May. 19th, 2005

peterbirks: (Default)
... his name is probably Pete. What an odd day, consisting of nice bits and, well, truly horrible bits. To the Mandarin Oriental Hotel (or Oriental Mandarin.. I don't know, they are forever changing the names of these places these days) on Knightsbridge for a reinsurance conference. Only two journalists there, so I really have to write up a couple of stories before I go to bed. Always nice to get a free lunch, so to speak, even if there is no such thing. And this is clearly a hotel a cut above the normal canapé crap. Asparagus, parma ham, grilled baby sweet peppers and raddichio lettuce for a starter, followed by Beef Wellington (very rare, very good beef) with just a tablespoon of mushy peas and a medallion of roast potato -- all very precious. Followed by a raspberry on an egg custard in pastry with an unidentified ice cream that I fear might have had some alcohol in it. But, sod it. Bloody delicious.

And then I had the journey home from hell. I got to Knightsbridge having just missed a train, but another was due in 2 minutes. Ten minutes later, it was still due in two minutes. An incomprehensible message came over the tannoy. I decided to jump on a Piccadilly Line train going the other way and to change at South Kensington to the District Line. This worked well, until the train was about to get into Blackfriars tube station (I planned to get off at Cannon Street and to get a train to Lewisham). At this point, the train stopped. And it stayed stopped. After about 10 minutes the driver said something over the intercom, but she said it so quietly that no-one in the carriage could make it out. Thanks a lot, London Underground. Two messages about delays, and both are fucking incomprehensible.

Now. I have a problem with tube trains stopping in stations. So, when it finally crawled into Blackfriars about 10 minutes after that, and being none the wiser about whether this would continue until my intended destination of Cannon Street, I decided that I had to get out. By now it was pissing down with rain, and the next train from Blackfriars to London Bridge was 25 minutes later. So it took me 90 minutes to get from Knightsbridge to London Bridge. Only in a shithole like London....

But, while waiting at London Bridge, I saw an old betting shop friend whom I hadn't spoken to in about a decade. So, we had a nice chat on the train (he now lives in Chislehurst), and it all turned out okay.

The poker of the past couple of days has been a roller coaster. Having crawled my way back to virtually level in the $5-$10, and having smashed them to pieces in the PLO, I was due a bad result, especially since in my heart of hearts I knew that I was not playing my "A" game, and the fates had just chosen to be kind. So, last night I promptly dropped $323. I suspect that the BDD view on correct play does not apply to the $5-$10 games when I play them on Party. Perhaps the shorthanded games, perhaps the $5-$10 games late at night. Perhaps the $10-$20 games, but not the games I seem to end up playing. Here, my over-aggressive style got me a lot of $7 or $17 pots, and lost me a lot of $70 ones. When these guys put their money in, they had a hand. Sod the "tester" bets -- that wasn't their style. This meant that my three-betting the flop and continued aggressive play got very expensive very quickly. And on top of that, I wasn't playing well. At least a more conservative style would have minimized the disaster. OK, so I missed a lot of flops, but even when I hit, I picked up minimal pots.

I then excelled myself by failing to gain one of 25 seats worth $1,274 (that's more than A THOUSAND DOLLARS) in a tournament where only 299 people were registered, and about 200 of those failed to turn up. To add to the humiliation, I managed to organize the three of us at our table who made an appearance to share the blinds of the no-showers. This worked for 40 minutes until one of these players turned up and decided to turn the table into a raise-fest -- just as I went card-dead. I hung on until the no-showers were about to be blinded away. I had 1400 chips, the average was 3000 but was about to zoom up to more than 5000. I picked up AK in UTG 2 and raised 100 to 400. I got called on the button and by the BB. Flop came AT9 two clubs, and I have a decision to make. The button could have called me on a range of hands, considering that the game is four-handed. And BB was also chipped up.

With 1500 in the pot and me with a fraction under 100 in chips, I reckon that an all-in bet from me will be called by as many hands that I am beating as are beating me. So I go for it. Button promptly raises all-in and turned over TT for a set. So it goes. I'm going out on this hand whatever happens. The only argument really is how I decide to go about it. Do I make a bet of about 500 to try to tempt a raise, or do I check, or do I do what I did? There's an argument in favour of all three.

Anyway, things cleared up tonight when I pissed all over them in 45 minutes and won $243 before most of the table cried "enough" and decided to sit out. Yes, I busted the game.

I know that I should be able to live quite happily with a standard deviation in excess of $200 an hour, but it requires quite a bit of mental fortitude.

Still $160 down at $5-$10, so the jury is still out. I'm not yet comfortable and mot yet confident that I am good enough.

But the $500 profit at low-stakes PLO is a nice cushion. Although even there some over-confidence with Aces caused a minor disaster a couple of days ago.

August 2023

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