Monday, July 25, 2005

Homework Assignment

(1) Read the following 2 articles:

      (a) HDouble's "Climbing the Limit Poker Mountain"

      (b) Tommy Angelo's "The Worst Play Ever"

(2) No limit (NL) poker is supposedly about playing the player and not the cards. Extracting ideas from both articles, devise and test "moves" that are both profitable (positive expectation) and hero card-independent (you're the hero) in today's typical NL cash games.

(3) Are you able to implement these "moves" in live play with relative ease?

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Charlie's Tournament

It was great playing in Charlie's tournament this afternoon. I was at the same table as Jason, Mr. Decker, Human Head and Derek together with some readers, before being teleported around according to the whims of PokerStars' software. Congratulations to sarahbellum for first place, and Mr. Decker for coming back from a short stack of $140 to finish second. I came 55th out of a total of 144 participants and, as illustrated below, I got my money in as the favorite in the last hand and suffered a horrendous bad beat. Oh well, under the circumstances it was all I could do, given the fickle nature of the poker gods. I'll sleep well tonight.

Big thanks to Iggy and BG for organizing this event. In a related matter, Joe Hachem, another Melbourne boy, took down the 2005 WSOP. Kudos, mate!

Saturday, July 16, 2005


I don't play online, but maybe there are others who might find interest in this project.

Friday, July 15, 2005


I was first formally introduced to the Fast Fourier Transform (FFT) many years ago as a research assistant to a Professor of Statistics at a renowned Institute of Technology. His specialization was in Gaussian random fields and I remember using the FFT, then a few lines of FORTRAN code, as part of my work.

Today, FFT takes on a new meaning. Final Fucking Table. Yes, dear readers, the FFT of the WSOP main event is about to get underway. Mike "The Mouth" Matusow and 8 unknowns. I'm rooting for Mike and the Aussie, Joe Hachem. As per usual, get all real-time juicy details from Pauly and the other WSOP links on the right.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oy, oy ,oy!

Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, oy, oy, vey!

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

For Charlie Tuttle

CJ expresses it better than I can. See you Sunday.

Saturday, July 02, 2005

A typical Friday night

"There is a time for playing cards and there is a time for playing."
- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Friday nights are reserved for playing. There can be no other way as the daily grind of live NL cash games exacts a hefty toll on my psyche. I need a diversion urgently.

Friday night, 9:35pm
One last look in the mirror. I tighten my belt one more notch, but there is no avoiding the Homer Simpson-like side profile. No matter, if this is the price I have to pay for maturity and a modicum of sophistication, then so be it. I fling the fur coat around my shoulders, apply a final spritz from a 30-year-old bottle of Aramis and slam the door behind me.

Friday night, 9:36pm
Bang frantically on the front door upon realizing that my keys are still on the coffee table. The banging stops when I remember that I live alone. My neighbor has a spare key and hopefully will be home when I return later from/with my conquest.

Friday night, 9:40pm
My cab arrives. I could swear some part of my clothing rips as I contort my way into the back seat.

Driver: "Where to, Sir?"
Me: "Bellagio."

I expect the crowd at the Light nightclub to be the pick-me-up I so desperately need.

Driver: "Aramis?"
Me: "Davidoff."

Let him call my bluff if he doesn't want a tip. I fart silently to confuse him further.

Friday night, 10:00pm
The cabbie drops me off at the Flamingo Street entrance and I nearly collapse as the hot 98 degree night air hits me. What's with this fur coat shit, a habit I can't seem to shake from my New York days, or should I say nights.

Friday night, 10:05pm
I am in the men's room, rubbing the soaked back of my shirt against the electric hand dryer. The place now reeks of Aramis. Luckily it's a young crowd.

Friday night, 10:25pm
The bouncer at the Light, for some unknown reason, doesn't want to let me in.

Bouncer: "It's a private evening, Sir."

Meanwhile everyone and their dog is being let in. I hate resorting to the old Benjamin Franklin trick, but he leaves me no alternative.

Me: "Maybe this will refresh your memory."
Bouncer: "Sorry, Sir."

At least he has the decency to return the crumpled up $1 note, which I immediately deposit into a nearby slot machine.

Friday night, 10:35pm
Me: "What's the list like for $2-$5 No Limit?"
Poker Floorman: "You'll be sixth, Sir. Aramis?"