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

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