The last few days in Vegas have been a seriously rough and humbling journey.  My ass has been kicked, my face rubbed in a giant pile of humility, my ego dented beyond recognition.

I am running bad.  I could regale you with some fairly dazzling bad beat stories – but we’ve heard them all before anyways.  Boat over boat, set over set, boat versus quads, nut flush versus straight flushes, runner runner whatever.  They’re all the same stories; only the faces, places and pot sizes have changed.

Vegas, this week, has given me my share of these stories to tell, and I’ll probably tell them next time I’m at the table or when people ask how the trip went.  But what I want to do here is share my notes on what running bad means to me, and what that teaches me about the meta aspects of this game.

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