Don’t be shy. Step right up. Or watch your step. Yes, you there, sir, so drunk that the bar rail is the only thing between you and the floor. Good save!
For a second it looked as if he had been assigned to the table I was sitting at. “”Roger, you’re over here, table 3.” Whew.
By the add-on, Roger had half of the chips at his table. Play enough poker and you see this sort of thing. Just like beginner’s luck. Call anything and hit. Roger’s broken record: “Anybody could have won that hand. I’m just here to have fun. How much is the bet? What color do I put out? How many? What are my cards? I have twenty-one! Blackjack! I’m just having fun.”
For those of you who don’t know… oh, wait a minute, all of my twelve readers already know that I live out in the middle of nowhere, next door to almost the middle of nowhere that boasts a population of 7700 residents. God bless them, for half of them appear to be closely related to each other.
Roger is Jim’s brother who is Trudy’s father and Trudy is married to Rick. And now that I look closely, I can see the resemblance between Trudy and Glory who works at the local liquor store. They’re all in attendance, and a matter of fact, they’re all throwing them back like there’s no tomorrow. Roger just has a good head start on the fun.
Good old-fashion fun and four minute hands with 15 minute rounds. Not surprising that by the final table everyone was gunning for him. I left when he was heads up with a 2 to 1 chip lead against Skunk. (If Skunk takes it down, we’ll hear about it for 3 weeks and he’ll expect a fist-bump each time he tells the story. I hate the fist-bump as much as when greeting someone, they ask “Whassup?” Tell me when I start sounding like Poker Grump.)
Let’s see…what else? Oh, I got to see a woman’s butt crack. It looked just like a plumber’s ass. You know, flat and all smooshed together, no shape at all. Just a thin line of demarcation between two hemi (and I do mean hemi) spheres. Come to think of it, it was Trudy’s intrusion on my delicate aesthetic sensibilities.
I had my chance to put a sizable dent in Roger but missed it. I had 67o in the SB, the blinds were 2K and all other players at the final table had limped. I decided to fold as I only had about 10K behind. Of course the flop had 45 and the turn was an 8. By the river the pot was around 35K. Roger won with TPTK. Shortly thereafter I was down to one BB, hit the second best pair on the flop and called my dear wife to say I would be home soon.
When I get home, she asks, “I’m never go to see the inside of that bar, am I?”
“No, I don’t think so, honey. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
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5 comments:
I hate the fist-bump as much as when greeting someone, they ask “Whassup?”
I don't mind the fist-bump. Whassup drives me up the wall, however, although better than its cousin "Whaddup?" I've heard that if you murder someone who uses whaddup too often, you can get off.
Do any of the players know you blog?
I'm not so sure this group knows I blog, but I'm pretty safe because I'm not so certain many read much of anything. My Friday home game crowd is aware that I keep a blog and a week doesn't go by that F asks if he will be featured. None, however, have asked for the url, nor would I give it to them.
As for the fist-bump, what is it, something that warriors do to show respect to each other? I think it is just as passive-aggressive as "Whassup" or "Whaddup." The person who asks the question couldn't be bothered with an answer. That is my impression. Murder? Just don't engage.
I was wondering if they know you blog. If they word gets out, you might just see a mob charging up the valley with lit torches!
FG
We have guns.
By and large, this is a great group of folks, and I like a great many of them. I am either bemused or amused by the others. I must also say that I don't want to come across as a snob here on the blog. However, this might prove difficult if I merely relate the events as they happened and then give my impressions. Therefore, consider this fair warning: I might slip into fiction at any given time.
I want to keep this blog as "private" as possible, meaning that I do not share it with many people that I encounter on a daily basis, or who are family. (I believe that is the first rule of blogging.) In order to do so, I have even stopped telling people I play against about the PA software for fear that the connection would be found out. Still, I reckon it's just a matter of time before I step on someone's toes and they actually feel it.
such is the price for cutting edge journalism. ;)
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