I’ve been playing “real” poker for fewer than six months. How do I know this? One of the first poker books I read (before I sat down that first time) said it is important to keep a log or diary so you can know how you really do, instead of guessing or of imagining that you do better than reality.
So my first night at a table, in a local Bay Area card club, was Friday, July 30, 2004.
I sat down at a loud and loose table this past Friday night. A couple of players were not only loud and boisterous, they were very loose with their play. I don’t particularly like loud and boisterous (especially if it is alcohol fueled), but a quote from another book calmed my queasiness:
“Poker isn’t a game of cards played by people. It’s a game of people played with cards.”
I began playing at the 1-2 limit level, and once I’d built up a bit of a bankroll (my log shows that despite the time/rake charges, I’m making a net profit overall), I decided I was ready to “graduate” to 2-4 limit. So that’s what I signed up for when I entered, a little bit later than I’d planned. When they finally called my name, I got one of my favorite seats, seat 5, good to see the cards and the people clearly. What I didn’t expect was that I’d not see a single flop for more than an hour.
The player to my immediate right put up a straddle every time around. He also raised frequently. The player on the other end in seat 8, saw every flop and often raised before the flop. The flop typically had 6-8 people in the pot, a bit higher than the usual 2-4 limit game here.
I decided to tighten my game, to play only the best hands. I tossed away a few Ace-rags. Rarely was I getting suited cards, and when they were, they were far apart.
I buy in with a full rack. The 2-4 limit game here is played with $1 chips, so I begin with $100. After the first hour passed, the blinds had whittled down just a part of one rack stack.
Then I got my first reasonably playable hand, one where the correct play wasn’t automatic (all folds to that point), in the small blind: Ks 10s. There was just one raise, and I called. The flop came 10s 8s 3s; I flopped the flush.
I decided to slowplay, and at first my decision seemed quite correct, as other players bet and raised, building a pot for me, or so I thought. I simply called the raise, planning to open (and re-raise) on the turn.
No help came on the turn. I bet and the guy in seat 8 raised. I re-raised and he called. The river dropped another 3 and there was a small raising battle between me and seat 8 before I called and he showed his threes full of eights. Yes, he had called all the early raises with 8-3. I was a bit annoyed, but I also knew that he stayed with anything (and often didn’t fold until the end), but I also knew I was in this for the long run. I decided to show my flopped flush anyway.
That play took a good chunk of my stack, but I was dealt Jd 8d on the button the very next hand. I stayed in after it was raised once. The flop came up rainbow, but included a 10 and a 7. With about 6 people still in, everyone checked, and I bet out, looking for information. No one raised, though, and couple folded. The turn didn’t show anything, everyone checked again, and I bet out again. All but 2 players folded, but the guy in seat 8 was sticking to it. The river was a blank, it was checked to me, and I bet once again on a stone-cold bluff. They both folded! I started stacking my first pot of the night, which brought me back to nearly even.
The rest of the night was pretty much uneventful, although shortly before I went home (after a 5-hour session) I was castigated for my play by a person who I’d just beaten for a big pot and taken most of his stack.
I was dealt As 5s in late position and limped in with 5 or 6 other callers. Two spades came on the flop and with such good pot odds I raised on both the flop and the turn, and even with the raises I had multiple callers. I made the flush on the river and continued raising. There were no pairs on the board, so I knew I had the nuts, yet this one guy kept re-raising, and I scooped up a $40-50 pot.
The guy who go beat go up, walked away for a moment, then came back up behind me while I was stacking my chips, waved what I assume was cash at the back of my ear, and asked if I wanted to just take him money then, before he bought more chips. I said nothing, continued stacking the rest of the pot, and played on without responding.
That was a particularly unpleasant personal experience, though. I was approaching the time I had planned to get up and leave, and I debated picking up early, but I stuck it out.
I have found that 4-6 hours is about perfect at this level. It’s long enough that the roller coaster ride that can happen at some tables has a chance to even itself out, yet not too long that I lose whatever edge I might have.
There have been nights when I’ve cut that short. Maybe it’s been a long day at work. I sit and play for a few hours, and all of a sudden I feel a little dullness creeping around the corner of my consciousness, a sign that, if nothing else, it’s past my bedtime.
I’ve learned to recognize that feeling. It’s telling me that it’s time to get up and go home, time to know that any future decisions aren’t going to be as sharp—or as profitable.
Because when it comes right down to it, that’s the bottom line of playing: to be profitable. Everything I’ve learned in 6 months, I’ve taken the time to learn so that I can turn a profit at the tables.
I must be learning something and doing something right. I’ve not walked out with less money than I began with in a full 2 months now, playing once a week. November 12 was my last bad night. It was one of the last times I played at the $1-2 limit level, starting with a $50 buy in, losing that, pulling out a $20, and losing that as well. That was a long, 7-hour session as well, which means I lost even more. At the time, the card room took time ($2.50 per half hour), so for the 7 hours, it cost me an additional $35 to play plus another approximately $25 in tips.
In December, the card room changed from taking time (in the lower and middle limit games) to taking a rake. The biggest puzzle for me was to then calculate the cost to play, which I use to show whether I make an overall profit or not. To that point, I had played a bit more than 90 hours, which means I’d paid $450 for the privilege of playing (plus tips). And I was still running a small net gain.
It was right about the time of this switch that I decided to try to “advance” to the $2-4 limit games. The card club at that limit takes a $2.50 rake at the flop. I decided that the way to estimate my cost to play would be to count the pots that I won, then calculate my cost of playing my multiplying that number by the rake.
I know that’s not the most accurate, especially as the card club also takes a jackpot drop, but it didn’t seem too unreasonable. This method has the added bonus of giving me an idea of how many hands I play all the way. For example, on the Friday a week before Christmas, I played for 4 hours and won 7 pots.
I also walked away with a net $78.50 (starting with $100, cashing in $178.50).
This reinforces the lesson that it’s not important how many pots you win, but how much money you win.
I don’t aspire to become a full-time professional poker player. I don’t know if I could ever get that good. But I fully expect to continue to learn how to improve my game, and to play on a regular basis at a limit where I feel comfortable.
And if I can be good enough to, say, play 4-5 hours in a single weekly session and average, say, a net profit of $70 for those hours, well, I have just added the tidy sum of about $3500 to my annual salary. And that’s not chicken feed.
Until next time, play fun, and play safe.