When Not to Play

I’ve been playing a lot of live poker lately and for awhile, things were going extremely well. It’s not that every session was a winning one, but I was certainly winning much more than I was losing, and my bankroll was swelling nicely.

Of course, being on something of a rush I thought – as many of us do – that my game was dialed in. I knew the people I was playing against, my strategies were working, and I was in the zone. So, I did what any reasonable player would – I took a shot.

For me, this meant playing a $250 tourney with a $250 re-buy. As someone who’d never played anything greater than a $100 buy-in event, this was a huge leap up the ladder but I was feeling confident. Cocky, even.

And yeah, I didn’t even come close to seeing the money. I won’t go into details and I won’t make excuses but, after a few hours of play, I busted out just about dead center in the event. And that’s where my lesson started.

After busting, I didn’t really take any time to think about my play. I was hyped on adrenaline – and tilt – and all I could really think about was getting into a cash game to win my buy-in back. I mean, really, it couldn’t be that hard. I’d taken hundreds of dollars out of this game on a regular basis, I could do it again.

Except that, I couldn’t.

I bought in for about $150, and promptly donked that away in a few orbits. So, I decided to chase that money with yet another buy-in, which also vanished in fairly short order. Finally, when I was down to my last $20, I got up, walked away, and drowned my miserable day in a couple of pints.

Looking back now, I can see the events of that day much more clearly, and I better understand what caused me to blow away so much of my hard-earned bankroll. In short, I was playing scared.

I had built a bankroll that I was comfortable with… one that would allow me to buy into my regular tournaments and cash games without feeling strapped, and when I lost $500 of it on “a shot,” I suddenly felt crippled. I was relying on having that money behind me as an insurance policy. If I had a bad couple of orbits or didn’t cash in a couple of tournaments, I was OK, because I had plenty of cash to fall back on.

Except that, I didn’t anymore.

When I hit the cash game following my tournament exit, I wasn’t thinking clearly. In fact, I probably wasn’t even thinking at all. I was on auto-pilot and I had one goal; win it back. But, because I was so frazzled and shaken, I couldn’t fully concentrate on what was going on around me or who I was playing with, and I was simply another easy mark at the table.

What’s more, the consequences of losing additional cash following the tournament stayed with me for weeks. I hit a bad run all because I was feeling pressured to get back to where I had started.

So what happened next? I took a couple of weeks off. I stayed away from the cardroom, and didn’t look at poker table. I let my head settle, got more comfortable with current size of my bankroll, and started from scratch. And I played better.

Which brings me to this; there’s another time when it’s best to step away from the game, even if you may not realize it. When you think all you can do is lose.

For example, I was sitting back in a particularly juicy cash game the other night and had gone on quite a run – up nearly $1,000 in a $1-$2 game. I had a huge pile of chips in front of me, and was amazed at my good fortune. Things were great. I was on top of the world. I could run over the table as much as I wanted.

Except for one thing - I was scared.

I realized that after working so hard to accumulate all of those chips, I didn’t want to put them at risk. I was laying down very playable hands – against very playable competition – because I was afraid I’d take a bad beat or just overplay a hand that I shouldn’t. I tightened up, and the game no longer felt fun or easy. So, I did the smart thing – I waited for an opportune time, and walked away.

I had made plenty of money and had nothing left to prove at the table. Sure, I could have won even more had I stayed, but I wasn’t feeling comfortable anymore. Considering where my thought process was headed, I’m convinced it was the right move. I had nothing left to prove and felt like I had everything to lose.

I was up – a lot, and I was happy. What more could I ask for? In the end, I decided the answer was “nothing.”

Well, except for a couple of celebratory pints, of course.