Rusty

I played in a home game last night in a top-secret location. Not even the NSA knows about it.

I put in a lackluster performance, to put it the kindest possible terms. I ended up a small winner for the night (+ $140), but only because I lucked out in the biggest pot of the night--around $800. It was all in pre-flop, with my AK versus KK (making me about a 2:1 underdog), and I binked not just one but TWO aces on the board. I was not proud of myself.

That may not have even been the worst of it. I lost my whole first buy-in on a shove over another guy's raise in a situation in which--as I realized about a microsecond after announcing my all-in--he would only call with a better hand than mine. Which he had. Specifically, quads to my full house. I could have saved a decent chunk of money by just calling.

My physical actions were not nearly as consistent and unreadable as I like them to be; I felt like I was a tell-box, announcing what I was doing loudly and clearly to anybody who was paying attention.

I failed to pull the trigger in a couple of spots where I had a strong sense that it was the right thing to do, and was proven correct after folding.

I was disregarding position to a dangerous degree.

Now, any one of these things I might have done just as badly on any given night back in Vegas. But to cluster them all together in one session is pretty painful to watch in myself.

The trouble is compounded by the difficulty of leaving. It's quite a drive to get to the game, and it's only held occasionally. It's not like in Vegas, where I could realize I wasn't playing my best, be home in 15 minutes, and return fresh at my leisure the next day.

This is all quite disconcerting, and I'm not sure what to do about it, other than stew for a while.