The days before big words like marriage and responsibility. These are memories most people reflect upon in relief when TPS reports get stacked too high in their cubical or the kids decide to throw a mutiny against the oppression of having to go to bed without watching The Incredibles for the third time.
For me, those days were spent playing softball and volleyball at sport bars. I played on leagues almost every night of the week, and of course we were sponsored by various institutions which served alcohol beverages. These halls of lower learning would gladly hand over cold beer and hot wings on the cheap as long as we overtiped the attractive sport themed waitresses before leaving near midnight. There were no worries of getting babysitters, no monetary obligations to real estate, and no care about the next day since most of our jobs were nothing but stacking some boxes or stacking papers in file cabinet.
The good old days. Partying with friends then playing euchre till the sun rose up in time for that first Sausage McMuffin, hash browns, and cinnamon danish at McDonald’s.
But, as time saunters on I began to realize I could use some direction in life and there was a woman that put up with my antics enough to settle down to the quiet life of marriage. Quiet like a tween slumber party watching SNAKES ON A PLANE!!!! I love the family life, its fits me and most of the time I fit it. I’m not a globe-trotter, I don’t feel the need to roam, and much like my poker game, I am a rock.
This weekend I got a small taste of my past as I was invited to play a softball tourney while the wife went up to our cabin with a gaggle of her friends to swap bad husband stories and do that scrapbooking thing which I consider the Avon of the 00’s. You can make a decent living pawning off fifteen dollar sheets of paper and stickers to these ladies. I know because I made the mistake of asking my wife how much the page displaying part of our trip to Charleston cost. On the other hand at least she doesn’t gamble for a hobby, which would be terrible! Imagine the horrors of someone betting money on cards that represents a week’s pay. I don’t think I could handle such thoughts!
100 degree heat, dew point hitting “please fuckin kill me”, 20+ mph winds, and athletic competition for three hours. It was fun; I had a blast playing softball again without worries about the kids or what time I got in. Despite being the team with the oldest median age, we swept our three games on Saturday in a semi-convincing way to think some hardware or maybe a bar tab would be coming our way. Not to mention the ladies tourney being played simultaneously next to ours which provided some visual entertainment, since it was hot out and some of them wanted the improve on their tans their uniforms were tight-ish?
I didn’t look honey… much.
While back at home as the high of Saturday wound down, I decided to keep in the spirit(s) for the remainder of the night, totally disregarding the 8am starting time on Sunday. A fun night for sure as I played some penny poker with bloggers, probably recited too many 80s glam bands songs from the Arena Rock blaring in the house, and managed to win a token on Full Tilt (that’s bonus code Drizz99 that all three of my readers have used) with one of my favorite criminal bloggers and Suckout Specialist Speaker (can't complaining losing to 99 however). I even managed to go deep in a few MTTs, cashing in one and 50 away from a seat for yesterday’s Stars 150 seat WSOP bonanza (~700 person rebuy, 18 got seats).
Despite the aches and old man pains this morning, it’s refreshing to have a day once in a while to plunge into stupidity. Much like many bloggers did when they descended upon the city of neon sin last weekend. Liver still not talking to you?
Tomorrow, I’ll try post some demo derby pics that I attended last night, as I’ve found out there are people who are unfamiliar with this NASCAR-esque past time of smashing up old cars to the amusement of shirtless farmer tanned, Busch Light-beer-belly hanging over his torn Wranglers with blurry tattoos of blurred mystical figures on his man-tits.
Thanks for dropping by, now I have a question ethical/pokery question for people who a bit too nice at the tables sometimes (and I know I was wrong in the end).
Say you’re playing an H.O.R.S.E. SnG because sometimes you consider yourself a decent mixed games player and you figure the game to be +EV. You get down to four players and one of them has gotten there despite disregarding the name of any of the games as that are spelt right in the middle of the table (great improvement Full Tilt team!!!).
You see this aberration to poker cap four different streets in Razz with a board of xx/AAQQ/x and after 6th street attempt to quell the bleeding a little by reminding him which game we’re playing. At the time I felt bad for this guy as for some reason his Aces full of queens didn’t hold up and he ended up bubbling. I know after I knocked some sense into myself that I should have kept my mouth shut till the end of hand.
The question is: Would you bother to help the guy after the hand? I know there’s a “don’t educate the player” type code at the tables, but this wasn’t a cash game and it felt like being told the winning lottery numbers before the drawing.