You can always work out which poker players don't have understanding wives: on the last level of the day, they feel obliged to 'double up or go home'. All married men play one less day than the rest of the field; if it's a four day event, they'll deceitfully inform the Mrs., "It's only a three day tournament, luv," fully aware that if they do happen to fluke the final, the little white lie will be instantly negated by the guaranteed payday and a steak dinner at Gaucho for the other half. Win, and you're set for at least another six months of hassle-free poker - although be aware that expectations will now be high.
For those of us yet to tie the knot and lock in the shackles, there's simply something satisfying about bagging up at the final whistle and garnishing our freedom with a ticket to Day 2, however little ink we use when we tally our chip count. I once travelled from Birmingham to Luton to release a single chip from my bag having lost a big pot on the penultimate hand; I doubled it up four times with inferior hands before having my hopes of a Straus/napkin-esque comeback dashed by a cooler in that teasing manner that only the poker gods know.
At Nottingham Live, I was blessed with 25 big blinds and a rare - by current form and standards - second day appearance; I've never been a Star Trek fan, but I'd been able to Clingon for most of the day with very little in the way of hands or excitement, and so my patient display and well-timed moves (including a three-bet bluff/shove against a giant yellow chicken; it won me a paltry sum) had made the bagging process all the more rewarding. Confidence was soaring, and with all my junk-hands behind me and a good night's sleep ahead, I was braced and ready to receive my fair share of good fortune and become the inaugural Champion. The bragging rights would be immense.
It was therefore a little irritating to go out on the first hand.
I'm usually my biggest enemy and assassin from most tournaments, but leading the chasing pack is Zahir 'Zippy' Aslam who has become a similar nemesis over the years. I don't play many live tournaments, but when I do, he's about 50-50 to knock me out, including the ones when he's not even playing. If I were on my death bed I reckon he'd be there, inhaling deeply and taking my last breath.
On this occasion, I reraised all in with 9-9 in the big blind after he'd raised the small. I think I could have any two there, so when he mulled I hoped to be up against a smaller pair, but he ultimately called and flipped K-Q onto the felt. I could throw a two-headed coin into the air and it would land on its side in live tournaments, so naturally the board came x-T-x-J-A to send me back to my role as live-updater (please note that I shifted the jack one spot to the right to make it seem more dramatic).
Despite covering hands that involved my former chips for the rest of the tournament, I thoroughly enjoyed our first outing to the East Midlands, and felt we put on a jolly good show. As usual, Dusk Till Dawn were a class act, and once again proved the front-runner for UK cardrooms - if only their competitors had the gumption to follow suit.
It was also great to see the giant yellow chicken make the money, and then donate all of his winnings to charity - a superb gesture. One of Koddzilla's Carps, Batman, didn't turn up, and didn't bother to inform us either (perhaps the Batmobile had a flat tyre or the pole was insufficiently greased), meaning Sam Razavi was unnecessarily out of pocket. I gave the guy the link to the Cancer Research donation page and left it in his hands - I'd say it's around a 10:1 shot. If you see the Caped Crusader walking the street, feel free to dish out a Ka-Pow whilst I spite-invite Robin to next year's event.
Meanwhile, I've been spending December losing money to random avatars online in an effort to earn the free £750 UKIPT seat in Galway. Of course, I could have just bought into the event myself now and saved the grinding time. Whenever I'm doing badly, I attempt to soothe the relentless frustration - usually in vain - by convincing myself that 'at least I've learned something about the/my game'. This time, that's probably true, as, if anything, I feel I've become more acutely aware of the importance of the mental game.
In a game curbed by restrictions, scandals and increased education, the standard of play has increased considerably, and any edge is crucial in becoming a winning player. Play has reached such a level that I'm beginning to believe that the mental game is surpassing decision-making, and that most pros would see better results if they focused on the teachings of people like Jared Tendler rather than watching an abundance of DeucesCracked videos.
Despite my losses, I enjoyed a session with Jared in the not too distant past and highlighted my flaws, one of which was autopilot and failing to adjust to changes in the game, which subsequently led to exploitation and poor table-selection (or, not leaving one that has become unbeatable). One suggestion he made was to set an alarm every 30 minutes to, not surprisingly, wake me up at regular intervals, and remind myself to reassess the game. As a result, I've vastly improved on this aspect, and am now dipping in and out of tables more frequently and adjusting to the differing settings with a higher level of efficiently.
Sadly, I'm still failing in multiple other areas.
I'm not one for living by EV graphs, but my two lines have created an abyss and I feel as though I've had more than my fair share of misfortune. One night, I ran kings into aces five times in a single session, and became more and more demoralised by each one. Psychologically, it feels as though the table always folds round to you in the big blind when you have a premium, so there's nothing more teasing than getting your stack in only to find you have just two outs that then become none when a bullet spikes the flop. Times that by five in quick succession and poker suicide becomes a viable option. Thankfully, I feel as though I'm reacting better in these situations, when previously I would have busted my 'roll.
What has caught my eye more recently are the elements of what I call 'covert tilt', i.e. the type of tilt that is so subtle that you don't quite spot it until it's too late, and the damage is done. I still suffer from these demonic influences, but over the last few weeks, I've been able to identify the 'turning points' much more easily. The following are my top 10 of telltale signs that covert tilt has crept into your game:
1. You're using 'position' as an excuse to justify discarding the fold or raise options in favour of flat-calling too many hands preflop, regardless of opponent and usually with the intention of just folding to a c-bet if you miss the flop.
2. You're defending the big blind with any half-decent hand because the preflop raiser could have 'any two cards' and you have 'value', yet you're still playing fit-or-fold and will likely check-fold the flop if you miss, or check-raise if you hit.
3. You've now decided that all small pairs are worth set-mining with, whether your opponent has a big stack or not.
4. You play solid opponents heads-up rather than sitting out when the rest of the table has departed, even though you're multi-tabling and clearly can't focus on the game and patterns of play.
5. You refresh your Hold'em Manager profit 'n' loss stat for the session continuously before heading over to your graph in the hope that your EV line suggests you've been super unlucky. If it doesn't, you tell yourself that you've been the victim of 'coolers' that the graph has failed to pick up.
6. You open up more tables because you're doing badly, surmising that it'll enable you to return to break-even in a shorter time when in reality it'll just mean you'll lose quicker. Meanwhile, you tell yourself: 'Well, at least I'm collating a load of Belt Points.'
7. You start playing shallow tables when there are no full ones available. You're even tempted by the one Limit table that's open!
8. You're desperate for the toilet but can't bear to leave the table, and are contemplating urinating into a nearby empty water bottle.
9. You've become so bored with the game that you're trying to occupy your mind by broswing the Internet, downloading films and checking your email, i.e. clicking buttons in your broswer instead of deciphering the hand you're currently involved in. At times, a hand flashes up and you can't even recall the story of the hand that led to your current decision on the river.
10. You're starting to feel nauseous because you've been staring at the monitor for too long.
It's one thing identifying the aforementioned issues, but it's another being mentally aware enough to respond to them, and in a way that increases your chance of turning a profit. If I can achieve this, and conquer the many niggles of my mental game, then I'm confident that I can return to winning ways whilst enjoying a much-needed boost in morale in time for my pending contribution to the tax man.
Then again, if I can pull out a win in Galway, who gives a shit, right?