Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The braggart defends himself...

OK, so here I am stuck on another flight (this one is going to Malaga: I checked) so it's time to splurge whatever random poker thoughts are swilling around my brain into another blog. Chatting to a friend on Facebook about enthusiasm, the subject of my last blog, got me thinking. I have a track record of total immersion in my latest obsession for a number of years followed by total withdrawal once my enthusiasm evaporates (and when it starts to go, boy does it go fast). I've gone through a number of different pursuits and pastimes in this way. Poker is the first one that has doubled as my livelihood so I guess I should be thinking of ways to sustain my enthusiasm for longer. A lot of the young grinders who do sick volume insist on taking 2 days a week off. I don't as yet as I just get restless on days off but will probably need to start scheduling off days at some point. I suck at resting and switching off though, which probably explains why I was a much better ultramarathon runner (where the key skill is to perform with as little rest as possible and you actually train yourself to run when already exhausted, demoralised and disheartened) than marathon runner (where rest and recovery are essential to progress).

I think I subconsciously use a number of strategies to help maintain my enthusiasm. One is to dwell on the successes and ups much more than the downs. My view on the downs is once you've reflected on them for lessons learned, you should pretty much just forget about them. But you should relive and savour the highs. My running coach used to emphasise this: enjoy and relish your successes, and on days when you find yourself struggling in a race, remember how good they felt and how proud you and those around you were of them. In poker, it's much easier to get over getting one outered in a huge pot if you remind yourself you're way up overall. This contrasts with a lot of players' view that you should dwell on your setbacks and forget your successes to avoid complacency or resting on your laurels.

Which brings me on to bragging. I think I'm well known and even despised in some quarters for the sheer volume of my brag posts on Twitter and Facebook. Opprobrium doesn't bother me in the slightest. It may be based partly by jealousy, or maybe by a misunderstanding on the reasons why I brag so much. I don't brag to be admired by others (although it's nice when other people are genuinely happy for me when I do well): I do so primarily as positive self reenforcement so I can maintain the positive mental attitude in this game where the bad beats and disappointments can drag you down.

Culturally, we Irish don't handle success very well, so we tend to downplay it if we happen stumble into it. We see bragging as unpleasant, and we applaud fake humility. I've lived here most of my life so this doesn't really bother me as I understand the reasons behind it, but my wife finds this facet of the Irish psyche almost unbearable. Her stock response to fake humility "Ah I was very lucky, I'm not that good at all at all" is "Yeah, I thought so", one guaranteed to instantly reveal the fakeness of most humility. I doubt there's a poker player in the world who doesn't think they're even better than they really are. Certainly no good ones. Would Muhammad Ali have been as compelling a figure if he had hadn't insisted on telling us he must be the greatest? I don't think so.

There is one other great thing about bragging. It tilts the Hell out of your enemies and fake friends, of which inevitably there are many in this game. Brag once to a fake friend and they'll probably muster a smile and a well done. Do so repeatedly and the facade drops and you see a more genuine response of begrudgery. As the song says, we hate it when our friends succeed. I think "we" here means people in this part of the world: other cultures seem to have a better attitude to success. I also think that if we genuinely hate it when our friends succeed, then they may be our friends, but we are not really theirs.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Doke's equation: E + V = +EV

I've yet to make day 2 of an EMOPS, my second attempt wheezing to a halt late on day 1 in a manner resembling my first. I never got much past starting stack and the deck was complaining of a headache and therefore not in the mood to help me out. The few big hands I got failed to win big pots, my light opens and three bets got snapped off more often than not. Some funny hands and unorthodox play throughout though proved the value in these events if you can only avoid the minefield.

The tone was set on my table early in level 1. Folded to local on the button, he 4x's it to 200, and the BB defends. He led at a J83 board for 200, which got raised to 800, before he raised to 2200. Call. Turn an 8 and the blind almost had an orgasm and bet 6K. Snap call. River's a 3 and the blind snap shoves his remaining 12K. The button thinks for a little while, then bangs (literally: thump!) his chips in and turns over aces which obviously he can never seriously contemplate folding no matter how often the board pairs. The other lad had the nuts (quad eights) surprisingly enough given how little strength he'd shown throughout the hand.

I only got one big hand before dinner and that was literally the last hand before dinner. The best player on the table opened to 800 in early position and 150/300 and I found kings on the button and 3 bet to 2k. At this stage I had 60 bbs so I'm happy enough if we get it in preflop. He was playing pretty loose and the only other time I'd 3 bet I'd been light and forced to fold to a 4 bet, so I was hoping to induce a light 4 bet. As it happened, he flatted, and the flop came T52r, pretty good for my kings. He check called my continuation bet. Before he called preflop, he'd asked how much I was playing before he called, so his most likely hand is a pair he doesn't want to commit pre with. When he check calls my continuation bet, his range is pretty much decent pairs and sets, I didn't think he was bad enough to call with 2 overs. Turn was a blank (4) and I checked behind for a number of reasons:
(1) Pot control if I'm behind to a set or trappily-played aces
(2) To get value from one pair hands I beat. If I fire the turn, he'll almost certainly fold hands like 66/77/88/99 that I may get another bet out of on the river after I check the turn
(3) To protect future continuation bets. If I only check the turn with weak hands after cbetting the flop, observant players can float profitably against me (call a flop bet and fire a chunky river bet if I bet the turn). By showing I can check strong hands like big overpairs, I make this a less appealing proposition.

So my plan was to bet any blank river. Unfortunately the river was a rather horrible 3 putting four to a straight out there (any ace or 6 makes a straight). There's now no point in value betting as he won't call with anything I beat and if I get check raised it's horrible, so I checked behind (also, there are now more pocket pairs beating me than I beat). He showed jacks and as we got up to go to dinner said "that river saved me money" which is exactly right.

Card death and a few unwelcome table moves which meant I couldn't exploit my tight image when the antes kicked in made the next few hours tough going. The only hand of note I picked up was queens. A very good cash player I've played with before minned in early position and I found queens just behind. We had similar 30 bb stacks so my choice is between flatting and making a small raise to try to induce the 4 bet shove. I ruled out the flat because I thought a cold 4 bet from someone was less likely than a chain of callers which I definitely don't want. Queens aren't quite strong enough in the spot that I'm happy to let ace and kings rags in cheap, or give any small pocket pairs the odds to set mine. I'd definitely have flatted aces and probably kings, but instead I tried the small 3 bet. The problem with this is I'm not up against a donkey likely to 4 bet jam JTs but a very good thinking player who realises I won't be 3 bet folding very often with 30 bbs, and who won't be flatting "for value" either. There are many elements to tournament luck other than the obvious ones of flips won, suckouts or your big hands holding: factors like table draw and whether you get kings when someone else has queens or aces, and also the pertinent one here: when and who you get your big hands again. The fact that I got queens here with 30 bbs against a top class player meant I was a lot less likely to win a big pot with them. So it proved: quick glance at my stack and disciplined instamuck when it gets back to him.

The blinds kept rising, and I kept getting moved and seven highs, until I finally picked up AKs utg. I'd maintained my stack numerically but it was now only 15 bbs. Until quite recently, with antes, I'd just ship here (I still usually do online), but recently live have started making a smaller raise to try to induce action from hands I dominate. It's been working of in the sense that it's been having the desired effect (getting calls from hands like AT and KJ) but not in the sense that these hands seem to then proceed to suck out every time :)

So it proved this time with utg+1 asking how much the raise was before deciding to flat the 3 bbs playing only 11. Against a competent player the alarm would now be sounding, but he didn't strike me as the competent type. Yes, he was Scandi, but more importantly he was an aul lad. I say more importantly because aul Scandis seem to play as bad or worse than aul anything elses. Flop came QJx and with 2 overs and a gutter I'm never folding now so I led big enough to signal commitment and called his shove which amounted to a min raise. I figured his most likely hand was a pair so if he's setted up fair play to him, at least I charged him enough preflop to make it a mistake to call, and if he has I still have the gutter. Instead I was rather disgusted to see KJo which held. After a rather bizarre doubleup (I shoved an ace without bothering to check the other card in early position, and got reraised by the guy 2 to my right with QTo) and a period of treading water, I shoved ATo on the button into kings in the BB.

After a day's rest, I ventured back for the last side event, a one day turbo crapshoot. I walked up to the casino with Kevin Spillane and last year's main event winner Tim Timateou. Kevin's an instantly likeable person and was still in the main and therefore understandably chirpy. A lot of things are needed to be successful in the long term in this game and you see a lot written on some of them like technique, discipline, patience, tilt control and bankroll management. The one you don't hear so much about but is in my opinion absolutely vital in the long term is enthusiasm. It's very hard to maintain in a game where disappointments greatly outnumber ambitions fulfilled, where the bad beats just keep coming, where downswings are inevitable and luck the most important factor in the short term, but the ability to stay enthusiastic is a huge asset. If you allow the disappointments, bad beats and downswings to drag you down, it's almost impossible to put in the kind of steady graft and big volume you need to make your livelihood long term in this game. Taking a break to clear your head, change your luck or get your enthusiasm back is all well and good, but before you know it you can find yourself on a break most of the time, and that's not good in a profession where you don't get paid if you don't play. Managing to recover quickly from setbacks and regain the enthusiasm to get up and try again tomorrow is vital. Or to put it in quasi mathematical terms E (enthusiasm) + V (volume) = +EV.

Unfortunately, neither Kevin nor myself got much luck on the day. He went out on the second last table and my side event campaign just served to illustrate how differently I run live and online. The standard was absolutely horrific so it was another case of "if you can avoid the minefield" and the fast structure and stationy type opponents didn't leave much room for creativity. I gradually doubled my starting stack, then reshipped it over a loose mid position raiser with AJs. Having played with him on the first table I knew he was a real ace rag merchant so as he tanked I thought I'm a 9 to 4 on favourite here if he calls, which he eventually did. Unfortunately he proceeded to hit his rag. You know you're running bad when you look to see what rag he has and then "see" it on the flop in your mindseye before the actual flop is dealt.

I'm back home for a few days, then it's off to Malaga for the Estrellas there, and then straight on to Berlin for probably my only EPT before Vegas. As appealling as San Remo is, I really don't want to overdo the trips away before Vegas.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Drunken duck

After getting to the hotel, I met Chris Dowling and Roy Brindley to go get something to eat. We were joined by Mick Frisby and after a great Thai (I ordered the rather intriguingly titled drunken duck) that met with the Roy the Boy seal of approval, we meandered through a night that included an initially deserted bar where the main mystery was as to whether the barmaids were lesbians, a rather frightful looking Irish pub that we bailed on after one look, and the casino which has a very Vegas feel to it. Roy described it in advance as an air hangar filled with slots and that summed it up. The poker and gaming room were well hidden away and guarded by a barrier that required 6 euros to penetrate. Rather neat trick that, getting people to pay cover charge for the privilege of losing their money.

By now the beers had turned into Bushmills so my memory of the rest of the night is a little hazy. But it definitely included Gary Clarke (who had joined us at some point after busting the tournament) spinning up at Punto Banco despite none of us having much of a notion about the game, and everyone chipping in to send Chris off to jump into a 5/10 game. I went over periodically to watch Chris putting on a master display of folding when behind, and betting and hero calling when ahead. In about an hour he'd spun the buyin up to 2.5, which basically meant that at the end of a night that included a great meal, great company, much drink and no work, I somehow had more money in my wallet than at the start. You can't really do better than that.

The burning question

Clearly, there's something wrong with me. I keep saying "I'm going to play less live so I can play more online" but somehow keep finding myself on planes to some live event with nothing better to be doing than tapping out another blog. This morning, I worked out that I'm going to be away from home for two and a half of the next four months. When I told Mrs. Doke, she asked the very legitimate question "What the Hell is wrong with you?". If she had her way, I'd never leave the house.

This particular plane is (hopefully) on its way to Lisbon. If not, this will be a matter of some concern and disappointment not just to me but to the two young Waterford lads I keep running into at these foreign events currently sitting one row in front of me, and Chris Dowling currently minding the world's largest carry on bag several rows behind me.

These EMOPS have been good hunting grounds for recent Irish raiding parties, and in addition to those on this plane a few others like Gary Clarke and Roy Brindley will also be in attendance. All of which is building nicely towards the first Irish EMOPS in Clontarf castle in July.

On Monday, a few hours after finishing tenth in the warmup, I went into town to meet Stephen, one of my best non-poker friends. When I told "emsgawa9" Jono this, he expressed immediate sympathy for my friend on the basis that "I can't imagine someone who just final table bubbled a major is going to be pleasant company", a very valid point. I therefore resolved to do my best not to take my frustrations out on my friend, but of course I couldn't not tell him what had just happened. He smiled happily and said "Great, so you won 6 grand". I started to explain that this felt like a kick in the bollocks compared to the lost opportunity to win a major title (and the small matter of 160 grand) but I remembered Jono's words and stopped myself. It also struck me that my friend was right: at the end of the day I'd won 6 grand, and that was something to be happy about. Sometimes you need the perspective of a total outsider. The other thing that struck me was that there was no doubting that Stephen was genuinely happy that things are going well for me. It's easy to forget sometimes that your best friends are those who want to see you succeed, and when you do their reaction is one of genuine happiness untinged by any trace of jealousy.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Slow like an ultra runner

Almost 3 years ago, my friend and poker soul bro Mark Dalimore asked me why I didn't play the majors on Stars every Sunday. He suggested I play the Million every week, then amended his suggestion to, "No, the warmup, better for our time zone". He then watched as I set up a Stars account and suggested the name SlowDoke, a jibe at how slow I ran in a so-called speed session he supervised that afternoon at the track. To prove just how apt the name really was, it took me until yesterday to actually get around to heeding his advice. And I almost didn't.

After a sleepless night grinding, I tried unsuccessfully to get to sleep in the late AM of Sunday, then when that didn't work around 2 PM again. By now the house was sufficiently noisy that I was definitely drawing dead, so I got back up and signed up for the warmup and a few other tournies. Several hours later, I've navigated my way through a 5000 runner field to the final ten, the final table bubble. I'm 8/10 with just under 10 bbs, and I'm in the BB with KJ. On the other table, I see the shortie who looked like he was trying to slowly blind out of the tourney finally get it in with A9o v 88. When the flop came KT8 I thought "Great, final table!". But no: he hit a jack and then a queen for a runner runner straight and it's back to me. The other shortie looked like he was trying to slowfold to the final table too, so I figured if I tried to outwait them, I'd be hitting the final table with 2 big blinds if I was lucky. With only an additional 2k for ninth but over 150k for the win, that didn't seem optimal. Meanwhile, back on my table the button had raised, and my HUD told me he was doing this more or less every time it was passed around to him. So KJ is ahead of the range but unfortunately not ahead of his hand (AQ). The QTx flop gave me an openender and an overcard but I missed to bubble the final table. Obviously gutted to come so near but no regrets over the exit: while I'd prefer to be getting it in first with actual fold equity, that wasn't possible at a 5 handed hyper aggro table and I really couldn't afford to drop any lower to have a decent shot. I got 6K for tenth whichh would normally be a good sized score for me but obviously wasn't massive consolation with almost 160k for the win. There's no point in whinging though, and little to legitimately whinge about: I ran very well for most of the tournament and I'm confident that if I keep playing my best, I'll get the big one at some point.

I got tremendous rail support from my online poker buddies (most of whom were playing umpteen tables themselves, and one of whom was coming very close to winning his own European major, the Ongame 200k), and also a lot of IPBers, so thanks to everyone for that.

I'm off to Lisbon on Wednesday for the EMOPS. A nice big live score would go some way to relieving the disappointment of another crossbar.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Catching the little ones

My days as a competitive runner seem more distant than they actually are (less than 4 years ago I was a national champion at 24 hours and 3 years ago had just won the world's most prestigious 6 hour indoor race setting a number of national records in the process). My biggest weakness back then was I never managed to successfully defend a title. It seemed that with the best will and preparation in the world, once the gun went and I found myself in a race I'd previously won my unconscious was going "meh, already done this once". The flip side was that my biggest strength was I seldom if ever followed one lacklustre performance with another. Almost all my biggest wins followed hot on the heels of crushingly disappointing races. My biggest triumph (winning the New York ultra marathon) was a few weeks after the most disappointing race I ever ran (2:52 in my last ever Dublin marathon). If I was a racehorse, the jockey would have to be prepared to risk overuse of the whip.

I went into the 300 side event in UKIPT Manchester still smarting from a very lacklustre performance in the main event. I'd spent most of the previous 48 hours resting up in the hotel room reflecting on a few bad calls that effectively scuppered my main. I hate excuses for performance failure: if you're that way inclined you can always find an excuse or a reason to fail. I've become very stoical about variance and bad beats, they really don't bother me much any more, but bad play (on my part) is a completely different matter. When I started playing, I was still one of the physically and mentally fittest people on the planet. When you know you can run from Dublin to Galway in a day with an injury or an illness, you tend to think sitting at a poker table making good decisions for hours on end is a piece of cake by comparison. It's only recently that it's hit me that I'm not as young or in anything like that kind of shape any more and illness or tiredness are much more likely to affect me at the table. I therefore need to start thinking more about preparing myself physically and mentally for a live tournament the way I used to for a race in the days before, rather than just turning up to play after a couple of sleepless nights.

For a variety of reasons I got very little sleep in the 48 hours before the main event, and towards the end of the day I actually felt myself on the verge of nodding off at the table. I showed up for the start of the 2 day side event in a much more rested state, and it showed in my performance, which I think was my best live one since UKIPT Galway. That said, it was almost one of those "never got going" tourneys. I was already down to half a stack when I called a small raise with 55 in position. The flop came 965 all spades, the 2 blinds checked, the raiser cbet, and I now had to decide between the flat and the raise. I'm very unlucky if there's a made flush out there, but it's highly likely there's at least one flush draw out there. I quickly preferred the flat for a number of reasons: if there's more than one flush draw out there I make more by keeping them all in until the turn, the flat may encourage the raiser to keep barrelling if he has nothing or "protecting" one pair hands, or may induce action from a flush draw (if I raise it's more obvious that I'm committed with my stack). As it happened, the blinds both folded, the turn came a red queen, the raiser fired again and now was a good time to get the loot in. He called with AsQd and the river bricked.

I'd moved up to 2 stacks when I got moved to a rather juicy looking table that featured one very loose spewy player with a massive stack. He was playing most hands, overbetting lots, and never passing on a chance to bluff. He was also very easy to read: smiling and talking endlessly when he had it, but ashen faced and quiet as a churchmouse when he hadn't. Unfortunately before I got a chance to start relieving him of his chips, Nick Abou Risk arrived and seemed to immediately formulate a similar plan. Still, at least he was on the right side of me this time, and the target had enough chips for both of us. Over the rest of the day we gradually extricated most of his chips between us, using similar methods (looking to play lots of pots with him, and giving him the chance to bluff when we hit). I finished the day with just over average and 45K.

The day 2 redraw put me at a much tougher table and I basically tread water til it broke with 20 players left. A well timed squeeze pushed me up towards 100K. A loose guy I'd played with for most of the tournament opened under the gun. Having already seen him do this with 87s I wasn't giving the raise much respect. Just behind him, a Korean lady who had a massive stack last time I saw her on day 1 but now shortish (but apparently no more reluctant about playing almost every hand) called, and as it was folded around to my small blind my squeezing range crystallised in my mind to "any ace any pair any two pictures". KQs was therefore a no brainer. The initial raiser tank folded (99 he said, which would have setted up on the river) and the lady snapped with T8s which didn't get there.

I maintained my stack through card death until just before the final table. Then a standard (for the stacks and blinds) shove with an ace from the small blind ran into a bigger ace in the big blind and when the dust had clear, my stack was down to debris. I don't subscribe to the theory than when you get crippled, you have to get it in next hand, so I folded a few 6 and 7 high hands before sticking my 2 bbs in with AT, which held against Q7o to almost treble up. This meant I now had a stack where I could correctly call a shove with (almost) any two cards. Nick Newport was sb and smart enough to realise this so he didn't push his spanners and I got a walk. Next hand I pick up JJ in the sb and shove into the bb's A3s and hold again so suddenly I'm right back in it.

It's always nice to make a final table. It would be even nicer to last more than an orbit, but with 10 bbs it was always likely I was going to have to win a flip to do so. 77 in the cutoff is plenty to be going with in the circumstances. Nick Newport tank folded the button, and chipleader Fintan Gavin snapped and announced he had AT. I said "race", not really expecting to win this one the way Fintan was running (his AQ dogged Alan McLean's AK on the bubble and just before the final table he got it in with AQ v AA and 55 and hit two queens). My expectations were not exceeded and I was out in 9th. Dena did a very good job consoling me but to be honest I wasn't really upset. As long as I feel I've played well I can generally accept the outcome.

Four Irish final tabled the 2 day side event, and Peter Barable was unlucky not to final table the main. When I started travelling to the UK, it seemed the travelling Irish were a little outgunned by the locals, but there's now a very good band of players travelling from our shores and we're starting to punch above our weight.

I decided to skip the last side event (a microstakes affair) and the plan was to do a bit of sightseeing in Manchester. Mireille knows full well what a cheapskate I am when it comes to expenses, so she took matters into her own hands ringing the hotel and booking the full entertainment package on her card for me. That meant my inner cheapskate now felt compelled to stay indoors and watch as many of the movies as possible :)

The first movie I watched was the Facebook movie ("The Social Network"). In that, the guy who started Napster says to the guy who started Facebook that you have a choice between catching lots of small fish or landing one big one, and that you never see a picture of a guy holding up a lot of small fish. His point was that you're better off shooting for a billion dollar company than settling for a million dollar one, but you can intrepret it another way. The guys who get their picture in the paper with the big fish are generally the amateur's who go out one day, get lucky, and catch it. The guys who actually make their living from fishing are the guys who go out every day and catch lots of little fish. While I certainly wouldn't say no to another picture of me holding up a big novelty-sized cheque, so long as I keep catching lots of little fish, I'll be happy enough.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Mehchester

Well, after cashing the first first two UKIPTs of this season, my challenge in the third one (Manchester) never amounted to much at all. I was happy enough with my table draw, and early on moved up to 20K (from 15K starting) without too many showdowns or incidents. I struggled with card death all day though and eventually the table stopped believing I had a hand every time and I found it harder to get anything through. By dinner I was back down to 8k, thanks in no small part to a couple of bad river calls where I was pretty much only beating a bluff and he wasn't. I go backwards and forwards all the time trying to strike a balance between calling and folding too much in those spots: I think maybe now I need to start folding more again.

I played precisely zero hands in the next hour as there was no good spot or hand to get it in with, and was down to 4k by the time the blinds hit 300/600/75, so it was obviously imperative to get it in before I got any lower. A spot presented itself very first hand on the table. I found AQ in the SB and was obviously willing to get it in under most circumstances. The tightest player on the table, not realising the blinds had just gone up, tried to raise to 1k utg. The ruling is he has to min raise to 1200 and to be honest I'm not liking my AQ so much any more and I'm probably folding if the others fold round to me. However, a loose player flats the 1200 just behind which changes things again. Although my AQ is still in bad shape against the initial opener's range, if I ship and he reships to isolate and the other guy folds, I'm headsup getting almost 2 to 1 on my money because of all the dead money, and who knows, I can be lucky and he can have tens or jacks rather than queens plus or AK. In practise it works out even better: the initial opener tanks and folds (jacks he said), the caller calls with AJo, so I'm now a massive favourite to treble up. Unfortunately the flop came (case) jack 4 4, and I was on the rail a few seconds later. It seems that every tournament I play in Manchester ends the same way: I never really get going and late on day 1 lose the first time I get it all in.

Feargal is in bits with his wisdom tooth. While he was off looking for a dentist, I was trying to get his day switched. Toby and Dena graciously accomodated on that score. With me out and him unable to play we're basically holed up in the Ramada, which is a hell of a hole in which to be holed up. I've seen better prison cells, the TV was banjaxed, the internet connection still is. On the bright side, Feargal's managed to score a couple of tickets to the Man U - Arsenal game tomorrow (Feargal's a great man for this sort of thing) so if he feels better the plan is to hit that, and be back in time to play the 300 side event tomorrow. Only problem is the tickets are in the Stretford End so if Arsenal do score I won't be able to celebrate but will have to keep a poker face.

For the curious among you who wonder about the answers to life's biggest questions: Feargal is currently in an antibiotic haze snoring somewhere on the Richter scale between McCluskey and Power.

I went for a ninety minute run in and around Manchester through Chinatown, past the townhall, up to the cathedral, back through the shopping district, out to Old Trafford, and then back in around Manchester university and past the Hacienda (a sign outside which depressingly calls it iconic office space). Having seen Old Trafford (located not really in Manchester but a separate place called Trafford that includes Altrincham, Stretford and Sale) I now understand why so many Mancunians are ambivalent about Man U: to put it in Dublin terms they're essentially the Bray Wanderers of Manchester.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Nick Wealthall makes a new enemy...

As I've noted to the point of Grandpa Simpsonesque repetition, the down times associated with foreign trips is the best time to blog, and this one is being tapped up in Dublin airport at the ungodly hour that exists between 5 and 6 AM as I wait for my Ryanair flight to Manchester for the next leg of the UKIPT. Aptly enough, a few hours ago I watched myself feature on the latest Channel 4 episode of the Galway UKIPT. Feature is perhaps too strong a word for what was essentially an extras role, but I did at least get to see what I look like moving all in with AT. I also got to hear myself being described as "looking a bit like a badger" by the commentator, much to my own amusement but not that of Mrs. Doke. I've grown accustomed to comments on my appearance ranging from the mildly disparaging to the psychotically offensive, poker players being the cruel superficial lot that they are, so I don't tend to worry too much about them. It was tremendously amusing to see Mrs. Doke go on instatilt and start swearing death threats in French at the TV though. She then upped the hilarity content by going on to earnestly compare the commentator to "looking like a chihuahua, and not a nice one but an annoying little one you just want to kick or squish". Not a big dog lover, Mrs. Doke, and being French she doesn't need any real excuse other than an English accent to get her blood boiling. Quelle bande de cons ces anglais, je vais lui faire sa peau.

The next few weeks are going to be very busy on the foreign trip front, with Lisbon (EMOPS), Malaga (Estrellas) and Berlin (EPT) all on the itinerary. I'm looking forward to all three for different reasons.

The online grind has been going very well this year, no major downswings to report. Qualification for my first EPT this year was secured in a 3x. I won't bore you with the details of my other recent online results: anyone sufficiently curious can check them on OPR or PocketFives, or, heaven help us all, Facebook or Twitter.

I also booked Vegas: I go out on the 8th of June and should be returning on the 12th of July, unless I'm still involved in the main event. I'm sticking to a similar plan to last year: staying in the Gold Coast until the main event at which point I'll be moving in to the Rio. My oldest son Paddy has kindly agreed to fly in as the main event kicks off to help keep his old man sane. This should be a very timely boost as Paddy is quite simply one hell of a guy. Even if he wasn't my son he'd be one of my favourite and most admired people.

I'm here in Manchester til next Tuesday. Looks like a good Irish contingent, and I should learn the answer to one of life's big questions: does Feargal Nealon snore? Although Feargal's been my main man as far as poker friends go for a while now, this is the first time we've actually roomed together. I'm pretty sure that even if he does snore he can't be as bad as Mick Mccluskey, who sounds like a chainsaw, only worse. More like a chainsaw being used to kill an opera singer who swallowed an amplifier. He should even be an improvement on Nicky Power, who even if he isn't as bad as Mick is bad enough that Marty Smyth advised me to be prepared to sleep in the bath with ear plugs in and the noisy air conditioning on.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I don't normally plug other people's blogs but, actually scratch that, I probably do plug other people's blogs more than most. Anyway, my good pal Jason Tompkins latest blog entry on his approach to live mtts in Ireland is a must read for any serious student of the game here and goes a long way to explaining Jason's consistency.

Finally (really this time, I promise), well done to Jason who shipped the Ipoker 200K and had a 3rd in the 100r on Stars the same day, and to Feargal who got coolered to bust in 12th in the Ipoker 200K the following week when he was looking odds on to repeat Jason's success. Feargal's record in these events speaks for itself and it's only a matter of time before he binks big again.

Share

Twitter Delicious Facebook Digg Stumbleupon Favorites More