I hate poker.

Poker is nothing more than lucky streaks and unlucky streaks. It’s an addiction. It costs me money. It makes me more angry than anything else in my life. It keeps away from people I love, things I love, and distracts me from my other goals in life. When I’m at the table, I’m not being healthy. I’m sitting on my rear for eight, ten, twelve hours at a time, eating unhealthy food at unhealthy times of day. Poker is the reason I started using tobacco. As someone who suffers from bipolar disorder and severe social anxiety, poker causes me all sorts of mental anguish. But mostly, on more days than I can seem to count, poker is just a giant waste of time.

I love poker.

Poker is a game of skill, and the playing field is level. No matter how fast I am, or how tall I am, or how coordinated I am, I can win on any given day. Because of poker, I’ve been places and done things and seen things and met people that I never would have otherwise. When I’m at the poker table, I feel completely at ease, and it’s the ultimate escape for me. Because of poker, I’ve met people in my life that feel like family, like I’ve known them my whole life. Poker has taught me patience, determination, money management, time management, and countless other skills that help me in my professional life. I have learned that to play great poker, I’ve got to be healthy and drink lots of water, get up and move around, and exercise my brain. Poker gives me confidence with people I’ve never met. I usually get very uncomfortable in close quarters with large groups of people, but when I’m at a poker tournament with thousands in the room, I feel as if I’m the only person in the room. Poker has taught me how to handle my bipolar disorder in ways that can never be explained or quantified. I can’t show my emotions or let me emotions dictate my actions at a poker table, and while honing that skill, I’ve learned to use it in other areas of my life as well. I’m a better human because of poker.

So, how can both of these things be true at the same time?

I don’t know. But they are.

I’ve been struggling a lot with how best to use this very small platform of Fade The Spades. I want to give back to the poker community because the community has given me so much over the years. I want to help other players that look like I did ten years ago. And when I say help, I don’t mean teach them when to 4 bet with jacks from the big blind, or what range they should be putting their opponent on when they C-bet a flop. I want to help people truly find themselves in the game, find the joy in the game, use the game to help them be better human beings, and when they are at the table, help others do the same. I want people to learn from my mistakes and know that when they fail, I’ve been there, too. I want people to know that they don’t have to be a pro to compete with pro players. I want people to know that they don’t have to quit their day jobs to chase their poker dreams. If I never win another poker tournament, but I know I’ve helped someone out there struggling with how poker fits in their life, then I know I’ve won.

This may sound corny to you, the person who is kind enough to read my musings about something as trivial as a card game. However, I’m willing to bet - and if you know me, I’m always willing to bet - that at some point, there will be a reader of this blog and others that truly understand those thoughts. They’ve gone and hidden in the bathroom after a bad beat, wondering if they should go to the ATM for another shot. They’ve driven two hours home and lied to themselves that they got unlucky, when deep inside, they knew it was their error that left their wallet empty. They’ve sat in their cubicle or in their truck or laid in their bed after a big win the night before and wondered how they should word their resignation letter to their boss the next day. There’s more people out there than you might know that struggle with these thoughts, and I want to reach them.

I have an odd reputation within my little circle of poker friends, at least that I can gather, and even with my non poker friends and family that know about my little poker adventures. Knowing that trying to perceive your own reputation is always a dangerous thing, here’s what I perceive at least that they think:

They think I’ve got a much bigger bankroll than I actually do. They think I win more often than I actually do. And they think, just because I’ve played in some big tournaments and even take down a few, that I’m one of the better players they know.

They’re wrong.

I win about as much as I lose. I go through winning streaks, sure, but I also have years like 2016, where I felt like I could never win. I only play as much as I can afford to lose, and sometimes, that’s not much more than the $45 local game. I sell action sometimes to big tournaments, but not because I think I’m some sure bet to win, but because I want so badly to have a chance when I can’t really afford the entire buy-in.

But - here’s what I hope they all know - I 100% always believe that I will win. And although it may not always be true, I always believe I am at least one of the best players in the room.

Tiger Woods is my favorite athlete of all time, and there’s a lot of reasons that’s true. I once wrote some thoughts about this - I’d have to go back and even find where that blog is and I am not going to recount everything I said then - but it’s really for one main reason. No matter how bad he is playing, no matter how many shots down going into Sunday that he is, no matter his personal struggles off the course that have made him a target for social media hounds, he wears red. Every. Single. Time. Why? Because regardless of all those things, HE believes he can win. And he doesn’t care if wearing red makes him stick out in the crowd or draws attention to himself. He wears red, I believe, because when he looks in the mirror and sees it, it reminds him that he can win.

So - circling back to those people that have gone through some of the ups and down I have gone through in my poker career, let me encourage you to find your own personal red shirt. If you don’t walk into a poker game absolutely believing you can win, you’ve already lost. And, just like Tiger, you better not wear red unless you are absolutely prepared to win. That means you can’t be afraid to lose (money management). That means not being distracted by the losses you’ve suffered the three hands before. That means not being tempted to run down to the slots to win enough to play in the next tournament. That means putting the time in mentally to know exactly the game you want to play. If all of the above are true, there’s no reason you should ever doubt that you can win.

I am the first admit that it took me many years before I could walk into a poker room feeling that way without knowing deep inside myself that it was a lie. That first paragraph - all that is true, or at least has been true - at many different points in my journey at the poker table. But only when I truly took control of myself, of my own attitude and preparation and money and put people around me to keep me accountable for all those things did the pendulum start to go the other way. Now, thankfully, poker is much more in the “love” category than the “hate” category. But it’s not because I win every time - it’s because I always believe I can win. And even when I lose, I’m prepared financially, emotionally, and physically to hit them next time. I get back up.

It took Tiger fourteen long years between Masters victories. Even he, the undisputed greatest athlete of our generation in my opinion, had self doubt. I’ve had doubts. I’ve quit the game for stretches of time. But he won again for the same reason that I, too, will win again on the biggest stage.

He kept wearing red. And I’ll keep wearing my Fade The Spades shirts.

See you at the table,

Colton