Poker is pain.
But you won’t read about it much because wins sell the story that readers and advertisers want to read. Casinos, tour operators, online sites – they all want a smiling winner’s photo touting six-figure wins. But the harsh reality is that, for most, poker is a painful and losing endeavor.
In the opening of Rounders, Mike McDermott says, “Few players recall big pots they have won, strange as it seems, but every player can remember with remarkable accuracy the outstanding tough beats of his career.”
I’ve penned hundreds, if not thousands, of winner stories and all of the prize money, quotes and story lines were written on the backs of tens of thousands of losers. It’s easy to lose sight of the losers, because just like even the best baseball players, they’re going to fail most of the time.
My first two flights of the Moneymaker Poker Tour main event in Daytona Beach started well. I accumulated chips level to level, was dealt a steady stream of playable hands that connected to boards and was twice the starting stack approaching the dinner break.
Day 1A’s bust saw me get in with A♣K♣ against A♦K♦ against a similar stack, the flop came three diamonds and that was that. Day 1B saw me open sub-20 big blinds from under the gun. Rami Singh shoved on the button with A♣K♣ and I snap-called with queens. He hit an ace on the flop and just like that I was headed to my car.
I’d play both bustout hands the same way, but Day 1C was another story. I woke up with the grumps, possibly brought on by four straight nights of parentless kids running roughshod all over the hotel.
The third and final bullet was a painful, card-dead grind. The two best hands I saw over seven hours were A♣K♣ and pocket nines. For six hours, I looked down at an endless supply of unplayable hands, each orbit steaming me up a little more.
I found myself watching the clock, ticking off 10-minute increments crawling to the break – not a good sign. I’d feel a tinge of hope peeling my hand to see the K♣ first, then slowly reveal the 4♦ behind it and send it back to the dealer. It got to the point where I was telling shitty kickers to fuck themselves before I mucked.
What hurts worse than losing big showdowns is not having the ability to get cards to lose with. Getting eaten up by blinds and antes is death by a thousand cuts.
I had my first 0-fer weekend to the tune of $5,000. While any seasoned poker player reading this might roll their eyes, my civilian friends would shit their pants at losing that much in a weekend.
But I didn’t just lose cash, I lost out on Spring Break with my family. As I stewed indoors, my wife and kid were a few hours north in St. Simmons Island living their best life. I got a stream of pictures – them with their feet in the water, smiling at a beachfront restaurant eating oysters, and Aubry’s first big bike ride on a two-wheeler.
Each of those photos hurt worse than the 4♦ kickers I was being dealt. I wasn’t just robbing them of money we needed, I was robbing them of my time. I chose to be in a cardroom over Spring Break and that guilt manifested into a losing mindset on Day 1C.
I should have left. I should have pocketed that one last buy-in. I should have more to show for my efforts. I should have been a better husband and father.
I busted my last bullet, retreated to a quiet spot in the restaurant and looked to at least salvage some content after such a terrible day. I picked a pro with $5.5 million in earnings because of our interactions while playing half the day together, and then spent an hour prepping an interview.
Now, he doesn’t owe me anything, but I do expect to be respected.
I waited for there to be five minutes until break and asked him for ten minutes of his time. “No,” he said flatly.
Thinking he was trolling, I hovered.
“I don’t read anything and I don’t talk to people,” he said after an uncomfortable moment, returning his attention to the table.
I spun on my heels, walked straight out to my car and shame-ate McDonald’s alone in my hotel room. My anxiety and self-deprecation spiraled for an hour as I struggled with losing and time away from my family.
I couldn’t leave Daytona Beach with nothing to show for it, though. I recentered myself, played the heaviest of metal and spun up another interview. I strapped on my big boy pants and returned to chat with Florida’s most accomplished amateur poker player – Rami Singh.
I turned a chicken shit day into chicken salad to salvage the trip. I drove back home on Sunday with the rest of Spring Break traffic – a six-hour trip that took more than seven – made painless by a smiling family waiting for me.
We had pizza delivered, sat on the back porch and swapped stories of our individual adventures. The poker was hard and the writing was a bit harder, but if it were all easy, would it be worth it?
Paul Oresteen started covering poker in 2009 after graduating from Georgia State University. He calls Atlanta home and is a proud girl dad and avid playing card collector. He’s covered the game from Connecticut to California, named Daniel Negreanu’s dogs, and Doyle Brunson once called him an asshole.