Poker Tips
Poker Dreams Part 2
May 2007
A star is a star, whatever the sky.
I coined this phrase in reference to my daughters... its relevance in my other world is significant, though, too. A world-class player sticks conspicuously out when sloshing with the no-names, has-beens, and write-offs. I can tell you that in my element, I am one of these players. This isn't to say that I mingle on a regular basis with the glorified super-stars. Why would I? Skill can become frighteningly unimportant when ego comes into play. I've learned though the volatility of 2006 that my only true nemesis in the game that I hate to love is myself, and my aforementioned ego.
I had expected to write this series with seamless precision. I wanted the flow to be swift and the script to inspire. It began that way, I suppose, but circumstances completely within my control forbade me from continuing. I had wanted to tell my story and lend advice to the seasoned and the new but was caught up in a ridiculous feud. My career, which started with such promise, had almost been obliterated by my asinine antics and fool-hardy decisions. I literally almost amputated the very hand that feeds me - my own.
Let me back up here - my pace is a little feverish now that the truth is coming out. It is step 6 I believe in my self-imposed 12 step program. To Catholics, this is widely known as the sacrament of confession, (as I'm not Catholic, I don't readily know the correct term but I'm sure you get my gist), and so it may be said that this is my penned confession of committing countless poker sins. Sigh. As I have emerged still kicking from the woes that I speak of, I am hopeful that my own idiodicy will curb the mortality rate of young players. The adage about "something good coming of this" might as well be the tagged banner of this series. My mantra is do as I say and not as I've done. If only I'd read this prior to 2006... my seamless precision would have been flawless.
I have much insight to lend in all aspects of limit hold em. My knowledge comes from the school of Hard Knocks. I didn't become a winner right away - I was a bottom-feeder to be sure, and in the first year of playing I was stuck close to 10k. My presence at the table was little more than the whimper of an injured lamb. I wasn't jovial or aggressive but instead sat like a caged mouse trapped by my own fear and weakness. I may offend anyone who reads this, but in my not so humble opinion I came off like any other typical female player. Yes, you read right. Disagree? Then guess what - your desire to be liberated and politically correct is blinding you from an ever-present truth. Most, emphasis on most, females players are terribly out matched by their respective three-legged opponents. It kills me to write this, but come on, if ever there were gospel than this might be it. As with any other good rule, obviously, there are exceptions. Do you think I started playing, at the beginning, because I really saw a future in it for myself? Hell no. I wanted to beat the boys.
During my first year of play I evolved, rapidly, into somewhat of a maniac. I initially played strictly by Sklansky's commandments - thou shall not reraise 88 in middle position or limp with dominated hands utg or cap 45 suited on the puck. Sklansky kicks ass, I love and endorse him, but I needed to tailor his mantra and make it my own. So I did. And I morphed into a maniac with all of the traits that had once evaded me, and blonde and timid suddenly became biatch with the chips. I spent much time at our local home of the degenerates, and soon I was known to the staff, the bosses and the players. A lot of the old-school rocks considered me at first to be silly and reckless but after being victim to my beatings held me in a much different regard. I had a definite fan club and (a less rowdy) club of spiteful haters. This is all I wanted. I need that energy the way I need air to breathe and my girls to hold. I thrive on it... shadow-dwelling is for cowards. Love me or hate me, at least let me be known.
I'm one of those girls that employs the wistful concept of women's rights only when it is to my benefit. Pay me the same, respect me the same, value me equally, but the rest of it is grossly overrated. Split the dinner bill? Um.... Hold the door open for me? Come on. Pure silliness. The idea that I want to split the bill is absurd. I'll never say that I won't employ whatever feminine wiles I might have at my disposal if and when it serves me nicely. I remember playing in Mississippi with Southern boys caught up in all the wrong assets. These guys would check down a made flush or straight to me. What a bunch of morons. After I check-raised them later into oblivion these previous decisions were regretted, I'm sure. My tricks wore off at my local card room because the guys caught on that they were, um, tools in my trade so to speak but fresh faced youngins would always sit down and be eager to tell me in there discreet but way to close to my face manner that they had flopped a tight and hey I was drawing dead. I would smile and say thank you, they would show the goods, and later, when gravity had aligned with me and there chips sat neatly in my pile, I would wink at them with subtle irony, if only to ease the pain. The funny thing with these guys is, time after time, common sense and profit-making gets lost in hair and boobs. Sigh... I miss those kids.
The feminine edge is universal to all of the better sex. Don't misunderstand the above into thinking that I regard myself as particularly special - I don't. I do, however, understand the perceived edge and have no problem taking full advantage. The thought that I might be considered less of a viable threat at any given table and therefore deserve the odd break is laughable, ignorant, and costly. Sometimes I wince and shutter at the play of my meek comrades as there chips are coddled slowly from there less-than-iron-grip but I'm also thankful for them as the rap they've created has benefited those of us with a much more stellar play. My husband is kind of an ass though - he keeps pushing the idea of me playing in the WSOP ... in the women's event. Are you kidding me? That's like handing me some cake and then punching me in the face. The claws came out during that conversation. If your wondering about the tension level in my house I can assure you that it usually sits around the cusp of boiling. During the best of times the poker life is euphoric, rich, untouchable... during the worst, it can be catastrophic. Losing your bankroll can suddenly seem to be the least of your worries. Imagine that.
I am hopeful that you are able to pick through my self-indulgent rant and find the gems of wisdom that I've carefully hidden. About edges and their utilization for the gals and not falling victim to this same edge for the guys. And about adapting a playing style that is consistently profitable and dynamic - become educated by the best of the best and then perform any necessary alternations needed to maximize your own potential. Never, ever, be lazy - whether a hobby or a profession, this game is constantly evolving. Evolve with it because catching up is kind of like running a marathon in a skirt - your competitors are at the finish line gawking at you, because your now down and out, splayed like an eagle for all the world to see. I love metaphors... I love Hemmingway too but simplistic just isn't my style. Hence the hidden gems. The point is to keep learning - read, watch, whatever. I kind of ribbed a new friend of mine because he gambles on everything. From the natural (sports) to the totally obscure (Dancing with the Stars???) but when I mentioned this he explained (albeit in the tone I'd use for my toddler) that it wasn't gambling because he had an edge... he studies and he wins. As a star is a star, an edge is an edge. The point is to find them, use them, and deactivate them in your opponents at the table.
Anyone who thinks that online play isn't abundant with tell-tale fish is welcome to play with me anytime. Betting patterns are the most common way to pick up on the strength or lack of it in any given player. The stone faced aviators don't sweat or fret or whistle with glee but there puppet masters tend to leave a trail of information. The dude in seat three who slow-played the flop only to check-raise you into a temporary coma on the turn with his set is the same dude who bet into you on the flop with middle pair to "see where he is in the hand and gain information". Guess what - seat three will keep doing this. Over and over, the proverbial broken record has a style that in theory is fine but in practice can be grossly overused. Once you understand seat three you can let him slow-play the flop and then give yourself a beautiful freebie on the turn, avoiding his expected check-raise. And the edge? Back in your court, kiddo. Likewise, you can raise seat three when he bets into you with a board showing A83... sure, you're holding KQ off but he may fold his 8 and chances are that a turned K or Q will give you the better hand. The free card is a powerful tool - if the turn dumps a brick than you can check again (or bully him if he is a weakling... this practice is more advanced, though) and ride along to the river for free. My examples are bare-boned but relevant. Understanding your opponents play is almost as important as your own - tells are worth gold in the long run (literally) and dodging bullets takes the bite out of your opponents play. All of a sudden, seat three has gone from masterful to moronic. Not just any sitting duck but your sitting duck, bewildered by your play and now reeling in self-doubt. This isn't a line you know - I've seen it, done it, and been it. Being it sucks, though. Avoid the sitting duck syndrome at all cost - leave the table, take a break, whatever. Once you suspect that a player has picked up on your pace change it - not drastically as this is obvious, too, but subtle enough to be effective and throw his nose off your scent.
Oh, and lastly, if your prone to performing the Mexican Hat Dance (in live play, of course) after taking down a killer pot where you were hugely dominated and scraped your way, horseshoe by horseshoe, to victory, and this said dance riles your opponent into uncharacteristic tilt, then dance your ass off at any given time, with or without just cause. If edge comes with being a table-irritant, than irritate to the best of your abilities. Personally, I can irritate with the best of 'em. A star to some, an eye-sore to others... remembered, I think, by all.
You can call me RB now. I wasn't too crazy about being tagged "anonymous" - I'm about as inconspicuous as a rash - and I like it that way.
RB...
Part 2 in a series.
