I should have known that writing an article about sliding into the gutter was a signal that today in Atlantic City was going to be a total wreck.

In some ways it actually worked out well for me - if you look beyond the $800 hit to my bankroll - because it put me right in the place I needed to be to test out my disaster preparedness plan.

The Road to Hell

Rich is blazing a trail down the Garden State Parkway in his little Nissan, ducking and diving in and out of traffic with an agility only afforded toy sized cars. Somehow, when I’m in the back of a yellow cab jamming the claustrophobic streets of the LES, its no sweat off my brow. But when someone I know is driving, I find myself to be the worst kind of back seat driver. I’m constantly checking his blind spots to give sit reps and keeping an awareness on the number of car lengths between us and the cars before us, offering subtle suggestions when the comfort threshold is crossed.

They picked me up at 8am, which anyone who knows me can tell you that’s such an unrealistic time to expect me to be conscious. To try to make the meet up time, I took a 5 hour nap from 11pm to 4am. I then headed into work and spun down the remainder of the time working on the blog. I should have tried to sleep later, but my body wasn’t having it and I didn’t want to miss the ride. makes tapping gesture on vein

I should have tried to tuck in a couple of hours of zzz’s on the way there but I was a little amped for the next session. This was my first mistake: not getting enough sleep beforehand.

Its one thing to squeeze in some sessions with less than optimal rest after a week of killer sessions. Its an entirely different thing to do it without the killer sessions proceeding you. Fortunes crest like waves, sometimes slow and steady and sometimes like tidal waves. Regardless of their periods they are ultimately waves that you generate yourself. If there has been a lull between waves you’re going to need to amp yourself to get that next wave rolling. I simply did not have the energy to create a wave. Mistake #2 was not recognizing this and planning accordingly. Honestly, though, I doubt the 2 hours in the back of the car would have helped much.

The Borgata

The Borgata is one of the largest poker rooms I’ve ever played in. And though I’ve played there before, it wasn’t nearly as jammed with people as it was when I arrived. There must have been close to 1,100 people in the spot playing poker. The fury of activity, the click-clacking of poker chips, the shop talk of suck out rivers and nuclear flops was overwhelming and - I’m not shy to admit - intimidating. A little mental exercise I did in Vegas was when I entered the poker room at the MGM, I told myself I was a champion and pumped up my ego in hopes that would translate into a confident strut to the table and, in turn, projecting a confident front to the people I was about to take money from. This is easier to swallow and to do when you’re riding the crest of a sizable wave, but when you’re starting out in the wading pool it’s difficult to turn on. Add in the sheer size of the Borgata’s poker room and the number of people playing and it’s easy to feel like a goldfish in a giant ocean.

I did try, though. I walked right up to the 2/5 table like I owned the place and sat down, leaning on the table looking like I was ready for action. It seemed to have worked until I tried to riffle the Borgata chips and made myself look like a complete donkey. If you’ve never played at the Borgata, their chips are magnetic and stick together. They can be riffled, but it takes some focus. So, I’m stumbling around with the chips that are sticking together and am somewhat deflated because I felt like I came across as a monkey with down’s syndrome. It’s amazing how little things like this can take a bite out of your confidence and how that lack of confidence can be the beginning of a bad run.

This is mistake #3, btw, and a massive character flaw. I’m too sensitive. I should have shrugged it off and joked about the chips, but instead I let it deflate me and put me off my social game. Not that there was much of a social game to play here. Everyone was way older than me and the room was way too loud and my energy too lacking for me to suddenly be gregarious and outgoing. I was also stuck in the 3rd seat, which is a good seat to view the field, but a crappy seat to run a social game.

Mistake #4 is letting myself believe that I can’t run a table.

Session I

The 10 seat is occupied by a professional with his jogging suit and slicked back hair, flashing cheap bling on the wrist and pinky. 9 seat is graced by a girl about my age with faded cheerleader looks. 8 seat is a rigorous looking cat in his early thirties, obviously living in a nice house in south suburban Jersey with his two kids and MILF wife. My first read on him is that he thought he was out of his league, you could see that shit right in his eyes. The rigor wasn’t confidence, it was fear.

7 seat was a home gamer, 6 seat was an old man who looked like he didn’t fuck around and 5 seat was a young home gamer way out of his league. 4th seat was a total degenerate that would slowly rock back and forth between hands and who wreaked of having a bad run, perhaps for life.

In 2nd seat was a wealthy old timer, very classy, probably not a good player but a very nice person. 1st seat belongs to a wealthy guy, late 20’s, Bulgari glasses and Tag chronograph. He was wearing a white button up Ralph Lauren, casually rolled at the sleeves. Definitely a country clubber, perhaps a yachtsman, definitely Wall Street or Old Money.

I spent an hour folding and watching. I decided I would dodge 10 seat when I could; his stack was huge and he seemed clever despite the cheesy jersey guido thing. The cheerleader I instantly assigned as tight and conservative and would try to shy away from unsure pots with her. She definitely demonstrated skill with the game and had a nearly professional handling of the cards and chips. 8 seat I decided was an ATM with glaring tells so I pushed him to the top of my priority list. The home gamer in 7 seat I couldn’t get a read on because he didn’t play many hands, so I put him down as tight and would reserve judgement until we had played some pots together. Forget about the old timer in six seat, it was obvious he only played the nuts or had the capability to play any two cards in such a way as to make you buy wholesale he had the nuts even if you held them yourself. The second home gamer in 5 seat was another easy target and the degenerate in 4th street made absolutely no sense. I’ll talk more about him later.

Guy to my right was going to be my buddy, so I was going to treat him well. He might not be a heavy gun, but any extra help helps. American Psycho in seat 1 I could not read at all.

Session I - The Degenerate

I have to talk about this guy in his own section because he was so baffling to me.

When I sat down, he was about $300 behind. When I watched him play, he would always call big pre-flop raises, continuations and bets on the turn, but then fold to a similar sized bet on the river. The crazy thing here is that the flops were not drawing flops at all usually, so I’m guessing he was gambling, maybe thought he was on a 1/2 table looking for a double belly buster gutshot - but after awhile I honestly suspected he didn’t know how to play at all.

He would get grinded down to $50 and then dip back in for another $400. He did this 4 times, 2 of those times dipping in for $500. I’m guessing he dropped $2.2K on the table in the span of an hour and a half. The most bizarre aspect of this is the rocking back and forth in his seat between hands. He would also mutter something to himself over and over when deciding to call a bet.

And he never won once.

His final hand was a disaster of epic proportions. It was basically a battle between him and the pro in the 10 seat. Degenerate was $400 behind. He led out with a 25 dollar pre-flop raise which got three callers. The flop came down J-3-7, rags. He leads out with a $75 bet and everyone folds except for the professional. The turn comes down a 9. Degenerate checks and professional bets $150. Degenerate calls. The river is junk, but the degenerate pushes all in with the rest of his chips and the pro calls almost instantly.

I can’t even explain what happened next because it just baffles the fuck out of me.

The degenerate threw his hand in to the muck face up, stood up and walked away from the table. The pro is stunned and flips over pocket 8’s. The degenerate’s flipped up mucked cards? J-7.

There is a consensual WTF from everyone at the table and the young home gamer calls out to the guy and tells him he won. The degenerate just waves his hand and leaves the poker room.

I honestly think he didn’t want to win at all. I just don’t know, it’s so confounding.

Session I - Making a Splash

Once I was comfortable with the table, I started showing up in pots. My first big splash, I had AQ in 2nd position. I limp in with six others. The flop drops Q-Q-3. I check and checks go around to the cheerleader who bets out $40. I call after some faux deep thinking. Everyone else folds.

Turn shows up a 5. I check to the cheerleader and she bets $75. I call.

River is a 6. No flush on board. I check knowing the cheerleader is either going to push or bet the pot. She bets $50 and I re-raise all-in. Scowling, she calls and flips up Q-10. I drop the AQ and she looks like someone slapped her.

She dips into the purse and six hands later we are in it together again. This time I have KJ and limp in to see the flop. There are 3 others involved in the pot. Q-4-A shows up on the board. I check, young home gamer bets $20 and everyone calls. Turn comes a turd. I decide I want this pot, so I make a move at it, quickly dropping $100 into it. Home gamer is about $150 behind, so he calls leaving himself 2 $25 chips to pseudo riffle. Folds down the line except for the cheerleader who insta-calls.

I river the 10 for broadway and push in another $200, putting home gamer all-in and cheerleader $200 behind if she calls. Both call and I flip broadway. Home gamer mucks without showing and cheerleader flips up top two pair.

That was it for the cheerleader. She left the table a few minutes later.

Session I - Running Dry

Those two hands were pretty much the highlight of the rest of the day. Any other pots I took down never completed to a showdown, or if they did they were checked to the river. It was like the plug in the pool dislodged and all the water had ran out.

It all started when I made the classic blunder of trying to outplay a new guy at the table. When that crazy degenerate left, a new guy sat down and the first pot he entered I tried to make moves on him.

Repeat after me: I will not tangle with the new guy at the table ever unless I have the stone cold nuts.

The infuriating thing about my play here is that I kept firing away when I should have cooled my jets when new guy smooth called without hesitation post-flop, regardless of my large pre-flop raise. Ego is a tricky bitch in that it can be both an asset and a liability, often at the same time. Here ego is helping me portray a strong hand because ego is telling me I can bluff this goon off the pot. If this guy had some experience with me at the table, I’m pretty certain that he would have gotten out of the way. The liability of ego is that it often clouds sound judgement because sound judgement cannot feed nor stroke the ego. In fact, sound judgement is an ego deflater in so many ways. Ego doesn’t like to be deflated.

That bad bluff decimated my table image at that point and I took some minor hits afterwards because nobody was buying what I was selling.

Session I - The Last Straw

This is seriously the dumbest hand I’ve played in the last three years. How I got here is a classic example of letting emotions run and ruin your game. You have got to keep that shit in check, but, unfortunately, emotions didn’t come into play until the colossal blunder on the river.

Up to this point I’ve been getting a run of crap. Bullshit like 92, J4, Q3, K4. I landed Q10 spades and thought I’d ride along to see a flop because it can be a nice trapping hand and, honestly, the best cards I’ve seen for an hour+. The flop drops As-Ks-5d. 4 to a flush, I decide to defend and pop the pot with $50. Everyone folds except for the pro who calls. Turn comes 8 of hearts and I check to the pro who raises $80 bucks.

Repeat after me: I will not chase draws past the turn in 2/5.

Now granted I have a nut flush draw and gutshot straight draw. I figure I can represent A-anything here and I’m annoyed that he’s raised me when I’ve been betting like I’ve got the nuts. I push all-in based entirely on being annoyed instead of thinking of what I was doing. I have 13 outs at this point, with about a 28% chance of hitting one of them. But, honestly, this is the type of position that I know I’m better than getting involved in. But, because I let my emotions lead my play, I push all-in like a donkey and the pro calls almost instantly.

Now I should note here that I’m not certain the pro was playing his best either. So what potentially is happening here are two epic fuck ups crashing together on the felt. I’ve been thinking about it over and over and that must have been the case or there must have been something that gave me up to the pro because he called without hesitation. I didn’t have him on anything but a low pocket pair because he wasn’t the type to limp with an Ace. At this point I should have knocked the felt, said “good hand” and folded my garbage into the muck.

But, I didn’t. Like a dumb brute I risk all of my chips on a suck out draw. The river comes a 7 and the pro flips over pocket 7’s.

That is what we call gambling, not playing poker. I’m of the school that poker isn’t gambling. To me, gambling is entering into a game that you have no influence over whatsoever. Poker affords you a ton of influence on how the game resolves.

But there I was spinning the roulette wheel. I’m pretty certain the Pro was as well, or he had me almost 100% on a draw and believed himself to be good.

Take a Break

Busted out, I excuse myself from the table instead of re-dipping and decide to track down Rich and Pritesh to grab a bite to eat. They were both at the Tropicana playing a tournament, so I jumped into a cab and headed over there.

At this point I’m stung and on tilt and kicking myself for being such a donkey. I pulled up my previous post on disaster preparedness to give it a once over. I knew none of the advice in it was a magic bullet, but I like to practice what I preach so I started going over the bullet points.

The first point is to Accept It. Not a problem, I was fully embracing the thought that I was in the midst of a bad run. The cards had started out hot at the top of the first session, but gradually became ice cold towards the end. I was tired and making bad judgements. It was all right there looking at me, I had no choice to accept the situation for what it was. And once I had accepted it, I started feeling a little better.

The second point, Relax, didn’t seem to apply right at that time, but should have been in the forefront of my thoughts during the session. My last two plays were desperate and I should have played more relaxed. A relaxed player takes the time to make sound judgements about the current play and has a good head at where they are at in the play. Towards the end of that run I was actually anxious. Anxious to win a pot and anxious to pick up some more chips. Anxiety always leads to poor choices and missed opportunities because it chews up so much of your energy and thought process that you lose awareness of the reality of the situation around you.

Slow Down is angel advice and I think one of the most important things on the list. I didn’t do it. Anxiety dictated rushed play, instead of being relaxed with measured play. I was completely ignoring my tenets of playing within a time frame: I had plenty of time to go, but I felt like I needed to hit pots and therefore was in a rush to do so. Rushing anything almost always has bad consequences. Patience is essential to survival.

Limit Buy-ins. This is one thing that I had stuck to and was proud of myself for doing. I purposely only brought two and a half buy-ins to AC. I was proud of the fact that I didn’t re-dip for the second buy-in because I had enough awareness to know I was in a bad run and needed to take a break to regroup.

Set Time/Stack Limits. I had set a time limit but wasn’t adhering to it. I was trying to rush, as I have pointed out before. Honestly, towards the end I wasn’t even paying attention to the time which was an epic blunder. Had I had the awareness, I would have most certainly slowed down my play.

Plan Your Game. I had no plan for my game, another misstep among many. I did do my usual “wait to play” round of sit, listen and learn. But after that period, any plan I had went right out the window as I started to play recklessly.

Reading through this bullet list and comparing it to my previous session of play had me feeling better. I was starved, so I thought food would be a good mood stabilizer as well. So I headed into the Trop and located Rich. Atlantic City is a consumer ghetto, so the only food we could find was a Hooters. Hooters is not the best way to treat yourself after some self-inflicted injury, but it would have to do.

Drowsy

We finished eating the garbage Hooter’s calls food and headed back to the Borgata. The Borgata is like the Rio in that it’s a ways away from all the other hotels and a little confusing to get to. We ended up getting lost and while Rich tried to find our way there I conked out in the passenger seat. When I awoke, about 15 minutes later, we were in the parking lot for the Borgata.

This should have been a sign to stay in the car and try to catch a better nap. If I’m passing out in the passenger seat on a 15 minute drive, it’s probably a good sign that I’m too tired to play. But I’m not sure which was the more degenerate move, sleeping in a car in a parking garage or playing exhausted. I chose exhausted when the better move would have been to stay and nap.

A Note About Luck

I don’t believe in luck. To believe in luck means that you deny that random events can happen unpredictably. When I hear people say poker requires “luck”, what they are really expressing is that poker has an uncontrollable random element to it. If you can accept the randomness of poker without prescribing it to luck, you are then free to focus on the elements that don’t require “luck”: betting patterns, statistics of making hands and the sociology. Because these things are not random, mastery of them means mastery of the game.

Therefore, when people prescribe “bad luck” to “bad runs” they are self-perpetuating their own bad runs. Probability dictates that everyone will have a bad run of cards. And like I’ve said before, it’s what you do during this bad run of cards that matters. I remember a hand at the MGM where a loudmouth at the table once told someone, “That’s not good poker. Good poker is making money with 5-2 offsuit.”

Truer words never spoken.

Session II

I swear to god that the 2/5 game at the Borgata is like the 1/2 game in Vegas. Where the 2/5 game in Vegas is predictable, it’s wholly unpredictable at the Borgata. This particular session highlighted a style of deep stack play that I personally find very annoying, but one that I sort of get the math behind, but you would never catch me doing it any place but a 1/2 table.

I settled in, $400 behind. I didn’t even attempt to project any kind of table image. I was defeated at that point, but unaware of it - or chose to simply ignore it. I honestly believe that bad runs are not only self-created but self-perpetuated. And while I had my bullet points about disaster preparedness in the back of my head, my mental state was such that I knew that I was going to live out the self-fulfilled prophecy that the bad run was going to continue. Instead of stopping myself and saying “It’s all in your head”, I opted for the easier route of believing my bad luck was going to continue and this session was going to be a disaster. Once you are caught in the rut, it is very hard to reverse all the negative thinking that got you there in the first place.

I only swooped a few pots, nothing notable, very standard plays. Most of the session was a total grind. I resigned myself to play premium hands and/or limp for flops. The table, at the beginning, was fairly balanced in terms of player types and table image. I had the distinct disadvantage of being seated next to a really cute girl which is an annoying distraction but helps with the grind. Can’t fight biology.

The guy in the 1 seat started having a great run after the first hour or so, building up his stack to about $1400. The rest of the table was in the $500-$800 range. At hour 2 he busted out a player, pushing his stack to over $2000. From this point forward every flop cost $20. He was raising with a wide assortment of hands so it was impossible to gauge where you were.

My new rule: Request a table change when Mister Big Stacks raises every fucking hand pre-flop.

At this point you aren’t playing poker anymore, you are shooting craps for a flop. You can’t re-raise someone with 2K in chips in front of them when you are $400 behind. If you are on the shit end of the probability stick in terms of the cards being dealt to you, the likelihood of pushing and catching a flop are slim.

This constant pre-flop raising is two things: stack protection and a god complex. When you are big stacked, raising every flop weeds out the field to a minority of opponents therefore increasing the value of whatever cards you are holding and increasing the chances of taking down the pot. You are recognizing that you are being favored by probability and are maximizing on it. The god complex is that you believe that you’ve gathered this massive stack and are somehow invincible. While I find this style of play annoying, I can recognize it for what it is and am not above doing it myself on a 1/2 table.

But it sure sucks being on the shit end of it. I really should have requested a table change, but I was having a good time with the girl and her boyfriend and, honestly, too exhausted to care. I was down to $200 in front and while I had some cash to fill out my stack, I was smart enough to know it would be futile. I had resigned myself to giving away the last of my money in the hopes of hitting a hand.

This is such a shitty attitude to have. If you catch yourself with it, the best bet is to walk off the table and call it a day. That said, it’s a mountain of an issue to recognize and drag yourself over so I’m not going to beat myself up too bad for it. Part of the reason for this blog is so that I can come back when I’m down and help me realize where I am and take action. Believe me, in the future I’ll have this post bookmarked on my phone for easy retrieval.

So on the last hand of the night I was dealt 78 suited. $105 behind, I push all in when the flop comes down 756. It’s just me and Mister Big Stacks and of course he calls. Turn drops a deuce and the river is a J. I show my feeble pair and he flips over 72 for two pair.

What a perfect ending.

The Perfect Ending

I was a little premature in claiming that 72 two pair was the perfect ending.

After I busted out, I tracked down Rich and Pritesh. Rich had chosen the smart path of walking off the table while he was way ahead and was burning time playing slots. Pritesh was still playing and wanted to continue so Rich and I hung out for awhile. I eventually fell asleep in the poker room’s waiting area and caught about an hour of sleep before a security guard told me I couldn’t sleep there. Fat bastard.

I am so exhausted at this point I’m considering renting a room, but thankfully Pritesh finishes up soon after and we pile into Rich’s car to head back to NYC.

At the start of the trip back, I pass out in the backseat. I wake up once to find out that we’ve been driving the wrong direction, towards Philly and not NYC, for about 30 minutes. I don’t even care and go back to sleep.

The next time I wake up, we’re on the side of the road and red and blue flashing lights are flooding the inside of the car. A New Jersey state trooper appears at the window and asks Rich if he knows why he pulled him over. The usual dialog occurs between Rich and the state trooper:

“I’m not sure what I did.”

“You were speeding.”

“I wasn’t aware…”

Pritesh then eagerly injects himself, telling the state trooper that Rich isn’t drunk and that, in fact, none of us have been drinking. I do what I can not to bust a gut laughing. Thank god the trooper was intelligent, otherwise we’d all have been doing breathalizers, walking straight lines and reciting the alphabet backwards. We tell Pritesh later that next time he should also tell him, “We have not been puffing on the chronic or snorting the yayo off bathroom toilet seats”.

The trooper writes Rich a summons and we’re back on the road to NYC.

We decide to take the Verrazano to drop me off in Brooklyn, but the Verrazano and Goetthels bridges are closed. We somehow end up lost in Newark for about 20 minutes until we’re saved by google maps on Pritesh’s iphone. We arrive at our destination about 4 hours after we left AC.

That, my friends, is the perfect ending.