Mean Gene
Mean Gene
Pittsburgh's most decorated poker blogger, which I admit is like being the best shortstop in Greenland



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My Articles

Presto, the Arlo, & the Hammer
An Online Code of Conduct
The Ethics of Ratholing
"Moneymaker"
"The Professor, the Banker..."
"Ace on the River"

My Columns

Lose the Shades
If You Can't Say Something Nice
Whither the Kicker
The Lady is a Champ?
Covering the WSOP (or not)
Statistics, Luck, and Poker
Poker and New Orleans
Managing a Bankroll
How To Tell A Bad Beat Story
Telling Lies
The Power of Poker Tracker
Advanced Card-Handling

My Greatest Hits

5 Things To Do Before I Die
Cafeteria Nostalgia
Mean Gene's Dubious Dating Tips
Poker and Business?
There's No Such Thing As Luck?
Isabelle, Je t'adore
No Shirt No Shoes No Service
Well, The Food Was Good
Good Morning, Mr. Matusow!
The Weekend of our Discontent, I
The Weekend of our Discontent, II
Books That Left Their Mark
Ode to a Fish Sandwich
Bill Simmons Ain't the Poker Guy
The Sports Guy Still Ain't the Poker Guy
Again, The Media Tackles Poker
Five Years After 9/11
Hitting Pretty Girls in the Face
Sixth-Graders Suck

Fellow Poker Bloggers

Guinness and Poker
Cards Speak
Tao of Poker
Up for Poker
Boy Genius
Chris Halverson
LasVegasVegas
Anisotropy
Felicia
AlCan'tHang
EvaCanHang
Poker Grub
Maudie
StudioGlyphic
PokErrata
The Fat Guy
Todd Commish
Drizztdj
SirFWALGMan
Poker Works
Bill Rini
Bad Blood
Love and Casino War
Double As
Lion Tales
Paul Phillips
Daniel Negreanu
Ftrain
Poker Nerd
Poker Nation
Ammbo
Poker in Arrears
DonkeyPuncher
Human Head
Sound of a Suckout
Chicks With Chips
TP's Table Talk
Royal Poker
This is Not A Poker Blog
Dragonystic
Daddy
Chick and a Chair
Mourn
Go Be Rude
JoeSpeaker
Poker Cheapskate
Meek
Mr.Parx
Change100
PokerWolf
Haley
Falstaff
Gydyon
Franklstein
Poker & Other Stuff
Seven Two
Musical Poker
Kipper
WPBT Online
Isabelle Mercier
Cardschat Blog
Amy Calistri
BJ Nemeth
Annie's Blog

Poker Sites

Cardschat Poker Forum
PokerMagazine
Barstool Sports
Card Player
PokerTV
TwoPlusTwo
Internet Texas Hold-Em
Poker Pages
Poker-News

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    Wednesday, December 28, 2005

    Jinx, Antijinx

    After bragging about how good I've been running I forgot to antijinx myself. You sports fans know what I'm talking about. The Steelers are playing the Colts and I say, "Jeff Brown hasn't missed inside of 40 yards this year" and he immediately duck-hooks one wide right. That's the jinx. You can guard against the jinx by, naturally, using the antijinx. You say, "Jeff Brown hasn't missed inside of 40 yards this year...so you KNOW he's gonna miss this one." By speaking aloud what your jinx would bring about, you have negated the jinx. Universal karma is brought back into balance, and the kick safely sails through the uprights.

    Through the uprights is where the Poker Gods kicked me tonight. I just got creamed. I got rivered like you wouldn't believe, and we Pittsburghers know all about rivers. I got outdrawn. I got outflopped. When I did hit a big hand, I got no action. And then I made matters worse by blasting away at sheep too dull to fold to bluffs. When all was said and done I'd given back nearly all the profit I'd made the last 3 winning sessions.

    But I have to say, the night wasn't a total loss. I was able to identify things I was doing wrong and correct them. Had I not gotten killed the last two hands I played my disaster night would have merely been a fiasco. But when A-K gets chased down by A-8, and your queen-high flopped flush gets beat by a king-high when a fourth spade falls, you just gotta shrug and rap the table. You got beat. Well, you didn't get beat. I got beat. Like a dog.

    I was at a table and this guy was killing me. He beat me like 10 hands in a row. I couldn't lay a glove on the bastard. So I got up, waited patiently, and took the seat to his immediate left. Once I got position on him revenge was mine. I felt pretty good at that point, my 25BB loss was down to a manageable ten, and then the wheels feel off. I'll look the hand histories over later, but I think at the end I was tilted and playing pretty bad. I limped too much and bluffed at terrible players.

    And that's what's so frustrating--the people I was sitting with were TERRIBLE. Calling three bets with 10-3 is NOT to be found in David Sklansky's books. I think that's why I stuck around so long, I felt sure that EVENTUALLY I'd hit a few flops and crack 'em. Didn't happen.

    Oh well. A healthy slice of humble pie is perhaps just what the doctor ordered. I'm playing better, but that just means I'm playing less horrible than I was before. No, I take that back. I'm not horrible. I'm perfectly adequate. But I want to get better, and tonight proved that, alas, I still have lots of room for improvement. Lots and lots and lots and lots.

    The bankroll is robust enough to handle this little hiccup. The mind is ready and willing to accept instruction. The heart still beats, the junk is sore yet fears not the steel-toed boots of Lady Luck. Now I'm gonna do what I usually do this late at night, go cry myself to sleep.



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