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Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Home from Chicago....and some 'Air Time'

Well, last time I blogged, I was heading back for Day 2 of the Main Event...having just doubled up on the 2nd to last hand of the night. So...I leave my hotel at 1:30...leaving myself plenty of time to get there and get settled in. Boom! Get stalled by a train. A train containing 104 cars. Yeah, these trains in Chicago are long, and I've taken to counting them. The other night, with Kai...on our way to that stupid smoke-filled bar with Kai, Tim Burt and Jason 'Fitz' we were delayed by one that had 107 cars.

The train finally cleared, and I parked at 1:57. Sprinted in to the Venue...with all the players from that days noon tourney all flowing out, having just gone on break. Felt like a salmon swimming upstream on the way to spawn.

"Excuse me...sorry...ahhhh....excuse me, right behind you....scuse me....grrrrrrr."

Finally get to my seat, first card is already there...slide into my seat, picking up the 2nd card just in time...and I look at....KK. Whoa! Really!??? I gather my breath...and raise from 1500/3000 to 8500. Guy across from me looks at me, in sort of "is this guy for real? Races to his seat, and just comes out raising?" And I am hoping to God he re-pops me. Then he starts eye-balling my stack. Hmmm, he has 30,000 and he only raised 8500? Must have a monster.

You would be right, sir. So he folds. As does everyone else.  Two hands later, I raise with KQh. No action. Sweet. Picking up 9k in both pots...I was up to 48k just like that. Then, in the blinds, I raise with A7h and get called by the BB. Flop comes King-high...I bet out 12k and pray that he folds. He does. Whew. Things are going great!!! Up over 50k.

Then, as if on cue...the one guy I was hoping I wouldn't see shows up. The Grim Reaper of Hammond. I will not name him here, so as not to bring shame upon his family. He knows who he is. We shall call him Dealer X. The other day in the $350 Tourney, when we were at 3 tables, then 2 tables, then 1 table...every time he showed up, my stack got smaller and smaller and smaller. It was confounding. Let me say, Dealer X is a fantastic dealer, and a very nice guy. He just happens to be this particular event's Bermuda Triangle for me. Stacks sail in...and never return.

So...when the cutoff raised to 8500, and the button called the was only standard that I would look down at AKs in the SB. I looked at my cards, glanced at Dealer X...and despite the little dude on my right shoulder urging me to just fold...the troll on my left shoulder won the battle, prompting me to announce....

"I'm going to re-raise. Total of $31,000." A raise of 22,500. My primary objective was to simply take down the pot of $24,500...increase my stack to over $70k...and continue to keeps things rolling. Cue the sound of screeching tires and crashing cars.

"I'm ALL IN!!!" Those words came from the guy in the BB, a guy who (a) I'd never seen before (b) was sitting on a stack of about 200k and (c) didn't feel that a guy re-raising a raiser WITH a caller could possibly have a hand better than JJ. I didn't leave myself in a real good spot to fold...spotting myself only 18k behind my huge re-raise, and hoping I was at least holding ONE over. I was actually pretty happy to see JJ...with two overs and being suited.

The flop pretty much erased all of my hope...when it came out Q-J-Q. OMG! Really, Dealer X? He decides to tickle my heartstrings when he puts a K on the turn...which gives me actual hope...needing a king or a queen to win the hand. But the river was a big, solid brick...a deuce to the face. And like that, I was done. Out. Busto. I wished everyone luck, gathered up my stuff, and made the long walk out of the a chair out in the lobby, where I just sat and reflected on the week. The one-outer on the river to finish a disappointing 9th, the numerous 3rd place finishes in SNG-Land...the barrage of stupid messages from Chad Burns, that had motivated me to come back to Biloxi with a fistful of $100's that I could photograph and post on MY Facebook so I could be half as cool as the Orange OomaLoompa from Spring, Texas.

Speaking of Chad. He has made it a point to inform me that he booked his hotel for the I.P. and this upcoming event. I could not be more thrilled. The biggest challenge I face at this next event will be avoiding arrest by the Biloxi P.D. and/or eviction from the I.P. It would be so much easier if the little asshole would just agree to lace up the gloves, go to a local gym, charge all of you $20 to come inside and watch, and give the money to the Breast Cancer Awareness charity.


But since that probably ISN'T going to happen, since he is nothing but an 'All Talk No Action' dipshit who merely talks a good game, I will probably have to resort to stalking him til I catch him by himself with no witnesses in clear site, away from all cameras. Or...if that fails to occur, maybe just take the messages he sent me on Facebook threatening my wife with sexual our friend at the Biloxi P.D. and see if maybe I can have him arrested while he is here. That might...M-I-G-H-T...bring me as much joy as pounding the living crap out of him, taking multiple photos of his damaged grill, and sharing them with only my closest friends. We'll see what happens. 

Thinking maybe something like this, with a little more orange tint.

So...there was still one more tourney to play in Chicago. I talked Kai into snapping out of his pouting mission that he was on, after having committed what he deemed 'chip suicide' to bust out of the Main the day before. He met me in line for the 7pm $150 tourney. I was determined to win my last event and leave with the taste of victory in my mouth, thus preparing me for a week of domination at the I.P.

Things started great. Turned my 6k into 14k. Then I limp on the button with J10d. Squirrel's favorite hand. For some reason, the guy in the SB with AQ doesn't raise. Flop comes Ad-3d-Ah. He checks. I bet 1100. He calls. Turn is the 8d. Flush. He checks. I bet 2200. He goes all in, and says "Flush is good if you have it." Oh!?? Well then I call. River? 8. Full house. Shit. Back down to 8k. Grrr. 

No problem. Rebuild it. Dominating table. Run it back up to 12k. Raise with AK. Little goober in BB who has already over played about 5 hands, does the double handed snow plow all in with about 35k. I call. He has nines. Flop a king. Double up. Here we go. Lets do this. Tables break, redraw at 27. 9 getting paid. New table. Old guy...who keeps limping, limps again at 600/1200. I have KJ on the button and flat. Oh! Did I forget to mention who JUST pushed in as the dealer? You guessed it. Dealer X. And upon sitting shoots me that glance...the one that says, 'Sorry Monkey...hate it that its me, hope you get lucky and DON'T get busted by me.'

And by this time we are down to 21 players. Kai is also still in, but seated on the other table. Good for him. Here comes the flop. Ks-Qh-10h. Wow! Great flop. Old dude leads out for 2200. Next person who limped folds. I raise to 7000.

"How much? Oh...oh...I call, whatever it is....I call." The turn is the 3 of putting 4 hearts out there, and I have the Jack of hearts. He goes all in, I call...and see his hand...and am just flabbergasted. Son of a....then see a heart on the river, and briefly thought I was spared, until I see that he has the queen of hearts.

MotherF*(&Q(*@)_(!(*&!*#*R#)( !!!!!!!

Out. Again. Same dealer. Good Gawd. Chucked my iPad. My phone and my bag onto the next table. Then just sat there and fumed. Funny, but I think I was more irritated by that one than the main event one. And the main event was shooting for $400k.The 7pm'er was going for $3k. Am I whacked in the head? Maybe. 

Went downstairs, bought into $1/$2. Sit next to a black kid...who is chewing gum, blowing bubbles, popping the gum, and wearing those cheap earbuds where you can hear the noise coming out of them. Know what I mean? And I was in the 1-seat, perfect combination of annoying elements. In his defense, he actually turned out to be the most tolerable player at the table. And possibly the 2nd best player. I would sit there, chip up to $500, then Squirrel calls. "Guess what I have in my hand, sweetie?" Yeah, I had QQ. And she got to listen to me, as my queens got snapped off by this Harry Potter-looking dork with his pair of 3's, flopping a set on an 8-high board, and not getting around to re-raising me until the turn when I had already put too much into the pot to fold to his remaining bet. Fucking cash game. Damn queens.

Kai later strolled in, telling me he had just been two-outed, courtesy of Dealer X. Now he was guilty of reaping both me AND Kai. I think Dealer X has figured out what he is going to be for Halloween. Lucky for me he won't be in Biloxi at the I.P. event to reap my ass on Halloween. Hmmm...Halloween...costume or no costume this year?

I convinced Kai to get our asses out of that place and call it a trip. We stopped by this jam-packed cafe we had been avoiding all trip. Our waitress was horrendous. About 60-70, missing part of her lower face, and about as helpful as a prison guard on death row. Kai was describing her waking up in the morning, with her thick white trash, Midwesterner up a cigarette, popping open a Schlitz, and barking out orders to her asshole, unemployed drunken husband. It had me howling. I had been craving french toast all trip. And they had it.

"Can I please get some french toast? And if possible, I would love it if I could get my syrup heated."  See, I am kind of particular, as every Waffle House waitress between Georgia and Louisiana can attest...but I always tip at least 30% at Waffle House as long as they get it right. Hash Browns? Extra well done. Bacon...limp, lightly cooked. Always like my waffles cooked light also. But syrup? It's just got to be hot. I hate cold or room temperature. So what does 'Flo' (that is a 'Mel's Diner' reference, a sitcom from the late 70's early 80's that many of you might not be familiar with, god it sucks getting old!!!) say to this demand?

"Well, they ain't gonna do no hot syrup...its just not how they do it. It will come out room temperature."  Me and Kai exchange awkward looks. Umm....I wonder if 'they' expect their customers to leave tips. I ask her if they have a microwave. She tells me they do. Really!!!??? So to put the bowl of syrup in there, push 30 seconds, then START, would be creating all kinds of havoc for her? She tells me she 'will see' if they can heat it up. Needless to say, it arrived at room temperature. Service with a smile!!!!

I wake up at 7am. Leave at 7:30. Stop and get gas. Go to Walgreen's and buy some 'Goof-Off' to get the scrapes and scratches out of the front side of the rental car...or 'skate' as me and Kai had taken to calling it. That mission didn't work. Now, I still don't know if this came with the car...or if I put it in the wall on my first night here and just wasn't aware. Well, I made it to Midway with time to spare, got a really nice curbside check-in guy...who saw my Alabama shirt and started in on a conversation about his son, who had received offers to go to Alabama to play football or San Diego State to play volleyball, both on scholarships. Hmm...that, is actually, kind of a tough call. I know it might not sound like one to some of you....but I will assume most of you haven't ever visited San Diego State University, with a full, raging libido at the age of 19. Trust me, it's a tough call.

I left the nice man...and returned the car. The lady who checked out my rental...who I was sure to be extra nice to, took no notice of the 'damage' and printed out my final receipt. I think I may have dodged a bullet. Made it through TSA with my bag only being re-scanned and pilfered through twice. Leaving me 7 minutes to catch my flight...which I scored an emergency exit row seat for. And that concluded my near-perfect morning. The flight was perfect. As was the flight from Atlanta to Gulfport.

Then, the standard GPT experience began. Waiting for the luggage. I was seated in the last row of the plane. Got off the plane last. And yet...waited a full 20 minutes at baggage claim...while nothing came out. This airport here is an absolute joke. For once, I decided to walk outside, and around to the fence...just to attempt to watch the action out back. Wow! I actually videotaped it on my phone. I'm not posting it here because, frankly, I'm too lazy. But they had two guys unloading the plane. TWO. Which took forever...then the one guy drives the luggage cart the whole 75 yards from the plane to the baggage claim dock. Where he radios for the big fat redneck in shorts...who comes waddling down the sense of urgency whatsoever. He finally gets to the cart, him and the driver exchange some kind of funny joke...and they begin chucking the at a time, like they are bags of garbage at the city dump. 

Now I know why three different sets of luggage have been destroyed at this airport. I was hoping that my presence would be noticed by them...and maybe seeing me holding my phone up recording them would prompt them to stop hurling the luggage the way they were. But it didn't. Every tossed bag elicited a cringe by me. Then I see my carry on, containing my laptop and everything else electronic that I value in my life get tossed, landed and slam into the metal wall. I wanted to climb the fence and go attack this guy like a pit bull. Son of a.......

Loaded up my car, which Squirrel had been circling the airport in for 45 minutes, since the fat, old asshole buzzin around on his Segueway refused to let her stand still for more than 3 minutes before running her off. What is it with these airport Nazis? I hate bin Laden for what he did to make flying one of the biggest headaches in the world. Whatever, it was nice to be home.

Spent the rest of the day unpacking, doing laundry and catching up with my dogs. Then slept...for almost a day. On my new, kickass mattress (from Beds To Go in Houston...yes Stephen, that is YOUR shameless plug you whore!), and new bedding that Squirrel had just bought, courtesy of Mollie and her attack on the bed the previous week.

So...I wake up this morning, and almost totally forget, that I had given my word to this guy to appear on his radio show. show. Now, I am not real up on how radio vs. podcast works...but I know it was live, because a bunch of people listened and told me I did alright after it was over. I sat at my desk waiting for the phone to ring...not wanting to miss the call, and coming off as a flake.

It was a show for a guy who is a doctor, who also plays poker, and who reads my blog. He is married to a clinical psychologist. He deals with heart and weight he found my case to be intriguing, since I have talked about my ridiculous cholesterol problems. It was kind of nice to hear what they had to offer, and I kind of came out of it a little more educated. Anyway...I decided to go ahead and post it on here, if you are REALLY interested to hear how it went. I think my part starts about 20 minutes in. Trust me...its not that exciting, just me talking about some personal health issues.

Listen to internet radio with chslv on Blog Talk Radio

So what else? Squirrel and I had a date night tonight when she got off work early. We went to that bastion of health food for dinner, Red Lobster. Our 'Seafood Specialist' known to some by the title of 'Waitress' did a marvelous job...and we made it out in time to catch Brad Pitt in 'MoneyBall' which, as advertised, was a pretty solid flick. Phillip Seymour Hoffman as Art Howe was a bit of a reach...maybe? I grew up an Astros fan, and always thought of Art Howe being, well...not as he was depicted in the film. Maybe my image of him was wrong. I wonder if Billy Beane regrets not taking the job with Boston...which would have led to him NOT losing the last game of the season. 

Speaking of losing...Monkey the Greek had kind of a disappointing Sunday with my NFL picks. Granted, some of my predictions weren't too far off base...but the results didn't show it. The Saints barely squeaked by the winless Colts. Probably time for them to start looking for help at the QB position. I mean, Drew Brees? Surely they can do better than this guy!!??

The World Series heads back to St. Louis with the Rangers now holding a 3 games to 2 lead. I have no idea what is going to happen. The Cardinals have been tough all postseason. I did predict, I think, that the Rangers would win in 7...I guess I will stick by that. 

Okay...that's enough for today. I have some very big, exciting news coming in my next blog post...which might come before the IP starts. Please...for the love of god, if you are thinking, even THINKING about coming to the IP WSOP not let anything stop you. Get your ass down here!!! The structures are good, the tourney room is huge, and comfortable...and I might even do a last longer with you for every event! I am planning on bringing my oh-so-incredibly-comfortable office chair from home, and keeping it there for the whole event. I feel like since I am on my home turf, I should at least get to enjoy some kind of a home-field advantage over you savages.

Good night. Squirrel just turned off the TV...that means that next she will be bitching about the peck peck pecking of the keyboard. Yup...there went the first moan!!!


1 comment:

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