My Clients Make Me POOP

I have played a great deal of poker vicariously, through my clients. They send me hands they played, and we talk about them. All clients send me hands at the beginning, and some of them send me hands for years. I ask that the hands be written up in prose form, with analysis and feelings and whatever else thrown in. I ask for hands that went well, and hands that didn’t.

I study the hands and the comments, and I make some notes. Then we go over the hands in person or on the phone. I often talk about position at some point, working from my basic outline:

LAST = GOOD
NOT LAST = NOT GOOD

Which makes it even more surprising that it took me 7 years and 80 clients to spot this pattern: When a client tells me about a betting situation that was “uncomfortable,” or “annoying,” or “without good options,” chances are very good that the hand was POOP (Played Out Of Position, as in, not last).

As it happens, I’m not playing much poker these days, so when I analyze and discuss hands with a client, it gets my poker fever up. The old love blossoms. Just one problem. When I play poker, I am accustomed to being last to act on more streets than not. That’s how I like it. It’s easier and more profitable than the other way. But when I play poker vicariously through my clients, I’m usually POOP.

Or so it seemed. Not one to trust myself on this type of pattern discernment, I went in search of certainty. I thought about researching my suspicion by trolling client files and reading old hands. Then I thought of a less cumbersome way that could be fun and maybe even helpful.

The next three times that a client was about to send me some hands, I requested three uncomfortable hands. Hands that stuck in your craw, chapped your ass, made you wonder which end is up.

Of the nine hands sent to me, six were played out of position.

The first client sent three problem hands that were all POOP. I was happy to have the supporting data, and I was delighted to deliver my prepared bla bla bombastically: “Let this fact – that your problem hands are likely to be out of position hands – be a lesson to you about the true and inescapable nature of last and not-last!”

The second client, same thing. He POOPed on all three hands.

The third client, well, all three of his problem hands were hands he played on the button. His problem, according to him, was that he had been drinking too much and too often from the last-to-act bottle, before and after the flop. This struck me as analogous to someone eating too many vegetables.

“Okay,” I said. “So you were out of line on these hands and you made some negative EV plays that you knew were bad.”

“Right.”

“What I want to know is… Were you uncomfortable during the play of the hands? Did these hands meet the criteria I laid out?”

“No, they didn’t.” He said. “All three hands were relatively easy to play once I decided to play them.”

“Then I’d like to thank you twice. Once for providing data that I was able to twist until it supported my little conjecture. And also for sending me some hands on the button! POOP sucks, even on the phone!”

Nostalgia Corner: The 5 (and a bit) Stages Of Your Poker Career

Today’s post was written by guest writer Greg Walker.  This article is highly funny and relatable, if you happen to be an online poker degen. Greg runs thepokerbank.com, a Texas Hold’em strategy site.  Thanks Greg!

Nostalgia Corner: The 5 (and a bit) Stages Of Your Poker Career

Do you remember your early days of poker?

Either underage or barely legal, trying something new for the first time, desperate to earn some money on the side.

But that’s quite enough about my search history.

It was way before your $50 faux leather desk chair developed its groove (Moses couldn’t part foam padding like online poker can). The time when you had more real-life friends than “Internet friends”. It was also before your poker skills became inversely proportional to your general levels of health and fitness (you’ve still got the looks though – nothing’s ever going to take those looks away).

Yep, those days.

Feel free to brace yourself and join me for an awkward fumble through the past, present and future of your poker career, starting with…

1) Making your first deposit.

Hands up; who was thinking about the movie “Rounders” whilst they were making their first deposit? To be more specific, who was thinking about the “Judge’s game” scene?

Due to one of the small flaws of writing articles for the Internet, I can’t see or hear all your responses. However, I’ll safely assume that we just shared a collective sigh of agreement.

With more ambition than Hitler, you decided you were going to take over the poker world with your mad undiscovered poker skills. Not even legal gambling age laws were going to stop you.

This first deposit was a uniquely exciting and life-shifting experience for all of us. I’m sure you wonder what things would be like if you never dropped $50 at Party Poker. Probably not that much different if we’re being honest, but we can all dream. Either way, you certainly wouldn’t have experienced the pleasures of…

2) Losing your first deposit.

Damn.

How can you go from winning a steady $14/hour over 318 hands to losing everything? It was all going so swimmingly.

2a) Vowing to never play online poker again.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m wiping Party Poker off my PC completely.” *Drags Party Poker desktop shortcut to the Recycle Bin.*

For most of us this period lasted a few weeks at best. The problem was that you just couldn’t stop dreaming about outplaying opponents with absurd all-in shoves on the flop, not to mention cunning open limps with pocket aces UTG.

Thoughts of these devious, masterful plays build up until…

3) Your first comeback.

After skimming through a perfectly legal copy of Doyle Brunson’s Super System, you’re back.

Unfortunately, after a decent 2-week long run you end up losing another $50. Sorry, Doyle, but I don’t think JT suited is as invincible as you suggested. Nonetheless, the seed of degeneracy has been sown.

Figuratively speaking, you’ve opened that bag of Doritos and you’ve been stopped half way through. Not even a lack of hot salsa dip is going to prevent the inevitability of…

4) Your next comeback (with added seriousness).

This time, playing poker and learning strategy becomes an addiction.

You can’t stop yourself from consuming more and more poker until you’re a mental mess (or more so than usual). Countless hours are spent browsing/refreshing the 2p2 forums. You begin buying more books from Amazon than you’ve ever actually bought in your entire life. “2am” is now referred to as an “early night.”

You also no longer have to lock your door before “researching” something on Google. Well, not as much as before anyway.

I’m sure we’d all like to think that this super comeback was reminiscent of the cheesy Rocky IV montage of Stallone training in the wilderness. However, I don’t believe scenes consisting of being slouched in a desk chair surrounded by Subway wrappers would look quite as epic with “Hearts On Fire” in the background.

Nonetheless, the bottom line is your poker game improved significantly, even if everything else in your life regressed. In fairness though, it’s an impressive development when you look back at it from a hard-work and commitment point of view.

5+) The grind.

You’ve now “found your groove”, which is a euphemism for “hit a massive life plateau”.

Dreams of Champagne, Lobster and Cirque du Soleil turn into Red Bull, Ramen Noodles and Xbox.

The fact that the inside of your mouse now contains more dust than an urn is causing a slightly annoying tracking problem. The keyboard characters; p, m and / no longer work, but that’s okay because none of those are needed to type “wtf”, “fish”, “blonde” or “hardcore” anyway.

Your username is becoming more famous than your real name, and if you printed out a screenshot of your 2p2 post count you’d consider sticking it on the fridge with your other lifetime achievements.

Congratulations, you’re a reg.

Final thoughts.

Thanks for joining me for the uneasy shuffle down Memory Lane. I hope you didn’t mind the lengthy detour through Disappointment Avenue.

Not to worry though, you’re only ever one PokerStars Sunday Million away from greatness.

Now anyway, I have to head off. I believe my search history needs some deleting.

In Gratitude of Gratefulness

“Finish your food! Think of the starving children in China!”

That was a typical thing for parents like mine to say to kids like me as I poked at the mucoid vegetables on my plate.

“Think of the starving children in China.”

That saying failed utterly at its purpose. All it did was make me resent the alleged starving Chinese children as much as I resented being forced to eat snot. And the resentment was just getting warmed up. For the next few decades, when someone said something about how I should be grateful or thankful or whatever, I resented them for even suggesting such a thing. First, I always had lots of problems: work problems, money problems, car problems, friend problems, lover (or lack of lover) problems, etc. I kept track of and organized my problems. You want me to be thankful? Have you seen my list of problems lately?

Second, that’s just peachy that you’re so happy that you can sit around talking about how grateful and thankful you are. But if it’s all the same to you, how about if you just shut up already, all right?

It wasn’t until age 45 or so that I started to get it. I had figured out that being grateful for what is makes me much happier than longing for what isn’t. And I was ripe for more input on this matter. I read something by Thich Nhat Hahn at that time that stuck. In my words it goes like this…

Imagine yourself with a terrible toothache. Now picture yourself moments after the toothache goes away. “Thank goodness the pain is gone! I am so grateful right now that my tooth does not ache!” But why should I only be grateful for painless teeth for such a brief moment? Isn’t it equally wonderful every moment that my teeth don’t ache? Right now, for example, I am ache-free. I can be grateful for that.

What a brilliant idea. The logic resonated with me. If I could train myself to remember to be grateful for bad stuff that was missing from my life, I would have an infinite and ever-ready pool of gratitude to drink from.

And then there’s possessions, belongings, stuff. After decades of obsessing over what I didn’t have, I began to gradually improve my ability to appreciate and enjoy what I do have. This created thousands of opportunities to smile inside rather than frown.

Carrying that view beyond material things made way for adjustments like this one: I just lost a huge pot playing poker. Ouch! That hurts! Oh woe is me. I’m so unlucky. Life is so unfair. But wait, I don’t have to do that to myself anymore because I am learning gratitude. How fortunate I am to have the time and money to be able to play the game I love so much!

Then there’s the starving-children theory of gratefulness: “At least I’m not as bad off as [fill in the blank].” The Bible’s version, translated to secularity by me, goes like this: “There but for the grace of the universe go I.” I think this is a rational and useful way to transform a moment of discontentment into one of gratefulness. But it’s not my favorite. These days, my go-to reminder (and I need lots of reminders) is to recite these words in my mind:

On behalf of those who do not have what I have, I will appreciate this [fill in the blank].

For example, water. How many billions of people and animals and plants have craved that essential fluid, but were unable, in their moment of greatest need, to have it? I try to remember to stop, each time, before the water goes in, and say to myself, “On behalf of every organism that has or will experience a moment of desperate dehydration, I will appreciate this water.”

When I am able to put myself in that place, even over-cooked bland vegetables are delicious.

The ultimate landing place on this path is a phrase that I resisted strongly, just because it sounded hokey, and it was so over-worked: “Be grateful to be alive!”

Even that makes sense to me now. It isn’t so much that “I” am grateful that “I” am alive. It’s more like I am grateful that life itself happens to exist, and that I have by some amazing fluke happened to have temporarily sprung from it. In this case, the word “gratefulness” means about the same to me as “wow.”

I think of gratefulness now as an acquired skill, like say, playing guitar. There was a time I didn’t know how to do it. Then there was a time I began to learn how to do it. And now it’s a simple case of the more I do it, the better I get at it, and the better I get at it, the happier I am. And the happier I am, the happier the people around me are.

Which brings me to the title of this essay. On top of the stuff and people and experiences and health that I have that I can be grateful for, and on top of the infinite amount of bad stuff that I don’t have and haven’t experienced that I can grateful for, sits this new thing: I am grateful that I am learning how to be grateful.

OMG THE EOP EBOOK IS FINALLY HERE!

EOP-cover-with-matrix-code
It’s been three years since my book Elements of Poker came out. Since then, I have received many emails that go something like this:

Dear Tommy,

If you don’t make Elements of Poker available as an eBook soon, I am going to nail my head to the floor.

Your fan,

Pat Hand

Welp, it’s done. The EOP eBook now exists. And here are just some of the things people are saying about it:

This saves me the embarrassment of requesting a large-print edition. — Lee Jones

Finally I have a legitimate reason to buy an iPad. — Phil Galfond

I like the print version better. — Johannes Gutenberg

Are you looking for the perfect gift for every poker player? Are you curious as to why Jay Rosenkrantz and Arthur Reber claim that EOP is the best poker book ever written? Do you suffer from eTilt? Then you should by all means click on one of these retailer links that go straight to their EOP page:

Kobo At Kobo, you can give a specific eBook as a gift.  The others offer gift cards.

Amazon.com Many customer reviews of EOP are at Amazon

iBooks

Barnes and Noble

Borders

Atlasbooks.com

The Pot of a Lifetime

Back when I was writing poker articles for magazines, I started about 5 articles for every one I finished. Many of them never grew any longer than a title and an idea. Others I worked on for months, on and off, but they never passed the larval stage. Then there were some, like the article below, that I completed, only to find out that there wasn’t much to say. They came out as dwarf articles, just the kind of thing that would be great for blogging. Except blogs didn’t exist back then. Thank goodness for data storage!

From 2001:

The Pot of a Lifetime

Here’s some twisted thinking that appeals to me on an emotional/romantic level.

I try like heck to operate entirely from cash on hand. By ‘operate’ I mean everything – buy-ins, rent, food, travel, concerts, everything.

When my cash runs out, I have to dig into reserves, and I hate hate hate that. My fear of digging creates an illusionary, arbitrary break point, or rather, broke point: when I won’t actually be broke, but I convince myself that I will be. My mental dance motivates me to take necessary measures – tighten up my game, cut back on frolicky expenditures, pray to the poker gods, even drop down in limit sometimes – whatever it takes, to avoid digging into my reserves.

It so happens I’ve currently gone a year or two without having to reload from the reserves. That is the definition of “success” in my wacky world.

A few weeks ago I was down to $1,300. Danger danger! I sat down to play $20-40 limit hold’em and I bought in for the whole $1,300 (2.6 racks). If I went bust this session, I’d have to dig. A few hours later, I was down to my last $130, planning to finish out the current lap and quit on my next big blind because I was too shortstacked already. I’d be pretty much giving away my last nub if I kept playing. I’ve seen others do it a million times, and I’ve done it plenty too. Looks like tomorrow I’ll be at the bank, reloading. Oh well, so it goes.

I folded the next few hands, and when it was my big blind, I thought, man, I’ve got a firm policy against going all-in at limit, but I sure don’t want to go to the bank, so maybe I’ll get lucky and turn my molehill into a mountain. I folded both blinds before the flop, so now I had $100 left when I picked up king-six suited on the button and five people limped, so I did too. I flopped a flush draw and I was all-in on the turn and bingo, I hit my flush on the river.

Ten hours later, I cashed out $2,000. After that I ran good for a while and now my operational cash is back up to $10,000 or so, and this morning, it occurred to me…

What if I never have to dig into my current reserves again? That would mean I had lived the rest of my life off that last $100. That K6 hand could turn out to be the pot of a lifetime.

Whale Down

whale6
The opening statement about blue whales at Wikipedia reduces to:

“The Blue whale is a marine mammal. At over 108 ft. in length and 200 tons in weight, it is the largest animal ever known to have existed.”

Kathleen and I spent a recent day with some friends along the beaches and woods near Pescadero. We were in a random parking lot when a random woman asked me randomly, “Have you seen the dead blue whale? It’s about a mile south of here.”

Minutes later, we were about a mile south of there.

The next picture was our first view. The whale is in the middle of the photo.

whale7

whale1

whale2

The next two shots won the awards for smelliest photos. The stench was unlike any other I had been gagged by. It wasn’t the fish-decaying-in-the-wild smell. I know that one. This was more like the ocean’s version of barnyard bio-rot, stinky for sure, but soon becoming not all that offensive.

whale3

In the next shot, the dark matter in front is rock. Everything else is whale.

whale4

The end:

whale8

Dualities

When did hot and cold come to exist on earth? Did they appear suddenly on our planet? Or did they arise gradually?

How about long and short?

Large and small.

Young and old.

Good and bad.

Right and wrong.

Does right and wrong rely on humans for its existence?

How about weeds and non-weeds? If there were no humans, would there still be weeds?

These dualities and thousands like them are all ideas. They are concepts. Notions. They are created by and confined to human minds. Before humans existed, human ideas did not exist, and therefore, before humans existed, dualities such as hot and cold did not exist. These dualities require a discriminating human mind trained by generations to discriminate in this uniquely human way. A bird does not label a mountain “old,” just as the mountain does not call the bird “small.”

If I could step outside of my humanness and observe my own thoughts and feelings and also the sum of all human thinking and feeling from the past, present, and future, I would be watching from a perspective where things like “high and low” and “in and out” do not exist. So too, from this place, all human gain and all human loss would be seen as merely another pair of human labels that fritter about inside human minds. And during those precious moments when the duality of gain and loss collapses – nothing I have or don’t have, had or didn’t have, will have or won’t have – nothing I have done or haven’t done – nothing I will do or won’t do – nothing seen or not seen, heard or not heard, felt or not felt – is able to hurt me.

ZZZ Game

Today I would like to share an email I received from my friend Gary Christy.

Gary wrote:

After work last night. Exhausted. Sleepy. Decided to give my poker itch the most minimal scratch—an $11 turbo sit-n-go. Folded twenty or so hands… and fell asleep in my chair, head slumping. My speakers were off, so I wasn’t awakened by any beeps or anything… but I did wake up eventually. There were four of us remaining—I was on the bubble! I was low stack, of course, and my big blind was coming up next. Two red Kings! Wow, what timing! Flop black rags, turn black blank, river black deuce.

Turns out, his pocket deuces were red, too. 

You convinced me to work on my A game. You urged me to work on my C game… but you never warned me about my ZZZ game.

Rorschach Fire

Kay and I went camping. Our friend Wendelin came by for a visit. She was sitting by the fire. It was time for a log, a chosen log, for her viewing pleasure. I placed a log in the fire and walked away. A few minutes later, Wendelin said, “Come here, look at this. It’s a…”

camping-croc

.

The Save

Dear Readership: I wrote this around 1992.

THE SAVE

Darryl sees the table that his leg is about to bump into but his leg bumps into the table anyway. Crash. Woops. Sorry. He’s thinking damn, what are they doing with those stupid skinny wine glasses in here in the first place? Used to be real country people in this bar. The music that was so country, you could track it in the house. Not this teeniebop crap they make in Nashville now. And as if that wasn’t enough, now they’re drinking out of goddamn wine glasses. It deserved to break. Has no business in here.

He maneuvers onto a barstool. All it takes is a glance and a nod to order a shot of house scotch. “Here ya go, Darryl,” says the bartender. “How goes it?”

“Been better.”

Robbie the singer ends the set on a crowd-pleaser. He bounces down from the stage with the pride of a smoothly dismounted gymnast. Straight to the bar, he stands behind Darryl. A glance, a nod, and a beer is on the way. “Here ya go, Robbie. Great set guy!”

“Thanks man! Feel good look good play good!”

Darryl turns his head just far enough to leer back at Robbie. Robbie gives Darryl his best smile as usual. This time, Darryl accepts the invite.

“My brother and me had a band,” says Darryl.

“Really?”

“Yes really. Damn tight band too. We were supposed to open up for George Jones this one time, except George didn’t show up. My brother wrote a song about the whole mess. The crowd was going damn near riot crazy. The song is called, ‘George You Done Us Wrong.’ Kickass little number. You’d probably like it. Then my brother all a sudden up and leaves the band. Moved to Nashville he did, figuring on maybe getting rich writing songs, so he said. Ha! A year later he kills himself. Too bad he couldn’t write a song about that. Might have been a hit. Dumbass. His timing never was for shit.”

“Uh …”

“Don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I see some of him in you I guess. But it wasn’t all that bad for my little brother. Lotta laughs, like this one time, you wouldn’t believe it, we’re all partying hard with one of Willie Nelson’s roadies, and they start betting on darts, and …”

Robbie’s senses inadvertently drift away. He’s looking at Darryl, but he sees the people just beyond. He hears Darryl, but he’s listening to the jukebox.

“… and next thing you know, Willie Nelson’s roadie is using that very same dart to clean coffee grounds out of his teeth. Never seen nothing like it in all my days.”

“You don’t say,” says Robbie.

Robbie sees Marty the bass player approaching. Their eyes meet. Robbie’s eyes roll toward Darryl, then back to Marty, then at the ceiling. Marty gets the message. He walks up to Robbie and says, “Hey Robbie, sorry to butt in, but we need to check the ohmage on the new monitor amp before the next set.”

Darryl knows what’s on a stage. He knows about amps and ohms and he knows that Marty is full of shit. Darryl also knows about rescuing fellow bandmates from babbling drunks. He remembers, and he grins, and his voice drops a few pitches when he says, “Just one second, boys.”

Robbie and Marty stop.

“I’ve heard you play before and I just want to say that ya’ll play pretty good.” He looks at Robbie. “And your singing’s okay too, I mean, for a kid.” Darryl smiles so the other two do too.

“Thanks, old man!”

“Now go on, git. Make some noise.”

The boys gesture a hasty goodbye and walk away while Darryl finishes, “Just remember that the music is always way bigger than you are. You’ll be alright.”