The Poker Project (playing and writing about poker in the U.S.)

No Dawson City. We're basing out of Wasilla and pretty much just sticking to places we can drive to in a day. We did go spend a night near Denali NP. Highlight so far was a plane ride to Lake Clark NP (Chinitna Bay) to see brown bears. Doing an all day boat ride of Prince William Sound out of Whittier tomorrow that should be pretty awesome, if the weather cooperates. Rainy day today, but supposed to be back to sunny skies tomorrow, fingers crossed.

live trip reports from mark mite b the missing ingredient that this blog needs!

Game Over, I Win?

I remember the conversation well. It happened in the fall, with a fellow pokerer, over sooshi. Unlike me, my friend's a sports bettor (prone to jags of degenning) who's constantly bombarded with every promo under the sun. He mentioned a DraftKings carrot that might appeal: all I had to do was flick in five bucks and, in return, even if I lost, I'd receive three free months of NBA League Pass. In the event that I won, I would also receive $200 in Bonus Bets. Although I'd never so much as considered signing up for a sports betting site, this seemed like a no-brainer, a win-win. I signed up and bet on the Lakers at -12 against some shitty team I can't remember. The next morning, I saw that the Lakers won—by 13. Suddenly, with $200 to play with, my sports betting journey began.

I considered penning a longer poast, filled with the ups and downs of betting on NBA games and discovering parlays and hedges and all the rest, but I'm pretty sure that none of it would be new or interesting. A few months back a dude did exactly this for the Atlantic, and his piece (rightly panned by the poker-gambling community but nevertheless a valuable Gambling 101 primer for normies) went viral. Suffice to say I won and lost and won and lost and somehow finished the season ahead (that's right, FU DraftKings). In exchange, I lost lots of time and had my rooting interests drastically (but hopefully not permanently) perverted.

Is sports betting as bad as everyone says? Probably. Fortunately I appear to be immune to this particular virus.

Game Over. I win?

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I struggled not to skim as I read that Atlantic article. Agree with the "hit piece" sentiment from its critics (the tone of practised naivety is particularly hard to stomach). Glad to see that bob_124 has bucked the journalistic image (of being a socially conscious/auto-repentant/mock-curious bystander). I'm not surprised , though, given his long-term immersion in the seedy world of poker hustle, where former backgammon and chess maestros go to earn real money. I must admit I would be disappointed if you gave up your poker career to become a pro sports-bettor: one must learn to stay within one's lane.

Not sure if you are an UFC fan, but I would humbly recommend to go all-in with that sports betting BR on Holloway-McGregor for the former!!!

Fear not!

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I do have forty bux left in my account...

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congratudolences on the impending Kawhy-back-to-Raptors trade! No idea what to think about it. I'm more concerned with where Lehhbron ends up. Rooting, I suppose, for the Cavs, although seeing him and Curry play together could be fun.

June Recap

In early June, after taking care of various forms of bizness, it was time for our annual summer pilgrimage. Not to Arizona and Las Vegas; that time has passed (though who knows what the future holds). No, it was time to trek to the billboard-less land of white people and maple creemees. Saddle up!

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Shredder's Lair (Chattnooga)

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Farm Stay (Sweetwater)

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respect it ('merica)

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oh hi (New River Gorge)

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watching wemby's demise (Morgantown)

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reindeer snacks (Santa's Village)

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Now that the fluffball and I are safely ensconced up north, I've mostly been hanging with the fam, watching the World Cup, attemping to avoid injury playing pickup beeball, and trawling used bookstores. I've also been fanboy WSOPing from afar. Still fun to sweat the crushers and the storylines. This will be a mostly pokerless month or so, but perhaps I'll sneak in a few updates. GL beating the heat, yall!

If this post comes out coherent at all I will be supremely surprised, because I am not even sure my fingers remember the mechanics of the 2+2 formatting exchange. I did though want to say, I found this verse/post in your thread lovely, or poignant, or whatever my tepid mind is trying to say. I feel the current scourge of gambling a bit troubling for the reasons you have mentioned. I hope all is well with you sir, and also hope to catch up with your wonderful goings on through your thread here, once again.

Great to hear from you, Zombie! Appreciate the good wishes and hope things are good with you. You teaching/pokering these days?

I just read the article that you linked a couple of weeks back Ben : "Sucker, my Year as a Generate Gambler", a pretty compelling article, thx!

A few thoughts initial pop to mind as an outsider/non-resident of the USA : why does the USA #1 do everything so drastically, especially recently in terms of the wild/not regulated capitalism (or everything free market related) of the betting industry, the lobbying and massive promotional industry that ensues - as a proud Canadian social-democrat, the absence of regulation/safety nets/of moderation is oftentimes mind-boggling - or, at the other end of the spectrum of yesteryear, the absolute absence of tolerance with stuff like "say no to drugs" lol campaign or The Prohibition is quite shocking, to say the least!!!

Another thought that comes to mind, is that We, the 2 + 2 users that are disproportionately professionals/semi-pros/(very) enthusiastic recs, often see through the prism of the top 2% (of successful sports betters, as Nate Silver is quoted saying in the article) and take for granted (or at least project universally.../)our analytical perspective... I am forever grateful that I started playing professionally live (poker) in a small blue collar town. Moreover, as the only pro, I was strictly coerced into sharing/creating strong friendships with recs. And inner professional thoughts like "I would never play this game for under X amount an hour" were walking hand in hand with introspections like "why does John/Jane Doe constantly show up to lose 20-100$/h?". Obviously, the Athletic article is seen through the prism of the 98%, barring a few quotes from Nate Silver.

I also feel that most of your writing Ben, seems to focus on the lives of multiple recs and from where they stem from, correct? Darn I would love to read a poker book of yours based on real life stories, as I feel that the poker literature severely lacks - no...? - insight into the life recs, imho...

We are avidly waiting for Ben's long promised book on life in the card rooms 😀

Very nice, which part of Canada!?! If I remember correctly, you usually spend time (are from originally...?) in Maine... or is it Vermont?

I pounced on Holloway, as I felt (and was proven to be right) that a ton of dumb money was going Mcgregor's way, much like it had happened a decade ago for the Mayweather-McGregor bout known as the bet of the century (for Mayweather)!!! As a reference, Holloway started at -450 to -550 about 2 months before the fight (which I felt was a fair line), but rapidly descended into the -300 territory within a week and at a low of -215 just before the fight!!! So yeah, I bet low 5 digits on it

As for the fight itself, it was obviously a disappointment and boring af, but an outcome that I did not mind at all, given the money I had on Holloway.

The Eastern Townships—Sutton, to be specific, an hour or two SE of Montreal. Was just a quick afternoon jaunt this time (a friend and I rented a farmhouse on the US side of the border) but two years ago we explored the area more fully, and it's filled with beautiful sleepy towns and rolling hills. I'm in Vermont at the moment (where my parents + brother live) and grew up in upstate NY.

Nice! EZ money 😀

Very nice! I usually go once a year to Sutton to visit an English buddy (from England) that has been living in Quebec for 26 years (he got a Quebecoise pregnant back when we were early 20s hippies and he was travelling the world with his first (and last) stop being in Western Canada!!!) who elected to eventually buy a house there, given that it is an English area (and that he never learned French).

excellent next time you're there, you should visit the nearby alpaca farm (pics below) and Restaurant Aux 2 Clochers in Frelighsburg

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Elite Degen Mode Unlocked

I say goodbye to Chip and Sully, leave Spyglass Brewing, and get to Chasers by seven. Three middle-aged men in sweatsuits and cargo shorts are smoking outside the entrance, chattering with the urgent conviction of cardroom regs. “I would understand if he did it with two Jacks, but with King-Jack?...”

I head inside and down a short flight of stairs. The dim buzzy room feels like a glorified mancave: a bar and table games hugging the walls, poker games on the interior: three $1/2s, 2 $1/3s, three $2/2 PLOs. The vibe’s very reg-heavy and very pro-unheavy. A buddy of mine recommended that, if possible, you should play til the room closes at two. When there’s a hard stop, people really punt. That’s my plan.

I join a $1/$2 game, fold a few hands, an Asian reg with a beer in front of him raises from UTG, I immediately have a decision with King-Jack sooted next to act. I call along with the big blind, the flop’s Jack-Nine-Four two clubs, action checks through. Turn Five, the beer-drinker bets, I call. River Four and he jams all-in for a pot-sized bet. I don’t like it. I recognize this guy from the first time I was here, one year ago. I think I remember that he got nittier the more he drank. I fold, he doesn’t show.

“Bob? $1/3?” I flash a thumbs-up, move to $1/$3, slide into the 1 Seat. Blindingly bright halos of light illuminate each table, I’m glad I have my hat.

The players are loose and passive and not very good. When a new dealer arrives at 7:30, he tosses a red BOMB POT button onto the ocean-blue baize. All of us put in three reds—everyone, that is, except for a talkative Indian tech bro with salt-and-pepper hair. I flop nothing, the dealer tosses the winner the BOMB POT button, which he uses a few hands later on his button. All of us (save the tech bro) flick in three reds, I flop nothing. Dubble board hold ‘em bomb pots (which are also double raked) add to the room’s gambly vibe. I remember a few lines from an

https://www.newyorker.com/news/annals-of-crime/americas-last-bookie-goes-down

The New Yorker

America’s Last Bookie Goes Down

[quote=]In high school, Tim began taking bets on football games from his classmates by selling parlay sheets for five dollars apiece. Any kid who picked five games correctly—with the point spread—won. The odds were abysmal, and Pughsley told me that no one ever won, but they kept betting—a lesson that he would not forget.[/quote]

At the next dealer change all of us (save the tech bro) toss in three reds, I’m dealt a pear of Nines. The top board’s Ten-Three-Deuce, the bottom board’s Ace-Nine-Eight. I bet two greens, a Patriots fan bumps it up, an Asian woman calls, I shove for five bills, the Patriot fan reshoves, the Asian woman tank-folds. “I’ve got the top board,” he announces, showing two Tens, and I announce that I’ve got the bottom. We nod approvingly, happy enough with the dead money we’ll be chopping up.

The dealer turns a Three on the top board and—oh—a Ten on the bottom board.

“So sick! That’s why I don’t play these pots,” the tech bro says. The Patriots fan instantly tells us that he got hosed in a bomb pot the other day—fast-playing a bad beat story to preempt someone else’s bad beat story. Maybe it's his a way of saying, See? It might look like I run well, but actually my luck’s evening out.

I head to the cage for more chips. Strangely, I'm only mildly annoyed. I wonder why the pain doesn’t sting more sharply. When I get back, an old white guy’s telling a story about an even more brutal beat than the Patriot fan’s, about pocket Fours flopping sets on both bomb pot boards and somehow losing both. Can it be a coincidence that bad beat stories multiply like lice?

The old white guy gets up, I slide over to Seat 2. A few minutes later he comes back, asks us if he left any green chips, we shake our heads. He belatedly realizes that they were in his rack the whole time.

Time passes. More bomb pots. Into the 1 Seat rolls a burly man-bunned tech bro who, like the other tech bro, appears to know everyone. The only reason he’s here on this Friday night is because he ran over his Claude usage limit.

The tech bros start chatting. Turns out they both used to live in the Bay Area. The Indian guy works for Amazon, the white guy worked for Apple. “So how’d you end up in New Hampshire?" Mr. Amazon asks.

Mr. Apple nods at our dealer, a baby-faced white guy with shaggy brown hair. During COVID, there was a rise in divorce. People were spending all this time together, realizing they didn’t like each other. No work buffer. After the dealer got divorced, Mr. Apple crashed on his couch and they rode out the pandemic together.

As much as it sucked, the dealer says, divorce was the best thing he ever did.

“I’m heading that way myself,” the Indian guy says, with a grim nod. “Kids?”

“No, thankfully,” the dealer replies.

Mr. Amazon hesitates, and flashes an awkward grin. “Well, I’m happy that I have my son.”

The dealer nods agreeably. The worst part was losing his golden retriever. His ex wouldn’t agree to the terms if he didn’t give up the dog.

"****," Mr. Amazon says.

Although he appears to be a lifelong bachelor, Mr. Apple talks breezily and authoritatively about the abomination of divorce lawyers. Mr. Amazon’s hoping to hire a mediator and avoid a lawyer. Mr. Apple gives him a wouldn’t-that-be-nice look.

Dealer change, in swoops a Croatian smart aleck with tattoos flecking his muscular forearms. All of us (save Mr. Amazon) put out three reds. “Too high variance,” Mr. Apple explains to the Croatian, then he nods at me. “You shoulda seen what happened to this guy earlier.”

In come the sarcastic rapid-fire needles. Live a little! No gamble, no future! The Croatian asks at what point Mr. Amazon swapped his cock for a pussy. “Is he leaking on you?” the Croatian asks the younghead to Mr. Amazon’s left. “Is your leg a little wet?”

“A little bit,” the younghead grinningly says.

I resist the urge to write some of this down. It’s never been clear to me when the writing should begin, or whether some stuff should be best left undocumented. I’ve been reading a novel called

https://www.ndbooks.com/book/on-the-calculation-of-volume-book-i/

New Directions Publishing

On the Calculation of Volume (Book I)

[quote=]Around me are people with coats and bags and phones. I can hear that some of them have lives which they are getting on with, they have places to go and things to do. I don’t know if I have a life which I am getting on with, but there is nothing I have to do and nowhere I have to be. I have ears to hear, though, and if one wants one can borrow snippets from one’s fellow passengers: their lives and places, the things they have to do. Or steal, because it feels as if one is taking something from them. As if one is not meant to listen. They give it away, but it doesn’t really feel like a gift.[/quote]

Dealer change, the Croatian and his machismo are gone. Mr. Amazon racks up a little later, around eleven. At midnight Mr. Apple lumbers away, probably back to Claude. The action’s shorthanded and sloppy. For most of the night I’ve been buried, but I’m clawing back to even. In another bomb pot a High-Life-chugging hipster blasts into me on the river and I double-check my cards—Four-Six off—before calling with a straight on the bottom board, a weak pear on the top. He has air and I scoop. Pretty soon he’s off to PLO, it’s 1 a.m., I’m only a few hundred away from being unstuck, our game’s off the rails. At 1:30 our dealer informs us that we can play bomb pots every hand. “If y’all want to,” he adds suggestively.

I scan the five drunken, bleary faces beside me and decide to call it a night. Five tables are going, and I don’t want to be stuck at the end of a long line of frustrated gamblers trying to cash out. I leave down three hundred—a loss that feels like a win—hop into my Honda CRV, and ease onto the highway. I’m over two hours away from my parents’ house in Vermont. As I was planning this trip, I ruled out a motel: the cheapest room in Salem was almost two hundred bucks. Even a campsite would cost over fifty bucks thanks to an absurd “non-resident” fee. That left car camping. Thanks to the iOverlander app, I found a nearby Cracker Barrel that allows overnight parking. Around two I drive as quietly as possible into the back of the dark quiet lot, park beside two vans, and get ready for bed. With a little luck, no one will ever know I was here.

Sooo much variance in this. I had one reviewer ghost the publisher. Another take like 9 months to respond, then never responded at all to the revisions. The other two (reviewer 1 and the replacement reviewer 2) got comments in within 3 months. Good luck!