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Monday, January 17, 2011

Min-Cashes, Bubbles, Bloody Pants, and TV Cameras




They (whoever THEY is) say that misery loves company. I sure do hope this is true. Because right now I am in the middle of packing up my shit to move in with it. I plan to be up in its face 24hrs a day...suffocating it with attention...until finally, it will press charges against me for stalking, and have a restraining order taken out on me. I completely intend to test that theory.


Get ready, folks...for a super-long blog entry. I mean it. If you don't have a lot of time...put this on pause...wait til you are at the table, strapping yourself in for a 7-12 hr grind (unless you suck...then maybe read it after busting in level 1 while you wait for SNG-Land to open for business) and then fire it up on your iPad, iPhone, Blackberry, whatever device 95% of the poker population and most other non-poker playing people with teeth and an IQ over 22 seem to have nowadays....and absorb the pain!


I have a question for you: Do you find my blog entries to be more interesting when I am on fire? When I am running like God and taking down score after score? Or do you prefer when I am running like a one-legged hamster in Richard Gere's house?


I have a sneaky suspicion that you sadists much prefer to tune in when I am in the throes of a slump that can only be turned around by pulling a 'Mark Grace' if ya know what I mean? No? Living under a large, stinky pile of recycled tires, outdoor carpets and rusted hubcaps? Well...then don't worry about it. You shouldn't even be reading my blogs. You're fired!




Why do I think you people like it when I am taking spears, arrows and daggers? Because I think we all KNOW how good winning feels. Well...MOST of us do anyway. I am pretty sure there are some that never win...and again, you should be shown the door right now...never to return again to my blog.



Now...back to those who are here to hear me whine and bitch about my current cold streak. Nice to see you again. I think that to hear me describe things in the most painful way possible gives some of you hope. When you are running like hell, when your sets and flushes go down...when your aces get cracked not just once...but two or three times...and there is no where to go, no one to share it with, when you think you are the ONLY one on the planet who can possibly be THAT unlucky, isn't it reassuring to know that you can log on to Senor Monkey's blog about once every...mmmm...two or three months and witness my personal hell?


It kind of makes you feel better, right? It brings me joy to know that I can be your source of recovery. I should honestly be charging a fee of some sort just to read my blog. You people DO realize, don't you...just how lucky you are to get this content for ZERO DOLLARS? Yeah. Free of charge! Insane! My blog should be an APP at the Apple Store.



Screw it...I will just count this as my 'Good Deed for the Day' for all of humanity for the rest of my blog life...thus guranteeing me a spot in heaven.



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The Beau Rivage is doing a pretty nice job of hosting this latest event. The structures are CERTAINLY a lot better than the past 3 or 4 they ran here. What we are seeing is a LOT of good players (and NO monkeys) making it to the Final Tables. That is the #1 sign of a good structure. I actually came dangerously close to making a final table the other day. In the $350 with 271 or so players...I got down to 3 tables. And then a weird thing happened...the structure suddenly went to hell. Not exactly sure why or how...until I really sat down and looked at it. But with the average at $120,000 the blinds went to 4k/8k....which represents only about 15 BB's. Ouch! Which...when you get 88 in middle position, and raise to 22k...and have some guy shove all in...your kind of fucked when you look down at 98k more behind your raise. Wow. So you fold...and watch yourself hemorrage (not sure of the spelling there) 20k an orbit until your forced to shove with A9d and can't win a race against 10-10 and disappear from the tournament. Remember that hand later...it comes into play in a little blood feud. Remember...I told you this blog was going to be 'crazy long' so don't forget.


The trophies that everyone but me has been winning are fucking awesome. They really are cool. Cooler even than the ones up in Tunica that I never managed to win. I really am getting a bad case of Trophy Envy. The latest to nab one was my good buddy from Eastern Europe...we just call him 'Z'....for Zednick. Really a super, super guy...couldn't be happier for him.



92% of the dealers have been doing a great job. Even the ones who have been destroying me (Melissa, Rocco, Anna) are good dealers who I have just looked at with despair as I departed the table. I am really proud of myself...how I am taking the murderous suckouts. On one...which was truly one of the worst of the trip...we were down to 14 in the nightly...the night had been going so smooth, so perfect, had a great table...everyone was friendly, really thought I was about to right the ship:




Get 88. Guy limps for 800. I raise to 3000. BB calls. Limper calls. Flop comes 8-5-3...rainbow. Perfect. They both check to me. I bet out 3k. BB calls. Other guy folds. Turn is a harmless 2. He checks again. I bet 4500. He calls. Hmmmm....nothing is beating me. Unless he was flatting me with A4 or 4-6...highly doubtful. River is a 10. I have just 4200 left now. He puts me all in. I call, of course. And he turns over 10-10. OMG. What could I do? Not his fault. I can see where he thought he was good the whole time. I picked up my bag...slinked over to the curtains, pulled them apart...went behind them, laid on the ground...for about 15 minutes, and just ...well, not sure what I did. Just laid there.



Yeah...so, the dealers have been pretty good. With a few exceptions. But the nice thing is that everyone KNOWS who they are. It's kind of funny how the floor people and good dealers kind of self-police themselves. But there is one who has escaped the sword of mutiny. And her legacy is growing. It has reached epic heights...so much so that I now have floor people and dealers coming to me, like I have some kind of POWER at the Beau Rivage (HA!!! I'm lucky just to be allowed in that place!) to get dealers canned, and asked me to go to Ken and/or Johnny and complain about her. But I just keep telling them I am not going there. I'm just trying to keep my own store in order.




But this lady is...in a word: a lunatic. Purpordedly, she comes from Vegas, carrying a heavy resume that suggests she knows what she is doing. Well; big huge lie. She is horrendous. When she pushes in, it becomes a contest of which player can sit there the longest without having a complete mental breakdown. I am actually starting to enjoy it when she arrives at my table.


Here it comes...big, red and ferocious! Sits down...starts shuffling...shuffles some more...then starts talking, telling stories...stories that no one is listening to...still shuffling. Do it again. Hey lets put the cards down now...and finally get around to collecting the antes. Lets screw up the antes and spend another 2 or 3 minutes trying to figure out where the mistake was made. Got that fixed? Might as well pick up the deck, shuffle it another 3 or 4 times...cut it, and then...finally....deal everyone their cards. While continuing with her story that no one is listening to.



When the 'Red Beast' is dealing to us...we are seeing around 7 or 8 hands every half hour. The average for a 'decent' dealer is about 13-15. At first I let her get to me, sighing with impatience and showing my frustration at certain times. I made attempts to be helpful, to make her a more effective dealer. But when it became very clear to me that she was beyond help...when other dealers and floor people flipped out when I tried to merely discuss my irritation with her:



"Oh my GOD MONKEY!!!! She is the worst! We have tried EVERYTHING to get her out of here...she is a nightmare...EVERYONE is bitching about her! But for some reason...they won't get rid of her!!"



Um...oh. Okay then. Well, if they KNOW she is terrible. If they are aware of this, and yet she still remains in the box...how do we deal with her? I switched up my mental strategy.




Now this is where I have an edge on most of you. I have a perverse, sick little method of finding humor in situations that most people are unable to derive pleasure from.




Let me take a little sidebar. Three days ago, I'm sitting next to an old man...when I say old...I mean, he was getting around on a hove-a-round and had an oxygen tank attached to it. He was old. He always had to be told it was his turn. How much to bet. You've been there. You know what I'm talking about. As I have turned, looking at him attempt to act on a hand...thats when I notice them. By them, I am referring to his eyebrows. My eyes were in love. They couldn't take themselves off of those caterpillars crawling across this guy's face. I would LOVE to have taken a picture of them and posted them here for all of you to see...but AHA! Alas...I have learned, the Big Boys at Beau Rivage have DEMANDED that I never post photos of their players on this site, and I shall follow orders! Like a good lil Monkey!




But would I love to let you in on these face ferrets? 100%. It was amazing. They had to each...and by each, I mean...each individual hair, had to be at LEAST 4 inches long. I wanted so bad to pull out a grooming tool and just fix them. Granted, I'm sure he would have been stubborn and put up a fight. I'm sure he thinks they are some kind of a character trademark of his. A badge of honor! These things had to have last been groomed long before I ever came out of my Mother's womb.


Oh sorry...where was I? The Red Beast? Yeah. So...what did I do with this unbearable situation?


I turned it all around. I sat, instead...and focused my attention on the other players. Watching, waiting...for them to lose THEIR minds. Watching them twitch, and fidget, and breathe heavy. And just sat there, snickering to myself. She carries with her this outward animosity towards the players...no clue why. Slamming their change down in front of them...angrily pushing pots to them, snapping at other dealers when they come by to ask them her a question, usually innocuous questions like "do you know if this is a break table?''




One day I was sitting in the 10 seat, on my iPad...and was in the throes of a dispute between a couple of guys who played on that baseball team I went to Phoenix to play on, the one with Chad Brown. It had become a mud slinging contest, and when responding to one of them I was attempting to spell the word schizophrenic, and was locked up and couldn't figure out how to spell it. I had a guy at my table I knew was pretty smart...and asked him how to spell it.

When she snaps in. "Why are you trying to spell THAT word?"


I reply, very deadpan: Because I am writing an email about someone who is clearly a paranoid schizophrenic. A few at the table laugh.


Dealer: "So...are you trying to imply that someone at this table is schizophrenic!???"


Me: No, I am specifically referring to a member of my baseball team, and am replying to a fellow teammate. Any other questions?


Pretty sure she thought I was talking about her. She is, possibly a little bit of a paranoid schizophrenic herself.


I don't care what they do with this dealer. Yeah...shes awful. Nothing worse than what I saw at 5 out of every 6 tables in Atlantic City though, so I'm kind of like, 'whatever.' Everyone needs to make a living...and in my own sick little world, she is actually providing me with some cheap entertainment every time she comes to deal to my table. :)


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Wondering, with stark curiousity what you are looking at here in this photo? Yeah...so was I! As I pulled up into valet tonight...and sat waiting for a valet guy, I watched this woman work her way out of her SUV. I would say she was between 60-70. And weighed somewhere in the ballpark of 290-350. But what caught my eye was the gigantic patch of blood that was pouring out of her and into her pants. She didn't appear to be in any pain...and didn't appear to be trying to conceal it. I can only think she had no idea what was going on. Frankly...I don't either. Pretty sure it wasn't a bleeding hemmorhoid. Don't think those bleed that much. And pretty sure it wasn't a period, as menupause has to have set in. So what could it have been? I remember one time when I was a waiter a long time ago...this little old man just started bleeding from somewhere in his ass...and they ushered him into the bathroom...where he continued to bleed all over the restroom. It was one of the freakiest things I have ever seen. I have a feeling this lady was having one of those attacks. I'm not trying to be mean here...I was really concerned about this lady...and wanted to say something...but what exactly do you say there? Do you say anything? What is protocol?











It was NOT how I wanted my night to start. It was somewhat of an ominous sign...as I went in...played a few hands...and couldn't make another Asian guy fold a measly pair of pocket 3's...when...after building a pretty solid-tight image...shoved 4900 into a 200/400 pot of 2400 after a min raise of 800 had been called by him...with AKh. He just went ahead and flopped a set of 3's and I was outa that.



Then...I lurked over to SNG-Land...where a $200 was about to kick off. I grabbed a seat. Seat 7. Put my $200 up and went to the bathroom. I come back...table is full. And seated in Seat 6 is a guy who if he were flying would be required to purchase 3 seats. Jeezuz. There was maybe 6 inches seperating him from Seat 8. Great. Asking him to move over was pretty fruitless, so I literally sat two feet from the table and just reached into the available gap when I needed to act on my hand. In between this little highwire tightrope act, I am listening to Seat 8 and Seat 4 babble back and forth about everything they could possibly think of to talk about that would make you want to put a 9mm in your mouth and pull the trigger, or better yet...pay someone $20 to do it for you so you wouldn't have to worry about botching the gig.



Just waiting for someone to lose...so I can get some spot to actually sit at the table. Ahhh win a sizeable pot. Looking better. Ahhh someone finally busts. From the 10 seat. Awesome. Ask the guy in Seat 9 to please move over. He does. About 3 inches. Come ON! I continue to play from 2 feet away. Beavis and Butthead in 4 and 8 seat keep it up...omg omg omg....omg omg omg....blinds are up. 50/100. I pick up AK under the gun...and raise to 300. Thats when dude who won't move over, who has been overbetting a LOT so far...makes it 1200. Huh? 1200? It folds back to me.



I tank...not too long...long enough to decide something; do I think my ace and king are live? Do I think he could have AQ? Do I want to fold and continue letting this table drive me slowly insane? Or do I want to just shove...hope I win, hope I bust (or at least severely cripple) this clown, gain some much needed space to get away from Orca on my right...and in doing so, grow my stack to monstrous proportions...and quite possibly end my night with a nice little $1100 victory? Yeah...I like that option.



ALL IN! He calls. QQ. Me AK...and just like its been going all week...if I have AK I miss everytime...and if they have AK...my pair goes down. I lose. I leave.



I get out to valet. Start wondering if that lady made it out alive. Start wishing I had just stayed in my car and drove straight home. Would have saved myself $900. But then I would have never learned the valuable information that I learned when I arrived at the Beau tonight.



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JUICY RUMOR GOING AROUND...MONKEY IS IN TROUBLE!



Yeah...so I show up tonight...and Robin, while registering, says to me: "Hi Monkey, where you been all day? Ken was looking for you earlier."



Hmmm...really? Interesting. That usually means something bad. So of course my curiousity was piqued.



Sat down. Noticed a few curious glances being shot in my direction from a few of the floor people. I'm telling you...these people who wear suits, who work in poker, are the absolute worst at keeping things a secret. I hope none of them ever go to work at the CIA. Their cover will be blown in about 38 seconds. Yeah...something is definitely 'up' in tourney land. Lets get to the bottom of it.



So I am on break... and this kid I know comes to sit with me on the couch. And tells me this nugget:



"What did you do last night?"



Monkey: "I don't understand the question. I played the nightly. Went out 3 from the money...and went home and shot down helicopters and laser pods on Xbox360."



Source: "Well, earlier when I was walking by a bunch of managers I overheard them saying 'so..what are we going to do about Monkey?' and then I just heard them saying something about a scene the night before. When I asked them what they were talking about...and what Monkey did, they told me they couldn't talk to me about it."



Me: "Ahh...that explains the comment from Robin about Ken looking for me. Oh well, I didn't do anything, actually. So I'm not going to worry about it."



But I am glad I finally heard it for myself, instead of having to fill in the blanks. So...I am guessing you all want to know WHAT exactly DID happen, correct? Okay....here ya go.



Last night...had one of my most pleasant tables in a nightly in quite some time. Had two or three good buddies at my table. Met a new player...a guy named Barth Melius from New Orleans who owns a bunch of bars over there and who had a really hot girlfriend with him who had a genuine New Orleans accent and one of those cajun smart ass personalities. She was hilarious. At some point I started watching a movie on Netflix..."Countdown to Zero" about the proliferation of stolen nukes and enriched uranium for the usage by terrorists...and was just kind of coasting along.



At some point, this guy named Vic...started going from a so-so guy to a super annoying guy. It became a game of 'how long is he going to take to fold THIS time' with him. Then after every fold there was a 10-15 minute dissertation on how and why he folded. I was thinking at that moment how the $800 I spent on my iPad was easily the greatest $800 I have ever spent in my life.



But it was starting to become borderline offensive when we got to the final table. With huge blinds...and lots of shortstacks...me not being one of them, he was just going beyond ridiculous. And finally, despite him being a big fan of mine...and doing nothing but praising me all night...I finally had to say something to him.



It didn't get ugly. Not at all. I just simply told him that he was going to have to stop taking 10 minutes to act on every hand. In fact...I was surprised at how friendly he kept acting towards to me...because I had gotten to the point where I was using sparse spatterings of sarcasm every time he opened his mouth.



Then something DID happen that pissed me off. And it was kind of the theme for the day yesterday. Guys who either owe me money, or OWED me money...putting their stamp of GOTCHA on my forehead.



It started in the noon tourney. At 200/400 I had been card dead for a helluva long time, and not running real well at any point in the tourney. Then my table breaks and I get seated next to my buddy Carwash. I thought it had folded around to us, and in the SB I look down at AA.



"Perfect! This is exactly how my day has been going! Wonderful!"



And I grab a handful of black chips and toss them out in front of me. Unbeknownst to me...Danny Dorcey had limped in under the gun for 400. And I just put out what amounted to a min-raise, which Carwash AND Danny both called.



The flop comes something like K-9-8 with two clubs. I bet out 1500. Carwash actually calls...HUH? But Danny makes it 3500. I shove all in for my remaining 4000. And he turns over Q8c. Fantastic. Promptly turns a flush...and I had the ace of clubs...but would I hit? Pffft. You kidding? And I was out.



Danny Dorcey. Now, normally I wouldn't call a guy out who owes me money...but in his case, I am making an exception. Why? Because he deserves it. The guy played in my Fantasy Baseball league last year. Cost? $200. Season started in APRIL! Sometime around August...when his team was clearly NOT going to make a run...and he STILL hadn't paid...he gives me some bullshit about his girlfriend and him breaking up, her changing his password on Yahoo...blah blah blah...and that he was tight on money.

I of course replied by telling him that I could very easily have Yahoo reset his username and password within days. Also reminded him that he had owed the $200 for over 4 months. He seemed to agree and promised that he would 'try' to get me the $200 as soon as possible. So what did I do? I vouched for his $200...paying out the winners, including his $200. I, by the way wasn't one of the winners. So I was out $200. Meanwhile, I am seeing on various poker sites that he is cashing here and there. Know how much that pisses me off? Or to be sitting there in a $550 and have him sitting at my table? Really annoying.

So...Danny Dorcey...just so ya know...I think you are a welsch! And whenever you are at one of my tables...tourney, sit n go...whatever, you have a target on you!

Next target. Kevin. Who's last name I can't remember. But he knows who is he is. He borrowed $200 from me the night The Grand was evacuated for Hurricane Katrina. It took me two years to finally collect that from him. And I have been nothing but nice to him since.

So last night...I get moved from my friendly table to his table...which included two women who were clearly having a contest of who can repel a man the hardest with the horrendous perfume that was hovering in a cloud around them like the dirt swarm that hangs out over Pig Pen on the Peanuts. I sit down...and Kevin, with the blinds at only 300/600 and him having a very large stack...raises to 4000 under the gun. Huh?

"FOUR THOUSAND????" I ask?

Guy across from me tells me "Yeah...he's been doing that all game!"

Hmmm...thats nice. Well, three hands later...I pick up QQ. He does it again...raising again to 4000. Well I only have 15000 and am not about to raise to like 10k and leave 5k behind...so I just shove all in. The big blind calls with...I don't know what...like Q8h or something...and Kevin folds...telling me he's "going to be nice." He folded A7. Gee...huge fold.

An ace never hit anyway...and I won a decent pot. And then our table broke, and I went right back to my previous table...in the same seat in fact.

We get to the final table. I have a fairly substantial stack now. On the VERY FIRST HAND....Kevin raises on the button. I look down at 99 and re-raise him 3x.

Now he starts talking shit. "Oh yeahhhh big boy...thats how its gonna be huh? Gonna play like that? Okay....I'm all in!"

Fuck! I am pretty sure I have the best hand. But there are 5 winners...and with 10 players at the table there are 3 real short stacks. I don't HAVE to play this hand. So I just tell him I think I am folding the best hand...and show 9's.

Well, he does something that made my blood boil, though I didn't say a single word to him or anyone else about. He shows me 77...kind of giggles and tells me ''yeah...guess you SHOULD have called!!!"

Yeah...Kevin...you too are dead to me forever. Don't ever say hello to me and expect an answer. And you sit at my table...same deal. I won't be ugly to you...as I wasn't last night. But I will be gunning for you.

See, in poker...there are just some players who you just don't TRY to bust. At least I don't. I have made a lot of friends in this game. It should be pretty evident by the 6000-7000 hits a month I get on here, and the 1000+ friends I have on Facebook. I wouldn't say they are all GREAT friends. But they are guys and gals I genuinely enjoy being at the table with...who I root for to be successful, and if I am pressed into a spot where I have the option of busting them...or giving them a pass on a marginal call...I often times will let them live. And between you and I...I see nothing wrong with that. I mean, once we get in the money...there are no 'courtesy folds' coming from me. Then I am out to get every chip.

To have guys pull bullshit like showing me a bluff for no good reason...its just a punk move. I hate punks. I won't engage them in conversation of any kind. They aren't worthy of a conversation with me. They are a punk. I wouldn't have a drink, a meal, or anything to do with a punk. There are a lot of guys I play poker with who aren't exactly my favorite players...but I might just sit down and have a beer with them, cuz I respect them! If I flat out don't respect you? I wish you nothing but failure in all future endeavors. Because you are a punk.

Now...once I got over that little episode, and settled back into the goal of winning this damn nightly, getting $1800 back in my pocket...and getting this stretch run to the 10k Main Event off on the right foot...I started building my stack up with a few good hands, and a few good timely re-raises. Things were looking very good, as I had the 3rd biggest stack out of 8 players remaining.

Then the shit hit the fan. I pick up AK. Blinds are 2k/4k. I raise in early position to 12k. I have about 95k. It folds around to the guy in the BB. He looks at his hand and starts stirring. And eyeballing me.

"Think you have a pretty good hand!???"

"I'll tell you this, if you push all in, I'm snap calling you."

SIDEBAR:

Three days ago...in the noon tourney...this guys wife was sitting there blinding out. She was best characterized by imagining a Cockateel, wearing super dark glasses...who had just gotten a boob job. Her head darts around...real quick-like...like a bird. Know what I mean? So during a stretch where I had gone from 69k...down to 18k after a succession of badbeats, coolers and suckouts...I was feeling pretty defeated and miserable...and this guy raises in early position, a guy who liked to raise with a lot of BS hands...and was a total call station. So when I looked down at AQs I didnt feel like raising half my stack was a bad move. Well, bird-lady...who always looks at her hand before the action comes to her...springs from her feet and out of her nest and squawks that she is all in.

Ugh. Great. Call station guy folds. And I look over there and tell her....

"Nice hand Maam...you have to have me killed, but I just put half my stack in there, and honestly, have lost interest in this tourney...." and call.

She just has KK. Of course she has. What did I expect to see? I flop a meaningless Q...but I river an ace. She freaks out. I apologize. She is unimpressed. I stack my chips. I went on to cash. Paltrily. New word. Root word? Paltry. As in...paltry sum.

So this was this guys' wife. And when he took most of my chips in that tourney...with the A9 vs. 10-10 hand...he tells me...and I quote:

"thats for knocking out my wife earlier!!!!"

Huh? I knocked out your wife? Oh..was she the one with KK? Yeah? Well, gee, really sorry sir...I didn't really have a choice...I had half my stack in the pot. Pretty sure it's happened to all of us where we got our KK busted by AQ. Oh...but he was clearly bitter about it.

And his bitterness came shining through last night. Yeah...he of the hat featuring the Florida Gators...same hat, same guy, same bitter tone, same scowling face. Wow...what a miserable human being. Just for the record...Tim Tebow and Urban Meyer were the only reason I came out of my virulous hatred-phase with the Gator Nation that I had become a card carrying member of during the Steve Spurrier era. Well...now that the two of them are gone...I shall resume my duties and hope that Florida loses every game for the next 50 years by 4 touchdowns or more.

He flippantly decides to shove all in for 140k. And I wasn't about to be a man who doesn't stand behind his word. I called. He turns over 99. The table was kind of in disbelief that he would risk 75% of his stack...when we were so close to cashing....with a middle pair. And I have to admit, I was pretty damn shocked too. And a bit confused. Suzy...dealing...who I adore...and KNOW she hated what she puts out...drops three clubs on the flop....with a damn 9. Turn is a club...leaving me rooting for a club to chop...and only a club. Instead I get a useless K. SHIT! And I was out. 3 from the money. Or 2 actually, as they would chop after I got knocked out.

I stand up...and simply ask him...and not in a rude tone..."sir...come on, how can you push on me for 75% of your stack there when I TELL YOU I will snap call your all in? What are you doing? 3 from the money????"

He responds by flipping out on me. I mean...flipping out!!! To the degree that the floor guy had to come over and tell the both of us to stop talking to each other...which I was fine with...I hadn't really wanted to talk to him other than to know what, or WHY...he would make that play there....

Oh, but he wasn't done...

"Yeah...well guess what...I have all YOUR FUCKING CHIPS NOW don't I!???? how do you like THAT!!!??? What are you going to fucking do about it!!???"

I was...well, kind of speechless, and as ordered/asked by the floor guy, I didn't offer him any kind of response...I just looked at the floor guy...who immediately turned to the guy...and told him:

"Sir...I JUST told you NOT to say another word! Do you see Monkey saying ANYTHING to you? If you say another word, I'm giving you a penalty!"

Which I appreciated. But honestly, didn't really impact me much...since I had nothing left to say. I was just really aggravated, that I again had logged another 7 hours...only to fall short, and at the hands of this jackass. I mean...if the guy has....well, honestly, if I thought he actually HAD something there...something really good, I would have folded. But I knew he was just trying to tuff-guy me, just like Kevin had with his 77. God, how I wish I had called HIM on that play! I loaded up my stuff, said good night to a few guys...shook hands with Yarom, and Jimmy Henderson...and the new guy Barth I had met from New Orleans...and then the waitress showed up with the 1st and only shot I had ordered that night.

Amanda...the greatest waitress we have had there all week, awesome attitude, great service, great personality...she had gone through the trouble of going downstairs (because they didn't offer it upstairs) to get us Jager Bombs...cuz one of the guys really wanted one...and I thought I pretty much had this thing wrapped up and didn't mind kind of celebrating it with these two guys. So she shows up as I am preparing to leave...and yeah, it was awkward, and it sucked! But I took them from her nonetheless, tipped her $10 for her effort and drank them with the guys.

Then...as I am leaving...and almost to the escalator...Jimmy comes running out of the tourney area and into the lobby shouting for me to come check out the ruckus. Huh?

He goes on to tell me that after I left all hell broke loose. The guy who was tanking every hand...the guy who busted me...and someone else...those details were sketchy, started getting into a screaming match with each other. Something having to do with a dispute over the chop.

But I told Jimmy I had seen enough for one night...and the last thing I wanted to do was be included in some fracas where it wasn't my fault. That and I was just really bummed out and just wanted to go home and see my dogs. Jimmy later told me (tonight) that things really got out of hand.

So...I am assuming that when things were repeated back to 'The Bosses' this morning...and my name came up...since I was AT the table...I'm sure somehow it got turned and twisted around to where I was either responsible or somehow the reason for it happening. But in actuality...I handled myself as well as I could have EVER been expected to. Hopefully, once the bosses had a chance to talk to the two floor guys and dealer who were present they were able to arrive at the same conclusion.

I know that they know that I have really been trying to be on my best behaviour. I know there is a big, gigantic target painted on me. There has been for quite a while now. And I have developed an amazing 'radar' to detect when mines are being planted around me. Trust me...when I am dancing anywhere close to any line...and a floor guys tells me to do, or NOT to do something...I am obedient. And if some angry, bitter asshole of a player, who knows that I walk a tight line with some of these casinos, decides he is going to try to railroad me with some bogus, bullshit story, I am confident that its going to take a little more than some trumpt up story that he expects these guys to buy into hook-line and sinker. I mean...I haven't totally lost my faith in people's ability to decipher actual story from total bullshit with the intent to damage. I don't think the whole world has lost their common sense.

But if I arrive tomorrow to play at 4pm, and my faith has been betrayed, and I am told to leave...for, well...who knows what the official 'reason' will be, I will just leave. I seriously doubt that will happen...but you never know. Guess we'll find out tomorrow.

I had a ton more to write about, but this is gone BEYOND long...and now I am tired as hell...and still never got to Iron Man and this level that I can't seem to get past. Good night y'all!

MONKEY

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Why can't you just keep your mouth shut and play poker? Seriously, is it that hard? There are hundreds of people who play live poker for a living that have never had as much as a warning yet every where you go you are either banned, have been banned, or in the middle of some dispute on the verge of getting banned. Sad. You constantly blame the situation on someone else but dont you find it funny that it always includes you? hmmmm. At some point you should look in the mirror and decide to grow up.

Michael said...

I was the calling station in your "bird woman" story. I believe I played pretty well going out in about 40th place with JJ against an AK all-in from a pretty loose player. As I recall I folded JJ in the hand that you mention. I also recall that I had you outchipped when I decided to call the all-in. I did so because I thought there was a 75% chance he was shoving with a lower pair and trying to squeeze the pot and a 25% chance that he had AK or AK. Either way Ive gotten it in good although I would've preferred not to race for all my chips. I don't appreciate being called a "calling station" but you're entitled to your opinion. I was pulling for you to hit the A but now I'm not so sure.
Michael

Anonymous said...

You should be a writer for some poker magazine.



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