Sometimes poker is about those things
Thursday, 11 September 2008
Does 25 places off the money count as “on the bubble” ? I think, in a 1500-runner tournament, it probably does. It’s a giant bubble - the kind you dream of blowing as a kid when you’ve been watching too many Hubba Bubba adverts.
I can’t pretend this has been a great day for me. It started a few hours ago in the Barcelona EPT, when I decided to nip out for a quick cigarette at the end of Level One (no break). The door at the back was shut, so I had to walk the other way. Passing my table, I thought “Well, I might as well have a look at the next hand…”
Aces! Well, this was bound to go wrong. I was never supposed to see this hand. Those closed doors boded ill. All my superstitious instincts were screaming “No!” - for all the same reasons that I never play a hand straight after a misdeal. It means the fates are un-alligned.
But I could hardly fold aces; I was even fortunate enough to find one of those nutters who wanted to go all-in before the flop with a pair of kings. Suffice it to say that I was able to go for my cigarette with 7000 fewer chips than I’d had thirty seconds before.
Knocked out a few hours later, at precisely 16:30 American time, I decided to be super-pro and go straight into the WCOOP $320 Mixed Limit Holdem. I generally believe that, going out of a tournament, you should do ANYTHING BUT play poker for the rest of the night. But I decided that if it wasn’t live poker, it didn’t count.
So, here I am, half past four in the morning in Barcelona, out on the bubble. I’ve drunk three cans of coke, and eaten four packets of “goats-cheese flavour biscuits”. Why are hotel room snacks so peculiar? Does normal food not come in minibar sizes? Those goaty biscuits were extremely unpleasant. I’m glad there were only four packets in the fridge.
I got into a strange discussion in the WCOOP chat box with a German player who’d bought the German translation of my book and was very narked about it. In German, the title translates as “an erotic novel”. A worse description for my book you’d be hard pressed to devise. It isn’t a novel, and it isn’t erotic. Other than that, the title is perfect. (This guy wanted his money back. If he’d been sitting at my table, he’d have had it soon enough.)
Now I have to try and find a way to sleep, despite the sirens wailing outside my window. Spain doesn’t seem to have the “no sirens after midnight” rule, and this hotel hasn’t thought to put in double glazing. If I had any goat’s cheese biscuits left, I could use them as earplugs. They were about the right consistency. I’ll try using the packets, but unfortunately they aren’t quite as dense.
Basically, then, today has been about gaining weight, losing money and arguing with Germans. Oh well. Sometimes, poker just IS about those things. As Scarlet said, “There’s always tomorrow…”