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DJ Geek

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Full Tilt Poker Podcasts

Self Pity, Please Ignore.

50 players left in a Party 180-player SNG, 18 pay. Blinds 100/200. MP raises to 800, I make it 1600, and he pushes. If i call and he loses, it's 2/3 of his stack.



According to my records, I have cashed only twice in the last 40 MTT's I've played. Both were in the bottom half of the money. The only final tables I've seen are at Murderer's Row, and I didn't get paid.

With all the success that everyone's had, I can't help but feel extremely inadequate.

-Chris

Absinthe Makes the World Spin Round

Ryan is one of the 18 left in Event number 1 at the LAPC. Play resumes tonight. Check for updates on his blog and cheer his ass on.

People Watch this? Shit, *I'm* Watching This!

Somewhere last night between doing laundry, World of Warcraft, and playing in a few SNG's online, I caught the sound in the air of seals humping.

Oh, wait. No, American Idol is back on TV.

Now, normally I wouldn't waste my time making commentary on a show that makes me weep for the future of the human race. But something happened that made me stand up on a note that even had me, the degenerate gambler, interested.

If you didn't happen to watch, at one point before going to commercial, Ryan I'm-Everything-Wrong-with-America Seacrest announced, "One of these three contestants is going to Hollywood, really!"

On the TV was a girl so tanned she got it on Earth re-entry, a guy dressed like Henry VIII, and a barefoot moron jumping around like a monkey.

The Geekette, who watches this TV show as a guilty pleasure, shared my gaze that was obviously turning the same gears in her head as I.

"Has to be Funny Hat dude," I said. "He must have pipes."

I hate blond bimbos. Repulsed to the point of nausea. There's no way they make a setup like this and Little Miss Likeohmygod gets to come to Hollywood.

Now I was stuck, because I had to watch and see what would happen. Dammit, Fox, I was enjoying my evening and you had to go and ruin it with a fun little romp of Schadenfreude. Oh well, bring on the losers.

(NOTE: You'll notice I have no sympathy for the people who go on this show and then cry their eyes out when lambasted. If you go to this show to try out, you better be damn sure that you are in the top one-thousandth of one percent of singing talent, because if you're not, then you're either wasting our time or making for great TV when you call Simon Cowell a cocksucker. Either you're too egotistical to see past your own horrible voice, or too dumb. Please go away and stop trying to earn your dreams through self-pity.

On the other hand, William Hung? Deserves every moment of fame he managed to squeeze out of his AI experience. Thumbs up.)

Anyways, I digress.

*puts down firearms*

The show continues and the blond bonehead opens her mouth for the first time, and where I hope for a pittance, I am rewarded with riches. The girl is so lost she'd ask how many cans there are in a six-pack. She prides herself on being "immersed in the entertainment industry" and says it in such a perky Valleygirl dialect that I almost do a double take. "Did she just say Edu-tainment? Are we really allowing her near our nation's kids?" I cackle with glee the more and more she talks, ready for the axe to fall when she walks in for her audition.

"Hi, i'm going to sing the Jackson 5 song, A-B-..... uh.... what comes after B?"

She walks in and is such a vapid twerp that Simon starts to go on the same investigative track I was on: That her brain is actually a tape recorder.

"Can I ask about your suntan?"
"Yeah, my name is Crystal and-"
"No, your suntan!"
"OH! I'm sorry. I'm going to sing-"
"YOUR SUNTAN!"
"My what? Oh, my suntan."

I'm laughing but my evening is almost ruined when I've totally underestimated her singing ability. She belts it. Not the best performance of the day, but she's definitely not the worst. I frown when she ends, praying the same Gods of Karma who gave Matusow the nuts against the Sheik would bestow a big fat "NO" on the lips of Simon, Paula, and Randy.

Thankfully, they go along with my evil plan and even call her mother in to ask her where Crystal gets her inspiration. She walks in and they decided they don't need to ask anymore.

Ah, satisfaction. The show continues. One loser down, two to go. Funny hat dude is a lock.

We get to Funny hate dude, and he's intelligent and speaks well, which has been a lock so far on this show. If they interview you and you're able to use words bigger than, say, "glove", you're going to Hollywood.

I'm looking past the outfit and giving him the thumbs up. Go in and sing, man. Show 'em how it's done.

Aw man, he's signing in a cryptic foreign language. Faaaaaaack. Simon tees it up and waits for the appropriate comedic beat.

"Catchy."

Geekette laughs and starts getting excited. "That means the hyper guy is going to Hollywood!"
"What? No way. No effing way."
"They said--"
"'They?' 'They' are the same people that gave Wanda Sykes a show."

Oh shit, maybe I just ruined my own argument.

Mr. Hyper, whose name is David Hoover, is introduced to us before his introduction and we find out that not only is he barefoot and on some kind of amphetamine, but that animals talk to him in 'cartoony voices'.

I brace myself for the audition in a way that resembles being excited for a multi-car pileup on the freeway.

David comes in and does something resembling an interpretive dance of the third act of In the Mouth of Madness.

Simon, immediately, says no. Actually, he says Never. Good call. Cover all the bases. Don't let him show up for a second audition.

Randy says yes, mostly because it takes two judges to get to Hollywood and there's no way that Paula says yes.

Paula can't stop giggling though, and... "For reasons I can't explain," she squeaks, says YES. David bounds around screaming, grabs his Golden Wonka Ticket to Hollywood, and is still audible in the audition room after the door is shut.

Simon Cowell looks like he just found out Courtney Love is having his baby.


Somewhere, right now, some bookie is trying to work out odds on David Hoover to get past the next round, and I'm putting money down. It's the Jesse effect.

Do you remember MTV's "I wanna be a VJ?" It was the first ever reality show voted on American Idol-style. MTV execs sat horrified as the incredibly qualified and knowledgable Dave Holmes lost to Jesse Camp, a moron who didn't answer a single musical trivia question during the entire contest. His usual answer? "Couch!" MTV's core audience and its combined IQ of 12 decided that they wanted him to win, the way that the assholes in high school start voting drives for the biggest nerd in school to win Prom King.

Now, Look for David Hoover to be the Jesse Camp of our generation, and for Simon Cowell to kill himself in grand fashion. I'm putting money on it. And now, like any sporting event with money on the line, I'm forced to watch.

Goddammit.

-Chris



"What, I won? Whoa, I guess I'm not the only person on crack!"

Quarter

Yesterday was another "milestone birthday", the last one you can probably enjoy. There's 13 (yay, i'm a teenager!), 16 (yay, I can drive!), 18 (woot dead kittens), 20 (round numbers rock), 21 (woot, I can hit stuff with my car), and now, 25.

As promised to my dad, I was going to show off that after this long of time, I've come a long way.

Quarter of a century down, 2 more to go, if life expectations are to be believed. And as you all know, us poker bloggers are very big on looking at statistics in the long run.

Things are also on the upswing too. I mean, look at my last birthday: Broke, and being dumped. This birthday: In Vegas gambling money that I don't mind losing, and doing it with my fiance. Life is good.

This birthday was a Vegas trip, though we were not there celebrating my birthday as much as just having a good time gambling and seeing sights we haven't hit yet. Kori's friend Matt was in town, and having never been to Vegas, got to play the role of "Oooh! Shiny!" for us. We stayed at the Stratosphere and managed to have lunch at the Top of the World restaraunt, cheering on a piece of paper while it fought the laws of physics and actually catch an updraft higher than us.

I quietly remarked that I didn't want any serving or kitchen staff singing Happy Birthday (I think the exact quote is "You do that and you're dead",) though when a large party broke out into said song 2 tables down, I quietly altered the lyrics for myself and munched on one of the better Kobe burgers I've had in due time.

Poker? One 7 hour session the night we got in. I played 1-2NL in the Strat and sat down with chips, only to hear the dealer exclaim "OH MY GOD...." to the surprise of the other players, who looked up at me expecting to see a 3-armed man or some other abnormality. I knew I didn't have 3 arms, so I instead turned my gaze to the dealer to try and figure out why my presence was so jarring...

It was Sloshr!!! We laughed and broke into our own version of "Of all the gin joints in all the world..." while the players all wondered if they were about to be cold decked.

On the second hand, we're sitting shorthanded and everyone limps. I complete with 36o and the Big blind makes a nuisance raise to 7. I'm already a bit sauced and everyone else folds. I look to my left and this kid is wearing sunglasses and sitting stonefaced like a statue.

PokerGeek Double Standard #27: When I wear sunglasses, it's irony. When others do, it's cute, in a pathetic sort of way.

I call, because I'm not letting this wannabe badass off the hook.

Flop: 662. Check, he bets 15 bucks before I can tap the table a second time. I call after a beat.

Turn: 2. Check. He checks. Guess he's not being fooled anymore.

River: 2. I look at my cards and study the boat on the board. "I think I'm playing the board here...." and bet 25. He calls.

"Oh wait, i'm not." Flip over my 6 and he mucks.

Ryan, did I tip? I'm pretty sure I tipped. :)

Anyways, Ryan gets moved off the table by another dealer apparently by mistake, and after looking rather upset by this for a bit, he disappears. I'm told his shift is over and am very bummed. But I'm up, so I take the table change in stride.

The second table was full and fishy, but could not really catch cards (or action) when I needed either. I flopped Aces full with AJ, and managed to squeeze 20 bucks out of a stone. I turned broadway on a scary board, and check-reraised after two loose players decided to represent. There was a flush draw so I pushed, but both players decided that their bluffs had no chance and went away.

Over the whole weekend, blackjack kicked my ass, as usual. Henry had given me 100 for my B-Day to be as stupid as possible with, and considering how i did during the WPBT trip at the blackjack tables, it seemed appropriate. A dealer at the MGM, Joe, was playing the role of cooler, dealing me 12 over and over without relenting. A face card to go with was guaranteed.

Down to my last 20, I put it down and was dealt 11. The dealer was showing a 4, and I quickly borrowed 20 from Matt who was completely down with the situation. The dealer, wanting to try and finally squeeze some fun out of the table, dealt me the card face down.

The fun was pretty short lived. The dealer's other card was a 7, and a 10 came out so fast afterwards I didn't even have time to exclaim "FUCK!" and get tossed out. Instead, I sat dejected and looked at the dealer.

"I don't have a face card, do I?" He half-turned my double down card towards himself, and looked at me, knowing he was taking the last 40 dollars. I didn't ask him to show me.

"I'm sorry we can't be friends, Joe," I said as I got up from the table.

.....

NO. No no no no no no NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Three Time Cover Boy

Greetings, all. I would apologize for my lack of posting, but everyone's been just so gosh-darn giddy about the last blog post, and very few have taken the route of "So, why don't you actually write about it?" To the minority that did, you are in the right, and I should write. Right? Right.

Kori and I thank you all for your well-wishes and congratulations. The last week has been laid back in the sense that there will be little chance to relax in the near future as preparing for a wedding tends to dominate one's time. So, we took a deep breath, sat down, played some World of Warcraft, and spent each evening in each other's company.

Oh, except for the night where I lost to a fucking two-outer. For the love of--

((sound of sentence cut off midway, replaced by hold music, preferably "The Girl from Iponema"))

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((Music stopped, followed by Chris attempting to breathe))

Okay, reset. Get to that later. For now, happier tidings. I promise.

We spent Christmas in the midwest, a few days in the Twin Cities and then venturing home to Iowa until a flight on New Year's Eve that I'm sure both of us would rather forget. I spent the beginning of Friday night regaling in the similarity of my experience to JoeSpeaker's harrowing tale of woe on the subway one hungover morning. Our exchange was mostly interrupting each other with "Oh, I *know*!" and laughing at our shared misery in such a way as to make derivative stand up comics proud.

And then after that, the FUCKING TWO OUTER. I MEAN, REA--

((Hold Music))

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((Hold Music replaced by muffled voices in the background arguing))

...okay, I'm being told I'm not allowed to complain about that. But I will offer my commentary on others' comments. Or something.

So Friday night. First time that Kori's been able to see the gang since the big announcement, so it's fun for both of us to get mobbed with questions and whatnot and play the happy couple. We're early so we get plenty of yammering in. I make a huge party foul by spilling a beer all over both of us in the middle of trying to give her a hug, and everyone has a grand laugh while I clean up and Kori borrows another pair of slacks from Mrs. HDouble. (Not to plug Eddie Bauer, but the beer slid right off my khakis and you wouldn't even know I spilled on them.)

High Plains Drifter joins us, and my first observation is that he's literally the West Coast version of BadBlood, though he confesses that he's not nearly as "metal". Either way, we chat about bartending and other stuff during the night, and it's fun to watch him step into the game.

My goal for the night (besides the obvious win): No matter how sure I was about my decision in a hand, I was gonna think about it twice and be damn sure of what I was doing. No kneejerk all-ins, no lighting quick checking after I missed the flop. Solid play.

3 Notable hands that stick in my mind:

1. I've been getting hot with the cards but not showing down, so my image is looser than normal pretty typical of my play. I get ATo in the CO with the blinds at 10-20, and make the standard raise. JoeSpeaker calls to my left, and both blinds fold.

The flop is J52 with two spades, and I have the ace of spades. I make a continuation bet of 75 to see what Joe's thinking. A little more than half the pot. Joe thinks for a second and then calls.

Okay, so right there, what does Joe have? I'm giving him odds to chase a flush, but I have the ace. KQ spades is a possibility. Would he just flat-call with a jack? Maybe if he didn't like his kicker. JT? Did he flop a set and slowplay me? That's my biggest fear. But would Joe slowplay, knowing I could be on a draw too? It's gotta be staring him in the face if that's the case...

...my conclusion at this point was that Joe felt he had the best hand, but was not awestruck with it either. Other hands start entering my mind like middle pair or A5.

When the 4 of clubs fell on the turn, I thought for awhile before checking, deciding that I was going to pay extra attention to Joe's bet. Joe bet 150 into a 300 chip pot, and it didn't tell me anything new. So, I thought for awhile longer and check-raised him to 450.

Joe took the longest of any of the decisions during the hand, and called.

Crap.

The river put the third spade on the board, and I thought about pushing. Joe didn't have the nuts, and I didn't have him on a draw. But if he likes his hand enough to call a check-raise, does he like it enough now? The pot is 1250 chips, and I've only got 1000 left. I don't think I can make another bluff.

I check, and he checks behind, a small grimace on his face. He shows QJs and I knock the table.

A small discussion afterwards sprung up as to whether he'd lay down if I pushed on the river, and a few people said "Of course he can't call, no way" but I think that it's possible. Either way, I had the right idea about his hand range, it was just a bit too strong to make him lay anything down.

2. We're at the final table and I'm sitting in the SB with a small stack of 1100 chips. Blinds are 50/100 and it's folded around to HDouble on the button, who makes a blind-steal raise to 300. I finally look down at my cards... A9o.

Usual line of thinking: Push 90% of the time, drop it the other 10%, depending on situation.

The line of thinking at the time: Do I really wanna re-raise all in with A9o here? I've got High Plains Drifter on my left yet to act, and I've barely seen him play. I get into one of those "Hank knows that I think he raises with any two here, so would he pick a quality hand and catch me restaling?"

I take enough time that Hank even comments that I'm deciding whether to push or not. Almost in an effort to throw him a curveball, I just call. Hank gives a half surprised look, Drifter folds, and we see a flop.

Flop is a hardly comforting T42 rainbow. I think again for a solid beat before checking. Hank looks at me as he checks behind.

Turn is a queen and I check again, and Hank makes a bet. It doesn't take me long to fold.

Hank shows 72 as he collects his chips, and I sigh.

"Well, he did have the best hand," i audibly note. Hank smiles and agrees.

3. Alright, here's "the hand". I've pushed with 66 previously in a bid to stay alive, and picked up the blinds. I've got about 700 in front of me with the blinds at 75/150, and Ryan raises UTG to 450. It's folded to me, and I see 66 again.

I know this is going to be hairy with Ryan raising UTG, but I have to make a move here. I push the rest of my chips in, praying for a coin flip.

Then, Franklin goes into the deepest tank I've ever seen at the Murderer's Row game. Bill Rini was going to have to lend him scuba gear. Like Ryan (as his own personal account of the hand declares), I was using whatever psychic ability I could to NOT GET INVOLVED IN THE HAND. 66 against one player? Bad. Against Ryan? I could be meat. Against Ryan *and* Franklin? Don't even bother with a flop, guys, it's been good playing with you.

Finally, Franklin folds. There was a funny moment here when Ryan looked at me.

"Okay, *how* much more is it to me?"

The tone sparked something off in my brain. Looking at the money, there's no way he can lay down here. The pot odds are through the roof, and he has to call even if he hates his hand.

But why would he hate his hand if he was raising UTG?....

....Shit, he's got THE HAMMER.

Ryan noted my utter ballistic glee in his blog, and yes, I snarked "I caught you!" because of it. I think it earns a laugh in any case, but my real glee came from the fact that I came to the conclusion a few beats before the cards were face up, and I was ready to actually receive some good fortune in this god forsaken game.

As is customary with hands where I'm on the button and I'm all in, I handed the deck to someone else to deal. In this case, it was JoeSpeaker. "Here man, I can't do it."

"What? Aw man, don't peg this on me..." but Joe took the cards and dealt my fate.

The flop was 853 and while Franklin was going crazy at missing out on top set, my stomach was churning. I didn't like the flop at all. I wanted broadway cards and anything far away from touching us.

Turn? 4. Think Matusow watching the flush draw come on the turn for Lazar. There's no way this ends well, right?

Wait, I've still got a straight draw too. And he needs a 6, and I've got two of those, so that means --

-- and I wasn't allowed to finish the thought. The 6 hit on the river.

No tirades, no hiding in the bathroom. I took it well. I lost to the hammer, after all. The Most Powerful Hand in No-Limit Hold'em.

After a few minutes of collecting myself, I walked back to the table and tapped on Ryan's shoulder.

"You realize we're even now, right?"

Franklin chuckled from his seat to the right of us. "I was waiting for him to say that."

-Chris

News

Bad News: The Geekette is no longer my girlfriend.

Good News: The Geekette is now my fiancée.

Discuss.

-Chris

Corrections, Retractions, and Omissions

While I'm sitting in Minneapolis and enjoying the holiday mood, I thought I'd get some things cleared up and share some other notes:

Correction: In a pre-Vegas post, I noted that BG smelled. I apologize for the confusion, as BG thought I was referring to his olfactory abilities. What I meant was, "The eerie haze that surrounds BG as he sits at his computer desk resembles that of dead fish being picked apart by vultures bathed in raw sewage."

That and I lost money playing his horses... a whopping 7 dollars (or for those keeping track, 49.3% of my bankroll).

Omissions: Yeah, all I really can give you people is a Vegas trip report, and I totally copped out. I officially suck ass. My favorite hate mail for this so far belongs to a non-blogger who I played with at MGM with, who found my blog and sent me this IM:

dude, i am SO disappointed... we share an hour or two at 4/8 half kill at the MGM, argue about KTo UTG and its value in that game, I impress you with my knowledge of the 91 Twins. I complain about Full Tilt poker to you when you obviously don't care, then you give me this blog. Then I check it religiously to see me chronicled in INFAMY, and I get a philisophical nugget about Disneyland after 3 weeks of waiting.

To add to the notes that weren't included above, we never had a kill pot that got past pre-flop and the play was as fishy as one would expect in a 4/8 game. I almost felt like I was there killing time and sharing conversation than I was playing poker. My hands pretty much played themselves and never felt the need to get stupid or tricky. I left down two dollars, but we were having a hilarious time trading movie and sports trivia. The writer of the above note kept up with me at a really scary rate and I can take heart that I am *not* the only one that believes the '91 Series to be the greatest of all time.

Omission: CJ has been replaced by Dr. Chako as the Pokergeek's Official Luckbox. Pocket Aces 5 times in the first two hours of the big tournament, knocking out me *and* the Geekette. Well done sir. He got a nice hat for his efforts. I got a lecture for not picking up on his red-flag-IVE-GOT-ACES acting show from the SB.

Correction: Despite earlier sentiment, I do not know how to play poker. But I play one on the internet.

-Chris