The Three-Bet

The term “three-bet” (and “four-bet” and so on) has become especially common in poker these days, although that development is relatively recent. In fact, I don’t really remember people using the phrase that much even five years ago.

Generally speaking, people say “three-bet” when referring to a reraise that happens before the flop in hold’em. (Occasionally you’ll hear some use the term when talking about post-flop action, though not that often.) In other words, the big blind is the first forced bet, the first raise is a second bet (although that initial raise is never, ever called a “two-bet”), then the first reraise becomes a “three-bet.”

I remember a few years ago reading some discussion about the term, probably inspired by its having first become somewhat popular and a person on a forum wondering about its origin. I recall the explanation for the term connected it to fixed-limit hold’em where the first raise equals two bets, the next equals three, and so on. Even though the raises in no-limit hold’em aren’t of fixed amounts, the terminology was borrowed and used in the same way to describe successive raises/reraises.

I can’t recall the first time I heard the term, but I remember being a little confused by it initially. It’s really not obvious what a “three-bet” means if you’ve never heard the term before, but nowadays almost everyone says “he three-bet” rather than “he reraised” when discussing preflop play. I guess I’ve become conscious of the term’s less-than-obvious meaning thanks to working with Learn.PokerNews and thinking more specifically about new and beginning players who perhaps aren’t up on all of the terminology just yet.

In any event, now everyone uses the term, and in fact it seems almost weird not to. It is so common of a term there’s a clothing line named after it. PokerListings even calls its daily recap of three big stories of the day the “Daily 3-bet.”

I brought the subject up with a friend today and we speculated that the increased use of the term likely coincided with more adventurous preflop betting -- that is, with more and more three-bets actually occurring before the flop. And with all of the “light” reraising and “clicking back” (i.e., raising/reraising the minimum) becoming popular, that has given even more impetus to people using “three-bet,” “four-bet,” and so on when talking about preflop action.

It is helpful, actually, as a kind of shorthand to say “he five-bet shoved” as a way of quickly explaining how many reraises preceded the all-in bet. Or to distinguish between three-betting and four-betting (and five-betting, etc.) when discussing preflop strategy and putting players on ranges and so forth.

Still, it’s a curious term, and one that continues to have a kind of odd disconnect for me. After all, the “three-bet” is the second action (when speaking of preflop betting). Even though I understand the term, there’s a strangeness to it that I’m also always aware of when I hear or read it.

Talking Ice, Power, and Limit Hold’em

Had a decent-sized ice storm hit us starting before dawn today with the cold temps and freezing precipitation lasting into the early afternoon.

We woke up to no power and as I write here just after dinner time we’re still without, although after successfully cranking up our generator (a must for farm living) we’re enjoying a window of a few hours of power before bedtime. That pic is of two of our barn cats, Lily and Moe, who like Vera and myself figured out how to make do.

With little time to write I just wanted to point folks to Nolan Dalla’s latest piece on his personal blog, one that focuses on limit hold’em and how it was once all the rage in poker rooms prior to the “boom” and now finds itself a threatened game not unlike five-card draw and other rarely spread variants.

Dalla titles his post provocatively -- indeed, pretty much everything he posts on his blog is provocative -- calling it “Mason Malmuth Was Right (Limit vs. No-Limit Hold’em).” The title is referring back to Malmuth’s prediction way back in the early 1990s that no-limit hold’em had little chance of catching on, something he had written in a volume of his Poker Essays.

I actually wrote a little something last summer about this very same passage in Malmuth’s book, coming in a chapter titled “The Future of Poker.” It’s one of those predictions that reads much, much differently from our perspective, of course, and Dalla offers some reasonable justification both for Malmuth’s position back then and for his underlying arguments about no-limit hold’em actually still being valid despite the fact that NLHE has not only lasted but has grown into the single most popular variant of poker played for the last several years.

I can’t delve into the entire discussion just now, but you can read what Dalla has to say and decide for yourself what you think about the points he makes. I will say that as a LHE player myself, I’ve always felt similarly to Dalla that the game is more fun than NLHE, and in fact to me provides a lot more action in the form of constant decisions and the higher percentage of hands played.

I even wrote a kind of defense of LHE for Learn.PokerNews some time back called “Limit Hold’em Isn’t Always Like Watching Paint Dry” in which I made a couple of the same points Dalla does about why LHE is fun, perhaps especially so for beginners and/or recreational players.

Anyhow, follow those links for more Friday evening reading. Meanwhile, I’m going to go try to enjoy a couple more hours’ worth of power here before we shut it down for the night. Might go check on the cats one more time, too, although I’m sure they’re doing fine.

Fourth-and-29

Over the weekend I played a short session of fixed limit hold’em over on Hero Poker. I’m basically down to just a half-hour here and there, still goofing around with the small roll I won in a freeroll a good while back (just after Black Friday, actually).

A lot of times I’ll just jump in a one- or two-dollar SNG to scratch that itch. Or, as I did on Sunday, just play a little bit of cash for quarters. Or nickels and dimes, even.

I’d won a few bucks and was just about to sign off in this session when I was dealt pocket aces and decided to stick for one more hand. Raised and had a couple of callers, with one check-calling my bet after the flop came jack-high. The turn was a king and my opponent led with a bet, and when I raised he just called. The river brought an ace, giving me a set, my opponent check-called my bet, and I won the pot.

He showed his hand after -- K-J. He’d gotten lucky on the turn, making two pair. But I’d gotten even luckier on the river to make the winning hand.

I signed off, then spent the rest of Sunday watching NFL games while sweating my picks. Had one of those “hero picks” again late in the afternoon in which I’d taken San Diego to beat Baltimore. As I was explaining last week, a “hero pick” is one in which I’ve gone against the entire pool and taken a team no one else has (or almost no one), meaning I’m setting myself up for a two-game swing by either gaining a game on everyone or losing a game to the field. (I’d also consider a “hero pick” one which has a reasonable chance of actually winning; i.e., not just picking a hopeless underdog for the sake of going against the grain.)

Last week I was griping about another “hero pick” I’d previously made in which defeat was snatched from the jaws of victory (the Panthers game). Well, if you follow the NFL, you know how San Diego managed to do something very similar yesterday. Up by 10 with five minutes to go, they’d ultimately allow Baltimore to tie the game, giving up a late first down to the Ravens on an incredible fourth-and-29 play in order to make it happen. The Ravens then managed to convert a few more long third downs in OT on their way to kicking a winning field goal.

When that game ended I thought back to the Carolina game as well as to a couple of other instances this year where my “hero picks” had been improbably thwarted by last-second heroics performed by the teams I’d picked against. As in poker, we remember the losses so much more vividly than we do the wins.

The fact is, last year I won the pool after benefiting repeatedly from hitting games thanks to unlikely last-second heroics. It takes a little effort to remember them, but I do recall a couple of late season examples.

There was one early November game in which I’d taken Baltimore to beat Pittsburgh and the Ravens drove 92 yards at the end for a game-winning score to win 23-20. And I took the Giants to beat the Cowboys in that game near season’s end in which New York had not one but two TD drives in the last four minutes to win 37-34 (remember that one?).

In both cases, a lot of the pool had gone the other way with those picks, thus earning me a two-game swing. And in both I’d gotten very lucky -- kind of like that ace on the river -- to come from behind and prevail.

But like I say, it somehow takes extra effort to remember those wins. Meanwhile, the “hero picks” that almost get there but then crazily don’t remain firmly in mind. Ridiculously, I feel like I’ve been cheated out of something I “deserved,” not unlike what happens to some of us after suffering a bad beat in poker.

Serious sports bettors -- like good poker players -- simply have to grow accustomed to that feeling of getting jobbed. I’ve been reading my buddy Dr. Pauly’s new sports betting blog, Ocelot Sports, where it’s obvious that experience of having had a sure win stolen away happens practically every night.

Thankfully I’m not a serious sports bettor, just like I’m essentially a recreational poker player. The stakes aren’t ever that high for me.

Still hurts, though, to watch a team I’m pulling against gain 30 on a must-have fourth-and-29. Talk about a one-outer.

2012 WSOP, Day 24: Easing In

As I mentioned at the end of yesterday’s post, Tuesday was a day of errands and trying to set up shop here at the home-away-from-home. Got some groceries. Unpacked (finally). Settled in.

I did swing by the Rio for a quick visit to say hello to folks and see what was happening. Phil Ivey was busy making another final table. He’s currently seventh in chips among the final nine in Event No. 35, the $2,500 mixed hold’em event.

That’s Ivey’s sixth cash so far this year, and fifth final table. At those other final tables he finished seventh, fifth, third, and second.

A little bit of buzz this morning about Ivey being more “aloof” than usual this year. See, for example, this CardPlayer article on the subject. Also note this interesting post about Ivey and Brian Hastings by Donnie Peters from the coverage yesterday, which Jessie May juxtaposed with the CP piece in a tweet late last night.

Keeping a low profile is tough when making so many deep runs. In fact, Ivey’s success this summer is adding to that impression that he’s not being as involved with the media or even other players as some would like -- after all, it’s seems like he’s been playing on the main stage in the “mothership” at a final table every other night.

I know with Ivey there’s this added sense that he somehow “owes” others something, especially after his declaration last summer that he wasn’t playing in the WSOP because other players had money still tied up on Full Tilt Poker, the site he had represented. (Still the case, of course.)

While I’m one to appreciate players making themselves available and doing what they can to support the game and the community surrounding it, I’ve never thought players should be made to feel as though they “owe” others anything along these lines.

I remember writing something way, way back in 2006 to that effect after Jamie Gold won the WSOP Main Event and everyone wondered whether he’d follow the “ambassador” model set by the most recent champs. “He needn’t feel it necessary to live up to the ‘standard’ established by Moneymaker, Raymer, and Hachem,” I said of Gold. “Nor should his actions over the next year be regarded as any ‘standard’ for future winners to follow.”

It would be different if this were a game (or “sport,” as some would have it) in which the players weren’t themselves providing the prize money. That is to say, it seems reasonable to me that -- for example -- the NBA makes LeBron James, Kevin Durant, and others answer questions from the media following NBA finals games.

But for poker players, that sort of thing should be their own choice. Even the socializing and engaging with other players is optional. Like tipping dealers, the players can decide for themselves how much they want to give.

I did get a chance to play a little poker myself yesterday. Late in the afternoon I wandered over to the MGM where I had ideas I might play the weekly $120 H.O.R.S.E. tournament they have each Tuesday. Kevmath had arrived in Vegas earlier in the day and he and I had talked about playing it, although by the time I went over he was saying he might be late and/or might not make it at all.

I decided to kill time at a 2-4 LHE table while deciding whether or not to stick around for the evening tourney. I walked through the MGM to the spot where the poker room used to be to find the space emptied out. Signs pointing to another room across from the buffet led me around the slot machines and to the room’s current, temporary location. I’d ask later and was told the original space was being renovated, with plans to move back this fall.

The new location was just fine, I thought (that is a picture of it up above). In fact, the new spot was much quieter and more pleasant for playing. Before there had always been this loud cacophony erupting every half-hour near the poker room that I think involved some sort of Coyote Ugly-type dancing on a bar or something. Was never very pleasant given how it made hearing each other or anything else impossible for the few minutes it lasted.

It turned out to be a fun session in which I came away with what amounted to a modest hourly rate for a profit. A few grins per hour, too.

A woman sitting to my left lasted approximately 45 minutes, leaving $50 down and three vodka tonics up. A young Englishman from near Manchester, Ian, took her seat, and over the course of the next couple of hours he and I had enjoyable conversation, made more so by the fact that we were both steadily chipping up.

One other character who’d initially sat on my left then moved to my right introduced himself to me as Doc. He’d moved in order to see the board better, claiming he was half-blind despite pulling out a paperback to read between hands and asking for the Red Sox game on one of the television screens.

Doc definitely had trouble seeing the board, though, as was proven to me early when he lost a hand to me after claiming to be chasing a flush draw that wasn’t there. Another hand developed shortly thereafter between Doc and Bob who sat across from us in which Doc made the same mistake, although that one ended a bit more dramatically.

I’m pretty sure Bob raised and got a few callers who all saw a flop come something like . Bob bet the flop and I believe only Doc called. The turn was the , and when Bob bet this time Doc quickly raised and Bob called. The river was the and Bob decided to lead out once more, with Doc again raising without much hesitation.

Bob called again, and Doc somewhat confusingly called out “all black” before tabling his for a rivered wheel. Bob shook his head and with a wry grin turned over his . He’d flopped top set, but Doc had made runner-runner to make his straight.

As the dealer pushed him the chips, Doc took a closer look at the board and began apologizing -- he’d thought he flopped a club flush draw, then hit it on the turn, which explained his play.

Doc was kind of a character, it turned out, tossing out various one-liners here and there. “My wife calls me a prince among men,” he said. “Only she spells prince with a ‘k’. Might be missing a couple of other letters, too.”

On our end of the table we were calling the bad beat Doc had delivered to Bob “hand of the day” until another arose to challenge it, one which also involved a flopped set getting undermined by a runner-runner comeback.

In that one a player straddled from UTG, and sitting a couple of seats over I looked down at . I made it three bets, a short-stacked elderly gentleman in the cutoff cold-called, the woman in the big blind called, and the straddler called as well.

There were four of us, then, to see the flop come . It checked to me and I bet, and the cutoff and big blind called. The turn was the , I bet again and both called, putting the man in the cutoff seat all in. The river brought a fourth heart, the , and when my lone remaining opponent checked to me I ventured one more bet which she called.

The woman in the big blind turned over her hole cards, one of which was the . I showed my king-high flush to beat hers. Then the all-in player in the cutoff turned over his -- !

Was something like a $60 pot in the end, a little bit of which I did get back thanks to the fact that the winner had run out of chips on the turn. Afterwards I thought to myself how if I’d won the hand I’d have been approaching the buy-in for the $120 tourney (no shinola), not something I necessarily had anticipated being able to pull off at a 2-4 table. Also thought how on a hand with a straddle -- actually the only time anyone had done so the entire session -- pocket kings and pocket aces had been dealt.

I ended up bailing, another exchange of messages with Kevmath making it seem like he wasn’t going to make it. He did, ultimately, as did a few others I knew, which made me later wish I’d stuck around. But in truth I was feeling a little fatigued and had some other work to take care of. Besides, I liked leaving the poker room with more cabbage than I’d had when I entered.

Today it appears I’ll head back to the Rio, probably joining with the PokerNews coverage for a couple of hours before I start in earnest tomorrow with a full shift. You know, starting slow. Easing in.

Live Poker: Caesars Atlantic City, Atlantic City, NJ

Mentioned yesterday I managed to play some at Caesars Atlantic City before leaving. Since the WSOP-C Main Event final table ended early, I was able to sneak in some hands of low LHE before grabbing a late dinner and hitting the sack. Hadn’t planned to play at all, but figured I might as well, if only to say I’d done so.

And today, of all days, I just had to write about playing at Caesars, right? Beware the Ides of March! And/or playing low limit hold’em.

Was only there about an hour-and-a-half, I think. I emerged from the game relatively unscathed -- almost exactly even, in fact -- despite only hitting a few hands. Was your typical no-fold’em hold’em game in most respects, although there was one aspect that made it marginally more intriguing for your humble gumshoe.

I was in the seat to the immediate right of the dealer. During the short time I was there, the game constantly fluctuated between as few as six and as many as 10 players. Soon after sitting down I realized the fellow to my left was doing a lot of talking, including cursing, both to himself and to others at the table. And, as it soon became apparent, a lot of drinking, too, as he seemed to order something -- usually Heinekens, sometimes liquor -- at least once per orbit. He was playing round for round, you might say.

He was also playing very aggressively, rarely limping (the typical play at the table, natch), almost always betting when checked to after flop, three-betting and check-raising, and so forth. And he would fold now and then, too, thus giving an initial impression that there was some method involved. He won a few pots, too, during that first stretch, furthering that notion that perhaps he wasn’t as out of his mind as he seemed.

Soon, though, he’d lost whatever he’d won and was rebuying. Again. And again. No, the guy wasn’t good. He was blotto. And playing like it was lotto.

He kept rebuying for $20 at a time, ending up all in by the turn on most hands in which he got involved, then usually rebuying again for the next hand, which slowed the game a bit. In fact, one dealer even allowed him to play cash during hands -- i.e., to rebuy even after running out of chips before a hand had completed -- which also complicated things not insignificantly. (This obviously shouldn’t have been allowed, and the next dealer put an end to that applesauce right away.)

Adding to the madness, he kept trying to toss out the two Bally’s chips he had in his possession, mixing them in with his bets, with the dealers having to sift those out and return them to him. He was also becoming increasingly belligerent, even upsetting a couple of players with his actions and language. One actually left muttering something about being on tilt, although I think his mood was soured as much by his having lost a lot as by the inebriated antics of our tablemate.

Perhaps on another day I’d have been upset, too, but I found myself feeling very stoic about everything. Maybe I was just too tired to get worked up, having averaged only 3-4 hours of sleep the previous couple of nights. But it was as though I were a detached observer gathering from the experience various details about human behavior, like some sort of anthropologist or something. And despite (or maybe because of) our close proximity, the dude hadn’t specifically directed any of his vitriol toward me.

So I didn’t leave. Then I realized something else that was making the situation more interesting -- that was perhaps even a reason to stay longer.

I could see every single hand my drunken neighbor was playing.

Anyone whose played live enough has experienced something similar, I imagine. When first dealt his hand, he’d hold up his cards in front of him in such a way that I had to make a conscious effort not to see them. In fact, he’d usually utter some sort of judgment on the quality of the cards, too, letting me know not only what he held, but how he liked (or disliked) his hand as well. Then on each subsequent street he’d flash them again, again making it very hard for me not to catch a glimpse.

It crossed my mind that I now enjoyed what could well be a significant advantage in the game. Ultimately, though, I never utilized it. I could claim some personal sense of integrity prevented me from doing so, but that wouldn’t be entirely honest. More accurate to say no circumstance arose in which the added info mattered. Might’ve been deterred also by a vision of the drunk suddenly catching me seeing his hand and responding with a barrage of profanity. Or bottles.

Like I say, though, it did make the whole scene more interesting than it might have been otherwise, such as in one hand in which I’d joined a family pot from late position with 8-7-suited, then saw a flop come Q-A-8 rainbow. There’d been a bet and a raise before my action, so I let my bottom pair go. The turn was a five and again someone in early position bet, a couple called, and when the drunk raised everyone stayed in.

The river brought another eight, making the board Q-A-8-5-8. I knew it to be the case eight. Why? Because I’d folded one. And my neighbor -- with K-8 -- had the other. He took the big pot, much to the dismay of the young woman who’d come in second with ace-queen, though he donated it back soon enough.

I left the game shortly thereafter, thinking randomly about how strange a species we are, wondering why we do the things we do. And no, I wasn’t really focusing on the drunk. I was thinking about myself.

A Metaphysical Check Up

Just now happened to recall that I scheduled a physical for this afternoon. Have a little reminder card by the monitor here that was supposed to guarantee I wouldn’t forget, but it very nearly slipped my mind. I set up the visit a week ago, and when I told Vera she complimented me for having done so.

“You’re growing up,” she cheekily added.

I guess it wouldn’t have seemed so mature to have forgotten the appointment, so I’m glad I’m remembering it now. Could well be I blocked it out somehow, subconsciously not wanting to endure the close inspection of my current status.

In a recent post titled “Mental Mazes,” the one physician whom we actually look forward to visiting -- Dr. Pauly -- offers some thoughtful ideas with regard to this business of self-assessment. The post starts with a discussion of Tiger Woods, moves on to a short catalogue of character types most of us tend to exhibit (at the poker table and elsewhere), and ends with a breakdown of breakdowns in which the Doc classifies a few different kinds of tilt.

All good stuff, though I especially like the middle section in which he talks about the “five or six versions of ourselves” we present to others as we make our way through our jobs, our relationships, our poker games, and elsewhere. Pauly explores in particular how we present ourselves as various types at the tables, including the “nebbish goober,” the “reckless gambler,” the “confident warrior,” or the “fraidy cat.”

As Pauly’s descriptions of the types suggest, when it comes to presenting one of these “versions of ourselves” at the poker table, our selection usually isn’t wholly self-guided. Usually we’re reacting to how the game is going, and a rush of cards or a sour sequence often dictates which type we become. In fact, I’d go so far as to suggest that it sometimes takes just a single hand to produce such a change in character.

For example, yesterday I was cruising along in what had been a nice, comfortable session of six-handed limit hold’em in which I was mostly “confident warrior,” taking the initiative, forcing folds, and making hands frequently enough to reinforce my feeling of having an edge.

Then came a funny hand in which a player who had distinguished himself to me as a “reckless gambler” raised from UTG. I three-bet with from the cutoff, and it folded back around to my opponent who capped it. I called, of course, and together we saw a flop of .

He bet, I raised, and he reraised. Unsure about my top pair but having seen him get out of line before, I capped it and he called. The on the turn brought another bet from him, and feeling less well about the whole situation I just called. The river was the . Once I again I called his bet, and he showed for a rivered two pair and took the pot.

Somewhere in the middle of that hand I had clearly changed from “confident warrior” to “nebbish goober,” a transformation that became more evident over the next few orbits as suddenly I became more passive and self-doubting. Might have even let myself be temporarily affected by that “why-me-how-unfair-I’m-a-victim” applesauce that we all sometimes feel after an unfortunate river card takes a hand from us.

As Dr. P. also suggests, this stuff happens away from the poker tables, too. And there, also, we often let outside forces -- i.e., that which we cannot control -- dictate which of the “versions of ourselves” we become.

Hopefully we figure out how to manage those changes and get along well enough, a process that involves being willing to look at ourselves more closely, to see and accept the flaws, and to do what is necessary to be the best self we can be. Or at least a version with which we can be comfortable.

And then, if you’re lucky enough, someone may point out to you that you’re growing up.

Tournaments, Where Your Business is My Business (And Vice-Versa)

Was playing on PokerStars yesterday and after sitting at the cash tables for a short while decided to jump into a small SCOOP (Spring Championship of Online Poker) satellite -- just a $5.00+$0.50 limit hold’em tourney that awarded tickets to a “low” level (i.e., $22) event. Sometime last year I’d won an FPP sit-n-go and had exactly $5.50 worth of $T in my account, and so used that to enter.

LHE tourneys aren’t too popular -- only 17 registered for this satellite, meaning just three tickets would be punched, with the next three finishers getting $5.50 back and $2.50 going to the player ending in seventh.

I played okay, I guess. I mismanaged a couple of hands along the way -- and got very lucky once (Q-Q vs. A-A and flopping a queen), saving my tourney life. Eventually made it to the final table, then the cash, and then, ultimately, landed a ticket (to Event No. 18-L).

I don’t play tourneys often. Indeed, when first starting out the tourney yesterday I screwed up a hand early on, then realized I’d played it as if it were a cash game, thereby causing my mistake. Got acclimated quickly, though, and by the time we reached the final table was more comfortable with my decisions. Was feeling better about judging the relative abilities of my opponents when it came to decision-making, too.

With six players left, there was one player in particular -- I’ll call him Butterfingers -- who had accumulated some chips but who had made several missteps. For instance, there was a player on his left sitting out who had nearly run out of chips, and one time the table folded around to him in the small blind and he instantly folded to the absent player. I was getting low at the time, and so was slightly bothered he’d given the player sitting out another round of hands while we were on the (tiny) cash bubble.

Got me thinking a little about how in tournaments -- a “zero sum” game where there are finite number of chips for which all are fighting equally -- other players’ mistakes can affect you as much as your own. This fact became even more glaringly obvious a little later when we were down to four players and I watched this same player play a hand not-too-cleverly against an opponent in a way that looked like it might sink my chances at landing a ticket.

Blinds were 250/500, stakes 500/1,000. The chip leader had 9,885, Butterfingers had 7,905, I had 4,045, and the fourth player -- I’ll call him Snickers -- had 3,665. The hand began with Butterfingers limping in for 500 from UTG/cutoff. I folded my on the button, and the chip leader completed from the small blind. Snickers then raised to 1,000, Butterfingers called, and the chip leader folded.

The flop looked like it might evoke some action, coming . Snickers checked, Butterfingers quickly bet (500), and Snickers made the call. The rapidity of Butterfingers’ bet -- coupled with the fact that he tended to play very straightforwardly (betting with something, calling/folding without) -- made me think the tourney could be ending on this hand.

The turn was the , and again Snickers check-called Butterfingers’ bet (1,000). The river brought the , pairing the board. Snickers, who now had just 1,165 left, thought a moment before checking. Butterfingers also paused before acting. It occurred to me he could perhaps have K-Q and was worried he’d been counterfeited here when the second eight arrived. Finally, he checked.

Snickers surprised me a little by showing . Butterfingers surprised me even more with his hand -- .

Now I was in fourth, Butterfingers in third, and Snickers had new life, climbing with that one all of the way to second. The break came right after that hand, giving me time to think about how Snickers might well have folded to save his small stack had Butterfingers again bet the river. In any event, all eventually worked out, and in fact Butterfingers would ultimately be the one to eliminate Snickers a couple dozen hands later.

As I say, it is interesting to consider how in tourneys others’ play can so directly affect your own fortunes or misfortunes. Happens in cash games, too, of course, though not in quite the same way.

When two of my opponents square off against one another in a cash game and one donks off a bunch of chips to the other, their new stack sizes may potentially affect me in a future hand (esp. in NL or PL games). But in a tourney, where we are all playing with the same, finite number of chips, every hand could be said to affect everybody in some way. Worth thinking about when talking about the variance of tourneys (and the skill and/or luck needed to succeed in them), and comparing such elements to cash games.

Got over a month before SCOOP happens. Probably try to play some more tourneys. I think I will stick to LHE, and probably need to start thinking more specifically about LHE tourney strategy. Any tips?