty minutes. He was raising with any two cards and calling all the way to the river with them. This immediately put everyone at the table on their heels, including me.
He bought in for another $200 and continued this same line of play. This time, however, he started hitting his hands. I tried to play back at him a couple times, but the cards just weren’t coming for me to continue to punish him after the flop. It got very frustrating.
KEY HAND:
The aggro guy was in the BB and I was in the cut-off. There were three limpers when the action got to me and I decided to limp with As4s. The button and the SB also limped and the BB raised it to $12. One of the limpers called and I called, so we were three-handed to the flop.
My reasoning for making this call was that 1) he had been playing and raising with all sorts of hands, so 2) there was a good chance that I had the best hand, but if I didn’t, then 3) the flop could hit me over the head and I could punish him, but 4) I don’t want to re-raise here because he could still have a real hand and if he comes back over the top, I have to fold. Obviously, if the board bricks or an A comes on the flop and there’s a bet, it’s an easy fold for me.
The flop came out 3c5s7h.
Mr. Aggro immediately bet $100 into the $46 pot and the other caller folded. With the action on me, I tanked. I wanted so badly to play this hand, but my stack had dwindled to about $230, and I was afraid of losing the chips, especially after I had been up so much earlier. I ended up folding and the Mr. Aggro showed KK. However, the more I’ve thought about it, the more I think I should have played, and here’s why:
Obviously, in the face of the $100 bet on the flop, I would have re-raised for my whole stack. There was a good enough chance that I still had the best hand and that he would have folded to make that a good play.
After the flop, I had a double-belly straight draw (8 outs), I think any A on the board would make me good (3 outs), and I could have gone runner-runner flush (8 outs), for a total of 19 outs. By my amateur math, that put me at about 50/50 to win the hand after the flop. If you factor in that I would have had to go runner-runner for the flush, let’s call it 45% that I win.
As we all know, though, the math is just one part of the game. You also have to take into account the table dynamic and whom you’re up against in each hand. In this case I feel like I was almost obligated to play this hand, based on my opponent. He had been pushing and pushing and it was time for someone at the table to really push back. I missed my chance.
What got in the way of making the right decision was my fear of losing my money. In the future, I can’t let my fear of losing cloud my judgment on what I now know would have been both a mathematically, as well as, for lack of a better word, emotionally, correct decision.
I ended up cashing out with a +$50 session, but I’ll always remember this hand and focus on making good decisions, regardless of how much money is involved.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Space Poker
I had an interesting discussion with someone at my "day job" the other day. He asked me how my Christmas was and if I got everything I wanted. I told him about Annie Duke's Epic Poker seminar that my mom got me as a combo gift for Christmas and my birthday, and how she had already ordered some poker books for me before she decided to get me the seminar, so I got the books too.
He said to me, "Wow, you're really into poker." And I said, "Yeah, I'm trying to become a poker pro."
It was at this point that he kind of chuckled and had a slight look of disbelief on his face, as if I was a five year-old telling him I wanted to be an astronaut. "That's nice, Kevin, but I heard outer space is really cold."
And that's when I realized that's exactly what I was telling him. I was basically telling him that I want to be an astronaut.
There's a certain mythos that people associate with being an astronaut. People see shuttles being launched into space, into outer space, and people walking on the moon, and it becomes this "larger than life" thing to them. And on top of it, so few people do it, that it seems impossible. But what a lot of people don't realize is that there is a body of work, a base, that all astronauts have. Sure it involves lots of physics and advanced physics and aeronautical engineering, and probably thousands of hours in a lab, and for some, time in the military. And yes, there are some who suffer setbacks and others that just don’t make the cut, but it's there, and it's something that any one of us could have done if we'd just decided that we wanted to do it.
I get the feeling that people see "professional poker" in much the same way. People watch poker on tv and they see these pros playing for hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars, and that’s what they think it’s all about. It’s larger than life. For most of America, dollar figures like that are a fairy tale; something the Average Joe will never see in his lifetime.
But what people don’t see are the thousands of hours of work poker players put in. They don’t see the hand analyses, the book reading, the coaching, the tournament bust-outs, the year-long card droughts, the days upon days spent at the poker table learning and re-learning their craft. They don’t understand that what they see on tv is not only the culmination of years of struggle and hard work, but it’s also just a small piece of professional poker. Just like they don’t really comprehend all the years of struggle and hard work it took to be an astronaut on the shuttle they just watched get launched into space, but also that a shuttle launch is just a small piece of being an astronaut.
But what they don’t realize about poker, just like becoming an astronaut, is that there is no mythos. It’s not magical. It’s work. Anybody can do it if they’re willing to put in the work and put themselves on the line.
To me, being a professional poker player means making a living playing poker. It means that I play poker so that I can put food on my table and pay my bills. At its simplest, that’s what it is. Sure, there’s more to it once you get to the big stage. In fact, Matt Glantz wrote a great blog about responsibility in poker. But, for now, I just want to pay my rent.
And the best part of the whole thing, as a 32, nigh 33, year-old bachelor bartender college dropout, is that I’ve finally realized that I can do it to. I can become a professional poker player. In poker I’ve found something that I’m passionate about; something for which I’ve been searching for damn near 12 years. I’m willing to put in the work. I want to read the books. I’m happy to do the homework.
I’ve already seen more improvement in my poker game in the last three months than I did in the previous eight years. I can only imagine what I’ll be able to do as I put in more and more hours at the table and in the books.
This is what I want to do for the rest of my life and I expect people to be skeptical when I tell them what I want to be when I “grow up.” But it’s fun telling them I want to be an astronaut.
He said to me, "Wow, you're really into poker." And I said, "Yeah, I'm trying to become a poker pro."
It was at this point that he kind of chuckled and had a slight look of disbelief on his face, as if I was a five year-old telling him I wanted to be an astronaut. "That's nice, Kevin, but I heard outer space is really cold."
And that's when I realized that's exactly what I was telling him. I was basically telling him that I want to be an astronaut.
There's a certain mythos that people associate with being an astronaut. People see shuttles being launched into space, into outer space, and people walking on the moon, and it becomes this "larger than life" thing to them. And on top of it, so few people do it, that it seems impossible. But what a lot of people don't realize is that there is a body of work, a base, that all astronauts have. Sure it involves lots of physics and advanced physics and aeronautical engineering, and probably thousands of hours in a lab, and for some, time in the military. And yes, there are some who suffer setbacks and others that just don’t make the cut, but it's there, and it's something that any one of us could have done if we'd just decided that we wanted to do it.
I get the feeling that people see "professional poker" in much the same way. People watch poker on tv and they see these pros playing for hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars, and that’s what they think it’s all about. It’s larger than life. For most of America, dollar figures like that are a fairy tale; something the Average Joe will never see in his lifetime.
But what people don’t see are the thousands of hours of work poker players put in. They don’t see the hand analyses, the book reading, the coaching, the tournament bust-outs, the year-long card droughts, the days upon days spent at the poker table learning and re-learning their craft. They don’t understand that what they see on tv is not only the culmination of years of struggle and hard work, but it’s also just a small piece of professional poker. Just like they don’t really comprehend all the years of struggle and hard work it took to be an astronaut on the shuttle they just watched get launched into space, but also that a shuttle launch is just a small piece of being an astronaut.
But what they don’t realize about poker, just like becoming an astronaut, is that there is no mythos. It’s not magical. It’s work. Anybody can do it if they’re willing to put in the work and put themselves on the line.
To me, being a professional poker player means making a living playing poker. It means that I play poker so that I can put food on my table and pay my bills. At its simplest, that’s what it is. Sure, there’s more to it once you get to the big stage. In fact, Matt Glantz wrote a great blog about responsibility in poker. But, for now, I just want to pay my rent.
And the best part of the whole thing, as a 32, nigh 33, year-old bachelor bartender college dropout, is that I’ve finally realized that I can do it to. I can become a professional poker player. In poker I’ve found something that I’m passionate about; something for which I’ve been searching for damn near 12 years. I’m willing to put in the work. I want to read the books. I’m happy to do the homework.
I’ve already seen more improvement in my poker game in the last three months than I did in the previous eight years. I can only imagine what I’ll be able to do as I put in more and more hours at the table and in the books.
This is what I want to do for the rest of my life and I expect people to be skeptical when I tell them what I want to be when I “grow up.” But it’s fun telling them I want to be an astronaut.
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