Nobody likes losing at anything, but there’s something about losing at poker that is even worse.
Lose a football game or snakes and ladders, and you can usually shake it off pretty quickly.
That isn’t always the case with poker – especially when you’ve suffered a bad-beat.
It might be the endless hours of toil that is involved, or the feeling of injustice you can feel when some fool gets lucky.
But last night, at around 12.45am, I had a moment of clarity.
I came to the conclusion that losing to a bad-beat SHOULD be a cause for celebration.
We should all be aiming to ONLY lose in a bad-beat situation, because it means our hand was good when it mattered.
And contrary to popular belief – ‘then it matters’ is when the money goes in, not at showdown.
I’ve written many posts about bad-beats, because they play a big part in the amateur poker player’s experience of the game.
Most pros don’t even bother with the term, and laugh at the idea of getting upset by it (aside from Mr Phil Helmuth of course).
But for mortals, when bad-beats happen, it hurts.
It’s a much nicer feeling to outdraw someone and get lucky rather than have it happen the other way around.
But while that feels better in the short term, it’s actually a sign that you made a mistake or misread a situation.
Of course, sometimes calling when you’re behind is the right decision, but what I’m talking about it a true bad-beat.
Last night, I was playing a low-stakes sit-and-go to pass the time.
Nothing serious, and maybe that’s why I can be so philosophical about the way I went out.
I read a situation perfectly and managed to get my chips in with K-10 against J-10.
My opponent caught a Jack and I went out two away from the money.
I had been in a marginal spot as it was a squeeze shove after an opening raise and flat-call – but it had been 100 per cent right.
Rather than throwing the laptop at the wall and accusing the website of cheating, or anything else that was ridiculous, I felt quite content.
I had made the right move – it just hadn’t worked out.
My opponent probably fist-pumped fresh-air and went on to win the tournament.
That wasn’t a monster bad-beat by any means.
But from now on, I’m going to try to see bad-beats as a good thing – even as I watch the chips slide across the felt to the lucky clown who’s on his feet cheering!
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