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.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
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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