I was listening to Colin Cowherd the other day on the radio, and he brought up an interesting point about people who try to attribute the successes of others to luck. To paraphrase, Cowherd said something to the effect of:
-paraphrase-
Luck is a word made up by people who want to validate their mediocrity. There is no such thing as luck in a long-term sense. You have about 6 chances to make real decisions every day. If you make 4 or 5 good ones, you'll be in good shape. Anything less than that, and you'll find yourself in trouble.
-end paraphrase-
Before I heard this, I was at work, bored and hoping the day would hurry the hell up so I could go home. But when I heard the word "luck", I began listening carefully. I've always been fascinated by people who genuinely believe in "luck". People that believe "luck" is an actual attribute that a person can have. I agree with Colin here.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Louisiana Trip
Last weekend, a couple buddies and I drove to Louisiana to play some hold 'em. I have plenty of stories but don't feel like writing them all, so I will tell a quick one for now.
Lake Charles, Louisiana, Isle of Capri $2/$5 Poker Table. I just called about a $100 bet with a pair of 9's, ten kicker with a queen on the board. The pot was about $150 before he bet. (he mucked his hand)...
Player (after seeing my 9): How could you call that?
Me: I'm on drugs.
Player: Wow.
Me: My diaper's full. I have to get up to take a shit.
(I get up and leave)
Lake Charles, Louisiana, Isle of Capri $2/$5 Poker Table. I just called about a $100 bet with a pair of 9's, ten kicker with a queen on the board. The pot was about $150 before he bet. (he mucked his hand)...
Player (after seeing my 9): How could you call that?
Me: I'm on drugs.
Player: Wow.
Me: My diaper's full. I have to get up to take a shit.
(I get up and leave)
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
NO WAY IN HELL
There is no way in hell I can accomplish this dumbass goal. I take it back. There is no way in hell I'm going to accomplish this dumbass goal. Ever since I began playing again, I've been getting these massive headaches at work and now I think I need glasses. That's right, glasses. Now all the kids at work are gonna be making fun of me. Calling me 4-eyes, glasses head, etc. I don't want that.
Another reason I'm not going to make this goal is because, now that I have a job, I genuinely don't care about this money. If I want to make 10,000 extra dollars in 377 days, I can just work an extra hour every day. It's not practical. I no longer have the patience to put my mind to something for 4 hours and come away with 21 bucks. And I'm straight up not good enough to play for higher stakes.
Don't get me wrong, I love poker. I'm not bitter or discouraged. I plan on playing tonight and tomorrow and probably the next day. But at some point, some day, I'm going to come home and simply not play. I won't feel like it. That's how I roll. I just have a really hard time committing to anything that may take more than 4 days to finish. I know it's not going to happen. I'm simply warning you now. That's how I know I'll never go write a book or go to law school or get married or get in shape or do all the things I've planned on doing but have never made plans to do.
Who knows, I may just be in a bad mood from these damn headaches.
(For the record, I've played 4 days and have built my account up to $107.65.)
P.S. Don't play poker with a massive headache.
P.P.S. I'm in shape. I just don't work out. Metabolism, bitches.
Another reason I'm not going to make this goal is because, now that I have a job, I genuinely don't care about this money. If I want to make 10,000 extra dollars in 377 days, I can just work an extra hour every day. It's not practical. I no longer have the patience to put my mind to something for 4 hours and come away with 21 bucks. And I'm straight up not good enough to play for higher stakes.
Don't get me wrong, I love poker. I'm not bitter or discouraged. I plan on playing tonight and tomorrow and probably the next day. But at some point, some day, I'm going to come home and simply not play. I won't feel like it. That's how I roll. I just have a really hard time committing to anything that may take more than 4 days to finish. I know it's not going to happen. I'm simply warning you now. That's how I know I'll never go write a book or go to law school or get married or get in shape or do all the things I've planned on doing but have never made plans to do.
Who knows, I may just be in a bad mood from these damn headaches.
(For the record, I've played 4 days and have built my account up to $107.65.)
P.S. Don't play poker with a massive headache.
P.P.S. I'm in shape. I just don't work out. Metabolism, bitches.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Day 2 (526 to go)
Beginning of Day Bankroll: $51.88
Needed: $9948.12
Today I started playing around 6:15 and have made 20 bucks (it's currently 6:48). That's when I realized instead of setting it up such that my life revolves around my hours of poker play, I will instead organize my goal around dollars needed per day. I have 526 days left (375 if using my 5/7ths rule) and need to make 9948.12. Therefore I need to average about $18.91 per day based on 526 days or 26.53 based on 375 days left. Back to the table... I'll update at the end of my poker day. Download the song Bluebird Wine by Stoney LaRue.
Time: 7:28 pm
Song: Coldplay, Fix You... reminds me of freshman year of college
I'm now up $35 on the day. I'm playing tight-aggressive and it's really working well at these loose tables where guys can't let go of Ace-Nine pre-flop when you raise him 42 bucks. What the hell did he think I have? Anyway. Short break and I'm back to the table.
Time: 7:32
Song: Cross Canadian Ragweed, Alabama
MY LEGS ARE COLD I'M PUTTING ON SOME LEGGINGS.
7:33
Back to the table...
7:34
Is that the right term? Leggings? It's like checkered pants that are fuzzy. If you ever lived with me you know I wear these all the time (I have them in blue, red and diaper color). I've been known to wear them to college along with a skin-tight shirt with a huge fish on it and a Longhorn beanie and a Longhorn snoots in. God I miss it.
7:37
This is just something that bothers me... If you are a beginner, quit being surprised when you watch your decent-playing friend play and they fold a hand that happens to include an ace. You don't need to play A-3 or trash like that if you're first to act. You can play it all you want. Just quit being so surprised when I fold it.
8:26
I knew it. I got extremely distracted after I watched Mayne Street on ESPN.com and I'm pretty sure I called a re-raise with Ace Ten and hit my ten for top pair only to lose more money on the flop and turn before we checked down the river. Player held JJ. I'm still up like 15 bucks on the day but I seriously need to concentrate if I'm gonna do this. Oh and don't drink.
I may be done for the night.
Beginning of Day Bankroll: $51.88
End of Day Bankroll: $64.93
Profit: $13.05
Needed: $9935.07
Ok i registered for a dumbass .10 tournament... so...
Beginning of Day Bankroll: $51.88
End of Day Bankroll: $64.83
Profit: $12.95
Needed: $9935.17
unless I place in this tourn.
Needed: $9948.12
Today I started playing around 6:15 and have made 20 bucks (it's currently 6:48). That's when I realized instead of setting it up such that my life revolves around my hours of poker play, I will instead organize my goal around dollars needed per day. I have 526 days left (375 if using my 5/7ths rule) and need to make 9948.12. Therefore I need to average about $18.91 per day based on 526 days or 26.53 based on 375 days left. Back to the table... I'll update at the end of my poker day. Download the song Bluebird Wine by Stoney LaRue.
Time: 7:28 pm
Song: Coldplay, Fix You... reminds me of freshman year of college
I'm now up $35 on the day. I'm playing tight-aggressive and it's really working well at these loose tables where guys can't let go of Ace-Nine pre-flop when you raise him 42 bucks. What the hell did he think I have? Anyway. Short break and I'm back to the table.
Time: 7:32
Song: Cross Canadian Ragweed, Alabama
MY LEGS ARE COLD I'M PUTTING ON SOME LEGGINGS.
7:33
Back to the table...
7:34
Is that the right term? Leggings? It's like checkered pants that are fuzzy. If you ever lived with me you know I wear these all the time (I have them in blue, red and diaper color). I've been known to wear them to college along with a skin-tight shirt with a huge fish on it and a Longhorn beanie and a Longhorn snoots in. God I miss it.
7:37
This is just something that bothers me... If you are a beginner, quit being surprised when you watch your decent-playing friend play and they fold a hand that happens to include an ace. You don't need to play A-3 or trash like that if you're first to act. You can play it all you want. Just quit being so surprised when I fold it.
8:26
I knew it. I got extremely distracted after I watched Mayne Street on ESPN.com and I'm pretty sure I called a re-raise with Ace Ten and hit my ten for top pair only to lose more money on the flop and turn before we checked down the river. Player held JJ. I'm still up like 15 bucks on the day but I seriously need to concentrate if I'm gonna do this. Oh and don't drink.
I may be done for the night.
Beginning of Day Bankroll: $51.88
End of Day Bankroll: $64.93
Profit: $13.05
Needed: $9935.07
Ok i registered for a dumbass .10 tournament... so...
Beginning of Day Bankroll: $51.88
End of Day Bankroll: $64.83
Profit: $12.95
Needed: $9935.17
unless I place in this tourn.
Monday, November 24, 2008
I'm Back Baby! (again)... And this time I have a goal
Caution: This post has some simple math in it. Do not read on if math makes you tired and bored. One of the paragraphs compares myself to Splinter, which I felt was pretty entertaining. You may want to skip the math and just read that.
I'm like the Vinny Testaverde of low-stakes-poker blog-writing. I'm getting way too old and I was never that good in the first place, but people keep asking me to come back based solely on the potential shown in my high school and college career and the fact that you never know what you're gonna get. I take it back, Testie was actually a decently consistent quarterback. I'm more like a Jeff George. Freakin Jeff George.
So in my third comeback within a single year, I'm here to tell you that (barring robbery) I'm officially here to stay. I haven't been playing any poker at all lately. As of right now, I have zero dollars in all of my poker accounts combined (for the record, I cashed out 50 bucks a day to live off of until I finally got my lazy ass up and got a job after college graduation. Then I slowly pissed the rest away in $1-$2 cash games.)
However, things changed today while I was at work. We had a thanksgiving dinner at lunch and afterwards, the President of our company played "Name that Tune" with his guitar. You received 10 bucks if you shouted out the answer before any else. Once you won three times, you couldn't yell the answer anymore so that other people would have a chance.
After lunch, I decided to take my 30 bucks and see if I could parlay this money into $10,000 by the time they end registration for the 2010 World Series of Poker Main Event. As always, I have to use a little math and logic to determine if this is even possible.
I don't know when registration closes for the 2010 World Series of Poker Main event, but let's assume it's Cinco de Mayo 2010 (why not?). Therefore I have 527 days to make 10,000 dollars in online poker. (go to: http://www.jarusa.com/hmdresults.htm?three=5&two=4&one=2010 if you ever want to know how many days are until a certain day.)
However, there will be days in which I will be unable to play. These days will most likely be Saturdays. Let's also account for the one day a week in which I will work late or simply not feel like playing poker. Therefore, 2/7-ths of the days between now and cinco de mayo will be spent without putting significant time in poker. There's also the fact that I work now. I get off work around 5:30 and am home by 6. I need to eat dinner. By 7, I should be ready to play poker until 9:30 or so to give myself time to go the gym and shower and what not. F it. I can eat and play poker. Give me 6:30-9:30 to play poker. That's three hours a day on 5/7ths of the days (not to mention the Sundays and rare Saturdays where I play for 10+ hours).
5/7*527=376 days
376*3=1128 hours
10000/1128=8.865
Therefore, I would need to average $8.87/hr. In all honesty, this is very doable. During the two months of not getting a job between college graduation and starting work, I think I averaged around 10 bucks an hour. However, at the time, I was motivated by the lack of money in my bank account and lack of desire to get a job. I was on my game. Now, I'm like Splinter from the Ninja Turtles. I'm old and wise, but I lack the desire to fight. I have 3 fucking turtles to look after. Ok I'm nothing like Splinter. But if I was, I'd like to draw your attention to the first Ninja Turtles movie. At the end, I'm pretty sure Splinter beats the crap out of Shredder and knocks him off of a building into a dumpster or something. I'm really not sure. But the point is, I'm rusty.
(off topic)
In the background, I'm hearing Wade Phillips explain how badass Tony Romo and Terrell Owens played this weekend (Owens had 7 rec., 213 yards). However, even though he's describing something positive, he sounds like a little fat kid explaining to his mom about his day at school after getting picked on and laughed at for 8 hours yet trying to find the bright side.
(back to topic)
So I'm rusty, but at least I have a goal. I'm going to start playing now.
COUNTDOWN
GOAL: $10,000
Beginning of day bankroll: $30
NEEDED: $9,970
DAY 1: At the end of my first day I profited $21.88. I played for 2 hours and 25 minutes. That's $9.05/hr. It was a volatile night and I got the aces at the right time. Very rusty.
End of Day Bankroll: $51.88
Needed: $9948.12
I'm like the Vinny Testaverde of low-stakes-poker blog-writing. I'm getting way too old and I was never that good in the first place, but people keep asking me to come back based solely on the potential shown in my high school and college career and the fact that you never know what you're gonna get. I take it back, Testie was actually a decently consistent quarterback. I'm more like a Jeff George. Freakin Jeff George.
So in my third comeback within a single year, I'm here to tell you that (barring robbery) I'm officially here to stay. I haven't been playing any poker at all lately. As of right now, I have zero dollars in all of my poker accounts combined (for the record, I cashed out 50 bucks a day to live off of until I finally got my lazy ass up and got a job after college graduation. Then I slowly pissed the rest away in $1-$2 cash games.)
However, things changed today while I was at work. We had a thanksgiving dinner at lunch and afterwards, the President of our company played "Name that Tune" with his guitar. You received 10 bucks if you shouted out the answer before any else. Once you won three times, you couldn't yell the answer anymore so that other people would have a chance.
After lunch, I decided to take my 30 bucks and see if I could parlay this money into $10,000 by the time they end registration for the 2010 World Series of Poker Main Event. As always, I have to use a little math and logic to determine if this is even possible.
I don't know when registration closes for the 2010 World Series of Poker Main event, but let's assume it's Cinco de Mayo 2010 (why not?). Therefore I have 527 days to make 10,000 dollars in online poker. (go to: http://www.jarusa.com/hmdresults.htm?three=5&two=4&one=2010 if you ever want to know how many days are until a certain day.)
However, there will be days in which I will be unable to play. These days will most likely be Saturdays. Let's also account for the one day a week in which I will work late or simply not feel like playing poker. Therefore, 2/7-ths of the days between now and cinco de mayo will be spent without putting significant time in poker. There's also the fact that I work now. I get off work around 5:30 and am home by 6. I need to eat dinner. By 7, I should be ready to play poker until 9:30 or so to give myself time to go the gym and shower and what not. F it. I can eat and play poker. Give me 6:30-9:30 to play poker. That's three hours a day on 5/7ths of the days (not to mention the Sundays and rare Saturdays where I play for 10+ hours).
5/7*527=376 days
376*3=1128 hours
10000/1128=8.865
Therefore, I would need to average $8.87/hr. In all honesty, this is very doable. During the two months of not getting a job between college graduation and starting work, I think I averaged around 10 bucks an hour. However, at the time, I was motivated by the lack of money in my bank account and lack of desire to get a job. I was on my game. Now, I'm like Splinter from the Ninja Turtles. I'm old and wise, but I lack the desire to fight. I have 3 fucking turtles to look after. Ok I'm nothing like Splinter. But if I was, I'd like to draw your attention to the first Ninja Turtles movie. At the end, I'm pretty sure Splinter beats the crap out of Shredder and knocks him off of a building into a dumpster or something. I'm really not sure. But the point is, I'm rusty.
(off topic)
In the background, I'm hearing Wade Phillips explain how badass Tony Romo and Terrell Owens played this weekend (Owens had 7 rec., 213 yards). However, even though he's describing something positive, he sounds like a little fat kid explaining to his mom about his day at school after getting picked on and laughed at for 8 hours yet trying to find the bright side.
(back to topic)
So I'm rusty, but at least I have a goal. I'm going to start playing now.
COUNTDOWN
GOAL: $10,000
Beginning of day bankroll: $30
NEEDED: $9,970
DAY 1: At the end of my first day I profited $21.88. I played for 2 hours and 25 minutes. That's $9.05/hr. It was a volatile night and I got the aces at the right time. Very rusty.
End of Day Bankroll: $51.88
Needed: $9948.12
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Damn, I'm Good
So right now I'm watching The Babe on HBO Family and it's at the end where the Babe gets traded to Boston (National League). It (historically inaccurately) shows the Babe hitting 3 home runs in his final game and (historically inaccurately) explains how these home runs are the first ever home runs at Pittsburgh's old Forbes Field. Anyway, I begin to notice that the Pittsburgh pitcher looks very familiar. He has a big chaw in and he's wearing a hat and DOESN'T have a pony tail, but it soon clicks where I've seen this guy before. The Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher at the end of the movie The Babe was the bad-guy gangster dead-beat dad from Kindergarten Cop... I still need to look it up on IMDB but I'm positive...
as I'm IMDBing Kindergarten Cop (I may be one the first ten people of all time to IMDB Kindergarten Cop) I notice that this is one of those dumbass movies where two twins play the same role. The little shit Dominic is played by both Joseph and Christian Cousins. What is wrong with these people?
I have just confirmed that the pitcher at the very end of The Babe (1992) who gives up 3 (historically inaccurate) home runs to Babe Ruth is also "Crisp", the dead-beat murdering dad, from Kindergarten Cop (1990). His name is Richard Tyson and if you look at his picture on "Yahoo Movies" you will laugh. He looks like that mug shot of Nick Nolte.
as I'm IMDBing Kindergarten Cop (I may be one the first ten people of all time to IMDB Kindergarten Cop) I notice that this is one of those dumbass movies where two twins play the same role. The little shit Dominic is played by both Joseph and Christian Cousins. What is wrong with these people?
I have just confirmed that the pitcher at the very end of The Babe (1992) who gives up 3 (historically inaccurate) home runs to Babe Ruth is also "Crisp", the dead-beat murdering dad, from Kindergarten Cop (1990). His name is Richard Tyson and if you look at his picture on "Yahoo Movies" you will laugh. He looks like that mug shot of Nick Nolte.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Ted Williams Top 20 Hitters List
Caution: Corny baseball post.
The first list I ever made (when I was 8 or 9) was loosely based on an article I read in Baseball Digest after Ted Williams released his famous Top 20 Hitters list, based on his own secret formula. I figured I may as well post it here. He did not want to list himself due to his own modestly, but it is rumored that his formula put himself second after Ruth. (parentheses is where I have them ranked)
http://www.baseball-almanac.com/legendary/lited20.shtml
The first list I ever made (when I was 8 or 9) was loosely based on an article I read in Baseball Digest after Ted Williams released his famous Top 20 Hitters list, based on his own secret formula. I figured I may as well post it here. He did not want to list himself due to his own modestly, but it is rumored that his formula put himself second after Ruth. (parentheses is where I have them ranked)
| 20. | Ralph Kiner (35) |
| 19. | Mike Schmidt (21) |
| 18. | Frank Robinson (13) |
| 17. | Harry Heilmann (24) |
| 16. | Mel Ott (14) |
| 15. | Johnny Mize (18) |
| 14. | Al Simmons (33) |
| 13. | Tris Speaker (9) |
| 12. | Mickey Mantle (6) |
| 11. | Hank Greenberg (26) |
| 10. | Willie Mays (12) |
| 9. | Hank Aaron (10) |
| 8. | Joe Jackson (17) |
| 7. | Stan Musial (8) |
| 6. | Ty Cobb (3) |
| 5. | Joe DiMaggio (20) |
| 4. | Rogers Hornsby (4) |
| 3. | Jimmie Foxx (7) |
| 2. | Lou Gehrig (5) |
| 1. | Babe Ruth (1) |
http://www.baseball-almanac.com/legendary/lited20.shtml
Sunday, June 1, 2008
THE LIST
Caution: Corny baseball post.
Writing that last blog got me pumped about my list, so I'm just going to throw it out there right now and with no introduction or explanation (for the time being). Without further ado, this is Texas Tom' official list of the greatest hitters who ever played major league baseball (excluding anyone who began their career during or after 1985 {coincidentally, the year in which Jose Canseco joined Major League Baseball}).
Group III Hitters
29. Sam Crawford (1899-1917; Cincinnati Reds, Detroit Tigers; HOF 1957) - 2517 Games, .309 BA, 2961 Hits, career-high .378 BA (1911)
28. Harmon Killebrew (1954-1975; Washington Senators/Minnesota Twins, Kansas City Royals; HOF 1984) - 2435 Games, 573 HR, .256 BA, 1583 RBI, career-high 49 HR (1964 & 1969)
27. Reggie Jackson (1967-1987; Kansas City Athletics/Oakland Athletics, Baltimore Orioles, New York Yankees, California Angels, HOF 1993) - 2820 Games, 563 HR, .262 BA, 1702 RBI, 1551 R, 2597 K,
26. Hank Greenberg (1930-1941, 1945-1947; Detroit Tigers, Pittsburgh Pirates, HOF 1956) - 1394 Games (missed 1942-1944 due to military service), .313 BA, 331 HR, .605 SLG, .412 OBP, career-high 58 HR (1938), career-high 183 RBI (1937)
25. Eddie Mathews (1952-1968; Boston Braves/Milwaukee Braves/Atlanta Braves, Houston Astros, Detroit Tigers, HOF 1978) - 2391 Games, .271 BA, 512 HR
24. Eddie Collins (1906-1930; Philadelphia Athletics, Chicago White Sox, HOF 1939) - 2826 Games, 3315 hits, .333 BA, 744 SB
23. Harry Heilmann (1914, 1916-1930, 1932; Detroit Tigers, Cincinnati Reds, HOF 1952) - 2148 Games, .342 BA, 1539 RBI, career-high .403 BA (1923)
22. Willie Stargell (1962-1982; Pittsburgh Pirates, HOF 1988) - 2360 Games, 475 HR, 1540 RBI, .282 BA, career-high 48 HR (1971)
21. Mike Schmidt (1972-1989; Philadelphia Phillies, HOF 1995) - 2404 Games, 548 HR, 1595 RBI, .267 BA, career-high 48 HR (1980)
20. Joe Dimaggio (1936-1942, 1946-1951; New York Yankees, HOF 1955) - 1736 Games (missed 1943-1945 due to military service), .325 BA, 361 HR, 1537 RBI, 1390 R, career-high .381 BA (1939), .579 SLG, career-high 155 RBI (1948)
19. Dick Allen (1963-1977; Philadelphia Phillies, St. Louis Cardinals, Los Angeles Dodgers, Chicago White Sox, Oakland Athletics) - 1749 Games, .292 BA, 351 HR, 1119 RBI ,1099 R
18. Johnny Mize (1936-1942, 1946-1953; St. Louis Cardinals, New York Giants, New York Yankees, HOF 1981) - 1884 Games, .312 BA, 359 HR, 1337 RBI, career-high 51 HR (1947)
17. "Shoeless" Joe Jackson (1908-1920; Philadelphia Athletics, Cleveland Naps/Cleveland Indians, Chicago White Sox, banned from baseball in 1920) - 1332 Games, .356 BA, .423 OBP, career-high .408 BA (1911)
16. Napoleon Lajoie (1896-1916; Philadelphia Phillies, Philadelphia Athletics, Cleveland Naps; HOF 1937) - 2480 Games, 3242 hits, .338 BA, 657 doubles, 1599 RBI, 1504 R, career-high .426 BA (1901)
15. Willie McCovey (1959-1980; San Francisco Giants, San Diego Padres, Oakland Athletics; HOF 1986) - 2588 Games, 521 HR, 1555 RBI, .270 BA, career-high .656 SLG (1969)
14. Mel Ott (1926-1947; New York Giants, HOF 1951) - 2730 Games, 511 HR, 1860 RBI, 1859 R, .304 BA
13. Frank Robinson (1956-1976; Cincinnati Reds, Baltimore Orioles, Los Angeles Dodgers, California Angels, Cleveland Indians; HOF 1982) - 2808 Games, 586 HR, 1812 RBI, 1829 R, 2943 Hits, .294 BA, career-high 49 HR (1966)
Group II Hitters
12. Willie Mays (1951-1952, 1954-1973; New York Giants/San Francisco Giants, New York Mets; HOF 1979) - 2992 Games, 660 HR, .302 BA, 1903 RBI, 2062 R, 523 Doubles, 140 Triples, career-high 52 HR (1965), career-high .667 SLG (1954)
11. Honus Wagner (1897-1917; Louisville Colonels, Pittsburgh Pirates; HOF 1936) - 2792 Games, 1732 RBI, 1736 R, .327 BA, .391 OBP, career-high .381 BA (1900)
10. Henry "Hank" Aaron (1954-1976; Milwaukee Braves/Atlanta Braves, Milwaukee Brewers; HOF 1982) - 3298 Games, 755 HR, .305 BA, 2297 RBI, 2174 R, 3771 Hits, 624 Doubles
9. Tris Speaker (1907-1928; Boston Red Sox, Cleveland Indians, Washington Senators, Philadelphia Athletics; HOF 1937) - 2789 Games, .345 BA, 3514 Hits, 1882 Runs, 792 Doubles, 222 Triples, 1529 RBI, 432 SB, .428 OBP, struck out 8 times in 523 at-bats in 1927
8. Stan Musial (1941-1944, 1946-1963; St. Louis Cardinals; HOF 1969) - 3026 Games, .331 BA, 1949 Runs, 3630 Hits, 725 Doubles, 177 Triples, 475 HR, 1951 RBI, .417 OBP
7. Jimmie Foxx (1925-1942, 1944-1944; Philadelphia Athletics, Boston Red Sox, Chicago Cubs, Philadelphia Phillies; HOF 1951) - 2317 Games, .325 BA, 534 HR, .428 OBP, 1922 RBI, 1751 R, career-high 58 HR, 169 RBI, .749 SLG (1932)
6. Mickey Mantle (1951-1968; New York Yankees; HOF 1974) - 2401 Games, .298 BA, 536 HR, .421 OBP, 1509 RBI, 1677 R, career-high 54 HR (1961), career-high .705 SLG (1956)
5. Lou Gehrig (1923-1939; New York Yankees; HOF 1939) - 2164 Games, .340 BA, 493 HR, 163 Triples, 534 Doubles, .447 OBP, 1995 RBI, 1888 R, .632 SLG, career-high .765 SLG (1927), career- high 49 HR (1936 & 1934)
4. Rogers Hornsby (1915-1937; St. Louis Cardinals, New York Giants, Boston Braves, Chicago Cubs, St. Louis Browns; HOF 1942) - 2259 Games, .358 BA, 1584 RBI, 1579 R, 2930 Hits, 541 Doubles, 169 Triples, 301 HR, .434 OBP, career-high .424 BA, .507 OBP (1924), career-high .722 SLG (1922)
3. Ty Cobb (1905-1928; Detroit Tigers, Philadelphia Athletics; HOF 1936) - 3035 Games, .366 BA, 724 Doubles, 295 Triples, 2246 R, 4189 Hits, 1937 RBI, 892 SB, .433 OBP, career-high .420 BA (1911)
Group I Hitters
2. Ted Williams (1939-1942, 1946-1960; Boston Red Sox; HOF 1966) - 2292 Games, .344 BA, 521 HR, 525 Doubles, 1798 R, 1839 RBI, .482 OBP, .634 SLG, career-high .406 BA, .553 OBP, .735 SLG (1941)
1. Babe Ruth (1914-1935; Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Braves; HOF 1936) - 2503 Games, .342 BA, 714 HR, .690 SLG, .474 OBP, 2217 RBI, 2174 R, 506 Doubles, 136 Triples
PS
Don't look too closely at the stats I list, they play a minor role in the rankings (especially the rate statistics, which include years in which the players were not in their respective primes). They are just the most common or traditional stats or stats with which people typically identify these players. Stolen bases are sometimes listed but were not considered in these rankings (Stolen bases have nothing to do with "hitting").
Writing that last blog got me pumped about my list, so I'm just going to throw it out there right now and with no introduction or explanation (for the time being). Without further ado, this is Texas Tom' official list of the greatest hitters who ever played major league baseball (excluding anyone who began their career during or after 1985 {coincidentally, the year in which Jose Canseco joined Major League Baseball}).
Group III Hitters
29. Sam Crawford (1899-1917; Cincinnati Reds, Detroit Tigers; HOF 1957) - 2517 Games, .309 BA, 2961 Hits, career-high .378 BA (1911)
28. Harmon Killebrew (1954-1975; Washington Senators/Minnesota Twins, Kansas City Royals; HOF 1984) - 2435 Games, 573 HR, .256 BA, 1583 RBI, career-high 49 HR (1964 & 1969)
27. Reggie Jackson (1967-1987; Kansas City Athletics/Oakland Athletics, Baltimore Orioles, New York Yankees, California Angels, HOF 1993) - 2820 Games, 563 HR, .262 BA, 1702 RBI, 1551 R, 2597 K,
26. Hank Greenberg (1930-1941, 1945-1947; Detroit Tigers, Pittsburgh Pirates, HOF 1956) - 1394 Games (missed 1942-1944 due to military service), .313 BA, 331 HR, .605 SLG, .412 OBP, career-high 58 HR (1938), career-high 183 RBI (1937)
25. Eddie Mathews (1952-1968; Boston Braves/Milwaukee Braves/Atlanta Braves, Houston Astros, Detroit Tigers, HOF 1978) - 2391 Games, .271 BA, 512 HR
24. Eddie Collins (1906-1930; Philadelphia Athletics, Chicago White Sox, HOF 1939) - 2826 Games, 3315 hits, .333 BA, 744 SB
23. Harry Heilmann (1914, 1916-1930, 1932; Detroit Tigers, Cincinnati Reds, HOF 1952) - 2148 Games, .342 BA, 1539 RBI, career-high .403 BA (1923)
22. Willie Stargell (1962-1982; Pittsburgh Pirates, HOF 1988) - 2360 Games, 475 HR, 1540 RBI, .282 BA, career-high 48 HR (1971)
21. Mike Schmidt (1972-1989; Philadelphia Phillies, HOF 1995) - 2404 Games, 548 HR, 1595 RBI, .267 BA, career-high 48 HR (1980)
20. Joe Dimaggio (1936-1942, 1946-1951; New York Yankees, HOF 1955) - 1736 Games (missed 1943-1945 due to military service), .325 BA, 361 HR, 1537 RBI, 1390 R, career-high .381 BA (1939), .579 SLG, career-high 155 RBI (1948)
19. Dick Allen (1963-1977; Philadelphia Phillies, St. Louis Cardinals, Los Angeles Dodgers, Chicago White Sox, Oakland Athletics) - 1749 Games, .292 BA, 351 HR, 1119 RBI ,1099 R
18. Johnny Mize (1936-1942, 1946-1953; St. Louis Cardinals, New York Giants, New York Yankees, HOF 1981) - 1884 Games, .312 BA, 359 HR, 1337 RBI, career-high 51 HR (1947)
17. "Shoeless" Joe Jackson (1908-1920; Philadelphia Athletics, Cleveland Naps/Cleveland Indians, Chicago White Sox, banned from baseball in 1920) - 1332 Games, .356 BA, .423 OBP, career-high .408 BA (1911)
16. Napoleon Lajoie (1896-1916; Philadelphia Phillies, Philadelphia Athletics, Cleveland Naps; HOF 1937) - 2480 Games, 3242 hits, .338 BA, 657 doubles, 1599 RBI, 1504 R, career-high .426 BA (1901)
15. Willie McCovey (1959-1980; San Francisco Giants, San Diego Padres, Oakland Athletics; HOF 1986) - 2588 Games, 521 HR, 1555 RBI, .270 BA, career-high .656 SLG (1969)
14. Mel Ott (1926-1947; New York Giants, HOF 1951) - 2730 Games, 511 HR, 1860 RBI, 1859 R, .304 BA
13. Frank Robinson (1956-1976; Cincinnati Reds, Baltimore Orioles, Los Angeles Dodgers, California Angels, Cleveland Indians; HOF 1982) - 2808 Games, 586 HR, 1812 RBI, 1829 R, 2943 Hits, .294 BA, career-high 49 HR (1966)
Group II Hitters
12. Willie Mays (1951-1952, 1954-1973; New York Giants/San Francisco Giants, New York Mets; HOF 1979) - 2992 Games, 660 HR, .302 BA, 1903 RBI, 2062 R, 523 Doubles, 140 Triples, career-high 52 HR (1965), career-high .667 SLG (1954)
11. Honus Wagner (1897-1917; Louisville Colonels, Pittsburgh Pirates; HOF 1936) - 2792 Games, 1732 RBI, 1736 R, .327 BA, .391 OBP, career-high .381 BA (1900)
10. Henry "Hank" Aaron (1954-1976; Milwaukee Braves/Atlanta Braves, Milwaukee Brewers; HOF 1982) - 3298 Games, 755 HR, .305 BA, 2297 RBI, 2174 R, 3771 Hits, 624 Doubles
9. Tris Speaker (1907-1928; Boston Red Sox, Cleveland Indians, Washington Senators, Philadelphia Athletics; HOF 1937) - 2789 Games, .345 BA, 3514 Hits, 1882 Runs, 792 Doubles, 222 Triples, 1529 RBI, 432 SB, .428 OBP, struck out 8 times in 523 at-bats in 1927
8. Stan Musial (1941-1944, 1946-1963; St. Louis Cardinals; HOF 1969) - 3026 Games, .331 BA, 1949 Runs, 3630 Hits, 725 Doubles, 177 Triples, 475 HR, 1951 RBI, .417 OBP
7. Jimmie Foxx (1925-1942, 1944-1944; Philadelphia Athletics, Boston Red Sox, Chicago Cubs, Philadelphia Phillies; HOF 1951) - 2317 Games, .325 BA, 534 HR, .428 OBP, 1922 RBI, 1751 R, career-high 58 HR, 169 RBI, .749 SLG (1932)
6. Mickey Mantle (1951-1968; New York Yankees; HOF 1974) - 2401 Games, .298 BA, 536 HR, .421 OBP, 1509 RBI, 1677 R, career-high 54 HR (1961), career-high .705 SLG (1956)
5. Lou Gehrig (1923-1939; New York Yankees; HOF 1939) - 2164 Games, .340 BA, 493 HR, 163 Triples, 534 Doubles, .447 OBP, 1995 RBI, 1888 R, .632 SLG, career-high .765 SLG (1927), career- high 49 HR (1936 & 1934)
4. Rogers Hornsby (1915-1937; St. Louis Cardinals, New York Giants, Boston Braves, Chicago Cubs, St. Louis Browns; HOF 1942) - 2259 Games, .358 BA, 1584 RBI, 1579 R, 2930 Hits, 541 Doubles, 169 Triples, 301 HR, .434 OBP, career-high .424 BA, .507 OBP (1924), career-high .722 SLG (1922)
3. Ty Cobb (1905-1928; Detroit Tigers, Philadelphia Athletics; HOF 1936) - 3035 Games, .366 BA, 724 Doubles, 295 Triples, 2246 R, 4189 Hits, 1937 RBI, 892 SB, .433 OBP, career-high .420 BA (1911)
Group I Hitters
2. Ted Williams (1939-1942, 1946-1960; Boston Red Sox; HOF 1966) - 2292 Games, .344 BA, 521 HR, 525 Doubles, 1798 R, 1839 RBI, .482 OBP, .634 SLG, career-high .406 BA, .553 OBP, .735 SLG (1941)
1. Babe Ruth (1914-1935; Boston Red Sox, New York Yankees, Boston Braves; HOF 1936) - 2503 Games, .342 BA, 714 HR, .690 SLG, .474 OBP, 2217 RBI, 2174 R, 506 Doubles, 136 Triples
PS
Don't look too closely at the stats I list, they play a minor role in the rankings (especially the rate statistics, which include years in which the players were not in their respective primes). They are just the most common or traditional stats or stats with which people typically identify these players. Stolen bases are sometimes listed but were not considered in these rankings (Stolen bases have nothing to do with "hitting").
Lists
Caution: Corny baseball post.
Everyone Loves lists. Especially baseball nuts. Or maybe it's just me. Before I took a break, I promised revealing my master list of the greatest hitter of all-time. A couple years ago, I was drunk and shared with my roommates my list of the 20 greatest hitters that I had created when I was 10. This is similar. Before taking a break, I promised to reveal the list I had worked an entire summer creating. Well, I didn't begin the summer with the intention of creating a list of the greatest hitters of all-time. I thought I already knew that. I just wanted to know where everyone stood in a given year of baseball and try to compare that the current state of baseball. For example, we can say that we are watching living legends who have faded (Ken Griffey, Jr.) playing alongside guys just past their dominant prime (Alex Rodriguez) who are playing alongside players in their early 20's who will one day take their place in baseball history alongside these greats. Well, it's easy to take all the players today and analyze them in a vacuum (how are they doing THIS year) without really looking at what stage these guys are in a their careers or where they stand or will one day stand from a historical standpoint. Last night we watched Manny Ramirez hit his 500th homerun. This is a guy who, from his baggy pants, Bob Marley hair and crazy antics, you would probably never think in a historical sense. He just doesn't look the part. That is until he hits a historical homerun. Do you see what I am getting at? It's Manny freaking Ramirez alongside Jimmie Foxx. That's just crazy to me. It's insane when you get to see an entire career unfold from start to finish. As it's happening, you don't think about one day watching his 500th home run or something like that. One reason is because you don't really know who was a flash in the pan or who is going to be an actual consistent superstar. It's hard to look at a guy like Manny and use the term consistent just from looking at him and watching his antics. His career kind of flew by (not that it's over, but he's 36 and that's usually the start of the true decline in a superstar's career). I'm loving it. But I digress. What interested me last summer were questions like "who battled for best player in the league every year from 1900 to now" or who was the most popular player in 1907 or how old was Ty Cobb when Babe Ruth rose to stardom, what actual stage in his career was Ruth when Gehrig showed up, what would be the modern-day equivalent of Ted Williams missing 5 years of his prime to go to war at two different stages in his career?
Just to show you what type of research I actually did, I'll answer those random questions right now without going to any outside resource besides my brain. Ok I'm not going to answer the first one (right now), but starting with the second...
In 1907, Honus Wagner was the most popular player in Major League Baseball. He had been in the league for about 10 years, was in his early 30's and had won various league titles in several different categores. He had probably been considered the best player in the league for 4 or 5 years by this point, after taking that title from Nap Lajoie (who was about the same age but had peaked in popularity early than Honus). Actually he may have been sharing this title with Nap Lajoie, who was the consensus top player when the century turned. People probably argued about who was actually the best until these two guys were already past their primes (think of A-Rod now being Lajoie and Pujols being Honus or something like that. If you really made someone say who is the best right now, and this person knows baseball, 2/3 or more is going to say A-Rod or Pujols... although in the future when these two guys are long gone, we may look back and say no, Hanley Ramirez was already better by that time. But right now, we don't really know how good Hanley is. In 1907, I could look back at stats and say, Cobb was already better than these two by this time. But IN 1907, people didn't know how good Cobb was even though he had already started his prime. See what I mean?)
Next question... In 1920, Babe Ruth hit 54 home runs. He was like 24-25 years old or so and had already his 29 home runs the year before, breaking the record. But 1920 was when things started to get ridiculous and that was also his first year with the Yankees. Cobb was like 33-34 years old. Think of Cobb being thought of like Jeter and Ruth being Prince Fielder. See, people knew what Cobb was bringing to the table by now and that he was probably toward the end of his prime. Ruth was a loose cannon. No idea where he's going with his career, we just know he can hit the crap out of the ball and he's young. You also have to add that Ruth had been a prominent pitcher in the league since he was like 19 or 20. So, really we have no comparison nowadays when we're talking about Babe Ruth. But you get the point.
Next question... Gehrig "showed up" in 1927 on the greatest team of all-time. He played well the few years leading up to this, but this is when his real prime began. He was 23-24 and Ruth was 32 and had already become what we think he is now. Actually he added to his legacy in this specific year. This would be the equivalent of Melky Cabrera busting out this year for the Yankees and hitting like 50 home runs, while Alex Rodriguez hits 75 home runs (1927 is when Ruth hit 60) and the Yankees win the World Series (you'd also have to tack more postseason success to really use A-Rod as Ruth but that will probably stand true for any comparison in which I use A-Rod). Also, add some more off-the-field chaos, alcohol and arrogance to A-Rod and a very fan-friendly and shy attitude to Cabrera (in 1927, New York fell in love with Gehrig and kind of looked at Ruth as inhuman and didn't really identify with him anymore). You may think Cabrera is a bad example to be the "Gehrig" here but trust me, if he goes off and hits 50 home runs this year and then went on to have one the greatest careers of any player ever you would have to agree with the comparison. However, I will admit that Gehrig was already thought of more highly at the time than Cabrera is right now, but 1927 was when he really busted out.
The Ted Williams question is the most difficult. He was 24 years old when he served our country in World War II. He missed 3 prime years of 24, 25 and 26 years of age. He also left to serve our country in Korea in 1952 (33 years old), after playing 6 games. He came back to the major leagues late in the 1953 (34 years old) season after having an ear infection and being relieved from duty. He was able to play 37 games in 1953. That's 5 years of his prime. Add 150 home runs or so (which is conservative). He would have hit about 670 home runs or more. The most comparable situation we have today is the injuries that plagued Griffey during his prime. They are somewhat similar players. While they were healthy, people regarded them as the best. They were young when they rose to greatness. Most of all, they have the 2 sweetest swings that I have ever seen, they played the game with passion and were fan favorites. There will always be the question of "what if" when people talk about these two baseball legends. Another way to view it would be to imagine that Alex Rodriguez joined the service voluntarily in the year 2000 (by then, he was established as the next big thing if not already the big thing with God-knows-what potential. Also, it was his last year in Seattle, which is perfect because now you have to imagine the conversation in which A-Rod informs Scott Boras that he has decided to join the Army during a contract year). He returns in 2003 (so, basically pretend A-Rod never went to Texas and take away all those homers he hit at The Ballpark) and continues his career. Now imagine that next year we attack Iran and A-Rod reluctantly returns to active duty during the middle of the season and returns for the last month of 2010. For the record, A-Rod would be sitting at 375 career home runs right and would be missing 2 future years. Instead of chasing Bonds, he'd be chasing Williams himself. I'm just saying. While we're on the topic- check out Ted Williams stat line from 1941 http://www.baseball-reference.com/w/willite01.shtml . He had 10 more home runs than he did strikeouts. If Ryan Howard would have done that last year, he'd have hit 209 home runs. SPOILER: Williams is second on my official list and it's not really debatable.
Everyone Loves lists. Especially baseball nuts. Or maybe it's just me. Before I took a break, I promised revealing my master list of the greatest hitter of all-time. A couple years ago, I was drunk and shared with my roommates my list of the 20 greatest hitters that I had created when I was 10. This is similar. Before taking a break, I promised to reveal the list I had worked an entire summer creating. Well, I didn't begin the summer with the intention of creating a list of the greatest hitters of all-time. I thought I already knew that. I just wanted to know where everyone stood in a given year of baseball and try to compare that the current state of baseball. For example, we can say that we are watching living legends who have faded (Ken Griffey, Jr.) playing alongside guys just past their dominant prime (Alex Rodriguez) who are playing alongside players in their early 20's who will one day take their place in baseball history alongside these greats. Well, it's easy to take all the players today and analyze them in a vacuum (how are they doing THIS year) without really looking at what stage these guys are in a their careers or where they stand or will one day stand from a historical standpoint. Last night we watched Manny Ramirez hit his 500th homerun. This is a guy who, from his baggy pants, Bob Marley hair and crazy antics, you would probably never think in a historical sense. He just doesn't look the part. That is until he hits a historical homerun. Do you see what I am getting at? It's Manny freaking Ramirez alongside Jimmie Foxx. That's just crazy to me. It's insane when you get to see an entire career unfold from start to finish. As it's happening, you don't think about one day watching his 500th home run or something like that. One reason is because you don't really know who was a flash in the pan or who is going to be an actual consistent superstar. It's hard to look at a guy like Manny and use the term consistent just from looking at him and watching his antics. His career kind of flew by (not that it's over, but he's 36 and that's usually the start of the true decline in a superstar's career). I'm loving it. But I digress. What interested me last summer were questions like "who battled for best player in the league every year from 1900 to now" or who was the most popular player in 1907 or how old was Ty Cobb when Babe Ruth rose to stardom, what actual stage in his career was Ruth when Gehrig showed up, what would be the modern-day equivalent of Ted Williams missing 5 years of his prime to go to war at two different stages in his career?
Just to show you what type of research I actually did, I'll answer those random questions right now without going to any outside resource besides my brain. Ok I'm not going to answer the first one (right now), but starting with the second...
In 1907, Honus Wagner was the most popular player in Major League Baseball. He had been in the league for about 10 years, was in his early 30's and had won various league titles in several different categores. He had probably been considered the best player in the league for 4 or 5 years by this point, after taking that title from Nap Lajoie (who was about the same age but had peaked in popularity early than Honus). Actually he may have been sharing this title with Nap Lajoie, who was the consensus top player when the century turned. People probably argued about who was actually the best until these two guys were already past their primes (think of A-Rod now being Lajoie and Pujols being Honus or something like that. If you really made someone say who is the best right now, and this person knows baseball, 2/3 or more is going to say A-Rod or Pujols... although in the future when these two guys are long gone, we may look back and say no, Hanley Ramirez was already better by that time. But right now, we don't really know how good Hanley is. In 1907, I could look back at stats and say, Cobb was already better than these two by this time. But IN 1907, people didn't know how good Cobb was even though he had already started his prime. See what I mean?)
Next question... In 1920, Babe Ruth hit 54 home runs. He was like 24-25 years old or so and had already his 29 home runs the year before, breaking the record. But 1920 was when things started to get ridiculous and that was also his first year with the Yankees. Cobb was like 33-34 years old. Think of Cobb being thought of like Jeter and Ruth being Prince Fielder. See, people knew what Cobb was bringing to the table by now and that he was probably toward the end of his prime. Ruth was a loose cannon. No idea where he's going with his career, we just know he can hit the crap out of the ball and he's young. You also have to add that Ruth had been a prominent pitcher in the league since he was like 19 or 20. So, really we have no comparison nowadays when we're talking about Babe Ruth. But you get the point.
Next question... Gehrig "showed up" in 1927 on the greatest team of all-time. He played well the few years leading up to this, but this is when his real prime began. He was 23-24 and Ruth was 32 and had already become what we think he is now. Actually he added to his legacy in this specific year. This would be the equivalent of Melky Cabrera busting out this year for the Yankees and hitting like 50 home runs, while Alex Rodriguez hits 75 home runs (1927 is when Ruth hit 60) and the Yankees win the World Series (you'd also have to tack more postseason success to really use A-Rod as Ruth but that will probably stand true for any comparison in which I use A-Rod). Also, add some more off-the-field chaos, alcohol and arrogance to A-Rod and a very fan-friendly and shy attitude to Cabrera (in 1927, New York fell in love with Gehrig and kind of looked at Ruth as inhuman and didn't really identify with him anymore). You may think Cabrera is a bad example to be the "Gehrig" here but trust me, if he goes off and hits 50 home runs this year and then went on to have one the greatest careers of any player ever you would have to agree with the comparison. However, I will admit that Gehrig was already thought of more highly at the time than Cabrera is right now, but 1927 was when he really busted out.
The Ted Williams question is the most difficult. He was 24 years old when he served our country in World War II. He missed 3 prime years of 24, 25 and 26 years of age. He also left to serve our country in Korea in 1952 (33 years old), after playing 6 games. He came back to the major leagues late in the 1953 (34 years old) season after having an ear infection and being relieved from duty. He was able to play 37 games in 1953. That's 5 years of his prime. Add 150 home runs or so (which is conservative). He would have hit about 670 home runs or more. The most comparable situation we have today is the injuries that plagued Griffey during his prime. They are somewhat similar players. While they were healthy, people regarded them as the best. They were young when they rose to greatness. Most of all, they have the 2 sweetest swings that I have ever seen, they played the game with passion and were fan favorites. There will always be the question of "what if" when people talk about these two baseball legends. Another way to view it would be to imagine that Alex Rodriguez joined the service voluntarily in the year 2000 (by then, he was established as the next big thing if not already the big thing with God-knows-what potential. Also, it was his last year in Seattle, which is perfect because now you have to imagine the conversation in which A-Rod informs Scott Boras that he has decided to join the Army during a contract year). He returns in 2003 (so, basically pretend A-Rod never went to Texas and take away all those homers he hit at The Ballpark) and continues his career. Now imagine that next year we attack Iran and A-Rod reluctantly returns to active duty during the middle of the season and returns for the last month of 2010. For the record, A-Rod would be sitting at 375 career home runs right and would be missing 2 future years. Instead of chasing Bonds, he'd be chasing Williams himself. I'm just saying. While we're on the topic- check out Ted Williams stat line from 1941 http://www.baseball-reference.com/w/willite01.shtml . He had 10 more home runs than he did strikeouts. If Ryan Howard would have done that last year, he'd have hit 209 home runs. SPOILER: Williams is second on my official list and it's not really debatable.
Back to Normal (Sort of)
Caution: Useless blog post explaining blog posts.
I hope you don't mind, but this blog is probably going to focus entirely on baseball for a while. Since I have moved twice in the past 3 months, I haven't had a consistent internet service an am a little rusty with my poker. I want to thank everyone who read my crazy-long e-mail about getting robbed and let me know they were glad to see that I am ok. Which I am. So, for those of you who liked to read about my poker shenanigans, I apologize. It will get back to that, I promise. I am going to read a little Harrington and play some low-level live tournaments until I feel that I am back in the swing of things and ready to profit. Until then, I don't want to cut into my online bankroll that I have worked so hard to build just for the sake of my blog. If I had to guess, I'd say I'll be playing online cash games about an hour per night starting in late July. Like I said, it'll be mostly baseball and miscellaneous, irrelevant nonsense until then...
I hope you don't mind, but this blog is probably going to focus entirely on baseball for a while. Since I have moved twice in the past 3 months, I haven't had a consistent internet service an am a little rusty with my poker. I want to thank everyone who read my crazy-long e-mail about getting robbed and let me know they were glad to see that I am ok. Which I am. So, for those of you who liked to read about my poker shenanigans, I apologize. It will get back to that, I promise. I am going to read a little Harrington and play some low-level live tournaments until I feel that I am back in the swing of things and ready to profit. Until then, I don't want to cut into my online bankroll that I have worked so hard to build just for the sake of my blog. If I had to guess, I'd say I'll be playing online cash games about an hour per night starting in late July. Like I said, it'll be mostly baseball and miscellaneous, irrelevant nonsense until then...
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
I Got Robbed (at gunpoint)
I am a very proud person. Some parts of this entry were actually difficult to write. My friends, I know I am not the most up-front and honest person, but this entire story is true...
Before getting into the actual details of what happened on April 22, 2008, I'd like to share with you a short timeline.
January 2, 2007 - I make the new year's resolution to never use racial slurs again.
April, 2007 - Neighbors that lived in the same house as myself and two friends get robbed (it was a duplex) at gunpoint. The gunmen made my neighbors lay on the floor and held guns to their heads. It was drug-related. After hearing about it, I express how effed up it would be if the gunmen went to the wrong front door of the right duplex and came into our house, demanding drugs and drug money. How effed up it would be if they didn't believe us because, after all, who would just give themselves up right of the bat anyway? And, after all, they were at the right address. Seriously, that would be effed up. Someone could have been killed.
March, 2008 - I move to Houston into a pretty nice apartment complex. I immediately begin getting ticked off at the amount of mail I'm getting from the previous resident, who we'll call "S". I ponder looking him up and letting him know how much I despise him and that he needs to inform all parties that he no longer lives at this address. If I only knew...
April 22, 2008, 10:30 PM - I'm playing poker and updating my blog. I'm wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. The TV is off. I hear someone knocking at my front door, which is unlocked.
"This is kind of weird," I think. There's honestly no reason for a person to be coming to my house at 10:30 on a Tuesday night without calling.
I go up to the door and peek through the peep-hole. I see a black man who I do not recognize and say:
"Hello?"
"Is Tony there," the man says. He seemed to be turning his face to the side.
I lock the door. I somewhat cringe as the clicking sound breaks the silence. What a racist I must be.
"You have the wrong place, I'm sorry," I tell him.
The man continues to talk and I drown out his voice by yelling, "You have the wrong place. This is T. Tony doesn't live here."
I go back to my computer and sit down. For a moment, I actually feel a little bad about the blatant clicking noise and how African Americans have to put up with those sort of little things all the time. I begin editing my previous entry "Baseball". I added fake stats at the bottom that included my 3 seasons of coach's pitch and remember having outlandish batting averages like 51/52 on the season. I'm laughing as I wonder if anyone is going to think I'm really bragging about this when I hear another knock at the door, about 10 minutes after the last incident.
"This is shady," I think to myself. As usual when I answer the door, I begin making a plan to get out of a sticky situation, should I find myself in one. I'm not sure how common this is amongst guys, but I ponder getting my 7-iron, which is usually what I go with. I decided to go up there with my fists and told myself to simply not answer the door this time.
I look through the peep-hole again. I was frustrated as it was the same guy. People like this tick me off when they don't know when to quit.
"What?" I yell through the door.
"Hey man, I got this address written down, I need help finding this place," he said. I know what you're thinking and if it has something to do with me being a moron or falling for a trick, then to you I say "shut the fuck up". Me and you are very different people.
"Sorry, I just moved here, I have no clue man," I yell through the door.
"Man, please, I'm really lost," he said. He held up the paper to the peep-hole.
I figure, "What the hell, I can help him out and he will go away."
I crack the door open and look the guy in the face.
"You ever seen this address?" The man says.
He holds up the piece of paper to me and I realize it's a receipt with a squiggly line written on it.
"This isn't adding up at all," I think, feeling weird as I realize there's something truly fucked up about to happen.
"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sorry I can't help," I say, as I lean my body back inside and begin to close the door. (This is getting hard to write)
I feel a small force from his side that's pushing against the door as I close it. The gears turn in my brain.
"I'm about to get robbed," I think.
When something like this happens, your brain switches into a mode that only certain types of people can enjoy. Everything you do is instinctual. You want to live. It's completely primitive. They say survival and reproduction are the only true pieces of a primate brain, in that order of importance. Mine was set on survival mode immediately.
As I begin to push the door as hard as I can, I realize that it was definitely true. He began pushing hard, attempting to force himself in.
"Mother fucker!" I yell. "fuck no." But the son of a bitch was overpowering me. I let him in, knowing that the only ways I could get out of this was to run or fight. I wasn't winning this door battle.
Run or fight? If any of you truly know me, there's really only one option for me. I'm a runner. And when I'm scared, there's no chance of catching me. Ask the Officer from BPD. No chance.
However, upon further review, there was really nowhere to run. I was trapped in my own house and the door was blocked by the very thing I was running from.
So, I chose fight. The man came through door and I grabbed his neck as hard as I could and wrestled him into the wall. He went about 6'2", 190, according to my description to the police.
"I have a gun mother fucker, I'm going to kill you," he said.
I went into shock. I sort of blacked out at this point, but the next thing I remember I was on the ground staring at my Rawlings baseball bag. I didn't have a gun mother fucker. But I would have killed him.
So I'm on the ground with this tall, black man on me. I feel the gun on my head. Round, metallic hole.
"Where's the money mother fucker," he said. The word 'the' struck me as odd.
"In my wallet. You win. I'll give you whatever you want. FUCK.," I tell him. He lets me up and I go over to my wallet.
I open the wallet and pull out a "measley" 25 dollars and hand it to him.
"That's it?," he says. I wanted to explain to him the law of Beggars and Choosers, but now really wasn't the time. I also notice his neck is all fucked up. I look down at my finger nails and see muck and greasy mire spread throughout, the likes of which have never been seen. Atleast I got something.
I was scared to look at his neck for more than a split second, I didn't want him to get more mad. He was already appalled by my lack of money. I know, I'm so poor. I offer him my credit card and debit card and whatever else was in my wallet.
He eyes my TV. My brand new TV. My 36" plasma flat screen Olevia brand fuckin' new $700 TV.
"Start unplugging that TV. Hurry."
"Unplug it?"
"Yeah mother fucker, unplug that shit! Do it fast and you better not fuck it up."
At one point, I had given up. That was the point when I woke up with the black guy above me with a gun to my head. But for some reason at this point I decided this wasn't over. Maybe it was the way he was tearing through my wallet and casting these "useless" items to the ground in disgust as I was unplugging my TV. Leaving them there for me or whoever was cleaning up my body to pick up later. Maybe it was the fact that this guy was in MY house, telling me what to do with MY new TV. "Not fuck it up". That's what got me.
"I can't unplug this shit," I told him, getting up from behind the TV. I had spent some time frantically tugging on wires from behind my TV after he told me to "unplug" it. It's hard to do when your hands are shaking and a dude is standing there with a gun, throwing crap from your wallet onto your ground that you pay for.
"Shut the fuck up and hurry," he said.
I eyed the door.
"You can have the TV," I said, and I meant it. "Fuck this. I'm not unplugging my own TV."
I eye the back door and take a quick step towards it. Trust me, since he first started pushing on my door, I was looking for any type of exit strategy. Once I got to running, I'll be gone and he can do what he want with my house. I just needed to go for it. That's when I got what I can look back on and say was "pistol whipped".
As I said, I took one quick step. Then there was a flash (this was the pistol whip). I figured I got punched.
"Now you better go unplug that TV. And quit yelling, mother fucker."
Looking back, I believe I was saying a lot more things to this guy as he was digging through my wallet, standing in my house because he kept telling me to quit talking and to quit yelling, but I'm just really not sure.
Just then, another black man came through the door. Shorter, a little fatter, a little more clean cut.
"Don't worry about that mother fuckin' TV," he said, "Where's the dope?"
Before the "where's the dope" comment, I was 50/50 in my mind about my chances of dying. There were several moments with the first guy that involved him pushing me around and sticking the gun in my face, threatening to kill me, but I can't place them in proper order in this story. Just know it was happening, and I gave myself a good chance of getting shot.
After "where's the dope", I upped it to 75/25. I flashed back to what happened to my neighbors and how weird I felt knowing it could have been me. Now it was me, and I knew a misunderstanding was about to happen.
"I don't have any fuckin' drugs. I don't do that shit man" I told him.
"Don't fuckin lie. You owe some people a lot of money, so you better give us the drugs or the money," #2 said.
"Dude, I wouldn't lie right now I'm pretty fuckin' scared yall can have whatever yall want just please don't kill me," I said.
"Shut the fuck up," #1 said, "Just know that if you're lying, we're gonna fuckin kill you."
"Scour my house," I said. It was funny, because for the first time in my life I felt like I was telling the truth to get out of trouble. Hell, I even thought there was a chance they'd let me have my TV.
As #2 went scouring the house, #1 talked a lot of shit to me. He told me to start unplugging the TV again. When #2 came back, he realized I wasn't the right guy.
He seemed very sensible and was clearly the leader of the two. "Say man, you really have no clue why we're here?"
"No fucking clue," I said, "I'm not in that shit."
"Well the last guy that lived here, he fucked with some bad mother fuckers," he said. Again, I hate S. I thought about all that mail he left in my box, now this. I even told the thugs about the mail thing and how I hate that mother fucker too, so we have something in common.
"Yeah man he fucked with the Colombians, man," #1 said. "And we just here to collect. When someone fucks with the Colombians, they send us. If we don't get what they want, they send 50 more." As he said all this he kept approaching me and waving the gun in my face.
"Yeah so we gonna take your TV," the sensible one said. "Cause if we come back with nothing, we fucked." He seemed a little sorry that this was happening. He went into my room as I unplugged the rest of my TV, not so nervous this time. This time however, when I put my hands behind the
TV, I got a little spooked as blood poured from my face onto my new TV stand. Stained wood. I was a little worried that the pistol whip was much worse than I originally thought and the adrenaline was getting me through. I touched my face and looked down in disgust at my blood soaked left hand. "This is so fucked up," I thought.
"Now pick that shit up and put it on this blanket," #1 said as I realized #2 went into my room to get my bed spread to cover my tv so that they could take it from my house with my TV getting fucking damaged. He made me carry it over to my new couch and set it down. I looked around my house in disgust, as I realized that #2 had gone through all my new shit, looking for money and drugs...
#1 was a very angry person. #2 kept leaving the room, I guess to go look-out for cops as well as bringing the TV to the car. Everytime 2 would leave the room, 1 would threaten me and my percentage of getting killed would go up in my head. #1 made me sit on my new couch. I sat, but tried to stand just out of nervousness. He pushed my back down and pointed the gun at me. God, I wanted #2 to come back inside. He kept #1 in check. #2 apologized for 1 making me bleed. He said that was unnecessary and he's gonna give him shit for it on the car ride back.
"It's all good," I said. It really was. I honestly felt they wouldn't kill me. I just wanted them to leave. It was funny, though. He kept asking if I had gold. He wanted to steal my jewelry so he could pawn it off. I said, "Do I look like the kind of guy who has gold?"
"Go get him a towel for his face," 2 said to 1. 1 walked to my room, reluctantly. 2 explained that I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time (yes, my house was the wrong place, wrong time) and that I took it like a champ. He actually gave me dap. Fuckin' tool, I thought. But I was glad he was there.
1 came back with the towel.
"Here you go, mother fucker," he threw my towel onto my shoulder, "clean yo' shit up."
I wiped my face and the side of my head and looked down at the towel with disgust. There was a lot of blood. I touched the side of my head and realized the top of my ear was cut up pretty bad.
At this point, #1 was still playing hard ass. I kept noticing his scratched-up neck and figured he was still pissed about the tiff we got into by the door. 2 continued to talk and express sympathy and explained to me how if I call the cops they will send 50 mother fuckers on me. He wanted me to be calm before they left. We talked about how I had renter's insurance and would get money for the TV. He actually gave me dap again before he left and told me to have a nice night and walked out the door.
1 stayed. He came up behind my ear, whispered some shit about how you don't fuck with Colombians (what a tool), clearly trying to scare me out of calling the cops. As he was walking out the door, I got really upset that I didn't own a gun. I slammed my hat down. Just as he walked out the door into the hallway of my building, as I still sat on the sofa as ordered, he turned around...
he touched his bloody neck and said, "You lucky my boy showed up."
He closed my door and ran down my hallway. I heard him get into someone else's car and peel off.
There, still on my couch, I touched my ear and said, "You're lucky mine didn't."
I sat on the couch, in shock, looking around my house. I was somewhat scared to move.
When I finally worked up the courage to get up, I quickly went over to my front door and locked it. The click of the lock pierced the weirdest silence of my life. It was the sweetest sound in the world.
And I'm totally ok.
UPDATE:
I officially broke the lease at my apartment because I don't want anymore people showing up looking for S, who I really have a good reason hate next the whole mail thing.
I found I new place to live and will move on May 9th.
After I felt the guys were definitely gone, I SPRINTED out to my truck and drove about 70 mph down Westheimer to my sister's house. Due to the adrenaline and thankfulness of being alive, I laughed during the whole car ride. I was glad it happened. When I got there (around 11:15-11:30), I went up to her door and banged on it. She didn't answer. I went up to some random people, with a bloody white t-shirt on and a mangled ear and borrowed their cell phone. I called my sister and she let me in. Then I called the cops and filed a report.
The thugs also stole my cell phone so I couldn't call the cops. I got one off ebay today so it's all good.
Renter's isurance for me covers 10K in damage, so i'm good on that.
The place I'm moving to is really nice and I think I'll like it even better, so I'm good on that.
One last thing: If this were 2007, my new years resolution would be in absolute ruin.
I'm glad it happened. I know it's messed up for me to feel that way, but instead of convincing me that I'm not glad it happened, just be glad it wasn't you.
Before getting into the actual details of what happened on April 22, 2008, I'd like to share with you a short timeline.
January 2, 2007 - I make the new year's resolution to never use racial slurs again.
April, 2007 - Neighbors that lived in the same house as myself and two friends get robbed (it was a duplex) at gunpoint. The gunmen made my neighbors lay on the floor and held guns to their heads. It was drug-related. After hearing about it, I express how effed up it would be if the gunmen went to the wrong front door of the right duplex and came into our house, demanding drugs and drug money. How effed up it would be if they didn't believe us because, after all, who would just give themselves up right of the bat anyway? And, after all, they were at the right address. Seriously, that would be effed up. Someone could have been killed.
March, 2008 - I move to Houston into a pretty nice apartment complex. I immediately begin getting ticked off at the amount of mail I'm getting from the previous resident, who we'll call "S". I ponder looking him up and letting him know how much I despise him and that he needs to inform all parties that he no longer lives at this address. If I only knew...
April 22, 2008, 10:30 PM - I'm playing poker and updating my blog. I'm wearing boxers and a white t-shirt. The TV is off. I hear someone knocking at my front door, which is unlocked.
"This is kind of weird," I think. There's honestly no reason for a person to be coming to my house at 10:30 on a Tuesday night without calling.
I go up to the door and peek through the peep-hole. I see a black man who I do not recognize and say:
"Hello?"
"Is Tony there," the man says. He seemed to be turning his face to the side.
I lock the door. I somewhat cringe as the clicking sound breaks the silence. What a racist I must be.
"You have the wrong place, I'm sorry," I tell him.
The man continues to talk and I drown out his voice by yelling, "You have the wrong place. This is T. Tony doesn't live here."
I go back to my computer and sit down. For a moment, I actually feel a little bad about the blatant clicking noise and how African Americans have to put up with those sort of little things all the time. I begin editing my previous entry "Baseball". I added fake stats at the bottom that included my 3 seasons of coach's pitch and remember having outlandish batting averages like 51/52 on the season. I'm laughing as I wonder if anyone is going to think I'm really bragging about this when I hear another knock at the door, about 10 minutes after the last incident.
"This is shady," I think to myself. As usual when I answer the door, I begin making a plan to get out of a sticky situation, should I find myself in one. I'm not sure how common this is amongst guys, but I ponder getting my 7-iron, which is usually what I go with. I decided to go up there with my fists and told myself to simply not answer the door this time.
I look through the peep-hole again. I was frustrated as it was the same guy. People like this tick me off when they don't know when to quit.
"What?" I yell through the door.
"Hey man, I got this address written down, I need help finding this place," he said. I know what you're thinking and if it has something to do with me being a moron or falling for a trick, then to you I say "shut the fuck up". Me and you are very different people.
"Sorry, I just moved here, I have no clue man," I yell through the door.
"Man, please, I'm really lost," he said. He held up the paper to the peep-hole.
I figure, "What the hell, I can help him out and he will go away."
I crack the door open and look the guy in the face.
"You ever seen this address?" The man says.
He holds up the piece of paper to me and I realize it's a receipt with a squiggly line written on it.
"This isn't adding up at all," I think, feeling weird as I realize there's something truly fucked up about to happen.
"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm sorry I can't help," I say, as I lean my body back inside and begin to close the door. (This is getting hard to write)
I feel a small force from his side that's pushing against the door as I close it. The gears turn in my brain.
"I'm about to get robbed," I think.
When something like this happens, your brain switches into a mode that only certain types of people can enjoy. Everything you do is instinctual. You want to live. It's completely primitive. They say survival and reproduction are the only true pieces of a primate brain, in that order of importance. Mine was set on survival mode immediately.
As I begin to push the door as hard as I can, I realize that it was definitely true. He began pushing hard, attempting to force himself in.
"Mother fucker!" I yell. "fuck no." But the son of a bitch was overpowering me. I let him in, knowing that the only ways I could get out of this was to run or fight. I wasn't winning this door battle.
Run or fight? If any of you truly know me, there's really only one option for me. I'm a runner. And when I'm scared, there's no chance of catching me. Ask the Officer from BPD. No chance.
However, upon further review, there was really nowhere to run. I was trapped in my own house and the door was blocked by the very thing I was running from.
So, I chose fight. The man came through door and I grabbed his neck as hard as I could and wrestled him into the wall. He went about 6'2", 190, according to my description to the police.
"I have a gun mother fucker, I'm going to kill you," he said.
I went into shock. I sort of blacked out at this point, but the next thing I remember I was on the ground staring at my Rawlings baseball bag. I didn't have a gun mother fucker. But I would have killed him.
So I'm on the ground with this tall, black man on me. I feel the gun on my head. Round, metallic hole.
"Where's the money mother fucker," he said. The word 'the' struck me as odd.
"In my wallet. You win. I'll give you whatever you want. FUCK.," I tell him. He lets me up and I go over to my wallet.
I open the wallet and pull out a "measley" 25 dollars and hand it to him.
"That's it?," he says. I wanted to explain to him the law of Beggars and Choosers, but now really wasn't the time. I also notice his neck is all fucked up. I look down at my finger nails and see muck and greasy mire spread throughout, the likes of which have never been seen. Atleast I got something.
I was scared to look at his neck for more than a split second, I didn't want him to get more mad. He was already appalled by my lack of money. I know, I'm so poor. I offer him my credit card and debit card and whatever else was in my wallet.
He eyes my TV. My brand new TV. My 36" plasma flat screen Olevia brand fuckin' new $700 TV.
"Start unplugging that TV. Hurry."
"Unplug it?"
"Yeah mother fucker, unplug that shit! Do it fast and you better not fuck it up."
At one point, I had given up. That was the point when I woke up with the black guy above me with a gun to my head. But for some reason at this point I decided this wasn't over. Maybe it was the way he was tearing through my wallet and casting these "useless" items to the ground in disgust as I was unplugging my TV. Leaving them there for me or whoever was cleaning up my body to pick up later. Maybe it was the fact that this guy was in MY house, telling me what to do with MY new TV. "Not fuck it up". That's what got me.
"I can't unplug this shit," I told him, getting up from behind the TV. I had spent some time frantically tugging on wires from behind my TV after he told me to "unplug" it. It's hard to do when your hands are shaking and a dude is standing there with a gun, throwing crap from your wallet onto your ground that you pay for.
"Shut the fuck up and hurry," he said.
I eyed the door.
"You can have the TV," I said, and I meant it. "Fuck this. I'm not unplugging my own TV."
I eye the back door and take a quick step towards it. Trust me, since he first started pushing on my door, I was looking for any type of exit strategy. Once I got to running, I'll be gone and he can do what he want with my house. I just needed to go for it. That's when I got what I can look back on and say was "pistol whipped".
As I said, I took one quick step. Then there was a flash (this was the pistol whip). I figured I got punched.
"Now you better go unplug that TV. And quit yelling, mother fucker."
Looking back, I believe I was saying a lot more things to this guy as he was digging through my wallet, standing in my house because he kept telling me to quit talking and to quit yelling, but I'm just really not sure.
Just then, another black man came through the door. Shorter, a little fatter, a little more clean cut.
"Don't worry about that mother fuckin' TV," he said, "Where's the dope?"
Before the "where's the dope" comment, I was 50/50 in my mind about my chances of dying. There were several moments with the first guy that involved him pushing me around and sticking the gun in my face, threatening to kill me, but I can't place them in proper order in this story. Just know it was happening, and I gave myself a good chance of getting shot.
After "where's the dope", I upped it to 75/25. I flashed back to what happened to my neighbors and how weird I felt knowing it could have been me. Now it was me, and I knew a misunderstanding was about to happen.
"I don't have any fuckin' drugs. I don't do that shit man" I told him.
"Don't fuckin lie. You owe some people a lot of money, so you better give us the drugs or the money," #2 said.
"Dude, I wouldn't lie right now I'm pretty fuckin' scared yall can have whatever yall want just please don't kill me," I said.
"Shut the fuck up," #1 said, "Just know that if you're lying, we're gonna fuckin kill you."
"Scour my house," I said. It was funny, because for the first time in my life I felt like I was telling the truth to get out of trouble. Hell, I even thought there was a chance they'd let me have my TV.
As #2 went scouring the house, #1 talked a lot of shit to me. He told me to start unplugging the TV again. When #2 came back, he realized I wasn't the right guy.
He seemed very sensible and was clearly the leader of the two. "Say man, you really have no clue why we're here?"
"No fucking clue," I said, "I'm not in that shit."
"Well the last guy that lived here, he fucked with some bad mother fuckers," he said. Again, I hate S. I thought about all that mail he left in my box, now this. I even told the thugs about the mail thing and how I hate that mother fucker too, so we have something in common.
"Yeah man he fucked with the Colombians, man," #1 said. "And we just here to collect. When someone fucks with the Colombians, they send us. If we don't get what they want, they send 50 more." As he said all this he kept approaching me and waving the gun in my face.
"Yeah so we gonna take your TV," the sensible one said. "Cause if we come back with nothing, we fucked." He seemed a little sorry that this was happening. He went into my room as I unplugged the rest of my TV, not so nervous this time. This time however, when I put my hands behind the
TV, I got a little spooked as blood poured from my face onto my new TV stand. Stained wood. I was a little worried that the pistol whip was much worse than I originally thought and the adrenaline was getting me through. I touched my face and looked down in disgust at my blood soaked left hand. "This is so fucked up," I thought.
"Now pick that shit up and put it on this blanket," #1 said as I realized #2 went into my room to get my bed spread to cover my tv so that they could take it from my house with my TV getting fucking damaged. He made me carry it over to my new couch and set it down. I looked around my house in disgust, as I realized that #2 had gone through all my new shit, looking for money and drugs...
#1 was a very angry person. #2 kept leaving the room, I guess to go look-out for cops as well as bringing the TV to the car. Everytime 2 would leave the room, 1 would threaten me and my percentage of getting killed would go up in my head. #1 made me sit on my new couch. I sat, but tried to stand just out of nervousness. He pushed my back down and pointed the gun at me. God, I wanted #2 to come back inside. He kept #1 in check. #2 apologized for 1 making me bleed. He said that was unnecessary and he's gonna give him shit for it on the car ride back.
"It's all good," I said. It really was. I honestly felt they wouldn't kill me. I just wanted them to leave. It was funny, though. He kept asking if I had gold. He wanted to steal my jewelry so he could pawn it off. I said, "Do I look like the kind of guy who has gold?"
"Go get him a towel for his face," 2 said to 1. 1 walked to my room, reluctantly. 2 explained that I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time (yes, my house was the wrong place, wrong time) and that I took it like a champ. He actually gave me dap. Fuckin' tool, I thought. But I was glad he was there.
1 came back with the towel.
"Here you go, mother fucker," he threw my towel onto my shoulder, "clean yo' shit up."
I wiped my face and the side of my head and looked down at the towel with disgust. There was a lot of blood. I touched the side of my head and realized the top of my ear was cut up pretty bad.
At this point, #1 was still playing hard ass. I kept noticing his scratched-up neck and figured he was still pissed about the tiff we got into by the door. 2 continued to talk and express sympathy and explained to me how if I call the cops they will send 50 mother fuckers on me. He wanted me to be calm before they left. We talked about how I had renter's insurance and would get money for the TV. He actually gave me dap again before he left and told me to have a nice night and walked out the door.
1 stayed. He came up behind my ear, whispered some shit about how you don't fuck with Colombians (what a tool), clearly trying to scare me out of calling the cops. As he was walking out the door, I got really upset that I didn't own a gun. I slammed my hat down. Just as he walked out the door into the hallway of my building, as I still sat on the sofa as ordered, he turned around...
he touched his bloody neck and said, "You lucky my boy showed up."
He closed my door and ran down my hallway. I heard him get into someone else's car and peel off.
There, still on my couch, I touched my ear and said, "You're lucky mine didn't."
I sat on the couch, in shock, looking around my house. I was somewhat scared to move.
When I finally worked up the courage to get up, I quickly went over to my front door and locked it. The click of the lock pierced the weirdest silence of my life. It was the sweetest sound in the world.
And I'm totally ok.
UPDATE:
I officially broke the lease at my apartment because I don't want anymore people showing up looking for S, who I really have a good reason hate next the whole mail thing.
I found I new place to live and will move on May 9th.
After I felt the guys were definitely gone, I SPRINTED out to my truck and drove about 70 mph down Westheimer to my sister's house. Due to the adrenaline and thankfulness of being alive, I laughed during the whole car ride. I was glad it happened. When I got there (around 11:15-11:30), I went up to her door and banged on it. She didn't answer. I went up to some random people, with a bloody white t-shirt on and a mangled ear and borrowed their cell phone. I called my sister and she let me in. Then I called the cops and filed a report.
The thugs also stole my cell phone so I couldn't call the cops. I got one off ebay today so it's all good.
Renter's isurance for me covers 10K in damage, so i'm good on that.
The place I'm moving to is really nice and I think I'll like it even better, so I'm good on that.
One last thing: If this were 2007, my new years resolution would be in absolute ruin.
I'm glad it happened. I know it's messed up for me to feel that way, but instead of convincing me that I'm not glad it happened, just be glad it wasn't you.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Hyperbole...
This was neither the greatest nor the dumbest call of my life, but I haven't played poker in over a month so it felt like it. I'm Gumby Damnit.
ANNA KOURNIKOVA!
This is both the greatest and the dumbest call I have ever made in my life. I would like to preface this hand by letting you know that I had no previous reads or tells on player 3 and I had no weird premonitions that he was bluffing. I had no good reason to think this. I made the call for one reason and one reason only: pot odds or something?
Poker Game #xxx: Hold'em No Limit ($0.25/$0.50) - 2008/04/22 - 22:05:51 (ET)
Table II 6-max Seat #6 is the button
Seat 1: PLAYER 1 ($151.45 in chips)
Seat 3: PLAYER 3 ($41.95 in chips)
Seat 4: ME ($43.40 in chips) I came in with 50.
Seat 5: PLAYER 5 ($120.55 in chips) Best player at the table; table captain; solid and pretty shrewd for a small stakes player, tends to attack blinds and limpers with raises 4 to 5 times the big blind.
Seat 6: PLAYER 6 ($50.75 in chips)
PLAYER 1: posts small blind $0.25
PLAYER 3: posts big blind $0.50
*** HOLE CARDS ***
Dealt to ME [Ac Kh]
ME: calls $0.50 Yes, I limped with AK. This has nothing to do with being a tricky and trappy player only that I was attempting to trick and trap Player 5. As I said before, he often attacks early limpers. I attempted this very thing in the previous hand with AQo (didn't show it down), and he folded, so I'm taking another stab. Also, I had been limping with a lot of cards, seeing about 40% of the flop and rarely raising pre-flop.
PLAYER 5: raises $2 to $2.50 Exactly what I wanted, I plan to re-raise to about $7.5-8 and assume he will fold. Hope he doesn't hold a high pair.
PLAYER 6: folds
PLAYER 1: folds
PLAYER 3: calls $2 I don't know much about this player, but he has now become my target to make money on the hand. I want Player 5 out. Knowing Player 5 could have made that raise with any two decent cards to attack my limp, I expect him to fold. I also know he'll call with the right odds and if he thinks player 5 will also call, so I feel I have to bet a "high number". This is something I do to get points across at the poker table, whether in a tournament or in a cash game. The last thing that goes before a player's mind while making a call or re-raise of another person's bet is that dollar amount on the push-button. That's why I like to make bet amounts that make an impression. In tournaments it's a lot easier to do because the amounts are generally credits and are higher in number than the dollar amounts I play with at the table, allowing for more creativity. For example, if the "correct" bet amount (to me) is about 250 to 300 and I have a monster hand, I'm more inclined to bet an amount like 290 than 300. If I'm bluffing, I'm going with exactly 200 or 300.When you go to Wal-Mart, is there any item there that sells for $3.00 on the nose? No, it's going to sell for $2.95 or $2.99. And guess what, dumb people are more likely to buy it. It's the same concept. In this case, I don't want to make a sale, so I want to bet as high as I can. 10 looks like a big number, so I raise to $10 more. Player 5 will see a big, glaring 2-digit number that ends in a zero when he is trying to make this call. This is also the point in the hand where I realize I'm either going to make or lose a lot of money and I actually think to myself, "T, don't be scared to make a good call post-flop call when you don't hit". In other words, I prepare myself to make a move when no ace or king hits.
ME: raises $10 to $12.50
PLAYER 5: folds "TEN DOLLA!!"
PLAYER 3: raises $11 to $23.50 I actually don't really care about this that much, let's just see the flop and figure things out. He didn't take the chance to re-raise earlier but I figure that's mostly because I think I was coming off as being a weak player at the table and player 5 was coming off very strong. He's probably got A-x or 6-6 or KQ or something. Don't ever have a fear of flopping; the other player has just as much on his plate as you. Remember, most flops miss most hands...
ME: calls $11
*** FLOP *** [2h Tc 8s] Crap. The pot is almost 50 and each of us have about 20 left. I'm pretty much pot committed, and I pretty much know he's going all in, assuming I didn't hit this and that I won't be able to make a call with two high cards. Honestly though, my story adds up on my side as AK, Queens or maybe Jacks and his story looks about the same.
PLAYER 3: bets $18.45 and is all-in Not a bad move witih any two cards considering the pot.
ME: calls $18.45
*** TURN *** [2h Tc 8s] [9h]
*** RIVER *** [2h Tc 8s 9h] [4s]
*** SHOW DOWN ***
PLAYER 3: shows [Jd 5d] (high card Jack) The son of a bitch had J5s. I'm really glad he didn't hit a jack or a five. I think he put me on AK or AQ and knew that flop didn't hit me and that I would fold. He was right except for the last part.
ME: shows [Ac Kh] (high card Ace)
ME collected $84.65 from pot "I'M GOING TO WRITE THIS IN MY BLOG!!!"
*** SUMMARY ***
Total pot $86.65 | Rake $2
Board [2h Tc 8s 9h 4s]
Seat 1: PLAYER 1 (small blind) folded before Flop
Seat 3: PLAYER 3 (big blind) showed [Jd 5d] and lost with high card Jack
Seat 4: ME showed [Ac Kh] and won ($84.65) with high card Ace
Seat 5: PLAYER 5 folded before Flop
Seat 6: PLAYER 6 (button) folded before Flop (didn't bet)
We didn't really learn much, here. I mostly made a pot odds play. I'd probably usually fold in that spot because 20 dollars is 20 dollars. Anyways, Goodnight.FTR- I really did feel my Ace-high was good.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Baseball
Last summer, I took an internship at a prominent pharmaceuticals manufacturing company somewhere in Texas. They paid me well and paid me by the hour, offering time-and-a-half for any overtime. My boss was a really nice guy, and you could tell he was a very shy guy. You could tell he felt bad when he gave me work to do, which worked out great because I didn't want to do any work. I wanted to sit at my desk all day long doing nothing* and get paid. So that's exactly what I did...
That is until I realized I could do something productive with my time. I began researching the hell out of baseball at baseball-reference.com. I spent 8, 9, 10 hours a day just looking up each and every player I could think of, attempting to find their rightful place in history. It all started when I became curious about how many years Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb spent playing at the same time. Often people think about historical events or figures as mutually exclusive. Turns out, Cobb hated Ruth and his home-run-hitting style. I uncovered so much information and got paid. It was awesome. By the end of the summer, I had a detailed Excel spreadsheet of every great player who ever played the game. I ranked them by several different methods and finally came up with my official list, in order. It's solid. All-in-all, I'd say I spent a good 300 hours on this, and will reveal my list in my next entry.
I should supplement the story about being "productive" at work with this tidbit of information: I am a freaking baseball nut. I used to be an addict. At any given time since I was 8 and obtained a subscription to Baseball Digest (my mom supported my habit at the time), I've pretty much known too much about baseball for my own good. I really do know a lot. I'm talking about real baseball. The game and the players. I don't care about contracts, trades, or what percentage of the league is or isn't white, Latino, or African American. I don't care about too much that has happened to the sport since 1970 except for my stellar little league career that was cut short by growing pains in the ankles. I care about who's playing and how they play it. Before my first little league game, my mom told me to "be aggressive". She probably gave me this advice because I was a passive little kid who really didn't even want to play. I didn't even play the first year I was old enough. I was too scared and apathetic. However, when I stepped between the lines for the first time, something changed. After getting the meaning of the word clarified, all I thought in my head was "be aggressive". And aggressive, I was. Like everything else in life, I took a mile when I was given an inch. I was given a small piece of information ("be aggressive") and turned it into an entire playing style. A style the likes of which probably has never been seen before and will never be seen again (unless I have a son someday). I turned aggressive into maniacal (pronounced muh-nye-uh-kull not maniac-ull). Keep in mind, I'm still talking about a 7-year-old. Before going any further, I just want to let you know I'm not making this up. I have the memory of a field lark. I remember all of these things. When I first began playing, they had me at third base. This is coach's pitch, where your coach tosses you the ball under-handed. One issue is that none of the little kids want to play outfield. Right field was the worst. Left field was the second worst player on the team. The best player on the field must be your pitcher. This is because the entire game centers on fielding the ball and getting the ball back to the pitcher, who has to catch the throw and make sure he's inside of the circle where a pitcher's mound would normally be. He must be able to catch the baseball. The second best player plays first base. This is because your first baseman must also be able to catch the ball. Some teams even had the best player at first base (mostly the case when the coach's son wasn't the best player on the team and wanted to play pitcher). When you're 7 and playing baseball, there are two types of people: those who "can catch" and those who "can't catch". Those who "can" are fewer and far between and have to be utilized efficiently on the field. Well, when I was seven, I "could catch". I was capable of catching a baseball. I caught the ball when it was thrown to me. Some kids just move out of the way, some kids stick their gloves out and close their stupid eyes and most of them stiffen up and simply miss it. I caught the son of a bitch. The team I was on was the Yankees. Three kids on the team could catch: Brian, Jason, and myself. This kid Rich was pretty good, but he was white trash and was completely ignored by the coach. Brian and Jason were the assistant coaches' sons so they occupied pitcher and first base, respectively. At the time, there was much debate around coaching circles about the placement of the "third kid who can catch". You know the top two are playing pitcher and first. It really helps to have two or three extra kids who can catch so you can stick one and shortstop and one at third or second. The Yankees didn't have this luxury. So, us having 3 created somewhat of a dilemma. Where will his catching skills be most utilized? They decided to stick me at third base. It was a pretty smart choice. 7-year-olds aren't going to be throwing anyone out anyway unless it's hit to the second baseman. Some theories suggest you stick your third best "kid who can catch" at second base. However, not enough pop-ups are hit in this direction. Even a mediocre kid can field a slow-rolling baseball and toss it over to the first baseman. This is why a coach with a son who can't catch will more than likely stick him at second. Damage control. However, the kid is playing infield and gets to make plays so he won't whine too much. This was the case with the Yankees. Therefore, with studies showing that a few more little league fly balls are hit to third base than short stop, I would have to agree with the decision at the time that third base was the least poor choice to stick me. Having never played or cared about it before, I was perfectly fine where ever. I wasn't really aware that I "could catch". I just didn't want to screw up. I played two or three games at third and, by then, had worked my way up to the lead-off spot in the order (the fast kid who doesn't hit home runs but gets a hit every time). Somewhere in the middle of the third or fourth game, a light bulb went off in our coach's head. We were getting shelled by the Astros. Hit after hit was dropping in left field. This is common in little league. The coach is willing to give up this part of the field, as most kids can't hit pop ups all the way to the outfielder, and a 7-year-old's ability to catch decreases with every inch of height and distance that the ball travels. Besides, 7-year olds aren't fast and don't have the mental make-up to dive for a ball in the outfield and still make a catch. You stick your second worst player on the team there to take up space and swat flies, and leave your good players to make the easy outs when they come. That is unless your third best player is a freaking madman. That's where I came in. As I said, midway during the game, a routine fly ball was hit to our left field. Of course, he missed it (keep in mind, one of the great moments of any little league season is when your worst player on the team makes a lucky catch in the outfield. The moms love it. Your team gets an out. Everyone wins.) Our coach called time out and ran out to me at third base. The conversation went something like this:
Coach: You feeling like playing some left field for us.
Me: (Shrug and muttered the little kid "I don't know")
Coach: Good.
(Side note: You see, Coach had something up his sleeve since the first day of practice. We were taking infield at the beginning, and I was stuck at catcher. I was getting frustrated that after the infielders made plays, they would throw it to the assistant coach who would either roll it by me to the bucket or throw it to the head coach at home plate, who had a glove on one hand and a bat in the other. Throw it to me, damnit, and take your huge glove off. Finally, I had enough. The assistant coach tossed one in over my head right into the glove of Coach. When Coach looked down, my glove was inside of his with the ball resting peacefully in my glove. I had jumped up and reached back, catching the ball just before it landed in his glove. He laughed. He had his eye on me. I was a shy kid, but once it was my turn to do something, I did it all out...)
The coach called in the poor little bastard from left field and stuck him at third base. I ran out to the outfield. There were two outs. On the very next pitch, a ball was crushed right to me. I caught it. I ran to the dugout as fast as I could as the moms yelled their crazy asses off. I forgot to throw the ball back to the umpire, I was so pumped. Someone mentioned, "He doesn't want to let go of it." Like I was surprised and so happy about my catch. No, I was excited. Not at my catch, but at the ability to make people yell when you do something good. No one knew, except the coaches from practice, that I could do that. Very few balls had been hit to me up to that point.
"They thought that was good?" I thought. "I'm gonna like this shit."
For the rest of the season (until the last game), I did everything I could to dive for every ball that came anywhere near my parameters in the outfield. Oh, and I caught every last one of them. Sometimes, I would run all the way into the infield and completely lay out for a ball that was supposed to be the third baseman's. Eff him, he had his chance. I caught balls all the way in right field. I jumped the fence one time in attempt to catch a fly ball. I would run out of the way of balls that were right to me so that I could run back and dive. That's the point in my life where I officially became cocky. By the end of the season, everyone knew what was up. On the last game, the situation came to a head when Brian "went out of town" and "couldn't make it". Go figure. The Yankees needed someone to play pitcher to go above .500 on the season. It was my time now. There was a buzz all week at practices as word spread that I would be on the mound and as I was taking a few of Brian's reps during infield. When game time finally came, and I took my rightful spot in the middle of that diamond, I decided to take my game to another level. By the end of that game, my entire uniform was officially one big grass stain. My pants were tattered from a season of head-first dives, cop-style body rolls, slides at the plate and fence-climbs. After the game (which we won), as many of the fans would be seeing me for the last time (until next Spring), they were offering their congratulations on a fine game at pitcher. Things like "Well, I guess we didn't need Brian!" and "You did a great job." My favorite one, however, was when Jason's dad came up to me, put his arm on my shoulder and said, "You should have been playing pitcher the whole season." No hard feelings. Hearing these things was worth it. Besides, it felt really good as I answered each of these comments with "I know."
*In the early stages of the internship, I went so far as to set up an elaborate and detailed Excel spreadsheet which included things like my time in to work, my time out, what I did that day (usually N/A was filled in to this cell) and it calculated how much money I was earning in real time, right down to the penny. It was awesome. Some days I literally sat there, chuckling, and typed in the minutes as they went by, watching the total earnings cell go up. The spreadsheet accounted for time over 40 hours for the week. Typing those minutes in were the most fun.
That is until I realized I could do something productive with my time. I began researching the hell out of baseball at baseball-reference.com. I spent 8, 9, 10 hours a day just looking up each and every player I could think of, attempting to find their rightful place in history. It all started when I became curious about how many years Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb spent playing at the same time. Often people think about historical events or figures as mutually exclusive. Turns out, Cobb hated Ruth and his home-run-hitting style. I uncovered so much information and got paid. It was awesome. By the end of the summer, I had a detailed Excel spreadsheet of every great player who ever played the game. I ranked them by several different methods and finally came up with my official list, in order. It's solid. All-in-all, I'd say I spent a good 300 hours on this, and will reveal my list in my next entry.
I should supplement the story about being "productive" at work with this tidbit of information: I am a freaking baseball nut. I used to be an addict. At any given time since I was 8 and obtained a subscription to Baseball Digest (my mom supported my habit at the time), I've pretty much known too much about baseball for my own good. I really do know a lot. I'm talking about real baseball. The game and the players. I don't care about contracts, trades, or what percentage of the league is or isn't white, Latino, or African American. I don't care about too much that has happened to the sport since 1970 except for my stellar little league career that was cut short by growing pains in the ankles. I care about who's playing and how they play it. Before my first little league game, my mom told me to "be aggressive". She probably gave me this advice because I was a passive little kid who really didn't even want to play. I didn't even play the first year I was old enough. I was too scared and apathetic. However, when I stepped between the lines for the first time, something changed. After getting the meaning of the word clarified, all I thought in my head was "be aggressive". And aggressive, I was. Like everything else in life, I took a mile when I was given an inch. I was given a small piece of information ("be aggressive") and turned it into an entire playing style. A style the likes of which probably has never been seen before and will never be seen again (unless I have a son someday). I turned aggressive into maniacal (pronounced muh-nye-uh-kull not maniac-ull). Keep in mind, I'm still talking about a 7-year-old. Before going any further, I just want to let you know I'm not making this up. I have the memory of a field lark. I remember all of these things. When I first began playing, they had me at third base. This is coach's pitch, where your coach tosses you the ball under-handed. One issue is that none of the little kids want to play outfield. Right field was the worst. Left field was the second worst player on the team. The best player on the field must be your pitcher. This is because the entire game centers on fielding the ball and getting the ball back to the pitcher, who has to catch the throw and make sure he's inside of the circle where a pitcher's mound would normally be. He must be able to catch the baseball. The second best player plays first base. This is because your first baseman must also be able to catch the ball. Some teams even had the best player at first base (mostly the case when the coach's son wasn't the best player on the team and wanted to play pitcher). When you're 7 and playing baseball, there are two types of people: those who "can catch" and those who "can't catch". Those who "can" are fewer and far between and have to be utilized efficiently on the field. Well, when I was seven, I "could catch". I was capable of catching a baseball. I caught the ball when it was thrown to me. Some kids just move out of the way, some kids stick their gloves out and close their stupid eyes and most of them stiffen up and simply miss it. I caught the son of a bitch. The team I was on was the Yankees. Three kids on the team could catch: Brian, Jason, and myself. This kid Rich was pretty good, but he was white trash and was completely ignored by the coach. Brian and Jason were the assistant coaches' sons so they occupied pitcher and first base, respectively. At the time, there was much debate around coaching circles about the placement of the "third kid who can catch". You know the top two are playing pitcher and first. It really helps to have two or three extra kids who can catch so you can stick one and shortstop and one at third or second. The Yankees didn't have this luxury. So, us having 3 created somewhat of a dilemma. Where will his catching skills be most utilized? They decided to stick me at third base. It was a pretty smart choice. 7-year-olds aren't going to be throwing anyone out anyway unless it's hit to the second baseman. Some theories suggest you stick your third best "kid who can catch" at second base. However, not enough pop-ups are hit in this direction. Even a mediocre kid can field a slow-rolling baseball and toss it over to the first baseman. This is why a coach with a son who can't catch will more than likely stick him at second. Damage control. However, the kid is playing infield and gets to make plays so he won't whine too much. This was the case with the Yankees. Therefore, with studies showing that a few more little league fly balls are hit to third base than short stop, I would have to agree with the decision at the time that third base was the least poor choice to stick me. Having never played or cared about it before, I was perfectly fine where ever. I wasn't really aware that I "could catch". I just didn't want to screw up. I played two or three games at third and, by then, had worked my way up to the lead-off spot in the order (the fast kid who doesn't hit home runs but gets a hit every time). Somewhere in the middle of the third or fourth game, a light bulb went off in our coach's head. We were getting shelled by the Astros. Hit after hit was dropping in left field. This is common in little league. The coach is willing to give up this part of the field, as most kids can't hit pop ups all the way to the outfielder, and a 7-year-old's ability to catch decreases with every inch of height and distance that the ball travels. Besides, 7-year olds aren't fast and don't have the mental make-up to dive for a ball in the outfield and still make a catch. You stick your second worst player on the team there to take up space and swat flies, and leave your good players to make the easy outs when they come. That is unless your third best player is a freaking madman. That's where I came in. As I said, midway during the game, a routine fly ball was hit to our left field. Of course, he missed it (keep in mind, one of the great moments of any little league season is when your worst player on the team makes a lucky catch in the outfield. The moms love it. Your team gets an out. Everyone wins.) Our coach called time out and ran out to me at third base. The conversation went something like this:
Coach: You feeling like playing some left field for us.
Me: (Shrug and muttered the little kid "I don't know")
Coach: Good.
(Side note: You see, Coach had something up his sleeve since the first day of practice. We were taking infield at the beginning, and I was stuck at catcher. I was getting frustrated that after the infielders made plays, they would throw it to the assistant coach who would either roll it by me to the bucket or throw it to the head coach at home plate, who had a glove on one hand and a bat in the other. Throw it to me, damnit, and take your huge glove off. Finally, I had enough. The assistant coach tossed one in over my head right into the glove of Coach. When Coach looked down, my glove was inside of his with the ball resting peacefully in my glove. I had jumped up and reached back, catching the ball just before it landed in his glove. He laughed. He had his eye on me. I was a shy kid, but once it was my turn to do something, I did it all out...)
The coach called in the poor little bastard from left field and stuck him at third base. I ran out to the outfield. There were two outs. On the very next pitch, a ball was crushed right to me. I caught it. I ran to the dugout as fast as I could as the moms yelled their crazy asses off. I forgot to throw the ball back to the umpire, I was so pumped. Someone mentioned, "He doesn't want to let go of it." Like I was surprised and so happy about my catch. No, I was excited. Not at my catch, but at the ability to make people yell when you do something good. No one knew, except the coaches from practice, that I could do that. Very few balls had been hit to me up to that point.
"They thought that was good?" I thought. "I'm gonna like this shit."
For the rest of the season (until the last game), I did everything I could to dive for every ball that came anywhere near my parameters in the outfield. Oh, and I caught every last one of them. Sometimes, I would run all the way into the infield and completely lay out for a ball that was supposed to be the third baseman's. Eff him, he had his chance. I caught balls all the way in right field. I jumped the fence one time in attempt to catch a fly ball. I would run out of the way of balls that were right to me so that I could run back and dive. That's the point in my life where I officially became cocky. By the end of the season, everyone knew what was up. On the last game, the situation came to a head when Brian "went out of town" and "couldn't make it". Go figure. The Yankees needed someone to play pitcher to go above .500 on the season. It was my time now. There was a buzz all week at practices as word spread that I would be on the mound and as I was taking a few of Brian's reps during infield. When game time finally came, and I took my rightful spot in the middle of that diamond, I decided to take my game to another level. By the end of that game, my entire uniform was officially one big grass stain. My pants were tattered from a season of head-first dives, cop-style body rolls, slides at the plate and fence-climbs. After the game (which we won), as many of the fans would be seeing me for the last time (until next Spring), they were offering their congratulations on a fine game at pitcher. Things like "Well, I guess we didn't need Brian!" and "You did a great job." My favorite one, however, was when Jason's dad came up to me, put his arm on my shoulder and said, "You should have been playing pitcher the whole season." No hard feelings. Hearing these things was worth it. Besides, it felt really good as I answered each of these comments with "I know."
*In the early stages of the internship, I went so far as to set up an elaborate and detailed Excel spreadsheet which included things like my time in to work, my time out, what I did that day (usually N/A was filled in to this cell) and it calculated how much money I was earning in real time, right down to the penny. It was awesome. Some days I literally sat there, chuckling, and typed in the minutes as they went by, watching the total earnings cell go up. The spreadsheet accounted for time over 40 hours for the week. Typing those minutes in were the most fun.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thought of the Day, ETC
The past week has been hectic; hence my lack of new posts over the past few days. I have been in my new home city, Houston, looking at apartments and getting things ready for my job that I will be starting on Monday. Luckily, you don't care about this, so I don't have any real reason to write any more about it. We'll just say I took care of business and had WAY too much fun at my send off last night/this morning in Austin. (KEG + small gathering = calling strip clubs at 2 am... hell yes, writing about this fact has solved the mystery of the outgoing number dialed from my phone at 1:26 am. I've been pondering/slightly worrying all day.)
For the reasons described above, I haven't been able to concentrate too much on poker. I'm currently in a .25/.50 cash game and breaking even on the day. Last night, before the heavy drinking began, Texas Kang and I played some .01/.02 tables and attempted to keep our % of flops seen at 69%. It was grand* fun, but we ended up going broke.
I don't really feel like getting into detailed poker analysis right now, so I'll simply share with you the most important thing that happened to me today...
Do you know Woody Paige from Around the Horn on ESPN? If you don't, I can describe him for you: crazy old man. If you don't know, Around the Horn is a daily show on ESPN that comes on in the afternoon and watched only by those who have no jobs/lives. I record it. I "TiVO" it, if you will. Anyway, the show consists of 4 sports writers from around the country who discuss the hottest sports topics of the day. There's also a host who arbitrarily awards points to the panelists as they speak on said topics. He's a DB (DB is a technical term I use to describe people I don't much care for. It's an abbreviation for something. Hint: it rhymes with looshbag). Anyway, Woody Paige is a regular panelist on the show (representing Denver), and he could be described as the class clown of the group. He's pretty much BSC (rhymes with bat kit crazy).
One of the topics that the panelists and the DB discussed today was the fact that Mike Tyson wants to create a movie about his "life" and all of his trials and tribulations. The panelists seemed to agree that it would be a waste of time, especially due to the high quality of boxing movies that have been made in the past (e.g. Raging Bull, Rocky IV, etc**). They all agreed, that is, except Woody. He went into detail about the life of Tyson. He described how he was raised in a rough neighborhood and was discovered by a trainer who led him to glory, only for him to become a national embarrassment. He then said, there's already a title for it. DB fell into his trap saying, "Oh yeah, what's that?"
Woody replied (yelling as usual), "RAGING BULLSHIT!" (they had to beep it on ESPN)
Eff you, I thought it was funny.
*Grand - just a hilarious word to use.
**etc:
Have you ever seen those clever stores who specialize in selling something, but they also sell other things and want to let you know by adding "etc" to their witty title. No? Think of a bookstore that also sells stationary supplies, such as staplers. The owners may be inclined to
call their store something like, "Books 'N Things" or "Books, ETC". See, you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, the other day Frosty and I went go eat all-you-can-eat fish at BLVD Grille (which is total BS because they run out of fish and get mad when you ask for your 11th helping. They actual keep tabs on how many helpings you had and put it on the receipt with $0.00 next to it. OOOOOH, look how fat I got for free. Besides, the ugly waitress is so damn pushy and wants you to buy more beer.) On our way out, I saw a storefront that read "Tan, ETC". I looked in the window and saw no other service/items for purchase besides a tan. I was confused. No, I was curious. Just what was so "et cetera" about this place, which I'm pretty sure is Latin for something like "and then some" or "along with additional things". Did they have mysterious items in the back somewhere, available for purchase. Maybe they sold drugs. With that possibility in hand, I figured it was only right for me as a U.S. American (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww) to inquire.
"Should I ask them what the et cetera is," I asked Frosty.
He probably said yes or just looked at me weird.
I noticed a woman, most likely an employee***, was cleaning the door of Tan, ETC as I approached. So, I barged in, and the conversation went as follows...
"Oh, wow, Ok. That's fine," the woman said as I barged in as she was clearly in the middle of cleaning the door. I wasn't trying to be an ass, honestly. If they want business, they should be completely prepared for potential customers.
"Yes, I was wondering if I could get something besides a tan."
The woman looked at me puzzled.
"I need something besides a tan, what do you offer?"
At this point, I think she may have felt I was propositioning her. Which I wasn't.
"We don't offer anything... do you need to make an appointment."
"For tanning, no. I need something additional. Something extra."
Puzzled look.
"I need something in addition to a tan. The title of your shop has led me to believe you have something besides tanning beds here."
"No, we just have tanning beds (at this point I yell, 'ET CETERA, TAN ET CETERA')... oh, I see. You're being sarcastic."
She starts to close the door on me.
"Sorry, I saw the et cetera and got confused. My bad."
Hate is a strong word. I don't hate anyone. That woman HATED me. Frosty probably felt similar.
For the reasons described above, I haven't been able to concentrate too much on poker. I'm currently in a .25/.50 cash game and breaking even on the day. Last night, before the heavy drinking began, Texas Kang and I played some .01/.02 tables and attempted to keep our % of flops seen at 69%. It was grand* fun, but we ended up going broke.
I don't really feel like getting into detailed poker analysis right now, so I'll simply share with you the most important thing that happened to me today...
Do you know Woody Paige from Around the Horn on ESPN? If you don't, I can describe him for you: crazy old man. If you don't know, Around the Horn is a daily show on ESPN that comes on in the afternoon and watched only by those who have no jobs/lives. I record it. I "TiVO" it, if you will. Anyway, the show consists of 4 sports writers from around the country who discuss the hottest sports topics of the day. There's also a host who arbitrarily awards points to the panelists as they speak on said topics. He's a DB (DB is a technical term I use to describe people I don't much care for. It's an abbreviation for something. Hint: it rhymes with looshbag). Anyway, Woody Paige is a regular panelist on the show (representing Denver), and he could be described as the class clown of the group. He's pretty much BSC (rhymes with bat kit crazy).
One of the topics that the panelists and the DB discussed today was the fact that Mike Tyson wants to create a movie about his "life" and all of his trials and tribulations. The panelists seemed to agree that it would be a waste of time, especially due to the high quality of boxing movies that have been made in the past (e.g. Raging Bull, Rocky IV, etc**). They all agreed, that is, except Woody. He went into detail about the life of Tyson. He described how he was raised in a rough neighborhood and was discovered by a trainer who led him to glory, only for him to become a national embarrassment. He then said, there's already a title for it. DB fell into his trap saying, "Oh yeah, what's that?"
Woody replied (yelling as usual), "RAGING BULLSHIT!" (they had to beep it on ESPN)
Eff you, I thought it was funny.
*Grand - just a hilarious word to use.
**etc:
Have you ever seen those clever stores who specialize in selling something, but they also sell other things and want to let you know by adding "etc" to their witty title. No? Think of a bookstore that also sells stationary supplies, such as staplers. The owners may be inclined to
call their store something like, "Books 'N Things" or "Books, ETC". See, you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, the other day Frosty and I went go eat all-you-can-eat fish at BLVD Grille (which is total BS because they run out of fish and get mad when you ask for your 11th helping. They actual keep tabs on how many helpings you had and put it on the receipt with $0.00 next to it. OOOOOH, look how fat I got for free. Besides, the ugly waitress is so damn pushy and wants you to buy more beer.) On our way out, I saw a storefront that read "Tan, ETC". I looked in the window and saw no other service/items for purchase besides a tan. I was confused. No, I was curious. Just what was so "et cetera" about this place, which I'm pretty sure is Latin for something like "and then some" or "along with additional things". Did they have mysterious items in the back somewhere, available for purchase. Maybe they sold drugs. With that possibility in hand, I figured it was only right for me as a U.S. American (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj3iNxZ8Dww) to inquire.
"Should I ask them what the et cetera is," I asked Frosty.
He probably said yes or just looked at me weird.
I noticed a woman, most likely an employee***, was cleaning the door of Tan, ETC as I approached. So, I barged in, and the conversation went as follows...
"Oh, wow, Ok. That's fine," the woman said as I barged in as she was clearly in the middle of cleaning the door. I wasn't trying to be an ass, honestly. If they want business, they should be completely prepared for potential customers.
"Yes, I was wondering if I could get something besides a tan."
The woman looked at me puzzled.
"I need something besides a tan, what do you offer?"
At this point, I think she may have felt I was propositioning her. Which I wasn't.
"We don't offer anything... do you need to make an appointment."
"For tanning, no. I need something additional. Something extra."
Puzzled look.
"I need something in addition to a tan. The title of your shop has led me to believe you have something besides tanning beds here."
"No, we just have tanning beds (at this point I yell, 'ET CETERA, TAN ET CETERA')... oh, I see. You're being sarcastic."
She starts to close the door on me.
"Sorry, I saw the et cetera and got confused. My bad."
Hate is a strong word. I don't hate anyone. That woman HATED me. Frosty probably felt similar.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Dumb Call II: It's OK when I Do It
The names have been changed, but here is a play that recently occurred in which I felt my chances of winning the tournament increased enough when winning this hand to justify the losses incurred. I figured I was about 28% (~2.5:1) to win the hand when I made the call. With the 400 I had already limped with, it gave me decent straight odds. There are a few key differences here between my call and the one described in the previous post that push me to make this tough call:
1) There are three players in the pot (one significantly small stacked);
2) The small stacked player, Larry, has significant pressure to move all in with a hand worse than mine, so there are increased chances I'm actually favored;
3) The somewhat larger stacked player has an M of 6. He, too, is far more compelled to make a move, so again there are increased chances I'm actually favored;
4) It only costs me less than a third of my stack to make a big move in the tourney;
5) I can still play "normal" poker if I lose. I'm not completely crippled afterward. In the other example, Steel made a play for his tournament life.
PokerStars Tournament, Hold'em No Limit - Level VIII (200/400) - 2008/02/18 - 02:03:28 (ET)
Table 9-max Seat #4 is the button
Seat 1: Larry (1780 in chips)
Seat 2: 845(5170 in chips)
Seat 3: Steel (10140 in chips)
Seat 4: JMAR (4234 in chips)
Seat 5: dark (8066 in chips)
Seat 6: heiff (21154 in chips)
Seat 7: ME (14845 in chips)
Seat 8: High (3300 in chips)
Seat 9: furry (4975 in chips)
Larry: posts the ante 25
845: posts the ante 25
Steel: posts the ante 25
JMAR: posts the ante 25
dark: posts the ante 25
heiff: posts the ante 25
ME: posts the ante 25
High: posts the ante 25
furry: posts the ante 25
dark: posts small blind 200
heiff: posts big blind 400
*** HOLE CARDS ***
Dealt to [Qc Kc]
ME: calls 400
High: folds
furry: folds
Larry: raises 1355 to 1755 and is all-in
845: folds
Steel: folds
JMAR: raises 2454 to 4209 and is all-in
darknes87: folds
heiffinator: folds
ME: calls 3809
*** FLOP *** [As Th Qs]
*** TURN *** [As Th Qs] [4d]
*** RIVER *** [As Th Qs 4d] [9s]
*** SHOW DOWN ***
ME: shows [Qc Kc] (a pair of Queens)
JMAR: shows [Ac Js] (a pair of Aces)
JMAR collected 4908 from side pot
Larry: shows [Ks Jd] (a straight, Ten to Ace)
Larry collected 6090 from main pot
*** SUMMARY ***
Total pot 10998 Main pot 6090. Side pot 4908. | Rake 0
Board [As Th Qs 4d 9s]
Seat 1: Larry showed [Ks Jd] and won (6090) with a straight, Ten to Ace
Seat 2: 845 folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 3: Steel folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 4: JMAR (button) showed [Ac Js] and won (4908) with a pair of Aces
Seat 5: darknes87 (small blind) folded before Flop
Seat 6: heiffinator (big blind) folded before Flop
Seat 7: ME showed [Qc Kc] and lost with a pair of Queens
Seat 8: High folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 9: furry folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Now, let's see if my play was correct (Assuming my original limp in was correct (which it was)).
I had to call 1355 to win a possible 6090 against 2 players. With KQs against AJo and KJo, I am 34.59%** to win (or 2 to 1). 6090/1355= 4.5. I had awesome odds and made a good call for the main pot. However, I also have to consider the side pot with JMAR. Against AJo, I'm 42.56% to win. My play was technically calling 2454 extra to win the 4908 side pot. My expected earning from this play is:
.3459*6090 = 2107
PLUS
.4256*4908 = 2089
for a total expected earning of 4196.
My bet was for a total of 3809 (2454+1355 or JMAR's stack minus my original 400, so it makes sense). Therefore, my play was profitable (4196 gain beats a 3809 expected loss) and thus technically correct. Who knew? (I didn't)
Note: Notice how the original limp-in changes everything. If you add the 400 that was dead money as far as this analysis was concerned, my bet was for a total of 4209. The loss would then outweigh the gain. So, the technically "correct" play would have been to fold immediately had I known what cards my opponents were holding. In addition, if anticipating a call from both opponents, an immediate all-in move would have been technically incorrect.
**All winning percentages obtained from CardPlayer.com's Poker Odds Calculator: http://www.cardplayer.com/poker_odds/texas_holdem
PS: I just realized that you may be wondering why I chose 28% when I was sitting there during the hand. Basically, all I did was take 33% and shave a little bit off since I assumed I wasn't the favorite here. It's actually the low end guess for a situation such as this, and if I would have used it instead of the actual winning percentage for the main pot, then I would still have decent odds to make the call. With the knowledge that I'm generally a pessimist about these types of situations, I would then realize that 28% is probably a lowball guess and can justify making that call. Looking back, I'm satisfied with my estimations during the hand and feel I made the right call.
Side note:
My original assumption for what was taking place went something like this...
When I first saw the all-in move by the very short stack, I assumed A-x, so we'll call it A5s (give him that extra flush chance for 2%). Short stacks like this need to make a play and they tend to especially put the pressure on themselves just before the big blind. Typically, any good hand such as QT, KJ or AX will work for them and could justify the all-in move as the correct play (honestly, at that point for Larry, any two cards could have worked). I feel assuming AX is the best way to hedge the bet. When another less-short-stacked player made the re-raise for the rest of his chips, I figured one of two things was occurring:
1) He doesn't want me to call, so he must have a medium pair or AQ or something;
2) He has a good hand and wants double up (almost triple). Here, I will assume JJ, QQ, KK, AA or AK.
A good way to hedge your bet in this situation is to go ahead and assume a hand like 99. If you judged the situation correctly, the winning percentages go something like this and still lead to the correct play:
A5s: 29.54%
99: 37.45%
KQs (me): 32.56%
(if Larry has some random hand in this situation, such as JTs, you actually become the favorite)
1) There are three players in the pot (one significantly small stacked);
2) The small stacked player, Larry, has significant pressure to move all in with a hand worse than mine, so there are increased chances I'm actually favored;
3) The somewhat larger stacked player has an M of 6. He, too, is far more compelled to make a move, so again there are increased chances I'm actually favored;
4) It only costs me less than a third of my stack to make a big move in the tourney;
5) I can still play "normal" poker if I lose. I'm not completely crippled afterward. In the other example, Steel made a play for his tournament life.
PokerStars Tournament, Hold'em No Limit - Level VIII (200/400) - 2008/02/18 - 02:03:28 (ET)
Table 9-max Seat #4 is the button
Seat 1: Larry (1780 in chips)
Seat 2: 845(5170 in chips)
Seat 3: Steel (10140 in chips)
Seat 4: JMAR (4234 in chips)
Seat 5: dark (8066 in chips)
Seat 6: heiff (21154 in chips)
Seat 7: ME (14845 in chips)
Seat 8: High (3300 in chips)
Seat 9: furry (4975 in chips)
Larry: posts the ante 25
845: posts the ante 25
Steel: posts the ante 25
JMAR: posts the ante 25
dark: posts the ante 25
heiff: posts the ante 25
ME: posts the ante 25
High: posts the ante 25
furry: posts the ante 25
dark: posts small blind 200
heiff: posts big blind 400
*** HOLE CARDS ***
Dealt to [Qc Kc]
ME: calls 400
High: folds
furry: folds
Larry: raises 1355 to 1755 and is all-in
845: folds
Steel: folds
JMAR: raises 2454 to 4209 and is all-in
darknes87: folds
heiffinator: folds
ME: calls 3809
*** FLOP *** [As Th Qs]
*** TURN *** [As Th Qs] [4d]
*** RIVER *** [As Th Qs 4d] [9s]
*** SHOW DOWN ***
ME: shows [Qc Kc] (a pair of Queens)
JMAR: shows [Ac Js] (a pair of Aces)
JMAR collected 4908 from side pot
Larry: shows [Ks Jd] (a straight, Ten to Ace)
Larry collected 6090 from main pot
*** SUMMARY ***
Total pot 10998 Main pot 6090. Side pot 4908. | Rake 0
Board [As Th Qs 4d 9s]
Seat 1: Larry showed [Ks Jd] and won (6090) with a straight, Ten to Ace
Seat 2: 845 folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 3: Steel folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 4: JMAR (button) showed [Ac Js] and won (4908) with a pair of Aces
Seat 5: darknes87 (small blind) folded before Flop
Seat 6: heiffinator (big blind) folded before Flop
Seat 7: ME showed [Qc Kc] and lost with a pair of Queens
Seat 8: High folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Seat 9: furry folded before Flop (didn't bet)
Now, let's see if my play was correct (Assuming my original limp in was correct (which it was)).
I had to call 1355 to win a possible 6090 against 2 players. With KQs against AJo and KJo, I am 34.59%** to win (or 2 to 1). 6090/1355= 4.5. I had awesome odds and made a good call for the main pot. However, I also have to consider the side pot with JMAR. Against AJo, I'm 42.56% to win. My play was technically calling 2454 extra to win the 4908 side pot. My expected earning from this play is:
.3459*6090 = 2107
PLUS
.4256*4908 = 2089
for a total expected earning of 4196.
My bet was for a total of 3809 (2454+1355 or JMAR's stack minus my original 400, so it makes sense). Therefore, my play was profitable (4196 gain beats a 3809 expected loss) and thus technically correct. Who knew? (I didn't)
Note: Notice how the original limp-in changes everything. If you add the 400 that was dead money as far as this analysis was concerned, my bet was for a total of 4209. The loss would then outweigh the gain. So, the technically "correct" play would have been to fold immediately had I known what cards my opponents were holding. In addition, if anticipating a call from both opponents, an immediate all-in move would have been technically incorrect.
**All winning percentages obtained from CardPlayer.com's Poker Odds Calculator: http://www.cardplayer.com/poker_odds/texas_holdem
PS: I just realized that you may be wondering why I chose 28% when I was sitting there during the hand. Basically, all I did was take 33% and shave a little bit off since I assumed I wasn't the favorite here. It's actually the low end guess for a situation such as this, and if I would have used it instead of the actual winning percentage for the main pot, then I would still have decent odds to make the call. With the knowledge that I'm generally a pessimist about these types of situations, I would then realize that 28% is probably a lowball guess and can justify making that call. Looking back, I'm satisfied with my estimations during the hand and feel I made the right call.
Side note:
My original assumption for what was taking place went something like this...
When I first saw the all-in move by the very short stack, I assumed A-x, so we'll call it A5s (give him that extra flush chance for 2%). Short stacks like this need to make a play and they tend to especially put the pressure on themselves just before the big blind. Typically, any good hand such as QT, KJ or AX will work for them and could justify the all-in move as the correct play (honestly, at that point for Larry, any two cards could have worked). I feel assuming AX is the best way to hedge the bet. When another less-short-stacked player made the re-raise for the rest of his chips, I figured one of two things was occurring:
1) He doesn't want me to call, so he must have a medium pair or AQ or something;
2) He has a good hand and wants double up (almost triple). Here, I will assume JJ, QQ, KK, AA or AK.
A good way to hedge your bet in this situation is to go ahead and assume a hand like 99. If you judged the situation correctly, the winning percentages go something like this and still lead to the correct play:
A5s: 29.54%
99: 37.45%
KQs (me): 32.56%
(if Larry has some random hand in this situation, such as JTs, you actually become the favorite)
Back to Poker: The Dumb Call
I want to apologize on behalf of no one for digressing for three posts. It's back to poker now. I'm at a point now where I feel you understand how I play the game and I will fill you in as to how I got where I'm at as we go along. Therefore, I'm just going to go ahead and tell my poker tales as they occur in real time.
If it seems like I'm being short or less grammatically correct than usual, it's because I'm currently in the 5-minute break for a 2000-player tournament. It's also because I took a bad beat just before the break. I'm glad it happened though. It will give me a good place to start. Here's the hand.
Situation: Middle of a large multi-table online tournament. I built my chip stack to 4700 with a couple of all-in calls and patiently awaiting my good hands. I played the good hands aggressively and took down some nice pots. 50/100 blind level.
Steel (4th position: AJo, 2000 left): Raises to 300.
Len (small blind 98s, 1900 left): Calls
Me (big blind: TT, 4700 left): I get the pocket 10's and say f*** it and go all in. It's a borderline play but I was assuming Len had two high cards or a lower pair and would fold. I assumed Steel had a nice hand but was hoping for 2 high cards. Honestly, I wanted a call from one and only one of them.
Steel: Takes a while and then calls. I'm assuming he had the standard moron logic of, "oooh these cards are big, call."
Len: Takes a while and then calls. This is just crazy and I really have no clue what he was thinking besides how much fun it is to gamble and get lucky. Or he was tired of playing. Suited connectors are not something you call an all-in with. You're behind and cannot maneuver on the flop, turn and river because there is no maneuvering. The hand is over. The cards are going to come out. So forget this guy and be glad guys like this like to play small stakes online poker. This is where you make your money. This is why you said eff it and went all in with the ten's, hoping a guy like this would call.
Needless to say, a jack came out on the flop and I lost the hand. Len's play was very foolish and I can't explain what he was doing. Steel's play, however, is the one that truly bothers me. It's plays like these that have bothered me since I began to understand the game. He raised preflop in middle position with AJo. I don't know if he wanted some calls or not, or if he would like to take down the pot preflop, and he probably didn't care either way. He raised with good cards, and that was it. But what he really and truly should not have wanted to see was a re-raise all in from a solid, tight player with more chips than him that had no real reason to cripple his stack with a mediocre hand. Well, he probably didn't like the all-in, but he called it anyway because he wasn't thinking. The question I always ask people like this is, "exactly what hand did you expect to see?" There responses vary but generally come to one conclusion: I have no freaking clue. I'm going to make a short list of hands that a person should think of when seeing an all-in from a tight player in the big blind who has a comfortable chip stack, in order of how likely a person such as myself is to make a play all-in the way I did:
1) JJ
2) TT
3) QQ
4) 99
5) 88
6) AA
7) KK
8) 77
9) Any pair
10) AQ
11) AK
12) AJ
13) AT
14) Any two cards (complete bluff is occurring)
And guess what? All of the above hands/scenarios, except 2, are ahead of ace-jack. And those two, along with the one that ties (#12), are the least likely of the list. So, somehow, Steel's amazing intuition told him that I had pocket 10's or lower but that it's not a problem because a jack is going to come on the flop and double him up. You have to hand it to him. He kicked my ass.
(This post was not technical or scientific at all. I don't really need to get into pot odds or percentages here to make my point. If I was him, I'd probably make that call with only AA, KK, QQ, AK. Of course, it depends on the situation. And as far as the argument that Steel may have been under pressure to make a play, it's actually not going to work here. His M (strong force, see Harrington on Hold 'em) was 13.3 which means he could see 13 more rounds of cards. That's not exactly high pressure. He can justify AQ with that kind of M. At this point, through all this ranting and raving, I've actually built my stack up to 14000. I'm 45th out of 341. I'll let you know if I win.)
If it seems like I'm being short or less grammatically correct than usual, it's because I'm currently in the 5-minute break for a 2000-player tournament. It's also because I took a bad beat just before the break. I'm glad it happened though. It will give me a good place to start. Here's the hand.
Situation: Middle of a large multi-table online tournament. I built my chip stack to 4700 with a couple of all-in calls and patiently awaiting my good hands. I played the good hands aggressively and took down some nice pots. 50/100 blind level.
Steel (4th position: AJo, 2000 left): Raises to 300.
Len (small blind 98s, 1900 left): Calls
Me (big blind: TT, 4700 left): I get the pocket 10's and say f*** it and go all in. It's a borderline play but I was assuming Len had two high cards or a lower pair and would fold. I assumed Steel had a nice hand but was hoping for 2 high cards. Honestly, I wanted a call from one and only one of them.
Steel: Takes a while and then calls. I'm assuming he had the standard moron logic of, "oooh these cards are big, call."
Len: Takes a while and then calls. This is just crazy and I really have no clue what he was thinking besides how much fun it is to gamble and get lucky. Or he was tired of playing. Suited connectors are not something you call an all-in with. You're behind and cannot maneuver on the flop, turn and river because there is no maneuvering. The hand is over. The cards are going to come out. So forget this guy and be glad guys like this like to play small stakes online poker. This is where you make your money. This is why you said eff it and went all in with the ten's, hoping a guy like this would call.
Needless to say, a jack came out on the flop and I lost the hand. Len's play was very foolish and I can't explain what he was doing. Steel's play, however, is the one that truly bothers me. It's plays like these that have bothered me since I began to understand the game. He raised preflop in middle position with AJo. I don't know if he wanted some calls or not, or if he would like to take down the pot preflop, and he probably didn't care either way. He raised with good cards, and that was it. But what he really and truly should not have wanted to see was a re-raise all in from a solid, tight player with more chips than him that had no real reason to cripple his stack with a mediocre hand. Well, he probably didn't like the all-in, but he called it anyway because he wasn't thinking. The question I always ask people like this is, "exactly what hand did you expect to see?" There responses vary but generally come to one conclusion: I have no freaking clue. I'm going to make a short list of hands that a person should think of when seeing an all-in from a tight player in the big blind who has a comfortable chip stack, in order of how likely a person such as myself is to make a play all-in the way I did:
1) JJ
2) TT
3) QQ
4) 99
5) 88
6) AA
7) KK
8) 77
9) Any pair
10) AQ
11) AK
12) AJ
13) AT
14) Any two cards (complete bluff is occurring)
And guess what? All of the above hands/scenarios, except 2, are ahead of ace-jack. And those two, along with the one that ties (#12), are the least likely of the list. So, somehow, Steel's amazing intuition told him that I had pocket 10's or lower but that it's not a problem because a jack is going to come on the flop and double him up. You have to hand it to him. He kicked my ass.
(This post was not technical or scientific at all. I don't really need to get into pot odds or percentages here to make my point. If I was him, I'd probably make that call with only AA, KK, QQ, AK. Of course, it depends on the situation. And as far as the argument that Steel may have been under pressure to make a play, it's actually not going to work here. His M (strong force, see Harrington on Hold 'em) was 13.3 which means he could see 13 more rounds of cards. That's not exactly high pressure. He can justify AQ with that kind of M. At this point, through all this ranting and raving, I've actually built my stack up to 14000. I'm 45th out of 341. I'll let you know if I win.)
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Please answer the following questions
1. Are you male and have a pony tail?
2. Are you male and sport an earring?
3. Would you agree with the position that Denzell Washington's character from John Q. was an alright, if not great, guy?
4. Are you either a male or a female rated below a "7" with more than one "star" tattoo? (answering "yes" to this question is admitting that you suck, and that includes MJ from the Real World Philadelphia and most of the trolls who hang out at Campus Estates' pool)
5. Is your name Tom Cruise?
6. Are you my mom?
7. Do you genuinely enjoy peeling out in your car because it's awesome, not because it's hilarious?
8. Do you commonly add 69 or 420 to the end of your basic online user id's to make them more awesome, not to make them more hilarious?
9. Are you somewhat unsure what the difference between "there" and "their" is?
10. Do you hate me?
11. Do you strongly dislike me?
12. Were/are you one of the original Kings of Comedy?
13. Are you my employer?
14. Could you describe yourself as a "stank-ass (sic?) hoe"?
15. Do you typically only work-out your biceps when you go to the gym (hint: you probably already answered "yes" to some combination of 1, 2, 4 and 9)?
16. Are you that guy who used to talk really loud in my Thermodynamics class? It was also really annoying when you honked when he blew your nose during lectures.
17. Did you play Coach Orion in D3: The Mighty Ducks?
18. Do you have star tattoos?
19. Do you have star tattoos?
20. Are you a major league baseball player, past or present, who has hit 756 home runs or more in your career?
21. Are you a major league baseball player, past or present, who has played for Boston, Toronto, New York (AL), Houston, and New York (AL) again, in that order?
22. Have you ever lied to congressmen while at a hearing set up by your own lawyers?
23. Did you think Tim McGraw did more than a decent job with his role in "Friday Night Lights"?
24. Have you ever handed out flyers on the West Mall of UT's campus?
25. Did you record the hit (?) country single "21-17"?
26. Did you allow, encourage or force your child to grow out his/her rat tail after January 1, 1994?
27. Do you see no problem with the position that obtaining a cold from someone is grounds for "socking [them] in the eye"?
28. Have you ever made a "guest appearance" on the show Cops?
29. Do you wear extra-large Betty Boop, Goofey, Tweety or any Looney Toons- or Tiny Toons-themed silk-screened t-shirts?
30. Could you describe your voice as both raspy and, if yes, raspy due to cigarette smoke? (hint: you probably answered "yes" to number 27)
31. Do you own the movie "Big Momma's House"?
32. Do you get huge bug-eyes while getting accused of wrongdoing?
33. Did you express a pleasant sense of surprise upon viewing the acting chops of Ice Cube, any member of the hip-hop duo OutKast or Ludacris for the first time?
34. Would you ever, other than references to a stray dog, consider using the term "off the chain", without smiling, to give an honest description of something that impresses you?
35. Do you subscribe to the mantra "finders keepers, losers weepers"?
36. In your childhood, did you ever say "I know you are but what am I" more than once within a 3-minute span?
37. Are you currently "barred out"?
38. Have you ever not been named Sasha B. Cohen and expected either a positive response or laughter from a member of the opposite sex after saying "very nice" or "high five" in an Eastern European accent on more than one hundred occasions?
If you have answered "yes" to three or more of the previous questions, stop reading my blog please. It's just not a good fit.
Thanks,
TEXAS TOM
2. Are you male and sport an earring?
3. Would you agree with the position that Denzell Washington's character from John Q. was an alright, if not great, guy?
4. Are you either a male or a female rated below a "7" with more than one "star" tattoo? (answering "yes" to this question is admitting that you suck, and that includes MJ from the Real World Philadelphia and most of the trolls who hang out at Campus Estates' pool)
5. Is your name Tom Cruise?
6. Are you my mom?
7. Do you genuinely enjoy peeling out in your car because it's awesome, not because it's hilarious?
8. Do you commonly add 69 or 420 to the end of your basic online user id's to make them more awesome, not to make them more hilarious?
9. Are you somewhat unsure what the difference between "there" and "their" is?
10. Do you hate me?
11. Do you strongly dislike me?
12. Were/are you one of the original Kings of Comedy?
13. Are you my employer?
14. Could you describe yourself as a "stank-ass (sic?) hoe"?
15. Do you typically only work-out your biceps when you go to the gym (hint: you probably already answered "yes" to some combination of 1, 2, 4 and 9)?
16. Are you that guy who used to talk really loud in my Thermodynamics class? It was also really annoying when you honked when he blew your nose during lectures.
17. Did you play Coach Orion in D3: The Mighty Ducks?
18. Do you have star tattoos?
19. Do you have star tattoos?
20. Are you a major league baseball player, past or present, who has hit 756 home runs or more in your career?
21. Are you a major league baseball player, past or present, who has played for Boston, Toronto, New York (AL), Houston, and New York (AL) again, in that order?
22. Have you ever lied to congressmen while at a hearing set up by your own lawyers?
23. Did you think Tim McGraw did more than a decent job with his role in "Friday Night Lights"?
24. Have you ever handed out flyers on the West Mall of UT's campus?
25. Did you record the hit (?) country single "21-17"?
26. Did you allow, encourage or force your child to grow out his/her rat tail after January 1, 1994?
27. Do you see no problem with the position that obtaining a cold from someone is grounds for "socking [them] in the eye"?
28. Have you ever made a "guest appearance" on the show Cops?
29. Do you wear extra-large Betty Boop, Goofey, Tweety or any Looney Toons- or Tiny Toons-themed silk-screened t-shirts?
30. Could you describe your voice as both raspy and, if yes, raspy due to cigarette smoke? (hint: you probably answered "yes" to number 27)
31. Do you own the movie "Big Momma's House"?
32. Do you get huge bug-eyes while getting accused of wrongdoing?
33. Did you express a pleasant sense of surprise upon viewing the acting chops of Ice Cube, any member of the hip-hop duo OutKast or Ludacris for the first time?
34. Would you ever, other than references to a stray dog, consider using the term "off the chain", without smiling, to give an honest description of something that impresses you?
35. Do you subscribe to the mantra "finders keepers, losers weepers"?
36. In your childhood, did you ever say "I know you are but what am I" more than once within a 3-minute span?
37. Are you currently "barred out"?
38. Have you ever not been named Sasha B. Cohen and expected either a positive response or laughter from a member of the opposite sex after saying "very nice" or "high five" in an Eastern European accent on more than one hundred occasions?
If you have answered "yes" to three or more of the previous questions, stop reading my blog please. It's just not a good fit.
Thanks,
TEXAS TOM
John Q.
This does not pertain to poker in any way, it's just a random thought. Have you ever seen that movie, John Q? It's on right now and I got to thinking: Denzell Washington's character is a TERRIBLE person. He justifies holding up a hospital with the threat of murder in an attempt to save his son's life. His son is like on some donor list for a new ass or something, but he's like 8th on the list (too low on the list and will definitely die if he doesn't get this new organ (you see, time is of the essence)). Denzell's character blames rich people or something and then takes a hospital hostage, forcing the doctor to save his son by installing a donor ass for him. Anyway, I got to thinking about a new movie idea. It's kind of like a sequel, but more like a side story. I'll call it: Denzell Washington's Character from John Q is a Terrible Person and the plot will go a little something like this....
An innocent child has been on a donor list for several years. He has been waiting patiently like everyone else. His parents are good, godfearing people who pay their bills and are not poor. One day, the kid's mother gets a phone call from an unknown number.
"Mrs. Name," the voice says, "we have found a new ass for your son. It's a perfect match."
The mother bursts into tears but, no, these were not tears of joy. Oh, no.You see, the kid died the day before due to ass complications. In the midst of her sadness and sorrow, the mother remembers something she saw on the news a week earlier. She remembers something about some dude, whose kid was 8th on the ass donor list at the time, holding a hospital hostage until a doctor put a new ass on his kid. She remembers that the doctor obliged, and that the dude's kid lived. She remembers that her own child was first on the list at the time, and that he's dead now (which is actually a pretty fresh memory).
Hell, I could keep it going. I could make a sequel where Denzell's son grows up to be a mass murderer or child molester or, even better, just some bum who openly brags about purposely doing nothing with life because he thinks the spitefulness of such an act is somewhat hilarious. None of the above would be all that ridiculous with the kind of person that raised him.
Side note 1: And don't give me some crap about how any good parent should do ANYTHING to protect their kid or something, or that Denzell's satan-like character may have been acting irrationally at the time, considering he has a dying son, and I'll never understand because I don't have kids. That's crap. That's crappier than (but not nearly as funny as) Tim McGraw's acting skills in Friday Night Lights. Terrible job McGraw. If you're of this line of thinking, honestly, please stop reading my blog, and I hope to see you in a poker room. You are a moron. Hey, I just got an idea for a new post...
Side note 2: Any use of the terms "acting" and "skills" in the above paragraph is a loose reference.
An innocent child has been on a donor list for several years. He has been waiting patiently like everyone else. His parents are good, godfearing people who pay their bills and are not poor. One day, the kid's mother gets a phone call from an unknown number.
"Mrs. Name," the voice says, "we have found a new ass for your son. It's a perfect match."
The mother bursts into tears but, no, these were not tears of joy. Oh, no.You see, the kid died the day before due to ass complications. In the midst of her sadness and sorrow, the mother remembers something she saw on the news a week earlier. She remembers something about some dude, whose kid was 8th on the ass donor list at the time, holding a hospital hostage until a doctor put a new ass on his kid. She remembers that the doctor obliged, and that the dude's kid lived. She remembers that her own child was first on the list at the time, and that he's dead now (which is actually a pretty fresh memory).
Hell, I could keep it going. I could make a sequel where Denzell's son grows up to be a mass murderer or child molester or, even better, just some bum who openly brags about purposely doing nothing with life because he thinks the spitefulness of such an act is somewhat hilarious. None of the above would be all that ridiculous with the kind of person that raised him.
Side note 1: And don't give me some crap about how any good parent should do ANYTHING to protect their kid or something, or that Denzell's satan-like character may have been acting irrationally at the time, considering he has a dying son, and I'll never understand because I don't have kids. That's crap. That's crappier than (but not nearly as funny as) Tim McGraw's acting skills in Friday Night Lights. Terrible job McGraw. If you're of this line of thinking, honestly, please stop reading my blog, and I hope to see you in a poker room. You are a moron. Hey, I just got an idea for a new post...
Side note 2: Any use of the terms "acting" and "skills" in the above paragraph is a loose reference.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Harrington on Hold 'em
At some point during our junior year, Frosty purchased the book Harrington on Hold 'em: Volume I Expert Strategy for No Limit Hold 'em Tournaments. We had heard about the book and how it was the leading strategy guide for beginning-level players. I'll be honest, the word "expert" scared me a little. I don't think I have the ability to be an "expert" at anything. That means top of your field. That means that you're technically perfect at what you do. I didn't feel I was ready for this type of reading. However, when Frosty bought the book, we agreed not to allow anyone else to read it. It was going to be our ace in the hole. We were tired of Lil Mac winning, and now we were going to do something about it.
Frosty ended up reading the entire book and his results improved noticeably. I'm not going to go into detail about the strategy he utilized or any differences in his game because I truly don't remember. I know he loosened up and began coming in first or second more often, so that was enough for me to buy into the opinion that this was a great poker book.
I, however, had a somewhat different experience with the book at that time. Every time I began reading it, I would feel like I stumbled upon some profound piece of advice and immediately go online to try it out. I never really got through the book. I think I read like 3 pages by the end of junior year.
In the fall of senior year, I stayed away from poker for the most part to concentrate on school. I think I played a tournament every now and then but didn't take it very seriously. It wasn't until the end of the semester, while at a party at Lil Mac's apartment, that I decided to rejoin the online poker world. Lil Mac and I discussed poker while drunk that night, and he told me about the successes he had been having as of late. For the 3rd time in my life, I became addicted to poker. The problem was, I didn't have any money in any of my accounts. They had been drained.
Problem: No money in my poker accounts. No money in my bank accounts.
Solution: Lil Mac sent me $70 in Absolute Poker money to be returned in full upon building my bankroll.
The loan from Lil Mac allowed me to put a great deal of stress on myself to succeed in poker this time. Therefore, I enlisted the help of Frosty and his magical books. By this time, Frosty had purchased Volumes II and III of Dan Harrington's poker books. Before playing a single hand online, I read every word of each of these books. When I returned to online poker in the spring of senior year, I was a changed man. Using the advice of Dan Harrington, I played tournaments of all types, depending on my mood. I knew how to play when the blinds were small, when the blinds got large, when the tables were short, and when it was time to go heads up. I built up my account steadily and fairly quick. I knew how to win.
One night during finals time at the end of the semester, I accomplished the greatest feat(s) of my poker career. I began playing at around 4 p.m. with a $2 buy-in to a multi-table tournament of 2000 players. At some time during the early stages of that tournament, I bought in to a 10,000 player satellite where the top 20 get a seat to another large tournament. By 10 or 11 (or later) p.m., I had won the 2000-player tournament. I played conservative in the beginning and turned up the heat when the blinds got large. I came into the final table in 6th place and proceeded to dismantle my opponents, all while building a huge chip stack in the 10,000-player satellite. After winning the smaller tournament, I focused my attention on the satellite, where I had just begun to realize I had a shot. There were about 2000 players left and I was in the top 100 (at one point very early in the tournament, I remember actually being in 1st after doubling up twice in a row; one of the double ups occurred by making a terrible pre-flop all-in call with jack-nine against ace-king. I hit my jack). Coming off the heels of a long tournament, my brain was losing strength and Frosty came over to keep me sharp. I got cards and played them well, outlasting the necessary 9,980 players to win the seat. After that, my brain should have been fried. However, I am a huge fan of efficiency (I got my degree in mechanical engineering), so I felt it was necessary to play another large tournament while my mind was obviously set on large-tournament-mode and firing on all cylinders. So, I took a dip of snuff and played on.
By this point, it was 2 or 3 a.m. and I was tired. I was honestly physically and mentally drained. It didn't matter though. My brain was programmed (by Dan Harrington). I don't remember anything about the tournament itself except the final hand and the fact that I came in third. I believe there were about 235 entrants. I was happy with my results for the night, but honestly should have won that tournament. When the table dwindled to 3 players, one particular player with a large stack was being super aggressive. I'm sure I was outplaying him because the final hand of my tournament found me calling his all in after a flop that included two overs to my pocket pair (5's). He held ace-four and was completely bluffing (or thought his ace was good). He hit his ace on the turn and I typed "GG, GLA" and went to sleep. I really should have won that tournament.
In short, you should read Dan Harrington's poker books. They help.
Frosty ended up reading the entire book and his results improved noticeably. I'm not going to go into detail about the strategy he utilized or any differences in his game because I truly don't remember. I know he loosened up and began coming in first or second more often, so that was enough for me to buy into the opinion that this was a great poker book.
I, however, had a somewhat different experience with the book at that time. Every time I began reading it, I would feel like I stumbled upon some profound piece of advice and immediately go online to try it out. I never really got through the book. I think I read like 3 pages by the end of junior year.
In the fall of senior year, I stayed away from poker for the most part to concentrate on school. I think I played a tournament every now and then but didn't take it very seriously. It wasn't until the end of the semester, while at a party at Lil Mac's apartment, that I decided to rejoin the online poker world. Lil Mac and I discussed poker while drunk that night, and he told me about the successes he had been having as of late. For the 3rd time in my life, I became addicted to poker. The problem was, I didn't have any money in any of my accounts. They had been drained.
Problem: No money in my poker accounts. No money in my bank accounts.
Solution: Lil Mac sent me $70 in Absolute Poker money to be returned in full upon building my bankroll.
The loan from Lil Mac allowed me to put a great deal of stress on myself to succeed in poker this time. Therefore, I enlisted the help of Frosty and his magical books. By this time, Frosty had purchased Volumes II and III of Dan Harrington's poker books. Before playing a single hand online, I read every word of each of these books. When I returned to online poker in the spring of senior year, I was a changed man. Using the advice of Dan Harrington, I played tournaments of all types, depending on my mood. I knew how to play when the blinds were small, when the blinds got large, when the tables were short, and when it was time to go heads up. I built up my account steadily and fairly quick. I knew how to win.
One night during finals time at the end of the semester, I accomplished the greatest feat(s) of my poker career. I began playing at around 4 p.m. with a $2 buy-in to a multi-table tournament of 2000 players. At some time during the early stages of that tournament, I bought in to a 10,000 player satellite where the top 20 get a seat to another large tournament. By 10 or 11 (or later) p.m., I had won the 2000-player tournament. I played conservative in the beginning and turned up the heat when the blinds got large. I came into the final table in 6th place and proceeded to dismantle my opponents, all while building a huge chip stack in the 10,000-player satellite. After winning the smaller tournament, I focused my attention on the satellite, where I had just begun to realize I had a shot. There were about 2000 players left and I was in the top 100 (at one point very early in the tournament, I remember actually being in 1st after doubling up twice in a row; one of the double ups occurred by making a terrible pre-flop all-in call with jack-nine against ace-king. I hit my jack). Coming off the heels of a long tournament, my brain was losing strength and Frosty came over to keep me sharp. I got cards and played them well, outlasting the necessary 9,980 players to win the seat. After that, my brain should have been fried. However, I am a huge fan of efficiency (I got my degree in mechanical engineering), so I felt it was necessary to play another large tournament while my mind was obviously set on large-tournament-mode and firing on all cylinders. So, I took a dip of snuff and played on.
By this point, it was 2 or 3 a.m. and I was tired. I was honestly physically and mentally drained. It didn't matter though. My brain was programmed (by Dan Harrington). I don't remember anything about the tournament itself except the final hand and the fact that I came in third. I believe there were about 235 entrants. I was happy with my results for the night, but honestly should have won that tournament. When the table dwindled to 3 players, one particular player with a large stack was being super aggressive. I'm sure I was outplaying him because the final hand of my tournament found me calling his all in after a flop that included two overs to my pocket pair (5's). He held ace-four and was completely bluffing (or thought his ace was good). He hit his ace on the turn and I typed "GG, GLA" and went to sleep. I really should have won that tournament.
In short, you should read Dan Harrington's poker books. They help.
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Balderdash. Ty Cobb is the greatest hitter ever; period. "Stolen bases have nothing to do with 'hitting?'"If I remember the rules of baseball correctly, one has to get on base (and getting a hit is a generally accepted way to do just that) before one can advance a base via stealing. How many stolen bases did Cobb manage during his career? How many steals of home? When was the last time *any* major leaguer stole home?