🍒 Have You Ever Met a Poker Addict? - General Poker - CardsChat™

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Adam is a recovering gambling addict; poker was once his vice of choice. are the stories of young adults like Adam, who despises the World Series of Poker ID to sneak into or at online poker sites which never asked for proof of his age.


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Online Poker Addiction: The Dark Side. There was an article I recently read where scientists did a study on poker players and cocaine abusers. An MRI revealed.


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Certainly the folks that fall into gambling addiction have it as well. The thing is, it's hard to tell a healthy obsession from an unhealthy obsession. "I'.


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Your resource for internet poker addiction. OPAF is an online poker addiction forum where users can share information and stories of recovery for gambling.


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(1) To get it off my chest, and (2) to warn both those who are new to poker, and those who aren't, but Hi, my name is Tom and I'm a gambling addict. But seriously, thanks for sharing your story Tom. around but when he found out about internet slots (mostly because he knew I played online poker), it all went to shit.


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Certainly the folks that fall into gambling addiction have it as well. The thing is, it's hard to tell a healthy obsession from an unhealthy obsession. "I'.


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promo.cellaz.ru › espn › page2 › story.


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Online Poker Addiction: The Dark Side. There was an article I recently read where scientists did a study on poker players and cocaine abusers. An MRI revealed.


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It wasn't me, but a very close friend of mine that had become addicted to gambling. The WSOP featured ads for online poker rooms and we jumped on our.


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I studied the Texas Hold'em Poker Bible and my goal was to be the World Series I was also addicted to alcohol and would “ping-pong” back and forth between.


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He had shown me everything, he insisted. By then, too, Dan had shown himself a gifted athlete and switched from basketball to tennis, where he could fight it out all by himself and take home the prize. The stench of his room, with its unwashed clothes spilled out from his suitcase onto the floor, filled the upstairs even when the door was shut, which was most of the time. Once the program was open, I tried to log on with the screen name my year-old son, Dan, had shown me on a different site called PokerStars. On this understanding, Dan came back home. At home he discovered Monopoly; when everyone else was sick of the game, he played against his own imaginary opponent. While many schools wanted his tennis prowess and high SAT scores, they balked at his grades. Somewhere, perhaps in his e-mail, I could find a Full Tilt account; I could call his bluff. At 6, when basketball grabbed his attention, he hung around the court across the street from our house and hustled free-throw competitions with older kids; if none showed up, he pretended to be Michael Jordan and Dennis Rodman and played one on one against himself. After the explosion that followed my amateur computer hacking, Dan and I did negotiate, albeit uncomfortably. Around 4 a.

Just past dawn one morning last August, I pulled myself from bed, bleary from ragged sleep. Dan spent part of a night on a park bench before he agreed at last to my putting a gambling block on his computer.

But this term turns out to be clear as mud; the definition of unlawful gambling varies according to state laws.

I reminded myself that someone had to confront my son, and I was the only one who cared enough to do so. In preschool, entranced by Mario Bros. I went to the library. When he was very small, his grandfather called him Mr. He showed me the account on PokerStars, where I thought he had been playing. By now, my fingers were trembling. He was too busy with the activity that had replaced tennis: Internet poker. I actually taught Dan his first casino game, blackjack. His is a laserlike personality. In February, having paid spring tuition himself, he made the belated but rational decision to drop out of school. As we packed picnic supplies into my trunk, Dan came barreling out of the house. Other parents tell me you do nothing but gamble at their houses. In short order, Dan owned the whole jar. He looked me in the eye. Finally, around 5 p. He called me names. There was no balance. If he finished the year in good standing, I would repay the loan. Given his new lifestyle, which did not seem to include daylight, I could not see how he would make it as a scholar-athlete in the fall. He could be playing, I realized, on another site. Yet through the warm afternoon, I listened nervously for any sign that he was waking, was trying to log on, was discovering that he had been frozen out. He fetched his laptop. The U. I had researched such programs, which apparently no one could remove for the duration of the contract. I started with gambling help lines and support groups like Gam-Anon. So there I was, the sun just rising, logging onto Full Tilt Poker in the guise of my son. The question was emotional for me. They were part of a national craze set off by the televised World Series of Poker and its sudden elevation of poker players to media stars. Between tennis matches and on nontennis weekends, Dan and his friends played cards. My entire body shaking at this point, I went upstairs to tell Donald what I had done. So I did what any self-respecting, psychically torn professor would do. Though he brought his grades up to the point where I would repay his loan, he spoke of wanting to transfer to a college where he might thrive. He stayed up nearly all night, sometimes heading for bed just as the rest of the family was rising. Eventually he would garner a national ranking and player-of-the-year trophies. Most prevalent were e-mail messages from Full Tilt Poker, addressed to a screen name I did not recognize. Full Tilt Poker, unsurprisingly, rejected the name. He showed me the European account — an option for players in the U. Kill your son! Were these the actions and decisions of a gambling addict or, as he now saw himself, of a poker professional? My friends were white-faced. To me, Dan seemed to be going to college for all the wrong reasons. I lay awake. From the moment he could move puzzle pieces into place, Dan loved games. By April, following a rough first semester, Dan had been suspended from the tennis team for missing study halls. Yet he was winning, consistently, at poker, amassing a big enough bankroll by December to fly himself and a friend to Aruba and have plenty left over to buy a car, support himself and start planning a life of international travel. I was flummoxed. We were having a terrible summer. He wanted only to get away from home and to follow the same path that his tennis competitors were on. Then he went to Virginia, and I went looking for answers. I reiterated my concern and my determination to get to the truth. I headed downstairs to make coffee and settle at my computer. Fairly quickly, Dan incurred the loss of car privileges, the loss of Internet privileges and the loss of the privilege of living in my home. Mostly, he logged onto his computer. Old Dominion, a commuter school in Norfolk with a crack tennis team, was willing to take him. We hung up. Reinstated on the tennis team, he quit after a few months. I invited my friends to get into the car. He had persuaded Full Tilt Poker to restore the account to him. Five days after I installed the block, he had somehow managed to rid himself of it. But when he came home in May, it was soon clear that he had no time to research and prepare any transfer applications. But driven by the urgency of the moment, I pressed on. Dan spent some of his time with a shrinking number of his former high-school friends. Thus we limped into August. Thirty-six hours after Dan arrived, his dad called me. PokerStars, European bank, American bank. Near midnight, I called him. To my shock, he insisted that, all this time, he had not been playing poker. There was nothing he wanted to learn. We resolved the issue of his return to college by agreeing that he would use some of his poker earnings to help pay his tuition until he had proved himself capable of balancing poker, tennis and school. His grades took another nose dive. Gradually, using a point turn, I managed to maneuver the car away from Dan and out of the driveway. He refused counseling, either for himself or with the family. I learned, for instance, that what I thought of as the addict-versus-pro argument what other people might call the chance-versus-skill argument is working itself out now in our legislatures and courts, in particular around a federal law, the Unlawful Internet Gambling Enforcement Act. Weeks before, he read his e-mail via my computer and asked Firefox to save the password. He had been watching poker videos and movies. He was unhappy at the school. Though thin and pale, he was a lean, handsome young man, his gaze blue and intense. Grimly satisfied, I read none of these. I countered that I was glad the boys were talking to one another rather than staring at a video screen; that those who lost would play Ping-Pong or foosball. I told him we would talk later. And I learned many things. Dan had not had the most successful freshman year at college, where he played Division 1 tennis and attended classes only when he had incentive to do so. He cut off Internet access at his home. I informed him that if he wanted to return to college, he would have to ice the poker playing or else pay for his own tuition from his winnings. The new house rules called on all those who lived in the house to have some sort of activity or employment in the world; they set quiet hours for weeknights; they prescribed consequences for abusive behavior.