Hello, remember me? I'm the guy that throws shit when he drinks te-kill-ya, yet has
I've got plenty of Vegas stuff to mash out on my lovely, black Dell keyboard, but just don't feel like rehashing events that most others have already blogged about. I have some other, non-blogger related Vegas stories that I'd like tell, but those will have to wait until the weather sucks, or something.
Since I've returned over a week ago, the tourney bug has bitten me. Hard. Right in the scrot. Long "o" sound, folks.
It might have had something to do with my short-lived final table appearance at the Aladdin WPBT that has me so charged, I don't know. I think it also has something to do with tournaments being goal oriented. In ring games, it's just a monotonous grind night after night. You're plugging away, trying to make that bankroll higher than the previous night. There is no end. Sometimes it's just not much fun.
Tournaments, though, there's a definite end. It will only last as long as the stacks can outrun the ever-growing blinds. And that end for me lately, has been consistently on the bubble. I can't outrun those fucking blinds!
I suck at tournament poker. Could you not tell?
I hope you're happy that you made a grown man cry. And I just made myself laugh by saying that I'm a "grown man". At any rate, I'm just not seeing the end of this tournament tunnel.
I am continually making it deep into almost every tournament I enter, but when the depth is 2 hours of sitting, waiting short-stacked for the prime double-up moment, it's not good poker. I just can't seem to accumulate the chips necessary to avoid the "Push Poker Syndrome". PPS for short.
Everybody knows the affliction of which I speak. We've all been there before, I just seem to be there more than most. PPS is when you put yourself in a position as the short-stack late in a tournament, and the only move you have is to push all-in in hopes that either you pick up the blinds, or you get lucky and double up. I'm sure I'm not alone in the opinion that it requires very little skill to execute. In fact, anybody not in a coma can headbutt a mouse with enough precision to hit the "max-bet" button. No skill involved.
And godammit, my head hurts.
A week ago I picked up Harrington on Hold 'Em, and we all know what that means, right? WSOP 2006 champion: someone that's still not me. But, it can't be a bad read for someone that's painfully bad at reading others at the table. This poker thing, it's work, man.
I'm halfway through, and unlike all the other 2+2 books I've read(SSH, TOP), it's a surprisingly easy read. Not that other two were all that difficult, but they contained the patented "Up is down. Sometimes it's up, though. But down can be up when the moon is aligned and there's on player to act on your left. Oh, and the dealer is yawning. That part is important" circular bullshit argument that seem to be so prevelant in SklanskySpeak. He normally gives you an answer--a solution to your poker problem--but never tell you why it's that way. Most of the time, they say "For more information, read pg. 225 of
Some Book That Doesn't Exist, by David Sklansky and Mason Malmuth"
Newsflash: Just busted out of a tourney 10 from the money. Again. SON OF A FUCK!
That's it, I'm going to bed. Hopefully I'll wake up on the right side of it tomorrow morning. Either that, or under a brunette with tig ol' bitties. That would be nice.
Ed. note: The author can neither confirm nor deny his love for large breasts, but he did have something to say at press time.
"What in the fuck am I supposed to do with all that extra boob?!"