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.