The night of the Great Poker Massacre is over. It was a glorious battle, filled with great and epic contests of skill and wit, but now it is over, no more than a memory to be sung about in the halls of our fathers. We victims stagger home, bloodied and beaten, dragging broken limbs and battered pride behind us, whilst the victors throw handfuls of money into the air and laugh like giddy schoolgirls. Bastards.
So no, I didn't win at poker. It's tough to win when your best hand all evening is a pair of fours. But I wasn't last, which is nice.
I have several fundamental problems when it comes to poker. First and foremost is my inability to keep a poker face. As much as I try to keep a straight face when that killer card comes down on the river, I can feel the corners of my mouth involuntarily twitching. I am now attempting to learn how to do it on purpose so that I can use it as a bluff.
My second problem is that I'm a tight player. I'm fairly risk-averse, which is a sensible outlook in some walks of life but is not particularly helpful when it comes to, you know, gambling. It's all very well holding on to your chips until you get some killer cards, but when those cards never come, as they didn't tonight, you're screwed.
My third problem is that whenever I play I can hear Jesse May and Phil Helmuth commentating on me in my head. It's a little offputting.
Still, I love the game. I'm not great at it and I doubt I ever will be, but I still enjoy the challenge of figuring out the most likely combination of cards on the table, and of trying to get a read on my friends. It's frightening how good at lieing some of the are.
Poker - heartilly recommended.