I had a post for today about performing your best but coming up short. This could apply towards me in bed I suppose.
Then, I came to work and there’s Phil with his chin on an enclosed fist trying to look like a model for Tag Heuer or Rolex. He’s telling me this week on this maddening “Poker Tip of the Day” calendar about his “Top Ten Hands”. Today was his #2 favorite hand, want to ponder a guess?
Here’s a hint: it rhymes with Bling-Bling and Wheaton holds a certain grudge against this “monster” holding.
I cheated and looked ahead on the calendar hoping for some advice on how to play this hand in a cash game with early position on a table full of loose-manic Norwegians and deep stacks. But instead I’ll be viewing Phil’s favorite starting hands for the next month with no such sage advice. I know by now you’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the announcement of his seventeenth “almost” Top Ten hand. Put down the Adderall, stop chewing on the pencil you got for five years of service to your company (yes, I got a pencil and pen set), and take a long, deep breath of recycled air because I’m not telling you until September 16th.
Damn, I’m such a bad boy; I think I’ll throw away an aluminum can today without recycling.
Anyone watch the ESPN’s Main Event re-broadcast with the imitations by the pros of different pros? Finally, a little humor infused into this worn production. I could be engrossed with Phil Gordon’s off the hip banter along with excellent poker commentary at any final table for 12 hours (if I had 12 straight hours to watch TV) but these 1 hour “clips” just don’t pack the excitement anymore. It’s not because we all know the outcome (well, not the money award, just pay up Jamie and stop being a flower scented feminine hygiene product encased in a small sac). Yes, they did “mix-it-up” with last night’s telecast with Hachem throwing down some good aggression and bluffs, not relying on all-in coin flip/dominated hand pre-flop showdowns. To Norman Chad’s credit, the ex-wife jokes were kept to a minimum. Well played sir.
Speaking of ex-wives… what was Carlos Mortensen thinking?!?!? That’s one attractive woman taking down Lennox Lewis and his Hoover Dam sized fists. Any one have the scoop on the divorce, I googled and got zilch. Why am I caring? I think I need a gun for my head.
Before I decide to end my life prematurely due to an acute case poker fanboism, I have a question for those attending the Bash next month:
What do I wear?
I am not fashionable as seen today with my beige polo shirt/black dockers/black socks/beige shoes combo. When it comes to “picking an outfit” I dress with the hopes that I’m not offending anyone by looking like, well a poker player. My “wardrobe” consists of many polo shirts, a couple of cheap button downs with stripped patterns, many many t-shirts and shorts, a couple of pairs of jeans, and four pairs of slacks.
I’m thinking t-shirt and jeans since I’m not in the market for hairy pussy, or any pussy for that matter since my marriage obligations state that I cannot have sex anymore with anyone. Boobs are a totally different ballpark that I’d like to be viewing from home plate, so is choosing the right t-shirt along with my garbled MinnesOOOtan accent gonna get me maximum breastal tissue viewage?
Actually I hope to be too busy chatting it up with the blogging crew (while downing some many microbrews and shots of course before succumbing to the floor) to care what I look like. That may sound a little gay (not there’s anything wrong with that) but the stories you pull away from gathering like this are ones you get to replay in your mind when your car breaks down, or you just need a thought to lean back on if the world seems like its going downhill faster then Nicole Ritchie’s “fame”.
It’s been almost a year since the last time we met up, and I miss my invisible internet friends. Can’t wait to see ya’ll.
Thanks for dropping by, now I mentioned yesterday about my distaste about Red Soxs Red Soxs Red Soxs on ESPN lately… what do I get when I turn on the TV at approximately 10:53pm central standard time last evening after my softball games?
A double story on the health of Big Papi and Ramirez (which shouldn’t be mentioned in the same light IMO).
Scott Van Pelt, I have my size 13 steel toed boot waiting for you in Minneapolis.
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