Ghosts of Commerce

Author’s note: Time, circumstance, obligations, Black Friday and various other factors have conspired to keep me largely away from cardroom poker for quite some time. Places I used to frequent, such as the Commerce Casino in Los Angeles, seem almost foreign and strange to me now. Thus, when I recently had the rare opportunity to play in a tournament there, I brought along a notebook, so that if my past attacked me, I’d at least be able to record the assault. Herewith, that record:

The Commerce Casino. I’ve been away from this tournament scene for so long that I barely recall how it works. Where do I sign up? How do I register? I feel so out of touch. I blame Black Friday, of course… Black Friday that snipped Internet poker out of my life, performed a poker vasectomy – a pokerectomy – on my daily routine. I had expected that to drive me to spend more time playing real world poker, but it hasn’t been the case.

I’ve played less, lots less, live poker. Is that just me, or is it a common adjustment among American recreational players this year? Someone should do a study. Be that as it may, now here I am, grabbing the rare opportunity to play in an event at the LA Poker Open.

Man, I used to spend a ton of time here. Man, I don’t anymore. What are these? Blinds? Oh yeah, okay, blinds. I remember blinds.

I played my first cardroom poker at Commerce, all the way back in 1986. In 2004, 2005, I was here all the time, knew the valets by name. Yet even when I haunted the place it was as much for the people as the poker. Win or lose, I always loved the scene. It juiced me. It got my blood boiling just to walk through the doors. Ha, look at me, waxing nostalgic for just a half-decade back. It seems a lifetime ago now.

Now the tournament starts and the rhythm starts to feel familiar. Big blind, small blind, button, cutoff, hijack, middle position, early position, under-the-gun, bet, raise, fold, call, next case. I guess it’s like crashing a bicycle: Once you’ve done it, you never forget how.

The woman next to me has the straightest nose I’ve ever seen in my life. Note to self: You really have to get out more.

I had forgotten about the cocktail birds, flitting among the hundred tables chirping, “cocktails, cocktails.” Their noses are straight, too. Oh, look, it’s a rail stoat, a down on his luck entrepreneur trying to hustle up the price of a buy-in. I haven’t seen one of those in awhile. A feeling of comfort washes over me. Nothing much has changed.

Or maybe it has. Down here on the felt I think I’m seeing the effect of all that TV poker and all that Internet poker. People seem so much better versed in the game than they were back then. All this casual talk of light four-bets, range merging and whatnot. I see educational osmosis at work. Knowledge has trickled down. The field is much improved. Have I been left behind?

Then I have a bad idea I can’t talk myself out of, as I decide that a player is on tilt and will call my shove with a much worse hand. Well, yes, that’s probably true, but he’ll also call with a much better one, and that’s what he has now. So now I’m in a chip hole. I remember chip holes. Seems like I’ve spent most all my tournament lives in a chip hole.

Maybe this notebook was another bad idea, for I’m trying to keep my mind on the game, but it keeps wandering off. One minute I’m counting the pot, peering at foes for tells, studying my opponents. The next minute I’m mapping out the story beats for my next screenplay, Apostrophe Catastrophe – subtitle: “Somethings’ Gone Wrong!” So my mind wanders. I know it does and that’s one reason I play tournaments so infrequently these days. Who can expect to win a poker tournament with such a wandery mind? Look, I’m not without stamina. I can put in ten hours at my writing desk no problem. But ten hours of poker? Eventually I’ll want to be back at my desk. So I accept my status as a recreational player and a professional writer, and that’s why I’m here now so rarely.

Good ol’ Heraclitus reminds us that you can’t enter the same river twice, for either you have changed or the river has changed or both. I make it partway across this particular river – within shouting distance of the money – before a temporary lapse of reason turns another of my bad ideas into a tournament bust-out, and then I’m away from the table, strolling among the cocktail waitresses and rail stoats, and thinking of all the former versions of me that haunt this tournament ballroom. I see ghosts of myself. I’m not entirely disappointed with my performance today, but not at all surprised by the outcome. I’m pretty rusty and it shows.

How about you? How is your game these days? Has Black Friday had any unexpected impact on the time and dedication you formerly devoted to poker? Is there a little bit of “out of sight out of mind” in your game? When the game’s not permanently a mere mouse click away, staying on top of it seems to lose some urgency. Take a few minutes to think about how your relationship to the game has changed. It’s not a good thing and it’s not a bad thing, it’s just a thing that is. And it’s always easier to act effectively if we know where we are at. I didn’t know where I was at when I came to Commerce today. I have a bit of a better idea now.

Own horn blown department: My poker novel World Series of Murder is now available in awesome author-narrated audio. If you like audiobooks and you like poker, I think you’ll really enjoy this one. My Amazon author page has the full 411. ♠

John Vorhaus is author of the Killer Poker series and co-author of Decide to Play Great Poker, plus many mystery novels including World Series of Murder, available exclusively on Kindle. He tweets for no apparent reason @TrueFactBarFact and secretly controls the world from johnvorhaus.com.