It's taken me just over three months to write that sentence, but that about sums up my trip to Las Vegas this summer.
Phew. That feels better, like a gigantic monkey off my back. Maybe if I keep saying it I'll feel better.
-$1,550.
-$1,550.
-$1,550.
I'm not going to really harp on it too much more (-$1,550... okay I'm done). I came, I saw, I did not conquer in my first, and maybe only trip to Sin City.
So how did I manage to lose the equivalent of a paycheck and change in Vegas? Let's count the ways...
- I highly underestimated how the time zone jump combined with the 24/7 Vegas lifestyle would affect my play. I found myself playing at all sorts of weird hours. I knew things were bad when I was watching "The Herd" with Colin Cowherd at six in the morning West Coast time and I was already eight hours deep into the session.
- Poker may seem just like riding a bike, but going out there without playing very much the entire calendar year definitely hurt.
- I was uncharacteristically cocky at the table, from what I wore to how I bet. And the Vegas vets ate me up.
But two things--two things that should be easy to fix but always come back to haunt me--ultimately cost me, literally. First, I didn't come equipped with a substantial enough bankroll. Second, despite the fact that I didn't come with a substantial bankroll, I found myself gravitating more to cash games than I did tournaments. This is horrible, not just because I'm ten million times better in a tournament atmosphere, but because I'm impulsive with money. Far too impulsive.
However...
...crazy as it may seem, despite the money lost, despite the number of times I wanted to hurl myself off of the pirate ship at Treasure Island (good accomodations, yes; convenient gaming, no), there were times I felt like I truly belonged.
I'll put it like this: yes I lost money, but there wasn't a single moment out there that I felt outclassed.
I bitch and moan a bunch on this blog and in real life about how awful a poker player I am, and sometimes I believe it, but generally speaking I've always felt like I'm not too far away. Not at all.
Case and point: during my one positive session at the Rio (yeah, it HAD to be the Rio) I netted about $500, which pretty much anybody can do if they sit at a 1/3 table long enough or catch enough good breaks. But, in a week full of sorrow and self-loathing, I did experience possibly my best session ever.
My table included a card dealer; an editor for an upstart poker website; a gentleman straight off of a very strong finish in the Omaha Hi-Low-Split 8 or Better event (by strong I mean top 20); a Swede who was pretty much the epitome of loose-aggressive; and a seasoned vet there for a conference with nothing to lose, probably the most dangerous of the bunch.
I was just in my zone. Folded K's on the turn to a mid-raise. Folded in a set over set situation on a rainbow board. Called someone down with bottom pair for half my stack on a gut reaction. Pushed back against the Swede who was pushing everyone around... with air (okay, that's a normal Justin play).
The poker website guy started calling me, "The Grinder." Eventually everyone, even Mr. "So Close to Final Table I Could Sniff It", followed suit.
"You don't wanna mess with the Grinder. He'll take your stack."
And I did. I sent plenty of people to the rail or to an ATM that night. It was fun, surreal even, like scoring 11 in a game to 16 at Rucker Park.
Of course, the only reason I wasn't more enthused to share this story with the world was because I really should have left that table an hour earlier. Yes, I ended up $500 to the good, but it should have been $1000. Those Swedes are relentless.
But, hey... those are the breaks. Speaking of breaks, I'm currently on a prolonged one... again. As I said, it's been nearly three months since I've played. I still think about cards everyday... mainly why I checked top pair and a flush draw to let a dude catch his runner-runner straight and why I couldn't lay it down (my 2nd to last horrific Vegas hand), or why I couldn't fold K's in the following situation:
1/2, my button. Fold. Limp. Limp. Limp. Limp. Raise to $22 by me. SB calls. BB folds. Four limpers call. Flop comes Q-J-X rainbow. SB leads out for $50. Fold. Fold. Call. Fold. After 2nd to last hand I have $120.
The absolute first thought that popped in my head was that he had a set of Js. His bet was Brunsonesque, true, but even Brunson wouldn't lead out without something real strong into a raiser and five flopheads.
Fold. Fold. Fold. Call? Maybe Q-10 or K-Q but nothing stronger.
Why I didn't go with my first instinct I have no idea... I guess I just wanted to put SB on A-Q, that combined with the fact that I was still tilted after running over the table for the first two hours of the session.
You know how this story ends: SB had a set of Jacks.
And I have ADD. My point is that I still keep poker fresh on my mind, waiting for the days when I can afford to play again... whenever that might be.
