We aren’t the champions
January 23, 2008
Picture
the scene: Tiger Woods has won yet another golf tournament. He’s been followed round
the entire course by cheering fans and well-wishers for the entire time. His opponents
have played valiantly - nay brilliantly - and given him a real run for his money,
but ultimately he has triumphed.
He
steps up to receive his trophy in front of the asse
mb
led press, turns
to the cameras and says: “You are nothing to me. You are all losers and turds. I am
the best in the world, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I get bored playing on my
own I wouldn’t even acknowledge you exist.” He then throws his clubs to the ground
and strops off muttering to himself about how totally rubbish everyone is apart from
him.
Then
we turn over to BBC2 and find six-time snooker World Champion,
Steve Davis
, watching his
opponent pot the final black against him in a frame. He turns to the camera and mouths
the word “C**T” before spitting at the lens; his fat lugie slowly sliding down millions
of screens nationwide…
Now
let me make it perfectly clear that neither of these events actually took place -
nor do I imagine they ever would - and that’s the point about REAL champions. They
aren’t just champions in their chosen discipline; they are champions in life. It’s
easy for us to see this because of how they behave outside their arenas; i.e. how
they respect their contemporaries and how they carry themselves day to day.
Oh,
and then there is
Phil
Hellmuth. Yes,
Phil
‘Poker Brat’
Hellmuth. A man who appears to derive no joy from the millions of dollars he’s made
both on and off the table. A man who is never content enough to simply sit and ‘be’.
A man who has to berate and insult ordinary decent folk during a GAME OF CARDS to
feel like a real man.
I
recently watched a WSOP show in disbelief as Hellmuth proceeded to blast anyone who
appeared to be able to eve
n v
aguely play
back at him; spitting insults, criticising every move, and referring to anyone with
less than 11 bracelets as mere “internet players”. After being patronised twenty times
(and being continually called “kid” by Hellmuth) one player on the table - Ben Fineman
- ventured, “
Phil
, we’ve been
playing each other for days now. Do you even know my name?”
Every
time Hellmuth was all-in (or up against an all-in) he would parade for the cameras;
showboating and negotiating insurance with a spectating
Phil
Ivey, regardless
of the poor schmuck sitting waiting for the circus to end so that he could find out
if he was still in the tournament or not. Imagine what
Phil
would do if
you made him wait five minutes while you dicked about before the flop was dealt? He’d
explode!
At
one point Ben Fineman called an all-in with A-K against Dustin Holmes’ K-10 only to
watch as Dustin rivered trip tens. If that had been Hellmuth just imagine how much
of the level would have been wasted while he blarted curses into the sky like some
angry poker trumpet. All Ben did was turn to a sheepish-looking Dustin and say “Don’t
sweat it buddie”, before sitting down and carrying on with the game. Now THAT’S how
you behave at a poker table.
And
then there’s
Phil
’s exit hand.
He raises with Ac-10c and Beth Shak calls with Kh-Qh. The flop comes 10-Q-x and Beth
shoves all-in.
Phil
calls and when
he sees that he has the worst hand, does he acknowledge that he has made a mistake?
Oh no - it’s HER fault!! “I can’t believe she called!” he bleats. “How can she call!?”
Well
Phil
, maybe it’s
the fact that she was in the big blind, was getting 2.5-1 on her money, and then flopped
top pair! And the thing is, we KNOW that Hellmuth knows this, so his wining is even
more pitiful to behold.
I’d
love to think that it’s all just for the cameras, but I clearly isn’t - he really
is that much of a moron! Hellmuth is the kind of person that I pray no one watches
on TV and wants to be like. Want his success? Of course. Want his personality? Christ
no. Personally, I want to be like Ben Fineman, who proved to me that just because
you have to sit next to a total i
mb
ecile like Hellmuth
doesn’t mean you have to act like him.
I
go back to my very first thoughts in this entry. Go on: chose any sport and think
of a champion from that sport. Now try to imagine them behaving the way Hellmuth does.
Roger
Federer smashing some kid in the face with his racket? Alex Furguson calling Wenger
a w****r live on Match of the Day? Johny Wilkinson drop-kicking a toddler into touch
if he loses? It’s just not going to happen is it…
So
why, then, is
Phil
Hellmuth allowed
to act in such a rude, insulting, pathetic way without penalty? Burn him - I say -
and burn his face first (metaphorically-speaking of course - I have to add for legal
reasons). Anyway, thanks for listening. I feel much better now.
It’s nice to be important, but more important to be nice
December 20, 2007
Picture
the scene: Tiger Woods has won yet another golf tournament. He’s been followed round
the entire course by cheering fans and well-wishers for the entire time. His opponents
have played valiantly - nay brilliantly - and given him a real run for his money,
but ultimately he has triumphed.
He
steps up to receive his trophy in front of the asse
mb
led press, turns
to the cameras and says: “You are nothing to me. You are all losers and turds. I am
the best in the world, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I get bored playing on my
own I wouldn’t even acknowledge you exist.” He then throws his clubs to the ground
and strops off muttering to himself about how totally crap everyone is apart from
him.
Then
we turn over to BBC2 and find six-time snooker World Champion,
Steve Davis
, watching his
opponent pot the final black against him in a frame. He turns to the camera and mouths
the word “C**T” before spitting at the lens; his fat lugie slowly sliding down millions
of screens nationwide…
Now
let me make it perfectly clear that neither of these events actually took place -
nor do I imagine they ever would - and that’s the point about REAL champions. They
aren’t just champions in their chosen discipline; they are champions in life. It’s
easy for us to see this because of how they behave outside their arenas; i.e. how
they respect their contemporaries and how they carry themselves day to day.
Oh,
and then there is
Phil
Hellmuth. Yes,
Phil
‘Poker Brat’
Hellmuth. A man who appears to derive no joy from the millions of dollars he’s made
both on and off the table. A man who is never content enough to simply sit and ‘be’.
A man who has to berate and insult ordinary decent folk during a GAME OF CARDS to
feel like a real man.
I
recently watched a WSOP show in disbelief as Hellmuth proceeded to blast anyone who
appeared to be able to eve
n v
aguely play
back at him; spitting insults, criticising every move, and referring to anyone with
less than 11 bracelets as mere “internet players”. After being patronised twenty times
(and being continually called “kid” by Hellmuth) one player on the table - Ben Fineman
- ventured, “
Phil
, we’ve been
playing each other for days now. Do you even know my name?”
Every
time Hellmuth was all-in (or up against an all-in) he would parade for the cameras;
showboating and negotiating insurance with a spectating
Phil
Ivey, regardless
of the poor schmuck sitting waiting for the circus to end so that he could find out
if he was still in the tournament or not. Imagine what
Phil
would do if
you made him wait five minutes while you dicked about before the flop was dealt? He’d
explode!
At
one point Ben Fineman called an all-in with A-K against Dustin Holmes’ K-10 only to
watch as Dustin rivered trip tens. If that had been Hellmuth just imagine how much
of the level would have been wasted while he blarted curses into the sky like some
angry poker trumpet. All Ben did was turn to a sheepish-looking Dustin and say “Don’t
sweat it buddie”, before sitting down and carrying on with the game. Now THAT’S how
you behave at a poker table.
And
then there’s
Phil
’s exit hand.
He raises with Ac-10c and Beth Shak calls with Kh-Qh. The flop comes 10-Q-x and Beth
shoves all-in.
Phil
calls and when
he sees that he has the worst hand, does he acknowledge that he has made a mistake?
Oh no - it’s HER fault!! “I can’t believe she called!” he bleats. “How can she call!?”
Well
Phil
, maybe it’s
the fact that she was in the big blind, was getting 2.5-1 on her money, and then flopped
top pair! And the thing is, we KNOW that Hellmuth knows this, so his wining is even
more pitiful to behold.
I’d
love to think that it’s all just for the cameras, but I clearly isn’t - he really
is that much of a moron! Hellmuth is the kind of person that I pray no one watches
on TV and wants to be like. Want his success? Of course. Want his personality? Christ
no. Personally, I want to be like Ben Fineman, who proved to me that just because
you have to sit next to a total i
mb
ecile like Hellmuth
doesn’t mean you have to act like him.
I
go back to my very first thoughts in this entry. Go on: chose any sport and think
of a champion from that sport. Now try to imagine them behaving the way Hellmuth does.
Roger
Federer smashing some kid in the face with his racket? Alex Furguson calling Wenger
a w****r live on Match of the Day? Johny Wilkinson drop-kicking a toddler into touch
if he loses? It’s just not going to happen is it…
So
why, then, is
Phil
Hellmuth allowed
to act in such a rude, insulting, pathetic way without penalty? Burn him - I say -
and burn his face first (metaphorically-speaking of course - I have to add for legal
reasons). Anyway, thanks for listening. I feel much better now.
Matt
Broughton is a blogger, author, and presents The Club on Sky Poker ch.846 every night
at 8:30pm
The more you know…
December 5, 2007
I’ve
mentioned many times my desire to get out and play more live poker, but setting off
at the crack of dawn on a rainy Saturday morning to make a 2pm kick off in Birmingham
is a stark reminder of why sitting at home in your Incredible Hulk underpants eating
cheesy balls and multi-tabling at a level well above your bankroll is such a popular
pursuit. And no, none of that sentence is euphemistic code for some twisted sexual
pursuit. You sickos.
Anyway,
I did make the tourney in time, played for twelve hours and managed to finish 55th out
of 206; walking away with nothing but a slow hand clap and that familiar hollow feeling
inside. Anyway, what I really wanted to talk about was a strange event that occurred
while I was driving up to the game. But first, a wild tangent:
Doing
the whole ‘Expert’ thing regularly on TV tends to lead to the development of standard
replies to emails, generic tips that are of the little/no use variety taken out of
context, and a general poker blah blah blah noise on demand. One of the things we
often talk about when people are clearly trying a little too hard is about letting
your skills develop naturally.
If
I throw a pen at you, you’ll catch it (and then probably use it to push my eyes into
my skull, shouting “Why did you throw that pen at me!”) The amazing thing is that
you probably caught the pen with ease regardless of where I threw it (unless it was
out of a train window, which would have been a waste of a good pen but at least ensures
you won’t do anything to my eyes with it). Anyway, the point is that you weren’t born
with the ability to catch pens. I know this for a fact, not because I had lots of
pens thrown at me as a child, but because I went round Mothercare lobbing Bics at
toddlers before writing this piece. I doubt I’ll be invited back any time soon. Lucky
I don’t have kids, eh.
Anyway,
the point (as I so often seem to have to start my sentences with) is that you are
doing some AMAZING calculations as the pen hurtles towards your fisog - MILLIONS of
calculations in fact. Add a cross wind and you’re practically the Tiger Woods of the
pen-catching world.
However,
returning to my
Birmingham
drive story
(I know - it seems like hours ago that I mentioned that doesn’t it) I’m cruising along
when I suddenly find I’m easing off the accelerator and dropping right back from the
car in front. I have no idea why I’ve just done this and don’t reme
mb
er making any
conscious decision to do so. However, while I’m busy noticing that my body is doing
things without consulting its owner, the car in front swerves and then brakes suddenly.
How spooky!
Had
I not eased back I would now be dead (possibly) or at least seriously inconvenienced,
but was fine thanks to the gap I had created between myself and this loon when he
wigged out. So… what happened? Well, on reflection, I realised that I had had one
of those ‘unconscious competence’ moments we refer to all the time when we talk about
abilities developing.
As
I thought back I twigged a couple of things that my subconscious had been paying far
more attention to than I was even aware of. 1) The car in front was a Porshe and we
were in the middle lane doing a mere 77mph. People with small penises do NOT buy Porshes
to sit in middle lanes observing national speed limits. 2) Through his tiny rear window
I’d clocked the silhouette of a person sitting dead central in the car. Now this is
not naturally where you find the steering wheel, accelerator, or indeed any of the
instruments required for driving a car. Indeed, where he appeared to be sitting guaranteed
nothing less than full anal penetration by a gear stick. I could only surmise that
the car was an automatic, or the driver was a sick individual who enjoyed bottom sex
with automobile parts.
All
of this
info
rmation had
been registered unconsciously by ‘Brain of Matt’ processed, analysed, and sent to
an inbox in the depths of my mind marked “things that seem strange and to be avoided”.
Hence the mystery deceleration and general avoidance of said Porshe-owning clown.
I can only guess that he was digging for something in his glove compartment or doing
some light maintenance on his overly-expensive car stereo.
As
I’ve been driving almost every day for nearly twenty years I guess it’s no real surprise
to find that I hardly think about what I’m doing any more - while still not dieing
on a regular basis. It’s the same story with the pen catching (without the bit about
dieing). And thus it is with poker (again, minus the mention of death). The more you
play the more those things you once had to think about become automated responses.
When a player makes a move against you that ‘feels’ wrong then you’ve probably started
to reach the equivalent stage in poker that means you are no longer thinking so hard
that you can barely operate.
I
don’t have a natural instinct to catch pens any more than I have a natural instinct
to avoid check-raise traps from the guy that flat called with a pocket pair and flopped
trips. These things take time to develop, so prepare for a long journey.
Do
enjoy the ride though, and be sure to buckle up - it can get bumpy out there.
The Cock
October 17, 2007
Yes, saving possibly the best (well, most ludicrous anyway) for last,
we have The Peacock…
A
magnificent puffed-up prancing cock with his glorious tail feathers on display for
all to see. A hardcore poker pro who’s obviously been there, seen that, and played
poker for more years than you’ve had hot dinners (sonny). He even knows a chip trick.
Yes, ‘a chip trick’. The only problem is that he has to bring his own ’special’ chip
(that his mum probably made for him) in order to do this trick, making it somehow
less special, and also that much more sad. Oh, and he also has a lucky stone that
protected his cards. Seriously, this boy is well kitted out for a £20 freeze-out.
If he could afford to bring a masseuse to the room I’m pretty sure she would be there;
reluctantly squeezing his fat bonce while he plays with his little pebble.
A
friend of mine once raised into such a player’s big blind. The peacock stared
him down and spat: “the next time you raise my big blind I’m going all-in blind”.
I don’t think our roaring, table-slapping, howling laughter and five minute piss-take
was quite the result he’d hoped for, but it certainly made our day. He even stood
up and put his jacket on every time he went all-in with the absolute nuts. Brilliant.
Just brilliant.
“Raise?”
>>
>
Anyway,
you get the idea. Don’t sit at home enjoying poker, get out and enjoy people. Some
of them are quite decent folk, and some of them are F***ing hilarious. Happy hunting.
The Zoo
October 10, 2007
Ok - we’ve looked at the Donkey, now let’s look around the table
at some of the other creatures across the felt.
Exhibit
B: The Ape
This
physically large specimen is all over the table like a hairy rash. Lining up flops,
tidying chips, sorting out side-pots that didn’t involve him… he doesn’t care what
it it; if it’s happening on the table he isin charge of it. While playing against
an ape I once needed a wee and was worried he’d come down with me to ensure all was
ship-shape in the trouser department.
He
routinely pretends to be Thomas Kremser, spouting rules based loosely on the actual
rules, but displaying none of the authority, poise, or actual knowledge required to
take over a table in such a way. He is also the master of calling your hand, and even
after 10 or so miserable failures, is still more than happy to announce “Jacks” with
all the certainty of a man telling you how many feet he had regardless of the 7-8
in your hand. When he isfinally out of the game, he is able to tell you all in great
detail exactly why it was his fault for playing too well against such ill-equipped
competition. Whatever. We don’t care. We have all his hairy chips in our stacks by
this time.
“Chips!”
DON’T
be an ape. Yes, you are super. Yes, you know how a poker game should be run, but just
chill. Let people make mistakes so that they feel silly and you have an edge. Also,
don’t give people a reason to want to take you down. It might just lead to that bluff
getting calling ‘just in case’ they can bust you and get your annoying arse off their
table.
Next
time: The Peacock
Don’t feed the Animals
October 3, 2007
I’ve
probably said this so many times over the last two years that it’s becoming more farcical
with each utterance, but I REALLY want to play more live poker.
I
recently picked up a sponsorship deal that evaporated almost before it had begun,
when the company decided to reverse out of the industry (I’m only 90% sure their departure
wasn’t my fault).
Anyway,
before the wheelbarrow of cash trundled off into the distance I managed to be late
for two of the staked tournaments (days before the law changed to allow late appearances!)
made the final table bubble in another comp, and - as I write - am days away from
playing in the last of my sponsored games. I’m so glad I have a garage filled with
branded T-shirts.
The
key point here thought is not about the sponsorship (I just needed to get it off my
chest) but about the joys of playing in live games. Yes, it helps develop your game;
yes, it helps you develop your reading skills; yes, it’s a more social ways to approach
the game. Yes, yes, yes…
However,
what I’d like to concern myself with today is the fact that playing live poker allows
you to meet the freaks. Smelly, stupid, egotistical, bullying, know-nothing morons
who play a £10 sit and go like it’s the WSOP and are more than happy to pretend
they’re Tony G when it comes to slagging you off for calling their minimum raise with
8-8, hitting trips and cracking their pocket aces.
I
recently found myself in a £20 afternoon freeze-out at one of London’s better-known
card rooms. Things were improved by the fact that a fellow journalist and keen poker
player was sat to my right, so I could at least enjoy his company (as well as re-raise
him for chuckles every time he tried to enter the pot.)
We
sat examining our table chums… and BOY had we struck gold! I kid you not, it was
like the poker zoo was in town and all the animals had stopped at our table to graze.
Over the next couple of entries (yes, I know it’s been a while - I was busy - sorry!)
I’ll be detailing them for you. PLEASE avoid ever becoming one of them. Thanks.
Exhibit
A: The Donkey.
He
handled his chips like they were oversized carrots and, when he accidentally made
an under-bet, was told by a friendly player ‘it needs to be at least double the previous
bet’. The donkey looked insulted. “Yes,” he honked, “I DO know how to bet”. He then
proceeded to prove otherwise by calling a raise and a re-raise for all his chips with
that monster of hands A-Q off-suit (I, incidentally, folded before him with AhQh,
so his chances were ’slim’ at best). As he trotted off sans chips I wondered if he
even knew how to spell ‘Bet’ let alone how to do it.
>>
Please
don’t be the donkey. If you don’t know what you’re doing, copy the others. Stack your
chips like them; talk like them; talk like them. And for god’s sake take their advice
- mostly they just want to help and keep the game moving.
Next
time - The APE.
Don’t worry, be happy…
August 31, 2007
I
fist ran into ‘proper’ poker in about 1996. There were two icons on my internet start-up
page under the heading of ‘play cards against humans now!’ (and if you’re young enough
to have never known anything other than a globally-connected, facebook/myspace-flavoured
world, I can assure you it did once exist. Scary thought eh?). Anyway, one icon was
the shape of
Omaha
, and
the other the shape of
Texas
. I
don’t remember why I initially picked
Omaha
(I
think it was ironically the more intriguing shape - just like the game).
At
the time I was getting off more on the fact that I was sitting in my front room with
a dial-up modem playing poker with a housewife in Germany and two Americans than the
game itself (again, you’ll have to trust me that the World Wide Web was a BIG deal
in 1996) but the key point was that I was having fun. I later went back and clicked
the other shape and Texas Hold’em entered my world. It also entered the world of friends
and family as I went about the business of teaching them so I could practice without
the need of a dial-up modem.
Then
I went to
Las
Vegas
in
the late 90’s and played my first live games. I sat down in a $3-$6 limit game and
- with a total disregard for bankroll management (mostly because I’d never heart of
bankroll management!) - bought in for $100. I had a wonderful time; played some nice
poker; and never once left a session at the table down. Oh, and VERY importantly -
I HAD FUN!
Fast
forward ten years, and I’ve made a big decision. I’m going to stop worrying about
poker. I’m going to stop worrying that I don’t play enough; I’m going to stop worrying
that I don’t play at high enough limits; I’m going to stop worrying that I don’t read
every strategy article in every magazine; I’m going to stop worrying that I only know
three chip tricks; I’m going to stop worrying that I’ve never won a ‘big name’ tournament;
I’m going to stop worrying that I don’t play enough satellites; I’m going to stop
worrying that I don’t read every poker blog; I’m going to stop worrying that I don’t
make the most of the big guarantees; I’m going to stop worrying that I don’t participate
in poker forums; I’m going to stop worrying about playing in every single bloody freeroll…
As
you might have picked up, I’m basically going to stop worrying about poker. Full Stop.
What
I am going to do is remember that I got into poker because it’s an awesome game. It’s
fun, satisfying, frustrating (in a magical way), and probably the greatest social
catalyst since ‘winner stays on’ Street Fighter II on the
Mega
Drive
.
The
next time you find yourself worrying about poker, take a deep breath, count to ten,
reme
mb
er
that you are playing a game, and try to enjoy yourself.
Life’s
simply too short.
Matt
Broughton is the Editor of Flush Magazine (www.flushmag.co.uk)
and part of the expert presenting team on Sky Poker.