I have been informed that I will be utilized as comic relief. For anyone who has seen me play poker, this shouldn't be difficult.

Although I've tasted moderate success at the Vegas Poker Tables (that's right, I'm a 1/3 Poker Pussy), I've cleaned up at the very sporadic home game (13 year olds on Allowance Mondays are a very lucrative target), and I just missed the money when I bubbled out in the Brad-O-Ween tourney, there has always been this ever quiet whispering (albeit, isn't all whispering generally quiet??) about my skillz.

That's right! I said skillz with a "z".

I've won a handful of online tournaments and when I say handful, I'm referring to a somewhat small hand. Maybe the size of a child midget's palm.

The knock on me is that I don't play enough. That some how you have to spend countless hours in front of your computer surfing porn while you wait for anything better than 10/9 off to go all in with your remaining 100 chips to consider yourself experienced.

The other knock on me is that I don't study the game enough. That some how you have to DVR every episode of any poker related show and watch every poker movie ever made often enough to quote even the most obscure lines.

"Hate don't belong in a card game, but old man, I'm gonna take every grain of gold you have in front of you." Anyone??? Anyone?? Buehler?

http://imdb.com/title/tt0066050/

The fact is, some people just got it. Lebron James didn't need to go to college before becomming one of the most dominate players in the NBA. Happy Gilmore won the first PGA major he entered and he was a hockey player. The list goes on and on, but I won't bore you with examples, you get the picture.

Skill is gained from experience, from knowledge. Skillz come from a higher power.

So the next time my wife lets me spend $50 bucks to juice up my online poker account, I'm ready to put on a show.

In the meantime, I'm thrilled to be a permanent addition to the UpForPoker family.

Mission Possible

When we last left me in the Playboy Mansion, Bobby B and I were on a quest to reclaim our cameras. For some stupid reason, we left them in the car. When we saw camera after camera floating around, we had to find out a way to get back to the car and then back into the mansion.

So we headed back out on the red carpet (I squeezed between Erick Lindgren and the photographers, maybe I'll appear in CardPlayer), and found the shuttles. We hopped on and found ourselves with a great woman named Tamika who just happened to be the wife of Dr. Kevin A. Brown, the one hosting this event for the Urban Health Institute. When the converstation ended, we were assured of a spot back on the shuttle after recovering our cameras. Guess my luckboxing spreads to real life...

Cameras in hand, we were ready for the famous people, and they were ready for us.

First it was Don Cheadle (more on him later), who didn't want to wait for the elevator out of the parking garage, so neither did we and we followed him up the stairs. That's where we ran into Shannon Elizabeth waiting for the shuttle. The same shuttle we were getting on!

While Don took a private car, Shannon and her beautiful friend settled in the seat directly behind us. It was decision time. Sit there with a silly grin on my face thinking bout how cool it was that she was behind me, or actually turn around and talk to her.

Somehow, I gathered enough courage to turn around.

"So Shannon, are you going to win this thing?"

"You're damn right I am!" she told us.

I was talking to Shannon Elizabeth. That alone made the trip worth it. Nothing more needed to happen. At that point, Bobby brought up her tough out in the WSOP Media Event. If you forgot, Pauly put a sick two-outer on her when his Jacks cracked her Rockets. I'll let Bobby relate that conversation, but it ended with me suggesting a restraining order and her asking us to tell Pauly he's not allowed to look her in her eyes!

I also told her a secret about Steve Dannenmann's strategy. Back at the hotel bar, he told us he figured he'd bust out first so he could hang with the Playboy bunnies (more on that later, too!). Shannon thanked me for the tip and hoped she got his table.

It was only about 5 or 10 minutes, but it was great. I'm sure she's long forgotten it by now, but I never will. As we got off, she was gracious enough to let Bobby take her picture. I would have as well, but didn't want to bother her any more than we already did!

After having a little difficulty getting back in, we finally arrived at a mansion now packed with guests. And with camera in hand, I tracked down stars and poker pros alike:

1) Actor Anthony Anderson and his brother-in-law who introduced me, 2) Actor Don Cheadle at the tables, 3) Actor Kevin Weisman also playing (Click to enlarge)

1) Cyndy Violette and the boys, 2) Steve Dannenmann and his friend Mark, 3) A tough table with Cowboy Corkins (black hat) and Johnny "World" Hennigan (white shirt), plus actor Steve Harris in the foreground (Click to enlarge)

There were plenty more celebrities (like a drunk Tara Reid) and plenty more poker pros (like the jackass Sheik) but I didn't take nearly as many pictures as I should have.

Coming soon... Don Cheadle wins it all... Steve "The Man" Dannenmann... and the lovely ladies of Absolute Poker.

The Arrival

There was about five minutes that our dream night wasn't going to happen. Someone holding a clipboard decided that maybe four of us could get on the magic shuttle to the Playboy Mansion. She was holding a clipboard, I was understandably worried.

Then joy arrived. Well, to be more exact, Joy. She was Jason's contact.

When she said, "So who told you you couldn't go?" I knew we were gold. Two minutes later we were packed on a shuttle and headed to what many consider paradise. We being Jason, BG, Bobby, Joe Speaker, Dr. Pauly and Chad.

AlCantHang would show up later. In a limo. With the runner up from last year's WSOP Main Event. That's just how he rolls. Don't question it.

When the gate opened, it became real. When we saw the red carpet, it became surreal. When we arrived at the grotto, I wasn't sure what the night would entail. I only knew that of the 25 people currently milling around, eight of them were poker bloggers. We rule.

Mission Possible

We immediately hit the bar. Frankly, I need alcohol to make it through this night. You'll very rarely hear me say that, but this was one of those nights. At this point I was wishing I had more than one beer at the hotel, after all Steve Dannenmann was buying. Perhaps I'll tell that story at some point. Kent was introducing Andrew Jackson to the bartender. They would all soon be friends.

After a few drinks and a few appetizers (I had one small piece of chicken) we began to realize just how stupid we were for leaving our cameras in the car. I'm not sure at this point why we convinced ourselves to do that, but Bobby B and I were on a quest to fix it.

The Plan:

1. Get on a shuttle headed away from paradise (what the hell are we thinking?).
2. Get off the shuttle and make our way to the car to retrieve the cameras.
3. Get back on the shuttle and back into the mansion.

It's a terrible plan. Terrible.

And it ended with three cameras and a converstation with Shannon Elizabeth.

Did I say we rock?

The Yin and Yang in my life (capitalized here because I see them more as ancient Asian spirit guides that offer me miso soup when I'm feeling low) are really, really confusing poker sherpas. Recently, my live game has been at a reasonable 91% effectiveness whereas my online game has been running at about 12%. That's not ROI. It's more a like a power meter from an old video game.

There's two paragraphs that don't begin to explain what I want to write.

And the thing is, I don't know what I want to write. It's somewhere in between a topic a fellow southeasterner has explored in recent weeks and the reality check offered by the best sit and go player around. In short, in recent weeks, I've lost touch with reality and I've lost touch with fantasy. That is, in pursuit of fantasy I have raced far too far ahead of my real life. What's more, I raced ahead of the fantasy itself.

It's good, I think, that I took BadBlood's lead and have been keeping meticulous win and loss records of both my live and online play since January 1. What's funny is, after three months, I've already determined that everything I thought was true is false. That is, if three months of records are any indication, I am not a better limit player than no-limit player. What's more, I may not be a better online player than live player. The only thing I may have been telling the truth about is that I am an above-average tournament player. Then again, I could prove that wrong pretty fast, too.

Sure, I'm extrapolating far past where I should here. What's more, I'm rambling. I'm just not prepared to accept (in written form) that I may have taken this little hobby a bit far. I think I am ready to accept that I've been running a bit too fast, however. It's funny. I've always been patient to a fault, yet recently, I've been anything but. I want the brass ring and I want it in a responsible way. However, I may have escaped the boundries of responsibility in my methods. I think I have forgotten some important bankroll management tools. I think I may have neglected my family. That is, I think I got caught up in my own little whirlwind.

So, what? I dunno. There is a part of me (a part that, at least, I think is pretty smart) that tells me that any kind of poker break will result in nothing but rust. There is a part of me that screams, "Ride the wave because the breakers are coming!" However, there is a part of me (a part I don't listen to much any more) that says, "Give it a rest, chico. You're a hobbyist. That's all."

You know, there is something good about being a succesful hobbyist. I should be happy with that. Somehow, though, I don't think I will be. And yet, as spring turns the real world warm and blossomy, I get the sense that I need to slow down a little bit.

Thankfully, this realization has hit me before I got broke or divorced. The money swings have been, in a word, stupid (someone--I think Matt from the Poker Chronicles--wrote the other day, "I was stuck a Camry before coming back"). I didn't blink. Mrs. Otis, too, has been patient, but I sense the patience waning.

I've not yet formed a real strategy on where to go from here. Most of the pros I know (not that I'm considering going pro, mind you) are single men with fewer responsibilities or guys with rolls that most folks would consider life-changing. Being neither single nor filthy rich leaves me few people to consult on my current malaise.

Yeah, I don't really know where I'm going with this. I only know that I'm not going broke. And I know I need to think about my game a little bit. I need to decide if I have a game. I need to decide if I'm having fun anymore or playing out of habit--you know, like turning on Seinfeld reruns and watching the worst episode because, even if it sucks, it's still Seinfeld. And I need to decide WHY I'm playing.

Okay, since I'm rambling, let's explore that for a second. Why am I playing?

1) I'm playing because I have more fun playing poker than playing any other game? Answer: Yes.

2) I'm playing because I want to challenge myself and actually believe I am good at something? Answer: Yes.

3) I'm playing because I think I have the potential to eventually win life-changing money? Answer: Maybe

4) I'm playing because I want to play professionally? Answer: Not really.

5) I'm playing because I can't afford not to play? Answer: No.

6) I'm playing because I'm addicted to action? Answer: Admittedly, maybe.

Okay, with that out of the way, I guess I should decide if the above reasons are worth the time and effort I put into them. That's probably an exercise for another day.

In short, as the title suggested, I need to define my game. I need to define who I am. I need to define how the two go together.

That shouldn't be too hard, right?

We were in what could only be described as a back room. A giant mural--full of sprites with naked breasts--covered one of the walls. Several hundred euros were stuffed in the dealers tray of this, the only poker table in the room. The floors were hard wood and the room echoed when we laughed. We were a motley and drinking six-handed poker game. Cigarette smoke hung above the table and the four Brits, the Irishman, and the American were defending their blinds with patritotic fervor.

"This," the Authur-esque character proclaimed, "is the only smoking poker room in the city!" He lit another cigarette and laughed.

As he was about Vivaldi, he was right about the legalities (or illegalities) of the game. The poker room was only 30 yards away. This room had been set up for overflow before it was realized that no overflow area would be needed. Now, the room was being used for storage and a 4am poker game, where six euro beers were being purchased six at a time, and--if only to keep the game going--rebuys were instituted after the first hand had been dealt and the older Brit had cracked pocket kings with QT offsuit. This game wasn't on the tournament schedule, but, for the moment anyway, it was The Big Deal.

***

I don't get much chance to play poker when I'm on the road in Europe. Many of the places where we hold tournaments aren't familiar with poker and hence don't spread cash games. More often than not, the only available games are single-table tournaments, usually starting at 100 euros (about $122).

My first night in Monte Carlo, after getting stuck on my hotel room's balcony, I had played two of these 100 euro games, busting out in fourth in the first one and chopping the second one two ways for an even split. In that game, I'd gotten heads-up with a Nordic player and felt lucky to walk away with any money. I had badly misplayed pocket queens three-handed and the Nordic's sweater (one of these guys), let me know about it. He wasn't mean about it. He just pointed out the painfully obvious. Still, I managed to overcome the chips I lost on that hand and, I must say, artfully played myself back into the money.

And so I had a little more than 400 euros in my pocket and set about a week of work. Over the course of the next week, I would curse myself several times for not exchanging more of my dollars for euros. By the penultimate night of the trip, I had $1500 in unspendable American currency and 270 euros in my pocket. And I had a poker jones like I can't explain.

The poker room was hopping. Every list, from the 100 to the 1000 Sit and Go tables, was ten deep. I had heard my colleagues were drinking in the bar with a well-known author, but I wanted to play. I found the floorman and before I thought about it too much said, "Put me on the list for the 100 and the 250 euro tables."

I stood waiting for five minutes when my name came through the PA system. I'd drawn a 250 seat.

Now, I've played just about every level of single-table tournament from $5 to $1000. What's more, I've won at just about every level of single-table tournament from $5-$1000. Finally, the $300+ buy-in to this table didn't mean a great deal in the grand scheme of my bankroll. However, there was one consideration that set me on my heels. I only had 270 euros in my pocket. That is, if I didn't cash, I would have 20 euros in my pocket and in need of an ATM (which, oddly, had been invisible since my arrival).

I took the three-seat (my second-favorite seat at any table) and waited. I felt good that the 250 game was one of the lowest games in the rooms. The pros, I told myself, would be in the 500 or 1000 games. I'd be with the journalists, the drunks, or the stuck pros.

"It's just a fucking SNG," I told myself.

Then, another one of these guys sat down. Then this guy sat down. Then this guy sat down.

"It's just a fucking SNG," I told myself...again.

And so I played it like any other SNG. Down to six handed, I picked up with worst hand in all of poker, AQ suited spades (see previous entries for my trouble with this hand). Folded to me on the button, I made a standard raise and a loose Frechman called in the small blind. Short-stacked, the Nord pushed from the big blind. Hoping we were racing, I pushed to isolate, but the small blind called.

Otis: AQs
Frenchman: A7o
Nord: AKo

In short, I got lucky. A queen flopped and I took both the main and side pots. The Nord walked away and before I knew it, I was three handed. First place paid 1700 euros. Second paid 600 euros. Third place paid nothing.

***

There's a rule most everybody knows. It's almost universal in major tournaments. English-only during a hand. My two French opponents knew and adhered to the rule. Thing was, after every hand, they would break into full French conversation. I'd been in a similiar situation at the WSOP, up against three French-Canadian friends. In that game, I'd finished fourth.

I sat, annoyed at my inability to call the guys on a rules violation. After a few hands, I took a different tack. I started listening. It became quite clear that they were telling each other what hands they had been holding. While irrelevant after the fact, I still found it annoying. And so, I did all I could. I listened. And then, when they did it again, I responded. In kind. And in French.

Looking a bit surprised, the two Frenchmen then seemed to focus more on winning and less on beating me. When a gorgeous Danish dealer sat down, one of the guy's attention turned more to flirting and before he knew what was happening, he had given all his chips away.

Based on our even chip-stacks (in fact, he had me outchipped by a a couple of blinds), I proposed an even chop. The loose Frenchman said, "I make you a deal."

I expected him to say he would take 1300 and give me 1000, which I had already decided I wasn't going to take. It would've been a decent chop for me, but I thought, despite my inability to play heads-up poker, I had a skill edge on the guy and deserved an even-chop.

"I take 1000," he said, "you take 1000, and we play for the rest."

I didn't think long before accepting the deal. We played two hands. I folded to his raise on the first hand. On the second hand, I found AJ suited in diamonds. He came over the top all-in and I called in a shot. He turned over A6o. He flopped a six, the Danish dame gave me my 1000 euros, I tipped her and walked away.

The poker room was on the verge of closing down. No more SNGs were opening. I went to the bar and bought a 6 euro Monaco-brand beer and looked around for anyone I knew. Nobody.

Funny thing about winning. It's a lot like losing. I want to keep playing. Suddenly, I was an action junkie where the action had dried up. I asked around about any off-the-books games.

One young lady did me the biggest favor of the trip. "Look down that hallway," she said.

***

The guy on my left had just won about $30,000 in the main event. He had a lucky rock that his dad had found on the beach. I worked with three of the guys at the table. They were all nice enough fellows. But the reason I was there, the reason I had dropped 100 euros into a tournament that had already started, the reason I refused to leave even if I busted out, was the older man in the three seat.

Later in the night, after we had laughed and joked for a couple of hours, before I had gotten heads up and the man had offered me his lucky opal to cap my cards, before I got in ahead and came out behind, we had this exchange.

"So, Tony," I said, "did you go out and look for someone to publish your new book or did the publisher come to you?"

"It was quite a funny story," he said. "The publisher called and suggested the new book. At first I laughed and said, 'What should we call it? The Bigger Deal?'"

Indeed, that is what they should call it.

***

It's funny, you know. I'm now a little more than a year into this new gig. I've met just about everybody who is anybody in the poker playing world. Oddly, I don't get star-struck very often. Except when it comes to poker narrative authors. There, I get sort school-girly.

In the past year, I've met Jim McManus. I've discussed writing with Jesse May. I played a drunken and rocking $2-$6 spread game with Michael Craig (who, it should be pointed out, didn't drink a drop). And now...well, now I can say I've drank and played poker with Anthony Holden.

If somebody could find me Al Alverez, I might be able to feel complete.

Evangeline Downs, Friday March 17

(Horse number, Horse Name, Morning Line Odds)

Race #1:
#7 Arcatec 2/1, #4 Streaking Pine 9/5, #3 Plinko 6/1
Final order 4-5-7: I did not bet this race because I didn't get there in time. With the odds Streaking Pine went off at, I would have had WP money on him. I would not have hit an exotics.

Race #2:
#5 Sidcup 2/1, #7 Target Hit 5/2, #2 Green Gold 10/1
Final order 5-7-2: I got in with just 2 minutes before this race, so I didn't bet it either. It was as chalk as chalk gets, however. The exacta paid just $7.40 and the Trifecta $22.80.

Race #3:
#1 Convinceable 5/2, #2 My Proud Rebel 9/2, #11 Melrose Man 7/2
Final order 1-3-12: I did not bet the winner here because I wasn't in love with the odds. This would be a trend that would come back to haunt me. I missed on exotics here, too.

Race #4:
#7 Imski 20/1, #13 Angelic Kiss 5/1, #4 Proudest Princess 7/2
Final order 1-6-3: I wasn't anywhere near this race. My top pick ran well until the turn and then stopped.

Race #5:
#3 It Just Got Better 9/2, #6 Toolengthoflite 6/1, #1 Brasswick 15/1
Final order 6-7-8: The Toolengthoflite went off at okay odds, paying $10.20 , but I didn't have him to win. My exotics all failed, too.

Race #6:
#8 My Roarer 6/1, #12 Buck's Limit 8/1, #1 Hamel the Camel 6/1
Final order 12-10-1: I really liked My Roarer here, so, again, I didn't have a win bet on Buck's Limit and it's $11.40. Why don't I bet my picks? If the 10 isn't there, I hit the exacta and the trifecta (8 came in 4th).

Race #7:
#13 Sister Jill 5/1, #14 Vanilla Whirl 15/1, #3 Duplicate Award 4/1
Final order 9-3-8: Nowhere near this one. My top pick came in 4th.

Race #8:
#5 Raja Jet 5/2, #8 Texas Eagle 7/2, #9 Power Hawk 10/1
Final order 6-8-12: I liked the 6 here, but it was only my 4th chocie and I didn't have it in the necessary exotics.

Race #9:
#4 Motor Home 5/2, #8 Mr. Canaveral 8/5, #3 Robbeau 10/1
Final order 8-6-1: I didn't bet my second choice to win here. I didn't like the odds again. My top choice came home in 5th.

Race #10:
#12 Saro Smile 8/1, #1 Gold Bag 7/2, #2 Star Agenda 6/1
Final order 7-9-12: I had the #7 in some exoctics because I liked it, but the 9 horse screwed me. Gold Bag came in 4th and if the #9 was gone, I'd have hit the exacta and the trifecta.

Race #11:
#7 De's Sweet Dream 5/2, #8 Rich'n Restless 4/1, #9 Conessa Slaney 5/1
Final order 7-4-5: My top choice wins again, but, again, I don't bet it. It paid $6.20, so it's not like the odds were terrible. I did have it as the first half of a double, though.

Race #12:
#2 Valay Jeans 3/1, #4 Amy's Battle 5/2, #1 River Boat Blues 10/1
Final order 2-5-1: I had a large bet on Valay Jeans and some various exotics. I cashed the win ticket and the double from the last race, but the 5 horse screwed all my exotics. Those two tickets were the only cashes of the night. I finished down $200.

All my selections were made "blind" (without the influence of any morning lines). The horses are listed in my order of preference. No horses were harmed in the making of these picks.

WINS

Of course, being a Kentucky basketball fan is like rooting for the Yankees or Michael Jordan. We usually win. In fact, Kentucky fans EXPECT to win every game every time. I actually heard the guy to my right explain to following to a South Carolina fan beside him :

"You know, most Kentucky fans won't admit it, but we'd rather see the 'Cats win that have a cure for AIDS or peace in Iraq! It's the most important thing in our lives."

I should add, he doesn't speak for ALL Kentucky fans, but a pretty scary number would likely agree. For us, the season doesn't start until the "Sweet 16", which means this season will end up having never happened at all.

The first year we went, Atlanta again, Kentucky lost it's first game to South Carolina. It was a major upset and the fans went nuts. My father, brother, and I watched the rest of the games, including the championship, from the 5th row...center court. Everyone else went home.

This year...same thing.

Kentucky lost to the GameCocks in the semi-finals.

(AN ASIDE : During the game the South Carolina fans have fun with their mascot. The cheerleaders scream "GAME" and the fans shout "COCKS!". It's damn funny to watch a crowd of 85 year old men and their wives scream "COCKS!" at the top of their lungs. I'd rather hear it from the cheerleaders, but it's amusing nonetheless)

We watched the second semi-final game, a great one between Florida and LSU, from about the 15th row...centercourt. Nobody else cared, because their team lost. We wanted the 'Cats to win, but we won something by sticking around.

PASSION

Actually I also lack perspective on these Kentucky games. When they're on TV the wife usually makes the kids leave the room. I don't know what about the prolonged heart attack these games inspire that I actually enjoy. I think I've had a near-death experience. Several. Sometimes twice a week.

For the longest time I felt the same way about each poker game. Worse, about each poker hand. It was especially bad online where the bad beats felt like drops of rain, eroding my self-control. Honestly, I play a lot less online these days, but it's still hard to control the EXPECTATION of winning. I'm often SURE I'm a better player than my opponents so the beats hurt especially bad.

In fact, another bone to dad here, Dad likes to call after every Wildcats loss and point out that we would have won if the refs didn't cheat. I'm never sure if he's serious. Bad Beats feel exactly the same way.

I would've won if that donkey didn't draw. I DESERVE to win!

THE LOSS

So this year my Kentucky-watching time required a new attitude. This year we aren't better than most. In fact, our team truly sucks. They don't hustle for lose balls, they don't fight for rebounds, and they shoot like Dick Cheney. I was going mad until I changed my perspective.

At the tournament this year, I was grateful when we beat lowly Mississippi. We actually trailed at the half. I was pleasantly surprised when we beat Alabama. And when we lost to South Carolina, a fairly weak team in its own right, I was just happy to watch a bonus UK game.

More than that, I enjoyed watching one of their reserve players, Renaldo Balkman, who was the hardest working player I've ever seen. He isn't that good, but he's a pleasure to watch. Again, there's a poker lesson.

There are usually homegames here where I feel certain I'm one of the best players. I expect to outplay the others, with a few notable exceptions. More often than not, I booked solid wins. But last month I had a nasty slide and my bankroll was bloodied. I needed to re-evaluate my mind.

I started actually WATCHING the players I assumed were weaker and found they weren't nearly as weak as I'd thought. More important, I realized I wasn't as good as I assumed. I can LEARN something from thier play and simply ENJOY playing cards.

Many times I think the expectation of winning that comes from assuming you're a better player, causes me to play too many hands. I'd leap into pots and push my edge as often as possible because I assumed I could always win. Realizing my limitations has caused my to tighten my game. Ironically, realizing I wasn't that great made me much better.

Now if I could only get Kentucky to figure that out. They aren't good, but the fans expect the best.

Unlike some of my most passionate bretheren, I'd settle for peace in the Middle East...you know...something attainable.

Here are the raw numbers:

$506 bet
$1206 won
$700 profit

I cashed a ticket in 9 of 11 races. I made a profit on my bets in 7 of 11 races. My top choice won 7 of 11 races. One of my top three choices won 9 of 11 races. 19 of my 33 choices finished in the money.

It started out nicely when I hit the win, the exacta and the trifecta on the first race. When Flyin Alfredo came across first in the 5th race, I won $164 on a $40 win bet and $111 on a $2 pick 3 bet. In race 10, I again had the winner, the exacta and the trifecta.

At that point, I was up more than $200 for the day. And I would have been happy to walk away then.

I'm glad I didn't.

In the 11th and final race, I put $5 to win and $5 to place on the #2 Rum Ball. I also had an exacta with #2 and the favorite #11 and a trifecta with the #2/#11/#7. When the race started, the #2 was getting odds of 42-1. That's right... 42-1!!!!!

The race finished 2-11-4-7. My WP ticket and exacta paid $530. Had the 7 gotten up for third, I would have cashed a trifecta worth more than a thousand dollars.

It's a night of horse betting I'll never be able to replicate. Apparently my luckboxing skills extended to the race track. I certainly can't complain about that!

The Poker Table

If you're reading this blog, you know this already. The beauty of casino poker is that the edge you have is based on your skill relative to the rest of the players at your table. In fact, sometimes all you need to be successful is just one player worse than you.

Of course, luck will alwys play a role. A bad stretch at the poker table is always a possibility. But if you pay correct poker and sit at a table with bad players, you will win in the long run.

The Track

The House does not set the line in a horse race. You set the line.

More specifically, the collective wagers of the hundreds or thousands of people betting a race set the line. The odds are based on the amount bet, nothing more. The track makes money every time you bet, not whether you win or lose.

With that in mind, you can create your own edge at the race track. All you have to be is smarter than most of the people betting on the same race as you. If the dumb money is all over the heavy favorite and the smart money is on the long shot, you have an edge, as long as you're part of the smart money.

When Boy Genius handicaps a race, he's not necessarily trying to determine who will win, he's trying to determine where he can find an overlay. If he handicaps a race and thinks a horse is a great bet at 4-1, but the final odds are 20-1, you better have a few bucks on that horse. If he thinks a horse is a great bet at 3-1 but it goes off at 6-5, the bet probably isn't worth it.

The Sports Book

This one is tricky. In this case, it is the house that sets the line, however, that line is constantly changing as more money is bet on a game. It's in the sports book's interest to have as many people lose as possible.

That's where the balancing act comes in. In the end, the line will likely fall somewhere in the middle of all money bet. Having about the same amount of people fall on each side of a bet protects the sportsbook from a huge payout.

This is where your skill comes into play. At the sports book, you lock in the line as soon as you make a bet. So if you do your homework, and can find a spectacular line, it pays to put your money down. Sometimes, the line in a game can move wildly from the time it's set to the time it closes.

Finding a good line gives you a better edge.

I'm a big fan of dumb luck. I like most things dumb... like Jessica Simpson, low calorie cookies, and American Idol. Dumb is free. Dumb is fearless. Dumb is like the twin sister of luck that we rarely acknowledge because she walk with a limp.

But why the hostility?

Here's what fellow poker blogger "Big Slick Nuts" (it's a reference to a poker hand mom and dad... not profanity) uses as a banner:

"I'm a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it."

-Thomas Jefferson

Jefferson was smart. That's strike one. Plus, I hate it when people say things like, "You make your own luck." I mean, it's too ignorant to be dumb.

Seneca, a dead Roman guy, said, "Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity." That's pretty dumb too. These are the same people who used to add and subtract with numbers like "X" and "V" and "mcmxxvii"... which, with the exception of Super Bowls, is pretty damn dumb.

I think the great American thinker Frank Sinatra said it best, "Luck be a lady Tooooonight."

As I type right now there's some guy from Children International, one of those adopt a poor foreign kid groups, on TV. I feel pretty lucky I wasn't born a poor foreign kid.

.......

There are some people who understand this concept, so central to our understanding of poker. Take "Predator314," another blogger, who left this comment on a recent BadBlood post:

"2.) Even if you are by far the strongest player in the field, you will still need to get lucky to win."

He's talking about any large MTT, or as I call them, MMTTs (Massive Multi-Table Tournaments). He's absolutely right.

Sometimes we get so lost in our defense of poker itself that we lose sight of basic facts. Poker, we say, isn't a game of chance, it's a game of skill. That's true to a point. But POKER IS GAMBLING and luck is always a factor.

If you play in a tourney you MUST win some coin flips. That's luck. It's Gambling.

If you play in a tourney you WILL make mistakes. None of us is perfect. Part of CJ's "luckbox" reputation comes from the suckouts he's unleashed. Truth is, he's an awesome player and suckouts are just part of the game. Plus, CJ is a problem gambler.

Luck is your friend. Don't deny her.

My bankroll experiment is going very well. I withdrew almost ALL of my Stars account and have been building it back up. From $6.50 last week I'm over $200 now. The low limit SNGs are free frikkin' money and I've won most of them outright. The one I didn't money in, I lost because of BAD luck. I've won 2 because I got lucky.

We spend so much of our time online focused on better play. I hope we do at least. Part of the motivation for the bankroll experiement was my tendancy to GAMBLE more with a bigger roll and I was losing the focus I needed. It took stripping the game almost bare to make that happen.

I'll need some luck to build it further.

I think we can MANUFACTURE our own success to some degree. That much is true, but nobody does it without luck.

Gamblers are deeply afraid of luck. We really shouldn't be.

..............

The NEW YORKER has a good piece on "Happiness" this week. Our concept of it has changed a great deal. In fact, our need to BE happy is a fairly recent Western desire. Cavemen weren't happy. The wanted to stay alive.

Even at the beginning of philosophy and all Western thought, people had the sense that things happened TO them... not because OF them. If the Gods will it, so it shall be. In the simplest sense, "Shit happens." Back then, our concept of "free will" was a few centuries away.

It was around the time of our nation's birth that we started our "pursuit of happiness" as if it was something we could work to acquire. Happiness is no longer a divine gift, it's something we earn. Of course, most of that pursuit leads us to an ever-unhappy void. Without the void, what would we advertise, I need a swiffer sweeper to fill the unhappy hole.

We turned our back on lady luck.

In this sense, by ignoring the progress of modern ideas, dumb gamblers stayed smart.

Luck Happens. Work all you want.

..................

Again, I need good luck on Monday. Take the day off from poker and send the positive suckouts my way.

I won't be playing poker but a possibly life changing opportunity is coming my way.

I'm qualified and prepared.

It's up to luck now.

Two For the Money

It's a terrible movie. It's the kind of movie that I wouldn't have minded if all the main characters died in some kind of horrible accident. And when I don't care about the characters there damn well better be some sex or action to keep me interested. This had neither. What it had, however, is an Al Pacino monologue that made me think about what I'm doing:

We look like everyone else but we're defective because when most people make a bet they want to win, while we, the degenerate gamblers of the world, we're subconsciously playing to lose. All humans like going to the edge of the abyss, but what makes us different is we go all the way and hurl ourselves off into the void! And we like doing it so much we do it time after time after time! Me? I always felt most alive when they were raking away the chips, and every one here knows what I'm talking about. People like us, even when we win, it's just a matter of time before we give it all back. But when we lose there's a moment when you're standing there and you've just recreated the worst possible nightmare this side of malignant cancer for the 20th goddamn time and you suddenly realize -- hey, I'm still here, I'm still breathing, I'm still alive!

Is he talking about you? Because I can tell you this, on some days, he's definitely talking about me.

Compulsively Compulsive

My Mom worries I'm becoming a compulsive gambler. I told her it's not gambling when you win, but I'm not sure she appreciates that joke anymore. I also say that the first step of overcoming a gambling addiction is to admit you have a problem. Well, I've been at step one for 4 years.

Okay, it's not that bad. I've taken the 20 question quiz online and I'm still in the clear. The bottom line is that I (and many of my poker-playing friends) have an addictive personality. I become attached to things pretty easily.

For more than a year, I played the online game Star Wars Galaxies. I played so long that my character became a Jedi. That's not easy to do. It means that I managed to waste hours and hours and hours of my life. I would play late into the night and fail to get enough sleep. I would come home from work and play at lunch.

I spent money playing this game. I bought it and paid a monthly fee. I never made a dime in return. At least poker has given me a return on my investment. Of course, maybe I should put my jedi on EBay. Anyone interested?

The two hurricanes that hit Louisiana helped wean me off SWG, but that's not really what did it. I actually become addicted to The Blonde. We chatted online almost every night. I was really looking forward to seeing her in Vegas, but it didn't work out. I actually got back into poker around that time, and winning a few thousand dollars from a few tourney cashes helped.

Fixing Me

Feburary was a bad poker month for me. I'm on my second short poker break since the end of January. My head just hasn't been in the game. I've been "that guy" Al Pacino was talking about. I take the majority of my roll and try to blow it as quickly as possible.

I made $2300 playing poker in January. I lost $2100 in February. I'm down $380 in live play and up about $800 (including March) in online play so far this year. This is the first time I've closely tracked my poker playing. It helps. Looking at the numbers makes a difference for me.

February was a tough month for me at work. It was a ratings month, it ended with extensive Mardi Gras coverage, and I was involved in an intense negotiation to bring a high profile anchor back to the station. It all turned out pretty well, but I wasn't in a good place to play poker.

I was sloppy. I played poorly. I let my emotions play me. And I wanted to lose. It's the only way I can explain the kind of plays that cost me money. And then I would push even harder, knowing I would lose it in the end.

I can't do that anymore.

The Break

I'm not going on a break. I'm going to play when I feel like it. I played a little last night and did well in a couple SNG's. I'm probably going to avoid live poker for awhile unless I really get the urge.

In the meantime, I'll fill in the gaps with the ponies. I haven't learned yet how to overcome my addictive personality. Like SWG, I'm getting hocked on horses. I'll try to be as smart about it, but I'm sure I'll lose some money. It will all come out of my poker roll, though, so I hope my Mom doesn't worry too much.

Hmmmm... maybe I should just find a girlfriend instead. Now that would make my Mom happy!

ONLINE

I'd fallen into a rut at Stars. This is mostly because the site is totally rigged, but partially my fault too. I'd settled into the $100NL game with regular $200 swings. My bankroll was in decent shape. The real addiction was those 180SNGs.

A fairly tight aggressive player is almost a guarantee to make the money there. I made my share of final tables. But I found my live game was falling apart when I tried to use that same online moves at a real table. Strange huh?

I've torn the whole thing apart, piece by piece, and I'm building the foundation again. I think I came a long way in my first 2 years of semi-serious poker, but I'd hit a wall of my own design. The semi- loose aggressive style I'd honed could only take me so far.

All styles have limitations, weaknesses, and most of the homegame folks had figured mine out. A good player has other maneuvers to apply. Until now, I didn't.

Actually, I don't have any other solid styles just yet. Thus, the rebuilding.

Wednesday I think I played pretty well. That's a big change from two straight explosions of awful. Here are the two biggest hands :

Hand 1:

I'm in the SB with 56d. The Mark straddles the blinds to $2 and there are a few other callers, so I complete to $2.

Otis calls. Mark bumps it to $13. One MP player calls, so do I, and Otis does the same. Flop is :

7c 8d 10d giving me the OESD and a flush draw. I have $84.50 left and push.

Otis calls. Mark goes over the top all in. MP player and Otis both fold.

Mark has top 2 pair.

The turn is a 4d giving me the straight and HEY LOOK AT THAT, the flush too. I figured, with 15 outs twice I was possibly ahead and, at worse, a coin flip to win.

I like the push there. I tripled up.

Hand 2 :

Same position with Mark straddling again, and I have 44.

I call, so does Otis, and Mark makes it $12. We both call.

Flop is 2d, 3c, 5d. I have a second pair and OESD so I lead out for $20.

Otis calls, Mark RAISES to $50. Otis and I call.

Turn is Js. I check and so does Otis. Mark bets $175. I think, put Mark on an Overpair, and fold. So does Otis.

I think the fold is correct, but I wonder if I should have played the flop harder. Hard to say.

SATURDAY

I'm back on my weekend workshift for the first time in a month. During the Olympics the good anchors took over and sent me back to the bench. Management hoped the stellar Olympic ratings would give viewers a chance to "connect" with the "best we have to offer". First of all, it didn't work. The games were a ratings bomb. Second, I'm no longer the "best we have to offer" which isn't much of a surpirse.

Even local news types get a small taste of celebrity. I'm just a weekend guy in a middle market in the South. It isn't much. Still, I'm recognized around town and there are some folks who describe themselves as "fans". That's fairly hard to get used to. I'm not much to look at and am, at best, a mediocre anchor. Recognition is good for the ol' ego anyway.

Anyone with an ego needs a reality check. Everyone needs an ego to function in the world. Perspective keeps us humble, but reality is kinda depressing.

So, I'm back at the big desk tonight. I've already fixed my famous hair and I'm wearing "Almay" makeup. I went with "Cover Girl" for a while but that was, itself, a bit offensive to the ego. We have a new weathergirl on the show, starting tonight, she got the job because she's really easy on the eyes. The old one, in management's eyes, was not.

The old girl was an expert at predicting weather.

The new girl is not.

This counts as perspective in the business I'm in.

SO WHAT?

I'm making the best of my poker do-over. I think I'll be better on the other side. I withdrew the vast majority of my money from Stars and left only a few dollars. I'll try to build it back in a better, more focused, way. It's my way of enforcing dicipline. So far, I've more than tripled up.

The rest of the life is always harder. I offer Joe Speaker as "Exhibit A".

If you've been reading his blog (and if you don't read "The Obituarium" you're missing the best written blog on the 'net) you know what he's going through. I can't imagine. Frankly, I'm humbled by the knowledge that I'm not as kind or as sensitive as he is, and yet I've been more lucky in love.

Joe, from the very beginning called his soon-to-be-ex wife "the dear and patient" on the blog. His poker content was always filtered with those cute "Family Circus" style stories. Then his wife went nuts and his life fell apart.

How's that for reality?

I took this away from his last post :

" I think it's a fucking waste of three lives that will never be as vital as when we were one. My wife and I were married nearly six years. In that time, we missed hundreds of chances to show, to prove, our love for each other.

Please, please, don't miss yours."

Perspective indeed.

So, dear reader, where is your poker game right now?

Hell, where is your life?

We all need a dose of good ol' reality sometiemes. Our lives will never signifigantly improve without it.

But sometimes reality sucks.

That's the first lesson to learn.

I know that the past two months have been full of cash game swings I couldn't even bring myself to write about. They were obscene in both the positive and negative. Those closest to me heard me ramble, usually after a few drinks, about the two huge sessions I had at $50/$100 in December and January. Fewer people heard about the late January massacre. And no one had heard about how March had started in a way that made me think about giving up the game. I was keeping it to myself. I was sneaking five minute reads of "Shut Up and Deal" because, when I'm losing, Jesse May gets my head on straight.

And yet, despite the cash game swings, despite three bloody attempts to take a shot at $100/$200, there was a nagging optimism somewhere around my medula oblongata. It started a couple of weeks ago when I made it deep into a $1 million guaranteed event. For more than an hour I played with Gavin Griffin, Carl Olson, Matt Matros, and Stuart "The Donator" Patterson. The table was brutal. Griffin finally dealt me my death blow and sent me out in 43rd place. (Edit: In fact, I went back and checked my records, this was a Sunday event, not the $1 million guaranteed. It was a 43rd place out of mor than 3000 entrants. The previous day, I had cashed in the $1 million guaranteed).

And the tournament game continued to succeed. Something inside my noodle was working right. I was seeing things much too clearly for my success to be nothing more than a fluke. In fact, on two consecutive nights, I final tabled an ever-loving PLO8 tournament (which anyone will tell you, is a game at which I blow much sack). Sure, I was having my fair share of good luck. Still, I admitted to myself, that something more than luck was going on.

More than anything, I was able to admit the mistakes I was making that were sending me out of tournaments, in the money, but out of the big money. When I finally busted out of any tournament, I could look back and identify the mistake I made the sent me to the rail. Even if I lost on a bad suckout, I could admit that I had done something leading up to that moment that led to me being in a position where I could lose.

And still, the March cash game massacre continued. At one point, just Thursday night, I was on the verge of a full-scale cashout. I was on the verge of giving it all up until this summer. I wasn't playing a good cash game. Sure, there were a lot of bad beats, but there was a lot of bad play on my part as well. I found myself wanting to get even and that is never a good thing.

And so it happened that Friday was a workday so full that I spent ten straight hours pounding on my keyboard, knowing very well that I leave for Monte Carlo in two days. I knew that I was about to be forced to take break, regardless of whether I wanted to.

Already planning to spend all of Saturday with the family, I knew I had one more chance to get somewhere in the neighborhood of even. And so, I entered the $200 NL Hold'em event with more than 1000 other people. Four hours later, I entered a silly $100 PLO8 event with around 70 people.

I wish I could tell you what happened over that eight hour period. I wish I could recount a full hand history for you. I wish I had the energy right now to tell you what brought CJ to pull out the "You can dodge bullets, baby" line.

All I can tell you is that I chopped the PLO8 event five ways for a modest profit.

Oh, and I can tell you that just about half an hour ago, I chopped the other tournament four ways, taking better than second place money. In short, it makes up my biggest cash to date.

In the grand scheme of things, it means precious little. It's not been six hours since I was wiping my tear ducts with Jesse May's words. It's not been 24 hours since I told msyelf that there is a much greater life than I can find under two hole cards. It's not been five seconds since I admitted to myself that I could lose it all back with a few bad sessions in the cash games.

And yet, it has been nearly a year since I saw The Guy and realized I could play tournament poker. That guy seems to be back.

I like The Guy and I hope he stays around for a while.