No libido

Hmm, when did I last have a day without drinking alcohol? I truthfully don’t know. Two weeks? Longer? And wouldn’t it sound so much worse if we talked about ‘taking alcohol’ or ‘doing alcohol’ rather than about ‘having a drink’? Language matters. You don’t have to be familiar with the works of Wittgenstein – although, as it happens, I am – to know that.

And since language matters, I really ought to try not to open a post with four consecutive sentences ending in question marks. This may be my fiftieth post, I am not sure. (It is - ed.)

Since I mentioned alcohol, what do we all think about drinking and then playing, or drinking while playing, or downright playing drunk? Personally, I do it all the time. If I play after 8pm then the chances are that I will be drinking a little, and if I play after 11pm then I am sure as hell to be pleasantly pissed. Now, don’t laugh, but I don’t think it hurts my play that much. I rarely drink to real excess, typically three to four pints of lager, so I am nicely ‘buzzed’ without being out of control. I sometimes think it even helps, because I have a weak-tight streak which the booze can drown.

However, I have a distinct feeling of déjà vu telling me I have written about this before, so I will move along. But first, from one of the top ten films of all-time, a quote about déjà vu:

Phil Connors (to guesthouse owner): Do you ever have déjà vu?
Guesthouse owner: Oh, I’m not sure. I could check with the chef…

I got the DVD of that movie recently, and must get around to watching with the commentary. Seeing as I already know all the lines.

So, how did the weekend go? The great thing is, I don’t really know off the top of my head. I say that’s a great thing because it’s indicative of my current zen-zone of making my best decisions in the best games, and not worrying unduly about results. At the same time, you can be damn sure I would know if I had lost!

So, let me check the records for a moment: Okay, I won $140. Not too bad, but I did play a ton of hours, apart from Friday when it was less than two. However, the fact that I won $157 in five and half hours of Pot Limit Omaha cash-play, while extremely pleasing (not to say overdue), shows that I lost in just about everything else…

Five card stud dealt me an absolute wave of cold cards and fifth street beats. Heads-up limit proved generally tougher over the weekend than during the weeknights, but I see that I still managed over $5 an hour at it, despite playing for far too long against far too aggressive players. Interesting that there seemed to be tougher folk around over the weekend, which was contrary to my expectations; I suppose, though, that people who are playing poker at midnight on Friday night - instead of being in bars and nightclubs - are more likely to take the game seriously. Or maybe it was just random. Either way, my confidence is still there at heads-up despite some fearful batterings over those 72 hours. I had one dude who I could just read like a book, and who had the glaring weakness of betting obvious draws and then shutting down on the river when he missed, enabling me to bet absolutely anything with impunity.

Finally, PLO Sit and Goes. I made the decision to move up to $10+1 whenever possible – those games take a lot longer to fill up than the ever-popular $5 tables. I ended up playing two $10 games and two $5 ones. I came a good second in my first $10 attempt, which sealed my confidence. There were a couple of good players at the table, which is one or two more than I am used to. In the second attempt, I came fifth in a tourney which had too many people left when the blinds got big, making it something of a crapshoot.

The five buck games don’t bear talking about, especially since I managed to bubble and come 6th. I really want to play the $10 games exclusively. Due to the ridiculous 20% take on the smaller tables, playing at $10+1 gives more than double the edge, and you make as much profit coming second as for a third place in the $5 table.

So, it could have been a sticky weekend if the PLO cash games hadn’t finally paid off somewhat. I am still eschewing most opportunities to play there; when there are two, three or four bullies at the table, when the average pot-size is too big for my blood and suggests a game of heavy raising. I want to play weakies, who let me draw cheaply and don’t test my non-nut full house with a big raise with their trips, or whatever.

What was interesting over the weekend was how much better I played PLO when I had a biggish stack. Didn’t make the usual weak-tight folds, made the correct raises when I sensed weakness, and so on. I will never be an outright bully-boy; I lack the nasty streak, the balls and the gambling spirit. But I can put more pressure on with a decent stack, and you can almost visibly see people shrink away from your bets and raises when they know that going to the river could easily cost their entire stack.

End of poker content.

I spent much of the rest of the weekend fretting over what to do about The Girl. I’m in the middle of two and a half weeks having a place all to myself - and rather than wanting to get her over to indulge the space and privacy, I have preferred to indulge myself, alone. Which fundamentally means lots of poker, with a little reading thrown in. Do I have no libido or what? Would I feel differently if we were ‘soul-mate’ material? If the mere thought of her drove me crackers and I wanted only to know what she is doing and thinking every minute of the day? Am I even open to feeling like that about a woman ever again?

My indecision is driving me crazy and driving her away. It is also stopping me enjoying my private time as much as I could.

These sort of things are all part of the novel I am, ha ha, writing. I did actually put some words down on Sunday morning, which I am very pleased with. They will form the opening of the story, with a little more fleshing out. Ideas are starting to come thick and fast. It’s going to be brilliant, of course.

Finally, and only British readers will know how ‘sad’ this makes me sound, I have realised and accepted that I really like the TV series ‘Heartbeat’. It’s cosy, feel-good, warm and fuzzy drama aimed at middle-aged people. But what’s wrong with a little escapism?