mike l.
01-11-2003, 08:35 PM
...it has been 10 hours since i last played hold em.
i had Ts2s in the big blind. utg raised. she plays pretty tight tommy. she probably has a big pocket pair, or AK, or AQ. she doesnt play well after the flop though, she's surely a losing player, at least this is how i tried in vain to justify my sin. 3 people cold called her raise, some bad players, and one other particularly tight player. the sb called and i looked down and saw my suited trash tommy. i thought of the great oz, that master of deceit and numbers, that false prophet, father of my folly. first i thought of him saying that right now could be the start of a 300 big bet losing streak. but then i remembered a post he made several months ago where he urged us to play hands like 73s for a raise in the big blind w/ two players in. i had been doing so well all night, folding all sorts of seemingly worthwhile hands in both blinds. throwing away 92s for one chip in the sb. but i sinned tommy, i sinned bad. i put 3 more chips in the pot w/ my Ts2s.
the flop was T32 rainbow. i bet into the raiser in desperation hoping she could protect my weak two pair, the vulnerable fruit of my twisted flop addiction. she did and i felt temporary relief until the other tight player in the cutoff made it 3 bets. this is not a gambling man. i feared a set of tens, or possibly a set of 3s (but that made little sense really, i was so delirious by then from my morbid blind-calling perversion, so torn up inside, nearly feverish from the sweltering sin that then rested on my sad, sad soul), posisbly ATs? oh tommy help me! why did i fall again into this cavern of torment? my teeth gnash helplessly at what this foe may have against me. i just called, so uncertain, so afraid, and then utg caps it!! woe is me! cutoff calls w/ not a sign of worry on his face, and i too, call, on the verge of fainting, shaking in abject terror, and perhaps foaming a little at the mouth.
and then it got worse tommy. an A appeared on the turn. it was my turn to act. first to act. first to claw madly, frantically at the gate of the fiery furnace i had now locked myself in. what more could i do, but check. check and pray. pray it gets raised so i can escape with a shred of a soul, with a shred of life to still live. why tommy why? why didnt i listen to you? you told me how to win, you shared with us the secret and i fell, i fell so low. and i saw before me andy fox's recent posts: "playing a hand like this: check, check, call, call, call, call, check, check, call, check, call, check, check, check, check, call, call is bad mojo". why had i betrayed him? why had i ignored his wisdom? what would soon befall me? i imagined what life would be like as a pillar of salt.. could i upgrade to mrs. dash? but i checked, my hands bound by my sin, compunding itself, confounding myself, rapping my dirty bloody knuckles on death's green felt. i checked. utg bets, fast, wryly, confidently, angrily. it's a raw, hard 6 chips. i wince and pray for cutoff to end my misery, to raise and show me mercy so i can run screaming from this hell. but he just calls. i call, knowing at this point that it's far far too late, that this is my destiny, that i earned this torturous agony.
the river is an 8. i check again almost blind, now grimacing from the pain. utg bets, confirming my worst fears, cutoff folds, as if mocking me, probably laying down AT or a set, making the sort of laydown that i, in my blind folly, in my rampant blind sin, could never make. no. i must see it. i must see my own death. i call.
nevermind that she had QQ (and cutoff claims he did as well) and that i won the pot. i have learned my lesson tommy. lo, i have walked through the valley of the bad blind call and i have bloodied and bruised my feet enough. i am a changed man. tell me my penance tommy because nothing can be worse than the death of the soul that is playing suited trash in the blind.
i had Ts2s in the big blind. utg raised. she plays pretty tight tommy. she probably has a big pocket pair, or AK, or AQ. she doesnt play well after the flop though, she's surely a losing player, at least this is how i tried in vain to justify my sin. 3 people cold called her raise, some bad players, and one other particularly tight player. the sb called and i looked down and saw my suited trash tommy. i thought of the great oz, that master of deceit and numbers, that false prophet, father of my folly. first i thought of him saying that right now could be the start of a 300 big bet losing streak. but then i remembered a post he made several months ago where he urged us to play hands like 73s for a raise in the big blind w/ two players in. i had been doing so well all night, folding all sorts of seemingly worthwhile hands in both blinds. throwing away 92s for one chip in the sb. but i sinned tommy, i sinned bad. i put 3 more chips in the pot w/ my Ts2s.
the flop was T32 rainbow. i bet into the raiser in desperation hoping she could protect my weak two pair, the vulnerable fruit of my twisted flop addiction. she did and i felt temporary relief until the other tight player in the cutoff made it 3 bets. this is not a gambling man. i feared a set of tens, or possibly a set of 3s (but that made little sense really, i was so delirious by then from my morbid blind-calling perversion, so torn up inside, nearly feverish from the sweltering sin that then rested on my sad, sad soul), posisbly ATs? oh tommy help me! why did i fall again into this cavern of torment? my teeth gnash helplessly at what this foe may have against me. i just called, so uncertain, so afraid, and then utg caps it!! woe is me! cutoff calls w/ not a sign of worry on his face, and i too, call, on the verge of fainting, shaking in abject terror, and perhaps foaming a little at the mouth.
and then it got worse tommy. an A appeared on the turn. it was my turn to act. first to act. first to claw madly, frantically at the gate of the fiery furnace i had now locked myself in. what more could i do, but check. check and pray. pray it gets raised so i can escape with a shred of a soul, with a shred of life to still live. why tommy why? why didnt i listen to you? you told me how to win, you shared with us the secret and i fell, i fell so low. and i saw before me andy fox's recent posts: "playing a hand like this: check, check, call, call, call, call, check, check, call, check, call, check, check, check, check, call, call is bad mojo". why had i betrayed him? why had i ignored his wisdom? what would soon befall me? i imagined what life would be like as a pillar of salt.. could i upgrade to mrs. dash? but i checked, my hands bound by my sin, compunding itself, confounding myself, rapping my dirty bloody knuckles on death's green felt. i checked. utg bets, fast, wryly, confidently, angrily. it's a raw, hard 6 chips. i wince and pray for cutoff to end my misery, to raise and show me mercy so i can run screaming from this hell. but he just calls. i call, knowing at this point that it's far far too late, that this is my destiny, that i earned this torturous agony.
the river is an 8. i check again almost blind, now grimacing from the pain. utg bets, confirming my worst fears, cutoff folds, as if mocking me, probably laying down AT or a set, making the sort of laydown that i, in my blind folly, in my rampant blind sin, could never make. no. i must see it. i must see my own death. i call.
nevermind that she had QQ (and cutoff claims he did as well) and that i won the pot. i have learned my lesson tommy. lo, i have walked through the valley of the bad blind call and i have bloodied and bruised my feet enough. i am a changed man. tell me my penance tommy because nothing can be worse than the death of the soul that is playing suited trash in the blind.