By the time you read this I’ll be one of the final tablists busy putting the ‘emberni’ into November Nine. Given that definite fact I thought it might be interesting for you to have this written record of the training regime that catapulted me to the final table and poker super stardom….no?? Well you’re gonna get it anyways.

As regular readers of my columns will know (hi mum) I’m playing the main event for the first time. They have a loyalty programme where if you’ve spent the equivalent of 4 entry fees on satellites without managing to win a seat in your lifetime they give you one – it’s like a charity thing for under talented players. As the one thing in poker I’ve always wanted to do but haven’t yet it’s kind of a big deal. It’s pretty likely I’ll only play it once so my inevitable final table appearance alone isn’t enough; I want to play well too.

The problem with preparing for a big poker event is how do you prepare for a big poker event? When I first started playing and I took my local £20 freeze outs far too seriously I used to cram like it was an exam. Not only did I write down key points on bits of paper for me to look at during play containing gems of wisdom like ‘don’t do anything stupid’ but I also known to take a poker book to the tournament to read just before it started. Turns out this doesn’t work – I’m still not sure whether that’s because cramming for poker tournaments is weird or because the poker was the exorable ‘Championship No Limit Holdem by T.J. Cloutier’.

I’ve decided that as well as actually playing some live tournaments there are a few other things to get me in the WSOP main event ‘zone’ – here they are, they will be handed down and copied for generations so get ‘em while they’re hot -

Spending time with people without personal hygiene

It’s a condition of the event that you’ll be forced very close to people who aren’t aware that they’re hotel room has an ensuite bathroom. To prevent this being a shock I’m spending time close to that bloke on the back of the bus people are slightly scared of and some cat ladies.

Replaying movies in my head

The main event is ten handed, live poker without shuffle machines. As entertainment it’s reasonably close to standing on a train platform waiting for the B1934507/2 to pull in. I have therefore spent hours perfecting my powers of recall to the point where I can now remember every movie I’ve seen perfectly. I will be replaying them in real time during my main event run.

Atrophying my body

It’s absolutely vital to be in the perfect physical condition for a big event like this. And the perfect physical condition for the main event is to become used to sitting on your arse for unnaturally long periods. To train for this I have been eating cake and bacon in order to try and grow the natural cushion only a truly roomy arse can generate. Oh to have that super slow metabolism so many of our American cousins seem so blessed with.

Align sleeping pattern

The curse of the European player in Vegas is jet lag. I’m cleverly removing this problem by adjusting my sleep pattern while in Britain so I’m on Vegas time before I arrive – it’s genius. This involves going to bed at 8am so it’s a 2 hour change for me; it’s a big shift but I’ll get there

Rejecting female company

The main event is an exercise in being confined in a room with many many men and basically not a woman in site. To prepare for this I’m swearing off female contact until the main event – as you can imagine this involves fending off a barrage of phone calls….two … (hi again mum)

Hate the enemy – everyone is a suspect

It’s important to be there to win – to stamp on their throats and take their chips. In order to get into this state I’ve stolen a trick from the world of boxing. Much as a boxer before a big fight has a photo of his opponent on his mirror to see and learn to hate his face so have I with my opponents for the main event. Admittedly 6,844 photos is a struggle and I have had to buy several more mirrors but for that competitive edge it’s worth it.

So there we are I’ve covered every base and success is all but guaranteed. Can’t wait to start my main event run – don’t worry I’m not really delusional about it; it should be an awesome hour and a half before my Aces get cracked and I’m in the bar telling strangers about it.

Originally published in Bluff Europe Magazine

The problem is once something grows it grows bureaucracies with it and people who can have a greater impact on the game by formalising it than they can by actually playing. And these people always have the upper hand because those of us that don’t like rules are by definition a bit bloody lazy…- in my best New York college kid accent (which sounds exactly like me trying to slur my words a bit but still sounding like me) ‘I don’t like it but…meh whaddaya gonna do aboud id?’

And so it has gone in recent years with the rule makers increasingly restricting the freedom poker players have at the table. Nowhere has this been more evident than in things like speech play and card showing which used to be part of a good players arsenal at the table. Increasingly led mainly by the WSOP what you can say and do ahs been limited and I have absolutely no idea why. To paraphrase Mike Caro – you can stop talking at the table but then you’re not playing poker it’s a different game. Apparently rules like not being able to show a card or talk about your hand are either to protect players or to protect the integrity of the game or some such guff. Well I’m sorry but you’re just protecting weak players from strong live players and well the game doesn’t need integrity it’s poker for Christ’s sake. As long as there’s no collusion let people say and do what they want and let the other guy figure it out. Let the players draw pictures and do the ‘I’ve got the Jack of Clubs’ dance if they like; it’s their hand after all.

Or let’s put it another way – do you seriously think poker is where it is today if it had started out with 8 human ciphers sitting round a table making their optimal 3 bet shoves and staring blankly at the felt before doing an monosyllabic exit interview where they explain that in a vacuum their play was hugely plus ev? No these people got into poker because it’s cool because Paul Newman said ‘sometimes nothing is a pretty cool hand’ and because Teddy KGB said, ‘yourrrrree right I don’t chav spades’. Take the talking and the acting out and general naughtiness out of poker and you take away its heart.

I was reminded of this when I played live recently for the first time this year at the Virgin poker festival in Newcastle. It’s sad that I don’t play live too much anymore but that feeling of time slowing down to a plodding blur is hard to deal with these days. The tournament was really well structured and run but my ADD online self can’t bear it. After a few minutes I was discussing with another player whether you’re allowed to take laptops to live tournies (anyone know?) – so of course I started talking. I probably broke several TDA rules during the course of my afternoon’s drivel but I think everyone at the table would describe me as there new best friend (that’s ironic was it obvious? – Microsoft word really needs an irony font).

My endless preppy chatter worked for and against me. In one particular hand it really worked – early on I luck boxed my way into the nut full house. The flush card had come on the turn which also boated me up right nice and the way the hand had played out it was pretty obvious my opponent now had trips on a board he could almost never be good against any other legitimate hand. I checked the river hoping he’d bet which, after some thought he did. I started chatting before announcing ‘I’m pretty sure you have a good hand but you don’t seem sure so I don’t think you can call this’ and splashed my remaining chips in the pot as an overbet. He asked me what I had and I continued the ‘I’m a big bully act’; ‘it doesn’t matter what I have because you’re not calling, it’s too big a call for you with just trips.’ Now this is a situation where I should never ever get paid off. His hand was too weak to bet let alone call a check raise. The thing is everyone at the table knew what was happening – if there’d been a 4 deep watching throng they’d have known too. While he thinks it’s time for me to look like I’ve been rumbled – shut down, purse the lips, swallow; ‘all the old school stuff that would never play in the city’. In the heat of the moment with me looking super weak my opponent did what he knew he shouldn’t and called. If the hand had been played online I would never have got his stack.

Later on my chat would work against me too as I talked my way out of a call from a guy after seeming far too strong; so my chat probably ended up being only slightly plus ev! The bottom line is talking during hands probably isn’t the smartest move but it’s an essential part of the game and a great way to make new friends (irony font…seriously).

Originally published in Bluff Europe Magazine

It’s for this reason that plays in poker can look like genius or horrible donk moves depending on your point of you – after all a raise is a raise it doesn’t come with the internally monologue of the player making it attached.

I’ve been thinking about the finnnneeee lines in poker a lot this month. It all started with a hand Durrr played on poker after dark. His opponent Bob Safai had bet all the way with top pair, top kicker and Durrr had called with a flush draw before missing on the river. Bob checked the river which is like a red rag to a bull when playing Durr – actually it’s a bit like a red rag with a big picture of a Bull with a no bulls sign over it and the words ‘I hate bulls’. Durr thought for a bit and decided to bluff but no ordinary bluff – he bet $133k all in into a $39k pot; a huge over bet. Bob Safai didn’t think too long before tossing his winning hand into the muck.

What do you instinctively think of this play –is it genius or madness? He needs Bob to fold roughly 80% of the time for it to make money – what do you think of it now? Obviously Durr thinks he knows his man and knows the situation or he wouldn’t be making the play. By the way I’ll pause while you rush off to make a note on Durr’s account saying ‘check to him to induce bluffs’ so you’re fully armed next time you play him. Here’s the kicker to this hand though – if you were playing in a $0.05c/$0.10c game and you saw exactly the same play (with relative money of course) what would you think? Guy’s a donkey – clearly; actually a monkey donkey, what a horrible bet.

Obviously this hand and this thinking had wormed its way into my subconscious and was lurking their waiting for its moment to pounce as only a few days later I ended up making a similar play. The observant reader will note the subtlety and cleverness with which I’m linking myself to playing like Durrr….not sure I can back this up.

I was in a hand with another regular player in my games. I have over 2000 hands on him in my tracker and have a really good read on his play and respect him as a decent, solid thinking player. Before this hand we didn’t have a huge amount of history though – I like playing my big pots with people that are as far away from decent, solid thinking players as possible. I’d called him in position pre flop with 98s. I floated the flop on a low board then picked up my flush draw and a gut shot on the turn. He bet again and, even though we were fairly deep, I can shove here a lot of the time. I decided to just call on this occasion and instead of the low red card I needed I got a black jack. He thought for a bit then bet just over half the pot. I hardly thought before bluff shoving my chips in.

As soon as I’d done it I regretted it. All the likely draws had missed, worse than that it was a really tough spot to represent a big hand – after all it was a low drawy board, if I did have a big hand, like a set, I’d usually have raised to protect it and give myself a chance of stacking him before the river. To make the bet even less likely to succeed he was getting just over 2 to 1 on his call. As his time bank inched down I knew I was – in the words of one of the top online players – boned beyond belief…. I am a donkey.

And then as if by magic, he folded. And that lovely little animation where the chips slide into my avatar was happening. Yahtzee I’m a poker genius.

I think what happened was he levelled himself a bit – he knew I wouldn’t ever be making a move on him in that spot so even though I wasn’t repping anything and he was getting a great price he knew I had to have a monster of some kind. See I am a genius – except that in the moment I didn’t know any of this pressed the button and got lucky – so I’m a donkey. These really are fine lines aren’t they. It’s okay though I’ve sorted it all out if you’re not sure whether something was genius or madness just check out who has the chips – so Durr and me…both geniuses. Right….right?! I’ll be honest it’s mostly me I’m trying to convince.

Originally published in Poker Player magazine.

It’s not that I’m doing much differently I’m just luck boxing my way to supreme glory – sit down, play, win …its becoming routine. Confidence, that elusive mistress, only helps because sitting down at the virtual felt expecting to win is a pretty good start. The danger is that I’m becoming over confident. The beast is well and truly out of the cage when I play at the moment and I’m reraising way to lightly and bluffing far too much.

Playing a typical 4 table of Holdem session a few days ago I was a couple of hours in and winning, you remember the heater thing. I’d been attacking a player I had position on on two tables. He wasn’t a poor player just predictable and really unlikely to make a move against me and was folding a bit too much, of course every man has their breaking point.

For the hand in question we had effective stacks of about 130 big blinds. He opened from the cut off for a standard raise and I 3 bet him with 9 hearts 8 hearts. He called and I put him on a mid strength hand, two decent broadway cards or a pocket pair. The flop came ten spades, 8 clubs, 3 diamonds and he checked to me. I made a pretty standard continuation bet of two thirds the pot and he called. At this point I know he has to have a hand but probably isn’t super strong; he’s the kind of player who goes into check call mode when they have a hand they think is good but don’t want to play a big pot with. It’s not a great statergy unless you’re going to call down very light because once people (in this case me) pick up on it they’ll force you to make really big decisions by firing on multiple streets.

The turn brought the 7 of hearts giving me a straight draw to go along with my pair. Almost instantly my villan bet out about two thirds of the pot. This was a weird line for him to take of course with me having the lead in the hand. Often when players do this they’re a little weak because after all I’m supposed to bet. I thought for a while but probably not thoroughly enough – remember the beast is out the cage at this point. I have about a pot size raise left and decide he can’t be that strong and I can get him to fold if he has something like Ace ten or 99 maybe even stronger.

I shove my stack in and wait for him to think then give me the pot. Once my money is in I realise he’s getting just over 2 to 1 on his call which would look really tempting to me if I was facing a bet from a player I knew was being overly aggressive and I had a decent hand. After thinking for an age and timing down long enough to convince me he was folding he calls, which is bad. He also turns over an awful hand for me Jack spades, Jack of clubs having me beaten and taking away two of my outs, which is really bad. I’m shocked he took so long to call – but then I know what I had.

Of course I wouldn’t tell you a story without a happy, unjust ending as the beautiful 6 clubs rolled off to give me my winning straight; what can I tell you I had outs plus I am running like baby Jesus.
On reflection I don’t like either of our play in the hand. I can’t see many benefits to his line – unless on the turn he knew he was ahead and was playing to make me spazz out; however the time he took to decide to call would suggest that wasn’t the case. I also don’t like my semi bluff shove. He obviously had a hand of some strength, I didn’t really have enough chips to make him fold it and the dynamic between us meant he was much more likely to call.
Ahh heater how I love you. I want to walk with you for hours by a sun drenched lake, stare lovingly into your eyes until time stops; you magnificent bitch mother never ever leave me.

Originally published in Poker Player magazine.

Poker isn’t about how good you are. Poker is about being better than the people you’re playing against. Like the man trying to escape a bear in the woods you don’t have to be a fast runner just faster than the other bloke the bear is also chasing. Actually an even better option is not to go to the bear infested woods in the first place – I mean they have bears in them and as far as I know no internet poker.

Cash games are about game selection pure and simple. Find a game in which you have an edge, play as long as possible with that edge and watch the money roll in. The problem is we all have an ego and the temptation to tangle with good player and prove ourselves is almost irresistible. Maybe I’m speaking for you all too freely – okay I confess I have an ego problem. When a player pops up at my table with good aggressive stats, or if I know he’s a winner in my games a little bomb detonates in my head and I’m ready to rock and roll with him at the drop of a hat.

A few nights ago I sat down for a session of mid stakes no limit and was reminded, quite painfully, in the wallet, of the perils of ego driven decisions. I was playing three tables and the same regular player was sitting next to me on two of them – one in position the other to my left. I’ve played with him a bit before and knew he plays really well, is tricky, aggressive and probably has about 4 gagillion posts on two plus two. I was focused and playing well but when he joined the tables I felt the beast slowly crawling out of its cage.

I started deliberately playing more pots with him – three betting him preflop regularly sometimes with cards sometimes without, and calling his preflop reraises in position all riled up and ready to ‘out play’ him post flop. The initial exchanges went well as I managed to bluff him off a couple of hands which only increased my confidence. The problem with good players is that they pay attention and adjust quickly. After three betting him several times in position and making a four bet bluff out of position the beginning of my demise arrived.

I held 99 and three bet him in position. The action passed round to him – he thought for a bit and then shoved in 110 big blinds. It was a huge over shove which snapped me out of my poker haze. After some thought I realized what was going on – he was frustrated with all my three betting. I’d got under his skin and forced him to error. He was shoving with a small pair or two broadway cards or even junk because he’s ‘snapped’. I hit call knowing my nines were ahead – maybe miles ahead. I hit call and got shown Aces.

He knew I’d think he was fighting back light and his shove would look weak and bluffy. He’d trapped me, was thinking a level ahead of me and I’d been owned. It took me a while to realize I’d been completely out played. Sadly that while was about an hour and several buy ins. I couldn’t adjust as he had, I was frustrated and stubbornly trying to out play him instead of just playing my hands for value or making the one correct adjustment I needed to make and leaving his tables. He proceeded to check raise me off my non-existent hands when out of position and beat me up when he was in position. After thirty or forty minutes I was no longer playing that well at any table and playing really poorly in any pot with my villain.

After steadily bleeding some money to him the end came. I open raised with 88 and he, as he had been remorselessly reraised me which I called. The flop came J 4 3 with two clubs. I checked, he bet and I called. The turn brought a 6. Again I checked he bet and I called – so far so passive and bitch slapped; though I was confident I was ahead. The river brought the Q clubs. I decided I could represent the flush and get him to fold a bigger pair and bet out. He thought and then shoved all in over the top of my too small, too weak, illogical looking bet. Of course he can be bluff raising me here but I didn’t even consider the possibility instantly hitting the muck button in pure frustration. I have no idea what he had but then my focus and clear thinking had disappeared 4 buy ins ago.

This last car crash of hand was enough and I finally managed to leave his tables. Looking back the next morning I had to admit to myself that on that day, in that session I was outplayed – he was the better player. And as a poker player that’s the hardest thing in the world to to admit.

Originally published in Poker Player magazine.

I’m not sure if you’ve heard but playing poker contains a lot of mathematical deviation from true results – or variance. That’s the technical definition the realtime playing definition is ‘aaaarrrrgggghhhhhhh’. Being on the end of negative variance or ‘a lot of bad luck’ can feel like getting beaten up. This is never truer than during a multitabling session of cash poker. If you’re having a bad run and it’s happening on all the tables simultaneously it can feel like you’re boxer being beaten up on the ropes. Actually it can feel like you’re a boxer in an alley way being beaten up by six blokes with led pipes and you’ve been retired for 30 years and so you can’t fight back and you’ll happily give everyone you’re money if the pain would just stop.

This was happening to me after a disastrous beginning to a session this month and I was reminded that the key is not to panic. I’d managed to finish work in time for a really long session and settled on to my normal 4 tables. I’d found a couple of soft tables and was confident I had a good edge….and then they started dealing cards. The closest I can describe it is like they changed the rules of poker and made it a game where Nick has to run into a brick wall with spikes sticking out of it repeatedly.

In less than 200 hands I’d been stacked 3 times, lost most of the pots I’d entered, had almost every continuation bet raised and on the rare occasion I’d had a big hand had no action at all.
I was 4 and a half buyins down and starting to lean more than a shade tiltward. Generally I don’t like to lose more than 5 or 6 buy ins in a session. It’s not a rigid stop loss limit but after a certain amount of pain it’s really hard to play with the right attitude and I’m not really into that feeling of sick when I wake up unless I have a really really good night to explain it.

As I felt the red mist gently clouding in and that warm agitated feeling starting to flush my cheeks. It was time to remember Corporal Jones and his ludicrously hammy catch phrase and taken an honest look at the situation. The great thing in cash games as opposed to donkaments is that if the fish take money from you the money is often sitting there for you to get it back. I looked back through the big pots I’d lost and confirmed there really was nothing I could have done differently. In one my opponents flush draw had got there, in another my AK suited had run into KK preflop and in the third I’d made a semi bluff shove that had been called and not got there. With my time again I wouldn’t play any of them any differently – they were all super standard. So I haven’t played badly and generally over my tables I had a decent edge on my opponents.

The only question was could I play well from here on in or had this car crash start got to me. The golden rule in cash is don’t let bad luck turn tilt you and lose double what you should. I took a deep breath and decided to play on – stopping if I lost a couple more buy ins.

This pause in the session worked wonders. Of course it didn’t let the random number generator know but it did stop my rising panic and feeling of losses. I was calm and clear thinking again. Soon after I played a pot where I reraised with JJ from the small blind against an aggressive button opener. The flop came low with two hearts. I made my continuation bet and my opponent shoved over the top of it. My heart sank with the prospect of yet more pain and having to log off early. The villan was capable of playing Aces and Kings like this, also a set, two pair or a big draw – or even air. It’s a sucky spot but I felt like he was making a move on me enough of the time that giving up this pot would be huge mistake. I called to be shown the Ace hearts, Queen of hearts and we were flipping coins.

It all evens out in the end – luckily for my evening it started evening out in that pot. The board ran out with lovely looking bricks, I’d won my first stack of the night and the momentum had turned. I slowly fought back over the next few sessions and though I ended up a loser for the session it was for one buy in and not the dreaded 6 or 7. I decided to celebrate my fight back by enjoying some episodes of ‘Dad’s Army’… I got about as far as the third ‘Captain…MannneeeWearing’ before deciding the old duffers had taught me all they could.

Originally published in Poker Player magazine.

It’s been a while since I had that childish visceral pleasure but this month I welcomed it back like a long lost friend. My good friend Brian Townsend is really good at poker he also happened to be in the UK for a few days so it was inevitable we’d get together and play. Brian’s game these days is PLO and apparently that’s now my game too. If you want to do well at poker in your life the golden rule is follow the monekys; sorry I mean money. And the money these days is in PLO. Of course the problem is when you start you are one of the monekys however I’m slowly getting to the point where I’m picking up the dead money rather than providing it…which is nice. All of this is inspired by a challenge I have with the good people at Virgin poker. I need to make $5000 playing plo before the next world series and Virgin will match it to fulfill a life long ambition and get me bought in to the main event; you’ve gotta have a goal you know.

By the time Brian and I started playing it was already gone 10 so a late session looked likely. My session had started badly getting it in good a few times and seeing the pot pushed the wrong way after they’d put the rest of the cards on board as apparently they have to do. When I informed Brian of a bad beat he responded with sympathy and encouragement, actually on reflection he laughed, a lot and said ‘that’s PLO’. Time marched on, long past the obligatory late night, none of the food groups represented, massive pizza and well into the next day.

Then I took another pretty horrible beat at the hands of a tight regular player who had decided to ‘vary his play’ – or some such nonsense – and play a junky hand which sucked out on me on the river. Now I try to be a calm, professional, rational poker player but deep down I’m a child. The red mist descended and in a Hellmuth like display of lameness I decided to berate him for his play. We then proceeded to ‘get into it’. When it comes to trash talk I’m very middle class and very disappointing. I smacked him down with lines like ‘You were so far behind when you got it in its pathetic’…ZING! He then told me he ‘got it in with the hand that won; that’s the general idea’. Okay so we’re in a ‘whose the worst at trash talking contest’ but – as Brian with rising glee pointed out – he kind of owned me. The reg then told me he was ‘disappointed, I thought you were finally getting it’. He meant poker – by this time I was steaming; Brian despaired.

Losing money and losing my cool I was to quickly receive a redemption I didn’t deserve. I was also playing on another table with the regular and we both ahd deep stacks. He open raised a hand and I reraised with a hand that was marginal at best – all aboard the tilt express. He called. I managed to flop trips – the poker gods reward those playing badly, tilting and back chatting to other players; silly fickle gods. He checked, I bet the pot he called. The turn made the board drawy – he checked, I bet the pot and he called again. I couldn’t tell if he was as affected by the virtual verbals as me or if I was being trapped. The river paired the board, he thought for a bit and shoved his stack in causing my heart to simultaneously sink.

It’s hard to say why I called. In a normal hand with a decent player my holding was definitely no good here. Maybe it was the stubbornness of my tilt infested brain, maybe I realized he thought I was tilting or maybe I was so sleepy I hit the wrong button. But I made my hero call and got shown Aces in his hand for a losing two pair. On reflection I think he was trapping me the whole hand figuring – reasonably – I was tilting. I wish I could tell you I was a gracious winner, I mean I could you weren’t there, but truth be told I exploded with glee, ran across the room and high fived Brian giggling like a child and then returned to the chat box…’Are you finally getting it?!’. Yeah that told him…that and the 4 buy in pot of course.

That massive pot had turned my losing session into a winning one and after it the deck started smashing me in the face allowing me to go to breakfast a big winner. Brian has promised to add some of my expert verbal smackdowns to his 50/100 games – though I suspect he was humouring me. The bottom line is I’d had a great time and it only cost me a night’s sleep which I plan on recovering by going backwards past the international date line in the near future; standard.

Originally published in Bluff Europe Magazine

At the end of every year I like to take stock of my accomplishments, after listing them (a very short process) I then look up the document I wrote at the beginning of the year stating my goals and resolutions (a much longer list). I then spend several days under a continental duvet with a large bottle of scotch contemplating my car crash of under achievement.

So let’s not do that together – it’s mid-March and I’m sure you don’t need reminding of all those things you meant to do in 2009. I will however tell you about my 2008 highlights – or more accurately highlight and my resolutions for the coming year.

It’s tough to think of a more remarkable year in poker – a year which saw the birth of the ultimate pub quiz question – can you name all seven dwarves (everyone forgets Bashful…mainly because he was always in the background; on account of the bashfulness) and can you name the November Nine? If you can do both you’re immediately eligible for Mensa membership and a lucrative position on the Hurrahs marketing board.

For me 2008 was the usual mix of limitless variety, from commentating on poker, to playing poker, to writing about poker each day brought a new adventure…in poker. Despite meeting a lot of great players and personalities this year, travelling to tournaments round the world and playing thousands of hands picking my highlight of 2008 is the easiest call in the world. This is because 2008 is the first, and I suspect last year, in which I played beer pong for $1000 a cup.

If you don’t know what beer pong is then you’re like me shortly before playing the game for five figures and obviously haven’t attended an American college. In short it’s a bar game where you throw a ping pong ball into your opponents cups which contain some beer. If you succeed they have to drink the beer and remove the cup. First one to clear their opponents cups wins. It’s a lot of fun, it gets harder as the more you play (due to the effects of alcohol on humans) and it’s very silly and random. It absolutely is not suitable investment vehicle for a potential $10,000 profit or loss.

The details of how we got to that point are a little sketchy however it involved, Vegas, a party, a few high stakes pros (who I won’t name, probably more to their annoyance than anything else) and some beer. Two of the pros present, one my friend and other member of our two strong team, got embroiled in a battle of wills, egos, and small white air filled balls. We lost the first two games – game one for $10 a cup and game two for $100 a cup. At this point the silliness should have been stopped especially if you were my partner and had seen me almost put the lights out and actually put someone’s eye out with my wayward shooting. However beer, Vegas and a tinsy weensy bit of male ego held sway and someone uttered the immortal line ‘how about we play for a thousand a cup?’

Now don’t get me wrong I love a silly bet for cold hard cash. Ever since I found out as a child that they make almost twice as many white cars as the next most popular colour and used it to fleece my sisters on long car journeys. Truth be told I actually lost money playing this game – what can I tell you I run bad. But this was beyond silly this was tossing ping pong balls into beer for the equivalent of a car – not a good car or a new car but ..you know .. still a car.

I pointed out to my partner that he should pick another partner perhaps one who actually had ten thousand dollars in cash or could actually shoot straight – or even see straight. However he was adamant we were a team; I was touched by this show of loyalty until I found out he’d used my novice ineptitude to extract ludicrous (given how random the game is) 2 to 1 odds.

From the start we ran good. We were shooting the lights out – figuratively this time – and they were rimming out with every shot. We built up and early lead and I decided it would be a good time to start trash talking. This produced the obvious result – I stated playing horribly and they got super serious and started coming back. However my partner was still firing on all cylinders and we kept the lead until we were left with one cup to hit – them with two. I stepped up with a chance to win by 2 cups and get paid double odds.I was preparing to launch a ping pong ball worth $4,000.

The baying crowd suddenly went silent, the slot machines stopped ringing, all eyes were focussed on my pulsating yet unwavering hand (none of these things actually happened but hey it’s my highlight of the year so…). I zeroed in on my target and my beer induced fogged lifted for just a moment. I pitched and drained the shot. Cue ludicrous over celebrating, embarrassing trash talking and grown men hugging.
I’m reasonably willing to bet that beer pong has never been played for such high stakes or will be again – unless of course the young men in question to make another donation.

It’s a good story and all true. Sadly it wasn’t for my money; I neglected to mention the quite word with my partner that if he honestly thought I’d be betting up to 5 grand on a game I’d just learnt 20 minutes ago he’d got the wrong man. It takes the edge of the story but hey – when it really mattered, I made the shot.

So there we are the high point of my year in poker was throwing ping pong balls into cups partially full of beer for someone else’s money. I’m going to need a bigger scotch bottle.

Right that’s all fine but it doesn’t leave much room for new year’s resolution…right…um…okay…I promise myself I will get someone to put me in a tournament and then run like God and despite making countless fundamental errors take down the title, the trophy and an enormous stack of cash so that this time next year this column is being written by a sylph like Latino lady scribe as I dictate it from a playing card shaped throne with built in stroking devices as I look out over my infinity pool in my discreet cliff top hideaway. That’s my resolution and do you know what I’m ruddy well going to stick to it.

Originally published in Bluff Europe Magazine

It is also utter nonsense. As a poker player I have to believe its nonsense – there is no ‘getting what you deserve’ in poker, only good decisions and bad ones. And just how perceptive is this universe supposed to be? I mean I say good luck to other players, but inside I want them to go home broke – before me. Can this all seeing karma see through my boyish grin to the money grabbing heart within? No there is no karma, no happy endings for the plucky underdog, just winners and losers.

Until recently this was an entrenched belief of mine. Now I love entrenched beliefs without room for debate as much as the next man (unless the next man happens to be my Dad who still thinks England ‘owns’ parts of France from the hundred years war – no really). However my belief system was rocked one late night in Vegas. I suspect it’s not the first belief system shattered late at night in Vegas – others include ‘I’d never cheat on my wife’, ‘After 14 red numbers it must be black this time’ and ‘my wife would never cheat on me’.

I was playing the midnight tournament at Caesar’s Palace. For the uninformed there are no stories with a happy ending that begin with tournaments that start at midnight. These affairs are crap shoots for the drunk, the desperate and those on chronic life tilt. That night I was all 3.

I like to be a source of light and life at the poker table – usually having fun and always happy though on this night I was properly grumpy (I was also dopey and sleepy but you can only have so many dwarves in one sentence). I sat staring vacantly at the felt and chips which by some miracle of injustice were slowly accumulating. I wasn’t commiserating with people when I knocked them out, I wasn’t laughing with the nice drunks, I was tutting, grumbling and, though the continued application of luck, moving through the field. After a few hours of this I found myself miraculously at the final table. Despite being in the money my mood had hardly improved.

As it was a late night tournament the clock was pretty fast and my combustible mood meant I was finding the time players taking over their decisions incredibly irritating. I should point out this wasn’t there fault I was finding myself irritating by this point. With the blinds huge and the field down to 7 players I found two sweet looking Kings and an early position raiser already in the pot. My mood elevated slightly and I started to think I might actually make some money in this god forsaken event as I reraised.

The action past back to the original raiser and he started to think. And he thought some more. And he asked how much it was to call. And he thought some more. And he counted his stack. And he thought some more. I’m reasonably sure that during this time the vein on the side of my head was throbbing so hard you could have used it as a base line for a dance track.
“Clock,” I almost shouted at the dealer. “What did you say?” my opponent asked in a deep southern drawl. “I said clock – this is ridiculous just make a bloody decision.” Did I mention I become insufferably English when irritated?
In return he gave me a look somewhere between anger and hurt. The tournament director appeared and started counting out the minute for him to make a decision as he muttered under his breath using words a lot worse than bloody. Clearly I’d deeply offended him and I really couldn’t care less.
Eventually he said ‘okay I call’.

The dealer woke from her temporary slumber and dealt the 9-5-3 all of diamonds. The rest of my play was automatic – half my stack was in the middle. He checked to me and I moved in. I think he waited a nano second before saying ‘I call’ but it might have been faster. I stared in disbelief as he rolled the A and 10 of diamonds having me crushed with almost no escape. As the dealer dealt the irrelevant turn and river we exchanged words. They were bad words. I’m not proud of any of them.

Then a moment of clarity at the hands of southern yokel as I’m walking around the table to leave he shouted, ‘that was karma – I busted you because you was mean, it was karma.’ I raised a finger to point but the counter comment never came. I’d been the worst kind of company all night and inflicted my bad mood on everyone I’d encountered; the poker gods had bitten back. It was karma; it was justice.

“You’re right it was” I agreed and slunk into the Vegas night. Tomorrow I’d be smiling, shaking hands and making the now scientifically-proven-to-exist karma my friend.

One final note – I thought long and hard about my first Bluff column to make sure you my new readers saw me in the best possible light, how do you think I did?

Originally published in Bluff Europe Magazine

The WSOP has a magic for me that’s hard to communicate to you. When I first heard of poker it was stories of the series, the event that was the pinnacle of poker. The more I got into poker the more the series obsessed me. When it took place every year and I was stuck thousands of miles away it would be like a wave of sadness. Not only did I feel I should be there but also that I should be competing – being the son of a bitch that puts a move on Chan.
The extent of the obsession became clear when I cancelled spending time with my girlfriend to sit in my flat and watch very slow text updates of Chris Ferguson winning the main event at the hands of my then poker hero TJ (hey I was young). This would have all been fairly reasonable had my girlfriend not been moving flat that weekend; on her own. If memory serves the conversation went something like ‘are you saying that some poker thing in Vegas is more important than helping me’, ‘well I wouldn’t put it like that but..um…yes’. It wasn’t the last time in my life I’d had a conversation like that – they almost never end well.

There is, however, one horrible canker sour on my beautifully toned body of world series of poker pleasure. That being my utter failure to ever play in the main event. There it is; I’ve said it, it’s out in the open. Now don’t get me wrong I’ve tried… certainly plenty of my money has been ‘played for’ in the main event. But with the 10k buy in out of my reach, if not in terms of bankroll then certainly in terms of my lack of profligacy, the seat has remained elusive. In fact I’ve renamed June as ‘let’s see how much Nick spends trying to qualify this year’ month; it’s not catchy but it’s accurate.

For those of you with similar frustrations it’s worth remembering that you are trying to win at least $10k in a poker tournament which isn’t easy to do. It’s mitigated slightly because there can be multiple prizes (seats) but it’s still no mean achievement. The real pain of failing to qualify is that the standard of play in almost all the main event satellites, both online and live, is just horrendous. Wait what’s worse than horrendous… it’s crap, it’s risible, it’s toilet, it both blows and sucks, it’s shockingly terrifyingly abject… and apparently I can’t beat it!

The closet I came was in a multi table live satellite in Binions and it’s still a little painful to write about. We were down to about 7 or 8 players to go before the seats were awarded. I found myself in the classic satellite situation of not being crippled but being short enough that I couldn’t sit still and coast to a seat. The blinds were big and I figured if I could pick them up two or three times, or double up with a big hand, I’d have enough. After all when the pressure gets applied quite a few people make mistakes and go out when there’s no need; survival is the key here. In a hand I’ll remember until I quit playing I picked up 99 on the button. Needing to pick up some chips with the action passed to me there’s an argument for me moving in with any vaguely playable hand, especially as the blinds aren’t supposed to want to play (anyone guess what’s coming…anyone?).

I push my – a bit too small to just sit there – stack into the middle. The small blind folds almost before I take my hand off my stack and the big blind begins to think. Now he’s been playing relatively tight and doesn’t have much more chips than me. In fact I guess the call will cost him about 70% of his chips. I’m figuring out his stack while he’s thinking and he’s still thinking. At this point I begin to get worried. Obviously he has a hand of some kind and I start really rooting for him to fold. With the way he’s thinking and the seats so close he probably has overcards and I’m just not into racing right now. After an age he says something about how I could be stealing and calls. I have about a second or so to indulge the brief fantasy that he has a dominated 88 rather that the A10o he actually has. I mean really Ace Ten offsuit… The flop was safe but a 10 on the turn rolled off and brought a world of disappointment with it. I think his call was probably a mistake given the situation but it certainly wasn’t as horrendous as I made out when the 10 hit – poor fella. Then again he was ripping my heart out and stamping all over it pulping my main event dreams so he deserved some middle class English trash talk.

As I head out west once again instead of the ‘years of hurt’ I’m going to remember the most important thing of all. Years ago I used to spend hours at my desk dreaming of poker and Vegas and the WSOP. Now I get to go write and talk about it as a “job”. I should really get out the bitter barn and go play in the hay.. or at least the 103 degree sunshine.

Originally published in Poker Player magazine.