Black Belt Poker

I lived my first 42 years on this planet without being robbed. I mean, I lost to runner-runner flushes a couple of times, people came back from needing three snookers after outrageously doubling the green, and sometimes I had a chip or the odd onion ring stolen off my plate, but overall I ran quite well in terms of people setting out to assume ownership of stuff which I'd gambled my fingers to the bone to own.

I've been meaning, for the last few years, to get out to the Philippines and get involved in either an APT or APPT event, or both. Ben made the final at APT Manila in 2010 so I already knew the fields must be super soft (I jest, Mr. Meredith!)

Having not played a hand of poker for over eight weeks I'm feeling quite nervous about diving in again. Since being on honeymoon for the last two months under strict instructions not to gamble, money has taken on a real value again and suddenly the thought of playing a $10,000 event at the WSOP seems slightly insane.

Live tournaments are a true mindfuck.

So I went to the Vic for the first time in about six months to play the Pot Limit Omaha High-Low tournament – as usual I finished about four off the money, FML. (By the way, Willie Tann has just discovered this overused Internet initialism, and for some reason, when he says it, it’s perfect. Unsurprisingly he lends the phrase a sublime mixture of pathos, irony and ennui resulting in a unique kind of world weariness that only he could muster.)

It's been almost a year since we parted ways. At first, my world felt severely off-kilter, and I spent copious hours searching for him: I turned my bedroom upside-down, I cleaned the Fiesta for the first time in its 10-year history (the air freshener that accompanied the car upon purchase still hangs from the mirror), and I even rang the casino where he'd last been spotted. But alas, no joy - my dæmon was gone, and I was forced to accept that dismal fate.

As somebody who has been involved in this gambling lark for a few years now I find I have to constantly reinvent myself. Sometimes I change and I fancy one form of gambling more than another, because one seems more interesting to me and sometimes the form of gambling changes with one becoming harder than another. Sometimes I'm very quick to adapt; other times I'm terrible at it.

It was around November of last year that Marc 'The Conv' Convey said he was going to be spending a bit of holiday time around Thailand/Asia before heading out to work on the Aussie Millions coverage. I myself had plans on spending Christmas and New Year in Thailand and hopefully making a few visits to Macau for old times' sake… and to print some fresh Hong Kong dollars. We promised to try and cross paths at some point but alas our plans were such that it wasn't possible, which was a shame.

I played an interesting hand of poker the other day. My foe in the coup was none other than Black Belt C.E.O. himself, Warren Wooldridge. The game in question was Pot Limit Pips and Flushes Six-Card Replace with a Declare. This is a split pot variant where half the pot goes to the highest pip count and the other half goes to the longest flush. Picture cards are worth zero; aces are worth one; and all the other cards are the pips they represent. Hopefully by now you will have worked out that if you are playing pips the nuts is 49 (4 tens and a 9).

You can always work out which poker players don't have understanding wives: on the last level of the day, they feel obliged to 'double up or go home'. All married men play one less day than the rest of the field; if it's a four day event, they'll deceitfully inform the Mrs., "It's only a three day tournament, luv," fully aware that if they do happen to fluke the final, the little white lie will be instantly negated by the guaranteed payday and a steak dinner at Gaucho for the other half. Win, and you're set for at least another six months of hassle-free poker - although be aware that expectations will now be high.

This time last year I was blogging about my turbulent year on Full Tilt Poker and, more specifically, a particularly brutal online session I'd experienced in January in Australia. In Putting My Foot in It, I basically wrote about how a drunken detour to my room, to change footwear, had resulted in a seven-figure downswing.

I neither ran nor played well in the Nottingham Live event, busting after about five hours. Neil and I were left to fight it out over the eight-way £100 last-longer that Signor Channing won (obv.)

So, apparently, December 21, 2012 is the 'official' end of days. The predictions of the great seer (or mushroom lover) Nostradamus seem to tie in uncannily with the Mayan calendar deadline, Bible prophecies, predictions of the ancient Egyptians and other theories such as the Age of Aquarius and the mysterious planet Nibiru. Is it wrong that a part of me is thinking it's not such a bad thing? We really are living in a world where the swelling population is taught to 'look out for number one', first and foremost. This logic, whilst seemingly sound advice, has apparently extended to: 'Look out for number one, and if you can't, see to it that you do at the detriment of others.’

One of the things people often highlight as the main advantage of being a professional gambler is the freedom it allows you. You can choose your own hours, sleep until noon, take a day off when you want and decide to go off travelling at the drop of a hat.

Stuart Hyson is your Champion.

He takes home a total of $15,500: $14,000 for first prize, plus an additional $1,400 for being an Orange Belt on Blackbeltpoker.com and $100 in bounty prizes having eliminated fellow finalist Nick Wealthall.

It was only a matter of time before all the chips found their way back into the middle, and with Daniel Robertson still journeying down the road to recovery, that moment arrived sooner rather than later as he open-shoved his last 850,000 across the felt.

Hyson announced call quicker than Linford Christie with a jetpack to bring us to a showdown, and possibly the final one of the night.

Hyson: Kd-Qc
Robertson: As-8d

Stuart Hyson raised to 380,000 from the button and Daniel Robertson called; they saw a flop.

Blinds now 80,000 and 160,000 with a 16,000 ante that's more than the starting stack.

If this level doesn't find us a winner, I'll eat the hat of everyone in the room.

The hand started out interesting, with Daniel Robertson raising to a relatively hefty 370,000 from the button and Stuart Hyson calling. But it quickly turned out disappointing - they checked down the 8d-4s-5h-2c-Ac board, and Robertson's Kd-9d was good enough to beat Hyson's Jc-Th.

Robertson is at 3.8 million, Hyson at 3.5 million.

Amid the endless back and forth of limping and checking and standard raising and calling, here's something we haven't seen before: Stuart Hyson limped on the button, and Daniel Robertson just open-folded in the big blind. The dealer double-checked to make sure that was what he wanted to do; he did, and the pot went to a shrugging Hyson.