Stuck

No other word describes my play for the past three month better then “stuck”. I haven’t won a lot nor have I lost a lot. It seems like an endless transfer of funds from one site to the next, then back again the next day. Am I finally realizing that I’m a break-even player, destined to bonus whore to turn a profit?




No, I’ve always been honest about my “abilities” or lack-thereof. But this maddening carousel of break-even play, or the appearance of it makes for a very dull game. I stopped with record keeping in March, not due to sloth, but due to the fact that poker was becoming a job. Booking billable hours like an attorney, keeping records like an accountant, and fending off 18 year old porn starlets like Ron Jeremy. After I ditched the work part of poker the game became fun again, and I enjoy those two hours of play that I try to squeeze in every night. Granted I’m still hitting the books, re-reading my Ray-Zee and Super System II, watching others play and making notes of their betting tendencies, but the record keeping part is what bogged me down mentally towards the game.

The irony is I’m an auditor. I enjoy books of numbers and figuring out patterns, yet I hated my nightly recording keeping, much like a certain two year old puts on his icky face when presented with veggies for dinner. It wasn’t the losses that I minded; it was business aspect of the game that the causal player like me can’t comprehend. Real players log every session with meticulous notes right down to what brand of thong that hot dealer was wearing because she had on some light tan colored lyrca pants and her leopard skinned panties soaked through the material and you couldn’t help but to look.

Yes, you looked, denying it is lying to yourself.

Do women want you to look or are they “just trying to be sexy for themselves” and curse you out when you take a few seconds too long staring at the camel toe or that sexy lower back tattoo. Not that I would ever do that. But, the women who would curse you out are not being true to themselves, as they wear the provocative clothing and are shocked that men might actually look at them! OMG my boob is falling out of my three sizes too small IPEX bra DON’T LOOK YOU PERVERT!

Maybe I’m not being true to myself by not keeping these records of my play. I’m trying to conceal my lackluster game by ignorance to the fact that the triangle of my g-string is showing every time I bend over. Sure, I keep a mental log of how I’m doing but without the session to session records of play I can’t tell who I’m playing well against, at what limits, which games (embarrassingly I’ve been most profitable at the NLHE cash games lately) and what time of the day to avoid (or if I REALLY want to put on my tinfoil hat, which sites to avoid).

Starting next month, I’m going to pick up the ball again and record each cash game session/SnG/tourney and try to pinpoint where my leaks are and figure out why I’m still a break-even player almost 18 months after starting to play this addictive game. Who knows maybe I’ll come to the conclusion that I am in fact just a break-even player and be fine with that. As long as the game remains challenging and that I keep whining about (insert bad play/bad beat here), I’ll keep coming back to take on the latest idiot to figure out how to use Neteller cause Chris Moneymaker told him to sign up at PokerStars.net.

Thanks for dropping by, now what is the appropriate thing to tell your very pregnant wife on how she looks? I went for “DAMN honey you look like you’re ready to burst” and she got a chuckle out of it. Or maybe that’s why I spent most of the evening watching CSI re-runs and rubbing her feet.