One thing I have noticed is that most poker blogs suck! There are some amazing ones out there, but for the most part, they suck! Why do they suck? Because they are mostly about how much or how little somebody won or lost last night. They are mostly about a hand history and some text about why Hero is great or Villain is terrible and most often about how Villain caught a river card against Hero. So very tiresome. It is boring because poker players are writing blogs for poker players who are playing poker constantly. Nothing in a hand history can be more compelling than the hand that a poker player can be currently playing.
A poker blog is good when it accomplishes something fresh. Give people information like Iggy does so well. Tell a great story that is more interesting than a hand history. Put some bit of poker wisdom down in a form that is more interesting to read than a computer generated hand history. If you are going to copy from an hand history, the hand history should tell a story. Don't post your bankroll. Don't post your bad beats. Try to tell someone something or convey a feeling or capture a moment.
Then I thought about why I stopped updating mine. The answer was obvious. My poker blog sucks too. Big time. Huge honking loads of sucking. Why? Because it is filled with all of the same crap I talk about above. Boring hand histories. Bragging about winning tournaments. Bad advice! All kinds of really stupid boring shit! I am a boring fuck! That simple.
So I cut it all out. Everything I thought was not worth the pixels it is printed on hit the trash. I am restarting. I am going to make posts that I think are worth reading if I make posts at all.
Below are all my previous posts that I thought were at least not the usual crap. Some are very good! Others are at least interesting. Otherwise, everything is gone. I will begin posting again as soon as something worth telling a story about comes up.
Regards
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, September 07, 2006
The Brink
The Brink
In the corner of my mind, there remain some foggy and distant memories of this climb. The memories are diluted and washed out but the scent of them remains – caught in my nose. I am sure I have been here before because it is all so familiar.
The climb is significant and a bit daunting. I know that now because I am in the middle of it just as I am sure that I remember it as being so from the times I did it before.
The first few hundred feet are the worst because the rocks are loose and the footing is unpredictable. When I try to think back to those vaguely troubling memories of the three times I trudged up this mountain before, I believe I remember having fallen repeatedly at the start the same way I fell this time. Getting a little headway and then sliding back down to the bottom, maybe making it a hundred feet before a boulder lets loose and tumbles with me back down to the bottom, or slipping and sliding in the muck of unpredictability with nowhere to slide back to but the bottom. The climb has always been hardest at the beginning because of the frustration of working so hard only to find yourself back where you started – at the beginning.
But, once you get past the first couple hundred feet, it gets better. The footing improves and there are ledges to catch you when you slip. I remember slipping back down through the middle part of the climb as well, but it always seemed OK because there was enough topology below me that I could never possibly slip all the way back to the start again. Just keep the course, slip back occasionally, but climb on, forever higher. It was slow progress at times and at other times, when the sun hit the side of the mountain perfectly and the breeze was just right, the footing firmed up and I made amazing progress in spurts of rapid assent.
What is hardest about the middle portion of the climb is not the footing, but its length - length that breeds a cancerous boredom within me. I remember before that this boredom may have been what did me in but I don’t really care because the boredom is infecting me. I felt it creeping into me before, on every attempt, just as I feel it now, slowly and with malice, filling my capillaries and penetrating my bones. There is no risk in the middle part of the climb. You just climb. If you slip, you climb again. The bottom is so far away that you can’t imagine ever getting there again, but the top is so very distant that you are almost sure that it is unreachable. All there is to do is to climb in monotonous steps and repeated patterns over and over again with no end in sight and no chance of failing. It becomes completely and utterly without purpose. It is just climbing for the sake of climbing and it is nauseating.
I feel it now as I did then. I am so very bored.
It was somewhere along this muddy, rocky path that I remember the brink. I haven’t gotten there yet this time, but I can feel it just around the next corner, or the next. My vague recollection of the brink is that I was delighted by it. When I made this journey before, in this stage of total and exhausted bored depression, I came upon the brink and it was a magical, fresh and different - a perfectly inviting change from the monotonous hours upon days upon weeks of pointless climbing.
At the brink, this muddy path takes a jog to the left, the sky opens up, and the world drops away from you. The brink is a cliff. The muddy path that I am on leads right up to the edge of the cliff before turning again off to the left and continuing on its slow and disgustingly tedious merry way. The cliff at the brink falls off dramatically and endlessly, a three thousand foot drop straight down to the bottom. And this is why the brink is so magical. It is risk: risk that I have not felt for months, risk that I will never feel again by continuing my mind numbing trek on the path to my left, risk that is enticing because it represents some kind of feeling at precisely the time that I am most without feeling. Across from the edge of the cliff at the brink, at an easily jumpable distance is the pure and beautiful face of a sheer rock wall. With two steps and a twitch of the leg muscles I could easily hurl myself the distance to that rock wall – as I remember doing before – and catch hold, or drop to my death at the bottom. And, at the top of that rock wall, is the top of the mountain, a direct yet dangerous climb straight up to my goal. The path to my left meanders forever, up and down and in circles before making each little step upward, and eventually winding its was upwards to the top of this very same rock wall – an endless journey. But here at the brink, the top is visible, and the temptation is absolute: one simple leap, one lucky snag, and a bit of luck in climbing the rock wall without even one slip, and I am there.
The brink is two choices – and endless journey on the same path I am on or a one time chance at getting there now. Take the leap, make a short climb, don’t make any mistakes and, bingo, the journey is over. Maybe you die, but it has to be better than the slow death that the current path feels like.
I am not at the brink yet, but I remember it. I remember taking the leap before – three times. Twice I caught hold and twice I began the climb straight up before losing my grip and falling to my death. Once I missed my grip entirely and fell immediately straight down to the bottom. But those memories are not strong. The pain has faded. What happened then may not matter now. I have never tried just turning left and continuing on. The brink is that enticing.
The brink is right around the corner. I can feel it coming.
What will I do?
I am not sure. I do feel stronger now. My climbing skills have improved. My grip is firm.
In the corner of my mind, there remain some foggy and distant memories of this climb. The memories are diluted and washed out but the scent of them remains – caught in my nose. I am sure I have been here before because it is all so familiar.
The climb is significant and a bit daunting. I know that now because I am in the middle of it just as I am sure that I remember it as being so from the times I did it before.
The first few hundred feet are the worst because the rocks are loose and the footing is unpredictable. When I try to think back to those vaguely troubling memories of the three times I trudged up this mountain before, I believe I remember having fallen repeatedly at the start the same way I fell this time. Getting a little headway and then sliding back down to the bottom, maybe making it a hundred feet before a boulder lets loose and tumbles with me back down to the bottom, or slipping and sliding in the muck of unpredictability with nowhere to slide back to but the bottom. The climb has always been hardest at the beginning because of the frustration of working so hard only to find yourself back where you started – at the beginning.
But, once you get past the first couple hundred feet, it gets better. The footing improves and there are ledges to catch you when you slip. I remember slipping back down through the middle part of the climb as well, but it always seemed OK because there was enough topology below me that I could never possibly slip all the way back to the start again. Just keep the course, slip back occasionally, but climb on, forever higher. It was slow progress at times and at other times, when the sun hit the side of the mountain perfectly and the breeze was just right, the footing firmed up and I made amazing progress in spurts of rapid assent.
What is hardest about the middle portion of the climb is not the footing, but its length - length that breeds a cancerous boredom within me. I remember before that this boredom may have been what did me in but I don’t really care because the boredom is infecting me. I felt it creeping into me before, on every attempt, just as I feel it now, slowly and with malice, filling my capillaries and penetrating my bones. There is no risk in the middle part of the climb. You just climb. If you slip, you climb again. The bottom is so far away that you can’t imagine ever getting there again, but the top is so very distant that you are almost sure that it is unreachable. All there is to do is to climb in monotonous steps and repeated patterns over and over again with no end in sight and no chance of failing. It becomes completely and utterly without purpose. It is just climbing for the sake of climbing and it is nauseating.
I feel it now as I did then. I am so very bored.
It was somewhere along this muddy, rocky path that I remember the brink. I haven’t gotten there yet this time, but I can feel it just around the next corner, or the next. My vague recollection of the brink is that I was delighted by it. When I made this journey before, in this stage of total and exhausted bored depression, I came upon the brink and it was a magical, fresh and different - a perfectly inviting change from the monotonous hours upon days upon weeks of pointless climbing.
At the brink, this muddy path takes a jog to the left, the sky opens up, and the world drops away from you. The brink is a cliff. The muddy path that I am on leads right up to the edge of the cliff before turning again off to the left and continuing on its slow and disgustingly tedious merry way. The cliff at the brink falls off dramatically and endlessly, a three thousand foot drop straight down to the bottom. And this is why the brink is so magical. It is risk: risk that I have not felt for months, risk that I will never feel again by continuing my mind numbing trek on the path to my left, risk that is enticing because it represents some kind of feeling at precisely the time that I am most without feeling. Across from the edge of the cliff at the brink, at an easily jumpable distance is the pure and beautiful face of a sheer rock wall. With two steps and a twitch of the leg muscles I could easily hurl myself the distance to that rock wall – as I remember doing before – and catch hold, or drop to my death at the bottom. And, at the top of that rock wall, is the top of the mountain, a direct yet dangerous climb straight up to my goal. The path to my left meanders forever, up and down and in circles before making each little step upward, and eventually winding its was upwards to the top of this very same rock wall – an endless journey. But here at the brink, the top is visible, and the temptation is absolute: one simple leap, one lucky snag, and a bit of luck in climbing the rock wall without even one slip, and I am there.
The brink is two choices – and endless journey on the same path I am on or a one time chance at getting there now. Take the leap, make a short climb, don’t make any mistakes and, bingo, the journey is over. Maybe you die, but it has to be better than the slow death that the current path feels like.
I am not at the brink yet, but I remember it. I remember taking the leap before – three times. Twice I caught hold and twice I began the climb straight up before losing my grip and falling to my death. Once I missed my grip entirely and fell immediately straight down to the bottom. But those memories are not strong. The pain has faded. What happened then may not matter now. I have never tried just turning left and continuing on. The brink is that enticing.
The brink is right around the corner. I can feel it coming.
What will I do?
I am not sure. I do feel stronger now. My climbing skills have improved. My grip is firm.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Going to War
“Force, and fraud, are in war the two cardinal virtues.”
- Thomas Hobbes
FORCE
There were numerous reasons to enter World War II, including but not limited to the fact that someone got a little bit uppity and dropped bombs on our heads. Far down the list of good reasons to enter World War II was the reasonable expectation that entering the war would end the continuing desperate slowness of our economic recovery from the depression. It may have been far down the list, but historically it was significant.
In his little green book, Phil Gordon has a chapter on hands to go to war with. Hands like open ended straight flush draws. Hands like two over cards with a flush draw. Hands that are drawing hands but that are likely to actually be favored. Most of us know what these hands are. But are we willing to go to war with them.
I say, not only do we need to be ready to go to war with these hands as Phil suggests, but that in a NL cash game it is essential that we do go to war with them. On the flop we must push these hands as far as we can. We need to be ready to raise, re-raise and go all in with them.
Not only are these hands favored and are slightly more likely to win money than lose it but they are exactly the kinds of hands that everyone at the table must know that we are willing to play and play strongly. By going to war with drawing hands we are letting everyone know that we are willing to gamble, or so it would seem. In the long run, by raising the crap out of these things, we will make a small profit, but there is a fallout that, like the economic recovery spawned by World War II, is a reasonable expectation but not really thought of as a good reason to go to war in the first place.
The side benefit of going to war with these hands is that our future actions are now framed by the fact that we are gamblers and willing to risk our whole stacks. The next time we raise with a set to our opponents over pair, they will remember that we pushed our whole stack on a draw and will be much more willing to hang with us. By pushing our weaker holdings we greatly increase the profitability of our stronger ones. “You have to give action to get action” as Doyle likes to say.
Go to war. If you drop your whole stack on a 50/50 shot, don’t sweat it. Rebuy and play on. Your willingness to push the slight edges will benefit you later when you have the big ones. The hit you may take initially will likely be followed by a strong economic recovery.
- Thomas Hobbes
FORCE
There were numerous reasons to enter World War II, including but not limited to the fact that someone got a little bit uppity and dropped bombs on our heads. Far down the list of good reasons to enter World War II was the reasonable expectation that entering the war would end the continuing desperate slowness of our economic recovery from the depression. It may have been far down the list, but historically it was significant.
In his little green book, Phil Gordon has a chapter on hands to go to war with. Hands like open ended straight flush draws. Hands like two over cards with a flush draw. Hands that are drawing hands but that are likely to actually be favored. Most of us know what these hands are. But are we willing to go to war with them.
I say, not only do we need to be ready to go to war with these hands as Phil suggests, but that in a NL cash game it is essential that we do go to war with them. On the flop we must push these hands as far as we can. We need to be ready to raise, re-raise and go all in with them.
Not only are these hands favored and are slightly more likely to win money than lose it but they are exactly the kinds of hands that everyone at the table must know that we are willing to play and play strongly. By going to war with drawing hands we are letting everyone know that we are willing to gamble, or so it would seem. In the long run, by raising the crap out of these things, we will make a small profit, but there is a fallout that, like the economic recovery spawned by World War II, is a reasonable expectation but not really thought of as a good reason to go to war in the first place.
The side benefit of going to war with these hands is that our future actions are now framed by the fact that we are gamblers and willing to risk our whole stacks. The next time we raise with a set to our opponents over pair, they will remember that we pushed our whole stack on a draw and will be much more willing to hang with us. By pushing our weaker holdings we greatly increase the profitability of our stronger ones. “You have to give action to get action” as Doyle likes to say.
Go to war. If you drop your whole stack on a 50/50 shot, don’t sweat it. Rebuy and play on. Your willingness to push the slight edges will benefit you later when you have the big ones. The hit you may take initially will likely be followed by a strong economic recovery.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Reverse Implied Odds
Reverse Implied Odds
I love when other players lecture me. I was playing against Book Poker General, who has been playing ABC poker in a six handed game for the last 30 minutes. The play went like this.
BPG is sitting UTG with $115. I have $65. BPG raises to $2.50. I call with 8d9d. One caller behind. Pot is $8.
Flop is 5s7dJs. I have a double belly buster. A 6 or 10 makes my straight.
BPG bets $8 at the $8 pot. The pot sized bets means that the pot is only paying 2-1. I do have outs, 8 to the straight and a backdoor flush draw. Plus, I believe I have an opportunity to steal the pot from this donk if a spade comes off. I call.
The player behind folds.
The turn is a 2s. BPG checks. Pot is $24. I go for the steal, throwing out a $12 bet. I expect he might call this with an As, but if another spade doesn't come on the river, I feel very confident that this is my pot. He does call. I immediately put him on a big pair with only one spade.
Now, this is the key to the later confrontation I have with BPG. Could he possibly have a hand like AsQs or AsKs? Yes. It is possible that he could have that hand. Would he have played the hand the way he did? Maybe but I don't think so. The big bet on the flop made it obvious to me that he was protecting a made hand. Given that, I discounted the possibility that he was on a spade draw. The bet was not right for that hand with this player. He was tight and played by the book. The book says deny odds to the draw so he denied the draw odds. It seemed obvious to me. I check that one into my memory, HE DOES NOT HAVE A SPADE DRAW. I am playing the hand as if he doesn't.
So, even when the spade came off, I knew he didn't have the flush or that it was at least VERY unlikely. I felt I could steal this pot with a bet unless he had the AsA or KsK in which case he would call. He called.
What I am getting at is that the odds were a lot deeper than the obvious ones - pot paying 2-1 and me drawing at 5-1 on the flop. On that flop call, I had a ton of outs that weren't even really outs. Then on the turn bet, it was really just bad luck that he had a big spade in his hand. He very well might not have and I am confident he would have folded in that situation. I only needed to win that turn bet one time in three to make money on it. AND, I was very friggin confident that he did not have a flush. I could be wrong, but I don't think so.
The river makes my straight. It is the 10d.
BPG checks and I make a bet he can call, $15 at the $48 pot. He calls and turns over KsK. I win the hand with my straight.
If I had missed my straight and a spade didn't come off, I probably would have made a bet that he couldn't call, my stack. I am very very confident he would not have called that bet.
Regardless, I was very pleased with the way I played this hand for reasons that I highlight above. It worked out for me, but I think there are a ton of other ways it could also have worked out. It is not a text book play, but I still liked it and am very confident that I made money making plays on every street: the flop call, the turn steal attempt, and the river value bet.
BPG: "wow. nice".
I assume that he is being sarcastic.
HERO: "TY"
HERO: "I love double belly busters. I can't get away from them"
It is true that I do love them, but it isn't the only reason I called as we now know. My play seems pathetic from the outside until you take back the layers. Anyway, I hope to get him going.
BPG: "I see that"
There is a long pause.
BPG: "Nice bet on the turn"
HERO: "Oh, that. I thought I could steal it."
BPG: "Ah"
There is a long pause.
BPG: "And that flop call, 4-1 for 2-1. What was that."
I don't bother to correct him. It was 5-1 for 2-1, but he had the right idea.
HERO: "Was it that bad? Oh, I didn't know."
BPG: "I thought you made that flush."
HERO: "And you called anyway?"
Longer pause
BPG: "Do you even know what reverse implied odds are?"
I do.
HERO: "I don't read poker books."
BPG: "Keep playing that way"
HERO: "They confuse me"
HERO: "I just play and win and then play again. It is not rocket science."
BPG: "Keep it up, you will go broke soon enough."
HERO: "I don't really know what implied odds are, let alone REVERSE implied odds."
BPG: "That is obvious."
HERO: "Did I play that hand badly."
BPG: "No, just keep doing what you are doing."
HERO: "Thanks, you too."
Reverse implied odds refers to the concept that when you are drawing to your hand, there is the chance that some of your apparent outs really help your opponent also. You can make your hand but he can also make a better hand. It is an important concept because when it happens, you pay off in a big way. You have trapped yourself and it costs you dearly. So, the implied odds of it happening really benefit your opponent.
BPG was referring to the fact that if I caught my straight but he also caught his flush that I would have to pay off. Basically he was saying that I was stupid for drawing because the wrong card would kill me.
Fair enough.
Basically, on the turn bet, I wasn't drawing to 8 outs. I was drawing to 6 outs and the other two could kill me. Also, he might already have the flush in which case all of my outs would kill me by his reverse implied odds comment. True that. Except, he did't have the flush. I knew that or at least was wildly confident that he did not. What he didn't know is that I wasn't drawing to 8 cards that made my straight. I was drawing to EVERY non spade in the deck because I was so confident that I could win this hand on the river if a spade didn't come off. The tiny chance that he already had the flush was well worth taking the shot at being able to win this hand with EVERY non spade in the deck on the river.
I guess I was looking at the reverse reverse implied odds. Joke, there is no such thing. But you get the idea.
And, if anyone didn't understand reverse implied odds, it was him. With his turn call he was only calling with the K high flush draw. What if I had the ace. Would he have to pay that off. What if he hit and I already had the ace with some likely holdings like AsQs. What then? That is what reverse implied odds is about. That is what actually happened. He is the one who didn't understand them.
I don't know why, but I find these types of hands amazingly interesting. Reading a concept and understanding a concept are completely different things. Understanding the game beyond the book level is a hard step to take. The game is a lot deeper than what can be captured in a book. And players who don't understand this aren't going to have long term success. At least that is my take.
He couldn't know my logic to the way I played that hand, but he made an assumption that was wrong. Hopefully, he put a few notes on me down and we will meet again.
I love when other players lecture me. I was playing against Book Poker General, who has been playing ABC poker in a six handed game for the last 30 minutes. The play went like this.
BPG is sitting UTG with $115. I have $65. BPG raises to $2.50. I call with 8d9d. One caller behind. Pot is $8.
Flop is 5s7dJs. I have a double belly buster. A 6 or 10 makes my straight.
BPG bets $8 at the $8 pot. The pot sized bets means that the pot is only paying 2-1. I do have outs, 8 to the straight and a backdoor flush draw. Plus, I believe I have an opportunity to steal the pot from this donk if a spade comes off. I call.
The player behind folds.
The turn is a 2s. BPG checks. Pot is $24. I go for the steal, throwing out a $12 bet. I expect he might call this with an As, but if another spade doesn't come on the river, I feel very confident that this is my pot. He does call. I immediately put him on a big pair with only one spade.
Now, this is the key to the later confrontation I have with BPG. Could he possibly have a hand like AsQs or AsKs? Yes. It is possible that he could have that hand. Would he have played the hand the way he did? Maybe but I don't think so. The big bet on the flop made it obvious to me that he was protecting a made hand. Given that, I discounted the possibility that he was on a spade draw. The bet was not right for that hand with this player. He was tight and played by the book. The book says deny odds to the draw so he denied the draw odds. It seemed obvious to me. I check that one into my memory, HE DOES NOT HAVE A SPADE DRAW. I am playing the hand as if he doesn't.
So, even when the spade came off, I knew he didn't have the flush or that it was at least VERY unlikely. I felt I could steal this pot with a bet unless he had the AsA or KsK in which case he would call. He called.
What I am getting at is that the odds were a lot deeper than the obvious ones - pot paying 2-1 and me drawing at 5-1 on the flop. On that flop call, I had a ton of outs that weren't even really outs. Then on the turn bet, it was really just bad luck that he had a big spade in his hand. He very well might not have and I am confident he would have folded in that situation. I only needed to win that turn bet one time in three to make money on it. AND, I was very friggin confident that he did not have a flush. I could be wrong, but I don't think so.
The river makes my straight. It is the 10d.
BPG checks and I make a bet he can call, $15 at the $48 pot. He calls and turns over KsK. I win the hand with my straight.
If I had missed my straight and a spade didn't come off, I probably would have made a bet that he couldn't call, my stack. I am very very confident he would not have called that bet.
Regardless, I was very pleased with the way I played this hand for reasons that I highlight above. It worked out for me, but I think there are a ton of other ways it could also have worked out. It is not a text book play, but I still liked it and am very confident that I made money making plays on every street: the flop call, the turn steal attempt, and the river value bet.
BPG: "wow. nice".
I assume that he is being sarcastic.
HERO: "TY"
HERO: "I love double belly busters. I can't get away from them"
It is true that I do love them, but it isn't the only reason I called as we now know. My play seems pathetic from the outside until you take back the layers. Anyway, I hope to get him going.
BPG: "I see that"
There is a long pause.
BPG: "Nice bet on the turn"
HERO: "Oh, that. I thought I could steal it."
BPG: "Ah"
There is a long pause.
BPG: "And that flop call, 4-1 for 2-1. What was that."
I don't bother to correct him. It was 5-1 for 2-1, but he had the right idea.
HERO: "Was it that bad? Oh, I didn't know."
BPG: "I thought you made that flush."
HERO: "And you called anyway?"
Longer pause
BPG: "Do you even know what reverse implied odds are?"
I do.
HERO: "I don't read poker books."
BPG: "Keep playing that way"
HERO: "They confuse me"
HERO: "I just play and win and then play again. It is not rocket science."
BPG: "Keep it up, you will go broke soon enough."
HERO: "I don't really know what implied odds are, let alone REVERSE implied odds."
BPG: "That is obvious."
HERO: "Did I play that hand badly."
BPG: "No, just keep doing what you are doing."
HERO: "Thanks, you too."
Reverse implied odds refers to the concept that when you are drawing to your hand, there is the chance that some of your apparent outs really help your opponent also. You can make your hand but he can also make a better hand. It is an important concept because when it happens, you pay off in a big way. You have trapped yourself and it costs you dearly. So, the implied odds of it happening really benefit your opponent.
BPG was referring to the fact that if I caught my straight but he also caught his flush that I would have to pay off. Basically he was saying that I was stupid for drawing because the wrong card would kill me.
Fair enough.
Basically, on the turn bet, I wasn't drawing to 8 outs. I was drawing to 6 outs and the other two could kill me. Also, he might already have the flush in which case all of my outs would kill me by his reverse implied odds comment. True that. Except, he did't have the flush. I knew that or at least was wildly confident that he did not. What he didn't know is that I wasn't drawing to 8 cards that made my straight. I was drawing to EVERY non spade in the deck because I was so confident that I could win this hand on the river if a spade didn't come off. The tiny chance that he already had the flush was well worth taking the shot at being able to win this hand with EVERY non spade in the deck on the river.
I guess I was looking at the reverse reverse implied odds. Joke, there is no such thing. But you get the idea.
And, if anyone didn't understand reverse implied odds, it was him. With his turn call he was only calling with the K high flush draw. What if I had the ace. Would he have to pay that off. What if he hit and I already had the ace with some likely holdings like AsQs. What then? That is what reverse implied odds is about. That is what actually happened. He is the one who didn't understand them.
I don't know why, but I find these types of hands amazingly interesting. Reading a concept and understanding a concept are completely different things. Understanding the game beyond the book level is a hard step to take. The game is a lot deeper than what can be captured in a book. And players who don't understand this aren't going to have long term success. At least that is my take.
He couldn't know my logic to the way I played that hand, but he made an assumption that was wrong. Hopefully, he put a few notes on me down and we will meet again.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
perceptions
As my poker game progresses, I have been focusing my attention on the question of perception. How important is it to form the correct perception of another player’s game and how important is it to understand their perception of you? The answer I am finding agrees with everything I have ever heard. Understanding the interrelationships between the players at the table is the most important aspect of performing well in a NL Hold'em game. People become more important than the actual cards. Having an accurate read on both how someone else is playing and on how they perceive that you are playing affects every decision that you have to make, from starting hand requirements, to how much to raise, to whether to push or slow play, to whether to make a tough call.
It is important to understand the fundamentals of the game, but it is more important to know when and why to play outside of those fundamentals. Playing formulaic poker just can't succeed in the long run.
Every action you take and every action that you see and opponent take is based upon perceptions of situations between you. You are successful when you accurately form a perception of why they are doing certain things. They are unsuccessful when they are inaccurate in their perception of why you are doing certain things. It is in your best interest to create situations where you understand more clearly than the other player why a hand is being played out the way it is, both from your side and from their side. When you achieve this zenful state of full understanding, the poker table becomes a magical place where every decision you make seems remarkable, from calling down a huge bluff with an under pair to pushing a set hard when it seems impossible that your opponent will actually call.
I have been there and it is glorious.
But I am not getting there as often as I think I should. Why is that?
It takes time to form an accurate perception of another player. You need to see a lot of hands to get a good read on him/her. What are their requirements for raising? What are their betting tendancies with big hands. Do they only recognize the value of what they hold and not give credit for the potential value of their opponents holdings. Can they lay a big hand down? Do they have buttons that can be pushed. This is my biggest failing. I don’t give myself time to figure a player out. I need to do this better. Rather than coming into a game firing on all cylinders, I need to take a few orbits to observe how they play, why do they bet, what do they bet, what are they laying down and what are they sticking around with, do they push their strong hands and how do they play draws. Once I have taken the time to understand my opponents, I will then be prepared to understand their impression of me ( or to form it ).
It takes much less time to create an impression in other players. Their perception of you as a player can be manipulated in just one hand. It is much easier to manipulate their impression of you than it is to get a clear read on them. Make a ridiculous raise with 97o and win a hand with it and you have formed a perception in their mind that you are a dolt. Bet the nuts and get called down and suddenly, you are a rock in their minds. Understanding where you currently stand in their vault of thinking – your table image – is actually pretty easy. You just have to think it through. Are they getting frisky with you? Are they firing back at you more often? Why is that? It is because of how they perceive you. Your actions have created a perception that has changed the way they are playing. It is in your interest to play counter to their current perception. If they think you are stealing pots, then get a great hand and push it like you are stealing, let them come over the top and commit themselves and then just bleed off the rest of their chips. If you are perceived as a rock, then steal pots with impunity.
When you understand your opponent and then create an impression of yourself in them, then you are in great shape. Every decision you make can be weighted with your newfound knowledge. You know how likely it is that they will play back at you with nothing. You know that when they bet they have something. You know why and when they would bluff and your reads become much more accurate.
But the key is time. I need to take the time to feel it out. I need to take the time to understand what is going on around me. Once I have done this, then I have put all the percentages in my favor and I can start to play some poker.
It is important to understand the fundamentals of the game, but it is more important to know when and why to play outside of those fundamentals. Playing formulaic poker just can't succeed in the long run.
Every action you take and every action that you see and opponent take is based upon perceptions of situations between you. You are successful when you accurately form a perception of why they are doing certain things. They are unsuccessful when they are inaccurate in their perception of why you are doing certain things. It is in your best interest to create situations where you understand more clearly than the other player why a hand is being played out the way it is, both from your side and from their side. When you achieve this zenful state of full understanding, the poker table becomes a magical place where every decision you make seems remarkable, from calling down a huge bluff with an under pair to pushing a set hard when it seems impossible that your opponent will actually call.
I have been there and it is glorious.
But I am not getting there as often as I think I should. Why is that?
It takes time to form an accurate perception of another player. You need to see a lot of hands to get a good read on him/her. What are their requirements for raising? What are their betting tendancies with big hands. Do they only recognize the value of what they hold and not give credit for the potential value of their opponents holdings. Can they lay a big hand down? Do they have buttons that can be pushed. This is my biggest failing. I don’t give myself time to figure a player out. I need to do this better. Rather than coming into a game firing on all cylinders, I need to take a few orbits to observe how they play, why do they bet, what do they bet, what are they laying down and what are they sticking around with, do they push their strong hands and how do they play draws. Once I have taken the time to understand my opponents, I will then be prepared to understand their impression of me ( or to form it ).
It takes much less time to create an impression in other players. Their perception of you as a player can be manipulated in just one hand. It is much easier to manipulate their impression of you than it is to get a clear read on them. Make a ridiculous raise with 97o and win a hand with it and you have formed a perception in their mind that you are a dolt. Bet the nuts and get called down and suddenly, you are a rock in their minds. Understanding where you currently stand in their vault of thinking – your table image – is actually pretty easy. You just have to think it through. Are they getting frisky with you? Are they firing back at you more often? Why is that? It is because of how they perceive you. Your actions have created a perception that has changed the way they are playing. It is in your interest to play counter to their current perception. If they think you are stealing pots, then get a great hand and push it like you are stealing, let them come over the top and commit themselves and then just bleed off the rest of their chips. If you are perceived as a rock, then steal pots with impunity.
When you understand your opponent and then create an impression of yourself in them, then you are in great shape. Every decision you make can be weighted with your newfound knowledge. You know how likely it is that they will play back at you with nothing. You know that when they bet they have something. You know why and when they would bluff and your reads become much more accurate.
But the key is time. I need to take the time to feel it out. I need to take the time to understand what is going on around me. Once I have done this, then I have put all the percentages in my favor and I can start to play some poker.
Friday, September 02, 2005
A Sad Pathetic Little Man
My three kids practice football at two different locations. When I am at practice for my youngest, I can pick up “kevsnet” if I take a folding chair out next to the baseball field and aim north. This connection is a little shaky and I keep losing my disconnect protections. It definitely adds to the drama to play there. I have been repositioning the last few days and it is getting a little better.
At my two older son’s practices, I can park my car a little bit away from the field and pick up “Ted’s Network” clear as a bell. This is by far my best poker playing location when I am stationed next to a football field. The only problem is that I don’t have a clear site line to the field.
I can’t play party poker at work because it’s blocked and I really like my job and would hate to get fired, but, at lunch, I just found a nice spot at the local park to escape. If I take a folding chair and walk halfway across the park to the shade of some pines by some nearby houses, I am in range of “linksys” and get a great signal. “hpsetup” is also there, but I haven’t quite got the positioning right to get that one in clearly. The only problem with this spot is that the laptop screen is a little hard to see. I have trouble finding the cursor sometimes and have to squint to tell suits.
Overall, it’s pretty pathetic really. Is it illegal to steal internet? I don’t know. Is it illegal to play internet poker? Probably. Is it sad that a grown man would be doing both on a regular basis? Definitely.
Imagine the site of some asshole wandering around a park carrying a laptop open in front of him and continually clicking refresh on the advanced screen of the wireless internet connection screen hoping that this is the spot to perfectly pick up and eventually steal someone’s internet connection. The walkers, joggers, rollerbladers and other proper users of the park facilities must have wondered what the hell was going on. Until I grabbed the folding chair, it probably looked pretty official. But, once I had the chair and now that I regularly sit there staring at a laptop screen and smoking one cigarette after another, I definitely must look like the biggest loser on earth.
I used to play beach volleyball every day at that park. Some of the hot female walkers used to check me out, tanned golden brown, somewhat cut from regular working out and hours of weekly volleyball, or so I liked to imagine. But since my back operation, I am not allowed to play volleyball anymore, and I have become a pathetic shell of my old self. Just give me some breadcrumbs to feed the damn birds and the picture will be complete. Those same women actually turn away in confused revolution at the site of gut sporting geek of a man sitting in a canvas folding chair under a tree next to the jogging path, smoking cigarettes and gesturing wildly at the laptop screen in front of him.
Fuck ‘em!
At my two older son’s practices, I can park my car a little bit away from the field and pick up “Ted’s Network” clear as a bell. This is by far my best poker playing location when I am stationed next to a football field. The only problem is that I don’t have a clear site line to the field.
I can’t play party poker at work because it’s blocked and I really like my job and would hate to get fired, but, at lunch, I just found a nice spot at the local park to escape. If I take a folding chair and walk halfway across the park to the shade of some pines by some nearby houses, I am in range of “linksys” and get a great signal. “hpsetup” is also there, but I haven’t quite got the positioning right to get that one in clearly. The only problem with this spot is that the laptop screen is a little hard to see. I have trouble finding the cursor sometimes and have to squint to tell suits.
Overall, it’s pretty pathetic really. Is it illegal to steal internet? I don’t know. Is it illegal to play internet poker? Probably. Is it sad that a grown man would be doing both on a regular basis? Definitely.
Imagine the site of some asshole wandering around a park carrying a laptop open in front of him and continually clicking refresh on the advanced screen of the wireless internet connection screen hoping that this is the spot to perfectly pick up and eventually steal someone’s internet connection. The walkers, joggers, rollerbladers and other proper users of the park facilities must have wondered what the hell was going on. Until I grabbed the folding chair, it probably looked pretty official. But, once I had the chair and now that I regularly sit there staring at a laptop screen and smoking one cigarette after another, I definitely must look like the biggest loser on earth.
I used to play beach volleyball every day at that park. Some of the hot female walkers used to check me out, tanned golden brown, somewhat cut from regular working out and hours of weekly volleyball, or so I liked to imagine. But since my back operation, I am not allowed to play volleyball anymore, and I have become a pathetic shell of my old self. Just give me some breadcrumbs to feed the damn birds and the picture will be complete. Those same women actually turn away in confused revolution at the site of gut sporting geek of a man sitting in a canvas folding chair under a tree next to the jogging path, smoking cigarettes and gesturing wildly at the laptop screen in front of him.
Fuck ‘em!
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Football - a poker story.
The scene is not unusual for a weeknight in any suburban town in America. A gaggle of parents are milling about in front of their awkwardly parked cars; some sitting in little nylon folding chairs, others aimlessly pacing back and forth. The cars are pulled right up onto the grass, strewn about at odd angles, right next to the field where their children are waging a series of mini wars. The parents are absentmindedly engaged in conversation, pretending interest in each others jokes and tales of suburban misadventure, all the while keeping one eye turned towards the football field in front of them. On the field, three squads of football players are being put through their paces, running drills, engaging in small scale scrimmages, and the parents are each keeping score of their child’s progress – and the perceived lack of progress by his immediate competition. Little battles are being waged, for playing time, for bragging rights, for chances to be written up in the weekly news letter.
There is a big hit on the field and one parent screams out his triumph. Johnny just put one to little Timmy and all it temporarily right in the world. The coaches make the parents stay a certain distance from practice and the parents aren’t really supposed to shout out anything, but when one of the kids really puts a lickin’ on another kid, the exultation is understandable and almost impossible to muffle.
A row back of the main pack of cars, parked at an even stranger angle than the others (to better get a signal), is a tiny black Focus. The windows are cracked, but that doesn’t prevent the condensation from the breath of the sole occupant from forming and fogging up every inch of window in the car. It is humid, and the passenger has opted to just crack the windows, reducing the odds of getting eaten alive by bugs but increasing slightly the discomfort and ever increasing wetness of the car interior. Every once in a while, he turns on the engine and lets the air pump for a little bit, then switches it off and baths in the temporary comfort. But overall it doesn’t bother him that much since his mind is elsewhere.
Perched on his lap, across a tightly folded leg, is his laptop. The reason for the strange angle of the car is that it is better to get a signal from “Ted’s Network”. Who is Ted? Our driver doesn’t know, but he does know that Ted hasn’t secured his wireless network and that Ted has conveniently located his network (home) in close proximity to the football field where our driver is forced to “hang out” in case one of his son’s needs to be carted to the emergency room. While hanging out, on a whim, our solitary parent decided to see if anyone left their network open around here and sure enough, Ted obliged.
There are four tables of $0.50/$1 NL Hold’em running on Football Parent’s laptop and he is as happy as he has ever been at one of his kids practices. While the other parents pretend interest in each other while secretly hoping that their child will tear their “friends” child’s arm off, Poker Parent is knee deep in massive check-raises and subtle slow plays. He is turning sets and cracking aces and having his own kings cracked. He is watching whole stacks of checks moving between players in generally clockwise procession around the tables and he is lost in it.
On the screen, in the upper right game, two beautiful red aces appear. The action is good leading up to him. It’ raised to $4 and then called before the action returns to him in the BB. He makes it $12 to go and both players call. He is breathing a little heavy now and the windows are steaming up even more. He didn’t want two callers but now that he has 'em, let's play.
… in a distant world he hears what might have been Franky getting his fifth sack of the scrimmage which isn’t unusual for that kid. Is that Franky’s father yelling, “Take his head off!!!”? He just can’t be sure…
What he is sure about is that the flop is probably pretty good for him, but is a little scary. Two black tens and a red 4. He wants to check raise here. See if he gets action. Take a chance. Hopefully not lose his whole stack, but put some pressure on. He hopes no one has a ten. He checks and they both check back, damn it. He’s kicking himself. He learned nothing.
But, the turn is perfection, a single black ace of spades… ACES FULL!
Now he bets, enough to get some action and hopefully a big raise from someone holding a ten. He leads out for a third of the pot, $12 bucks. How much do I have in my stack anyway, he thinks? $125 left. They both have slightly under that, but we are all playing at slightly above table stakes here. This could be a big score. Sure enough, he is getting action. The first player just calls. But the player on the button moves all-in! Perfection! Now, think for a while, make it look like it is a tough call for you. Maybe, just maybe, you can get the first caller all-in too. Maybe they both have tens. Would that be as perfect as it gets? He is picturing dragging a $400 pot in his head while feigning a difficult decision but then the questionable stability of “Ted’s Network” comes to mind. OK, OK, don’t take any chances here. Just call while your connection is still sound. And, sure enough, the connection is perfect, the call is made and all is well in the world. All except that caller one thinks better of the situation and bails out.
… practice has stopped and the kids are gathered around for a quiet word from the coach. The parents conversations tend to stop at these times as they cock their heads and try to listen into whatever pearls of wisdom the coaches are giving their aspiring pros half a football field away. The words are never quite heard, but each parent will get a full rundown later anyway…
Inside the Focus, our hero is ecstatic. The river card is running off, and sure enough, it’s a blank. The only card that would have been bad was probably a ten, but a little black three can’t hurt. There is no straight flush out there. Nothing to beat my mans godly Aces full. Eddie KGB took Matt Damon’s whole BR with just this very hand.
… everyone is listening very intently right now…
Something is wrong. The chips are going the other way. A fucking computer malfunction or some such shit. What the hell! He glances at the other players cards. Nothing. Just a fucking middle pair. I HAVE ACES FULL!
Oh, shit. The realization hits him. It is a middle pair all right - a pair of tens. Quad fucking tens!
… the coach is hitting upon a technical nuance of proper blocking in quiet contemplative tones…
The surprise is too great. The shock is too powerful. The sudden jolt too emotional. It must come out! “MOTHER-FUCKING-GODDAMN-MOTHER-FUCKING-QUADS???!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT HORSE SHIT! JESUS CHRIST!” Our Hero smashes the dashboard as hard as he can with his open palm and the air duct cover pops out, flying across the car and out the cracked window. “MOTHER FUCKER! MOTHER FUCKER! Mother Fucker!” He is furious and screaming at the top of his lungs, but it is trailing off. “Jesus Christ that sucks!”
… what was once quiet is now absolute stunned silence. Two children turn their head to the parking area and then quickly turn away, as if Mike Caro had just caught them flopping the nuts and filmed it for a DVD. Not their Dad, their turned heads are trying to convey. The coaches jaw drops. Hoards of parents are staring in utter disbelief as our driver exits the car and slams the door shut, looking for the vent cover and trying to get his composure. He is still muttering obscenities. Only now does he start to realize that there are people staring at him. He turns to the masses and freezes, in stunned realization being viewed by a hundred or more other people who are equally stunned by what has just transpired. The moment lasts what seems like forever. It is excruciatingly painful. As painful as getting Aces Full beaten by quads. Then one by one each observer pretends to go back to what they were doing as if nothing had happened…
It was just another night at football practice.
There is a big hit on the field and one parent screams out his triumph. Johnny just put one to little Timmy and all it temporarily right in the world. The coaches make the parents stay a certain distance from practice and the parents aren’t really supposed to shout out anything, but when one of the kids really puts a lickin’ on another kid, the exultation is understandable and almost impossible to muffle.
A row back of the main pack of cars, parked at an even stranger angle than the others (to better get a signal), is a tiny black Focus. The windows are cracked, but that doesn’t prevent the condensation from the breath of the sole occupant from forming and fogging up every inch of window in the car. It is humid, and the passenger has opted to just crack the windows, reducing the odds of getting eaten alive by bugs but increasing slightly the discomfort and ever increasing wetness of the car interior. Every once in a while, he turns on the engine and lets the air pump for a little bit, then switches it off and baths in the temporary comfort. But overall it doesn’t bother him that much since his mind is elsewhere.
Perched on his lap, across a tightly folded leg, is his laptop. The reason for the strange angle of the car is that it is better to get a signal from “Ted’s Network”. Who is Ted? Our driver doesn’t know, but he does know that Ted hasn’t secured his wireless network and that Ted has conveniently located his network (home) in close proximity to the football field where our driver is forced to “hang out” in case one of his son’s needs to be carted to the emergency room. While hanging out, on a whim, our solitary parent decided to see if anyone left their network open around here and sure enough, Ted obliged.
There are four tables of $0.50/$1 NL Hold’em running on Football Parent’s laptop and he is as happy as he has ever been at one of his kids practices. While the other parents pretend interest in each other while secretly hoping that their child will tear their “friends” child’s arm off, Poker Parent is knee deep in massive check-raises and subtle slow plays. He is turning sets and cracking aces and having his own kings cracked. He is watching whole stacks of checks moving between players in generally clockwise procession around the tables and he is lost in it.
On the screen, in the upper right game, two beautiful red aces appear. The action is good leading up to him. It’ raised to $4 and then called before the action returns to him in the BB. He makes it $12 to go and both players call. He is breathing a little heavy now and the windows are steaming up even more. He didn’t want two callers but now that he has 'em, let's play.
… in a distant world he hears what might have been Franky getting his fifth sack of the scrimmage which isn’t unusual for that kid. Is that Franky’s father yelling, “Take his head off!!!”? He just can’t be sure…
What he is sure about is that the flop is probably pretty good for him, but is a little scary. Two black tens and a red 4. He wants to check raise here. See if he gets action. Take a chance. Hopefully not lose his whole stack, but put some pressure on. He hopes no one has a ten. He checks and they both check back, damn it. He’s kicking himself. He learned nothing.
But, the turn is perfection, a single black ace of spades… ACES FULL!
Now he bets, enough to get some action and hopefully a big raise from someone holding a ten. He leads out for a third of the pot, $12 bucks. How much do I have in my stack anyway, he thinks? $125 left. They both have slightly under that, but we are all playing at slightly above table stakes here. This could be a big score. Sure enough, he is getting action. The first player just calls. But the player on the button moves all-in! Perfection! Now, think for a while, make it look like it is a tough call for you. Maybe, just maybe, you can get the first caller all-in too. Maybe they both have tens. Would that be as perfect as it gets? He is picturing dragging a $400 pot in his head while feigning a difficult decision but then the questionable stability of “Ted’s Network” comes to mind. OK, OK, don’t take any chances here. Just call while your connection is still sound. And, sure enough, the connection is perfect, the call is made and all is well in the world. All except that caller one thinks better of the situation and bails out.
… practice has stopped and the kids are gathered around for a quiet word from the coach. The parents conversations tend to stop at these times as they cock their heads and try to listen into whatever pearls of wisdom the coaches are giving their aspiring pros half a football field away. The words are never quite heard, but each parent will get a full rundown later anyway…
Inside the Focus, our hero is ecstatic. The river card is running off, and sure enough, it’s a blank. The only card that would have been bad was probably a ten, but a little black three can’t hurt. There is no straight flush out there. Nothing to beat my mans godly Aces full. Eddie KGB took Matt Damon’s whole BR with just this very hand.
… everyone is listening very intently right now…
Something is wrong. The chips are going the other way. A fucking computer malfunction or some such shit. What the hell! He glances at the other players cards. Nothing. Just a fucking middle pair. I HAVE ACES FULL!
Oh, shit. The realization hits him. It is a middle pair all right - a pair of tens. Quad fucking tens!
… the coach is hitting upon a technical nuance of proper blocking in quiet contemplative tones…
The surprise is too great. The shock is too powerful. The sudden jolt too emotional. It must come out! “MOTHER-FUCKING-GODDAMN-MOTHER-FUCKING-QUADS???!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT HORSE SHIT! JESUS CHRIST!” Our Hero smashes the dashboard as hard as he can with his open palm and the air duct cover pops out, flying across the car and out the cracked window. “MOTHER FUCKER! MOTHER FUCKER! Mother Fucker!” He is furious and screaming at the top of his lungs, but it is trailing off. “Jesus Christ that sucks!”
… what was once quiet is now absolute stunned silence. Two children turn their head to the parking area and then quickly turn away, as if Mike Caro had just caught them flopping the nuts and filmed it for a DVD. Not their Dad, their turned heads are trying to convey. The coaches jaw drops. Hoards of parents are staring in utter disbelief as our driver exits the car and slams the door shut, looking for the vent cover and trying to get his composure. He is still muttering obscenities. Only now does he start to realize that there are people staring at him. He turns to the masses and freezes, in stunned realization being viewed by a hundred or more other people who are equally stunned by what has just transpired. The moment lasts what seems like forever. It is excruciatingly painful. As painful as getting Aces Full beaten by quads. Then one by one each observer pretends to go back to what they were doing as if nothing had happened…
It was just another night at football practice.
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