28 November 2010

My little pony

So unfortunately the plan to conquer Europe yesterday did not come to fruition. Everything's a bit hazy as I think someone must have spiked my lager and Baileys, but I think from the moment I sat down in the wrong seat in the main event, it was always going to be a confused and unsuccessful campaign.

I was in great spirits at the beginning of it all. Arsenal had just dished out a thrashing to Aston Villa and it may have been the tears of joy welling up in my eyes that blurred my vision to an extent that I couldn't read the seat assignment list properly and was then able to mistake Table 17 seat 8 for Table 17 seat 5.

Bizarrely seat 5 was open, so I was unable to identify my error until earlier today when I happened across the seating list on the APAT website. This seat was open because the chap who was meant to be sat their had also sat himself in the wrong seat!

While completely oblivious to this clandestine musical chairs of sorts, my mind was distracted by the comings and goings of the "Pro League" game running simultaneously to the main event. More goings than comings in fact as there were only 6 runners registered as kick-off approached!

I was going to play this game as it still has the added value of a GUKPT seat regardless of the number of runners, but was unable to unregister from the Main Event. So a cunning plan was quickly developed in my thinking head. It was at this point the main deviation from the original grand plan for the weekend occurred.

I contrived to lose half my stack in the first hand I played with a poorly timed bluff. It was 3:05pm, registration for the Pro game closed at 4:20pm Greenwich mean time. The plan was clear, get busy build a stack or go bust. I went bust.

I removed myself from the seat I should never of been sat in in the first place and walked with haste to the proper poker room on the other side of the casino, stopping on the way by the roulette tables for a rest as I was wearing heavy boots and this made me quickly knackered.

Some moments later I had released £250 of your Earth monies from my pocket and was sat down at the Pro League game (pot limit hold 'em this time) and was soon losing chips to what I think was a Turkish man.

I enjoyed this game however and found myself wishing I had played the whole season as Pot Limit Hold 'em is an under-rated discipline in my opinion. When you don't have the all-in shove weapon in your Arsenal you actually have to play poker. This is good stuff if you're playing people who aren't as good as you, but not quite so good if you're the value at the table.

I was the value at the table, but nonetheless if the series survives into season 5 this will be my priority, also because it's a one day event and the two day games are too darn tiring for these old bones these days.

I exited in fairly unspectacular fashion and found myself at the bar soon after. Things became very hazy at this point and I suspect it was around this time that some one began spiking my lager and Baileys.

As I approached the cash tables it was clear I was trollied. What on Earth do they put in their Baileys I asked myself. I definitely tasted a hint of whisky so it was probably that. I exchanged a further £200 of your earth monies and some time later after I'd distributed my chips amongst all and sundry I sat down somewhere and then suddenly Alan was turning into my street and I was home! It was like magic. I was in Coventry, then I was home. Smashing!

At this point though I was in great pain. Whatever people were putting in my lager and Baileys had given me a wicked headache and sapped my strength. In fact it was all I could do to throw off my clothes and launch the contents of my pockets over a wide area in my living room and bedroom before collapsing in bed, still though some how with one boot on.

I will analysis the weekend in great detail when my eye sight fully returns, but to sum up it was simply a case of best laid plans etc etc. It will be important for me to highlight my strengths and weaknesses however if APAT Season 5 is to be anything other than a series of hazy recollections of £500 weekends, ill-timed bluffs and heavy footwear.

What am I doing right? What am I doing badly? Am I too aggressive? Is my bet sizing usually correct for the situation? Was that woman really appalled when I showed her my elephant impression? I think she was already crying when I rolled up on the scene.

All these questions and more will be answered in the coming weeks. In the meantime some soup.

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