Voy Por Ustedes

Things didn't go according to plan this evening. The tournament ended for me before it really got started. To cut a short story even shorter, Matt in a rather unsporting manoeuver held a legitimate hand and I ran straight into it as fast as I could, sort of like this:

The second major error I made this evening was sitting down at the cash table. The third error was sitting to the right of big Rich. Mountaineers have their Everest, the Fox has Rich, the Pot Limit Omaha manifestation of Chomolungma.

It's an unforgiving ascent even coming in from the west, but from the east, well I barely made base camp. Even with a gang of Sherpa's and supplementary oxygen I doubt if I would have faired any better.

I'm not entirely sure I did anything drastically wrong, it's just that the strategies and tactics that were unleashed on me in this game didn't appear to bare any resemblance to those detailed in the Omaha books I've read and games I've seen on the telly.

From what I can make out, the optimum strategy appears to be raise the fuck out of every single pot until your opponent wets himself; essentially a process of poker dialysis and a strategy that takes an awful lot of money to combat. Ironically the kind of money I can only raise by Ebaying a kidney, which would mean I'd wet myself even more. A cruel and foul smelling catch 22 I think you'll agree.


Speaking of not faring so well. I came across a couple of pictures of Tony at the Paddy Power Irish Open last week. Initially looking rather pleased with himself..