Figures Don't Lie; Liars Figure

Having listened to PokerMeister's advice I bought a copy of Hold Em Manager, henceforth HEM. I installed it, pointed it to the right directory, and promptly forgot about it - it was an ocean of unintelligible acronyms, obscure data points, graphs and charts which my feeble simian brain just can't grasp.  Speaking of which, and a propos of nothing, I'd like a banana.

Anyway, today I remembered that I'd dropped 80 bones on a piece of software I wasn't using and ran it today.  It imported some four months' worth of data and even though I'm just scratching the surface of the data available to me, what I have been able to figure out is a staggering wealth of information that can only serve to plug some of the many holes in my game.

The report that has thus far provided me the most immediate benefit for my game is an analysis of win percentage and dollars won per starting hand. The very first piece of information I clapped my eyes on shocked me: despite the popularity of pissing and moaning about how pocket aces don't hold up, the simple fact is they do, at least for me.  Of the 17 documented instances of The Crafty One getting pocket rockets, I won with them 88.2 percent of the time, with (of course) a 100% VPIP, and "winnings" of $11,000 (tournament chips, not bux) I did notice that I PFR'd only 53% of the time; that smells like I'm being too cute with them, but I'll have to think about that later. So take that, you nattering nabobs of negativity! Aces rock!

Of course, the greater teachiing opportunities arise from adversity, and towards that end, would anyone care to guess the hand on which I've lost the most, or the most times? I'll give you my bottom four.

Honorable mention for Hands What Cost Me The Most Schiarole goes to...pocket 7's.  Despite winning with them at a 66% clip (16/24), I've lost more than $3700 T$ with them.  Tread lightly with 7's, lad.

Bronze medal is proudly worn by...A2 s00ted, with which I've lost twice for every time I've won (4/12) and lost big - T$5300.  Ace rag, man, it'll just friggin kill you every time - or 2 times out of 3.

The Silver medalist in the Hands of Ignominy competition goes to...QJo, which despite a 50% winning clip (23/45) had lost me T$5455. Like A2, when I win, I win small, and when I lose I lose big.   Not the winning formula.

And the Gold medal, the Bruce Jenner of the Bad Hand, with great honor, pomp and circumstance, goes to... KJo.  That's right - the Seabrook Nuts! That hand has lost me more than any other hand I have; $T5578 has gone right down the shitter because of KJo.

These four hands share the same commonalities:

• A VPiP of over 75% (well, QJ was 74.4, but you get it)
• I PFR'd at an over 50% clip
• If I clean up my game to the tune of those four hands, my game would transition from slightly under break-even to slightly over it. 

FOUR HANDS turn me from a winner to a loser.  But at least now I know.

Until next time, please remember that knowledge is power, which is good because gas is $3.50 a goddamn gallon.

I'll take "Incredibly Inappropriate Overreaction for $2000, Please."

So I thought I'd follow in the footsteps of every luckbox sonofabitch who entered and won a supersatellite, then won the satellite for entry to the big dance, then won or cashed huge, to turn 50 full-tilt points into eighteen grand and a sponsorship deal.  I've been entering step 0 tourneys, the prize for which is a step 1 ticket, then parlaying that into step 2 tickets, etc.  My eventual hope is to cash big while risking no more than a buck. So far I've been collecting step 2 tickets as I muster up thr courage to use them.

Anyway, I decided to splurge and spend $3 (I was out of step 1'ers) on a six-person 1 table, the wages of winning is yet another step 2 ticket.  So I'm doing my thing, trying as best I can to pick my spots, find the opportunities for stealing, etc.  One such had I'm dealt JQ in position and I decide to raise.  I get called.  The flop comes A-A-J.  Now I'm either way out in front or I'm crushed.  I decide to bet out to see where I am.  My bet was probably bigger than it should have been, but either way, my opponent raises me big and I fold, which was the only thing to do.

Out of the clear blue sky the dude to my right, who was not in the hand, starts in on me.

other guy:  god your an idiot - why didnt u call
me:  what's it to you?
other guy: such a fuc' ing joke
me:  dude, it's a $3 game, why don't you just relax
other guy:  whats $3 got to do with it
me:  none of us are Doyle Brunson, that's why we're swimming in the shallow end.  Besides, you weren't even in the hand, so why don't you STFU
other guy: such an idiot

bottom line, it came down to heads up between mr. happy-pants and me. He sucks out on me with a miracle flush on the river.  He sucks out on me with a three-outer to almost tie the score.  All the while I'm saying precisely NOTHING. It's part of poker and I would never call someone an idiot, especially when they're playing poorly.  Why on earth would I want to clue someone in to the fact that they're playing poorly?  Besides which, it was all good as I got all my chips back within 10 hands.

Anyway, the last hand of the game came on my button (gross). He min-raised, which I took to mean he had a decent hand but not a great one. I had 79o, but it was only 240 to call and I had a 7000-2000 lead on him.  Call.

The flop came 599.  I had flopped a set.  Like an (let's all say it together) idiot, he bets 560.  I re-raise, he shoves, I call.  He turns over A8.  Before the turn he says

other guy: what a joke

He was drawing dead to running aces.  I took the opportunity to administer the needle just a little bit:

me:  yes, quite a joke, getting you to move in drawing dead.  One wonders who the idiot is now
me:  well nighty night big talker

Mmm-mmm! There is nothing tastier than an asshole getting his comeuppance.  Tastes like chocolate-flavored pussy. I could eat it and eat it until that membrane under my tongue rips and causes me three days of not-easily-explainable pain.

Seriously, how pathetic is it getting all bent out of shape at a $3 table?  What a tool.  And guess what?  CANADIAN.

So until next time, please remember not to fucking cross me if there's less than five bucks on the line.

I bet this has never, ever happened to any of you

In a small way I have returned to playing online poker. I've been having some success at heads-up tourneys so I've been playing a lot of those. Mostly shootouts actually because in the 5/10/20 range my success rate is high enough to thus far make some money at it; but at this time of the morning (it's 5:42 AM; I'm a complete nocturne now) there aren't many takers.  

So I sit down at a double-stack $30 table and wait for an opponent; one comes along fairly quickly. We play maybe 10 hands, then he times out.  Next hand was a good one for me so I raised; I got the insta-fold that means his time-out has continued and FT is sitting him out. And the next hand.  And the hand after that.  It seemed pretty obvious to me that he fell dead asleep.

I did what any one of us would do; I auto-raised as quickly as I could.  Is it legal?  Of course.  Is it ethical?  That depends.  The completely honorable thing to do, I suppose, is to time myself out so that we're both in that netherworld of poker; two card-playing nosferatu drinking each other's blood until the world ends.  But brothers and sisters, I ain't got that kind of time.  Or, for that matter, that kind of bankroll.  I see a shot at a risk-free, if tedious, path to thirty squeeds and I took it.  My fingers were lightning; I made a point of wasting zero time min-raising his button, while he insta-folded to mine.  Within a matter of ten minutes I had his money.

And here's where it gets weird.

Like it does, at the end of the game FT offered us both a rematch.  I started thinking to myself that if by a miracle he wakes up now, and offers me a rematch, I'll take it because that, at the very least, is the honorable thing to do; give the dude a shot at making his money back.  But what were the odds of him waking up, mastering his faculties, and accepting a rematch in the ensuing 10 seconds or so?

Whatever the odds were, he beat them.  Out of nowhere I see he offers a rematch! Before I can change my mind I accept .  And it's Sleepy-pie vs. the Crafty Southpaw, round two.

We play maybe a half-dozen hands, and he...

he...

he FALLS ASLEEP AGAIN.  And Buddha help me,once again I blind him down to the fingernails in 10 minutes.  His last hand, the one he goes all-in with automatically, is 2-7.  And now he's into me for sixty smacks that he didn't even stay awake for. 

I admit with only a touch of shamefacedness that during the beginning of the second game I deliberately took my time making my plays, hoping to induce another bout of sleepy-time, a strategy that seemed to work. Actually I had employed this strategy before; many moons ago, a skirt that I was chasing (unsuccessfully, as it turned out) was a counselor at a group home. We wanted the residents to hurry up and go to sleep, so we both started yawning until our jaws were cracking like lobster claws.  It worked to get them to go to sleep; it did not succeed in getting me laid, but no matter, no matter.

The more I think about it, the clearer the morality of my actions becomes.  Lookit: poker is all about personal responsibility.  YOU are responsible for the security of your hand.  It's YOUR job to make sure the dealer doesn't accidentally muck your cards.  YOU have to make sure no-one else can see your cards when you look at them.  Someone shoots an angle and peeks in?  Shame on YOU, not him (at least until you get outside, when a punch in the face isn't entirely out of order).  So am I responsible for saving a dude who puts $60 down on the table and doesn't stay awake long enough to see how it disappeared?  I gotta say, no.

I so wanted him to wake up, accept a third rematch, and give me more of his money.  I'm telling you, if he did that I'd be texting him lullabies in the chat window. Alas, this time he stayed asleep, and the spigot of free money dried up.

So until next time, please remember that inducing sleep in people has its benefits, but blowjobs are not one of them.

What you know, and what you think you know, are two different things

For example, newer readers might justifiably think that I am a passionate Bruins fan, to the exclusion of all other teams.  Not so!  My first love, and if you knocked me down and gave me noogies until I cracked, I'd confess, my dearest love, is baseball and the by-god Boston Red Sox.  

From 2005-2008 I took advantage of my proximity to Pawtucket and McCoy Stadium and ran a Farm Report post for the BostonDirtDogs web site.  50,000 hits a day - heady stuff indeed (a couple of typical columns can be found here and here, and a non-typical one can be found at the bottom of the page here). It was a lot of fun and it served to crisp up my writing in a fast hurry:  nothing quite like writing if you aspire to be a writer.

Anyway, my point, and I do have one, is this: another opportunity has come my way to do some writing about the Sox; in fact to run the site itself.  The ownership of Giants 101, a hugely popular NY Giants fan site, are branching out and will be creating among other sites a Red Sox 101 site.  The only catch is, the model calls for a foursome of writers to assure that there is enough content.  As soon as the advertising income covers costs and the site starts running a profit, the writers will be paid according to their contributions.  

So: Like the Sox?  Good writer? Smart? Did you love Johnny Val when you were younger? Want to attract thousands of readers a day instead of hundreds or dozens?  Get in touch with me. 

Until next time, please remember what my dad would say in moments of frustration:  "Fuck you and the Boston Red Sox."  I like to think he meant that kindly.

Still Alive

"Remember, Red, hope is a good thing - maybe the best of things - and no good thing ever died." -Andy Dufresne

Taking a Break

I'm going to take some time off from poker, from this wonderful, frustrating, horrible game.  I'm just tired. That also means I'm probably going to stop blogging, more or less, as if my output were anything close to regular to begin with.

My head isn't even close to being in the right place - I wish I could tell you about it but some things just need to stay private. Suffice to say that things need to change for me.  I don't know how to best go about it - I made a few very painful changes already that I suspect will ultimately work out but in the meantime it's like I cut off my arm and lost my best friend and fell through a plate glass window all at the same time. I'm angry and sad and bitter and I am in no condition to play poker for money.

So, to my friends who read this blog, to the friends I've made at the Mookie, at the Very Josie, and throughout my travels, this is not goodbye, but it is so long for a while.  Think of me every so often; I'll be thinking of you.

In Which Captcha and Scooby-Doo Give Me What For