The Other Shoe to Drop

You just got laid, that big all-in with the nuts just got paid off, the cashier forgot to charge you for that second package of Juicy Fruit. Life is good. But why is the hair on the back of your neck standing up? This may be a personal problem as maybe I’m not psychologically stable to handle success. If you’re a competent poker player, don’t you win once in a while too? Most self-help and poker books deal with “how to cope with losing” and go through in great detail how to get back in the saddle and ride that variance bitch until she begs you stop whining and starts letting you enter the promise land under her new pink V-String.

Take my weekend for instance, started off ahead two buy ins at the $1/$2 PLO8 games on PokerStars thanks to an unfortunate player that didn’t like money very much. Feeling good I returned to Full Tilt to face the demons that left a severe red gash in my bankroll, not unlike BG trying unsuccessfully to woo an anime girl into blissful alien tentacle sex (I failed in my many attempts to undress an anime nurse but was successful in unlocking the nudie hentai picture from the slot machine!). No, I’m not publishing the link to these wonderful games you perverts. Wow, going from poker to hentai, I think that’s a low even for me.

Anyway, I started out with some marshmallow peep sex tourneys (ok I officially have “issues”) and promptly won two $26 tokens in my first two attempts. Then in the cash games I managed to snag a half a buy-in win to get my Full Tilt bankroll out of the I.C.U. section of the poker hospital. Saturday rolled around and lo and behold I won not one but TWO coin flips in the $18K NLHE tourney and managed to claw my way to a 32nd out of 900+ finish. Not the $5K for 1st, but for someone who sucks at tournament play and not getting AA or KK for a solid 4 hours, I was happy with the $78 ROMPSI (that’s Return On Marshmallow Peep Sex Investment for those scoring at home).

I must be really really good at the poker! I bet I win!! This game is E-Z!! Then last night I take a hit while pushing my edge a little too hard in a cash game and POOF (make a cool cartoony sound here at my expense) there goes half my profit for the weekend. All weekend I was waiting for that to happen. This is a bad mind set for anyone, poker or life situations. Expecting the proverbial “other shoe to drop” is different from knowing that variance will swing in other player’s favors sometimes. You can’t enter a game expecting to lose just because you won the previous 2, 3, or 10 sessions. People say the cards have no memory, and you shouldn’t either when comparing last night’s success/failure to your current session/tournament. This goes for the cards only, obviously if you’re playing against the same opponents keeping mental/physical tabs on them will help to make you a successful player. So the next time you’re on a high from nailing that nut flush and winning a buy-in or two at the cash games, don’t get weak/tight from waiting for your Aces to get cracked because “I’m bound to lose since I won last night” type of mind set.


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Do you how you feel when first get off the plane in Vegas (this goes for the gambOOlers and poker bloggers)? SLOTS, DRINKS, POKER, STRIPPERS, PORN SLAPPERS, BUFFETS, PETE ROSE SIGNING AUTOGRAPHS AND REFUSING PROP BETS. It’s a mental overload of all the debauchery you will partake in over your 2-5 night stay in Sin City.

That’s why when I took Little Drizz to a train show this weekend, I tried my best to keep a smile on my face as he pulled me in 15 different directions trying to play with every model and plastic train being displayed. The World Greatest Hobby as it was toted displayed every thing about trains, model trains, train tracks, train sets, and all sorts of trainy stuff. Little Drizz couldn’t contain his excitement as I had to stop him from playing with the working model trains that cost more then I make in a week. I had no idea to the amount of cash these people put into their displays, I mean we’re talking $200-$400 for ONE small model railway car. That’s a dinner, drink, lap dance, and maybe some back seat action. Since Little Drizz was acting like a junkie who just downed a fist full of PCP and 12 pack of Red Bull, despite me taking care of the little ball of flipped out energy I was able to observe a couple of the type of people who would be interested in a Walt Disney railway car for $399.95.

I wanted to approach the gentlemen wearing his son’s Thomas the Tank Engine backpack and inform him that his balls were back inside his mini-van and he should retrieve them before he buys a conductor’s hat and stripped overalls and starts singing the Thomas theme song during karaoke session while slamming O’Doul’s. Now if it was a Dora the Explorer backpack he’d get a pass because she kicks Swiper’s pansy-ass on a daily basis.

And to the yuppy douchebag who brought the SUV-sized stroller into the 8 feet wide walking lanes between exhibits with hundreds of people walking in both directions? I hope a kid on a pixie stik high bites your ankle for the next 30 years. Moron.

Being the kind of dad I am, the grand finale of the show was to ride on this 30 foot oval track with a scaled down train. Of course being a free ride there was a bit of a line. Little Drizz didn’t wish to wait, so for the next 45 minutes the words “no”, “don’t”, “please stop kicking me in the balls”, and “we’re almost there” were repeated being I like hearing myself talk. He was in euphoria and not listening to my pleading that we had to wait before going on the 30 second joy ride (which was kinda cool despite my leg cramping up from try to squish onto the mini-bench). Excellent time, just wished I didn’t have to be a parent and tell him “no” so much.

From there we went and had a pizza at the original Broadway Pizza in Minneapolis. It looks a little burnt out outside the restaurant and the interior isn’t much better. But the Ham, Bacon, Pepperoni, and their specialty Italian Sausage all in a deep dish pie made me forget all about the hoochie mama spilling her funk out of the spandex outfit at the adjacent table and Little Drizz’s inability to sit still for three seconds let alone the 35 minutes needed to craft this artery clogger of a pizza. If you’re visiting this state and don’t want some cookie cutter Old Chicago/UNO/Domino’s/Papa John’s type pizza (yes I realize they've "sold out" and they're franchised now), hit this place up, you won’t be left unsatisfied and may need new pants.

Thanks for dropping by, now go tell that bitch variance to hit the road jack and don’t come back no more no more no more no more!