It's Only Money

I took a gamble the other day and played poker with the money for my cable bill. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest choice, but I was itching to play and need all the practice I can get. I figured the worst that could happen was I'd pay my cable bill a little late and get hit with a $35 overdraft fee from my bank. Plus, I have grown confident in my game and had a feeling it was going to be a good day.

I made $300, which meant I could pay my cable bill, buy a bike (since Sunshine moved out along with the car), and still have a $200 buy-in for another session.

I played 2/4 limit the next day at Terrible's for seven hours and walked away with a whopping $2 profit, which was pretty good given the fact that I was down almost $100 at two different points in the afternoon and got rivered about six or seven times.

I played 2/4 limit at the Flamingo the following day and the cards refused to fall for me yet again (although I did make a few mistakes as well). I lost $80, leaving me with $120 in my tiny bankroll, so I decided to play $0.50/$1 no-limit at Bill's hoping to get lucky again and double up.

I lost it all.

It would be easy to say I ran bad, which is true. I had AK, AQ, AQo, all in position, and not one of them came though for me. I even three bet $23 with my AQo from a button straddle after the small blind made it $7 and the big blind called. The small blind folded and big blind called my three bet, as well as my $25 c-bet with a KJ after a K came on the flop followed by another one on the river.

I also picked up KK in the big blind when the small blind, a fairly tight player, made it $5 to go. A king came on the flop (giving me top set), along with two diamonds, and he bet $12. I called. He checked the turn, another diamond, and I went all-in. He called, fifth street brought the Jd, and he turns over two red aces. Rivered again.

It's easy to blame bad luck in poker, and sometimes it is the case, but I am also cognizant enough to realize where I made mistakes. For example, I limped in with pocket 10's from UTG and the player to my left, who hadn't played many pots and limped in to those he did, makes it $12, which screams aces or kings. I make a tough laydown and two tens come on the flop (which would have given me a $50 bonus for quads in addition to winning the pot), he pushes the rest of his chip in the middle and flips over KK (my read was right).

Yes, folding was technically the right play--especially given the fact that the player to my left didn't have enough chips in front of him to give me the implied odds I needed to make the call--and the pot was laying me less than 3:1 to hit my set. However, rather than limping with TT (a fairly strong starting hand), I should have raised it to $6. Assuming the guy to my left still made it $12 to go after that and got the same caller, the pot would have been laying me better than 5:1, still not the 8:1 odds of hitting my set, but for another $6, I would have seen the flop.

This brings me to the biggest lesson I took away that day: playing with scared money, a cardinal sin in any poker game, but especially No-Limit Texas Hold'em. Yes, I was playing fairly conservatively because that $120 was the only money I had to play poker with for the next 10 days, and the cards weren't falling for me either, which made me slightly more timid. With a bigger bankroll, I could have afforded to be more aggressive and probably would have taken down several smaller pots I ended up checking down. In theory, I could have done this regardless; I just would have risked a much earlier exit, something I was not interested in doing at the time.

At the end of the day, it was only $120, and I finally internalized the importance of having an adequate bankroll, an extremely valuable lesson. The loss didn't sting nearly as much as losing money has in the past either; I just shrugged my shoulders and walked away, another important step in becoming a poker pro. As my old boss Nat used to say, "That's the price of the education."

Plus, I was still freerolling off of my $300 win at the Riviera a few days before, which allowed me to play an additional 15 hours of poker. Variance will eventually swing in my favor, not to mention I learned a lot, had fun playing poker, bought a bike, and still have a roof over my head--with cable television I might add.

That's a lot to be grateful for.

The Wisdom of Walter Sobchak

"You have got to buck up, man. You cannot drag this negative energy in to the tournament!"

A line from one of my all-time favorite movies: The Big Lebowski. It's one of those films that you can watch over and over again and still pick up new things on each viewing. Take Walter (John Goodman), for example. Although it's not apparent at first given his unhealthy obsession with Vietnam and the fact that he's a tad crazy, Walter is arguably the smartest character in the movie.

For starters, he's well educated, referencing Lenin by his birth name, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov. He waxes philosophical about the tenets of socialism versus nihilism. He's right about the toe not belonging to Bunny, and in the very same scene cites a Supreme Court decision regarding free speech. Walter's initial theory that Bunny kidnapped herself also proves to be almost spot on.

And, of course, there's that little nugget of wisdom at the beginning of this post, which proved to be an invaluable piece of advice for a tournament I cashed in at the Poker Palace yesterday. I've played their daily tournament several times since moving to Vegas a few months ago because the buy-in is cheap and the competition is so soft that anyone with solid poker fundamentals has a great chance of cashing.

I had been pretty card dead the entire time and lost a lot of chips with AKs in position when another guy check-raised me after flopping a set of jacks. A few hands later, someone drew out on me, costing me most of my stack. Situations like these can be very frustrating when you keep watching the lesser-skilled players scoop monster pots after calling raises out of position with cards any decent player would have folded from the get-go.

I went into the first break on tilt. "I'm through with this stupid tournament! We've got to start playing bigger buy-ins so we can play real poker!" I ranted to Sunshine, who reminded me that you cannot push these kinds of players out of pots. I returned to my table still steaming and a little deflated due to my small stack when I heard a voice inside my head.

"You cannot drag this negative energy in to the tournament!"

Walter was right: I didn't stand a chance of surviving without an immediate attitude adjustment, so that's exactly what I did. I purchased my $10 add-on, which made my small stack a little bit bigger, dropped my negativity, and waited for a spot to make my stand.

"All-in," I announced shortly thereafter when I looked down at the 78 of spades in late position, happy to just pick up the blinds and antes, but I quadrupled up when I picked up a set of 8's on the turn. l doubled up again when my well-timed pre-flop raise enticed the player to my right to shove his QTo into my pocket aces and the big blind came along for the ride.

Granted, I got lucky, but no one has ever won a tournament without getting lucky a few times--especially one with starting stacks of 40 big blinds and 15 minute levels. You can't win a tournament on tilt either. Moreover, given the fact that our thoughts influence the world around us, I've no doubt that changing my energy lent itself to the lucky streak that helped me make it to the money.

And I owe it all to the wisdom of Walter Sobchak.

Bitter Haircut

It's been a while since I made a post and right now I'm feeling the same way I was the night I started this blog, which means it's time for some therapy.

A couple hours ago, Sunshine got a text from her boss stating that he had just turned $10 into $500 at the roulette table. Almost immediately she looked at me and said, "That's exactly why you never win anything," even though I hadn't said a word.

But she knew exactly what I had been thinking, and she was exactly right.

Earlier this evening, while Sunshine was at work, I went to the Flamingo to use the $5 in free slot play I received for becoming a Harrah's Total Rewards member. I was hoping to get lucky and double-up then wander over to the blackjack table and win some more. Every gambler's dream, I know, but it was a freeroll.

What I was really trying to do was round up enough money to sit down at a cash game or at least buy into a tournament, so needless to say I was a little jealous when I heard someone else had basically done just that. Moreover, I haven't played in a couple weeks and have been itching to do so, especially tonight.

Lately I keep dwelling on how badly I need money so I can play poker and wishing I had enough to play every day--and not just for the profits; much like soccer, I just love the game. It's as though I'm walking this fine line between passion and addiction.

Sunshine hit the nail on the head though: I'm full of lack (kind of an oxymoron, isn't it?), or at least that's my experience, and one that manifests itself over and over again in my life. It's a vicious cycle that will continue until I change my thoughts.

She was right; I have a hard time being happy for other people. It's a habit I learned from my mom, but there also comes a point where we have to stop blaming our parents for everything that's "wrong" with us. My buddy Ernie sold a pilot to Fox a few months ago, and even though I told him I was stoked for him, in the back of my mind I was also thinking, "Why can't something like that happen to me?"

Until I can genuinely be happy for others' good fortunes, I will never have any good fortunes of my own.

"So how do I get to the point where I am genuinely happy for other people?" I asked Sunshine.

"Stop focusing on the lack. You're so wrapped up in it, when something good happens to someone else, it becomes one more reminder of what you don't have. Learn to be okay with your life the way it is."

I'm lucky to have someone in my life who always seems to tell me exactly what I need to hear.

By now you might be wondering why I titled this post "Bitter Haircut." It's because I've had long hair for the past five or six years, but this afternoon I chopped it off. I've had several job interviews since moving to Vegas three months ago, but no offers, so I thought my hair might have something to do with it. It was never a problem in LA when I was working in entertainment, but Vegas seems more conservative and a lot of the positions I've been interviewing for have been corporate.

I actually made an appointment a couple weeks ago, but chickened out at the last minute (apparently, I was still "attached" to my long hair). I was afraid of ending up with a dorky haircut, like so many of the styles from my past. Interestingly enough, that's exactly what I got, and it's the worst haircut I've ever had. Our thoughts really do influence the world around us.

It's like Wayne Dyer says, "Change the way you look at the world and the world you look at changes."

Easy for him to say, he doesn't have any hair! ;-)

Attachment

I'm a sore loser.

I realized that today while playing Scrabble with Sunshine. I kept making 5 and 6 letter words yet she was still managing to rack up more points. All I could think was, "I have a B.A. in English from USC and I'm losing a game of Scrabble to someone who didn't even speak the language until she was 14 years old," a egoic thought that ultimately ruined a friendly game because I started bitching after every turn.

It reminded me of the way I had so often acted when our soccer team was on the receiving end of an ass-kicking: talking shit, taking cheap shots, and insulting the referee who showed me a much deserved red card. Basically, being a total jerk with no regard for good sportsmanship.

Then I remembered the time I got ejected from a summer baseball game for telling the umpire, "You suck," after he called strike three on a pitch I felt was clearly outside. I even challenged him to a fight as my coach, who happened to be a minister, politely ushered me off the field. The umpire and I were classmates who had butted heads in the past, which may have influenced the call, but that does little to excuse my behavior. I'm just glad my mom wasn't at the game that day.

I can be pretty unpleasant to be around when I bust out of a poker tournament too, cursing at the computer as if my opponents could actually hear what I was saying. A couple of times I have gone as far as flinging an insult over the chat box. Doyle Brunson was right on the money in Super System when he wrote...

"If you wanted to use poker just for a test of character, solely to learn about the men you'll have to deal with away from the poker table, it would be a telling test."

...and one I have failed on several occasions.

Ironically enough, I tend to think of myself as a pretty nice guy, and anyone who knows me would most likely tell you the same thing. Nonetheless, these childish outbursts have understandably put a strain on my relationship with Sunshine and represent an aspect of my personality in dire need of self-examination.

Why do I act this way?

The answer itself is simple (ego) but the implications are far more complex. For the sake of simplicity, let's look to Buddhist philosophy rather than expound upon the ideas of guilt and separation at a metaphysical level (I'll save that for another post).

The second of Buddhism's Four Noble Truths states that, "The origin of suffering is attachment," which makes complete sense. People get upset when their house catches fire because they're attached to the material possessions burning up inside. Sadness often accompanies break-ups because one, or both, partners are attached to the other person. The same concept holds true for losing a loved one.

I get upset when I lose because I'm attached to winning.

Like most people, I'm also attached to money. I want to live a comfortable life with the means to support my family and the freedom to do the things that make me happy (or more accurately, bring about the illusion of happiness, but that too is a topic for another day), such as travelling and eating at nice restaurants. Money can make my dreams a reality and success at the poker table can generate the necessary capital.

So every time I lose money playing poker, it serves as a brutal reminder of all the things I don't yet have and I suffer, but as soon as I let go of these attachments, I'll no longer have a reason to be upset. Easier said than done, I'll admit; fortunately, I have the wisdom of Star Wars to aide me in my journey...

YODA: Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is.

ANAKIN: What must I do, Master Yoda?

YODA: Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.