The Birth of the NEDI

At a Glanz By Rich Glanzer

Learning from Losing

Since I was six years old, I've known two truths.

1)      I'm not a good athlete

2)      I'm usually one of if not the smartest player on the field

I remember my first basketball season.  I think I scored one point the whole year.  But I impressed the coach (my Dad) and parents with one play.

At the start of a quarter they would do a jump ball.  That's when the ref throws the ball in the air and two people would try to tap it to their teammate.  A few times both players would get their hand on the ball and the ball would fall right down.  One of the players would pick it up and the ref would blow his whistle.  You see you're not allowed to pick the ball up after you jump for it.  One of your teammates has  to.

So one night I did a jump ball and sure enough the ball landed right by my feet.  Instead of picking the ball up, I tapped it to a teammate.  It was totally legal.   I remember is hearing how smart I was by all the parents.  I didn't think it was that big a deal.

Fast forward to one of my first hockey seasons.  I was struggling mightily.  And this veteran player Kevin came up to me and said, “You don't have to be the best player, you have to be the smartest!”  It was a lesson I remember to this day.  The reason I sucked, was because I didn't know hockey.  So if I wanted to get better, I had to get smarter.

Fast forward to 2010.  My coed hockey team the Happy Little Elves were having a very frustrating season in the Black Top Street Hockey League (BTSH).  I'm not sure if my teammates were frustrated, but I sure was.  We had scored the most goals in the league, but also had given up the most goals.  We were under .500 and though most of our games were exciting, I knew we had no chance to win the championship.  But I also knew we had the talent, and as captain, it was a failure on my part that I couldn't make this team better.

A bunch of us went to Ocean City Maryland to play in a hockey tournament.  Truth be told, I cared more about the fun than the hockey.  I thought we'd probably get slaughtered.  The first game we played this team that was just flat out better than us.  We never had the ball and we lost 5-1.   The next game was even worse.  We lost 8-1, and teammates were yelling at teammates.  We were awful.  I didn't even think the team that just trounced us was that good. 

The worst part was in two hours our next game was going to begin.  It was the elimination round and we were certainly going to be eliminated.

After the game some of us went back to our hotel rooms and others stayed to watch the next game.  That's when it hit me.  I was trying to put a square peg into a round circle.  Almost all the girls on my team could run all day, but none of them ever played hockey before.  So I thought, lets put the girls on offense where they can run.  On defense I'd put the guys where hockey skill is more important.  I brought the idea up to three of the girls on the Elves, Melissa, Melanie, and Kristen.  Melissa and Melanie started yelling at me, and Kristen said, “WHAT?!?!?”  It was at that moment, I knew this plan was foolproof.  Furthering my belief was my friend Caroline from my travel team told the girls we should give it a try.

I excitedly went into the hotel room of my two best players, Trevor and Nak.  I explained the concept to them and they loved it.  Nak was even pretending to draw a diagram on the ironing board.  We were all pumped. 

But before our game we received some terrible news.  The team we were going to play was the team that beat us in Game 1.  This was not going to be good.  They were just so much better than us.

But I had a gameplan and I was going to stick to it.  Something amazing happened, that can only happen in coed sports.  During the first period, they didn't outplay us.  We actually outplayed them.  As the first period was ending, all of us on the bench started banging our gloves on the boards and screaming.  It was 0-0 but we felt like we had won.  We were a team again.

The second period was not so sweet.  Our goalie Shaun (more on him next month) gave up a very long goal and a goal from his side.  I was pissed because I felt we were outplaying them, and I didn't want one bad period by my goalie to ruin this plan. 

The third period I switched things up.  I stacked my two best players (Trevor and Nak) on the same defensive line, and put me and the other “old” dude together.  Well sometimes the captain has to lead by example and that's what I did when I ripped a slapshot past their goalie.  We had a million chances to tie the game but just couldn't find the net.  It probably was the only time after a loss, where I felt like I had won.

My toughest critic Melanie came up to me and said, “Rich, you know how hard this is for me to say to you, but that was a really good plan.” 

I know it was Melanie.  And now I was going to prove it to the rest of BTSH.  The New Elves Defensive Initiative (NEDI) was born.  

You Play to Win the Game, but you have to Play

I just read an amazing article written by former NHL player Patrick O'Sullivan in Derek Jeter's website, The Players Tribune. TPT often gets mocked by snobby sportswriters (some who happen to be my friends) but there are some really great personal stories on there. None have been better than O'Sullivan's.

O'Sullivan talked about how his father used to beat him up every day, in the hopes of making him an NHL player. O'Sullivan did make it to the NHL but he says his father and more importantly the beatings had nothing to do with his success. He wrote the article in hopes that other parents would just let their kids have fun, and play.

Anyone whose played with me knows I'm one of the most competitive players in the game, no matter what game it is. I'm the guy who makes game strategies and videos and sends them to my teammates in my coed hockey league. I figure if we are going to play, we might as well win. I love teaching willing students on how to become a better player. I get more satisfaction when Melissa B. comes running to the bench telling me Trevor is covering the wrong guy, then when I score an overtime goal. And yes, I've scored plenty of overtime goals in my career. So I have no issues with parents and coaches teaching their very young children, you play to win the game.

But you've got to play. And that brings me to my niece Natalie.

I believe it was Mothers Day, 4 years ago. My niece Natalie was 10, playing lacrosse with her older sisters Emily and Nicole who just turned 12. Natalie was definitely one of the youngest players on the team if not the youngest, and probably one of the worst. I say probably because I really don't know, since I mostly saw Natalie stand on the sidelines the whole game. I was disgusted as almost all the girls received plenty of playing time and Natalie just stood there. Finally the coach put her out on the field. She stayed on for 2-3 minutes and then brought her off. This happened a few times. While Natalie's older sister Emily got to run around almost the whole game, and Nicole played goalie, Natalie just stood there. Bored out of her mind.

The ironic part was the coaches absolutely sucked. I never played lacrosse a day in my life but I would have been a better game coach. The kids never learned how to defend against the other girls forehands, and they never even put up their sticks to block or alter their shots. Yet for some reason despite not caring enough to learn basic defense, the game was so important that Natalie could't play for more than 3 minutes at a time.

The game ended and my nieces team got smushed. It wasn't even close.

Don't get me wrong. You play to win the game. If it was a close game with a few minutes left, I have no problem benching your worst players for the best players, even at a young age. But you better make sure all the players play a fair amount before those final minutes.

So if you ever play with me, and I'm the captain, you are going to play as much as anyone else the first 95% of the game. The last 5% is my time. Because you compete to win, but you also play.

Paint this Town Orange and Blue

“I can’t be more excited or more proud to wear the orange and blue. I’ve said it from day one, I bleed orange and blue. To be able to celebrate with these fans, this city, this team, it’s an unbelievable feeling.”

- David Wright

You can find people way more knowledgeable than me to analyze the impending Mets vs. Dodgers playoff series. But what I can offer better than anyone in the world is, why this season matters to me.

I'm 44-years-old and as legend has it, my parents bought me a Mets jersey and when they tried to put on a  new diaper I said something to the affect of, "I got my Mets jersey, I'm a big boy now." Sure there have been a few accidents over the years but for the most part, the Mets turned me from a baby to a big boy.

And its sorta turned full-circle because this team has turned me from the adult man into that little kid again. You see, the pain of losing in the playoffs in 2006, and choking our season away in 2007 and 2008 really didn't bother me. I watched and rooted but win or lose it didn't affect my day. I honestly didn't care. Glavine, Santana, Delgado, Beltran, Pedro...these guys were paid mercenaries. They were on the team because the Mets offered them the most money. Beltran publicly begged to be a Yankee. 

"Hey Jeets. Can I play?"

Even had they won the World Series these guys wouldn't be remembered as fondly as the 69 or 86 teams.

But they didn't win and they lost in horrific fashion. And I'm glad they did. Because it allowed me to become a true Mets fan again. I'm not a bandwagon guy so when everyone was jumping off, I saw a space and decided to hop on. While everyone was upset about the Bernie Madoff scandal, I embraced it. I didn't want Miguel Cabrera, Albert Pujols, Prince Fielder etc. I wanted Ike Davis, Ruben Tejada, Daniel Murphy, Justin Turner.

 I knew my team sucked and I loved every second of it. Because I wanted to bleed orange and blue, not pinstripe green.

And then came Opening Day 2013. I saw the big picture. I made a bet with a friend, that not this year, not next year, but in 2015 the Mets would go further than the Yankees. Whoever advances further in the playoffs makes $100. So this year started and I saw what everyone saw. A great staff with one of the worst hitting and fielding teams of my lifetime.

I started blaming Terry Collins and Sandy Alderson for every little move they did or didn't make. I was an irrational idiot, and never so happy about it in my life. I was a true fan again!

And truth be told, the big payoff for me already happened. It wasn't when we won the division. It wasn't when we swept the Nationals in Washington.

This wasn't the payoff but it sure was fun.

It was a game we got killed in. You know the game. Wilmer Flores and Zack Wheeler were traded for Carlos Gomez. Flores cried.

Mets 4 Lyfe!

 Wheeler called Alderson and told him he didn't want to be traded. Two nights later, Flores hits the season changing game-winning home run vs. the Nationals, and caps it off tugging his shirt that says Mets.

Flores doesn't want to be a Yankee. Wheeler doesn't want to be a Yankee. David Wright bleeds orange and blue. Home grown player after home grown player litters this team. And almost to a man it seems they would all rather be here than 8 miles away in the Bronx.

I love this team. I love their passion. I love the way they play the game. I love that Eric Young is the first person off the bench whenever something good happens, even though I have more at bats than he does this season.

And most of all, I love that they turned me from the angry old man I was becoming about this sport, into that little kid who didn't need diapers anymore.

Save the diapers for the Dodgers. And bring some tissues. Because you'll need it.

Lets go Mets!!!

The Jew that Ruined Easter

The Jew that Ruined Easter; My First Vegas Poker Tournament

I came to Vegas to start a new life, but to also play poker.  I loved poker.  I was good at it, and I was going to show my mettle in Vegas.  Unfortunately having only $400 and losing $275 the first night, makes the dream a little harder to achieve.  With only $125 left in my bankroll, I had to give up poker and get a real job.  But of course before Monday came, there was Sunday.  And being in Vegas and all, I decided to let it ride. 

The tournament at Binions cost $130.  My roommate Anthony Fiorino put up half that for me, and would split half the winnings.  I don't remember what I was thinking on my way to Binions, but it should have been, “Richie, what the heck are you doing?!?!?” 

It was Easter of 2006, and the turnout was only 17 people.  Normally a lot more players play that tournament.  This was good because I had a greater percentage to win, but of course the top prize of $750 wasn't going to be life changing.  But I guarantee no one needed that money more than  me.

I remember starting off well.  I didn't double up, but I was winning some decent pots and playing very well.  Anthony was struggling and short stacked.  I was glad we were at separate tables as I just wanted to put all my focus on me.  But I got switched to Anthony's table after around the first hour.  He was immediately to my left which was good because I could steal his blind or give him mine.  There were a lot of enemies there that morning, no reason for me and Anthony to mix it up with each other. 

However Anthony got eliminated and I felt the pressure of the world on me.  I know the stakes don't seem all that high, but for me this is all the money I had.  I needed to win this thing.  But not just for the money.  For the trip.  My trip was a four-day hell ride.  I hyperventilated, almost died, and was a total mess.  I was in the west coast for the first time in my life, and I felt I was on the other side of the world.  I missed New York terribly and though I was enthused, I couldn't really have that initial rush because I had no money to do anything.  Basically, I needed something good to happen to me. 

The tournament was down to its final table.  There were nine of us.  The top three got paid, but third place paid so little, it was hardly worth it.  No, I needed to win this thing.

I remember this old lady.  She had never played Texas Hold Em before and she paid off everybody.  She never folded.  So I have K/Q hearts and three hearts hit the board.  I remember thinking, “This old lady is going to double me up.”  I couldn't believe when she folded. 

Some poker players say it doesn't matter if you win a small pot, as long as you win.  Always remember this.  Poker players lie.  Winning a small pot when you have the nuts (best hand possible) sucks.  And though there was one hand that beat me, (and Ace high flush) I felt I left some chips off the table.

The tournament grinded down and I was in decent position.  I remember feeling nervous yet confident.  Or maybe confident yet nervous.  Finally it got down to three of us.  The old lady, and this tight 27-year-old.

The old lady was dominating.  Not because she was good, but because the blinds were so high and she was raising every pot.  It was a good strategy, but it was more luck than anything. 

The tournament has scheduled breaks and I remember going into the bathroom and seeing Anthony.  I needed a pep talk and he gave me one.  This was my moment, not theirs!  I was going to win this thing. 

But I needed cards and I was right in the middle of the attack of the bad card brigade.  I had nothing.  I was on the button (meaning first to act when you're three-handed) and I remember saying to myself, I am going all-in.  I am pushing all my chips to the middle no matter what.  I was hoping just to steal the blinds.  So I look at my cards and I see the dreaded 2/3 off-suit.  The two lowest cards in the deck.  But I pushed all-in hoping my opponents would fold.  The extremely tight player called.  Great, I was done.  And then of course the old lady called.  Doubly done!! 

But I didn't realize something.  I had $100 more chips than the tight guy ($100 was the lowest chip in play.  It means we basically had the same amount).  So if the old lady wins the hand, I come in 2^nd, not 3^rd.  This was good news, because I would receive 2nd place money, not third. 

The tight guy had pocket 7's, and the old lady had A/K.  I was around a 13% favorite to win the hand.  The flop came and I hit a two.  This may seem like good news but its really not.  I wanted the 2, but I also wanted an Ace or a King.  Because I was still behind the pocket 7's, and the 7's were ahead of the old lady.  I needed the lady to beat the tight guy so I would come in 2^nd.  But that all changed on the turn when a magical 3 hit the felt!!!  I was now in the lead!!!  I remember Anthony going, “YES!!!!!!”  The crowd from the incoming tournament went nuts.  But I was sitting there like someone killed my dog.  There is a Poker God and he doesn't like players that celebrate too early.  There were a lot of cards in the deck that could hurt me.  The two remaining 7's, and if the board paired the other two non 2,3 I was done.  I don't remember what hit on the river.  I think it was a harmless 6.  But I had won the hand!!!  I took my two cards, turned to the crowd and said, “I only play the nuts!!! (which was a joke since I had a horrible hand when I put all my money in).  Anthony suggested I make a deal with the old lady and give her an extra $100 bucks to end the tournament now.  I agreed and she did as well.  She got the t-shirt that said she won, I got the free entry into a tournament at a later date.  We hugged and Anthony and I went to eat.  He was paying.  I was the hero.

I remember Anthony driving and I was high on life.  I was cursing that Arizona mountain that nearly killed me, and calling all my family and friends telling of the story of my first win.

We went to the restaurant and Anthony told the waitress I was a hero.  He was right.  I thought I needed something good to happen to me.  I was wrong.  I needed something great.  And it happened.  I was the Jew that ruined Easter!! 

Glanzer 1

Vegas 0

(pic of random poker game, not Vegas)

Happy Birthday Mom

516 Ads Happy Birthday and Thank You Mom   By Rich Glanzer

For around 12 years I played on a hockey team called Public Enemy.  It was a fitting name as most of the league didn't like us.  We didn't win a lot of championships, but many of us have stayed friends.  Part of what made this team more special than any other team I've ever been on, is we had our teammates backs.  Meaning if you messed with one of us, you most likely were going to get a push or shove from one of our teammates. 

Our Captain Scott is a great friend of mine, even though I don't see him nearly as much anymore.  As we all know, friends go through rough patches and Scott and I were in a rough patch.  We were both annoyed at each other and truth be told, though I always considered him a great friend, we weren't the biggest fans of each other at the time.  So we are getting killed 6-0 one game, and BAM!  One of our biggest enemies cross checked me from behind.  It was a deliberate cheap shot.  Before I could respond Scott was racing halfway across the rink to deck the jerk (if only 516 ads was rated R!!) that hit me. 

I wasn't surprised one bit.  I would have done the same for him.  My issues with Scott were resolved the second he hit my attacker.  Had my teammates Garrett, Ivan, or Mike been close, they too would have retaliated.  Because when we are on the rink, Public Enemy was not just a hockey team, we were a family.

Which brings me to my other family.  My blood family.  My Mom turns 75 this month.  It is a great achievement.  And as loyal as Scott, Garrett, Ivan and Mike are...they got nothing on my Mom.  She's had my back since the day I was born.

You see I didn't even make it out of my house.  I told Lois I was coming out and she listened.  My Grandma with the help of the Lynbrook Police and Fire Departments helped deliver me.  Details are a little fuzzy, but I remember thinking, I hope that's my older brother and not a mirror! 

Back to Mommy.  Growing up wasn't easy for me.  I had some weird disease that hampered me physically.  I had no dominant hand, and my mom tells me I couldn't even sit in a chair without falling.     So my mom took me to see a physical therapist, named Carolyn Fluger.  If I remember correctly, I went two days a week.  Carolyn taught me to write with my right hand, and I basically learned how to move my body.  But my mom still didn't think I was ready for school.

Now of course like any Jewish mother, my mom tends to exaggerate or just make things up, but she says Child Protective Services looked into taking me away, because she was breaking the law by not enrolling me into elementary school.  But Lois said I wasn't ready, and she wasn't going to let me get picked on by the other kids. 

After working with Carolyn, my mom enrolled me the next year, and I was always the oldest kid in my class because of that extra year. 

My mom stayed pretty quiet until 8^th grade.  That's when one boy kicked my bicycle in and destroyed it.  She bought me a new bike, and the kid destroyed it again.  Then other kids started to pick on me, and I decided enough was enough.  I challenged one of the kids to a brawl.  I would get 7 friends, and he would get 7 friends and we were going to brawl.  The Principle, Mr. Peddle found out about the brawl, and called me and my mom into his office.  He said, “Mrs. Glanzer, your son is planning to have a brawl.  Now what do you think of this?” 

Mr. Peddle didn't know what he was getting himself into.  My Mom said, “Rich's bike was destroyed two times by the same kid.  You know who did it, and you did nothing.  Now other kids are picking on him, and you are doing nothing.  If he fights, and you suspend him, I guarantee you one thing.  He will not be punished by me.”  Then she probably said I hope he kicks his ass.  I woulda mom, if only Charlie and his friends woulda shown up.  But he didn't. 

Throughout my life similar stories of heroics by my mom exist.  Along with my sister, she is the most generous, and thoughtful woman I know.  And even though my brother aint much of a looker, he'd have my back if I needed it too.  None of them can play a lick of hockey (especially my brother), but they all got the heart to play on Public Enemy. 

So happy birthday Mom.  May you have at least another 25.  I don't say this often enough, but I love you, and thank you for having my back all these years.  

Jesus Raises Derek and my hand after I beat him at Skee*T*ball

It was a great victory for me over J.C. and I made him raise Derek and my hands.

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This blog is open to create discussion on all things poker. Hopefully we all become better poker players by discussing the pros and cons of hands and situations.