Poker? I Damn Near Killed Her
After a brief respite from the tables, I parlayed a Peep into a respectable 32nd place finish last night in the $8K Guaranteed on Full Tilt. I said the finish was respectable. My play was less so. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say my recent cashout triggered the Doom Switch, the card dead one. Of the five pocket pairs I got all night, I was dominated by a higher pair on three of them. I got no action with my QQ. And I donked myself out of the proceedings with the last (Note to self: Underpair is no good to a flopped boat). My problems with small and medium pairs continue. I couldn't possibly play them any more poorly. Even as I recognized this leak a few weeks back, I still seem to have a blind spot, one that I thought I'd illuminated months ago. The lesson, as always, is I'm an idiot.
Since I have reduced my online bankroll to a mere pittance, I am forcing myself to earn tokens for the FT nightly tourneys. I've had good results in the Peep Races (these are semi-esoteric name for the $6+.60 two-table SnGs for the uninitiated, officially known as "Marshmallow Peep Sex" or MPS), winning a token in 75% of my (limited) attempts so far. Last night's installment began maniacally. I doubled up on the fourth hand, raising three limpers with KQ from the button and flopping a Q on a ragged board. UTG limper check-called me all the way down, even when I pushed after a King hit on the river, with (ultimately) third pair, 6 kicker. I was confused by his play during the hand, but, having no read, I went with the default: Moron. I like being right. Nice hand, buddy.
An orbit later, I flopped a set of 7s and a guy I KNEW was a moron pushed over my pot bet with a gutshot. A person (I assume it was a person; you never know) put his valued peep at risk on a four-outer. "You can't expose your peep like that," said facty. Indeed. Though I am guilty of occassionaly doing exactly that on Friday afternoons near the local junior high.
With the lunatics relieved of their chips and off to perpetuate further affronts on the good name of poker, I settled into a rock garden once we got down to seven. We played seven-handed for nearly eight levels. The passivity allowed me to keep near the top of the leaderboard with frequent steals, but I also got no action on two KKs and one QQ. Eventually, the blinds caught up with everyone and players busted in three straight hands, earning me the coveted Peep.
It is nigh impossible for me to describe some of the play I saw in the $8K. Mind-boggling is really the only thing that comes to close. My attempts to quantify certain moves remind me of a drawing AJ recently completed. When I asked what it was, he said, "It's a dinosaur catfish with cow's legs." Seemingly nonsensical, but poignant in the imaginative, tangental mind of a child. The action last night was a similar mash-up of styles. I had the uber-aggressive genuses (genuii?) raising, and calling all-ins, with such luminaries as 22 and KTs. I had the guy with an M of 3 limping in early position. I had the button when I was in the BB coming over the top with the illustrious K7s. The sad part is, for most of three hours, I could only watch and groan at missed opportunity after missed opportunity as I folded 92o yet again. I did punish the limping table with a few late position pushes with garbage and that kept me barely alive until I spiked a river two-outer with 99 against KK.
Back to those small-to-medium pairs, I lost a third of my stack at the end of the first hour by calling an over-the-top push with 77. The guy, who was pretty loose, had TT and doubled up. He then proceeded to call me a "douche" in chat. I ignored it. He'd proven to be a prick already by that time with some of his comments. I would like to point out to you, JCans13, that I played like shit last night and STILL finished 100 slots higher than you. I only wish I hadn't been moved, partly so I could bust you, partly because that table was gorgeous in its stupidity. I pick chunks of guys like you out of my stool.
You pick chunks out of your stool?
I was uncomfortable all night with the play. It just didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. Sure, I knew I could double with a monster, but they were extinct. So when I was looking for spots to make a move, I was unsure, at best. Perhaps the frustration was a catalyst for me over-playing my few pocket pairs. I don't know. I DO know I haven't adhered to the "no set, no bet" mantra with these hands lately. Whether I'm trying to push someone off a better, but weak-ish hand or betting into the nuts or not believing the (obvious in retrospect) betting, I can do nothing right with these hands. I thought I'd stemmed the leak last week with my Final Table. I stayed out of trouble with my pocket 8s and such, but last night was a return to Donkitude. It's almost like my brain shuts off when the flop comes. I long ago recognized the almost worthless value of these hands in Full Tilt tourneys unless you flop a set. I'd even say that goes all the way up to JJ. Somewhere along the line I've lost control. Must. Think. It's that or a Memento-style tattoo on my forehead.
Someone slipped me a roofie last night and when I woke up today realized I'd agreed to play Veneno heads-up this evening. I'd ask that you all keep me in your prayers.
Monday evening (and possibly Sunday afternoon) will mark my triumphant return to the wonder that is Commerce Casino. Their annual Heavenly Hold 'Em series of tournaments is underway and myself and the LAPC Event #1 Champion will be playing the $330 NL event on Monday evening. Consider this an open invitation to come out and watch me fold my way to the third level.
This website/business idea puts me on massive tilt. Dear brain, what am I paying you for?!?! These are the ideas I need! Seriously, what is more consistently profitable than preying on the pocketbooks of horny men? Ask Hef. Or any strip club owner.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you MyFreeImplants.com. Everyone's clothed on the site, but filters will probably deem it NSFW. Basically, men can "donate" to women who are trying to earn enough to get implants. For their "donation," they get to chat with the girls. The owners charge a service fee for donations AND hold onto the money--earning interest--until the girls get enough for their bolt-ons. And now they're getting 130K hits a day, so will to start selling advertising to plastic surgeons.
I'm literally sick that this idea wasn't mine.