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Poker Therapy
Jan 27th
In elementary school I got beat up everyday by Jarett Moore. We were about the same size, but for some reason when he picked on me, I wouldn’t fight back.
Thirty years later the sense of shame for never fighting back is still palpable. Actually, it’s embarrassing and haunting. The only comfort I have in these memories is that by not fighting back I probably avoided living my life with a limp. Had I somehow managed to level Jarett, his brother or one of his 57 cousins would have removed my head and shat down my throat. R.I.P.
After thirty years on the shrink’s couch, I have finally learned to stand up for myself, though sometimes my timing is bad. Whenever there is a bully at the poker table, I always have the same knee jerk reaction: you’re not going to push me around. This is great when I have the nuts, but when I am on a stone cold bluff and Joe Bully re-raises, this reaction is a recipe for disaster.
Problem is, I never believe people’s bets. My rational brain thinks there is a chance I am beat, but my alligator brain says, EAT THAT FISH. You see, I have this gift. With 99% accuracy, I can mistakenly think someone is bullying me when they are not.
I realize that the poker table is a very expensive and completely unsympathetic place to work out my childhood turmoils. When I am feeling strong, I look for and attack the poor suckers who have the tell tale signs of being in poker therapy. And yet some nights my childhood gets the better of me. I am the sucker and have a very expensive poker therapy session.
You’d think by now I would pick a new place to work this out, but I have come to terms with the fact that from time to time I will find sadistic comfort in being picked on. I guess I am addicted to the rush of confrontation and the challenge of standing up to the bully. Even if the only person I am fighting with is myself.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
Sometimes I need a break from Dockers and fat free salad dressing.
Jan 22nd
A man can not be sustained on good, wholesome family life alone. Or, at least, I can’t. On a regular basis I like to head to my local casino, Hollywood Park. It’s not just for the poker either. The place is a real melting pot and I get to rub elbows with people from walks of life I may never have the chance to otherwise.
I know a lot of people that are alarmingly similar. CPAs, dentists, and an assload of regional managers. As you might guess, this gets boring. The casino, on the other hand, is full of characters that you would probably would never meet anywhere but the casino.
I love it.
Playing with people from all walks of life is what makes poker great. I can’t think of a better common denominator. I learn more about humanity at the table than I would at a lifetime of Neighborhood Watch meetings. Okay fine, I don’t go to Neighborhood Watch meetings. That’s what regional managers are for. Where else can I hear from an ex-gangleader the way to make money is buying foreclosed homes from HUD, Housing Urban Development or something like that. Dude was a millionaire. Or maybe he was lying. Either way I don’t care. I’m definitely not going to meet the rock tight porn director at one of these sushi rolling parties my wife tells me we’ve been invited to. Actually maybe I would. But at the sushi party he’s not going into the details of the girl on girl scene gone bad because one of the actresses had some bad ceviche for lunch.
I play poker to meet people I normally wouldn’t.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
Poker is a dream maker
Jan 20th
At some point in your life, you have to let go of some of your childhood dreams. Still 5 foot 3? You can put your NBA dreams to rest. Still playing pony league in your 20s? Probably won’t go to the MLB. Fail your medical boards for the 5th time? Surgery career out the door. Don’t get me wrong. I am fan of “anything is possible”. I’m a poker player, right? But let’s get real, sometimes you can tell things will never happen.
For me, I had a pretty good run as an independent musical artist. I played for some pretty large crowds, basked in the glory of the standing ovation and heard my music on TV, film and radio. However, when I turned 30, I could see the writing on the wall. I was never going to be a rock star. 10 years later, the only thing I miss is having that dream of being a star. Enter poker.
Poker is the dream that never dies. It doesn’t even discriminate. There are sharks of all ages sizes and shapes. 90 year old rocks, wheel chair bound chip slingers, and even the occasional blind man with a seeing eye sweater. You try walking into the Super Bowl all suited up demanding your shot. It’s not going to happen. But if you have $10,000 or were lucky enough to suck out on me in one of the bajillion satellites I played to get into the WSOP, all the power to you. You’re in and get your chance to join the elite ranks of the poker greats. What’s even more enticing is that the vast majority of WSOP bracelets are won by unknown players. It’s like Rocky every summer in Vegas.
Most of us will never bat against C.C. Sabathia or catch a pass from Brette Favre. But for the rest of our lives, poker players will have a chance to feel like a pro. If you’re ballsy (and rich), I’m sure a variety of pros from Doyle to Durr would be happy to meet you at Bobby’s room. Probably at this very moment. Who knows, you might even beat them in a pot. If that’s bigger than your poker budget, you can go for the glory by chasing a bracelet. It’s a more affordable way to get the rush of playing with the pros. And if that isn’t enough, remember you always have a chance to be the “lucky bastard” to put Phil Hellmuth on tilt. Poker is truly a dream maker.
I play to keep the big dream alive.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
For more about making it big in poker read the following article:
http://www.pokerdownloadlink.com/how-to-win-at-poker/
The Host Gift
Jan 18th
I finally get an invite to the home game I’ve been subtlety lobbying to get into.
This is a group of the cool dad’s from my son’s pre-school. I casually let them know I play poker, and then patiently wait to be invited into the inner circle. It’s like dodgeball in elementary school. I desperately want to be included in the fun, but inevitably feel like the last one chosen.
Now that I have the invite, my next concern is what to bring for the host gift. This is after all, a friendly game. After too much deliberation, I settle on a bottle of wine. Not the good stuff of course, I want to be gracious, not stupid. Does this make me a bad person? Probably, but I’m just trying give the right gift for the right situation. It’s like trying to read an opponent. In this situation I think the B minus wine is enough to drag in the pot.
I arrive at the game, offer my wine to the host and take my seat with other guys. Tonight is going to be good. I am definitely going to fit in here. Until I don’t.
The guys start commenting on the wine they are drinking. Tannin this, velvet that. Uh oh. My okay wine is now a ticking time bomb ready to expose me as Mr. Cheap. Now I know I am fucked.
I silently accept defeat. I was outplayed at the wine game. No biggie. Just like when I take a licking at the poker table, I do some evaluation, make some adjustments and try not to repeat the same mistakes.
Thankfully, these guys aren’t nearly as judgmental as I am. A couple quips about my wine being sub-par, I’m off the hook. And the best news is that while these guys know wine, they don’t know shit about poker. But tonight, I don’t really care. I’m happy to just make new friends. It’s just gravy that these new friends will call a big raise with J8 in early position.
Even though the game is juicy, I’m just playing to make friends and drink (someone else’s) good wine.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
Latin Ballroom or Pass the Trash
Jan 17th
I’ve been married for 10 years, have 2 kids and almost no time to myself. If you count my internet porn babes as company, then I do in fact have no time to myself. When I get a call to join a neighbor’s home game on a random Wednesday night, I think to myself, “What would I rather do? Watch the finale of So You Think You Can Dance with my wife, or hang out with the guys smoking pot, telling lies and acting like a 15 year old.” Hmmmmmmmmm
I arrive at the game a bit giddy. This night is going to be fun. Buy in is $80 and it’s dealer’s choice. Everyone hates NLH at home games. It’s too slow, too restrictive…requires too much talent! I know this going in. We are going to play games that are just a hair above roulette in skill level. Shit, I was going to be watching Tiffany and Raj do the Latin Ballroom, even if I lose $80 at stupid games of chance, I’m a winner. I’ll gladly play 3 hours of “Pass The Trash” if I can escape the suffering of a round of comments from the faggy dancing judges about how much Raj extended his arms during the pirouettes. Not that I have a problem with gay or dancing. But really? Is this even a contest?
Tonight I am catching bad cards. Couple that with missing some of the “subtleties” of Pass the Trash and I am thru my first buy in. It’s only 8:30. Raj is still doing pirouettes. RE-BUY!
At 9:07, my second buy-in is gone. Raj or chips? Raj or chips? Raj or chips? It’s a tough one, but at this point I need to acknowledge the grace and beauty of Raj’s dancing. He actually does have a place in my life. When all the money is gone and there is absolutely nothing left to do, Raj is the answer.
I come home. My wife remarks that I am home early. Bad night. I take my place on the couch and manage to show some enthusiasm when I ask, “Hey did I miss Raj and Tiffany?” “Nope“‘ she says, “just in time.” I force a smile and say, “Great! Can’t wait to see them really nail this Latin Ballroom.”
Sometimes I play poker to postpone the inevitable.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
It’s a little uncomfortable, but I definitely like it.
Jan 15th
Yes. It’s a golden horsehoe up my ass joke. It was that good of a night. It was the night of nights. The kind of night that can make you forget bad beats happen to you. Ever.
This was the type of night that can make a poker junkie for life. I could chase this dragon for years and never even come close to the dumb luck I was experiencing.
4–6 under the gun? I think I can stand a raise. After all, I do have a golden horseshoe up my ass. Sure the initial raiser made a set of 8’s on the flop. I know. I get it. But can’t you see the horseshoe peeking from the waistband of my cargo shorts? I’m going to make a straight. I call your all in bet with a gut shot. Tonight, It’s not about the cards. It’s not about position. It’s not about good reads. It’s all about my lucky golden horseshoe.
What am I going to do? Fight it? Fold my Q6 because it’s weak. No way. I’m riding this out. I’ve certainly been on the receiving end no it’s my turn to enjoy.
It doesn’t take long for my opponents to become aware of the horseshoe. They soon become a bunch of checking, folding broken men. They can’t bet into me. Their only solace is they recognize they’re too weak to fight the horseshoe, but can live to fight another day.
Tomorrow I can go back to smart poker. Tonight I’ll just sit back and be happy to be lucky. I even offer a half-hearted apology once in a while to the endless barrage of bad beats I’m delivering. I like to think I have enough manners to pretend to be a nice guy. Although, I may come off as slightly insincere when I’m weeping with laughter as I choke through something lame like “Tough one, buddy!”
Needless to say, it was a pretty good night.
I play poker for the nights I am unstoppable.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
Am I here to make friends, or money?
Jan 11th
I was eager to accept when I received an invite to my neighbor’s home game. The last few months have been all about changing diapers and feeding formula to my 6 month old at all hours of the night, I need a night out. The buy-in is $60 and I figure a night of male bonding and fart jokes is worth at least that. Sometimes just getting out of the house is a win.
I think to myself, let’s play loose. Be social. Go with the flow. Get to know the guys. Make it more about the hang, than playing poker. First hand we play, I can’t help myself. The competitive spirit in me gets unconsciously ignited and I play aggressive deceitful, dare I say “good” poker. Suddenly I get drunk with the knowledge that I am clearly the best poker player at this table. I prey on these poor suckers who don’t know my style by making a stone cold bluff and win. Oops, just took $30 off my neighbor. Next hand, I catch a real hand and win, another $20 from him. Fuck, I need to slow down, or at least stop taking money from my neighbor. Next few hands I show some discipline: folding donkey hands so I don’t suck out on someone and make them mad.
I manage to slow down and focus on talking to the guys. Then it all changes. Billy, the stoner to my left who is a dead ringer white version of Will.i.am, breaks out a perfectly rolled spleef from the Farmacy (god bless Los Angeles). I jump at the chance to smoke some weed ( I did happen to notice several bags of gummi bears on the counter. This is going to be a good night.) I take a few puffs and just like that, stoned.
The next hand is PLO 8 or better. Now let me just say that I completely suck at this game. I figure this is a good time for a little give back to secure next week’s invite. Fast forward to me hitting a straight flush on the river. A steel wheel none the less. The stone cold nuts if there ever were any. There is a pause. One of the guys says to me, Why so quiet? You got the straight flush? I am so stoned and stunned all I can say is, “Yes, yes I do.” Then I bet, get four callers and take it down. Another $40 from my neighbor, along with about $100 in the pot. What a time to be getting cards. I just want to fit in, hang with the guys, get invited back. Now I am the jackass who smokes the free weed, has a horseshoe up his ass and takes money from the host.
Most of the time, I play poker to win money, get an adrenaline rush, act a little bit irresponsible, but this time I really just wanted to get out of the house, meet some new guys and maybe even expand my social circle. I had a different reason for playing poker tonight, but the cards wouldn’t cooperate. Sometimes you have the weapons when you are trying to make friends. Other times you get caught naked when you’re among the wolves. Poker is a cruel game that way. An unpredictable, ruthless rollercoaster. And that’s why I love it.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
Fucking Stanley
Jan 11th
“C’mon Stanley, show your hand! You bet, I called, you show.” There’s a big sigh. A shrug. Another sigh. A very long pause. “C’mon is my straight good?” I ask impatiently. Stanley gives yet another sigh and turns over the nuts.
He’s slow rolling again.
“Oh, that’s slowrolling?” He asks coyly. “I’m sorry, Dude.” Yeah, right. He knows he has my number. He’s just one of those guys that’s gets under my skin.
Why do I choose to spend my Monday nights with this guy? The rest of the week I’m surrounded, mostly, by people that want my life to be better. Not this guy. He wants me guessing whether I’m coming or going. He wants me on the verge of getting up and leaving the table. Nothing would make him happier than to hear “Fuck you , Stanley” and wait for the door to slam.
You know what?
I love it. I even love him. He’s a living, breathing, slow rolling workout for my patience and anger management. You know what else? I’m getting in better shape. What used to send me into a murderous rage now only barely irks me. I know what’s coming and I roll with it. I wish I could say I have a zen-like amusement about it all, but I don’t.
So here we are again. Stanley bet. I called. I wait. He’s really Hollywooding. “I’m vulnerable” He says. “Just show it.” I say. Reluctantly, he turns over a full house. “I have the small one.” He says with a smirk. “That’s good…” I say. Then I wait. And proceed “…because I have the big one. Oh, is that slowrolling? My bad, dude.”
I play poker to say “Push those chips a little closer to me, bitch.” Okay, so I still hold a little resentment.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
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