Recent Entries

Archived

SimonStocken

Contact

Thursday, September 24, 2009 

80% of it is just showing up.

Where did I show up today? It began early, it often does - the welcome arrival of Sonya into my home, RV-land, the Winnebago Warrior, parked outside the twin palms of 1916 Salem Street. We"d slept apart as she"s been needing to sleep on her back, undisturbed. Its been a few nights now and as I write there is the possibility of some dessert after our sumptuous feast, the midnight variety, buffalo burgers, pecorino and avocado, all washed down with a Californian Pinot.

Still half asleep, with a dead cat in my mouth, seemingly, I stumbled into the fridge, dowsed the pussy in orange juice and started the Beemer, heading to breakfast at Bustolinis. A quick visit up the one-way street wrong way round and we were busting moves with soya mocha triple chai twist cappucino. Bob the owner informed us we were looking cute online where the Prom-party photos lived - I informed Bob that his complicated drinks rocked, his cafe too. Nearly awake now, we headed the right way down the one-way and onto the Chiropractor, Alan "Quick" Silver, to see if he could work some magic on Sonya"s resident pain.

After the formalities were done, and Sonya explained that she"d brought an Englishman to observe his skill in muscle testing, he began the session, starting in the shoulder area. It didn"t take him long to live up to his name, working his way down to her oh-so-cute gluteus maximus. It makes it easier to manipulate I guess if you give it a Latin name, even in front of her moderately-impressed handler. Before long the pervy-practor was humping that ass, all in the name of therapy. The shame of it truly - I guess that"s why he wears the shirt with the overhang...."and for this one I have to bring my hip right up and over and, and, and...." he shuddered and grunted and the moment was done. Another bone rightfully placed - the Chiroprictor was quicker than silver and doubly deadly. He could seduce a virgin beneath the gaze of her mother and all her sisters and still come up smelling of roses. Dollars were exchanged, phone numbers weren"t and we retreated, licking our wounds, mine mostly financial with a mere hint of what-the-fuck-pervy-dude, Sonya more philosophical, still shooting some pain and unconvinced of the virtue of muscle testing - easily influenced by suggestion apparently, like the virgin, mother or not.

Thirteen hours later, a lot of tapping and some pertinent questions and we have both got to the gluteus maximus of our issues. Sonya"s pain has faded considerably and I remembered back to my first credit card, a debt of $200 or so and a summer of discontent. Well two weeks anyway - I"d been "got" a job, pretty shitty, manual labour, shovelling sludge and painting, in between reading "The Sun" while hiding in the shitter. Most of the way through my "hard labour" we had a poker night back home, always a family affair usually with a couple of imported suckers to sweeten the pot. I ended up down in money but up all night, a bad combination with a 9-hour shift of drudge and sludge awaiting. One hand in particular stuck out for me, as usual the ones remembered are the ones we lose. We were playing a vicious game, 3-card Bragg (where playing a blind hand allows you to play at half the price) with a wild card or four and I had the second best possible hand (trip aces I think) and was raising and re-raising my dad, Peter, who was calmly doing the same....He had the nuts of course, three threes and did after a while have the good grace to call the raising game to an end, "you can"t win son..." So here"s a template for my future...all-night poker sessions, issues with Dad, struggling to pay off the credit card. Good to have nailed it, now to tap it, change it and evolve into abundance.

9:17 AM | Permalink |

Monday, June 29, 2009 

Out of town for a few days

I ended up 28th in the PLO tournament for a $5300 cash. I'm headed out of town for some r&r as I've been feeling a bit under the weather - hence the lack of posts.

3:17 PM | Permalink |

Thursday, June 25, 2009 

Dialysis Dave - how not to play poker.

THIS IS THE LAST POST - IF I HAD MY TRUMPET I'D BE PLAYING IT. THE LOW-ROLLER HAS HAD HIS DAY. ALL FUTURE POSTS CAN BE FOUND BY ASKING THE SIMPLE QUESTION,
"WHO IS MISS MORIARTY?" - follow the link and all will become clear....

http://missmoriarty.blogspot.com/

I am still kicking myself about the hand I didn't play. Dialysis Dave raises the minimum which is $1200, and I have A-8 offsuit in the small blind having paid $300, with over $10,000 behind. Ace-eight is known as the deadman's hand as Wild Bill Hickock was shot holding aces and eights. There were so many reasons to play and yet I folded - first off Dialysis Dave was barely alive, by his own admission, and it would be only courteous to send him to an early bed. His game was transparent too - he was in the cut-off (second last before the dealer button) and his raise was clearly a marginal hand. The big blind recognised the value and called an extra $600 chips. The flop arrives A-A-7 and DD chucks in $3000 like a man who ain't going away. The big blind folds and Dave shows his hand (again) - A-3 of spades. In short Dave and I would have gone to war, and the Dialysis kid would have needed some major surgery to survive - a split pot possible but as my 8 was bigger than the 7, I am confident I would have won and been in a very strong position with most players playing weak-tight, alas including me - the folder. As the crystal-merchant says in 'The Alchemist' - "every blessing ignored becomes a curse" - the old-timer later limped in with King-nine (K-9 or electronic dog to those in the know - ha-bloody-ha). I have 9-5 in the big blind and on a flop of K-9-5 I was destined to lose all my chips.

A few hands back I'd gifted Dave a swing of $10,000 with this hand. I'd limped under the gun (first to bet) with 5-2 of diamonds. I'd won the last three hands with J-6 of diamonds, A-8 of diamonds and 6-2 of diamonds, so I couldn't throw the magic 52 away. You may well ask what I was doing playing these hands from early position, but the vibe was there and no-one else was having it, so in stepped me. J-6 and 6-2 both reached show-down, so the table was raising eyebrows or they should have been, but if you meet no resistance....

So I call 5-2 for $600, the small stack raises all-in for $3000 (with Ace-Jack "Ajax") Dialysis says something about a gamble and time for bed and decides to call, so I am obliged to call as I stand to win $9900 at a cost of $2400. Odds of 4-1. The flop comes Q-7-5 and I bet $2500, called by DD with 7-8 offsuit. Next a ten, checked by us both and then a King, which means I can no longer win the main pot as the English short stack has "the nuts" - best possible hand. However there's a side-pot of $5,000 which will make me break-even on the hand. Dialysis is looking for an excuse to fold and like a muppet I check, thus giving up $5,000 to a man who doesn't know what to do with. One bet and he folds and I've pulled off a major coup. Those $5,000 chips would have meant I'd still have had $10,000 more than Dialysis when the elcectronic dog came-a-snooping.....

I'm putting it down to experience, jetlag, lack of proper food, sleep etc. No in reality I'm seeing a crucial poker lesson that I already know, but in poker as in life we keep making the same mistakes. I will win provided I take enough time to ponder the decision and await for the answer to arrive from that place where intuition resides, between the gut and the head lies the answer. It's called the heart. Enough poker therapy but it does help to get it writ. It was a $65 tourney and there will be a million more.

2:25 AM | Permalink |

Wednesday, August 20, 2008 

Is This Faintly Ridiculous or What?

The algorithm on Full Tilt never ceases to amaze me. Having just won a $55 Turbo Sit and Go, I am three hands into another one and find two black jacks from early position, so I raise the pot to $140 and get four callers, no respect and a flop of 8-7-6 all spades, so happy-go-lucky I dive all-in. The first guy folds, the big blind is of no concern and the button hits "time" - so far so good - the little shit calls eventually, "slow-rolling" his way through amazement via delight with a stopover at smirk-city, as he reveals the stone-cold nuts - 10-9 of spades, a straight flush, an everyday occurrence round these parts, along with his twin brother quads. I smile and reach for the blog button.

Sunday saw the culmination of Full-Tilt's regular series, a $500 buy-in event, for which I'd played three qualifiers earlier in the afternoon in Oxford. I'd finished my week of videos in Henley with Barry feeling as good as it gets - thank you, thank you, thank you. U-Tube "Barry Long" if you must, but unlike what I said last time he ain't for the curious. This planet isn't quite ready for BL just yet....

I bubbled the one qualifier, making a small profit, lost another, but won the key one, a $75 Sit and Go. I'd actually had no intention of playing, but had been 'instructed' by a curious pub sign, The Seven Stars, having hired a postal dvd of The Seventh Seal, which I had found out (too late alas) to be utter garbage, but felt a certain obligation to watch it anyway. Demi Moore, pregnant back in the 80s, with shades of Rosemary's Baby, shades of The Omen and shades of shite too, but my sort of shite nonetheless. So ten minutes in, sanity is only retained by switching on the lappy, logging in and playing a blinder. An hour or so later, my seat assured, I pack it all up with the clock closing eight and head to pick up my son from Worcestershire, where I'm met with the inevitable delay as I look for more of these postal dvds. Cancel the subscription, cancel the credit card and never go there again.....

Max and I are now in the motor, the Main Event starts at eleven and it's two hours up the M1 before I'll be back home......so I'm wondering who can start the tourney off for me - not my brother as he'll donk off chips for sure, not Tom as he thinks Tilt sucks, but there is Shaun out in New Zealand... so a couple of text messages later and he reckons he'll be home before me, once he's dealt with the bank in Monday-morning Kiwiville, so I take my foot off the pedal and ease into the average-speed camera police-state scenario. Three great tips for these:

1. Change lanes all the time (recommended by the internet).
2. Hide behind lorries (Russian roulette and not enough of them on a Sunday night).
3. My favourite, as yet unproven but a lot of fun: flash the headlights right in their face with a joyous "fuck you" and fingers.

So no tickets yet touch-wood. It's at this point that I discover that banks in New Zealand are as you'd expect, slow, backward and full of Kiwi sheep-shaggers as well as other monday-morning stereotypes, so Shaun's not getting home anytime soon. I now have to step on it, with some well-timed lorries, some full-beam bonanza and hope in my heart...."It's a mission from God". I get home and luckily everyone's asleep, so no delays there. Max my son is in bed in seconds, while the computer is warming up, although a new software update costs me a few more blinds. But I'm soon in along with nearly 5000 others, having lost only 40 minutes and 400 chips (out of 5000). There's two and a half million dollars in the prize pool, with nearly half a mill for the winner, a hundred grand for fifth and money right down to 648th. I'm also racking up four tables of Omaha cash to add a further 50% to the burgeoning bank-roll.

Anyway I start well, negotiate the bubble with a shortish stack, and reach 23rd place at my peak (with around 100 players left), before running out of cards and shoving $150,000 all-in from the small blind. There was $40,000 in the middle from the blinds and antes, everyone else had folded and I had AQ off-suit, after what had seemed like hours of six-deuce. The big blind insta-called holding A-7 of diamonds and flops the nuts, three diamonds to shouts of "robbed" and "rigged" from my rail buddies - Shaun and now also Texas-Jake from the villa who'd been following progress and dreaming of a big win with flights to blighty for a slap-up. It was not to be: out in 54th place out of 4880 runners but I did take home $4500 for my troubles to cap a $7K week. The key is surely to play less - weird but true. Enough of my bad beats - it was good to show the boys I can still play the game after some no-shows in Vegas. Not smoking is a biggy for me, Mr Barry Long is bigger still for me, and the rest is down to the cards. Maybe just one more game....

1:12 AM | Permalink |

Friday, August 15, 2008 

Must Do Better

Yes, this is me apologising to you for not writing for far too long. The navel has been gazed, the smoking has continued with no quantum of solace, UNTIL.....08 08 08 a momentous day when an Olympic decision was made to put it to bed once and for all. The result is I'm feeling great, still playing poker but less addictively and more effectively. This week I've been watching videos near Henley, spending time with a man called Barry who's no longer with us but his legacy lives on - www.barrylong.org will give the curious an idea. I've played poker twice this week, once from the comfort of my car as thunder, hail and rainbows saw me play perfect Omaha for just under an hour - the result: I lost $500 with equanimity. Luckily I had just received my monthly rakeback of $550, so $50 profit...or not.....I flop the nut flush, he has the straight flush, I'm shafted and so it went on. Unphased I returned to the tables later that evening after another hour with Barry with my mind set on some righteous payback - the alternative was celebrating a birthday with a thousand teenagers at the house in which I'm staying half-an-hour's drive away in Oxford. Back on the Omaha tables I made my $500 back and signed in for a Pot-Limit Omaha Hi-Low Eight or better tournament, $75 to enter with eighty-five other runners.....Three hours later we were down to the bubble....ten players left with nine getting paid ($150 upwards). I'd been playing well and was leading by a fair margin.... One hour later we finally eliminated a player to get to the final table. I'd played well but no longer had the lead..... Twenty minutes later I'd regained the lead by which time we'd knocked out six of the nine players. Third would win $840, 2nd $1140, 1st $1920. This is the most important stage of any tournament - you have to convert these - my ratio at this stage is good and one hand later the point was proven. I dealt with the last two offenders in one fell swoop, very satisfied if not somewhat cheated as I'd bypassed the whole heads-up phase of relentless bluff-glorious bullying. Still I was not complaining. I'll give you the hand in due course for those wanting an education in the vagaries of Hi-Lo action. Right now it's bed and Barry again tomorrow. Thanks to you loyal readers who've been checking for updates. Bob, your jigsaw is next...I've done all my other orders and have saved the best for last. Andy great that you've enjoyed the diary so far - thanks for your comment too it means a lot to hear especially after my muppetry in Vegas and the ensuing blues that has been my diet for a few weeks now. 08 08 08 has dispelled all that - JOYOF6 is back: check my home-page for clarification. James and all you others I can promise you there's more in store.....adios amigos.

1:03 AM | Permalink |

Saturday, July 19, 2008 

Homeward Bound

What a joy to be back in this country of ours. I was done with America, its appalling media and its prozac-happy falseness. I can now turn on the radio without moronic commercialised blandness fucking my head-space, turn on the tv and not find bloody baseball. Everywhere in America, for me particularly noticeable in the poker rooms, there is this background of bollocks tv. Last year while playing the main event I nearly puked over seat 10 as the hot-dog eating championships aired to the unsuspecting. This year it took place in Vegas a week or so ago and some metabolic freak broke the world-record. In twelve minutes he managed to stuff in 66 dogs, that's one every eleven seconds - these people need to be arrested and stopped, in the name of public decency. They will pay with their lives in the long run of course, a simple failure to acknowledge that your body amounts to what you put in. Enough of them anyway - Bobby was good to me, putting me up beyond my expected stay. No thanks to manyana Mike - too long working in the marijuana dispensary I suspect. It is now legal in much of California, all that is needed is a doctor's note and some rizla.....

So here I am quietly clicking away in the background, still on Full Tilt, plying my two accounts (mine and my 'mum's', which affords me four-figure rakeback every month) playing some freeroll with a chance (eventually) to play Phil Ivey and Gus Hansen for a million quid. There is only one prize at this stage, $500 and a seat, so I am waiting for No-Limit-Shiva and Shivalingus to be moved to the same table, so they can get fruity. In the meantime I have had two nights back in Yorkshire and have been playing the tightest Omaha, six tables at a time, turning a tidy but very necessary profit. Daytime has seen me behind the wheel of the treadle machine, cutting jigsaw puzzles in between watching some weather-beaten golfers and searching for some unlikely hope in Headingley. I am lucky to have a thousand quid of jigsaws to cut and nearly the same back in the bank from some judicious omaha decisions. Max, my son arrives at midnight on Monday, Zeb my brother on Wednesday for his annual party and I am enjoying my first cigarette of the day - you can beat post-prandial. The night-shift has begun and my nut flush is being nailed by the straight flush, my full house by quads - bent poker on full tilt seems to be my karma right now. I'm still in the freeroll with both 'Shivas' - just limped with AK to flop quads and get paid off by some muppet with jack high. My poker is way better than before but will this translate into reddies? Watch this space.

9:45 PM | Permalink |

Tuesday, July 15, 2008 

The Real Hustle

A trip down Larry Flint's Hustler casino was a sufficient substitute for the Donkeyhouse. Guys pushing all in with nothing while I was smiling a full house all the way to the bank. The money was short-lived however as when I woke up my car had disappeared, leaving me to think of LA gangs hustling my little red Kia on a few drive-bys. The reality was I'd parked in front of someone's drive, and 200 bucks later it was free from the pound......oh dear. Spirits are high after a slight wobble and tomorrow I'm in the air. I've final-tabled a fair few online tournaments, but the big money (for the top three spots) is still proving elusive. As I write the world series main event is within one person of its final table. The biggest 'bubble' in poker as the remaining nine will be assured of lucrative pay-offs with big sponsorship deals to boot. I am ready for England - LA is a lonely place and my buddies from the villa are sorely missed. I still appear to have a few regular readers so I will try and keep up the writing. It does sometimes feel a little exposed here with the diary, but blog on I shall. It's also that poker is essentially mind-numbingly boring, so we may have to branch off....Evil Dennis has some suggestions but I'm not sure I can go there. Til soon...

10:21 AM | Permalink |