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Phooey Fluey
Dec. 17th, 2007 12:48 amBah, or, as Peter Kay might say, "I'm full of flu, me".
Well, maybe it isn't 'flu, but I feel like shit. I began to feel poorly yesterday, went to bed at a reasonable hour, woke up this morning, knocked off the required 50 FPP at Full Tilt (during which I couldn't lose a hand -- thus proving that the one thing I was missing at Full Tilt was ever having a hand with which I wanted to go to showdown) and promptly went back to bed for another four hours' sleep.
But, I was determined to get to Brian Creese's Christmas Drink near Goodge Street. I had misread his e-mail and had thought that it started at 5pm. When I checked the location of the pub, I saw that the timing was actually 2pm to 5pm, not 5pm on. Luckily, since I plan ahead, it was still only 1.30pm, so I would only be a bit late.
My annual season ticket expired on December 10, so I decided to incur the wrath of the Sunday-only travellers by renewing my ticket today. Why so? Well, if you've ever queued for a ticket on a Sunday, you will be aware that these people never know where they are going, never know how to get there, will always want to discuss their life history with the ticket man (as if he cares why they want to go to Oprington for the day) and will alwyas, but always, want to pay for the fare, no matter how small, with a credit card.
Actually, since cash is going out of fashion, credit and debit card sales are now probably quicker than cash sales. Gone are the "please sign here" farces. It's just "put the card in slot, type pin, fuck off".
So, as I typed in my PIN for my nine hundred and twenty eight pounds worth of annual fun, Mr Ticket-Man said, pointing to the nice gold-coloured piece of paper (surely the most expensive scrap of paper ounce for ounce in the civililzed world) "don't leave this next to your mobile phone, or near your computer, 'cos the stripe gets demagnetized". I mean, for fuck's sake, I have to impose apartheid on my pockets now? Then he gave me a new plastic wallet, because I tend to put a lot of stuff in my travelcard wallet -- it's my equivalent of a ladies' handbag, because it's the one thing I always carry with me (the wallet, not a ladies' handbag. I am not a pervert, no matter what the records at the police station claim).
I was just in time for the 13.53 to Charing Cross and I legged it to platform One, got on the train, and set about transferring my cards to the new wallet. Visa, Fitness First, Citibank Dollar card (what's that doing in there, I wondered? Am I likely to wake up tomorrow in America?), Work ID card, Season ticket, but no American Express Card.
Shit. Did I leave it with the ticket seller? It was that or I left it on the side of the counter after I had bought the season ticket.
So, I leapt of the train at New Cross, scurried with my little legs as fast as I could across to platform C (ahh, god bless the vagaries of English platform numbering) and, luckily, caught a train straight back to Lewisham.
I then queued up behind the peiople wanting to tell their life stories to the ticket seller, and, finally, got to ask him "did I leave my American Express card here" (for which, read, "did you forget to give it back to me and did I fail to notice?").
"Ah yes", said nice ticket man, "did you hear the platform annnouncement?"
"Well, ah, no, because I was on the train."
"Oh."
Still, pleasant to meet up with Mr Creese and friends, where we discussed such various items as the viability of setting up a company selling landmines to deter squirrels from digging up bulbs in the garden, and whether we have the right to demand of our elderly relatives that they carry around a mobile phone at all times in case they fall over and need to call the emergency services (young people, in favour, we middle-aged, mainly against).
This latter debate arose because one of the younger generation was peeved that her grandmother got given a mobile phone for just such a scenario, but then kept leaving it in a drawer. Cue debates about our rights to impose modern technology on a different generation just so that we can have peace of mind.
+++++++++
This morning was really one of those 'can do no wrong' mornings. I wonder if one of the causes of 'winners' tilt' is that, if you have an extended period of good cards, you come to expect it, which causes you to get frustrated when the cards regress to the mean? When I got home from the pub I needed another three hours' sleep to recover (which is why I am awake now), and I have just finished an hour or so on Betfred. The cards were mainly tedious, but I suffered a couple of bad beats on one table that threw up an interesting point (well, interesting for me).
In the first case a $30 short-stack moved all in from the small blind after I had raised to 3xBB from UTG (9-handed) and had been called in two spots. One was a loose player who had me out-stacked. The other was a very short-stacked player about whom I knew nothing.
I was sitting on 8d 8s here, but the all-in guy looked laggy and I had a feeling that this was another case of a person who doesn't really understand squeeze plays. He might have got away with this a few times against the notoriously wimpish IP Network players.
I decided to reraise to $54 (effectively a mini-reraise). Big stack folded (my main concern) and small stack called.
Small Blind turned over Ah 2c. Short stack turned over Qh 6h. Ace came on the flop and that was that. No worries.
About 20 minutes later I raised to 3xbb again UTG, this time with Ad Qc. Once again, called in two spots. Madman in the small blind this time goes all in for $67. Once again I call him.
This time he turns over Qs Ts. Great, I thought, I've got him dominated. That's until the flop of KJ9 . And no 10 appeared to save me, damnit (rigged, I tell you).
A few months ago I typed something and then said "and I bet no-one knows what that refers to", at which point someone responded with the answer and said "don't make bets when Google is around". Well, duh, I thought. I hadn't written "I bet no-one can find out what that refers to....".
So, fully aware that every single one of you poker players will put it into Pokerstove (as indeed, I did) and then pretend that you knew the answer all along without having to refer to Pokerstove at all, how much more of a favourite do you think my Ad Qc is against Qs Ts than my 8d 8s is against Ah 2c?
Or, to put in terms of cash. Suppose I was all in for $100 against someone else's $100, how much would you (instinctively) be willing to pay me to "buy" the AQ vs QT and how much would you be willing to pay to buy the 88 vs A2?
( Answer below the Cut )
Well, maybe it isn't 'flu, but I feel like shit. I began to feel poorly yesterday, went to bed at a reasonable hour, woke up this morning, knocked off the required 50 FPP at Full Tilt (during which I couldn't lose a hand -- thus proving that the one thing I was missing at Full Tilt was ever having a hand with which I wanted to go to showdown) and promptly went back to bed for another four hours' sleep.
But, I was determined to get to Brian Creese's Christmas Drink near Goodge Street. I had misread his e-mail and had thought that it started at 5pm. When I checked the location of the pub, I saw that the timing was actually 2pm to 5pm, not 5pm on. Luckily, since I plan ahead, it was still only 1.30pm, so I would only be a bit late.
My annual season ticket expired on December 10, so I decided to incur the wrath of the Sunday-only travellers by renewing my ticket today. Why so? Well, if you've ever queued for a ticket on a Sunday, you will be aware that these people never know where they are going, never know how to get there, will always want to discuss their life history with the ticket man (as if he cares why they want to go to Oprington for the day) and will alwyas, but always, want to pay for the fare, no matter how small, with a credit card.
Actually, since cash is going out of fashion, credit and debit card sales are now probably quicker than cash sales. Gone are the "please sign here" farces. It's just "put the card in slot, type pin, fuck off".
So, as I typed in my PIN for my nine hundred and twenty eight pounds worth of annual fun, Mr Ticket-Man said, pointing to the nice gold-coloured piece of paper (surely the most expensive scrap of paper ounce for ounce in the civililzed world) "don't leave this next to your mobile phone, or near your computer, 'cos the stripe gets demagnetized". I mean, for fuck's sake, I have to impose apartheid on my pockets now? Then he gave me a new plastic wallet, because I tend to put a lot of stuff in my travelcard wallet -- it's my equivalent of a ladies' handbag, because it's the one thing I always carry with me (the wallet, not a ladies' handbag. I am not a pervert, no matter what the records at the police station claim).
I was just in time for the 13.53 to Charing Cross and I legged it to platform One, got on the train, and set about transferring my cards to the new wallet. Visa, Fitness First, Citibank Dollar card (what's that doing in there, I wondered? Am I likely to wake up tomorrow in America?), Work ID card, Season ticket, but no American Express Card.
Shit. Did I leave it with the ticket seller? It was that or I left it on the side of the counter after I had bought the season ticket.
So, I leapt of the train at New Cross, scurried with my little legs as fast as I could across to platform C (ahh, god bless the vagaries of English platform numbering) and, luckily, caught a train straight back to Lewisham.
I then queued up behind the peiople wanting to tell their life stories to the ticket seller, and, finally, got to ask him "did I leave my American Express card here" (for which, read, "did you forget to give it back to me and did I fail to notice?").
"Ah yes", said nice ticket man, "did you hear the platform annnouncement?"
"Well, ah, no, because I was on the train."
"Oh."
Still, pleasant to meet up with Mr Creese and friends, where we discussed such various items as the viability of setting up a company selling landmines to deter squirrels from digging up bulbs in the garden, and whether we have the right to demand of our elderly relatives that they carry around a mobile phone at all times in case they fall over and need to call the emergency services (young people, in favour, we middle-aged, mainly against).
This latter debate arose because one of the younger generation was peeved that her grandmother got given a mobile phone for just such a scenario, but then kept leaving it in a drawer. Cue debates about our rights to impose modern technology on a different generation just so that we can have peace of mind.
+++++++++
This morning was really one of those 'can do no wrong' mornings. I wonder if one of the causes of 'winners' tilt' is that, if you have an extended period of good cards, you come to expect it, which causes you to get frustrated when the cards regress to the mean? When I got home from the pub I needed another three hours' sleep to recover (which is why I am awake now), and I have just finished an hour or so on Betfred. The cards were mainly tedious, but I suffered a couple of bad beats on one table that threw up an interesting point (well, interesting for me).
In the first case a $30 short-stack moved all in from the small blind after I had raised to 3xBB from UTG (9-handed) and had been called in two spots. One was a loose player who had me out-stacked. The other was a very short-stacked player about whom I knew nothing.
I was sitting on 8d 8s here, but the all-in guy looked laggy and I had a feeling that this was another case of a person who doesn't really understand squeeze plays. He might have got away with this a few times against the notoriously wimpish IP Network players.
I decided to reraise to $54 (effectively a mini-reraise). Big stack folded (my main concern) and small stack called.
Small Blind turned over Ah 2c. Short stack turned over Qh 6h. Ace came on the flop and that was that. No worries.
About 20 minutes later I raised to 3xbb again UTG, this time with Ad Qc. Once again, called in two spots. Madman in the small blind this time goes all in for $67. Once again I call him.
This time he turns over Qs Ts. Great, I thought, I've got him dominated. That's until the flop of KJ9 . And no 10 appeared to save me, damnit (rigged, I tell you).
A few months ago I typed something and then said "and I bet no-one knows what that refers to", at which point someone responded with the answer and said "don't make bets when Google is around". Well, duh, I thought. I hadn't written "I bet no-one can find out what that refers to....".
So, fully aware that every single one of you poker players will put it into Pokerstove (as indeed, I did) and then pretend that you knew the answer all along without having to refer to Pokerstove at all, how much more of a favourite do you think my Ad Qc is against Qs Ts than my 8d 8s is against Ah 2c?
Or, to put in terms of cash. Suppose I was all in for $100 against someone else's $100, how much would you (instinctively) be willing to pay me to "buy" the AQ vs QT and how much would you be willing to pay to buy the 88 vs A2?
( Answer below the Cut )
