Last year, I was experiencing a poker slump when I read a Norman Mailer line in which he describes a type of conservative as “people who went to their piano lessons when they were kids”.
Most poker players are the other type of conservative, people who watched wealthier kids go to their piano lessons and craved the lifestyle.
Although I have no wish for my politics to foxtrot two-steps to the right, the slump made me question my philosophies. I was a piano dodger and didn’t covet the trimmings but I was aware that had I planted my arse on the bench I wouldn’t currently be finding myself in the land of bankroll management, implied odds and explicit sods.
It was time to look for guidance and turn the page.
As helpful as the manuals are, sometimes the best philosophy is found in a biography from somebody whose self-reliance and independence would be assets at the poker table.
The trick is to feel a bond.
I have always admired John McEnroe for the originality of his tennis and his wit in the commentary box. He also gives the impression he was thrashing a six string when he should have been learning his 8th note straddles.
I was particularly pleased when I opened his autobiography “Serious” on a random page and read the observation “effortlessness takes work”.
Brilliant, I thought, being someone who, in my twenties, once received a birthday card from my parents, depicting on its front a cartoon image of an inexplicably content man, feet up, hands behind head, bubbling “take it easy”.
Mac knows.
My perception of a bond grew when I read about his difficulties maintaining focus. From one extreme of foregoing his honeymoon with Tatum O Neal to attend the Volvo Open Tournament at Stratton Mountain, Vermont – “Quick, quick, quick, let’s get married because I love you and I want you to know I’m committed but now I have got to play tennis" – to the other of sabotaging his tennis - “I suddenly found myself with hours and hours to kill in hotel rooms all over the world, it occurred to me that I should actually try taking up the guitar.”
My prowess at poker in no way corresponds with McEnroe’s tennis skills. My card reading ability would have me sweating to qualify for the poker equivalent of the Volvo Open Tournament, an event that probably takes place somewhere like Vilnius in January and is a handy way of boosting the flow of US dollars into the economy
However, I would suggest I share John’s tendency to become bored with the metronomic existence that is necessary, in most cases, to be an expert in any chosen field.
In 2004 my poker career was particularly pleasing and I decided I could cut back my hours, smell the roses and generally become the image on the birthday card. My desire had gone.
This is how Mac puts it – “Once you have lost it, everything spirals out of control and it is difficult to find your way back. The process is gradual rather than sudden and the whole way down you keep telling yourself that things are going to change. Little by little however, the bad days at the office start to outnumber the good ones and the pain begins to replace the pleasure you once took in your profession.”
By his own admission, he never got it back. I was becoming fearful for my poker career until I read his descriptions of two tennis exhibitions.
In 1985 he describes an event called Tennis Over America, in which he played six one night exhibitions: “the first night we had fourteen thousand out to watch us play, the crowd was packed with Swedes. I threw Byorn a bone that night”
By contrast, in 1994, he is a commentator at the US Open when unseeded Andre Aggassi beats Michael Stich in the final.
“One week later I beat Agassi in an exhibition – Andre was probably a little tired but so what?”
Selective appraisals are useless at the poker table – if I am to curse when I am unlucky to lose a hand, I also have to accept the times when I am lucky, I have been outplayed and still win. In poker, sometimes, the loser best records history. I began to gain hope I could recover from my slump but I still craved further insight.
It came from John’s attitude towards the Davis Cup team.
He admits he always found it harder to raise his game for his solo performances but never had a problem motivating himself to play for the team.
I put the book down.
I suddenly comprehended why I believe the best book for poker players is “The Hustler” by Walter Tevis.
It contains character, self-reliance and lessons of composure. It is an invaluable read for anyone craving success at the poker table.
It also depicts a lone wolf, someone who profits from the gullibility of others, who is forced to lead a nomadic existence and has no ties to society.
Playing poker, unless you reach celebrity status and thus rationalise, through TV performances and tournament success, that you provide entertainment, contributes nothing to society.
One’s income largely depends on the sweat of others and at times even the most independent of personalities feels his lack of contribution. His reliance on a nation’s citizens being economically productive, is alienating, indefensible and an indicator of an aggrieved personality.
World-class tennis provides entertainment for millions, it generates hope, awe and inspiration. Poker can create destitution.
It is not a team sport but there has been a recent spate of TV tournaments trying to foster a sense of patriotism by pitting players against those of other nations. It does not work, largely because of the type of personalities involved, the unsuitability of the game to knockout team matches and the difficulty convincing spectators that self-interested players are warriors worthy of a nation’s pride.
Should England win an international poker tournament we won’t see Rajesh Modha, Victoria Coren and Devilfish in Trafalgar Square, enjoying a traffic cancelling reception from their open top bus. Their poker playing does not contribute to a greater good.
Nor does mine.
I realised why the Norman Mailer comment had registered – my method of income clashes with my values as it is not derived from a societal contribution.
Somewhere in the mishmash of pool, poker, piano and tennis, I discovered the awareness to play out of the slump.
Although I have no wish for my politics to foxtrot two-steps to the right, the slump made me question my philosophies. I was a piano dodger and didn’t covet the trimmings but I was aware that had I planted my arse on the bench I wouldn’t currently be finding myself in the land of bankroll management, implied odds and explicit sods.
It was time to look for guidance and turn the page.
As helpful as the manuals are, sometimes the best philosophy is found in a biography from somebody whose self-reliance and independence would be assets at the poker table.
The trick is to feel a bond.
I have always admired John McEnroe for the originality of his tennis and his wit in the commentary box. He also gives the impression he was thrashing a six string when he should have been learning his 8th note straddles.
I was particularly pleased when I opened his autobiography “Serious” on a random page and read the observation “effortlessness takes work”.
Brilliant, I thought, being someone who, in my twenties, once received a birthday card from my parents, depicting on its front a cartoon image of an inexplicably content man, feet up, hands behind head, bubbling “take it easy”.
Mac knows.
My perception of a bond grew when I read about his difficulties maintaining focus. From one extreme of foregoing his honeymoon with Tatum O Neal to attend the Volvo Open Tournament at Stratton Mountain, Vermont – “Quick, quick, quick, let’s get married because I love you and I want you to know I’m committed but now I have got to play tennis" – to the other of sabotaging his tennis - “I suddenly found myself with hours and hours to kill in hotel rooms all over the world, it occurred to me that I should actually try taking up the guitar.”
My prowess at poker in no way corresponds with McEnroe’s tennis skills. My card reading ability would have me sweating to qualify for the poker equivalent of the Volvo Open Tournament, an event that probably takes place somewhere like Vilnius in January and is a handy way of boosting the flow of US dollars into the economy
However, I would suggest I share John’s tendency to become bored with the metronomic existence that is necessary, in most cases, to be an expert in any chosen field.
In 2004 my poker career was particularly pleasing and I decided I could cut back my hours, smell the roses and generally become the image on the birthday card. My desire had gone.
This is how Mac puts it – “Once you have lost it, everything spirals out of control and it is difficult to find your way back. The process is gradual rather than sudden and the whole way down you keep telling yourself that things are going to change. Little by little however, the bad days at the office start to outnumber the good ones and the pain begins to replace the pleasure you once took in your profession.”
By his own admission, he never got it back. I was becoming fearful for my poker career until I read his descriptions of two tennis exhibitions.
In 1985 he describes an event called Tennis Over America, in which he played six one night exhibitions: “the first night we had fourteen thousand out to watch us play, the crowd was packed with Swedes. I threw Byorn a bone that night”
By contrast, in 1994, he is a commentator at the US Open when unseeded Andre Aggassi beats Michael Stich in the final.
“One week later I beat Agassi in an exhibition – Andre was probably a little tired but so what?”
Selective appraisals are useless at the poker table – if I am to curse when I am unlucky to lose a hand, I also have to accept the times when I am lucky, I have been outplayed and still win. In poker, sometimes, the loser best records history. I began to gain hope I could recover from my slump but I still craved further insight.
It came from John’s attitude towards the Davis Cup team.
He admits he always found it harder to raise his game for his solo performances but never had a problem motivating himself to play for the team.
I put the book down.
I suddenly comprehended why I believe the best book for poker players is “The Hustler” by Walter Tevis.
It contains character, self-reliance and lessons of composure. It is an invaluable read for anyone craving success at the poker table.
It also depicts a lone wolf, someone who profits from the gullibility of others, who is forced to lead a nomadic existence and has no ties to society.
Playing poker, unless you reach celebrity status and thus rationalise, through TV performances and tournament success, that you provide entertainment, contributes nothing to society.
One’s income largely depends on the sweat of others and at times even the most independent of personalities feels his lack of contribution. His reliance on a nation’s citizens being economically productive, is alienating, indefensible and an indicator of an aggrieved personality.
World-class tennis provides entertainment for millions, it generates hope, awe and inspiration. Poker can create destitution.
It is not a team sport but there has been a recent spate of TV tournaments trying to foster a sense of patriotism by pitting players against those of other nations. It does not work, largely because of the type of personalities involved, the unsuitability of the game to knockout team matches and the difficulty convincing spectators that self-interested players are warriors worthy of a nation’s pride.
Should England win an international poker tournament we won’t see Rajesh Modha, Victoria Coren and Devilfish in Trafalgar Square, enjoying a traffic cancelling reception from their open top bus. Their poker playing does not contribute to a greater good.
Nor does mine.
I realised why the Norman Mailer comment had registered – my method of income clashes with my values as it is not derived from a societal contribution.
Somewhere in the mishmash of pool, poker, piano and tennis, I discovered the awareness to play out of the slump.
I am still looking for the dedication to do something else.
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