Tiny Bubbles

Bobby, you and your Tiggers (spelled on purpose) can go straight to hell!

That is all. Oh, and Bonderman deserved to win yesterday. I’m an impartial observer of sports (except for the Vikings because they are like totally awesome) he threw a masterpiece at the Dome that got blown apart by one Chico’s Bail Bonds moment after another. The balk, which was like a guy going up to the 15 year old at McDonald’s with the “trainee” name tag and clip on tie latched backwards and throwing down a tantrum with the force of a Hulk Hogan Wrestlemania monologue about not receiving a napkin and straw with your Super-Sized Big Mac Extra Value Meal, was his fault but a minor infraction like that shouldn’t have been called. Had that been a game with the Royals versus the Pirates, I doubt they’d bother calling it.

For a two-time confirmed parent, an all-guys weekend feels like an all-day spa cleansing yet has left a dent in my liver the size of a Monster Frisco bacon burger at Hardees’/Carl Jr. It’s similar to the feeling of attending a WPBT live event in Vegas, except without the porn slappers and junk grabbers.

I still haven’t fully recovered from a weekend of polishing off more then the recommended daily allowance of spiced rum and imported beers. Yet, I feel as though the psyche has been cleared of any stress that has been lingering due to the newborn and her penchant for waking up at the single digit hours of the morning. There’s a new batch of cute baby pics taken by the wife over the weekend so beware that Kyra Vegas may invade this page later on this week.

Friday started off with a sweat-and-beer soaked round of golf at Bulrush golf course. There’s something to be said about the hospitality of most bars north of the metro area. The bartender (who doubled as the golf pro I’m guessing) managed to whip up for just seventeen bucks, some Blood Marys for the rest of the guys while I stuck with my requisite Cap’n Coke because me and tomato juice just don’t mix (get it, mix, mixed drink HAHAHAHAHA, shut up). Along with two mini coolers full of Miller Lite, we were off to hit $3.50 balls into the woods and pay for the pleasure of doing so. I managed to not suck enough to score under 100 (which isn’t bad for me) despite playing two holes on the back nine in eight over par (I played the other seven holes at one over, including a oh-my-god-it-might-go-in-for-a-hole-in-one-shot grrrrrrrrrrrrr).

After taking a little extra time to regain the ability to drive after the round, we made our way to the cabin, well the other car did as me and Burnsie got side-tracked at Grand Casino for some quick –EV penny slots. I don’t ask for much while playing these idiots boxes for the profoundly stupid, just give me the damn bonus game, and I could care less about losing the first bill or even a second. Yeah, I lost $100 chasing a bonus game… on a penny slot. Sadly, you have to pay for alcoholic drinks at the casino, so I drowned my economic flunky self in lemonade and Sprite (because of the cache of drinks in the car it seemed stupid to pay five bucks for a watered down beer).

Despite the raging heat, our group of five guys decided to sit outside at the cabin, and slowly work our way into the bottles and cans that we brought. Finally when the oppressive rays of the sun traveled over the trees for the night we settled down for some micro-NL hold em’. One whole dollar got you 1000 chips, rebuy as many times as you bust. I wish I could say I played well, but at the time the cards didn’t matter as much as being with the guys and not having to worry about whether the kids were fed or if we’d wake up the spouses. Hell, even the neighbors were gone, so the mosh pit of music like Primus, Metallica, Beck, and I think Bob Dylan (my memory got fuzzy at night) got played at max volumes. Many rebuys were made, more stories were told, like Drizz puking in five separate areas (side of a highway, convenience store, someone’s lawn, in the car, and finally my own bathroom) after contributing too much to a “beer-a-mid” at BJ’s wedding. I’m sure my parent’s were proud of their son at that moment.

Then Bubbles dropped in (I’d go for the punny “burst into the scene” but I’m not Cardplayer and this isn’t a like-you-were-there-moment).

A light was flashing in our faces somewhere north of midnight and a woman resembling Felicia Lee (but she was strangely smiling… I kid I kid!!) suddenly appeared from the dark path in front of the cabin. At first I thought I was going to reprimanded for overplaying top pair, but Bubbles sat down with our depleting group as a couple of the guys pleaded out to tiredness. She even tossed in a few buy-ins (remember one whole American dollar at stakes!!) losing a couple of bucks when her big slick ran into the weekend luckbox of BJ and his KTo made a straight on the river. She had stories about living in Germany, being divorced, possibly being a switch-hitter, and jazzercise class which seemed very interesting at three a.m. after an entire day of drinking and perspiring.

Then came the storm…

Which I’ll draft up tomorrow because frankly I’d like to get my giddy WSOP main event fanboi hat on and catch up with all the super bloggers out there risking their sanity for our enjoyment.

Thanks for dropping by, now if you want WSOP coverage and were not fortunate enough to nail down a Main Event seat yourself. Please do yourself a favor and check these guys out. You know you want to. (if there's any bloggers still playing or have reports I'll be more then happy to add them to the list please leave a comment)

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