Over the last 15 years I have read scores of articles and books on how to
win in poker tournaments. They cover all aspects of playing, and I have
even written a few columns broaching the subject. But, I keep waiting to
read something on a subject I have never seen covered: how to deal
with the frustration that one experiences in poker tournaments.
I know there are trials and tribulations in all walks of life and occupations,
more in some than in others, but I don’t think there is any more
frustrating way of life than that of a tournament poker player. Playing
side-action poker is bad enough, but in my opinion it doesn’t even come
remotely close to what playing on the poker tournament “circuit” does to
a player.
Now, if you’re a tournament player and the frustration of tournament play
doesn’t bother you to any great extent, you can quit reading right now.
You have no problem; you’re one of the lucky ones. I have to admit that I
do not fall into that fortunate category.
Let me clarify a few points before I go on. First of all, I am not talking
about the kind of frustration that you might experience when you play
badly and get knocked out of a tournament as a result. If you play badly
and get upset and frustrated, the answer to relieving that kind of pain is
simple: Go to a big mirror, look into it, and say, “You played like a jerk.
You got what you deserve. Next time, don’t play badly.”
Second, I don’t mean to suggest that most of the tournaments we play in
will lead to the kind of frustration I am referring to. My guess is that this
frustration may occur only five or six times a year (hopefully).
Finally, let me make one thing perfectly clear: As bad as you may feel
after someone hits a two-outer on you for tens of thousands of dollars,
and consequently eliminates you from a tournament, this should in no
way translate to justification for rude or bad behavior.
So, assuming that I’ve played my best and maintained a gentlemanly
demeanor, why, I ask myself, should there be those five or six times a
year that I feel so horrible when I get knocked out of a tournament. I don’
t mean a little upset or irritated, I mean honestly wishing I were dead (or
worse). I feel as low as any human being can feel. I feel like God, Karma,
and every other influential force is against me. I feel serious pain. Once
again, if you play in tournaments and this doesn’t sound familiar to you,
you should stop reading right now.
The most interesting part of all of this is that I have won a lot of money in
poker tournaments, and overall, I believe I am one of the luckiest
individuals in the world. I have all a man could want, including a
wonderful family, good health (as far as I know), many good friends,
financial security, and even a little bit of notoriety.
But having said all of that, I don’t think there is anything that is going to
make it easy for me when I see all of my effort and skill over many hours
of play in a poker tournament go to waste in a few untimely seconds.
As funny as it may sound, I know many players, including myself, who
that have turned to food to help relieve the pain. Laugh if you will, but if
you like food, finding a good pizza joint or the nearest Baskin Robbins
does help. Unfortunately, this is a quick fix, and obviously unproductive,
since two hours later you feel worse because you’ve put on some
unwanted and unhealthy pounds.
I came up with an idea a few months ago that I thought would help me
put these periods of feeling helpless, alone, and rejected into
perspective. It was something that could make me realize that as badly
as I felt at the moment, there were others in the poker world who had at
one time experienced feelings much worse than mine.
I decided to try a little experiment the next time I got really down and out
after being knocked out of a tournament. I would go to my room or
someplace quiet where I would be completely alone, and think back to
cases in poker history in which a poker player would have had the right
to be even more frustrated than I was at the time. There were two cases
that quickly came to mind that seemed perfect for my experiment.
The first occurred in 1990, when Tuna Lund had the World Series of Poker
title in his hands. He had one card to go. Mansour Matloubi had only two
outs left in the deck, and bingo, off popped one of those two outs. Only a
few know how much winning that title meant to Tuna. He was no less
than obsessed with winning the “big one.” That is all he ate, slept, and
thought about.
The second case was a few years ago when T.J. Cloutier and Chris
Ferguson played a pot that virtually decided the World Series
championship. All the money was in the pot when T.J. showed A-Q. Chris
turned over A-9. It appeared that T.J., who had come so close before and
is generally considered to be one of the best in the business, would
finally get his due. But, fate said, “Sorry, T.J.,” and off came a 9.
Gladly, I can report that my little experiment has helped me. It seems
that within a few minutes of reflecting on what others have gone through
in tournaments, like Tuna and T.J., I am more able to put my own
problems into proper perspective. I can at least look at what has
happened to me a little more honestly and objectively, and know that as
bad as I feel because my shoes have holes in them, maybe in truth I am
lucky, because there are others who have no shoes at all.
For what it’s worth …
win in poker tournaments. They cover all aspects of playing, and I have
even written a few columns broaching the subject. But, I keep waiting to
read something on a subject I have never seen covered: how to deal
with the frustration that one experiences in poker tournaments.
I know there are trials and tribulations in all walks of life and occupations,
more in some than in others, but I don’t think there is any more
frustrating way of life than that of a tournament poker player. Playing
side-action poker is bad enough, but in my opinion it doesn’t even come
remotely close to what playing on the poker tournament “circuit” does to
a player.
Now, if you’re a tournament player and the frustration of tournament play
doesn’t bother you to any great extent, you can quit reading right now.
You have no problem; you’re one of the lucky ones. I have to admit that I
do not fall into that fortunate category.
Let me clarify a few points before I go on. First of all, I am not talking
about the kind of frustration that you might experience when you play
badly and get knocked out of a tournament as a result. If you play badly
and get upset and frustrated, the answer to relieving that kind of pain is
simple: Go to a big mirror, look into it, and say, “You played like a jerk.
You got what you deserve. Next time, don’t play badly.”
Second, I don’t mean to suggest that most of the tournaments we play in
will lead to the kind of frustration I am referring to. My guess is that this
frustration may occur only five or six times a year (hopefully).
Finally, let me make one thing perfectly clear: As bad as you may feel
after someone hits a two-outer on you for tens of thousands of dollars,
and consequently eliminates you from a tournament, this should in no
way translate to justification for rude or bad behavior.
So, assuming that I’ve played my best and maintained a gentlemanly
demeanor, why, I ask myself, should there be those five or six times a
year that I feel so horrible when I get knocked out of a tournament. I don’
t mean a little upset or irritated, I mean honestly wishing I were dead (or
worse). I feel as low as any human being can feel. I feel like God, Karma,
and every other influential force is against me. I feel serious pain. Once
again, if you play in tournaments and this doesn’t sound familiar to you,
you should stop reading right now.
The most interesting part of all of this is that I have won a lot of money in
poker tournaments, and overall, I believe I am one of the luckiest
individuals in the world. I have all a man could want, including a
wonderful family, good health (as far as I know), many good friends,
financial security, and even a little bit of notoriety.
But having said all of that, I don’t think there is anything that is going to
make it easy for me when I see all of my effort and skill over many hours
of play in a poker tournament go to waste in a few untimely seconds.
As funny as it may sound, I know many players, including myself, who
that have turned to food to help relieve the pain. Laugh if you will, but if
you like food, finding a good pizza joint or the nearest Baskin Robbins
does help. Unfortunately, this is a quick fix, and obviously unproductive,
since two hours later you feel worse because you’ve put on some
unwanted and unhealthy pounds.
I came up with an idea a few months ago that I thought would help me
put these periods of feeling helpless, alone, and rejected into
perspective. It was something that could make me realize that as badly
as I felt at the moment, there were others in the poker world who had at
one time experienced feelings much worse than mine.
I decided to try a little experiment the next time I got really down and out
after being knocked out of a tournament. I would go to my room or
someplace quiet where I would be completely alone, and think back to
cases in poker history in which a poker player would have had the right
to be even more frustrated than I was at the time. There were two cases
that quickly came to mind that seemed perfect for my experiment.
The first occurred in 1990, when Tuna Lund had the World Series of Poker
title in his hands. He had one card to go. Mansour Matloubi had only two
outs left in the deck, and bingo, off popped one of those two outs. Only a
few know how much winning that title meant to Tuna. He was no less
than obsessed with winning the “big one.” That is all he ate, slept, and
thought about.
The second case was a few years ago when T.J. Cloutier and Chris
Ferguson played a pot that virtually decided the World Series
championship. All the money was in the pot when T.J. showed A-Q. Chris
turned over A-9. It appeared that T.J., who had come so close before and
is generally considered to be one of the best in the business, would
finally get his due. But, fate said, “Sorry, T.J.,” and off came a 9.
Gladly, I can report that my little experiment has helped me. It seems
that within a few minutes of reflecting on what others have gone through
in tournaments, like Tuna and T.J., I am more able to put my own
problems into proper perspective. I can at least look at what has
happened to me a little more honestly and objectively, and know that as
bad as I feel because my shoes have holes in them, maybe in truth I am
lucky, because there are others who have no shoes at all.
For what it’s worth …
How to Deal
By Vince Burgio
By Vince Burgio
