09-15-2001, 08:21 AM
My inner voice, "You dummy. You broke your own rule about not talking about hands at the table."
Me: "But voice! I didn't even remember the hand! And it was an opponent I rarely face, in a game I only play in short spurts. And no one else could hear us talking. And my pride was on the line. And ..."
The voice: "Stop! That last excuse is the lamest of all. And don't you dare let me hear you tell people that you 'never' talk about hands at the table. Liar!"
Me: "But voice! He just wanted to learn something. You know what a sucker I am for that."
Voice: "You are pathetic. Remember when you used to talk about hands all the time? How you thought of it like a drug addiction? Something that you had to quit cold turkey, or succumb to for life? Once an addict, always an addict. Remember? So what if the guy hit both of the two hottest buttons among table-talkers, pride and mentorship. That's why it was so hard to quit, remember?"
Me: ":::sigh:::"
Here's what happened.
I was playing $6-12 in the quiet wee hours next to a guy who I'd played with here and there before. We had a fine conversation going about non-poker stuff when out of nowhere he said, "I remember a hand you played a while back. One guy raised, a couple guys called, and you reraised from the small blind with A-7 of diamonds."
My mind started racing. Was he being cynical? If yes, it would be an easy matter to ignore the question. But my initial read was that he was sincere, confirmed by later conversation.
Could I have made this play? I couldn't recall any spunky A-7 of diamonds hands at all, from any seat. And I couldn't imagine a scenario with an open-raiser and two callers in which I'd reraise from the blinds with that hand --- so I was certain I hadn't made this play, not for the last five years or so anyway.
But he sure seemed certain. So what to do? Start talking about a hand I didn't even remember? To save face? To convince him he was mistaken? This is where I usually ask myself, "What good could come from this?" And the answer is always no, so I stay quiet or divert the conversation.
His next words were, "I'm just trying to understand the thinking behind some of the strange-looking plays I see respected players make."
Ah, another motive to speak up. The mentor motive. He was seeking wisdom. I couldn't bear it. I was weak. I asked, "Are you sure I wasn't on the button?"
"No, you were in the blinds."
"Are you sure sure?"
He paused and said, "Well, I guess you could have been on the button. Are you saying you wouldn't make this play from the blinds, but you would from the button?"
"Well, yes. In that situation, I would never make that play from the blinds, and I would always consider it from the button."
"I think you were probably on the button."
"Yeah, I think so too."
Okay. I felt better now. My pride was restored, and I had taught something. I was like any other addict off the wagon. A temporary, empty satisfaction, inevitably regretted later. Turns out that later wasn't very much later.
Then he asked, "So how could the same hand be a 100% automatic non-three-bet hand from one position, and a potential three-bet hand from another?"
Gawd, I felt sick. Now I remember why it's so hard to quit. Just one drink, just one cigarette, just one fix, just one more hand analysis at the table.
Tommy
Me: "But voice! I didn't even remember the hand! And it was an opponent I rarely face, in a game I only play in short spurts. And no one else could hear us talking. And my pride was on the line. And ..."
The voice: "Stop! That last excuse is the lamest of all. And don't you dare let me hear you tell people that you 'never' talk about hands at the table. Liar!"
Me: "But voice! He just wanted to learn something. You know what a sucker I am for that."
Voice: "You are pathetic. Remember when you used to talk about hands all the time? How you thought of it like a drug addiction? Something that you had to quit cold turkey, or succumb to for life? Once an addict, always an addict. Remember? So what if the guy hit both of the two hottest buttons among table-talkers, pride and mentorship. That's why it was so hard to quit, remember?"
Me: ":::sigh:::"
Here's what happened.
I was playing $6-12 in the quiet wee hours next to a guy who I'd played with here and there before. We had a fine conversation going about non-poker stuff when out of nowhere he said, "I remember a hand you played a while back. One guy raised, a couple guys called, and you reraised from the small blind with A-7 of diamonds."
My mind started racing. Was he being cynical? If yes, it would be an easy matter to ignore the question. But my initial read was that he was sincere, confirmed by later conversation.
Could I have made this play? I couldn't recall any spunky A-7 of diamonds hands at all, from any seat. And I couldn't imagine a scenario with an open-raiser and two callers in which I'd reraise from the blinds with that hand --- so I was certain I hadn't made this play, not for the last five years or so anyway.
But he sure seemed certain. So what to do? Start talking about a hand I didn't even remember? To save face? To convince him he was mistaken? This is where I usually ask myself, "What good could come from this?" And the answer is always no, so I stay quiet or divert the conversation.
His next words were, "I'm just trying to understand the thinking behind some of the strange-looking plays I see respected players make."
Ah, another motive to speak up. The mentor motive. He was seeking wisdom. I couldn't bear it. I was weak. I asked, "Are you sure I wasn't on the button?"
"No, you were in the blinds."
"Are you sure sure?"
He paused and said, "Well, I guess you could have been on the button. Are you saying you wouldn't make this play from the blinds, but you would from the button?"
"Well, yes. In that situation, I would never make that play from the blinds, and I would always consider it from the button."
"I think you were probably on the button."
"Yeah, I think so too."
Okay. I felt better now. My pride was restored, and I had taught something. I was like any other addict off the wagon. A temporary, empty satisfaction, inevitably regretted later. Turns out that later wasn't very much later.
Then he asked, "So how could the same hand be a 100% automatic non-three-bet hand from one position, and a potential three-bet hand from another?"
Gawd, I felt sick. Now I remember why it's so hard to quit. Just one drink, just one cigarette, just one fix, just one more hand analysis at the table.
Tommy