Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Return Of The Gambling Poet

Posted by Al Pastor

5//8/05 Oaks Club $2-4 Hold-em
12:15-1:45 PM
In $80 Out $4 -$76

2;15-3:00
In $44 Out $0 -$44

5/10/05 Oaks Club $2-4 Hold’em
12:30-1:45 PM
In $80 Out $5 -$75

Hours Played 2005:100.5 YTD -$887



Us (We?) atheists must keep the faith, too. Sometimes it feels like the universe itself is against you and is taunting you, dealing pocket pairs and flush draws just so you will put all of your money in and start to hope something good will happen. It is a struggle to remember that the math doesn’t care and that the cards don’t care, and that even if there is/was a consciousness underneath/behind the universe, S/He/It would probably not much care about the outcome of a $2-4 Hold-em game.

I am getting beat like Carlo Rizzi, the table being Santino Coreleone, breaking its big hairy knuckles on my pretty cheekbones, kicking me in the ribs with its pointy, immaculately shined shoes, improvising rhythms with garbage can lids on my skull, biting into my own white knuckles when I try to hold onto a railing to keep from being dragged into the street for more. I am going to lay low for a while and recuperate, but there is a toll booth in these sonsabitches future.

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A Mother’s Day massacre. I won one hand all day, with a monster, jacks fulla aces. Had pretty good cards and played then well enough, but very little was hitting for me and what was coming was getting beat-got pocket kings and flopped a set early on, built a huge pot by raising like a fiend only to see a spade fall on the river to complete the flush. Pot was so big I had to call, which cost me another $4. Got dealt lots af weak pocket pairs-8s, 9s &c-which would be just strong enough to commit to on the flop and then would get beat

My last hand, with less than $20 left, I got dealt ace-king of club, which I made three bets pre flop, and put myself all in when the flop fell jack, nine of club, and a red rag. Turn was a jack of diamonds, pairing the board raising the possibility of a full house. There was lots of side pot action, which I had no shot at since I was all in, and I was starting to figure that even if I made my nut flush I was a loser. The river missed me entirely, leaving me with ace high. And, Frank, the guy who, you might remember my mentioning if you have been following these GP posts for a while, does not respect me and will one day pay for this lack of respect, turns over pocket jacks, making 4 of them. After making sure I had enough money in my pocket to pay the toll, I hit the bridge.

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Since I mention the bridge, I just have to ask: What is with the tailgating? Give me a break and climb out of my ass. Will you please, SUV?

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And on the subject of reruns (see previous post: A TALE OF CASTAWAYS...), I saw a MR. ED rerun (not that I generally watch MR. ED, but I was getting ready for work and had been watching THE DICK VAN DYKE show, which ended and segued into MR. ED), where Ed kept demanding Wilbur ride him bareback, because it felt so much better and more natural. When I turned it off to leave, Ed was begging, repeatedly using the words “please” and “bareback”, although, unfortunately, he did not ever use “bareback” as a verb.

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ChickFight 2005 was passably entertaining. Not as fantastic as CF04, but still a fine show. A little more gung ho an element in the audience, with more chanting and fist pumping (A-P-DUB replacing U-S-A, which is not much, but something). The really unsavory element was the young woman I had parked behind, who had positioned her NeoBug such that she was in two prime curbside parking spaces. I pulled in behind her, and pulled very close to her rear bumper, so that I would not be in the driveway that marked the end of the parkable curb, even though it was nighttime in an industrial area and I thought the driveway was going to be pretty inactive. Anyway, she comes screaming across the street saying “You are touching my car! I need your information!” So I say, “I am not touching your car. I will move back so you can see I am not touching your car.” So back up a few feet, and she points to a speck, A SPECK, I am saying less than one quarter inch in diameter, which she claims I made and again demands my info. So I give her my driver’s license, at which point her friend comes over, a shrieking woman of about 25, neither small nor retiring, and maybe a little drunk, who demands I surrender insurance info as well, which, in retrospect, I probably should have done. Instead, I say, “She has my info.” The larger woman starts shrieking, the smaller woman, whose car it is, starts saying that the other marks on her bumper weren’t caused by me, but that this one was, the big one shrieking why don’t I just admit that I clipped the car, at which point I say that I am not discussing anything more with them, and that we should call the police, who I think are going to tell us to let it go and go home.

Then the car owner, starts telling me to just be cool, at which I cackle, and say that I would be more comfortable if a police officer told me what information I should provide (this is a pretty radical departure from my usual position in nearly any situation). She calls. I have to listen to her talk to the operator because I am afraid she will say I hit-&-ran. We wait. The cop comes, suspecting at first I do not have insurance. When I show him, he tells me I have to give it to her. So I do, feeling like a genius, wanting to plead my case and show him the puniness of the damage, but knowing that makes me sound more guilty and like more of a prick.

So I think I am ruined for ChickFight 2006. I think I am through with Hayward. I have to get my bumper inspected Tuesday.

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Check out the picture of my new old cat Gerry.

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