And the beats go on

Hours of study, intense post-regression analysis and post-hypnotic suggestion has led to this conclusion about my MTT play the last several weeks: I run bad.

Stupid bad.

Fugly bad.

I've managed just a handful of cashes and one final table over this time period and, with the exception of one brain-dead night, I've not played that badly. But the deck won't stop bitch slapping me with the kind of standard, fucked-up beats that make you question your sanity.

When shooters miss, they keep firing away in the belief that the shots will finally start to drop. That's me, kids. Any day now. Any day.