The $2-6 Spread Limit game at the Excalibur really fucked me up, and I’m sitting here hoping that it’s temporary.
I hate online poker right now.
In fact I’ve spent the last week pondering the possible who’s, what’s, and why’s of it all and I still don’t really have a satisfactory answer so I’m going to write about it in the hopes that it begins working itself out.
I actually have no idea whether or not it was the wonderfully easy pickings at the Excalibur that is solely responsible, but I doubt it. I didn’t play very much during the Vegas get together, but that being said it was still more time than all of my previous live sessions combined. It was so much fun. Combined with the utter softness of the games, playing online definitely and immediately became less than appealing. But why, though? It’s not like the online games are that much tougher (at my level), and I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, but perhaps my subconscious disagrees. I think sometimes that perhaps my subconscious is just some 400 lb. fleshly behemoth too heavy to get off of the couch and drowning in Cheetoh’s, eschewing the frustrating and sometime soul squeezing challenge of consistently crushing online games for the easy and most of the time mindless money that sits at a live table for the taking. He pines for the low limit live games the same way he pines for everything that he won’t get off his fat ass to go after.
That’s theory numero uno.
Usually, some donking around at the $5 SnG’s will get me over this type of a hump when it rears its ugly head. Not so much this time. I’m playing OK and my results are OK, but I still find myself with a serious amount of disproportionate tilt when I catch the inevitable beat or make a retarded play. If someone decides to be a rude jackass it makes me kind of sad. I really can’t believe I just admitted that, and when it happens I can’t believe a faceless internet gnat made me feel like that, but there ya go. The fact that I’m even paying enough attention to it for it to affect me makes me want to kick my own ass for being such a punk bitch. However, taking a step back I realize that these are indicators of a deeper problem that seems to be making an appearance. The question now is, what?
So, there are the beginnings of theory #2.
Did I mention I’m in Phoenix all this week? Nothing like the rock-your-world desert heat to put a person in a contemplative state, eh? Well, that and sitting in a training class all day long.
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