End of The Insanity?

N.O.P.E.

Close...but no cigar! Before I go deeper:

Squirrel is safely home now, with our lovable critters who miss us and are running low on Skoobie Snacks. (make some money Dad...make it NOW! No pressure)

Jason Derulo sings songs that I almost WANT to enjoy. However, when everyone of his songs starts with him crooning..."Jasssssson Derullllllo" it just makes me want to cringe. All I want is an explanation as to WHY this is happening.

Once your hotel refrigerator becomes coated with too much ice, it stops being cold. Apparently. This is where I am today...and at this moment, all contents are on the counter, the refrigerator door is wide open...and it is defrosting.

Our six-day cycle is up. Last six...on Kai...next six, on me. What does this mean? Generally it means a 20 minute wait in line to swap out credit card info and get new room keys. That and some lady with a clipboard knocking on my door every 12 minutes to ask if we are checking out today.

Its 12:30. I have a secret plan today. Its Omaha H/L limit at Nugget today. Showing up on time means nothing. Sit there and play, play play all the hands...and either get a little ahead of starting stack, or a little behind. In the process be slowly driven nuts by one river suckout after another. So why subject myself to that? Just skip it ALL. Show up around the end of Level 3...with a starting stack...and start from there. 

Two weeks ago, it was the convention for what seemed like ALL of Scotland. This week...its a Geriatric Convention of some sort. Droves of elders everywhere. Scooters looming around every corner...waiting to run you down. 

A few apologies are in order:

(1) To TBC...or Tony Big Charles...the guy who I admittedly made fun of on here a couple posts ago. Truth of the matter was...and its been confirmed by a lot of you readers...the guy kind of brings it upon himself. But we had an exchange via my Facebook, turns out he was born autistic...and he made a point of letting me know he was operating with a bit of a 'underdog' status when it came to locking horns with me. Well, obviously...its not like people sit down at the table with signs around their neck telling us they have a disability...if they did it would be a little easier to be sensitive to their condition. But honestly...when you sit down at the poker table...and decide to start shit-talking, unless you're in a wheelchair sucking oxygen out of a tube...then generally 'It's On!' Am I right? And then...if you are that guy in a wheelchair talking smack and being a prick...well, then you're just that asshole in a wheelchair. But you just try to bite your tongue and ignore the guy.

If you all remember a guy name Randall...a player who used to show up at a lot of the circuit events and WSOP, who often times wore a Tennessee Titans jersey...he was a guy I tried very hard to be nice to, but who was just ALWAYS a douchebag. I don't know if he is still around, and I certainly hope he is...but I'm honestly glad I haven't had to see him at the poker table lately.

In TBC's case...I just could see through our exchange of messages that he really doesn't mean to come off the way he does. I don't think. And he came off pretty sympathetic, so I told him I would lay off of him. 

(2)  A guy named John Cranston. He owns and operates the Office Football website that I have an ad banner for up top. He also is, or has been...a big supporter of mine the past few years...always reading my blog, occasionally sharing his poker stories and asking me for advice on certain poker related issues. John is a super nice guy...and I've only seen him in person a couple times...usually at the Venetian. Well, after one of my posts he sent me a one word reply...'REMOVE.' He gets my blog forwarded via email every time I post. I thought there must have been a mistake. Or some misunderstanding. And after he explained it to me...I think I figured out the deal. He came by to see me at Rio about 10 days ago...with a buddy he wanted to introduce me to, and maybe have a drink. I was short with him apparently, and made him feel like I was blowing him off. I had to rewind my brain to try and recall the situation. Well...if you will all remember...I was in a $275 SNG...with a total of $700 in the last longer...was heads up for the win with a guy who didn't want to chop...and was almost dead even...when he shoved AQ into my AK and ran out a straight on me...and won $3400. That money would have basically turned my whole miserable summer around. 

So, coupled with being pissed about losing that SNG...and the huge negative swing to my bankroll, I was just hell bent on getting the FU** out of Rio that night...and I believe that was about the time that John ran into me. Yikes!

I think a lot of you know that when you approach me at events and introduce yourself as a reader of my blog, I try very, very hard to be cordial...that I know how bad it can be if you are a jackass to just ONE person...and they start telling everyone they know that "that guy Monkey is a total jerkoff." Now...if I am coming off of a major 'situation' that I just need to find a place to go and hide...and then run into someone that wants to just say 'HI' or something...well, I'm sorry, but I am human...and sometimes I misfire. And for that...I APOLOGIZE. 100%

To John: I am really sorry pal. Did not mean to cut you off, or make you feel ignored. My bad. 

Who else do I owe an apology? mmmm....I think that's it. Maybe that guy I cut off for the last parking space at Rio last night.

Something really awesome almost happened yesterday. I had mentally convinced myself that once Squirrel left...I was going to go on a tear, similar to the one I went on in 2009 after we got married and she went home...when I won TWO Venetian events in the same week. 

The day started at the Golden Nugget...in the $230 PLO H/L game. I took a hit right away. Then doubled up...then added more. Their was a lady at our table...heavy, leather-like skin, about 63...wearing a cheezy Jimmy Buffet-looking cowboy hat...that liked to see flops, and turns, and rivers. For any price. I watched her call this guy's flop bet...a huge one....when he flopped middle set, and she merely had a gut shot, with NO low draw...then on the turn he potted it, to which she called again...and got there. We all groaned one of those groans that says "Oh shit...please don't let me be THAT guy!"

Well, guess what? I became that guy. Yeah. I flopped top two, with a good low draw...and a flush draw...and decided to check raise. We were at 150/300. The first guy...who loved to say the word "POT!!!" (hate those tools) said it again...and the bet was 5500...leather face cowboy hate smooth calls, and I re-potted...which constituted an all in. They both call. And all they had was a low draw. She was on a bad draw. His was a bit better. I had the high pretty much locked up...until she goes runner, runner...counterfeits MY low...and makes a fucking wheel...knocking me AND the other guy out. Jeezuz. My time at the Nugget was over.

The good news? It was 3:10pm. And yes...the valet at Nugget is a nightmare. And it was 109 degrees...with no cool place to wait for your car...so I stood in the service hallway...as large carts and racks went flying by. The thought occurred to me to maybe try and get run over by one of them...and land myself a quickie out-of-court settlement that might get me out of the summer-long hole I've dug for myself. Then my car arrived...

Get to Caeser's in time for the BIG O tourney which is Omaha H/L...pot limit...in which you get dealt FIVE cards instead of FOUR. Fun times. $350 buy in. If you bust...you can re-enter for up to four levels. We started with 25k. By the end of one level...I had 42k. Then Jeremy...aka 'Destructo Dealer' arrived. Six hands later...and 4 painful and unbelievable river beats later...I was broke. I was left staggering to the registration counter...feeling like I'd just been in the ring for :47 with the Mike Tyson from 1989. REBUY!

Go to a different table. BOOM! Go on a tear. Notice the guy in the #1 seat...his name is Casey. He had 180k. He was the guy who was at my Final Table in Hammond...when I got 6th. He was the guy who I thought was all in after he 4-bet my raise (me with AA) and I turned over my hand after saying "I call"....whoops...won the hand, but incurred a very painful, and momentum-killing 10 hand penalty for revealing my hand with action pending.

He was raising a lot. I mean...a LOT. Making very loose calls. Getting lucky. Then he got cocky. Trash talking guys he was knocking out. Then...after one altercation...where the other player actually pulled an attempted angle shoot...he proclaims "I don't even care! I'm winning this tourney! You are all going down!"

As soon as I heard that...I knew he was doomed. He was actually real pleasant to me...and we had some nice conversation, but I knew his over confidence was likely going to bite him in the ass. And it did. He went out well out of the money.

166 played. 18 cashed. I pretty much coasted into the money. With 16 left I was close to chipleader with 410k...with the average at 230k...and I was really feeling like the $14k for first was within reach...that this summer was about to finally turn the corner.

CUE THE STANDARD DISASTER: I raise UTG with A-4-3-9. I get called by a guy with A-2-2-10. Flop comes 9-9-2. We like that flop don't we? Um...yeahhhhh...not so much, unless, after getting his 240k in the middle, and needing to hit either another 9...and ace, a four, a three...or any running pair...we brick the turn and the river...immediately plummeting to way below average. I wanted to puke. I had long time buddy Leif Force on my right...who I had been at the same table with for about three hours. And who was rooting for me to make a comeback. I kept folding decent hands to his raises...and finally, I was getting too low, and had to take a shot. He raised, and I shoved all in with KK774...double suited. He had A-2-Q-X-X....I was good on the flop...then he turns a 3 and rivers a 5...making a wheel...and instead of a HUGE, much-needed double up to climb right back into things....I was again slaughtered by another murderous river card. 

POW! the punch in the gut! And I was out 13th. For $750 whopping bucks. Which meant I was -$250 for the day. And I think we ALL know how much that sucks.

So what to do next? No one wants to call it a day after that crap, right? Looked around the Ceaser's cash room? Mmmmm...naw, better not. Called Venetian. Nope, SNG-Land is dead over there. Get a text from 'The Prescott'...he's on his way to Rio. Decide to go meet him to play SNG's. I play four of them. I get 3rd place...TWICE. Then a fourth. Annoyance meter booming. In the last one...I get 7 of the friendliest players at my table...and one complete ASSHOLE. From Canada. Who could have possibly led to me getting into trouble...but I kept reminding myself...'Self, its Rio. It's Harrah's. You are back in after 3 years. Ignore him. Ignore him. Bite your tongue. Shhhhhhhhhh'

So I let the other players get onto him. Put on my BOSE...drowned him out...and tried to win the damn sit n go and dig out of my now growing hole. I get three-handed...with him, and a delightful girl from Equador. Ecuador? Anyway...if we busted this guy...we were going to chop it. Didn't happen. I shove on his BB with AJ...he snap calls with 99...and of course...I miss everything...and then get to listen to him gloat and talk more shit, having knocked me out. I hate that guy. And what's weird is that he was friends with this guy named Kaylen...who could NOT have possibly been a nice guy. Made no sense to me, and never will. 

Allie and I get into the last one of the night. A $125...with a $200 last longer. I won't bore you. I lost. Then went to play 2/5 while waiting on Allie. He also lost. And while he was losing I was getting my ass handed to me by a tourist who kept announcing that he was on vacation and didn't care if he lost. So when he was raising his $10 straddle to $50...and I was waking up with QQ once...and KK the other time...and re-raising him to $150...with him shoving all in with....ready? J7 the first time...and FOUR NINE offsuit the other time...he was hitting them both...and I was down $1000! After the 4-9 debacle I realized it was time for me to get the HELL OUT OF THERE! 

Sometimes poker just makes you want to kill yourself. Or someone else. And since murder is illegal, and suicide voids any life insurance claim for your loved ones...the only thing you are really left with as an option is to sneak off to your hotel, eat an Ambien or five...and just slip off into a land where the boogey man can't get you.

So on a day when everything was supposed to turn around...the hole just got deeper. The emotions more damaged. And now...as I lay here...and think about JUST how much I don't think I can handle being tortured again by old people calling everything to the river...the more I think I will go over to Rio and play the 2pm Deepstacks they have over there. 

Okay I think that is enough for today. Wish I had more time to talk about light blue headphones, yellow stupid glasses guy from Switzerland at our table who was the ultimate human-rain-delay SLASH Dwannabe...tanking nearly 1:26 on average on every freaking hand in the Omaha tourney. I was the first to notice of course...then slowly, one by one...the whole table started to go on tilt. Leif Force got to the table...and after about three orbits looks at me, and asks..."Monkey Boy...is this typical for this guy?"  Uh...yeah buddy. And then some. Finally I had the pleasure of busting him...and the whole table breathed a deep....holy-shit-now-we-are-going-to-see-at-LEAST- five-more-hands-a-level sigh of relief. This is an epidemic that needs an immediate cure. 14 second folks. FOURTEEN SECONDS! If you can't look at your hand and make some decision in FOURTEEN SECONDS or less...you need to be beaten about the face and body with a sock full of nickels until you learn to speed it the fu** up!!!!! That might just solve this growing issue in poker.

THWACK-POW-THUD-CRACKKKK- KERSNAP-GUHHHH!!!!

MONKEY