High On Poker

8:10 AM on a Saturday. That’s when Alceste was supposed to pick me up for our trip down to AC. That’s right, folks. I woke up BEFORE 8 am on a Saturday. Aside from maybe golf, I don’t see myself waking up that early for any reason other than poker. That’s for sure.

So, I’m still cleaning the crust from my eyes when Alceste pulled up. I piled into the car, wearing my High on Poker t-shirt, a white hoodie, my green cargo pants with a dozen zipped up pockets, and my backpack, stuffed with random assorted crap. I swear, I travel like a hobo or a boy scout, always prepared.

We took the drive over to pick up Dawn Summers and when she finally came out to join us, he boyfriend was in tow. Since Dawn recently bought a Beamer, let’s just call the boyfriend Beamer too, since it matches nicely with his real name and I’m not sure if his name is public. Beamer, as it turns out, was a very affable guy and I wholly approve.

The drive down to AC wasn’t too bad, and we arrived in 2.5 hours or so. Our first stop was the Official Atlantic City Casino/Hotel of HighOnPoker, the Showboat. It was about 11:10am when I go to the poker cashier cage and bought my way into the 11am tournament for $125. Alceste also bought into the tourney, but Dawn went for cash and Beamer decided to search out some blackjack (shiver).

The tourney started off well enough. There were maybe 5 or 6 people already sitting and the other seats were all dead stacks at my table. After a hand or two, I was dealt KK and decided to simply call the 300 raise from an EP player. I got the sense that while I was away, people were stealing the dead stacks’ blinds like mad, so I hoped to conceal the strength of my hand and maybe let the raiser catch a pair. Now, normally, I raise with KK here. I’m not stupid. But the stacks were 15,000 and the blinds were 50/100, so I felt like changing things up.

The flop came down Q8x. I figured I was good, so when my opponent bet out (300 again, I think), I decided to just flat call. There wasn’t much that could hurt me, as there wasn’t even a flush draw out there. The turn was another Queen, and this got me very nervous. My opponent bet 500 or so, so I decided just to flat call. He might have KQ, AQ, hell, QJ, so I didn’t need to lose too much on this hand. If I raise, he has the option of re-raising me big, and I don’t want to give him that chance.

The river was another Queen. Ah. I can’t tell you 100% why, but for some reason, I knew that he didn’t have the case Queen at this point. Ok, maybe I figured, odds-wise, that it was unlikely, but it felt like more than that. My opponent bet out 1,000, and I barely hesitated before raising to 5,000. I figured if he had the Queen, he’d push, so when he called, I knew I was good. I showed my KK for QQQKK, and he showed his counterfeited 88, for QQQ88. In case you missed it, he flopped a set of 8s and turned a full house, so that river was tragic for him. I had 4 outs and I didn’t even know it.

I still was only up a small amount, though, and I ended up giving it back to a calling station that I did not realize was a calling station when I decided to try to push him off of a hand. That sucked, but lesson learned. Amazingly, though, I was the only one who learned the lesson, as I then watched three other players try to push him off of hands, including one that he won with 22 and all overcards on the board.

Our table broke when I was still at about 12,500, but blinds were escalating and everything went to shit at the 400/800 blind level. I was in the SB with my 12,500 or so and called the extra 400, holding 67o. There were three late position limpers. The flop was 58J, giving me an open-ended straight draw. It checked around. The turn was a 9, giving me my straight. I bet out and faced a raise from late position. I had already seen the guy raise another players’ bet and I didn’t think that he would play the only hands I feared from LP (QT and T7, the only two better straights). I called and when the river Ace came out, I pushed for a modest sum. He called and showed QTo and I was out.

Lemon!

I put my name on the 1/2 NLHE list (3rd on the list) and found a spot at an empty blackjack table, where I took out a magazine and killed some time. I was called for a 1/2 game about 15 minutes later.

I sat down around the 7 seat. About that same time, a guy in the 3 seat was moving to the 4 seat. Whenever I sit at a new table, I look at stack sizes first, then at the players themselves to get a feel for (a) how their day is going thus far, and (b) whether it looks like they have a clue. I want to sit on the left of the bigger stacks/better players. I also want to avoid being to the right of the looser players, since it can significantly limit one’s ability to know when it is safe to act. So, when the 3 seat, who we will call Marty Gras, in honor of the Mardis Grah beads he was wearing (they give them out free at the New Orleans-themed Showboat entrance), moved a seat over, I decided to change my seat as well. I changed mostly because the guy on my immediate left looked like a loose cannon, a squat, bald, angry/goofy looking (that’s one helluva combination), Hispanic guy in his mid-30s. To his left was a chick and a rock-ish looking older gentleman. When I moved, I had Marty Gras on my immediate left, which wasn’t necessarily ideal. But at least I had better position on the hispanic gent, who had a decent stack, and the players near me didn’t particularly conern me.

Marty had been waiting for a seat when I was waiting, so I had saw him earlier and he appeared to be a rather fun-time type guy. From our conversations at the table, that seemed accurate, too. We buddied up pretty quickly. He was all about having a good time. He wore sunglasses, but clearly wasn’t taking the game too seriously. According to him, he was just killing time waiting for a free mp3 player drawing. He asked, “What’s an mp3 player anyway? I’ll probably just give it to my nephew.” He was also allegedly up several grand from table games.

To my right was a woman in her 40s or so, who seemed all business, but after a while, she got into the fun, too. I will admit, I was a bit bored at the table, so I started the gimmicks, meant largely to loosen up a table. I started with the classic min-raise toughguy. Basically, I announce “RAISE” like I’m a tough guy and then violently through $4 into the pot. It is truly remarkable how often I win those pots, particularly after getting many preflop calls and some flop calls; I guess people just get thrown off their game by the antics. But they all laugh, too, and that’s key.

Yesterday (Monday), I received an email from one of the players who joined the table in the 1 seat about a half-hour to an hour after I sat down, who we will call ASG. He arrived just as I started the min-raise toughguy routine. This is what he had to say about the table:

“I can honestly say it was an enjoyable time playing with you on Saturday. Too many of the ‘pros’ don’t realize you can both keep people at the table and not notice your skill just by not being so serious all the time. Most of the casual players are just looking for a good time and some free drinks (myself included) so being a little sociable goes a long way. It was even memorable enough that I remembered to check out your blog. Some good reads in there.”

Thanks, ASG! He really hit on the point of the antics. It’s to enjoy my time at the table, and hopefully make it a fun experience for everyone. After all, you can’t call your opponents out as slowrolling cocksuckers every time you play, or you’d be miserable.

Amazingly, though, the min-raise toughguy gimmick had an unexpected result. It basically caught on like wildfire, and soon three or so other players were stealing my gimmick, raising preflop to $4 and/or continuation betting $2 or $4. In fact, it sorta ruined the table for a while, because it dried up the action. So, it wasn’t a 100% success, but it was fun nonetheless. Eventually, things loosened up again, mainly when I raised an actual amount larger than $5 and got some joking flack from the min-raise toughguy disciples. But whatever the case, the mood was set, and aside from the angry squat Hispanic across the table from me (who I would catch at times glancing at me with the mixed look of, “WTF, man!” and “Nobody loves Eeyore.”) , it was a real funtime table.

Sadly, I spent most of my time down about $100-150 from my $300 stack, but eventually went on a late tear, peaking at probably only $150 or so up, and ending at $55 profit at cash (-$70 total, because of the $125 tournament loss). Meanwhile, Alceste was continuing the tradition that whenever I play a Showboat tourney with friends, one of us inevitably makes the money. He made it to the top 5 spots, ITM, and then did a five-way chop. At the time, he was the bigstack with all of 10.5 BB, so it was a no-brainer chop. He took down close to a grand for his efforts.

It was already 3pm or so when Alceste finished his tourney and I was feeling hungry. The only thing I had to eat was an egg sandwich at 8am. Normally, I eat very regularly. Eating is one of my hobbies. I even do it at least 3x a day. But when I play poker, skipping a meal or waiting to eat is no issue. So, I was definitely hungry at 3pm, but I should’ve been fucking starving.

Dawn got up from her cash game as well, and the three of us went to Showboat’s House of Blues restaurant, where B joined us halfway through our meal. He had actually been at the very other end of the Boardwalk, at the Tropicana, before returning to join us. The food was decent, but not great. The blackened chicken sandwich I ordered lacked flavor; the fries were fries. Alceste’s catfish nuggets looked good, but the mac & cheese also lacked flavor. Dawn did not seem too impressed by her buffalo chicken fingers, but they tasted ok to me. And yes, I have no shame when it comes to eating off of other peoples’ plates.

After our meal, we decided to change scenery, and headed over to Harrahs, a hotel away from the main Boardwalk stretch. Upon arrival, we headed to the poker room, where Alceste and I were seated at the same 1/2 NLHE table. We each bought in for $300 at the cage before returning to the table and realizing that maybe two or three other people at the table of 9 had stacks over $150. There were a couple of players who bought in for $60, the minimum, and would just reload every time they went busto. That’s not a bad table to be at if you don’t mind $60 swings and you like to gamble, but it isn’t ideal, either, since potential wins are capped and you don’t have the opportunity for more complex play/decision-making. Frankly, we should’ve both requested a table change, but since our table was already not full, it would take a while before the casino would let us move and the competition seemed butter-soft.

I lost my first hand with QQ. Preflop, I raised to $12, I think, and got one or two callers. For the record, after this hand, I did not get any other two-digit preflop calls besides on debacle of a hand we’ll discuss in a minute. Any other time, if I bet $10 or more, everyone folded. It was really a shitty table, in hindsight (hell, I knew it at the time, too…my bad). The flop was J65. I don’t remember the exact betting pattern, but I ended up doubling up a player with 66 (for a flopped set). I remember when he raised me, I thought that this was the kind of chump to make that play with TPTK. I was right, probably, but this time, he actually had a set, so I was down $150 or so pretty quickly.

I fought my way back with small pots, all the time chatting with the table and having fun. It was just one of those days. I was trying to enjoy myself and succeeding. My neighbor to the left was a tough-looking guy in his late 20s/early 30s. He wasn’t big, but carried himself in a manner that let you know that he wasn’t one to fuck with. We became buddies quickly and chatted for most of the game.

I was recovering from my early losses nicely when an Asian gentleman wearing a black sportscoat over a black t-shirt sat down next to Alceste. Rumor had it from my side of the table that he was a dealer from Borgata. Alceste raised from EP to $7 and I raised to $21 with my TT. The Asian guy called from the BB and everyone else folded. The flop was T64 or something similar. Now, Asian guy was one of those short buy-in guys, and he only had less than $50 left behind him, so when he checked to me, I checked as well. I was hoping he’d hit an Ace and think he was good, or would otherwise just bluff the turn, because obviously, if I checked in that situation, I must have missed my two over cards. The turn was a 9 and he pushed. I practically insta-called. At showdown, though, he showed his 78o for the Ten-high straight. If I bet him off of the hand on the flop, I’d be counting his money. As it were, he caught his 4 outter and I paid him off. LEMON!

About 2 hands later, he left our table and went to the table right behind us. Some of the players were calling it a dick move (to take my money and run), but it didn’t bother me. These things never do, since I accept that people can do whatever they want with their money, even if the money was formerly mine. BUT, this was another funtime table, with a lot of lighthearted smack talk, so I got up with a stack of chips, walked to the Asian’s new table, and sat in the seat immediately to his left and stared him down. He looked at me, kinda guiltily as I stared him down for about .5 seconds before laughing and telling him good luck; I then returned to my table. I was just busting chops and having a good time. After all, if you are not winning, you have to do whatever you can to enjoy yourself.

Paul-in-the-Hamily was also at Harrahs, coincidentally, and he joined us for our last hour or so at the table after Alceste spotted him and I called him over with a “Pauly! KA-KAW!” It’s the signal. Paul’s addition just made for more funtimes at the table, as I treaded water.

With that in mind, the drinking began in earnest around 8:30, since we had agreed to a 10pm exit time. By 10pm, I was down $144 at Harrahs, which really equals my initial loss of QQ v. 66. Amazing how in the end, it all can really come down to one significant hand.

The ride home was easy. The company made for a good time as we chatted about all sorts of random shit. I got home a little after 1am, satisfied by the poker, even if my pocket was $214 lighter.

Until next time, make mine poker!

Through Riggstad, I found a great post by Loretta8 which quite astutely explains some of the issues with the BBT payouts. Go read Loretta’s post for the details, but he makes some general comments about how unfortunate it is that people do not actually play in the WSOP after winning a seat, instead deciding to keep the cash. Now, I’ll tell you right now, I am one of those people, and frankly, that will be the focus of this post. But let me quickly summarize some of Loretta’s points first.

The first point is simply that if people do not play the WSOP using the seats won from FullTilt via the BBT, then FullTilt is not getting the intended benefit of the free prizes. Presumably, FT is willing to make such generous offers because they hope to have the winners wear FT gear (as a FT ad) when playing in the WSOP. I don’t think this is the sole benefit to FT, since they also get an ass-ton of linkage from blogs, but it’s a good point Loretta makes.

Loretta then goes on to explain that it is not necessarily the bloggers’ fault, either, since FT did little to help him get to the WSOP when he won his seat via a prior BBT. He had difficulty making the withdrawal and FT pretty much shortchanged him $2,000 (it’s more complicated than that, but this is just background). FT also didn’t advertise or promote the BBT, which would’ve been mutually beneficial to blogs in general, the BBT and FT by gaining more players, more rake, more visibility, and more players who are playing to actually get into the WSOP.

But this last one is all mine. If FullTilt wanted to create a series of tournaments for bloggers that would be played to send a blogger or bloggers to the WSOP, they should have done that. Instead, they (reasonably) relied upon the already-established weekly blogger tourneys. That was their mistake, although not an obvious mistake at the time. Here is why:

I play the blogger tourneys, whether they are under the BBT or not. So if I plan on playing in blogger tourneys nearly weekly and then someone says, “Hey weekly tournament, here is some extra stuff,” I am not going to suddenly stop playing because of free stuff. It doesn’t work that way. On the other hand, if Full Tilt decided to make their own series of tourneys with the express intention that the winner(s) will go to the WSOP, I would choose not to play because I knew I couldn’t play in the WSOP.

Let me put it this way: When I first won a TOC seat, I was very glad. When I won another and then a third one, suddenly, I was in contention to actually earn a WSOP $2k package via the BBT. Was I then supposed to stop playing because I knew I couldn’t go? I never intended, when I signed up for my first BBT tourney, to go after the WSOP seats. That’s why I had played so few tourneys. I was leaving it up to the players who could go. But when it was in my grasp, was I supposed to turn away $2,000? Of course not!

On a side note, there is another simple solution to FT’s woes: pay a reduced amount if the money is not used for the WSOP. I don’t know how this could be done (perhaps pay out the seat in cash at the WSOP in person to the winners, and if the person no-shows, send them 75 or even 50% into their FT account), but it could be done. And I wouldn’t mind it either. That would be FT’s perogative, as long as they announce it in advance.

My basic point is this: You can’t lead a thirsty horse to water and then force him not to drink.

Of course, FT hasn’t really made any statements on the issue, and frankly, they probably don’t care. More likely, the BBT is ending because it takes a lot of work for a few people and there isn’t any discernible benefit to anyone but the bloggers. I don’t have a problem with FT or the BBT, and I certainly don’t have any problems with the main organizer of the BBT, AlCantHang. Quite the opposite, I thank them all for their generosity.

Until next time, make mine poker!

It seems like the audience is split when it comes to whether it ever makes sense to show hands, but from the answers, two potential dividing lines seem to be the cause for the rift. The first is whether a player is an online poker player or a live player; the second is the style of a person’s play or perhaps it is better worded as their overall theory on poker.

The first dividing line, the online vs. live divide, makes perfect sense. I come from a live poker background, from playing cards as kids to setting up homegames to eventually making trips to underground NYC clubs and AC (next trip, this Saturday). Online poker came into play after my home game had been running for a while, so my heart is in live poker. After all, I’ve repeatedly called online poker the methadone of my live poker heroin habit.

For an online player, showing cards makes a lot less sense than to a live player. This overlaps a lot with the next dividing line, so I will try to limit this analysis to the differences between online and live play, as opposed to the different playing styles between online and live play. For an online player, there is a lot less information available. There is some information and some online poker players may argue that there is a lot of information, but its of a different sort. In online play it makes little sense to show your cards because you can never be sure what the effect will be. Are the other players even paying attention? Are they six-tabling, such that when you think they saw your exposed cards and will play accordingly, the reality is that they missed the exposed cards entirely?

Also, if you are willing to accept that less information is available in online play, the incremental information given to your opponents by exposing your cards can be a lot more damaging. After all, if all they know is that your name is HighOnPoker (indicating loose play or an action junkie) and that your icon is a white, fluffy dog (indicating, potentially, an ironic sense of humor given the name or a softer image if you were to assume that the person loves fluffy little dogs) then showing that you are willing to call with 75o to defend your BB is a lot of incremental information. It can essentially verify that nebulous image (created by name and avatar, as well as play where cards were not exposed) of looseness that can be exploited later by your opponents. As Blinders correctly pointed out in his comment, if I show that I am willing to play the hammer, even if I adjust accordingly, at some point I will play the hammer again, and some players may be ready for it. (Note: I play and show the hammer for many reasons that are really irrelevant to this discussion, but the point by Blinders was well-made).

Also, there are a lot more hands in online play, so changing gears is a different situation. In a live game, over an hour, we may see 30 hands or so, whereas in an online game, we can potentially see twice as many. Plus, with players changing at a much faster rate online, one’s image is constantly being reset as new players sit.

Consider this. In a live game, if you donk up an early hand and then show for tilt value, you are are also advertising that you are one loose mofo, meaning that when you play your AA later, you are more likely to get paid off. That might happen 3 hours from now, because once your opponent gets an image in his head, its hard to shake. Your LAG image may continue for a loooong while, even though you hadn’t reached another showdown in a while. In contrast, at an online game, players cycle through a lot quicker and table image is a lot less certain. By acting a certain way in a live game, I can get my cards to have greater meaning in the eyes of my opponents (for instance, acting like a goofball). Online, that is a lot harder, since self-expression is limited to chat (which can be ignored or overseen) or play (which can be expensive).

The other dividing line, style of play, is somewhat related to online vs. live because those games favor different styles. Online poker may favor a more mathematical approach to the game, in which case showing your hands has little benefit and a lot of pitfalls. On the flipside, live poker, with additional information available (to give and receive) means that a player could play the players a lot easier, rather than the math or the cards. For instance, calling a raise with 47d in LP is a bad play mathematically in most circumstances, but if you know that the raiser is pissed at you for being a LAG donkey and he’ll pay you off big time if you hit, then calling may be a proper play, live. All that information matters.

So, it comes down to strategy. A “feel” player (although, it’s less about feel and more about reading your opponents and manipulating their mindset) may benefit from showing his cards. A “math” player will not.

There are 1,000,000 paths to success in poker. In some, showing cards is a cardinal sin; in others, it’s a smart strategy. And I suppose that’s all there is to it.

Until next time, make mine poker!

Hi folks. Mr. May here, bringing you more May-ey goodness.

Today’s post is merely a reiteration of what I believe to be one of the most common misconceptions about live poker: showing your cards is always a mistake. As I have said before, this seemingly standard belief is just plain wrong. But before I explain why it is wrong, let me drop a quote in here that I found via Poker Grump, taken from Tommy Angelo from Elements of Poker, p. 100:

“When you fold face up, the message that is sent to the table, whether you intend it or not, and whether you realize it or not, is this: “Dear table full of people. It is very important to me what you think of me. It is so important that I am willing to give you the most generous gift of information I can–I will show you my cards–just so you know that 1) my decisions were justified, and also that 2) I am unlucky. I know it will cost me money to reveal my cards and feelings to you. But that’s okay. That’s how much I value your opinion of me.”

If you always fold face down without ever showing even one card to anyone, the message that is sent, and received, whether you intend it or not, and whether you realize it or not, is this: “I don’t care what you think about how I play. I don’t even care what I think about how I play. Oh, and by the way, I am impervious to everything.”

This is the usual explanation, with some additional psychological analysis, of why you should never show your cards. The argument, summarized, is simply that by showing cards, you are providing free information that can be exploited by your opponents later, and to a lesser extent, you are also demonstrating a level of insecurity. And I call Bullshit!

Look, folks, let’s start by saying that there are no universal truths in poker strategy. So right off the bat, I cannot agree with the command that All Showing is Bad! Why? Because it is not always bad. In fact, if used correctly, showing your cards can often be good.

Angelo’s quote suggests that showing cards can only be used to validate one’s play (“See? My raise was good because I had a good hand!”) or to seek sympathy for bad luck (“Aw, look at what I had and I still didn’t win!”). In those situations, I would wholeheartedly agree with Angelo: showing your cards is not recommended and will only hurt you in the long run. In fact, I also agree with Angelo’s overall proposition that you do not want to show weakness at the table by seeking out the approval or sympathy of those around you. That is why I am loathe to discuss bad luck or bad runs at a poker table. Those statements merely wet the appetites of the sharks and cause more losses.

BUT there are other times to show cards. This, once again, falls back to the issue of controlling the flow of information. When you show your cards, you are releasing information to your opponents, but you have COMPLETE CONTROL over the information you release. For some players, releasing no information is ideal. I have no problem with that strategy. But for some players, there is a serious benefit to releasing information if it can help set up an image or later plays.

For instance, if you make an odd sized bet and then show the hammer (72o) after you win the pot, there will be a conscious or subconscious connection drawn in the minds of your opponents that the particular-sized bet indicates a weak hand. So, when you get KK an orbit later, you can bet the same odd amount as you did with the hammer and likely get the action you crave. The flow of information (and keeping track of the information available to your opponents) can be a useful tool.

In other instances, showing your cards could get opponents to loosen up (if you show bad cards) or tighten up (if you show good ones). If either of those scenarios are beneficial to you, then go ahead and show your cards. Naturally, you have to be aware of the flow of information and see how your opponents react, but if you can really understand the flow of information and its effects, then showing your cards could help control an entire table.

Of course, there is also the tilt-factor. For instance, in one hand a long while ago, I pushed all-in with a straight flush draw, 43s in my hand and As2sXc on the board. I got one caller, and after I missed the turn and river, my opponent mucked after his friend said, “Well, he must have something to have pushed.” After the muck, I won the hand with the worst possible hand. So, I showed. I already won the pot, but I wanted to get value from the tilt-factor. I simultaneously knew that the other players not in the hand now knew that I was willing to push on a draw and play 34s preflop. So, I adjusted my play tighter against most of the table, hoping to get paid from players who thought I was unnecessarily loose; I also tried to play more hands with the mucker, hoping to benefit from his tilt.

If you can think of other good reasons to show your cards, feel free to add them in the comments.

Until next time, make mine poker!

Yesterday, the last two tourneys in the BBT4 were held, a $5.50 Brit Bloggerment in the afternoon and a $75 Big Game in the evening. I had signed up for both at least 24 hours in advance. After all, I had a leaderboard to win.

If you’ve been following along, I was in 1st place for the BBT4 May leaderboard as of last Tuesday. I took that spot by placing 2nd in the Skillz Stud game to 1QueensUp1, who took 1st. At the time, I was trying to accumulate points in a desperate big to catch up to qrs1, who was holding the top spot. Just 24 hours later, though, 1QueensUp1 went back-to-back, winning the Mookie and leapfrogging over me to the top of the leaderboard.

SONUVABITCH!, I thought at the time. I figured my own 3 wins in May (4 total) was a heady accomplishment, but now 1QueensUp1 had to show me up with a back-to-back win. But once I accepted the situation, I knew I only had two last shots at points, both on Sunday.

From Thursday until Sunday, the BBT4 had been pressing on my mind. I knew the pressure would be on because suddenly a $5, 40 person tourney had $2,000 implication. That thought loomed large. I knew I couldn’t actually take time of for work to play at the WSOP, but the $2,000 would go a long way toward giving me the necessary bankroll boost to play a bit higher (and a bit more comfortably) live.

And so, Sunday came around, and I spent the better portion of the morning finding anything possible to keep me busy so that I wouldn’t overthink the poker. The day before, I decided to play two tourneys to keep in fighting shape, but I went out of both due to suckouts that reinforced the harshest reality of them all: even if I played perfectly Sunday, I might still lose. So, Sunday, I decided to simply keep away from the poker until game time.

I’ll cut to the chase. I placed 3rd in the Brit game, out of 48 or so players. I was also the shortstack from about the 12 player mark forward, but managed to skate by, initially by choosing my spots carefully, and later (when were were down to 5 or so) by hitting my hands when I had so few chips that my opponents had no choice but to call my all-ins with any two cards. I managed to make it to 3rd before my luck wore out. If memory serves correct, that loss was due to a suckout, but frankly, he was so stacked compared to me that it was a non-issue. It wasn’t his fault that he got lucky or I got unlucky.

When we were down to 5 players, someone on the rail mentioned that I had successfully overtook 1QueensUp1 for the May leaderboard. I had no clue if the railbird was correct because the points process mystified me. But it was basically irrelevant anyway. It wasn’t so much that I needed to beat 1QU1 in the Brit game; I needed to get as much of a lead as possible to protect me from the chance that he or one of my other pursuers would hit it big in the Big Game later that night. The Big Game’s buy-in was 15x the Brit game, so it was worth a lot more points on the leaderboard.

After busting from the Brit game, I went back to doing anything BUT poker. I watched The Girlfriend Experience, a movie by Steven Soderbergh starring pornstar Sasha Grey. It lacked nudity, which was a definite minus, but the film making itself was superb and Grey put forth her best dressed acting role yet.

As the Big Game approached, I also made dinner, turkey meatballs with spinach and parmesian in a pink sauce over tricolor bowtie pasta. Anything but think about the game.

So when the Big Game finally came around, I was ready and willing to do my best. Fortunately, I didn’t have to.

All in all, I made it through more than half of the field (I think), but more importantly, all of the players who could possibly take my May crown were out before me. As they dropped out, I gained a sense of relief, which was finally accented when someone said to me in the FullTilt chatbox that I had already locked up May. There weren’t sufficient points for my nearest competitor still in the tourney to catch up. I busted not long after and called it a night.

It feels good to win something as prestigious (in our circles) as the May Leaderboard. To be honest, I never won any leaderboard, likely because my play is so sporadic (both time-wise and quality-wise). The cash is nice, but the pride is even better.

Final thought. None of this would’ve been possible without the One-Man-Party, AlCantHang. So, thanks, Al. And thanks to everyone else for being not quite as good as me in blogger tournaments for one month. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Until next time, make me Mr. May!