The Moneymaker Effect

 I am a product of the Moneymaker boom.

Back in 2003, an unknown accountant named Chris Moneymaker won the World Series of Poker Main Event and changed the poker ecosystem forever. Like thousands of others watching ESPN that year, I was instantly hooked.

Since then, I’ve played poker on and off for more than twenty years—live rooms, online client software, casual home games, and tournaments. I’ve stayed around long enough to experience the exact variance the game promises: the euphoric highs, the crushing lows, and everything in between.

So, why am I not a millionaire? Why am I not a professional poker player?

Because poker has always been part of my life—not my entire life.

I built a career. I bought a home. I raised a family. And while I love the strategic depth of this game, I never had the luxury to dedicate 60 hours a week to it the way some pros do.

That reality hasn't changed. I still don't have a professional's schedule. What has changed is how I'm willing to protect and play with the hours I do have.

For two decades, I wasn’t playing blindly. I read the books—from Sklansky’s foundational theories to Ed Miller’s practical hand analyses—and I thought deeply about the game. But without a pro’s schedule, I lacked the sheer volume required to turn that edge into a massive, self-sustaining profit. Instead, life always took priority. More times than I care to admit, a promising bankroll had to be withdrawn to cover real-world expenses, forcing me to hit the reset button. I’ve started over plenty of times, but this time is different. I’m not just relying on foundational knowledge; I’ve built a systematic, structured approach designed specifically to survive the collision between poker and real life.

This blog documents a deliberate attempt to grow a small online micro-stakes bankroll using a rigid, fixed set of analytical rules instead of gut instinct. One to two tables at a time. One hour at a time. 

This is the starting line. No shortcuts, no massive deposits, and no pretending to be something I’m not. Just a regular player, twenty years in, finally playing on purpose.