Category: Poker

Look Left

January 24th, 2012 9 comments

“When you look to the right, you look into the past. To see your future, look left.” − me

Among my recurring targets as a poker player is to look left as the action gets to me, so that I might get a feel for my opponents’ intentions.

Is he going to fold? Is he going to raise? He looks disinterested, which could mean he is folding, or it could be an act and actually he is raising, but this time it looks legit. I think he is folding. In that case, I will…

Usually, when I look left, I gain nothing. And sometimes I am rewarded with money, when what I see causes me to play better than I would have, had I not looked. I say “play better” because I’m not talking about merely making better betting decisions. It’s also about subtle, important, instant upgrades to my tempo and movements, like the way any athlete reacts. If the situation demands that I raise no matter what I see on my left, then I will raise. But the way I raise might change.

After looking left hundreds of thousands of times, the most important thing I’ve learned is that even after all these years and all this effort, I still don’t look left often enough. And if I’m right in my belief that all poker players can play better by looking left more often, then that means I have some work to do on my game that I know will make me money. I like that.

I know I’m on solid ground with all this looking left business. I know so because of what I saw in England, where they’ve had legal poker rooms dating back to the 20th century. Yes, there is a whole generation of knowledgeable poker Brits over there, and apparently some of them work for the Department of Transport, in the signage division. For if you walk the streets of London, and you actually look at the streets of London, you’ll see this everywhere:

 

 

(In other news, I’m selling both my books for the price of one of my books at my new web-store. Personal inscriptions available upon request.)

 

Smoking for Profit (my first poker article)

November 1st, 2011 No comments

Dear reader,

Below is the first article I submitted to a poker magazine for publication. That was in 1999. June Field at Poker Digest paid me $100 for it. I still have that check in a frame somewhere. I wonder if it’s still good.

Smoking for Profit (1999)

I make money smoking. Four hundred bucks a month. Take a rash of rationalization, add a therapeutic theory, and anything is possible. At $20-40 limit hold ‘em the blinds total $30 per round. In a nine-handed game, that comes to $3.33 per hand. This simple math suggests any missed hand costs a player $3.33 in dues paid per hand via the blinds. Not so. Later positions are worth more. So let’s assign some reasonable, arbitrary values to each position, make them add up to $30, and see what happens. Remember “weighted sums” from math class? Cost per hand in a $20-40 game:

First seat (small blind) $1.00
Second seat (big blind) $1.50
Third seat $2.00
Fourth $2.50
Fifth $3.00
Sixth $3.50
Seventh $4.50
Eighth $5.50
Ninth (button) $6.50
Total $30.00

In California we smoke outside. It’s a good law. Our food is less ashy and our dealers less ashen. When I go out for a quick one, it’s just that — quick. I miss one hand, sometimes two. I glance at the fifth position hand, muck it, and head for the door. (If that hand is playable, I wait another round to smoke). If I run into any bad-beat storytellers outside, I’ve got an honest out: “Gotta go! It’s my blind!” Which it is, just as I plop back down, having skipped one or two hands under-the-gun.

The table above reduces the conceptual cost of this practice from $3.33 per smoke to $2.00, or from $6.66 to $4.50 if I miss two hands. Yikes! And that’s not even counting the cost of the cigarette. But I just knew this was still not right. I’ve often wondered if it would be profitable to not even look at my hands in front of the blinds, thereby eliminating all temptation to get involved with anything but premium starters. And that is exactly what happens when I go outside. So what gives? How can it cost money to miss hands my trusty instincts say to ignore anyway?

Answer: The weighted sums were not heavy enough. One day it hit me like a gut shot. Why couldn’t the early positions be assigned negative values? Suddenly I had the best possible excuse to remain a smoker. Money. Here’s a new table. Special consideration is given to the blinds. Despite its awkward position, the big blind has an extra playing value in its free-flop potential. As to the small blind, well, I rarely succumb to the seductive Siren’s song, “Two more chips. Only two more chips.” Still, being half in gives the small blind a straightforward discount value when I do pick up a hand. Given my posture on position, (it’s only everything), this is my best-estimate assessment of the cost-per-hand at $20-40.

First seat (small blind) $1.50
Second seat (big blind) $5.00
Third seat **-$2.00**
Fourth **-$1.00**
Fifth $0.50
Sixth $2.00
Seventh $4.50
Eighth $7.50
Ninth (button) $12.00
Total $30.00

I smoke about once every three rounds. They laugh at me outside. Pacing, puffing, extinguishing. Ha! If only they knew I was making three bucks per butt. Seven or eight cigs per day, five days per week, it comes to over $400 per month. Even if you don’t smoke, you most likely pee. Now you can make theoretical money in the bathroom. What a relief.

There are two factors even hazier than the speculations so far. Missing hands costs money since key pots affect style. While I’m outside a player might anchor down, his ship having come in to safe harbor. Another player might go sailing. I need to know these things. Balancing this is the benefit of walking away from the table and collecting my selfs. The math would be too wishy-washy, so I wish to call these a wash.

I play $40-80 sometimes, and even dive into an 80-160 game now and then. Just think, if I played $80-160 everyday, quadrupling everything. $400 x 4 = $1600. I could just about live off the money I make from smoking. Then I could save up the daily-grinded poker money to start my new dream business: Shade-tree tester.


Joe Tall’s Wiltless Chip

October 7th, 2011 2 comments

This is a before and after story.

Before Joe Tall co-founded Deucescracked.com and became known throughout the land for the poker expert and righteous man that he is, he hired me to coach him. When the initial program was over, I gave him my standard-issue diploma. It looks like this:





Yesterday, Joe sent me a text. It came with a picture. What he wrote was, “Still Tiltless after six years!” And the picture he sent was…



I asked, “How did the part that looks like lava get that way?”

And Joe replied, “The chip has a way of finding me over and over for 6 years now. I usually never worry about its whereabouts. This time, it got caught in the lint filter of the dryer (as it often ends up in the laundry) and the hot air turned it into a ‘plasma’. When I picked it out, I could have folded it in two easily. Now it’s hard as a rock again.”


Button Buddy

September 1st, 2011 5 comments

I was playing in a 9-handed $5/10 NLHE cash game at the World Series of Poker in Vegas and a friend who I hadn’t seen in a while came up and tapped me on the shoulder to say hi. I was happy to see him and everything. But not really all that excited. On the next hand, I was going to be in the cutoff seat. I wanted to play my cutoff and hijack because of the good position, so I told my friend, “Hang on for two more hands and I’ll take a break.”

Two hands later, I hopped up and went over to my waiting friend. We talked, said goodbye, and I returned to my game in time for my big blind, about 4 hands and 10 minutes later.

An hour after that, another poker buddy came up behind me and said hi. This was a much closer friend. I was at this guy’s wedding, and we talked once a week all through his divorce. We had not seen each other in three years. When he came up and said hi, the hand that was finishing was my big blind. If I were to stay in the game and take my small blind, then of course I would want to play my button, and the cutoff at least, probably the hijack too. But that was way too long to make this person wait, given the condition of our relationship at that moment. Even though I had just played my big blind, I stood up right away without even thinking about it and said deal me out. That gave us an entire round for visitation, after which I re-entered the game on my next big blind.

Back in the game, in between folds, it occurred to me that I had inadvertently stumbled upon a way to quantify my willingness to trade poker time for people time. And that led to a way to rate my relationships, which is an abhorrent idea, but let’s do it anyway.

If I am willing to forego the Early Position hands, as I was with my first buddy, then he’s an EP buddy. We’re tight enough that I want to get up to visit, but not necessarily immediately. If I’m willing to get up on my Small Blind, as I was with the second guy, then he’s an SB. A special buddy.

Back home a week later, I went up to Lucky Chances one day because my buddy Alex was going to be there and we’d been apart for two months. I arrived before he did, and when he showed up, I was already rooted in a game. He walked to my table while the dealer was shuffling up for my cutoff hand. The first thing Alex did was look and see where the button was. When he saw that I was in late position, he turned and walked away. He knew to not even expect me to look up, let alone get up, on this valuable hand.

Two hands later, I took a break and we went outside to gab properly. I told Alex about my new rating system idea. As usual, he cut right to the crux:

“The real test would be if a very close friend who you haven’t seen in a long time came by while the dealer was shuffling up for your actual button hand.”

“That’s an easy one,” I said. “They can wait.”

“What if it was your Uncle Tony?”

“No fair! Then I’d probably get up right in the middle of a hand. I’m talking poker players only here.”

“What about me? Let’s say we hadn’t seen each other for ten years, and I came by your table. Are you saying you wouldn’t sacrifice a few bucks and a few precious positional moments for me?”

“Couldn’t happen,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because you would never ask that of me. And if you were capable of asking such a thing, we never would have become friends. So it all works out. Let’s get back inside. I think my button is coming.”

Party Talk

August 19th, 2011 One comment

I was at a party the other night and one of my favorite conversations happened. I get introduced by someone I know to someone I don’t know. “This is Tommy,” they say. “He is like, Joe Poker.”

After I say a few words, I ask my new acquaintance, “So, do you play poker?”

And they say, “Yes, but not very well.”

And I say, “Great! I’ve got some cards in the car. How much money do you have on you right now?

Iconic Blogger Bill Rini Sheds Love on My New Book

August 10th, 2011 No comments

If you are in the poker business in any capacity and you don’t know about Bill’s Blog, think of its addition to your life as an upgrade.

Here’s what Bill had to say about my new book:

I give A Rubber Band Story two raging thumbs up. If you like Tommy’s style or writing and have enjoyed the short stories he’s submitted on Bill’s Poker Blog you’ll love A Rubber Band Story because that’s basically what the book is.

It has all of the hallmark Tommy Angelo qualities. It’s humorous, well written, insightful, offbeat, thought provoking, and sometimes just plain silly. What I enjoy most about Tommy’s writing style is that he writes from the heart.

The book is a mixture of some new material along with what Tommy felt were his best blog posts, articles, postings, etc over the last decade or so. The information is timeless because it’s the essence of poker.

Tommy’s writings have never been about whether to fold AJs to a reraise pre-flop. It’s about getting in touch with our biggest leak in poker, ourselves. He explores different ways of thinking about the game, life, and balancing the two. And he’s able to do that through story telling that leaves most poker writers in the dust.

It’s easy to be entertained by Tommy’s stories because they’re normally witty and light but that’s often a trick Tommy is able to play on his readers because there is a more profound message underneath it all. He may write a story about folding that makes you chuckle but when you dive a little deeper he’s really seeding a message about how successful players think about their starting hands and folding differently.

If you’re a fan of any of Tommy’s writings you can find on Bill’s Poker Blog or on Tommy’s own site, you’ll love A Rubber Band Story.

Love at First Seat Change

August 1st, 2011 No comments

I was at a poker party the other night with some friends I had not seen in several years. One of them is David, a pro I used to play with all the time. He was with his girlfriend, Liz, who I had not met. We three were chatting along, and I asked the tradition question, “Where did you two meet?”  David paused for dramatic effect, and then proclaimed, “We met at a poker table.”

“Tell me more!” I said.

“It was at the $15-30 limit hold’em game at The Oaks,” David said. “I was in seat 7.  There were three loose players in the game, all seated to my immediate right, in seats 4, 5 and 6.  And on my left I had three rocks.  It was the greatest seating set-up imaginable.  Liz was in seat 2.  Liz and I had had some flirtatious exchanges.  But just how warm were the waters?   The main thing I knew about her was that I really wanted to know more about her, and of course I wanted her to know more about me!  So when the player in seat 3 quit, I moved from seat 7, the best seat at the table, to seat 3, the worst seat at the table, right in front of the three actions players. I did this just so that I could sit next to Liz in seat 2. She is an astute player and she understood what I had done and why I did it. She knew I was throwing money away. She knew that I lived for seating situations like the one I was enjoying in seat 7, and that I had abandoned all that, just to be close to her. And we are currently living happily ever after.”

Snappy Floats

July 26th, 2011 7 comments

I was playing $5/10 no-limit hold’em at the Venetian and I had the ideal arrangement. Predictable Pete on my left was playing 20% of his hands, and Generous Gene on my right was playing 80%. I figure I don’t need to show my work to this crowd. Obviously my correct preflop percentage was to play 50% of the hands. Which I did joyously.

 

An hour into the session, this hand came up. I had the button and $2500. Gene was in the cutoff with more than that. He opened for $50. I had A4o. I snap floated him.

 

(I realize that you can’t technically float before the flop. Probably because there’s no proper word for it, yet. If we allow the word “float” to describe more of an attitude than an actual play, then I think it’s okay to call my call a float.)

 

Both blinds folded so now we were headsup.

 

I entirely missed the flop. He bet $100, using ten $10 chips, and I snap floated with one $100 chip. I had a plan. If he checked the turn, I would snap bet $300 with three prepared black chips. If he bet the turn, I would snap float him yet another time.

 

(To float someone, there has to be at least one more street to go. You can float on the flop, and you can float on the turn, but oddly, at poker, the one thing you can’t do is float on the river.)

 

The turn came. My hand was still ace-high with a one-pair draw. He took his time and then he said, “I bet $300.”   I snap floated him using the three black chips that were resting under my palm like a coiled snake’s tongue. With a quick and barely perceptible nudge from my thumb, my three black chips suddenly appeared across the betting line. This was intended to make him fold while be begged forgiveness for having been born. But instead, he asked me a question:

 

“What do you have?” he said. “Pocket nines?”

 

Apparently he wanted me to think that he thought I would play pocket nines just as bad as I was playing A-4.

 

After I called the turn, the pot was $900, I had about $2,000 left, and he had me covered. There was still plenty of time for me to pull this one out.

 

My plan to maybe bluff the river was thwarted when an ace came, my best possible card, giving me a pair of aces with no kicker. He snap checked. His body was saying, “Don’t you dare bet. I’ve got my hand and I like it and I’m calling.”

 

But I didn’t necessarily believe all that.  I deftly conjured up a range of hands for him that he might call a bet with that I could beat. And also a range he might check/call with that beat me. I factored the factors and I decided to bet $500 because betting is fun. He took not that long and said, “Call.”  I turned over A-4. And so did he.

My New Book: A Rubber Band Story and Other Poker Tales by Tommy Angelo

July 15th, 2011 3 comments

 


This was a fun book to write. I hope you enjoy it too. So far all of the Amazon reviewers did. You can see what they said here:

http://www.amazon.com/Rubber-Story-Other-Poker-Angelo/dp/1456364375/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1306333422&sr=1-1

It’s available at Amazon.com, Amazon.de, Amazon.ca, and Amazon.co.uk, in print and ebook.

Here’s a paragraph about what it’s about, written by my partner on this project, Anna Paradox:

A Rubber Band Story and Other Poker Tales collects the best articles, blogs, and stories from Tommy Angelo’s last 12 years of writing and showcases them with eighteen new introductions and afterwords. Here you’ll find poker war stories from his years as a pro, poker fiction, ruminations on poker rules, and more – including a strong selection of articles on tilt, the author’s signature topic. The new commentaries, found only in this volume, take you behind the curtain on Angelo’s history and writing process. New readers will appreciate the humor and fresh perspective on poker, and existing fans will enjoy the exclusive commentaries as well as having a convenient collection of Angelo’s most popular material.

And here is an excerpt, from the introduction to the Alex Stories section:

I met Alex Roberts at a poker table. He was wearing a Michigan hat. I was wearing an Ohio State hat. Even though we were playing in the same $20-40 game almost every day, and even though we were practically the only two white guys in the room, we didn’t speak to each for months. Because of the hats. I wore my OSU hat because I had just moved from Ohio and I was scared of big bad California and I was desperate to hold onto the identity I was leaving behind. Alex wore a Michigan hat because, hell, I don’t know. Maybe he flunked out of there or something, or maybe he just liked looking stupid.

See you inside!

 

 

Walking the Halls, Part Five

July 12th, 2011 No comments

Welp, I’m back home from a week at the WSOP, a week in Ohio, a week at the WSOP, and then another week at the WSOP, and as wonderful as all of that was, I must say, be it ever so awesome, there’s no place like home.