Einfach gewinnen

Ist das möglich?

Diese Frage mit "Ja!" zu beantworten, wenn man sich an Anfänger wendet, ist eine Lüge. Diejenigen, die früher kein Poker gespielt haben, glauben oft, dass man sich ganz einfach an einen Tisch setzen kann und die Gegenspieler ausspielen, wenn man ein guter Pokerspieler ist. So richtig funktioniert es nicht. Wenigstens nicht beim Fixed Limit, was Sie auf dieser Seite lernen können.

Es ist nicht nur wichtig zu verstehen, wie man langfristig gewinnt, aber auch nicht zu vergessen, dass es immer Perioden kommen, wo Sie ständige Verluste haben, so gennante " bad streaks" , ungeachtet der Tatsache, dass Sie gut gespielt haben. Kurz gesagt, um gewinnen zu können, müssen Sie zunächst ein guter Verlierer sein und Ihre Gefühle kontrollieren können, sowie die schweren Perioden aushalten können, ohne auszuflippen.

Um auf möglichst "einfache Weise" zu gewinnen, sollten Sie Spiel auf niedrigen Stufen, an vollbesetzten Tischen, wo der Flop-% hoch ist, wählen. Das Flop-% indiziert also, dass es viele Spieler im Pot sind. Auf niedrigen Stufen sollte es kein Problem sein, ein Flop-% von 50% oder höher zu finden.

Dadurch, dass es viele Spieler am Tisch sind, brauchen Sie nicht so oft den großen oder den kleinen Blind zu setzen, sondern Sie können auf gute Starthände warten, ohne allzu viel Geld auf die Blinds zu spendieren. Das werden Sie besser verstehen, wenn Sie den Abschnitt "Odds berechnen" durchgelesen haben.

 Wenn und wann ich auf dieser Seite die Worte "einfach gewinnen" erwähne, meine ich "low limits", vollbesetzte Tische mit hohem Flop-% und für einen Spieler mit einem Charakter aus rostfreiem Stahl. Texas Hold'em unter anderen Formen ist für den Mann auf der Straße ziemlich kompliziert. Es gibt einen Grund dazu, dass nur 10 % von allen Spielern regelmäßig gewinnen.

Zuletzt ein Auszug aus dem Buch "The Tao of Poker" von Larry W. Phi, der ganz schön von dem Gefühl schreibt, das man bekommt, wenn man langfristig verliert, so gennante "bad streaks". Ich finde, dass er die Situation ins Schwarze getroffen habe.

Lesen und genießen Sie! Genau das Gefühl, das er beschreibt, müssen Sie besiegen. Viel Glück!

"All real gamblers know the feeling that Steve McQueen had in 'the Cincinatti Kid' or Matt Damon in 'Rounders': that walking -outside-in-the-cold-dawn-after-losing-it all, completely-tapped-out feeling. They know the feeling of standing in the morning sunlight with their pockets turned out and not a cent to their names.

They know the feeling of serious re-evaluation, of taking stock of one's life. They know the feeling of: Maybe you're in over your head; maybe you never understood the game from Day One and you've been fooling yourself all along. Your opponents had your number all along and you didn't know it. Oh sure, a period occurred when you were running well, and that threw them off briefly - and allowed you to keep the fiction going to yourself - but by and large they had your number all along.

All real gamblers know the Inner Scream. It's like the face in that one painting, The Scream, the oval-headed guy with his mouth open and his hands on his cheeks. It's exactly like that, only it's on the inside. It's a scream for just average luck, not even for good luck anymore. For that wondrous stage of affairs where, every time you get annihilated, there is some kind of offsetting win of some kind, somewhere. It is pleading just to break even.

Even the most calm, serene, and composed among us has a limit. It might be 7 losing hands in a row. It might be 7 bad beats in a row; it might be 7 hours or 7 weeks or 7 months. However long it is, there is a limit beyond which our sense of humor begins to leave us.

A true cold spell is a thing of wonder. It is almost breathtaking in its scope and depth. It is breathtaking in the way that it feels as if the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. It's a feeling caused by a combinations of events so unlikely, so statistically improbable, that it's really hard to believe. And yet we see it happen right before our eyes, often over and over again.

Statistical occurrences that are 20-1 against, 50-1 against, 100-1 against happen routinely, in an unbroken string. And as a player you know these odds. And you know that they are even longer when combined.

So as a player, you know how unlikely it all is. You know the statistically likelihood of missing the flop a couple of hundred times in a row. You know the statistically likelihood of every player in the game getting playable hands except you - and having this go on for days - or weeks. You know the statistically likelihood of sitting in a certain seat for 8 hours straight without getting a playable hand. Only to move to a different seat, and watch the guy who took your old seat start a winning streak that lasts for 4 straight hours. You know the statistically unlikelihood of this sort of thing, and it is this that creates the emotional component - anger, rage, resentment.

But the enjoying part, really, is not the losing. And it's not the money either. Because you can always get more money. It's a feeling of betrayal, almost, the appearance of a suddenly topsy-turvy world where logic no longer seems to function, where bad players win effortlessly, and good play is penalized. It's a funhouse-mirror world where logic - and the familiar laws of long experience - no longer apply. It's as if you accidentally dropped something, some object, and now the object falls up, not down. It's the dismissal of a world you knew - or thought you knew.

You question your game. You question deeper things too; your luck (ill-starred from birth?), your fate, your destiny. You start to dredge up the memories of all the losses in your life, going back to grade school and beyond. And in retrospect, they all do seem to form a pattern. You begin to question your grasp of the fundamentals, your body language ("Am I utterly transparent to the other players?"). You begin to question your religion, your god, and your place in the universe.

You become the dictionary definition of 'indecisiveness' - doubtful, tentative, defensive, and fatalistic. On a personal level, "feeling sorry for yourself" reaches a level you didn't know existed - and certainly wouldn't have believed you were capable of. It reaches the final level, the one that doesn't just soak itself in self-pity but involves a thick seasoning of bitterness, anger and resentment."