I was playing at a table last night, and where ever I would of sat I would of been life tilted.
One guy had really bad breath, really bad. I had to turn my head away, when he breathed out I was nearly sick.
There was some fat guy, and when I say fat; my fucking god I mean fat. His fat belly was on the table. No really! He is one of those funny fat guys too, he has a tattoo on his fore arm.
Guess what it says? Salad!
Then we had "Mr Bizcuitz". Enough said on this freak of nature. He kept on saying I am folding aces, every time I isolated him and c-bet the flop.
Then there was this guy, whose face just really fucks me off. He has this constant grim, frowning look. A horrible person. No he is. Biggest fucking granite around. Go fuck yourself now, or ideally get hit by a bus and die. Please?
Sunday, 31 May 2009
Friday, 29 May 2009
They come off the van...
Let again I have left it way too long to post, and have all this fucking shit buzzing around in my head making me play like a retardo-tron.
Retardo-tron. A new breed.
First came the Retards, straight off the boats. Easily identifiable at any poker table by their abnormal behaviour, and unique poker minds...
They will eat a bowl of chips with their fingers and get ketchup on the cards.
They will sneeze hard, if you are lucky capping their snot on their hands (straight onto the cards) but most the time they are too busy holding their balls to free their hands up in time, and its not uncommon for retard snot flying in your face.
They will split when they talk (and even more so when they eat).
I am verging on life tilt just thinking about this shit, so I will move on.
Retard Poker Philosophy...
"...There is no other way to play this hand...I don't want any callers...an ace always comes..." -after open raising to £30 in a £1-£2 game with Kings.
"...I called because I had position on you..." -after limping on the button, then calling the big blind's all in shove with A 8 off.
"...I knew you had nothing...I knew it..." -after fading your multi draw hand of KcQc on a flop of Jc10c2s, and tabling pocket eights at shown down to proudly win the pot.
They came, and keep coming. They don't last long. But have fun along the way to losing.
Then came the Hope-a-Trons.
These cunts are somewhat more annoying, but equally profitable to play against in the long run. They just last longer, but are able to be grinded away (unless their ugly fucking faces set you off on a seize of tilt!).
They believe / convince themselves to be winning players. They over value their abilities.
They will crack, and I often refer to them as the "Inevitables".
These guys will often be able to shuffle chips, and the most common characteristic is the back spin poker chip trick (these cunts will keep doing this shit over and over again, taking the middle metal part of the chip out to improve control / speed...FUCK OFF YOU CUNT! STOP DOING THAT SHIT AND DO YOUR MONEY ALREADY!)
Before I go on, I must emphasise to the the few readers of this blog, that I keep this blog, to have a release, a release away from the table and I don't mean to come across a cunt. But this shit really helps. So fuck off if you are one of the fucking cunts who think this is you who I am talking about. I don't fucking care.
As you may sense, I am in somewhat of a bad / aggressive mood today. Frustration!
Anyway, recently I have seen a new breed of poker play coming through.
The retardo-tron. A super poker playing cross breed.
Annoying, ugly, smelly, super retarded, super obnoxious, but have lots of money -and are sometimes aggressive.
These guys come in around 2am / 3am, rounded up by Pratik and his van.
They will buy in for £200-£400, and proceed to do their money hard, or take your money hard.
They are often in disguise, so be careful.
I am going to stop here for the moment, because I am feeling myself getting tilted and need to get ready for a session tonight.
More, much more to come!
Yigit out!
Saturday, 23 May 2009
How to dismantle a grown man...
Jamie Roberts you are such a beast.
I was privileged enough last night to experience at first hand the skills of a "Black Belt Poker" grader.
So let me set the scene;
We have the usual mix of ultra granites and hope-a-trons playing bingo poker on a Friday night in the £1-£2 rake game at The Vic.
(Granites below...)
Amongst them we have "Mr Bizcuitz". I don't know this guy's name, nor am I particularly interested in knowing it. But I do know several things about him:
He is semi retarded (kind of at least!).
He is likely to be from a rural part of Russia where there must have a shortage of biscuits; as once this dude realised you can get biscuits with your tea at The Vic, he hasn't stopped ordering them (hence why we call him Mr Bizcuitz -as he would pronounce it).
Point of interest; his favourite biscuits are the "pinkz vones" (this guy is such as fucking retard!).
He is pretty terrible at poker, although it must be said he has improved (and continues to do) -but still is just real bad.
He is ultra tight passive when he is playing his A-game; on a number of occasions I have seen him either dwindle his stack away, or sometimes when he is bored (or tilted at the lack of biscuits) he stacks off real light.
Lets just say Mr Bizcuitz isn't one of the punters who has to worry about a queue at the cashier's desk at the end of the night.
He also claims to be the unluckiest poker player in the world (and he is absolutely convinced of this fact).
So far during this particular session, he has had a couple of "coolers" go his way, and is up about £200.
Mr Bizcuitz is looking very pleased with himself.
Enter a drunk Jamie Roberts.
Jamie is a top player, no doubt about that. I admire his warmth, humility and he is genuinely a very nice guy.
I wont mention who Jamie's dad is, but lets just say he is good at poker too!
I remember playing with Jamie a year go in this particular game when he used to buy in short and grind away, nowadays he is playing higher after couple of decent tournament scores.
His game has got much more aggressive, and no doubt he is (must be) over rolled for a £1-£2 game, combine this with excessive alcohol consumption and you have an opponent who is very dangerous (yet in the long run profitable to play against).
The action is folded around to him on the "hijack" (cut off +1). He opens for £12.
I think the button and both blinds (Mr Bizcuitz is the big blind) calls.
Flop is jack high with 2 spades, and the action is checked around to Jamie, who fires £35 into a £50 ish pot.
The button calls, small blind folds and Mr Bizcuitz dwells up.
Eventually he raises up to £85, with his customarily pained look on his face. Jamie pretty much snap calls. Jamie has £200 behind, Mr Bizcuitz has him covered.
The turn is a red 6 (or a 5) not quite sure. Mr Bizcuitz checks, I know 100% before the turn card came out, regardless of what it was that if the action was checked over to Jamie he would shove -and of course he shoves.
Its so fucking obvious.
Jamie's snap call is a pretty reliable tell of a drawing hand, even if its not and I had opted to check raise the flop (which has only one real objective of building the pot), I would of have open shoved the turn, why else would you check raise the flop?
But hope-a-trons like this have no idea what the fuck they are doing, they will just stumble through hands and hope things go their way.
Don't get me wrong, I make mistakes (actually I make mistakes all the time lately), but let me tell you if I am check raising the flop, and your dumb ass calls, you are getting an "all you can fucking eat" on the turn, unless I have a "lock" hand in which case I may check for deception reasons.
Mr Bizcuitz's check wasn't for deception, he just didn't know what to do. What did he think Jamie would do? Check behind? Well if that was his plan, and then Jamie ended up shoving, you surely have to lay your hand down. Or do you?
So Jamie shoves for £200 into a £200-250 ish pot, and Mr Bizcuitz goes in the tank, long enough for a clock to be called, he eventually calls with A J (top pair top ticker).
The river is a 3, Jamie tables 5 2 of spades for a straight. He had flopped a flush draw, which improved to a gutshot straight draw on the turn.
We had to call the clock on Mr Bizcuitz again at the showdown, as he couldn't let go of his hand. He kept on looking at the board, then at his cards, then at Jamie's 5 2, then at the board, then at his cards...my god it was so fucking funny, I actually had to walk away (as not to be disrespectful).
Mr Biscuitz crumbled, and eventually gave the rest of his stack to Jamie (calling Jamie's all in bet with KK on an ace high board).
Its kind of hard to watch a grown man in such a pain. You can physically see him breaking down, its real sad.
But brutally funny. I am a bad person I know. But Mr Biscuitz is one if these guys, who just put me on tilt looking at him, so you can imagine the reaction it has on me when he is getting stacked!
Good times.
Incidentally I was card dead all fucking night, but managed to grind out a small win (£150 ish).
Weeeeee...
I was privileged enough last night to experience at first hand the skills of a "Black Belt Poker" grader.
So let me set the scene;
We have the usual mix of ultra granites and hope-a-trons playing bingo poker on a Friday night in the £1-£2 rake game at The Vic.
(Granites below...)
Amongst them we have "Mr Bizcuitz". I don't know this guy's name, nor am I particularly interested in knowing it. But I do know several things about him:
He is semi retarded (kind of at least!).
He is likely to be from a rural part of Russia where there must have a shortage of biscuits; as once this dude realised you can get biscuits with your tea at The Vic, he hasn't stopped ordering them (hence why we call him Mr Bizcuitz -as he would pronounce it).
Point of interest; his favourite biscuits are the "pinkz vones" (this guy is such as fucking retard!).
He is pretty terrible at poker, although it must be said he has improved (and continues to do) -but still is just real bad.
He is ultra tight passive when he is playing his A-game; on a number of occasions I have seen him either dwindle his stack away, or sometimes when he is bored (or tilted at the lack of biscuits) he stacks off real light.
Lets just say Mr Bizcuitz isn't one of the punters who has to worry about a queue at the cashier's desk at the end of the night.
He also claims to be the unluckiest poker player in the world (and he is absolutely convinced of this fact).
So far during this particular session, he has had a couple of "coolers" go his way, and is up about £200.
Mr Bizcuitz is looking very pleased with himself.
Enter a drunk Jamie Roberts.
Jamie is a top player, no doubt about that. I admire his warmth, humility and he is genuinely a very nice guy.
I wont mention who Jamie's dad is, but lets just say he is good at poker too!
I remember playing with Jamie a year go in this particular game when he used to buy in short and grind away, nowadays he is playing higher after couple of decent tournament scores.
His game has got much more aggressive, and no doubt he is (must be) over rolled for a £1-£2 game, combine this with excessive alcohol consumption and you have an opponent who is very dangerous (yet in the long run profitable to play against).
The action is folded around to him on the "hijack" (cut off +1). He opens for £12.
I think the button and both blinds (Mr Bizcuitz is the big blind) calls.
Flop is jack high with 2 spades, and the action is checked around to Jamie, who fires £35 into a £50 ish pot.
The button calls, small blind folds and Mr Bizcuitz dwells up.
Eventually he raises up to £85, with his customarily pained look on his face. Jamie pretty much snap calls. Jamie has £200 behind, Mr Bizcuitz has him covered.
The turn is a red 6 (or a 5) not quite sure. Mr Bizcuitz checks, I know 100% before the turn card came out, regardless of what it was that if the action was checked over to Jamie he would shove -and of course he shoves.
Its so fucking obvious.
Jamie's snap call is a pretty reliable tell of a drawing hand, even if its not and I had opted to check raise the flop (which has only one real objective of building the pot), I would of have open shoved the turn, why else would you check raise the flop?
But hope-a-trons like this have no idea what the fuck they are doing, they will just stumble through hands and hope things go their way.
Don't get me wrong, I make mistakes (actually I make mistakes all the time lately), but let me tell you if I am check raising the flop, and your dumb ass calls, you are getting an "all you can fucking eat" on the turn, unless I have a "lock" hand in which case I may check for deception reasons.
Mr Bizcuitz's check wasn't for deception, he just didn't know what to do. What did he think Jamie would do? Check behind? Well if that was his plan, and then Jamie ended up shoving, you surely have to lay your hand down. Or do you?
So Jamie shoves for £200 into a £200-250 ish pot, and Mr Bizcuitz goes in the tank, long enough for a clock to be called, he eventually calls with A J (top pair top ticker).
The river is a 3, Jamie tables 5 2 of spades for a straight. He had flopped a flush draw, which improved to a gutshot straight draw on the turn.
We had to call the clock on Mr Bizcuitz again at the showdown, as he couldn't let go of his hand. He kept on looking at the board, then at his cards, then at Jamie's 5 2, then at the board, then at his cards...my god it was so fucking funny, I actually had to walk away (as not to be disrespectful).
Here is Jamie, drunk but happy after that hand. Standard "baller" getting a rub down (of the good sort) from Sophie..
Mr Biscuitz crumbled, and eventually gave the rest of his stack to Jamie (calling Jamie's all in bet with KK on an ace high board).
Its kind of hard to watch a grown man in such a pain. You can physically see him breaking down, its real sad.
But brutally funny. I am a bad person I know. But Mr Biscuitz is one if these guys, who just put me on tilt looking at him, so you can imagine the reaction it has on me when he is getting stacked!
Good times.
Incidentally I was card dead all fucking night, but managed to grind out a small win (£150 ish).
Weeeeee...
Friday, 22 May 2009
Back to the office...
Quick post, just to say I am getting back into action tonight after a week off.
After that brutal session (as detailed in my last post), I went on to drop £1k Friday and Saturday, and decided I needed a little break.
To be fair I have been a little bit busy at work this week, so I wouldn't of been able to play even if I wanted to. But the break has done me the world of good.
I am heading forwards let another losing month, but I am STILL trying to stay positive.
Planning a late trip out to Vegas (possibly next week!), all depends on this long weekend's results!
Here we go!
After that brutal session (as detailed in my last post), I went on to drop £1k Friday and Saturday, and decided I needed a little break.
To be fair I have been a little bit busy at work this week, so I wouldn't of been able to play even if I wanted to. But the break has done me the world of good.
I am heading forwards let another losing month, but I am STILL trying to stay positive.
Planning a late trip out to Vegas (possibly next week!), all depends on this long weekend's results!
Here we go!
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Poker can be brutal...
I feel pretty sick tonight.
I am usually pretty good at handling bad beats, and completely accept the possibility of losing large chunks of cash from hand to hand and day to day.
But what happened during tonight's session hurt.
In the space of 15 minutes I lost 2 pots totalling around £400.
Looking back at the hands now, there really wasn't much I could do to avoid the situations, the hands pretty much played themselves.
Unraised pot: Flop comes down Q Q 4, I have Q K.
There is a couple of checks, and a bet of £10 before the action gets to me.
I make it £30. Short stack hope-a-tron makes it £55 with about £50 behind.
The player who led the flop for £10, calls the raise and has only £80 behind.
I tank for a while, but I don't think I can fold in this spot as these fucking hope-a-trons really play bad, and most the the time my hand is good here, plus they are both short.
I put both all in. Both call. The shorter of the two has 44, the other has Q10.
I get slow rolled by the fucking cunt, and I am also pretty sure the dealer fucked up the pot. Some how the guy who had about £100 total ended up with just under £400.
I was steaming pretty bad after that hand, mainly because of the slow roll (as opposed to losing about £150 in the hand).
Several hands later, some other fucking moron opens for £7. I call on the button with A5 suited.
Flop is 5 5 4. Cut a long story short, there is a bet, raise, a shove, and a call (by me). I find I am up against 6 5.
Guess what the turn card is (it was a fucking 5 for those lacking imagination).
Fuck you and your mother fucking 6 5.
Then to put the fucking icing on the cake, I call a squeeze raise with nines versus Rob. We are FOUR FUCKING WAY to the flop, with Rob in the blinds first to act. He leads half pot into a £160ish Queen high pot.
Every cunt folds, and he tables rags (which formed a gut shot straight draw).
I knew he had shit, but I just couldn't find it in me to ship it on him.
I knew I was steaming, and got the fuck up and went home. Actually winning £39. I was winning over £400, and would of desperately loved to book that win in.
Anyway, fuck it.
I have set out an agenda this month, in terms of my style and strategy. I must admit I am playing very tight, and pretty much getting owned by competent aggressive players. But there is still enough dead money around to pick my spots.
It is out of choice for this month. Not scared money, simply a strategy which I wish to follow. Hugely frustrating when you are getting fucking steam rolled, and missing shit load of value, but its my fucking decision.
If my A5 holds, I book a +£500 night playing like this so ain't all bad.
End of rant.
Rob you are a fucking beast.
I am usually pretty good at handling bad beats, and completely accept the possibility of losing large chunks of cash from hand to hand and day to day.
But what happened during tonight's session hurt.
In the space of 15 minutes I lost 2 pots totalling around £400.
Looking back at the hands now, there really wasn't much I could do to avoid the situations, the hands pretty much played themselves.
Unraised pot: Flop comes down Q Q 4, I have Q K.
There is a couple of checks, and a bet of £10 before the action gets to me.
I make it £30. Short stack hope-a-tron makes it £55 with about £50 behind.
The player who led the flop for £10, calls the raise and has only £80 behind.
I tank for a while, but I don't think I can fold in this spot as these fucking hope-a-trons really play bad, and most the the time my hand is good here, plus they are both short.
I put both all in. Both call. The shorter of the two has 44, the other has Q10.
I get slow rolled by the fucking cunt, and I am also pretty sure the dealer fucked up the pot. Some how the guy who had about £100 total ended up with just under £400.
I was steaming pretty bad after that hand, mainly because of the slow roll (as opposed to losing about £150 in the hand).
Several hands later, some other fucking moron opens for £7. I call on the button with A5 suited.
Flop is 5 5 4. Cut a long story short, there is a bet, raise, a shove, and a call (by me). I find I am up against 6 5.
Guess what the turn card is (it was a fucking 5 for those lacking imagination).
Fuck you and your mother fucking 6 5.
Then to put the fucking icing on the cake, I call a squeeze raise with nines versus Rob. We are FOUR FUCKING WAY to the flop, with Rob in the blinds first to act. He leads half pot into a £160ish Queen high pot.
Every cunt folds, and he tables rags (which formed a gut shot straight draw).
I knew he had shit, but I just couldn't find it in me to ship it on him.
I knew I was steaming, and got the fuck up and went home. Actually winning £39. I was winning over £400, and would of desperately loved to book that win in.
Anyway, fuck it.
I have set out an agenda this month, in terms of my style and strategy. I must admit I am playing very tight, and pretty much getting owned by competent aggressive players. But there is still enough dead money around to pick my spots.
It is out of choice for this month. Not scared money, simply a strategy which I wish to follow. Hugely frustrating when you are getting fucking steam rolled, and missing shit load of value, but its my fucking decision.
If my A5 holds, I book a +£500 night playing like this so ain't all bad.
End of rant.
Rob you are a fucking beast.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
Free your mind...
I often remind myself that there is no such thing as a “bad run” or being “out of form”; I remind myself that every hand is an entity of its own, as long as you play each hand “optimally” without being adversely effected by previous hands (and sessions).
Imagine you are able to reset your memory after each hand, well maybe not your memory but your session.
Reset your session.
You play one hand, and then you have the power the next hand to reset. You are back at the start of the session.
You have a fresh start every hand, you are not “stuck”, the retarded moron in seat 4 didn’t just hit a gut shot straight on you, the hope-a-tron to your right didn’t just double up through you.
You just came in; it’s the first hand of your session.
You have absorbed all the information from what you have experienced, you have followed, studied and scrutinized your opponents (both their plays and general behaviour), you have noted all the “meta” game implications, but you have deleted the results.
You are starting a new session, it’s your first hand, but you have a catalogue of information to base your purely objective decisions on.
You are not upset, nor are you “giddy” (as Rosh would put it) from a “squeeze” play you just put on the table, you are in a neutral state of mind and emotionally stable.
It’s the first hand of your session.
Every hand is the start of a new session.
Late in 2007 I was able to condition myself through this mindset, and recently I am working immensely hard to do so again. It’s a powerful state of mind.
Through gradual exercise, and practise it can be achieved. I am not there yet.
I am a very irritable person. I get upset very quickly, not necessary at bad beats, but often at people.
People upset me. The way they eat, the way they speak, the way they smell, the way they just fucking look.
A guy across the table from me might not do a thing, might not say a thing, he might not even make eye contact with me, but just his fucking retarded face will annoy me.
I would not say I am an aggressive person by nature; I have never had a fight in my life.
I lived in a “squat” as a refugee in 1989 for 3 years, I grew up in the most deprived and volatile areas of London.
I moved constantly as a teenager, I went to 3 different high schools. The last of which (Haverstock Secondary School in Camden), topped a poll of the worse schools in England.
My exotic name attracted ridicule and my Turkish background in non Turkish communities put me in a number of challenging situations.
Yet, I never had to fight. I loved school; I took part in every single activity and club ranging from football to chess, photography to cookery. You name it I was there. I wasn’t a “jock”, nor was I a “geek”.
I wasn’t what you would call the most popular kid in school, but everyone knew me, and I was the kid the “jocks” would protect.
I avoided confrontation, I was nice to people, and people in general were nice to.
So where has this force of aggression inside of me come from?
It has come from frustration and frustration in “one’s self”.
Frustration in my failures to realise my potential has long been the fuel igniting the fire in my stomach.
As I write this I feel immensely relieved with my ability to be brutally honest.
I am desperate to put into practise what I know, what I know to be right, and what I need to do to succeed.
I am close to freeing my mind of the aggression which has a hold over it; I am close to freeing it and conditioning it.
So here is the reason for all this, my March and April results to cheer you boys up! I run better than the average guy, but play worse then the average retard.
Excluding my heater £3k month in February, the first 4 months of this year have been a complete fucking write off, but I am extremely focused and motivated more today than I have ever been to get back on track.
Quick shout out to Rosh, pictured here shipping a monster pot (what we call a session breaker!), after some fucking retard doubled him up. How on earth that kid plays £2-£5 someone please explain to me.
If you look closely you will see Rosh grasping all the “blues” (£25 chips) in his palm –standard weeding off!
As I said last night Rosh you play real good, I wish you all the best of luck, and trust me I am rooting for you (and equally for Rob too) every pot which I am not in.
Interview with Robert “The Mad Man from Amsterdam” Angood coming soon!
Yigit
Imagine you are able to reset your memory after each hand, well maybe not your memory but your session.
Reset your session.
You play one hand, and then you have the power the next hand to reset. You are back at the start of the session.
You have a fresh start every hand, you are not “stuck”, the retarded moron in seat 4 didn’t just hit a gut shot straight on you, the hope-a-tron to your right didn’t just double up through you.
You just came in; it’s the first hand of your session.
You have absorbed all the information from what you have experienced, you have followed, studied and scrutinized your opponents (both their plays and general behaviour), you have noted all the “meta” game implications, but you have deleted the results.
You are starting a new session, it’s your first hand, but you have a catalogue of information to base your purely objective decisions on.
You are not upset, nor are you “giddy” (as Rosh would put it) from a “squeeze” play you just put on the table, you are in a neutral state of mind and emotionally stable.
It’s the first hand of your session.
Every hand is the start of a new session.
Late in 2007 I was able to condition myself through this mindset, and recently I am working immensely hard to do so again. It’s a powerful state of mind.
Through gradual exercise, and practise it can be achieved. I am not there yet.
I am a very irritable person. I get upset very quickly, not necessary at bad beats, but often at people.
People upset me. The way they eat, the way they speak, the way they smell, the way they just fucking look.
A guy across the table from me might not do a thing, might not say a thing, he might not even make eye contact with me, but just his fucking retarded face will annoy me.
I would not say I am an aggressive person by nature; I have never had a fight in my life.
I lived in a “squat” as a refugee in 1989 for 3 years, I grew up in the most deprived and volatile areas of London.
I moved constantly as a teenager, I went to 3 different high schools. The last of which (Haverstock Secondary School in Camden), topped a poll of the worse schools in England.
My exotic name attracted ridicule and my Turkish background in non Turkish communities put me in a number of challenging situations.
Yet, I never had to fight. I loved school; I took part in every single activity and club ranging from football to chess, photography to cookery. You name it I was there. I wasn’t a “jock”, nor was I a “geek”.
I wasn’t what you would call the most popular kid in school, but everyone knew me, and I was the kid the “jocks” would protect.
I avoided confrontation, I was nice to people, and people in general were nice to.
So where has this force of aggression inside of me come from?
It has come from frustration and frustration in “one’s self”.
Frustration in my failures to realise my potential has long been the fuel igniting the fire in my stomach.
As I write this I feel immensely relieved with my ability to be brutally honest.
I am desperate to put into practise what I know, what I know to be right, and what I need to do to succeed.
I am close to freeing my mind of the aggression which has a hold over it; I am close to freeing it and conditioning it.
So here is the reason for all this, my March and April results to cheer you boys up! I run better than the average guy, but play worse then the average retard.
Excluding my heater £3k month in February, the first 4 months of this year have been a complete fucking write off, but I am extremely focused and motivated more today than I have ever been to get back on track.
Quick shout out to Rosh, pictured here shipping a monster pot (what we call a session breaker!), after some fucking retard doubled him up. How on earth that kid plays £2-£5 someone please explain to me.
If you look closely you will see Rosh grasping all the “blues” (£25 chips) in his palm –standard weeding off!
As I said last night Rosh you play real good, I wish you all the best of luck, and trust me I am rooting for you (and equally for Rob too) every pot which I am not in.
Interview with Robert “The Mad Man from Amsterdam” Angood coming soon!
Yigit
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