Been enjoying your take on the sheving system—there’s something oddly satisfying about watching those tiny edges pile up, isn’t there? I’ve been running it myself, mostly in online cash games at the lower stakes, and it’s like you said: slow, steady, and forces you to see the game through a different lens. It’s not about the big pots or the glory hands; it’s more like you’re a craftsman chipping away at a block, shaping it into something solid over time.
I’ve been focusing a lot on bet sizing lately, keeping things small and deliberate—quarter-pot or third-pot bets on dry boards have been my bread and butter. You start noticing how people react when the pressure’s light but constant. Some guys fold anything that’s not top pair to a cheap bet, while others can’t help themselves and call down with garbage because it doesn’t feel like a real hit to their stack. Over a couple hundred hands, those leaks they don’t even see start turning into your profit. Position’s been key for me too—late spots like cutoff or button are goldmines for shaving off bits of dead money, especially against players who don’t defend wide enough.
Took it to a live game last month, just a casual home setup with some semi-serious regs, and it held up nicely for a while. Early on, I’d toss out min-raises or slight overbets from the button, picking on the tighter players who’d rather wait for premium hands than tangle with me. Kept my stack ticking upward without much fuss. Trouble came when the table shrank and a couple of loose cannons started splashing around—those small, controlled plays lose their bite when someone’s willing to shove 50 big blinds with king-high. Still, I booked a small win and walked away feeling like the system’s got legs if you pick your spots.
Tournaments are trickier, no question. I’ve been testing it in some cheap online MTTs, and it’s a dream in the early going—shaving off chips from the cautious types or the big stacks who don’t want to risk their lead. Min-raises in late position or tiny c-bets on flops nobody loves keep you cruising without needing to flip coins. Middle stages are decent too if you can find the right table rhythm. But late game? It’s like trying to carve a statue in a storm. Blinds skyrocket, stacks get shallow, and suddenly everyone’s either folding or jamming. The system’s edge gets fuzzy when survival’s on the line—still, I’ve squeaked into the money a few times, so it’s not dead weight.
The real trick is staying calm through it all. It’s not sexy, and half the time you feel like you’re just idling, but that’s where the juice is—those little gains stacking up while others chase the big swings. I’ve been tweaking it by leaning harder into table reads. Online, I’ll use tracking to spot the guys who fold too much or call too light, then adjust my ranges and sizes to exploit them without overreaching. Live, it’s more about watching who’s antsy or checked out—same idea, just less data and more vibe.
Against the wild ones, though—the maniacs who’ll call your half-pot bet with air and shove the turn just to mess with you—I’ve been experimenting with tightening up and letting them hang themselves. Patience, again. Wait for the spot where the math’s screaming in your favor and their chaos runs dry. Sometimes it means eating a few small losses while they flail, but usually they bust or settle down eventually. Been working for me in cash games at least; tourneys are another story when time’s not on your side.
Loving how this system flips the usual poker grind on its head—less about the adrenaline and more about the quiet hustle. How do you deal with the agro types who don’t respect the slow play? Or do you just ride it out and let the numbers do their thing? Either way, good to bounce ideas around on this—feels like we’re onto something real.
Glad you’re digging the sheving system—it’s a slow burn, but that’s the beauty of it. You’re spot on about it being a craftsman’s game. Those tiny edges don’t scream for attention, but they stack up if you keep at it. Your focus on bet sizing is smart; quarter- and third-pot bets are perfect for dry boards. They’re low-risk probes that exploit how people think—either they ditch marginal hands cheap, or they bleed chips chasing ghosts because it’s “only” a small bet. And yeah, position’s the grease that keeps it rolling. Cutoff and button are where you can nick that dead money off players too timid to fight back.
Your live game story tracks with what I’ve seen. Early on, those min-raises or slight overbets from late position chew up the tight regs who’re waiting for aces like it’s a lottery. It’s quiet profit—nothing flashy, just steady. The loose cannons flipping the table upside down are the wrinkle, though. When stacks get wild and someone’s shoving 50 blinds with king-high, the system’s precision takes a hit. You’re right to call it picking your spots—against that chaos, it’s about surviving their storm, not out-shaving them. Cash games give you the luxury of time to wait it out; live setups like that home game amplify the need for table feel to know when to ease off.
Tournaments are a beast, no doubt. Early stages are prime shaving territory—min-raises and small c-bets nickel-and-dime the field while they’re still playing cautious or bloated stacks shrug off small stings. Mid-game holds if you can find a table that’s not a war zone. Late game’s the killer, though—blinds choke you out, and the system’s edge blurs when every hand’s a shove-or-fold coin flip. Squeaking into the money’s a win, but it’s less about shaving and more about clinging to the math at that point. Still, if you’re cashing, it’s proof the foundation’s solid—you’re just adapting to the structure.
Staying calm’s the backbone of it all. It’s not about hero calls or Hollywood bluffs; it’s a grind that rewards patience over ego. Your tweak with table reads is exactly how to sharpen it. Online, lean on the data—trackers show you who’s folding too much or calling like a fish, and you just tune your sizes and ranges to milk them dry. Live, it’s all gut and observation—spot the guy twitching to get out of a hand or the one who’s mentally clocked out, then chip away. That’s the hustle: small, deliberate, relentless.
The aggro types—the maniacs who laugh at your half-pot bet and shove turn with air—are the real test. Tightening up’s a good call; let them swing wild and miss. In cash games, time’s your ally—eat a few small pots if you have to, but they’ll either bust or burn out eventually. The math catches up when their luck runs thin. I’ve found value in setting traps too—limp or flat with something strong in position, let them overcommit, then snap them off when the board aligns. It’s not pure shaving, but it’s a counterpunch that fits the system’s spirit: controlled, not chaotic. Tourneys, though? Their aggression’s tougher to dodge when blinds force the issue. There, I’ll dodge the clash unless the odds are screaming—fold and live to shave another day.
It’s a different beast from the adrenaline junkie poker most chase, and that’s why it works. The aggro players don’t respect the slow play because they don’t see the game you’re playing—they’re sprinting while you’re running a marathon. Ride it out, trust the numbers, and the profit creeps in. Good to hear it’s clicking for you—keep tweaking and let me know how it holds up.