Mr. and Mrs. Jung were my grandparent’s neighbors. They were considerably older than my grandfolks, and a kind couple who tolerated my brother and me as we wandered the countryside and found our way to their house. The memories are vibrant and could fill pages.
The Jungs had a pony named Prince. And let me tell you, Prince was no prince. He stayed out in the pasture most of the time, so he didn’t get rode much, and he had a temper. One day he was up in the barnyard and I asked if I could ride him. For all I know, my brother and I may have been the only people who rode Prince. So, Mr. Jung got out the saddle and I got on for a leisurely stroll around the barnyard.
Maybe Mrs. Jung had been feeding the chickens. I can’t think of any other reason for the bucket to be sitting there in the dirt. Prince stepped in it and bucked me off, over his rear. I must have been about nine years old at the time, and although it wasn’t a long way to the ground, it was quite upsetting for this young kid. But I wasn’t hurt, got up, and dusted myself off.
The Jungs had quite a few animals, and the usual variety that one might find on a farm: cows, pigs, chickens, ducks, dogs, hogs and sheep. My brother and I helped Mr. Jung bring in the cows of an evening, riding on the sideboards of his old Ford pickup and jumping off when we spotted the cattle. We’d then walk them back to the barn for the evening. The chickens and ducks we didn’t bother with much except when a duck found our worm on a hook in the middle of their pond just too tempting to resist. The pigs we cut a wide berth as we had been warned of their paternal instincts and razor sharp teeth. The sheep, well, they were just sheep, except for Old Joe, the sole male in the flock.
No sooner had I got up off the ground and gathered my composure, Old Joe ran up and gave me one helluva butt in my own backside, sending me flying once again. Insult to injury.
Well, I never rode that pony again. And I have only been on a horse once since, and that was only because a woman I was dating had a couple and I was eager to please. Not crazy about the animals in the least.
I am reminded of this childhood trauma as I muster up the courage to return to Poker Stars. I don’t respond well to setbacks, when a series of events lead to an increasing amount of humiliation, whether caused by external circumstances or by that demon Impatience. I dust myself off a second time and limp back to my grandmother’s loving arms. In other words, I want to take a few days off.
Or rather, I shall try to. Last night the urge to play on PS was about me. Instead, I sweated a friend in a tourney while I got sucked out on at Poker Academy. That friend and I seemed to flame out together, and I imagined us both slinking off to our respective beds. Today, the urge returned and I found myself back at Stars.
A couple days ago I wrote about my concerns with my bankroll, especially after getting clobbered in 25NL. I came to the conclusion that I should move down to 10NL, and that’s what I did. I didn’t want to, but I did. And you know what? Falling off of a pony as an adult is a lot less painful. My kicker wasn’t there with trip Aces but my AK went on to hold up in three hands; the play is loose and big hands get paid. I think I will be okay.