8 July 2005 (Yeah, I know this bad boy is a little over two weeks late, but I was in Las Vegas, taking care of my poker business, the week after the game, and I’m typing this while I’m sitting in Blenz, a Vancouver, B.C. coffee shop, coming down from a day that started in a scary-ass SeaTac motel, went through Seattle [props to the Emerald City, currently my third-favorite city in the world], and ended up with my walking for what felt like at least fifteen miles, but which I was informed was probably closer to five. Whatever; it felt like ten.)

Finally, it happened, and it only took four months of consistent losing, of going from being up by $748.50 to being up by only $448, before I started to make better plays at the table. What was the problem for the nearly four months I was giving it up like the town skank? The list is long:

1) I became a calling station. Once I stopped catching cards and/or taking fourth- and fifth-street beatdowns, I stopped betting my hands. Also, I wouldn’t attack with high, unsuited face cards; instead I would wait to make my move until I paired with the board. Weak.

2) I made myself into a low-variance player. I would start to lose some hands and then tighten up in an effort to hold on to as much of my stack as I could.

3) I had completely stopped randomizing my game. I played certain hands in the exact way and I never played marginal hands, only premium starters, and I would only stick with those if I caught a big piece of the flop. Oh, Blas Manuel is betting after the flop; he must have made top two pair, so I’ll fold.

4) I had turned into a punk. All you had to do was make a big bet at me after the river and, unless I was unbeatable, or nearly so, I would fold out.

Yeah, the list is long, and it’s embarrassing to know that I actually regressed when everybody else in the poker crew was getting better and better. No lie, the guys in my game are all bad-asses. Respect.

On Friday, though, I started calling and winning showdowns, and, even better, started re-raising, even if I hadn't made my draw. I actually won a few hands on pure bluffs. In other words, I got folds instead of giving folds. I actually felt confident again.

I’m not saying that I’m going to start winning big all the time again (with the hardcore players at our game, those days are probably gone), but at least I’ll have a chance.

Bad Beat of the Week/Word Up to K.G.: K.G. had come to one of our games many months ago, and it wasn’t pretty; he was down to felt in about a half hour, and that was the last that we’d thought we’d ever see of him. When those of is in the poker crew started organizing the Madcity No-Limit Poker Invitational, though, we started hunting high and low for players, and K.G.’s name came up. He got the invitation through Jesse, and K.G. came to the MNPI. He played pretty well, but he took some bad beats and was knocked out short of the money. That was on Saturday. On the next Friday, it was time for our usual poker game, and, because K.G. seemed like a cool guy and like a player who could keep up with the rest of us, we invited him to come play with us again. He handled his business and kicked my ass on a hand that I played like an idiot. I was holding 9-4 off-suit, a completely unplayable hand, but it was cheap to get in, I was feeling pretty good about myself, and I thought what the hell. What flopped? 10-9-4. I had made bottom two pair, not the best hand, but a really strong hand. I bet it, K.G. stays with me, and here comes fourth, a blank. I still think that I’m up, but K.G. bets at me and I call, but not before I say that I shouldn’t even be in this hand and that I might be setting myself up to get screwed. Fifth-street is another 4. I just made the 4-4-4-9-9 boat, and I’m as happy as a little girl with a new Barbie. I bet it, but K.G. bets back at me. I’m not gonna punk out of my tasty little hand, so I re-raise, but K.G. brings it with the final raise. I call, thinking that the green is going to flow my way. Word up. What’s K.G. holding? Pocket tens; this mofo had made the 10-10-10-4-4 boat to win the pot. In fact, he had led me the whole way and only running fours or nines would have helped me to win the hand. I’m an idiot (or did I say that already?) and my matching the pre-flop bet with my horrible cards ended up costing me about fifteen dollars. It was an ass-kicking, but it was an ass-kicking that I needed because I played much smarter after that. Thanks, K.G., for taking my money but teaching me a lesson.

My Big Bro Has Skills: Finally, I not only bring it at the poker table, I’m one of a family of pretty decent card players. My dad used to make all kinds of green playing conquian, and now my big bro, without really making a fuss, has been the big winner at four straight poker games, which wouldn't be a big deal except for the fact that that’s never happened. We’ve taken turns being Boss Hogg because we’re so equally matched, so being el jefe for basically a month jumps out. He’s just stealthily been killing us all, and while it always sucks to lose, I can’t help but be proud when my big bro is raking in his chips. Ups to my big bro.

Poker Problem: Neon. What's that about?