The Poker Project (playing and writing about poker in the U.S.)
10-11-2015
, 03:24 PM
A Poker Road Trip, Part Five: Montana
I've been homeless for a year and am on the road again! (in Florida, more on this later). In honor of the one-year anniversary of last October's road trip, when I made a counterclockwise loop around the US, I figured I'd post two pieces that never made it onto the Full Tilt Blog, where I had been contributing a multipart "Poker Road Trip" series. What happened? My editor quit his job to roam the earth and destroy online MTTs, meaning that I was left with two finished pieces and ideas for the rest of the series, which I may return to in the future. Anyway, here's part five, which describes my trip through the Midwest and Montana. I'll post part six in a coupla days.
***
“I’ll take a Moose Drool.”
“Good choice,” the Billings bartender said. She placed a pint of toast-colored ale on the counter of the Gold Coast Casino. Perched on a bar stool, I swigged my Drool and looked around. Like most of Montana’s gambling establishments, the Gold Coast didn’t resemble a casino at all: it was just a bar with slots. In the next room was a place called the Poker Parlor. And I was first on the waitlist.
A few days earlier, as my Escort chugged out of Chicago, I realized that my poker road trip was about to change. I had visited Tampa, Atlanta, New York, Philly, Boston. Big cities. Familiar places. To reach my brother in Missoula, I’d have to drive through some of the remotest parts of the country.
For the next 1500 miles, I was going off the grid.
I first stopped in Altoona, Iowa and the eleven-table poker room at Prairie Meadows. Poker players love to debate where the juiciest games can be found. Are they in Vegas? LA? Florida? Macau?
Not likely. The best games are probably in backwoods bars, unmarked buildings, out-of-the-way towns.
Don’t believe me? Visit Altoona.
I drove past corn stalks and cattle farms, past the ragged red rocks of Badlands National Park, past colossal wind turbines arranged in neat diagonal rows. I saw the strange majesty of Devil’s Tower, which bulges out of the Wyoming wilderness like a jagged tooth. Then I entered Big Sky Country.
**
Poking his head outside the Poker Parlor, a burly man asked for Ben. My seat was ready. The windowless white-walled room had a modest buffet, four poker tables, and the familiar sound of rustling chips. Grizzled old men wore broad-brimmed hats and hungry expressions. No one spoke.
Here was poker in Montana.
In my very first hand, as a kind of greeting, I was dealt two black aces under the gun. I raised to fifteen, found five callers, and bet the king, four, three rainbow flop. A pudgy man in a Broncos hat glared at me and minraised. Suddenly I faced a decision for most of my chips. What was I supposed to
do now?
I ruled out folding. Sure, I could be losing to a set of fours, threes, or (rarely) kings. But minraises were often a top-pair hand like king-queen, king-jack, or king-ten. Meaning that, on balance, I was still ahead. I flicked in calling chips.
The fourth card, an ace, was a mixed blessing: turning top set made it unlikely that a king would pay me off. But my opponent, undeterred, quickly bet most of his remaining stack. Unfortunately for him, a grizzly bear couldn’t pry these two aces from my paws. I moved all-in and, to my surprise, he
instafolded.
“Bluffing me on my first hand, sir?” I said.
The man’s face scrunched into the scowl—the expression of a man who’d been caught. The recklessness was just beginning. For the next few hours, players spouted chips across the table like wild showerheads. One wrinkle of Montana gaming law is that payouts—and any further bets—are capped at eight hundred dollars. One player, armed with this knowledge, claimed that he was “priced in” pre-flop with jack-six offsuit. He won, of course, beating aces, kings, and nines for the full eight hundred-dollar pot. The man hooted at his good fortune, a black Stetson jouncing on his chubby head.
I settled into my seat. This was going to be a good night.
**
“Got room for this hitchhiker?”
My brother pulled his Toyota Tacoma closer, rolled down the window, and smirked. “Cute. You getting back in?”
Dan and I had been exploring Missoula for most of the day. Now we headed to Garnet, a local “ghost town.” In the late 1890s, Dan told me, 1,000 gold miners lived deep in the Garnet Mountains with their wives and children. By 1905, as the gold rush waned, only one hundred and fifty people remained. By the 1950s, despite a renewal during the Great Depression, the mining town had slipped into obscurity.
After driving an hour up a windy dirt road, we saw the remnants of Garnet’s once-thriving community. Some of the buildings were well-preserved. Others were nothing more than rickety husks that housed almost-forgotten stories. Like this one: A miner named Shorty scalded his right arm when, in a drunken stupor, he fell into his own fireplace. Doctor Armistead Mitchell, who lived in nearby Deer Lodge, sawed off Shorty’s charred arm and gave him some whisky for anesthetic. Then they swilled whisky and played poker deep into the night. Mitchell, still drunk at sunrise, staggered down the mountain with the arm, intending to save it for dissection. He lost it somewhere along the trail.
That’s the official account, at least: http://www.garnetghosttown.net/backcountry_byway.html. I like to think that the arm was lost twice: once on the trail, and once during that all-night poker game between doctor and patient. I’m all-in—literally, Shorty had said, tossing his stump onto a greasy pile of bills, coins, and gold nuggets.
I call—in the name of science! Mitchell had replied, triumphantly collecting the massive pot that included Shorty’s arm.
These fanciful poker tales still survive, misty and persistent, like apparitions. As Des Wilson puts it in Ghosts at the Table, “Poker’s history is always there, hovering over every hand, not least because some of the greatest names in its history are still alive, still competing.” Legends like Bill Hickock and Ben Binion and Doyle Brunson—the subjects of Wilson’s enjoyable book—hover in the foreground. Shorty and Dr. Mitchell and those grizzled gamblers in the Poker Parlor—poker nobodies—hover in the background, known only to each other.
As Dan finessed his truck down the mountain, I plotted my next destination. The choice was obvious. It was time to visit the place where, for the poker pilgrim, all roads lead.
Vegas.
I've been homeless for a year and am on the road again! (in Florida, more on this later). In honor of the one-year anniversary of last October's road trip, when I made a counterclockwise loop around the US, I figured I'd post two pieces that never made it onto the Full Tilt Blog, where I had been contributing a multipart "Poker Road Trip" series. What happened? My editor quit his job to roam the earth and destroy online MTTs, meaning that I was left with two finished pieces and ideas for the rest of the series, which I may return to in the future. Anyway, here's part five, which describes my trip through the Midwest and Montana. I'll post part six in a coupla days.
***
“I’ll take a Moose Drool.”
“Good choice,” the Billings bartender said. She placed a pint of toast-colored ale on the counter of the Gold Coast Casino. Perched on a bar stool, I swigged my Drool and looked around. Like most of Montana’s gambling establishments, the Gold Coast didn’t resemble a casino at all: it was just a bar with slots. In the next room was a place called the Poker Parlor. And I was first on the waitlist.
A few days earlier, as my Escort chugged out of Chicago, I realized that my poker road trip was about to change. I had visited Tampa, Atlanta, New York, Philly, Boston. Big cities. Familiar places. To reach my brother in Missoula, I’d have to drive through some of the remotest parts of the country.
For the next 1500 miles, I was going off the grid.
I first stopped in Altoona, Iowa and the eleven-table poker room at Prairie Meadows. Poker players love to debate where the juiciest games can be found. Are they in Vegas? LA? Florida? Macau?
Not likely. The best games are probably in backwoods bars, unmarked buildings, out-of-the-way towns.
Don’t believe me? Visit Altoona.
I drove past corn stalks and cattle farms, past the ragged red rocks of Badlands National Park, past colossal wind turbines arranged in neat diagonal rows. I saw the strange majesty of Devil’s Tower, which bulges out of the Wyoming wilderness like a jagged tooth. Then I entered Big Sky Country.
**
Poking his head outside the Poker Parlor, a burly man asked for Ben. My seat was ready. The windowless white-walled room had a modest buffet, four poker tables, and the familiar sound of rustling chips. Grizzled old men wore broad-brimmed hats and hungry expressions. No one spoke.
Here was poker in Montana.
In my very first hand, as a kind of greeting, I was dealt two black aces under the gun. I raised to fifteen, found five callers, and bet the king, four, three rainbow flop. A pudgy man in a Broncos hat glared at me and minraised. Suddenly I faced a decision for most of my chips. What was I supposed to
do now?
I ruled out folding. Sure, I could be losing to a set of fours, threes, or (rarely) kings. But minraises were often a top-pair hand like king-queen, king-jack, or king-ten. Meaning that, on balance, I was still ahead. I flicked in calling chips.
The fourth card, an ace, was a mixed blessing: turning top set made it unlikely that a king would pay me off. But my opponent, undeterred, quickly bet most of his remaining stack. Unfortunately for him, a grizzly bear couldn’t pry these two aces from my paws. I moved all-in and, to my surprise, he
instafolded.
“Bluffing me on my first hand, sir?” I said.
The man’s face scrunched into the scowl—the expression of a man who’d been caught. The recklessness was just beginning. For the next few hours, players spouted chips across the table like wild showerheads. One wrinkle of Montana gaming law is that payouts—and any further bets—are capped at eight hundred dollars. One player, armed with this knowledge, claimed that he was “priced in” pre-flop with jack-six offsuit. He won, of course, beating aces, kings, and nines for the full eight hundred-dollar pot. The man hooted at his good fortune, a black Stetson jouncing on his chubby head.
I settled into my seat. This was going to be a good night.
**
“Got room for this hitchhiker?”
My brother pulled his Toyota Tacoma closer, rolled down the window, and smirked. “Cute. You getting back in?”
Dan and I had been exploring Missoula for most of the day. Now we headed to Garnet, a local “ghost town.” In the late 1890s, Dan told me, 1,000 gold miners lived deep in the Garnet Mountains with their wives and children. By 1905, as the gold rush waned, only one hundred and fifty people remained. By the 1950s, despite a renewal during the Great Depression, the mining town had slipped into obscurity.
After driving an hour up a windy dirt road, we saw the remnants of Garnet’s once-thriving community. Some of the buildings were well-preserved. Others were nothing more than rickety husks that housed almost-forgotten stories. Like this one: A miner named Shorty scalded his right arm when, in a drunken stupor, he fell into his own fireplace. Doctor Armistead Mitchell, who lived in nearby Deer Lodge, sawed off Shorty’s charred arm and gave him some whisky for anesthetic. Then they swilled whisky and played poker deep into the night. Mitchell, still drunk at sunrise, staggered down the mountain with the arm, intending to save it for dissection. He lost it somewhere along the trail.
That’s the official account, at least: http://www.garnetghosttown.net/backcountry_byway.html. I like to think that the arm was lost twice: once on the trail, and once during that all-night poker game between doctor and patient. I’m all-in—literally, Shorty had said, tossing his stump onto a greasy pile of bills, coins, and gold nuggets.
I call—in the name of science! Mitchell had replied, triumphantly collecting the massive pot that included Shorty’s arm.
These fanciful poker tales still survive, misty and persistent, like apparitions. As Des Wilson puts it in Ghosts at the Table, “Poker’s history is always there, hovering over every hand, not least because some of the greatest names in its history are still alive, still competing.” Legends like Bill Hickock and Ben Binion and Doyle Brunson—the subjects of Wilson’s enjoyable book—hover in the foreground. Shorty and Dr. Mitchell and those grizzled gamblers in the Poker Parlor—poker nobodies—hover in the background, known only to each other.
As Dan finessed his truck down the mountain, I plotted my next destination. The choice was obvious. It was time to visit the place where, for the poker pilgrim, all roads lead.
Vegas.
10-12-2015
, 09:50 PM
A Poker Road Trip, Part Six: Vegas
Part six is a companion piece to part two, which takes place in Boston with my friend Jared and his puggle Flynn: http://www.fulltilt.com/blog/poker-r...harpers-ferry/.
***
Scanning the walkway outside McCarran International Airport, I noticed a man who looked like a burly Harry Potter. Holding his luggage in one hand and Colson Whitehead’s The Noble Hustle in the other, he grinned at me.
Jared had made it to Vegas.
After landing a new job in Boston, my friend had decided to spend a weekend here to relax and celebrate.
“How’s the trip going?”
“Just visited my brother in Montana,” I said. “And I haven’t lost all my money at the tables. So I’d say it’s going well.”
“And the car?”
“Still running. We’ll see if it gets me to Nola.”
“I hope so. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Flynn.”
“Of course not,” I said. “Maybe we can win him some doggie treats this weekend.”
***
After a meal at CraftSteak in the MGM Grand, we headed to the Bellagio for some poker. As we waited for seats, I peered into a luxurious glass-enclosed area where a handful of players sat with mountains of high-denomination chips.
Bobby’s Room.
Named after Bobby Baldwin, the room, perhaps more than any other, has become part of Vegas lore. Maybe its most famous story involves Andy Beal, a Dallas banker and entrepreneur who caught the poker bug in the early 2000s. After growing bored with the “small” limits of $80/160, he casually requested a higher-stakes game—much higher. News spread quickly among the Vegas sharks. Who was this bold fool wagering hundreds of thousands of dollars?
And so a rivalry was born. On about ten occasions from 2001 to 2004, Beal played heads-up limit hold’em against some of the best players in the world. The core group—known as “The Corporation”—included Todd and Doyle Brunson, Jen Harmon, Chip Reese, Chau Giang, Howard Lederer, and Ted Forrest. According to Michael Craig, who wrote a gripping book on the subject, stakes ranged from $4000-$8000 to a staggering $100,000-$200,000. When the dust settled, Beal had been defeated. He returned to Dallas down—but apparently not out. In January 2015, after a decade-long hiatus, Beal challenged Todd Brunson in Bobby’s Room. He lost five million dollars: http://www.pokernews.com/news/2015/0...lion-20417.htm.
Now, staring into the space where Beal and others had wagered countless millions, I recognized most of the high-rollers. There was Main Event winner Huck Seed. There was Survivor contestant and “broke living” expert Jean-Robert Bellande. There was high-stakes regular Eli Elezra. And there, slumped genially in his chair, presiding over everyone, was the Godfather himself, Doyle Brunson. It was nice to see that some things haven’t changed.
The main room also had its share of characters. A few of us glanced furtively at a massive man with a yellow muscle shirt, slick black hair, and a red cast on his left hand. Was that…?
Yes, it was old Oakland A’s slugger Jose Canseco. The cast confirmed it: I remembered reading that he had blasted his finger off on a hunting trip. Then, after a botched surgery, the finger had fallen off during a poker game! Apparently the incident—which turned out to be a hoax (http://www.si.com/extra-mustard/2014...nger-fall-hoax)—hadn’t dissuaded the slugger from returning to the felt.
Just another night at the Bellagio.
Once we sat down at our 1/3 table, I spent most of the night watching Jared run up a big stack with continuous aggression. Sitting to his left, I waited for the right spot to get involved. Playing with friends could be awkward, especially if they whined or whimpered when they lost to someone they knew. Jared wasn’t this type. He eagerly looked to take everyone’s chips—including mine. And I did the same.
We were poker players, after all.
We finally tangled when Jared made it fifteen to go, I called with six-seven of hearts, and the flop came down five, eight, nine with two hearts. I had binked the perfect flop!
Jared bet fifty and I raised to one-twenty-five. Raising was best, I figured, because there were plenty of scary turn cards that might prevent his overpairs from continuing. Not that I had to worry much about Jared folding—it wasn’t something that he liked to do.
Jared quickly called my raise. Upon seeing the turn, the ten of hearts, he instantly moved all-in. I tossed in a calling chip, exposed my baby flush, and asked if he had any outs.
“Nope,” Jared said, chuckling along with me, “but I have a pair!”
By the end of the night, I had finished up and Jared had finished down. But the weekend was only beginning. We’d try our luck tomorrow—this time on Fremont Street.
***
“I’ve heard the games are good here,” I told Jared as we strolled into the Golden Nugget. “There aren’t many places where you can find an uncapped 1/2 game.” The poker room was, like the casino itself, dingy with faded carpets and poor ventilation. This was no Bobby’s Room.
We sat down at the same table, bought in for three hundred apiece, and looked for a weak spot. And there he was: an old bald man in seat one. Slouching in baggy clothes alongside his cane, he wore a bitter expression, as though his arched bushy eyebrows and sour scowl had hardened into a rigid mask. The man sat there all night, brooding over the table like a demented eagle.
His name was Jerry.
It wasn’t long before Jared doubled up, courtesy of Jerry, when he rivered the nut straight. But that hand was a mere skirmish compared to their main battle. In a straddled pot, Jared opened to twenty from early position and Jerry three-bet to sixty, which guaranteed that he had a premium hand. With over six hundred dollars behind, Jared called and promptly check-raised the ten, nine, eight flop.
Things had escalated quickly. It was possible that Jared held a set or a straight, of course, but part of me feared that my friend was trying to bluff an unbluffable opponent. Unfazed, Jerry flung two hundos into the pot and glared at the turn—a black four.
“All-in,” Jared said. He acted instantly, brashly—just as he had the night before, when he’d tried to move me off the nuts.
Eyebrows twitching, Jerry pushed calling chips forward with a frown.
“Top set,” Jared said, flipping two tens. He had it this time.
The old man said nothing. Craning his neck to see the river, his eyes widened at the sight of a red ace. I flinched. Had he just made a higher set?
Jerry glared at the final board on the mustard baize. Ten seconds passed. Finally he tossed his cards into the muck, his face trembling with baffled outrage.
**
By the end of the night, we learned that everyone in the room knew Jerry. He was the Donator, the Whale, the guy games form around. For one night we had been the gracious recipients of his terrible play.
On the late-night cab ride to the hotel, Jared mentioned that he wanted to peruse the shops at Caesars before he left. He was interested in getting a necklace for his girlfriend, Olivia.
“And a big bone for Flynn,” I said. “It’s what Jerry would want.”
Part six is a companion piece to part two, which takes place in Boston with my friend Jared and his puggle Flynn: http://www.fulltilt.com/blog/poker-r...harpers-ferry/.
***
Scanning the walkway outside McCarran International Airport, I noticed a man who looked like a burly Harry Potter. Holding his luggage in one hand and Colson Whitehead’s The Noble Hustle in the other, he grinned at me.
Jared had made it to Vegas.
After landing a new job in Boston, my friend had decided to spend a weekend here to relax and celebrate.
“How’s the trip going?”
“Just visited my brother in Montana,” I said. “And I haven’t lost all my money at the tables. So I’d say it’s going well.”
“And the car?”
“Still running. We’ll see if it gets me to Nola.”
“I hope so. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Flynn.”
“Of course not,” I said. “Maybe we can win him some doggie treats this weekend.”
***
After a meal at CraftSteak in the MGM Grand, we headed to the Bellagio for some poker. As we waited for seats, I peered into a luxurious glass-enclosed area where a handful of players sat with mountains of high-denomination chips.
Bobby’s Room.
Named after Bobby Baldwin, the room, perhaps more than any other, has become part of Vegas lore. Maybe its most famous story involves Andy Beal, a Dallas banker and entrepreneur who caught the poker bug in the early 2000s. After growing bored with the “small” limits of $80/160, he casually requested a higher-stakes game—much higher. News spread quickly among the Vegas sharks. Who was this bold fool wagering hundreds of thousands of dollars?
And so a rivalry was born. On about ten occasions from 2001 to 2004, Beal played heads-up limit hold’em against some of the best players in the world. The core group—known as “The Corporation”—included Todd and Doyle Brunson, Jen Harmon, Chip Reese, Chau Giang, Howard Lederer, and Ted Forrest. According to Michael Craig, who wrote a gripping book on the subject, stakes ranged from $4000-$8000 to a staggering $100,000-$200,000. When the dust settled, Beal had been defeated. He returned to Dallas down—but apparently not out. In January 2015, after a decade-long hiatus, Beal challenged Todd Brunson in Bobby’s Room. He lost five million dollars: http://www.pokernews.com/news/2015/0...lion-20417.htm.
Now, staring into the space where Beal and others had wagered countless millions, I recognized most of the high-rollers. There was Main Event winner Huck Seed. There was Survivor contestant and “broke living” expert Jean-Robert Bellande. There was high-stakes regular Eli Elezra. And there, slumped genially in his chair, presiding over everyone, was the Godfather himself, Doyle Brunson. It was nice to see that some things haven’t changed.
The main room also had its share of characters. A few of us glanced furtively at a massive man with a yellow muscle shirt, slick black hair, and a red cast on his left hand. Was that…?
Yes, it was old Oakland A’s slugger Jose Canseco. The cast confirmed it: I remembered reading that he had blasted his finger off on a hunting trip. Then, after a botched surgery, the finger had fallen off during a poker game! Apparently the incident—which turned out to be a hoax (http://www.si.com/extra-mustard/2014...nger-fall-hoax)—hadn’t dissuaded the slugger from returning to the felt.
Just another night at the Bellagio.
Once we sat down at our 1/3 table, I spent most of the night watching Jared run up a big stack with continuous aggression. Sitting to his left, I waited for the right spot to get involved. Playing with friends could be awkward, especially if they whined or whimpered when they lost to someone they knew. Jared wasn’t this type. He eagerly looked to take everyone’s chips—including mine. And I did the same.
We were poker players, after all.
We finally tangled when Jared made it fifteen to go, I called with six-seven of hearts, and the flop came down five, eight, nine with two hearts. I had binked the perfect flop!
Jared bet fifty and I raised to one-twenty-five. Raising was best, I figured, because there were plenty of scary turn cards that might prevent his overpairs from continuing. Not that I had to worry much about Jared folding—it wasn’t something that he liked to do.
Jared quickly called my raise. Upon seeing the turn, the ten of hearts, he instantly moved all-in. I tossed in a calling chip, exposed my baby flush, and asked if he had any outs.
“Nope,” Jared said, chuckling along with me, “but I have a pair!”
By the end of the night, I had finished up and Jared had finished down. But the weekend was only beginning. We’d try our luck tomorrow—this time on Fremont Street.
***
“I’ve heard the games are good here,” I told Jared as we strolled into the Golden Nugget. “There aren’t many places where you can find an uncapped 1/2 game.” The poker room was, like the casino itself, dingy with faded carpets and poor ventilation. This was no Bobby’s Room.
We sat down at the same table, bought in for three hundred apiece, and looked for a weak spot. And there he was: an old bald man in seat one. Slouching in baggy clothes alongside his cane, he wore a bitter expression, as though his arched bushy eyebrows and sour scowl had hardened into a rigid mask. The man sat there all night, brooding over the table like a demented eagle.
His name was Jerry.
It wasn’t long before Jared doubled up, courtesy of Jerry, when he rivered the nut straight. But that hand was a mere skirmish compared to their main battle. In a straddled pot, Jared opened to twenty from early position and Jerry three-bet to sixty, which guaranteed that he had a premium hand. With over six hundred dollars behind, Jared called and promptly check-raised the ten, nine, eight flop.
Things had escalated quickly. It was possible that Jared held a set or a straight, of course, but part of me feared that my friend was trying to bluff an unbluffable opponent. Unfazed, Jerry flung two hundos into the pot and glared at the turn—a black four.
“All-in,” Jared said. He acted instantly, brashly—just as he had the night before, when he’d tried to move me off the nuts.
Eyebrows twitching, Jerry pushed calling chips forward with a frown.
“Top set,” Jared said, flipping two tens. He had it this time.
The old man said nothing. Craning his neck to see the river, his eyes widened at the sight of a red ace. I flinched. Had he just made a higher set?
Jerry glared at the final board on the mustard baize. Ten seconds passed. Finally he tossed his cards into the muck, his face trembling with baffled outrage.
**
By the end of the night, we learned that everyone in the room knew Jerry. He was the Donator, the Whale, the guy games form around. For one night we had been the gracious recipients of his terrible play.
On the late-night cab ride to the hotel, Jared mentioned that he wanted to peruse the shops at Caesars before he left. He was interested in getting a necklace for his girlfriend, Olivia.
“And a big bone for Flynn,” I said. “It’s what Jerry would want.”
10-16-2015
, 06:21 PM
October 5-12, 34 hours
I'm currently at the beach in Wilmington, NC, with some college friends. Weather has been fantastic so far. I played a lot of poker on the drive over--in Ebro and Jacksonville--and the games in Florida have reminded me of the importance of playing a value-based game, something that squid face discusses in an excellent interview on the October 7th AboveEV podcast: http://podcasts.ontiltradio.com/medi...-ev-shows.html. It's a fascinating listen for many reasons, but it'll especially appeal to players wondering about the difference between games in Vegas and Florida (cliffs: players in FL don't fold ever).
For example, in a hand from a 2/5 session at bestbet Jacksonville: 5 limps, I raise to 30 from BB with AQo, everyone calls. SB shoves for pot on 8
6
4
, gets called by MP limper, 84o beats T9o.
I can only think of two instances where I deviated from a value-based strategy, and both were based off pretty specific reads.
Hand 1
2/5. Main villain is 40ish black guy who seems to have a clue + sizing tells. UTG for 25 was QQ, 15 was 55.
V2 is standard passive MAWG who recently sat down.
Villain opens UTG to 15, V2 tries to limp, sees there's a raise, and flats. I 3-bet KJo from the button to 55, only villain calls.
Flop 777 ($125), I bet 50 planning to double barrel and shut down on the river.
Hand 2
1/3. Villain is older guy who has bet/folded a few times. I limp J9 on the button over 3 limps in a straddled pot, flop Q67 (25), straddle leads 15 with 150 effective only I call, turn 9 he leads 35 I shove.
Hand 3 has been bothering me a bit. Not sure if the turn is a bet and I think the river has to be a fold given the runout?
I 25 over two limps with TT
and get one caller: a black guy with a deep stack who just opened 25dd from ep to 18 and didn't cbet a Qhi flop. I have 425, he covers.
I bet 40 into 60 on 366 rainbow he hems haws and calls. Turn 4 ($140) I bet 85 he calls quickly. River 2 he bets eight green chips, effectively putting me all-in.
Stealthmunking thru the WSOP ME
I've also been following the WSOP ME coverage, which has been especially fun since I was there for most of the action. Not surprisingly, ESPN has focused on the Helmuth-Negreaunu confrontation (Kidpoker won a flip and busted The Brat). For me, the most interesting segments appeared last week, when Justin "stealthmunk" Shwartz made his way to the feature table. A strong player with an online background and an unseemly persona, Schwartz made things uncomfortable for his tablemates (and ESPN) by refusing to remain silent during big hands, openly mocking Negreaunu, and challenging the WSOP tournament rules. All of this, says Schwartz in a lengthy confessional, is part of his strategy: http://forumserver.twoplustwo.com/sh...&postcount=353.
I have to say that I have considerable sympathy for the guy, as well as lots of respect for his game, and he's quickly become my favorite player to root for (although I already know the brutal fashion in which he busted). Will be interesting to see how ESPN handles him in the next few episodes.
I'm currently at the beach in Wilmington, NC, with some college friends. Weather has been fantastic so far. I played a lot of poker on the drive over--in Ebro and Jacksonville--and the games in Florida have reminded me of the importance of playing a value-based game, something that squid face discusses in an excellent interview on the October 7th AboveEV podcast: http://podcasts.ontiltradio.com/medi...-ev-shows.html. It's a fascinating listen for many reasons, but it'll especially appeal to players wondering about the difference between games in Vegas and Florida (cliffs: players in FL don't fold ever).
For example, in a hand from a 2/5 session at bestbet Jacksonville: 5 limps, I raise to 30 from BB with AQo, everyone calls. SB shoves for pot on 8
64, gets called by MP limper, 84o beats T9o. I can only think of two instances where I deviated from a value-based strategy, and both were based off pretty specific reads.
Hand 1
2/5. Main villain is 40ish black guy who seems to have a clue + sizing tells. UTG for 25 was QQ, 15 was 55.
V2 is standard passive MAWG who recently sat down.
Villain opens UTG to 15, V2 tries to limp, sees there's a raise, and flats. I 3-bet KJo from the button to 55, only villain calls.
Flop 777 ($125), I bet 50 planning to double barrel and shut down on the river.
Hand 2
1/3. Villain is older guy who has bet/folded a few times. I limp J
9 on the button over 3 limps in a straddled pot, flop Q67 (25), straddle leads 15 with 150 effective only I call, turn 9 he leads 35 I shove.Hand 3 has been bothering me a bit. Not sure if the turn is a bet and I think the river has to be a fold given the runout?
I 25 over two limps with T
T and get one caller: a black guy with a deep stack who just opened 25dd from ep to 18 and didn't cbet a Qhi flop. I have 425, he covers. I bet 40 into 60 on 366 rainbow he hems haws and calls. Turn 4 ($140) I bet 85 he calls quickly. River 2 he bets eight green chips, effectively putting me all-in.
Stealthmunking thru the WSOP ME
I've also been following the WSOP ME coverage, which has been especially fun since I was there for most of the action. Not surprisingly, ESPN has focused on the Helmuth-Negreaunu confrontation (Kidpoker won a flip and busted The Brat). For me, the most interesting segments appeared last week, when Justin "stealthmunk" Shwartz made his way to the feature table. A strong player with an online background and an unseemly persona, Schwartz made things uncomfortable for his tablemates (and ESPN) by refusing to remain silent during big hands, openly mocking Negreaunu, and challenging the WSOP tournament rules. All of this, says Schwartz in a lengthy confessional, is part of his strategy: http://forumserver.twoplustwo.com/sh...&postcount=353.
I have to say that I have considerable sympathy for the guy, as well as lots of respect for his game, and he's quickly become my favorite player to root for (although I already know the brutal fashion in which he busted). Will be interesting to see how ESPN handles him in the next few episodes.
11-02-2015
, 04:33 PM
Interview with Sanket "Duke0424" Desai
My interview with PGC hero Duke is out this month. Hope you guys enjoy! Topics include travel, pizza delivery, playing within your range, and battling Sacramento Kings guard Seth Curry (in poker
): http://www.twoplustwo.com/magazine/i...nket-desai.php
My interview with PGC hero Duke is out this month. Hope you guys enjoy! Topics include travel, pizza delivery, playing within your range, and battling Sacramento Kings guard Seth Curry (in poker
): http://www.twoplustwo.com/magazine/i...nket-desai.php
11-02-2015
, 11:53 PM
Set in a booming oil town of 60 000 souls, all the familiar western elements are found in this story, me thinks : staking claims and a rush for financial glory, prostitution, gambling, criminal activities, deception and a fast and concise writing style. I enjoyed it for what it is, yet it remains somewhat of a letdown after the author builds some unnecessary hype along the way... Worth a read for anyone exploring exhaustively the gambling field (like you seem to be) or someone living in a gold rush town (like me).
Thx for the interviews, I have been highly enjoying them
11-03-2015
, 01:10 PM
October in Review, November Goals
I had an eventful October. Traveled almost the whole month and, with the exception of one weekend in Houston, enjoyed fantastic weather. After searching for an apt for a while, I've settled (for now) in St Roch, a rapidly transforming neighborhood NE of the French Quarter. It feels good to be back in this part of town.
Despite being on the road (again), poker went well in October. I logged sixty hours and 10/12 winning sessions. I'm at the point where I can comfortably sit in 2/5 games, although down here this will translate into buying in deeper at 1/3.
Traveling has been great, but I'm excited to stay put and get into a routine. Fitness, work, relationships, and overall well-being are tough to sustain when you're constantly moving around.
November Goals: Poker
My goal is to play thirty hours a week + study. Interested to see how this goes. I'm getting better at playing longer sessions and feel like the pieces are in place to have a strong month.
November Goals: Writing
Writing will take a backseat to poker this month. I've already finished a December interview, have one poker book review to finish, and need to revise three near-finished pieces. Once this month ends, my focus will be on playing less in order to complete a book proposal by February.
[QUOTE=Dubnjoy000;48558070]Thought I saw it ITT, but it was from the book thread. While it is not solely based on poker - or gambling, for that matter -, the story does revolve around the characters playing in a 5-7 card stud poker game.
Set in a booming oil town of 60 000 souls, all the familiar western elements are found in this story, me thinks : staking claims and a rush for financial glory, prostitution, gambling, criminal activities, deception and a fast and concise writing style. I enjoyed it for what it is, yet it remains somewhat of a letdown after the author builds some unnecessary hype along the way... Worth a read for anyone exploring exhaustively the gambling field (like you seem to be) or someone living in a gold rush town (like me).
Thx for the interviews, I have been highly enjoying them[/QUOTE
Thanks for the summary Dubn! I can see why you enjoyed it. Glad to hear you're liking the interviews. I plan to keep them coming.
I had an eventful October. Traveled almost the whole month and, with the exception of one weekend in Houston, enjoyed fantastic weather. After searching for an apt for a while, I've settled (for now) in St Roch, a rapidly transforming neighborhood NE of the French Quarter. It feels good to be back in this part of town.
Despite being on the road (again), poker went well in October. I logged sixty hours and 10/12 winning sessions. I'm at the point where I can comfortably sit in 2/5 games, although down here this will translate into buying in deeper at 1/3.
Traveling has been great, but I'm excited to stay put and get into a routine. Fitness, work, relationships, and overall well-being are tough to sustain when you're constantly moving around.
November Goals: Poker
My goal is to play thirty hours a week + study. Interested to see how this goes. I'm getting better at playing longer sessions and feel like the pieces are in place to have a strong month.
November Goals: Writing
Writing will take a backseat to poker this month. I've already finished a December interview, have one poker book review to finish, and need to revise three near-finished pieces. Once this month ends, my focus will be on playing less in order to complete a book proposal by February.
[QUOTE=Dubnjoy000;48558070]Thought I saw it ITT, but it was from the book thread. While it is not solely based on poker - or gambling, for that matter -, the story does revolve around the characters playing in a 5-7 card stud poker game.
Set in a booming oil town of 60 000 souls, all the familiar western elements are found in this story, me thinks : staking claims and a rush for financial glory, prostitution, gambling, criminal activities, deception and a fast and concise writing style. I enjoyed it for what it is, yet it remains somewhat of a letdown after the author builds some unnecessary hype along the way... Worth a read for anyone exploring exhaustively the gambling field (like you seem to be) or someone living in a gold rush town (like me).
Thx for the interviews, I have been highly enjoying them
[/QUOTEThanks for the summary Dubn! I can see why you enjoyed it. Glad to hear you're liking the interviews. I plan to keep them coming.
Last edited by bob_124; 11-03-2015 at 01:20 PM.
11-12-2015
, 07:30 AM
11-14-2015
, 02:42 PM
Quote:
All that said, "Bust" is a fantastic, well-researched piece and a must-read for poker fans. I can't think of a better longform poker piece in recent history; the last candidate would probably be Colson Whitehead's essays for Grantland that he eventually revised into The Noble Hustle. Gotta give Brad props for seeing the story through to the completion and publishing it in a top-notch mag. Was a fun read!
In other news, I got myself into a pretty ridiculous spot last night.
UTG young guy (180), frustrated and possibly tilting, opens to 21.
UTG+1 (loose regfish, 400+) flats.
MP (loose-passive station, 400+) flats.
CO (loose-passive station, 400+) flats.
Hero (tag-nit, 400) raises to 75 with red QQ. Ideal sizing in this spot? I feel like this is too small, but at the time I thought that UTG would be in a shove or fold spot. I WAS WRONG
UTG hems haws and calls (an aside: is it out of line to say something like "wow, looks like you have a decision for your whole stack" in order to induce a shove?). Everyone else calls weeeeeeeeeeeeeee
flop K
74($375) are we committed? if so, what's the best way to get the money in?
11-16-2015
, 09:02 PM
November 9-15th: 25 hours
I'm slightly behind my hours goal for the month. This week is relatively open and I'll be logging hours from Wed-Sun.
It's been interesting to follow my own response to grinding "long" hours (scare quotes b/c my volume is puny compared to most). In general, my enthusiasm for playing and studying is good, but I continue to hit a wall, usually around the 5-6 hour mark, when I want to stop. PGC hero ECGrinder recently said this about volume: "Hours at the table is really #1 when it comes to success at poker. Everyone I know who are significant winners at 5/T+ and have large bankrolls have put in tons of hours at some point in their lives. The people who stress "life balance" and "low volume, quality volume" are forever stuck as decent-mediocre 2/5 players."
I'm sure I've invoked "balance" as a bull**** excuse to leave a session early or not to go in at all. I don't aspire to crush 5/10+, but I still see this quote as a source of motivation and I'll be keeping it in mind as I grind out the month.
I've also returned to Tendler and mental game, since this is by far the swingiest period I've experienced in the live pokerz. Now that my roll is healthier, I've become more liberal in buying in deep, which has inevitably led to bigger pots and swings. One mistake I've been making has been to take lower-variance lines or hero-fold in spots where I should put my stack at risk.
Non-poker stuff and writing are going well. Just found a good, flexible teaching gig for the spring, and I'm excited to get back in the classroom after taking about a year off (we'll call it my poker sabbatical). Also finishing a poker book review in the next day or two, which I'll poast within the week.
I'm slightly behind my hours goal for the month. This week is relatively open and I'll be logging hours from Wed-Sun.
It's been interesting to follow my own response to grinding "long" hours (scare quotes b/c my volume is puny compared to most). In general, my enthusiasm for playing and studying is good, but I continue to hit a wall, usually around the 5-6 hour mark, when I want to stop. PGC hero ECGrinder recently said this about volume: "Hours at the table is really #1 when it comes to success at poker. Everyone I know who are significant winners at 5/T+ and have large bankrolls have put in tons of hours at some point in their lives. The people who stress "life balance" and "low volume, quality volume" are forever stuck as decent-mediocre 2/5 players."
I'm sure I've invoked "balance" as a bull**** excuse to leave a session early or not to go in at all. I don't aspire to crush 5/10+, but I still see this quote as a source of motivation and I'll be keeping it in mind as I grind out the month.
I've also returned to Tendler and mental game, since this is by far the swingiest period I've experienced in the live pokerz. Now that my roll is healthier, I've become more liberal in buying in deep, which has inevitably led to bigger pots and swings. One mistake I've been making has been to take lower-variance lines or hero-fold in spots where I should put my stack at risk.
Non-poker stuff and writing are going well. Just found a good, flexible teaching gig for the spring, and I'm excited to get back in the classroom after taking about a year off (we'll call it my poker sabbatical
). Also finishing a poker book review in the next day or two, which I'll poast within the week.
11-21-2015
, 10:05 PM
11-23-2015
, 01:09 PM
November 16-22: 34 hours
Logged four big winning sessions in a row, which made it easier to put in volume. I was twice "rewarded" with positive variance after making the decision to continue grinding rather than leave after 5-6 hours.
This will be a lighter week b/c of Thanksgiving. I'll probably extend my hours challenge to the first weekend in December, since I won't be playing much when I'm in AZ for the holidays.
Yesterday a guy literally gave someone two hundred bucks. He slid two red stacks over to a guy he was chummy with, said "enjoy," and left. This prompted a story about how Tim Duncan, playing in our room last year, gave a guy his whole rack as he left for the night.
I'm living with this animal. Have a good Thanksgiving all!
Spoiler:
11-30-2015
, 06:09 PM
The Education of a Poker Player by Herbert Yardley (1957)
“He was basically an attractive personality who enjoyed simple masculine pleasures. He would rise at dawn to go duck-hunting, shot a good enough game of golf to have won the Greene County (Indiana) championship in 1932, and played poker with a compulsive intensity wherever and whenever he could. He regaled his companions with a flood of amusing stories, told with the wit and gusto of a natural raconteur. He was the very opposite of stuffy, and did not hesitate to admit that he knew his way around a Chinese whorehouse.”
You may not have guessed it, but Herbert Yardley’s Education, published in 1957, was a tremendous best-seller during the mid-twentieth century. It’s also one of the first books that made the case for square, honest poker and inspired many hundreds of thousands or even millions to play. And its author, a charismatic globetrotter--you might think of him as the James Bond of poker--has plenty of stories to share.
A Readable Poker Primer
Al Alvarez, who writes an introduction to the book, calls The Education "a funny, utterly unliterary book." Nevertheless, he loves Yardley's poker primer and cites it for turning him from a bluff-happy spazz into a tighter winning player. Although he's no Al Alvarez, I actually found Yardley's book to be pretty well-written.
The book is divided into three parts, with the third functioning as an appendix explaining the rules to various non-standard games (e.g., Doctor Pepper, Baseball, Spit-in-the-Ocean). Parts One and Two are both subtitled “Poker Stories,” with each presenting extended lessons in particular games deftly communicated via anecdotes from Yardley’s interesting life (http://hardboiledpoker.blogspot.com/...-of-poker.html).
The stories in Part One emerge from Yardley’s tutelage as a teenager playing poker in Indiana saloons, places where, as he puts it, “everyone of note came to to lose his money: itinerant trainmen, barbers, magicians, actors, jugglers, owners of shows, drummers, coal operators, land speculators, farmers, poultrymen, cattlemen, liverymen. And of course there were the usual town bastards, drug addicts, idiots, drunkards, not to mention the bankers, small businessmen, preachers, atheists and old soldiers.”
Part Two traces a few incidents from Yardley’s career as a codebreaker for the U.S. government. We see Yardley cracking Japanese codes in China while playing various poker games with both enemies and allies. In this part of the book, Yardley assumes Monty’s role as teacher, instructing his interpreter (Ling) in five-card draw (low ball), seven-card stud, and seven-card stud hi-lo.
Monty's Rules
Much of the information is relayed to young Yardley (and the reader) from Monty, a grizzled, rock-solid winner and the “keenest player” Yardley knows. Monty's Rules, which eventually became Yardley's Laws, are certainly relevant today:
**
You should study your own weaknesses as well as those of your opponents.
Keep a poker face.
Keep silent.
Don't gripe when you lose a hand or gloat over winning one.
Avoid eccentricities.
Never drink while playing.
**
If you watch yourself, your opponents, and the game itself, advises Monty, then you'll have plenty to think about. As for actual strategy, his advice is simple: play like a massive nit and prey on those who lack the discipline to wait for strong hands.
"Jesus, Monty," says Yardley after reading his mentor's uber-conservative opening hand ranges, "no wonder you told me you hadn't lost in three years, if you only stay on such strong hands. If everyone played like you do there wouldn't be a poker game."
"No, there wouldn't," Monty admitted. "When I play I either think I have
the best hand or the makings of one. I'm not interested in second-best
hands. Let the suckers stay on less."
"It looks like poker, as you play it, is a sort of legalized theft."
"Yes, it is," Monty said. "And only once removed from playing like a card sharp."
Yardley returns to the distinction between card-counters (rounders) and cardsharps (outright cheaters who win through sleight-of-hand tricks). How different, really, are these two kinds of winning gamblers? Confronting one young cardsharp who deals "seconds" (dealing the second card from the top of the deck). Monty complains that the man ruins a "fair game," which prompts an interesting response:
"At least the players get a square gamble here," Monty insisted.
"Between themselves they do. Not with you playing."
"Why not? I told you the game is on the level."
"With one exception. You won't play unless you think you have the best hand. I won't play unless I know I have the best hand unless I deliberately want another to win. Will you play with a weak hand?"
"Hell, no."
"Will a sucker?"
"The sucker doesn't know what a good hand is. That's the reason he's a sucker."
"Monty," said the stranger, "I heard the kid call you that - it's an old matter of debate. Something like how many angels can stand on the point of a needle. You win on superior experience and finesse; I win because I am a card manipulator. You study percentages; I deal seconds. Essentially we are no different. In the end we both bleed the sucker."
Despite hand charts and strategies that are vastly outdated, the book does contain some general advice that remains crucial today.
An early discussion of “leveling”
Early in his poker education, Monty reads him this passage from Poe’s “The Purloined Letter”:
I knew [a schoolboy] one about eight years ago whose success at guessing in the game of even and odd attracted universal admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of these toys, and demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and that lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, 'Are they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, odd, and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, the simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd; he guesses odd, and wins.
Now with a simpleton a degree above the first [Monty continued reading] he would have reasoned thus: This fellow finds that in the first instance I guess odd, and in the second, he will propose to himself upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I will therefore guess even; - he guesses even, and wins.
“Do you grasp what I have read in its relation to poker?” Monty asked, sipping his drink.
“I think so,” says Yardley. “If you overvalue or undervalue another's intellect you will guess wrong. If you want to know when to call and when to bluff, identify yourself with your opponent’s cunning.”
While there are still strategic lessons to be gleaned from Yardley's book, I think most would agree that The Education of a Poker Player remains an enjoyable read because of its humorous and instructive anecdotes: cowboys battling bankers, farmers dying--literally--after an exciting hand of deuces wild, smoky saloons and alehouses and football games. It's worth a read.
“He was basically an attractive personality who enjoyed simple masculine pleasures. He would rise at dawn to go duck-hunting, shot a good enough game of golf to have won the Greene County (Indiana) championship in 1932, and played poker with a compulsive intensity wherever and whenever he could. He regaled his companions with a flood of amusing stories, told with the wit and gusto of a natural raconteur. He was the very opposite of stuffy, and did not hesitate to admit that he knew his way around a Chinese whorehouse.”
You may not have guessed it, but Herbert Yardley’s Education, published in 1957, was a tremendous best-seller during the mid-twentieth century. It’s also one of the first books that made the case for square, honest poker and inspired many hundreds of thousands or even millions to play. And its author, a charismatic globetrotter--you might think of him as the James Bond of poker--has plenty of stories to share.
A Readable Poker Primer
Al Alvarez, who writes an introduction to the book, calls The Education "a funny, utterly unliterary book." Nevertheless, he loves Yardley's poker primer and cites it for turning him from a bluff-happy spazz into a tighter winning player. Although he's no Al Alvarez, I actually found Yardley's book to be pretty well-written.
The book is divided into three parts, with the third functioning as an appendix explaining the rules to various non-standard games (e.g., Doctor Pepper, Baseball, Spit-in-the-Ocean). Parts One and Two are both subtitled “Poker Stories,” with each presenting extended lessons in particular games deftly communicated via anecdotes from Yardley’s interesting life (http://hardboiledpoker.blogspot.com/...-of-poker.html).
The stories in Part One emerge from Yardley’s tutelage as a teenager playing poker in Indiana saloons, places where, as he puts it, “everyone of note came to to lose his money: itinerant trainmen, barbers, magicians, actors, jugglers, owners of shows, drummers, coal operators, land speculators, farmers, poultrymen, cattlemen, liverymen. And of course there were the usual town bastards, drug addicts, idiots, drunkards, not to mention the bankers, small businessmen, preachers, atheists and old soldiers.”
Part Two traces a few incidents from Yardley’s career as a codebreaker for the U.S. government. We see Yardley cracking Japanese codes in China while playing various poker games with both enemies and allies. In this part of the book, Yardley assumes Monty’s role as teacher, instructing his interpreter (Ling) in five-card draw (low ball), seven-card stud, and seven-card stud hi-lo.
Monty's Rules
Much of the information is relayed to young Yardley (and the reader) from Monty, a grizzled, rock-solid winner and the “keenest player” Yardley knows. Monty's Rules, which eventually became Yardley's Laws, are certainly relevant today:
**
You should study your own weaknesses as well as those of your opponents.
Keep a poker face.
Keep silent.
Don't gripe when you lose a hand or gloat over winning one.
Avoid eccentricities.
Never drink while playing.
**
If you watch yourself, your opponents, and the game itself, advises Monty, then you'll have plenty to think about. As for actual strategy, his advice is simple: play like a massive nit and prey on those who lack the discipline to wait for strong hands.
"Jesus, Monty," says Yardley after reading his mentor's uber-conservative opening hand ranges, "no wonder you told me you hadn't lost in three years, if you only stay on such strong hands. If everyone played like you do there wouldn't be a poker game."
"No, there wouldn't," Monty admitted. "When I play I either think I have
the best hand or the makings of one. I'm not interested in second-best
hands. Let the suckers stay on less."
"It looks like poker, as you play it, is a sort of legalized theft."
"Yes, it is," Monty said. "And only once removed from playing like a card sharp."
Yardley returns to the distinction between card-counters (rounders) and cardsharps (outright cheaters who win through sleight-of-hand tricks). How different, really, are these two kinds of winning gamblers? Confronting one young cardsharp who deals "seconds" (dealing the second card from the top of the deck). Monty complains that the man ruins a "fair game," which prompts an interesting response:
"At least the players get a square gamble here," Monty insisted.
"Between themselves they do. Not with you playing."
"Why not? I told you the game is on the level."
"With one exception. You won't play unless you think you have the best hand. I won't play unless I know I have the best hand unless I deliberately want another to win. Will you play with a weak hand?"
"Hell, no."
"Will a sucker?"
"The sucker doesn't know what a good hand is. That's the reason he's a sucker."
"Monty," said the stranger, "I heard the kid call you that - it's an old matter of debate. Something like how many angels can stand on the point of a needle. You win on superior experience and finesse; I win because I am a card manipulator. You study percentages; I deal seconds. Essentially we are no different. In the end we both bleed the sucker."
Despite hand charts and strategies that are vastly outdated, the book does contain some general advice that remains crucial today.
An early discussion of “leveling”
Early in his poker education, Monty reads him this passage from Poe’s “The Purloined Letter”:
I knew [a schoolboy] one about eight years ago whose success at guessing in the game of even and odd attracted universal admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of these toys, and demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and that lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, 'Are they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, odd, and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, the simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd; he guesses odd, and wins.
Now with a simpleton a degree above the first [Monty continued reading] he would have reasoned thus: This fellow finds that in the first instance I guess odd, and in the second, he will propose to himself upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I will therefore guess even; - he guesses even, and wins.
“Do you grasp what I have read in its relation to poker?” Monty asked, sipping his drink.
“I think so,” says Yardley. “If you overvalue or undervalue another's intellect you will guess wrong. If you want to know when to call and when to bluff, identify yourself with your opponent’s cunning.”
While there are still strategic lessons to be gleaned from Yardley's book, I think most would agree that The Education of a Poker Player remains an enjoyable read because of its humorous and instructive anecdotes: cowboys battling bankers, farmers dying--literally--after an exciting hand of deuces wild, smoky saloons and alehouses and football games. It's worth a read.
Last edited by bob_124; 11-30-2015 at 06:37 PM.
