Some seriously good advice for all online tournament players.

Thursday 12th Oct


Didn’t play much last week, or the week before. Felt a bit rough actually, especially on Thursday. Must have been a bug, or something. Picked-up a bit on Friday. Played online. Mostly sit and goes. Card dead – or what? I’m seriously thinking of changing my nickname.

Then I had a spot of bother with the pc which held me up a bit and that’s why I’m behind with the blog. Well, I’ll tell you about that later. So, all in all, not much to report, you might suppose. But you'd be wrong. There was one shocking bad beat I’ve got to tell you about. And this really does it for me. I am now absolutely certain that the poker rooms are cooking the hands. And I‘ve got a theory on how they’re doing it. Listen to this.

$20 STT. On the bubble. Pays three places. I’m Mr Short-stack, as usual, with about 1700 chips. Blinds are 600/1200. Like I said, totally card-dead. I’ve played really well even to get this far. Anyway, I’m in the small blind and at last my prayers are finally answered. Jacks. Obviously, got to go for it. Shove it all in.

Chip leader on 8000 in the big blind - calls. Now I’m thinking; oh-oh, here we go. AK, big pair, overcards. Knowing my luck, he’s sitting on aces. But no. To my complete and utter surprise he turns over 22. What kind of a call is that?

Flop comes and the first card up is a Jack with two blanks to follow. And I’m thinking, thank you God. Luvvly-jubbly. Doubling-up and I’m right back in it. Then the turn comes. Another blank, except that I notice that there are now three hearts on the board. Both of my jacks are black and matey’s got, you guessed it, the 2 of hearts.

River. I don’t frigging believe it! A heart.

My set of jacks has been beaten by a 2-high flush. 2-high! Runner, runner,runner, bluddy runner heart. The odds must be astronomical.

It’s just not possible! At this point, I think I may have screamed. Then - I’ve got to admit - I did lose it a bit after that. Well, who wouldn’t? Bluddy hell.

But, then I calm down a bit. Mop up the worst of the wine. Luckily, not too much of it went over the keyboard. Waste of a nice Rioja though. Nearly half a bottle. Shame. And the ash from the ashtray has gone everywhere.

I plug the mouse back in. The plug looks alright. One of the pins was a bit crooked, but it went in alright. Try to get the pc going again. You know, the usual b’ggaring about. But it’s not having any of it. Now I am getting the ‘ump. F’ck it. I’ll have to call the banana-man again. Another 75 quid out the window.

The banana-man is our local computer repair man. Yeah, I know. B’llox isn’t it. Elephant this – Goldfish frigging that. Blueberry Butchers. Bison Builders. Barracuda Bookmakers. Where the f’ck is it? Banana Technology. I’m looking it up in the phone book. I’ve dialled his number so many times now; you’d think I’d know it off by heart. He's a big bloke. Gets about on a motorbike. Always turns up late in black leathers. He's been spending so many evenings here lately the neighbours are starting to look at me in a funny way.

I call him up. Answer machine. He’s away on holiday for two weeks. Would you bluddy believe it. Two weeks. F’cker. Well, that’s it then. No more online poker for me for a bit. Well f’ck it. Good. F’cking good. F’cking, bluddy online poker.

I go to the kitchen to get another bottle of Rioja. Can’t find it. Where is it? For Chr’st’s sake. I know there’s another bottle here somewhere. That can’t have been the last one.

Go back to the study. Well, its the spare bedroom, but I call it the study. I've got everything I need in here. Slump back in the swivel chair - staring at a blank screen - wondering if I can be ‘rsed to get dressed, get in the car and drive down to the offy. But a look at the watch tells me it’s 2 o’clock. Can’t be!

Then I remember. I’ve got some Buddies in the boot of the car. Excellent! I grab the keys and make a dash for it outside. Sh't. I didn't know it was raining. Still, it's not too hard. I'll be quick. I’m in nothing but jockeys and T-shirt, but no one’s gonna see at this time of night. Right? Wrong!

A bevvy of little beauties, no doubt on their way home from the local night club, are walking past the flat, just as I'm coming out onto the road. I say walking - staggering more like. There must be a dozen of them. Well. You can just imagine the stick I get. Most of which I certainly couldn't repeat here.

I try to ignore them and the rain and dash on. It's raining harder, though the girls don't seem to care. I just hope none of them recognise me. Get to the car. Step straight into a puddle. B'llox. The girls have followed me and they're giving it full volume. They're like a pack of bluddy hyenas. Yeah, very funny, girls - not!

Then a neighbour's shouting from a window. Telling me to shut the f'cking noise up, or he's coming down there to f'cking shut me up - permanently.

Unfortunately, this only produces increased excitment amongst the ladies, who clearly relish the thought of a bit of live action. Some of them lift their tops and shake their assets up in the direction of the angry voice. Right. That's f'cking it! The guy upstairs rants. I'm coming down. Just you wait there. You f'cker.

It's funny how you can tell a bloke is big just by hearing his voice in the dark. The girls are screaming with delight. Off! Off! Off! Off! They're chanting. I'm frantically struggling to open the boot, anxious not to stay a moment longer than is absolutely necessary. But I can't find the right key. And it's dark. And I can't see in the rain. Come on, I'm imploring. Come on.

At last. It's open. I'm grabbing the pack of Buddies. Slamming the boot shut. Bounding up the stairs ten steps at a time. Breaking the Olympic Triple Jump and World Land Speed Records at the same time.

Safely inside - I only hope he didn't see which door I went into. I've got to sit down. I'm bluddy knackered after all that running. Gotta get my breath back. Take the weight of my feet. I'm actually physically shaking. And my shorts and T-shirt are wet through. I take them off, before I catch double pneumonia.

A beer and a smoke - I'm thinking. That’ll sooth the old nerves. I reach for the bottle opener and break one open. It immediately froths-up and spills all over the place. I rush to the bathroom sink, but it's too late by the time I get there.

Finally, I'm sitting down again. Feet up on the desk. Gotta chill for a bit. Get the karma back. But it isn't really happening for me. The beer isn’t really cold, even though it's been in the back of the car for days. And I don’t know about you, but I always think a Buddy's at its best served really chilled. I try a couple more sips, but to be honest it tastes like p’ss.

I know what I’ll do. Stick a couple of bottles in the freezer for ten minutes. That should do it. Slump back in the chair. Fiddle about with the pc for a bit. Soon give up.

Now I just sit there. Blank screen in front of me. Just sitting there for a long-long time. Then I think I must have fallen asleep, because I can’t remember much else except I remember suddenly thinking that there is a horrible smell in the room. It takes a few seconds, before I realize something’s burning. Sh’t. It’s the cigar and it’s burnt a dirty great hole in the carpet. F'ck. F'ck it.

I stare at it for a bit. Luckily, it’s down by the desk - in a place that doesn’t show too much. If the ex was still living here, she'd have killed me. But don't start me off on that one. Anyway, I gather up a load mags that are scattered about the place. Make them into a nice neat pile. Place them carefully over the hole. Sorted!

Then I’m thinking those beers must be cold enough by now. So, I go to the freezer. Bluddy hell. They’re frozen solid. What time is it? 3.30am. Chr’st. I must have been asleep for over an hour. F’ck it. Still. I know what. Good trick, I'm thinking. She was always warming things up in it. I’ll stick them in the micro.

I set it for 20 seconds. That should do it. Go for a leak. Then, for some reason, I completely forget about the beers. Try one more time to get the bluddy computer going. You know what it's like when you want something you can't have. It just makes you want it even more. But it's no good. Then, all of a sudden, I hear an almighty f’cking bang.

I leg it to kitchen - pronto. The micro’s still going. Round and round. Though not quite as fast as normal. And it's making strange sort of crunching-popping noises. I peep through the little window. It’s like there’s a thunder storm going on in there. Instead of 20 seconds, I must have set it for 20 minutes. B’llox.

I’m back in front of the blank computer screen. I’ll clear the kitchen up in the morning. I suppose I ought to get some shut-eye. Work at 8. But I can’t seem to get myself out of the chair. Away from the dark screen. It’s like I’m stuck here, staring at the dark face staring back at me, sucking on a bottle of warm beer.

And then I start thinking. You know, really thinking. What's it all about? And, you know, I’m starting to see things in different way. It’s like I’m finally wising-up. You know? Starting to see it the way it is. And that’s when it slowly comes to me. And it’s so clear. So – right. So bleeding obvious. It’s like I’m Paul on the road to Damascus or something. Like I’m looking at a burning bush. And, of course, the funny thing is - at times like this, you always wonder how come it's taken you so long to see it.

And this is what I’m thinking. Ok.

It was an STT, right. So, we’ve all paid our registration fee at the start. No rake to come. Think about it, Phil, I'm saying to myself. It’s in the poker room’s interest to get rid of you mate. Get it over as soon as possible. Make the table free. Get another game going. And it’s no one-off. It’s happened far too many times now.

It explains everything.

So here it is guys and gals; some seriously good advice for all online tournament players. And I, yours truly, the fearless philosopher of the felt, Phil Diamond, am more than happy to pass it on to you - free of charge. Players like Phil Helmuth, Danny Negraneau and Scotty Doyle would probably charge you for this. That’s if they’d even tell you at all. But I’m not like them. Really. Don't ever go confusing me with those so-called big shots.

So, come close and listen up, my friends. This is how it is, right.

When you’re down to the last few players in a sit-and-go, don’t go all-in against someone who’s got more chips than you, because if you lose, that’s it – you’re out. Right.

No. Seriously. And believe me. You will lose. And why? Because the software will fix it so that you do. That’s how they do it. The guy with the least chips always loses. That’s how they get the games over with and free the table up for next ten suckers. They’ve done it to me a thousand times. Whenever, I’m getting anywhere near the money - wallop, I’m out.

And that, my friends, is why your pocket aces will go on getting busted by some joker with J10. Forget about outs, percentages and pot odds. I never bothered with any of that anyway. It's all irrelevant. I'm telling you. Its not you versus the other guys at the table. It's you and the other guys at the table versus the poker room.

Anyway, good to talk, but have to go now. Don't worry, I'll be back soon. And don't forget what I've told you. Adjust your online game. Remember it's the software you've got to beat and soon you'll see your bankroll growing nicely.

Go carefully and all the very best, from your candid cardman - the jack of diamonds - Phil Diamond.