The Bash at the Boathouse: Part Three

The greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising up every time we fall.

-- Confucius (551-479 BC) Chinese Philosopher


After a surprisingly refreshing night of sleep the roommates BB, StB, BG, I allowed CJ and Spaceman to get some more sleep while we were seeking some diner breakfast food to soak up last night’s damage.

Friendly’s was a throw back 50’s malt shop, as Pauly described, with two rows of seats made for pixie-sized people. Frankly I’m surprised BB was able to squeeze his guns thru the rows. The lovely yet perpetually slow Amanda waited on the four hungover travelers with a tired smile which we returned being equally tired. After an hour of finally receiving our food and digesting the first (and only) real meal of the weekend we played a little credit card roulette to see who would pay for the meal. I chose my lucky Target Visa card, StB had his trusty orange on black Hooters card, BG provided the cap and everyone inquired the fresh faced Amanda to pick the lucky “winner”.

Hope you got some free wings StB.

On the way out I noticed the dry erase board contained today’s special but didn’t have the control to ask with a straight face about the “Fajitias w/rice and a Happy Ending Sundae”. The advertising mat plastered on the wall behind us proclaimed the sundae was “Warm and Gooey”. Maybe there’s a reason Amanda walked so slowly.

CJ and Spaceman were taking in the Michigan/Stinkin’ Badgers game as we returned to the room. Since there was a little void time before the Bash why not fill it with the activity that brought us together in the first place? BB fired up a little Razz game on Stars and of course there prop bets on the virtual cards being shot out of the RNG.

Soon enough it was time to get the least exciting part of the weekend over with. The Bash itself. (this is a bad attempt at internet sarcasm)

Spaz would have been a great way to describe my lack of self-control over the day at the Boathouse. I think the sensory overload of seeing so many people you want to talk to, catch up with, and of course the bursting generosity of the hosts made the Bash something I could gladly give up a little dignity for.

Yes, Stef had great boobs.

Al, BigMike, Steve, and Jen if you guys decide to plan the cotillion for drunken gamblers again next year, put my name (sans Captain Morgan boxers) on the list. I just can’t get over how people with such diverse backgrounds can gather tens, hundreds, or thousands of miles and act like nightly drinking buddies that you’ll see the next day.

Actually I’d like to see that chick in the white tube top flash those tities again the next day. Instead I got a muscle head waking me up during the first morning run of Sportscenter.

But before it was time to wait for four hours in Philly’s lovely shithole of an airport there was a little fun to be had.

I believe after the cash game (WITH PLAY CHIPS) and the big charity SnG with Gavin (congrats to the Luckbox!!), Al approached me about playing a little beer pong tourney they were starting up in the basement. For a moment of clarity came about to seek the perfect partner and stack the team so high that only an act of God would prevent victory.

Bobby “BOOOOOOOOOM HEADSHOT” Bracelet was that man.

After entering the downstairs bar, everyone correctly bowed in reverence to this legendary holder of Huge Junk. Over the next few hours we would leave a trail of mortals and broken beer bottles on the floor while raising money For Peyton at $20 a clip. Soon, a large man that made me look like I hadn’t eaten in two months, started up the tourney and outlined our path to the finals showdown with BB and Schafer. While double fisting Cap’n Cokes we breezed through the competition… high fives and chants of “BOOOOOOM HEADSHOT!” left opponents in our wake.

Then disaster struck, someone replaced our dainty cocktail cups with two gallon buckets and with that advantage a local team defeated us with one cup/bucket to go (actually they were pretty good).

Robbed.

The final hours are somewhat of a blur of moments.

Bobby working his magic (at least she was legal and beyond hot).
The bouncer acting robotic to my praise of this party (are you saying I’m drunk sir?).
Seeing the many tats of Falstaff’s friend and finding out how a Midwest beer like PBR became his choice of drink.
Watching Carter, Schaefer (after breaking the beer pong tourney posterboard over his head disgusted with 2nd place), and Gavin sing with the live band.
Dancing with a princess (how I didn’t fall is beyond comprehension). Washing my face after a quick (or maybe it wasn’t so quick) purge of stomach sewage.
Dawn and Karol finally make their appearance after hitting up three different home games in the area and taking the local's money.
Pauly trying to explain that MSU collapsed like the stock market on Black Monday and the Irish just cost me ten bucks.

All good things to have to come to an end at some point, and after seeing the picture on the link (because Blogger isn't letting me post pics) I’ll leave you to seek other points-of-view of this party of all parties, because I've reached my limit... until next time of course.

Thanks for dropping by, now the question of the day (if you like the NFL), did T.O. not get his ego stroked enough, or was it an outcry of a privledged person who had a moment of clarity?

Edit: This isn't cool for Crypto-US players if its true and I've seen some Interpoker blog banners out there...

The Bash at the Boathouse: Part Two

With the Friday prelude at the Boathouse over, BG took the reins of MC for the evening. A poker tournament (FOR PLAY CHIPS) was set up in the spacious conference hall for those of us who arrived a day early.

I think what makes this group special is its ability to come through with the unexpected. Like my apparent inability to keep my jeans buttoned, but we’ll get to that tomorrow. The wet bar stocked with Grey Goose, 1800, and of course SoCo, along with a keg of if-you’re-not-from-the-east-coast-don’t-try-to-pronounce-the-real-name-of “the lager”, set the ship in the right direction.

After the keg was properly tapped, we began to throw cards and chips in each other’s direction. 235 chips to begin with at ½ blinds provided plenty of time and play or as Cardplayer “Like You Were There Moment” would report… the play was fierce and emotions ran high.

Going clockwise around the table, I found myself seated next to the lovely Karol, whose innocent wolf-in-sheep-clothing looks preyed upon any bets I attempted to throw into the pot. Spaceman and StB were seated opposite of me. 2005 Lewey Award winner and 2006 WPBT Caesar’s Palace champ F-Train looked to be in good form for a repeat of last year’s award winning performance. Rounding out the table was Katitude, the beautiful teacher from the land of maple syrup, funny colored money, and illegal U-turns. And on my immediate right, the enabler Ms. Veneno. She was solely responsible for derailing my attempts at a “slow” buzz for the weekend. When someone is kind enough to mix me a drink I have no reservations of turning down just generosity, but why do they always ask you “is this too strong?” when they know damn well that mixing a margarita with 3/4th tequila and a splash of mix might be “too strong”. Ah, but those soft eyes would end my tourney a little later after the faux tequila shooter was finished.

More attention was paid to catching up then picking up tells. Just the way a blogger tourney should be. After F-Train, StB, and Spaceman departed and we consolidated to two tables, Karol’s co-blogger Dawn dropped by to give everyone bronchitis (does this earn her the Gracie’s Patient Zero award? I kid!!). Carter (link doesn’t seem to work) and a man on a mission, TripJax decided to take time off of going shot-for-shot with Al to bully me off every hand I tried to play.

Then with 11 left, and Veneno limping behind I got the brilliant idea to raise all-in with ATo having 16BBs left. After folding around she of course couldn’t get her chips in soon enough with pocket Kings and I was left to wait for the cash (WITH PLAY CHIPS) game to start.

Pokerwolf, Speaker, Spaceman, Maudie, Kat, and SirAlCantLimp managed to steal my money bit by bit with every horrible turn of the card. Even my Twins mini-helmet sundae holder/card capper wasn’t working any magic. I tried playing blind and kept picking up draws that felt like the last 5 seconds of a lap dance when the stripper quickly swipes away your money to scurry off to her next victim while you’re left with blue balls and a lighter wallet. None of them came (start booing), and my wallet weighted in at less then a super-featherweight boxer.

Pauly decided with the looks of a man looking for an illegal dice game, to prop bet anyone for high card out of the muck (even if the game was still being played). And subsequently won. Every. Time. It felt like waiting for the river card while playing online, rigged. :P

Yep, right at home with this crowd.

With the blood-alcohol limit blown past, several bloggers expressed a need to grab a bite to eat. A diner was the plea, but it wasn’t to be, because there’s only one place open during the wee hours.

WAWA!!!!

Which may have been the most popular word besides “refill” or “I going to puke” for the weekend. The Wawa looked like any regular convenience store from the outside, so I quickly looked for the pre-made microwavable section for a burger. StB with similar thoughts was denied his chemically injected burrito and had to settle for a bag of chips. Wawa wasn’t a place for disappointment of course, because the entire back of the store was a sandwich shop AND people were working! From one of 4 or 5 LCD screens you could choose what seemed like an endless amount of mouthwatering condiments and different meats. Since I’d never tried a Philly Cheesesteak before it seemed like the prudent choice for a “when in Rome” moment. The sandwich tasted almost as good as the platinum blonde looked exiting her SUV as the drunk tank of bloggers was piling back into (not on top of) the van.

From here my memory is fuzzy until the next day when we’d adventure for a happy ending and play a little beer pong. Tomorrow brings semi-intentional wardrobe malfunctions, the gods of beer bong get denied, and who put water in my Cap’n Coke?

Thanks for dropping by, now whoever decided last night that I was worthy of some cards and bad players. Thanks, I needed that.

The Bash at the Boathouse: Part One

Viewing the skinny MinnesOOtan walking off the plane at Philadelphia International Airport this past Friday was like watching a fish flop back and forth hopelessly on a shoreline, gasping for water after a strong wave threw its soon-to-be bird food body out of its natural habitat.

My eyes immediately darted back and forth looking for some sign of familiarity.

Although I am 31 years old, I’ve only been on a plane twice alone. Once was to travel to my adoptive home of Las Vegas, city of all things not real. Well, maybe they were real but sheer size had me leaning towards silicon. There I met up with my many invisible internet friends that I have spent many-a-nights huddled over a post, a tourney, an girly chat box conversation, a dial-a-shot. This time even though I had met them nearly six month prior, was less apprehensive. Gone were the log-on nicknames and other monikers, well maybe not all of them but instead of approaching a name tag, you could be friendly with the person behind it.

This trip was different. There would be no casinos, no vastness of Vegas to lose myself, and for a little while, possibly no Malvern.

After my ears finally popped and I regained a sense of balance, and figured out no one that would call me by the name that makes Omaha players on Full Tilt lick their chops (I’ve probably lost over $X,XXX there, cover your eyes honey if you’re reading this) I decided the luggage claim would be where the adventure would begin…

…

…

…

Two hours go by and pleads to the short, paunchy blonde stuffed in her police uniform added to my sense of dread. She’s never heard of Malvern. Calls to information came back with similar answers. Ah! The cab stand would know! But, again I might have just spoke in Swahili, as no one had heard of the fabled residence of the Boathouse.

One more trip back to the gate… and a gentleman in a muscle shirt that forgot about the BALCO labeled syringe sticking out of his arm was making his way in the opposite direction. The big, friendly smile told me that the weekend was set to begin.

After acquiring a lovely Veneno, the three of us pleaded with Dollar Rental Car to make receiving a vehicle similar to getting your wisdom teeth extracted with a chain saw.

They didn’t disappoint.

But, it didn’t matter. Our sights were on a shot of SoCo with the humble hosts of this party, and seeing friends that aren’t readily accessible for a game of Chinese Poker or just to shoot the shit about Norte Dame’s chances to cover vs. Michigan State every day.

After entering the Mecca of SoCo’s basement, I was met with a ringing greeting by the people who know me by a fantasy fictional character’s name. For some reason, Al came up to me with the face of a mother who’d lost his child at Macy’s toy department. So, to play along I made sure to rub it in a little bit about forgetting about me at the airport, when truthfully I was more mad at myself for not bringing a cell phone or at least having a number to call someone.

Cheer to you Al, because of yours and BigMike’s planning, seeing everyone at the Boathouse slapped a smile on my face that wouldn’t leave until I heard the Vikes fell short to Urlacher and those other folks who follow him around with similar football jerseys Sunday evening. But, if I do come for a repeat performance, please tell the airport to have a fuckin pinball machine or something to do.

After a couple of shots and a beer expertly suggested by StB, I was approached by a suave looking NewYorker who must have smelled blood, and he quickly relived me of my first five dollars of the weekend via Roshambo. While chatting with a *ahem* semi-sober JoeSpeaker a wonderful half pound bacon cheeseburger soaked up the booze and travel weariness. BG soon came thru the doors to inform us it was time for the blogger tourney back at the hotel!

(Tomorrow Part Two of Three since this is getting long enough today and yes we’re going to the Wawa. Also, hopefully answer the question... is there anything Pauly wouldn't bet on???)

Thanks for dropping by, now if you’re a Twins fan. The magic number is zero.

Bring on A’s or Yankees!!!!!! Hmmmmmm, I seem to know fans of both teams. This could get ugly for my virtual wallet.

Speechless

It was a dark and stormy night, but luckily the Wawa was open.

... to be continued tomorrow *cue overly dramatic soap opera music*

(this is a hint that I had fun at the Bash and my body still hasn't recovered)


Edit: To Jordan and TripJax... flip a coin to see who I should sign up with VPP with.

Edit to the Edit: I saw that F-Train was the victor of the last longer... name your site/ID for $10 sir. Bastard.

I Love It When They Call Me Big Poppa (DADI)

I call myself a mixed game specialist, I guess it would seem fitting to actually do well in a HORSE tourney for once.

See you at the Bash folks.









Edit: Now I'm almost four hours into this PLO tourney on Full Tilt (bonus code: Drizz99) !!!! Please kill me. Down to 14.

Going to bed: Final Table bubble boy but made a little change.

Beer Goggles Do Not Fit Me

This is where you will find me tonight (barring circumstances out of my control).

This is where I'll be on Saturday (barring an act of God).

This is where you will find me Sunday morning (barring my ability to retain even 1/4th of my tolerance in college, not likely).

See you then fellow bashers.

It's Too Early

You get up after a so-so night of sleep and do the usual routine of showering, shaving, looking outside for tanks surrounding your home, and pour a nice bowl a Sugar Corn Pops.

SportsCenter comes on and shockingly the first story isn't about the Yankees or Red Soxs (probably because they were busying giving up homers to 178 pound waifs with a grand total of one round-tripper before the game). You smile at USC's coach doing the hang loose sign, and pet the fat cat as he jumps up on the table to remind you to feed him before stumbling out the door.

Hopping into the car, your body notes that its getting cold, and bitching about the weather on your blog is coming soon. The wife turns on the radio to the K102 morning crew and some warbling country western guy sings about loading sixteen tons of something that annoys you.

As you near the workplace, the wife spots a gas station with prices 20 cents lower then the one near your domicile. "A nice sauage, egg, and cheese biscuit would be great" your stomach proclaims. Pointing out the price, your wife agrees to fuel up the gas sucking car. After the wife takes the job as pump jockey, you grab your wallet and hop inside to grab the pre-made grease brick under the heat lamp and the morning paper with the headlines about apples, Bush vs. Iran, and how "Grey's Anatomy" is a great show (I agree).

Since its near your work and you've visited the store many times in the past, you expect the geeky yet strangly attractive brunette in a She's All That pre-meeting-Freddy Prinze Jr.-sort-of-way (SUPER SIZE MY BALLS!) to ring up your purchase. Unfortunately its an Indian (dot not feather) who garbles something at you after sliding a finski his way. Because of your drowsy state, you don't acknowledge the broken English at first and become angry that geek-girl decided not to work thru the morning shift and that he is still clutching your change.

"What did you need sir?" you inquire

"I said, would you like your pennies from your change?" states the man with a head too big for his shoulders

I'm not miserly enough to care about pennies or even a couple of nickels as I usually drop them into whatever give-a-penny-take-a-penny jar or tray laying out. But why the fuck are you asking if I want my own money?

You walk away, head shaking, but sans pennies focusing on the lukewarm prize in your right hand.

Dejected despite the delicious sponge cake-like biscuit sandwich you run to your blog and chronical your vapid story.

Me in PA in two days, just say WHODEY!

Thanks for dropping by, now hit me with your best sarcastic remark for our penny-pinching clerk.

Follow, Follow, Follow...

Otis is the man once again.

Read UpForPoker this morning and start your journey down the yellow brick road of Billy’s encounter of a home game at Earle’s place (someone wake up Chad to approve his comments…). As if the penis farm sprouting in his front yard wasn’t enough, it looks like Otis is going to take you on a ride thru the blog-o-sphere via comments. Color me amazed daily by the words, advice, and rants people are kind enough to take a few minutes to bang out onto the internet for some guilty stashed-Penthouse-under-the-bed type reading (yes I read it for the articles).

Long winded discussions about playing A7o (my apologies to Daddy for that skunk of a game last night) in MP may be on the decline, but what evolves from underneath the Bud Jones styled chips and discarded losing hands that had promise pre-flop, will still be worth a moment or two of your time.

Will I still blog about poker? Hell yeah! I enjoy the hell out of the game. The difference these days is that I’ve learned to play WHEN I can, not BECAUSE I can. This is a hard lesson that gamblers and WPT fanbois learn as they pull up PokerStars or Full Tilt for the first time and watch the $100/$200 PLO game going on between Gus Hansen, Mike Matusow, and three others with names like “IfookedUrMom”. “$45,000 in real money in there?” wow, this looks like fun and the people really suck at this game! Ivey calling off $90K on two pair? Ha, what a chump!

Poker is fun, but it’s also a constant test of mental fortitude. Being a straight “A” student, could you handle getting a “D” on a physics test despite being able to recite the material in English, Latin, and Sanskrit? Would you chalk it up to variance and eagerly await the next test with the same pep? If you were an all-state high school pitcher, soon-to-be #1 pick in the MLB draft, and could throw 100 m.p.h. fastball with no curveball, could you adjust to a team of Albert Pujols that could sit back and send your best heater somewhere over the rainbow?

IMHO, if you are to be successful at the game, you should be able to throw the off-speed pitch, and adjust to the confines of a test, more then bemoan the fact that your Aces got cracked XX number of times that you’ve received them or you can’t win a coin flip (for sob tales feel free to read my archives).

Writing is a different game. I do not claim nor want to be viewed as “a writer”, maybe mass commenter since I can’t help myself when I see the opportunity to try to fill a punch line. I do not possess the creativity, the vocabulary, or the worldly knowledge that one would assign towards bloggers/writers that I admire (take this test to see if u r SMRT found on Russ Fox’s site, I got a 7/9 60% knowledgeable, 80% intellectual and felt about as smart as Maurice Clarett while standing in front of the judge yesterday).

However, I do enjoy spilling my daily musing onto this blog. The post could be about a recent flair up with the wife explaining to me *cough* calmly *cough* my inability to break my attention from Brad Johnson in the shotgun formation is a tad rude. Or the flair up happening my daughter’s diaper that after changing diapers for over three years now actually made me gag.

I would like to thank those who drop by daily despite my mockery of the English language rules and thank those who sponsor this little niche space on the internet helping to ease the pain of those nights that I yell at the Geico gecko icon for having the audacity of slow playing Aces to my King-Queen offsuit hitting top pair.

Now, if you want to read some real artistry in motion, please follow Otis’ tale around some hacks who invite us into their lives for a few minutes a day.

Thanks for dropping by, now D.A.D.I. has a new tourney on Thursday be sure to hit up their brand new website, and Mike’s always funny ad for details on the prizes added tourney.

I Am Not An Eagles' Fans

For the next dance there will be a required Basic Training class with at least a "C" achieved in field dressings and in-battle first aid, also with flak jackets handed out at the door.

What the hell is the world coming to?

Onto things that don't involve people getting shot for not being able to groove to the latest by Jay-Z.

Vikings’ victory in one word:

Ugly.

I can see how the Bears’ won their games last year, and feel for the fans because my stomach can’t take many more of these. Granted the Vikes defense isn’t quite on par with the Windy City’s, but they are showing signs of a swarming defense that can win games. Yes, Steve Smith didn’t play, get over it Carolina fans (but I recognize that Carolina probably would have won if he played, several dropped balls out there by receivers not named Me-Shawn).

With the defenses dominating the game on both sides the Vikes had to win on a trick play despite Chris Gamble’s attempt to gift wrap the tying score by showing why he was cut as the third string quarterback on his Pop Warner team. Any chance Gamble will blame the wind tunnels at the dome or perhaps a roofie slipped into his Gatorade?

There was someone who deserved the face time he got yesterday. In a Brett Farve-like sense, Julius Peppers’ name got mentioned no less then the please-retire-after-the-season-so-the-Vikes-can-get-two-easy-divisonal-game-wins-quarterback. If Al and BigMike were to do shots each time Farve’s name was mentioned (when he’s not busy throwing receptions to the other team) during a Packers’ game… the Boathouse might run out of SoCo. But, Peppers deserved every mention: sacks, tackles, getting in Johnson’s face, coming out of nowhere to almost tackle Richard Owens near the end zone on the fake FG play. Awesome.

Besides one tricky play, the Vikes offense sputtered along like a 16 year old trying to learn how to use the clutch in his hand-me-down multi-colored 85’ Nova with manual transmission. Williamson did seem to find his hands which was encouraging, but the lack of blocking on the right side was horrid. Birk, McKinney, and Hutchinson did their parts once again, but when your quarterback can see the offensive linemen’s mug while trying to throw there’s a problem.

Next up Da’ Bears. This game will determine if the Purple are contenders or just William Hung getting by on brief moments of unintentional brilliance.

I did make some fictional wagers over the weekend, and had the best day that I can recall. Eight out of ten correct (including picking the 49ers straight up, go Frank Gore!!!), one ticket cashed, three out of four on another (why why why did I take the Broncos -11 ?!?!). Of course we will not mention a certain Philadelphia team that crushed my Vikes-Falcons-(insert unmentionable team here) parlay that could have paid for a beer or ten at the Boathouse. Alas, the team with a bird as its mascot, decided in the fourth quarter to mimic a wounded duck versus the usual proud, soaring symbol of America.

Hang your collective heads in shame Eagles’ fans, although I promise to acknowledge your existence this Friday with a purchased beer or drink from myself to drain your sorrows.

Make Friday happen now, I hate the wait.

Thanks for the dropping by, now I apologize for the lack of pokery-type updates but my weekend was filled with lost wallets, screaming kids, and clearing up some spousal residue (which has made both of our lives easier). Perhaps a post saved for tomorrow.

I intended on sweeping up some more WPBT POY points during the HORSE tourney last night, instead the kids stayed up a little longer then expected and missed my usual donation to the bloggers.

Troy Williamson Saves Refs From Purple Mob

Forward motion?

Go fuck yourselves refs.

SKOL!!!!

Minnesota 16

Panthers 13

Oh.... I'm 6 for 6 with one three game parlay in the books, and two live tickets... if the Eagles don't lose.

Edit: CJ, you owe me $70.

SKOL!!!!

ThisIsNotAPokerBlogsAreDeadPost

Why is it that I'm replying a hand over and over in my head that I lost a stack at $200 PLO8 last night over and over, but can't remember how I won almost twice that amount last Friday?

Bleh.

Twins lose the game and lose Liriano for the year.

Booooo.

Its been awhile and no honey I didn't see any discarded tampon wrappers to inform me of what week it is.

Score one for being a guy.

I attended a company "Cultural Fair" to learn about different countries around the world. Appearently there's people who live beyond the Mississippi River and Fargo. I learned how to make Irish soda bread (gonna try this out on my day off tomorrow, look for the post "I Blew Up My House" on Saturday) and scones and that Moscow only has two less Billionaires then New York City. I kept looking for Larry the Cable Guy's booth with free Cheese Whiz receipes and discount coupons on Marlboro Reds, duct tape, and teen pregnancy tests but I guess trailer trash isn't considered a nationality yet.

Educational to say the least, and the candies from Sri Lanka were tasty. No, I don't want to know what was inside.

I'll be heading up to the cabin for the weekend of course, but the wife has hinted towards leaving her degenerate husband at the casino for an extended time so I'm hoping to get in some live poker before giving away Good N' Plenties at the Bash. I'm thinking the Eric Molina "Hey! I play internet poker and read a book by Phil Hellmuth phear me!" style should work on the Grumpy Old Men types with their Ole and Sven's Bait Store fishing/trucker cap and suspenders causing their pants to touch armpit hairs, waiting on their 15th cup of decaf and mid-day pill cycle while pondering a call with the nuts on the river.

Or maybe I'll just wear the recently lucky Pokerstars.com t-shirt and try to squeegee one more win out of it.

Thanks for dropping by, now over half of the blogs I've read this week proclaim: Poker blogs are dead. Go read Sound of a Suckout, my thoughts mirror this. I still play poker, but I'm not going to bore people with hand histories or inane advice unless I have a question for the far more talented players out there. Nor do I have the fortitude to stay up until 5am to win a tourney CONGRATS HOY (I'll mirror Speaker's question... do you ever sleep?)!!!!

Besides, the improv comedy of kids running around in their Bob the Builder underwear and writing just to jot down my thoughts is far more fun then repeating how many outs I missed (it was 20 outs twice for the hand I lost $200 on) or how many outs so-and-so had when I got rivered after being ahead pre-flop.

On a final note... I guarantee there will be a recap involving poker after I get home from the Bash, even if it contains a shot and boobie count.

Edit: Macarena just came up on this "Stadium Rock" internet station I'm listening to and sadly its stuck in my head now. I may need to punch someone in the face.

Can We Bash Yet?

For Speaker: I think we washed again, Twinkies went down in order in the 3rd and Cuddyer tallied one RBI. But those loveable hometown boys rallied for the win again.

Here's the prop bet for the afternoon game: Liriano strikeouts (he's going to be limited to ~60 pitches today) vs. Big Hurt's (or pick a player if he's not playing) total bases in his first two at-bats (please don't homer please don't homer).

Final game score predictions? $5 and I'll give +1.5 runs :) (I'm baiting the hook with a daredevil hoping to snag a lunker here).

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Ugh, the waiting time before a blogger event sucks, luckily I haven't had much time to ponder on it. Anyone bringing their laptops? $20+/bottle hair products? Extra condoms for hairy situations? Sweet sweet Pablo?


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I'm sure this has happened to you, but I'll throw it out there.

You're playing softball, going to the supermarket, inside an adult book store nudie booth, or having dinner at a sit down restaurant and you're noticed by an attractive female (or male if you swing like that). Its a normal occurance because of your natural good looks *cough*. This female seems somewhat familar but you can't place the face because you're staring at her chest. No, wait that's me.

She starts walking up to you and asks...

"Didn't you graduate in '93?"

Ah yes, the hot unattainable chick from high school! (we won't mention being 120 lbs. dripping wet and going for the rare geek/jock double double back then)

And whoa she's actually nice!

Do you prattle on with requisite questions like "where are you working?" "are you married?" (if yes) "have any kids?" (if no) "let's go have some shots, get drunk and have wild monkey sex in the basement of my parent's house!" Oh don't mind the brunette with the bat in her hand and a scarlet red face coming towards us its just a bit cold and her cheeks are a little rosy.

I've never gone to a high school reunion, so I'm totally in the dark as to the percentage of people who "grow up" from the popular crowds, the jocks, the preps, or even the bullies. I'm considering going to my 15 year reunion if I can nudge a couple of my friends to go just so I can brag about blogging and get that same look I got from Cyndi in high school when I first asked her out on a date while wearing some torn blue checkboard Umbro's, a bad haircut, and a Big Johnson Poker shirt LIQUOR IN THE FRONT, POKER IN THE REAR.

Stud muffin, Don Juan. Yeah, that's me.

Thus concludes the flashback of the 90s for today.

Thanks for dropping by, now did you ever get to talk to your high school crush or guy/girl that you just noticed from the sidelines? Was it disappointing? Would you hit it?

Edit: Since I can't get the radio coverage here, I'm loving this GameCast of the Twins/A's game via ESPN. Two big thumbs up!

Zygi Socky Zygi Socky Oi Oi Oi!!!

There’s exactly three times you’ll see me with a smile this wide:

1) I just had sex

2) I just cracked someone min-raising or limping with Aces and they whine about losing

3) Vikings and Twins winning on the same night

As Meat Loaf stated in his love ballad, two out of three ain’t bad. I figured this week, internet porn and watching Twins baseball while the wife tries to catch up on sleep is a much healthier substitute then my awkward sexual advances.

How did the Purple do last night? Winning the game was monstrous for their frail ego, considering their record outdoors (4-24) and on the road (11-29) since 2001 and defeating a playoff-caliber team is not to be overlooked despite the low scoring. Granted there’s neither reason to start calling up Zygi for playoff tickets nor any guarantees that the Vikes will not revert to their failings in the fourth quarter in year’s pasts. One made field goal with seconds left by John Hall and I might be out $30, and singing a different tune about how the defense allowed the Skins’ to carve up field in less then a minute with no timeouts despite showing an anemic deep passing game for the other 59 minutes. It’s amazing how little things could change a recap of a sporting event.

Troy Williamson could have turned this ass-puckering, last second tying field goal attempt game into a semi-rout with two more catches. The deep threat is legit, if his hands were as talented as his legs. Taylor and Robinson are very competent receivers but they lack the pure speed of Williamson. If the deep jump balls are going to get thrown (and they should) someone needs to be able to haul it in.

Offensive front line. Wow. Not only did the pure bulk work to their advantage but smart plays like Hutchinson’s cut back into the middle to open up Chester Taylor’s score was brilliant. A couple of more games gelling together may get Viking’s fans to buy up the remaining tickets for the remaining home games (preventing a very rare non-sellout) and have something to cheer about other then watching the Jumbotron for the Twins updates and the extra malt cup acquired from the shouting concession vendors.

Next up for Vikes: Steve Smith and if he decides to bring the rest of the Carolina Panthers that’s ok too. Of course if Smith is still hurt, they could have a repeat of their loss to the Falcons, minus embarrassing missed tackles by a scrambling quarterback. I doubt Johnson has enough shimmy left to pull off a double deke on Peppers and company. But he definitely has the arm to beat them.

On the poker front, I managed a short session last night of $2/$4 limit hold em (didn’t want to play no limit with the game on) and a little $1/$2 6-max limit O8. The O8 was uneventful as one quartering on a flopped wheel left me a whopping $2.50 down after 90 minutes. But the LHE tables decided it was my turn to hit some hands (nut straight, and two boats within five hands after folding forever) and making a questionable call-down.
You decide.

I’m on the button with 66

A player with 10BBs raises UTG, flat called by UTG + 1, folded around, I call, SB calls, BB raises (!), all call.

Flop is 9s 5s 4h, UTG leads out, UTG + 1 folds, I call, SB and BB folds (!).

Turn is 9h, UTG bets, I call.

River is 5c, UTG bets, I call.

Call me stubborn, but when he didn’t cap I couldn’t give him credit for JJ, QQ, KK, AA. TT was possible, 99 and 55 wouldn’t happen because I’m not Danny N. and this isn't High Stakes Poker, since the player hasn’t done much out of line before I figured AK- AJ, plus the pot was laying me 7.5:1 on the turn and 10:1 on the river. Or was I a calling station donkey that should have folded the flop?

Thus concludes my fan-tab-u -lossus poker content of the day. Wheeeeeeeeeeee.

Thanks for dropping by, now a note to Dwight Smith… in the future do your business in the champagne room like the rest of the team. Thank you kindly.

The Bank Teller Line Starts Here

SKOL VIKINGS!!!!

Winning on the road and outdoors is huge. Hopefully its a start of something more.

I Bleed Viking Purple...

… and some green.

It felt good to get some meaningful time at the tables this weekend. Granted Sunday blew due to my biggest leak of overplaying TPTK against a tricky opponent who used the same betting pattern while calling someone down with fourth pair. But at least I was aware enough to realize that pattern before shoving my chips towards his stack when he slowplayed aces over my big slick. In the past, the slide bar would have been yanked off the screen without such minimal analysis, especially with Trent Green on my television set taking a hit worthy of the WWF, WCW, or whatever the kids are calling professional wrestling these days.

Now its time to take the funds sitting front of me a little more seriously no matter what the stakes are, instead of mindlessly pissing away a bet here and there when I know I’m beat (I’m talking to my LO8 game). What did he/she call the all-in with? Is he a superstar, world-class player who always min-raises his/her aces? Will they call an overbet with less then the nuts? Could the media stop over glamorizing every DUI a celebrity gets after downing too many Michelob Ultras? Did daddy not give you your allowance to pay your chauffeur? Maybe its time to call up Rick and make another video (no I'm not linking that, find it yourself).

Despite my little set back on Sunday evening, I came out ahead this weekend due to Friday’s blissful run and an IM from my friend Jay to play some bar poker on Saturday evening.

To backpedal a little bit, I spend most of Saturday at Diamond’s Sports Bar with a fun gang of softball players of yesteryears out for a little exercise and maybe take down a game or two. My wife ended up bringing cranky spawn #1, and hungry spawn #2, she also brought the words told by a slight tint of crimson red in her eyes “I’m at my limit, don’t mess with me”. And I thought I had one more week till PMS time. Instead of having a relaxing day outside in the murky 60-ish temps with stiff crosswind and a cocktail, I had to be reminded that we were playing softball and it was my turn to bat when I was busying feeding Kyra, or telling Wyatt for the 1,456,324th time to please listen to his mom.

When you play softball tourneys (at any level) there is ALWAYS one team who is playing a class lower then they should. Since this was a fun tourney with no medals, no qualifications, and just a small cash prize to the winner you’d think these teams would find something better to do, like go watch the Gophers get pummeled by Cal. Instead during the final game of pool play we get a group of 21-25 year olds that looked a minor league baseball team with matching jerseys, bats, bat bags, hell they probably had matching jock straps but I didn’t feel it was my place to check. They clamored loudly after every out and throwing around the horn despite winning by double digits; thus ruining the most of the fun we had in the other two previous games of the day. Since we couldn’t win by running the bases, I thought I’d win a small battle by running my mouth louder then the vocal catcher. He probably looked me and thought “here’s the easy out, what a skinny-assed chump”, so each time I approached the plate (despite me batting clean up) he decided to try to have fun at my expense by telling his teammates where I was going to hit it.

Just to mess with him, I did the opposite. Every. Time. “HE’S GONNA POP OUT TO LEFT” (I slapped it over the right fielders head) “HEEEEEEERE’S COMES A STRIKEOUT” (I replied after the ball left the pitcher’s hand “HEEEEEEEEEERE I GO ON A WALK”). Of course his profane retorts matched his IQ, since he didn’t understand that I, nor the team really cared about the final score, thus his f-bombs were left flaccidly at home plate. Or (if you know me well enough) the irony of the insults falling on deaf ears.

After the mostly silent car ride home that included piercing scowls from the restless toddler in the back seat, Jay picked me up to head to Kelly’s 19th Hole for a little bar poker. Chippy Poker sponsored this evening filled with everything from the “just-having fun” type to the “five different card cappers-two minute stare down with A7o” types. 56 runners started the day with 5,000 in chips and blinds at 100-200 (which would escalate just slightly).

Since I don’t get to play live poker that often, I tried to take it seriously, without taking it seriously, or playing seriously stupid around people who took these tourneys seriously. Like Shawn “The Chef” Gilvin or Curt “Dirty Stack” Gatlin, and the not-to-be-taken lightly Jim “Ice Man” Linton. My name appears just between tourney legends "The Bishop" and "BFT" with 30 points after my only tourney played (take a guess at how many points you get after winning).

As in previous tourneys with Jay, I assumed I’d get tapped on the shoulder faster then the waitress could bring me my first beer… sure enough he got cold decked with QQ vs AA within the first five minutes. Since I didn’t want to make my friend wait around too long I decided to play a little more aggressive. The table was mostly passive as limping was the norm unless you had a premium pocket pair or big slick (which would come in for a min-raise causing Jesus to weep). I lost half of my stack early due to catching a straight with 57sOOOted and with the end board four-flushed I quickly laid it down as someone actually bet a higher denomination chip.

On the short stack I began to make the most of it by pushing several times with any Ace, suited connectors, or any two cards to steal the blinds of the two extremely tight players to my left (that wouldn’t even raise with TT, AK, and QQ). Since Jay encouraged me to stay despite me feeling bad that he had to wait around, I managed to carve myself enough chips to make it to the final two tables where I may have made string bet while raising all-in (live players please let me know).

A very loose, big-stacked player pushed a 10,000 chip raise into the pot from UTG six handed, I was holding 88 and had 23,000 with the blinds at 2,000-4,000. After some stupid thinking that I could win a race I decided to raise all-in (knowing he’d call, so there’s no fold equity). I stated “all-in” and rolled out all of my chips, but then said I call with the 10,000 and raise with 13,000 after counting my chips. Did I string bet here or does my verbalization of “all-in” count? Nobody raised a stink (nor do I think 75% of the room knew what a string bet was anyway) and he sighed loudly as he turned over 33. An 8 on the door and no 989:1 shot came thru on the turn and river and Drizz had some chips!

Well, not really since the blinds were more oppressive then Joseph Stalin’s turn at the helm of the Soviet Union.

By the time we got trimmed to the final table of eight, my “big stack” was in 2nd despite only having seven big blinds when the blinds doubled every round. Now, I don’t blame the structure based on a 2nd tourney having to start right after this one was done (as seen with the railbirds getting two and three deep in this small, enclosed banquet type area of the restaurant/bar). After two orbits we were down to four I was in the big blind with blinds at 16,000-32,000 and only left with 17,000 behind after paying my dues. The button who stated he didn’t want to come in 3rd, raised since he was the only one left who actually had enough chips to make a valid raise, the SB was all-in for 4,000 more and I just shoved my crapshoot chips in blind.

Button held 99 (!!!!)
SB held 5d4d
Drizz gets…. 8c4h

Since no one is allowed to win with my hand besides me, I felt confident a suck out was coming. After the turn card came out the SB started cheering wildly as his two pair just hit on a board of 4s 6h 7h 5c. Um, sir, I have a straight. Remember how I mentioned the nicknames (or you can check the website for these), he was one of those guys. Needless to say when the blank Jack fell on the river he and button were not happy and I tried to shrink into my PokerStars.com t-shirt (no "dot net" stickers were handed out).

With three left we were “in the money” as 3rd got a Visor, 2nd a $10 gift certificate, and 1st got $50 cash (no buy-ins allowed in Minnesota, so this was a freeroll as all bar tourneys are). Take a guess what I wanted. The portly gentleman on my left named “Stormy” with his “Chippy Poker is big in Japan” t-shirt took out the dejected no-longer-big-stacked player with King high versus Queen high and he was awarded the visor that he didn’t want. And with the blinds at 64,000-128,000 (remember the entire room only started with 280,000) we decided on an even chop with me getting 1st due to chip count.

As with the last time I played (and won) a bar tourney, it doesn’t “count” as winning a tourney. One of these days I’ll make a decent run at a tourney online as playing in a forced crapshoot made me realize that if you press those odds enough times, and stop playing to get blinded off, the odds just might come out in your favor.

Thanks for dropping by, now if you must ask yes I am wearing Vikings apparel to the office today just not my jersey due to wonderful new dress codes.

SKOL VIKINGS LET’S GO!!!!!!!

$10 side wager for a certain Skins’ fan? Daddy are you game?

Just Because Its Friday

I heart Volleyball chicks

I'd like to kiss Joey Porter as well. Even if I blew $10 playing the two cent slots at Mansion's casino after the influx to that account :)

I think the main reason for my losses lately have been due to lack of riding the variance out during a certain session. One bad call or inane "bad beat" later and I'd call it a night (especially during the week when I can only play for an hour or so) versus trying to grind back the money lost. I managed to put a sizable dent into losses occured in August and now I'm heading back towards believing I can still pull a profit from this game without having to give massages or excuses. Time will tell.

Wyatt is wondering why someone would call an all-in with bottom pair on a paired board but is thankful for the doofus donating towards his Thomas the Tank Engine collection

Now that school has started up again, I'm with spawn #1 and spawn #2 for the day alone which the highlight will be rumaging thru other people's garbage with masking taped price tags sitting upon the old Optimus Prime with one arm. Garage sales are glorified recycling but with two little kids and a tight budget like most people, you can dress your kid up in Tommy, Gap, and whatever the little metrosexuals and princesses are wearing these days at a fraction of the cost.

Needlessly to say, I enjoy my days alone with kids even if it includes negotiating with the owner of the mini monster truck with three wheels down to a quarter from fifty cents.

Have a good weekend folks, I'll actually be around home this weekend so feel free to come take my money while I'm three or four drinks in tonight ;)

Blame It On (Mookie)

When I got home yesterday after a family jaunt up to Culver’s via rollerblading for me and Kyra and bike for my wife and Wyatt, I was planning on a nice little post the next day about the people I saw on the way thru the fifteen pounds of liquid salt running off my forehead.

But best laid plans don’t always work out, especially when Full Tilt decides to rig a charity tournament in your favor (not really but I'm still shocked). I had to do was press various buttons labeled “Win a coin flip”, “Have your higher pocket pair hold up”, and “Steal those blinds like you’re Winona Rider inside Macy’s”. I’m not sure how I finished fourth this morning/last night as I’m sure zombism will soon kick in around lunch time once the morning rush of emails and updating my TPS reports is finished. But, am I glad I decided to focus in on one tourney instead of zipping around to my usual multi-tabling cash bonanza giveaway (otherwise known as Drizz impersonating a poker player).

The table chat was funny, the competition was tight, Andy Bloch dropping by, and most importantly we raised some bucks for a child with some serious health problems. To you Tanner Evers, although you’ll never meet the degenerates that logged onto an internet web site last night and slung some pixels thru a random number generator, there’s some very real cash coming your way hopefully to buy you something to comfort, to heal, or to laugh with.

Thanks Mookie and all the bloggers except StB (I kid!) for an enjoyable time, despite my embarrassing poker skillz, I enjoyed the company and the chance to give back a little.

Thanks for dropping by, now if you don’t know what this is post is all about please check out this site for information about Tanner Evers.

Paging Dr. Phil

Do you blame Zinedine Zidane now? Frankly I’m surprised he didn’t go for a 50 yard punt to the nuts or a Chuck Norris roundhouse to the head.

Ok, I’ve spend the first five minutes deleting and re-deleting this which I very rarely do because it concerns someone who I love very much. I don’t know how to express my puzzlement over her seemingly lack of affection sometimes. I’m somewhat hyper-aware of things, probably the reason why I can play multiple tables of multiple types of poker at once. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with over-analyzing something to death and finding out in due time that I really had nothing to worry about. I know it’s been a huge downfall of my relationships in the past (and the reason why I’ve lost more then one girlfriend) and something I try to work on almost daily.

So, how does one “get over it”? How do you block the conspiracy theories getting backed up into your head? I guess it’s a good reason why I have this page; to pour out this clutter that backs up before I hate myself for what comes out of my mouth. Believe me, there have been some hurtful things I’ve wanted to say but kept them in on the fact that when I thought it over some more it would do more harm then good.

She shows her affection in a different way then what I have implanted in my Homer Simpson-like melon. In the past, I haven’t given credit to those things because they were not what I was looking for. But, I fear that we’ll become one of those married couples who waited until their kids grew up to finally let out 18-20 years of bundled emotion ending with me buying a corvette and driving with a blonde stripper named Chloe to Vegas and living out the life of a has-been alcoholic degenerate gambler before succumbing to my girlfriend’s coke addiction and getting shot by her dealer/pimp.

Before I meet the business end of a 9mm, I hope that we can come to an understanding of each other and be the person that we looked upon at the altar over six years ago. Marriage is a constant work in progress and that’s something I didn’t give into consideration when I signed off on the certificate in Ramsey, Minnesota. I was blinded by the fact of WHOO WHOO FREE SEX!!!!!

Now, the marriage is much different, its more about getting to really know each other (yes, even after nearly ten years of this realationship), its about knowing our kids, its about relying on the other when you’re down.

And she’s helped me back up from nothing.

I’m not sure why I’ve just sat down and wrote things that most people read and say DUH! It’s my totally gay online diary, and today I felt like writing down crap about a woman that I care about very much and would like to have her stick around for the next 50 or so years. Maybe tomorrow I’ll draft something up about the profound meaning of a female retail cashier’s attire under her company issued smock or how to play AAXX out of position in a loose PLO game.

Today was for the wife, and hopes that I’ll get scowled at for not putting the dishes away when I’m old enough to check-raise the newest internet champion with my pants pulled up to my armpits while looking through my coke bottle glasses.

Thanks for dropping by, now has anyone qualifed for the Monster promotion at PartyPoker? I received an email stating I got a freeroll into their weekly tourney for being at a table of the same limit when someone hit the BBJ. When are the freerolls, and if you’ve qualified… is it worth your time?

Laboring Sleep

Refreshed from the holiday weekend?

My body doesn’t agree that I had more then the usual sleep this weekend. Something about a toddler getting up every night while we were up at the cabin threw my dozing patterns for the past four days into a series of naps rather then nights of dreaming about Lindsay Lohan dealing in a Hooters uniform while staring down John Juanda at the final table of the Hooters’ Casino daily fifty dollar tourney.

Dreaming big time indeed.

Besides the lack of Hollywood party girls in skin tight fluorescent orange shorts, the weekend up at the cabin was the detachment from wires and monitors that many working stiffs yearn for. Reclined on the dusty, aged deck that connects the trailer to the screenhouse, I looked up to lose myself into the twinkling stars and non-planets floating above. Of course Wyatt decided to mimic his oblivious dad while running around in his white PJs with little bicycles on them causing the other two couples to have a laugh at my expense. The therapeutic effect of the campfire on the three sets of newer parents was as serene as the night’s sky was clear; the air was cool but not cold, and the conversation of my sister-in-law’s previous night’s lets-pretend-we’re-in-college-still drinking impersonation brought a couple of memories of past parties.

The men would get a morning to themselves the next day. A golf tournament, with between holes beer runs, and cigars which brought an excellent detachment from reality for three hours. Again the weather cooperated with wispy clouds and just enough sun to warm but not burn. The rum dipped cigars, plus a couple of stiff Cap’n Cokes and bottles of Guinness made for an interesting four man best ball tournament. Because of my lightweight status, by the seventh hole and second beer run completed to fill up the Calaway golf cart cooler (that I received three years ago and finally had a use since buying the cart recently) I was feeling the effects of the drinks. But, that did not deter our group’s effort towards a 2nd place finish out of 25 teams. Thinking we’d just won enough to justify the girly victory dances, we were quickly put back in our place after being handed enough money to cover the ten dollar green fee and six dollar entry fee (again its small time because just how I roll).

Let’s see what the juice was or WWFD if she disagreed with the payout.

There were 25 teams of five paying six dollars a piece, so using my shaky math skillz that’s 25 X 5 X $6 (we paid the extra $6 despite only having four people on our team) for a prize pool of $750. The tourney paid out five places, first only got $100, we received $71, and the drop off was significant after that as a total of $300 was paid out between the five teams. Some of the money was to go back into the course for further improvements, but the over 50% juice seemed a little excessive for not telling everyone how much was raised. Nonetheless, we went back to the cabin victorious, until the wives took our “winnings” to some Avon/Tupperware/Scrapbooking show and managed to spend our three hours of labor on a 2 oz. tube of foot massaging lotion. It better come with a “will make foot massage recipient so horny she’ll think your dick is a candy cane” guarantee or there will be a very disappointed husband when that package arrives in two weeks.

The final day brought a penny carnival. And for ten dollars I managed to have Wyatt slide down a twenty foot tall inflatable Titanic, got a bag of oh-my-god-these-taste-so-good-after-drinking-too-much-last-night mini donuts, and several assorted toys from “winning” some physically imposing carnival games like a bean bag toss, pool bank shot, and a baseball throw to knock down some metal milk bottles stacked in a vertical pyramid.

Now, if you think that someone who once threw a no-hitter and a one-hitter back to back in high school could managed to hit a three foot tall stack of bottles standing no more then 15 feet away...

… you would be wrong and my father in law was kind enough to snap a picture of me missing completely. After my Timmy Lupus-like toss I managed to snag a paper bag being used by a Red Soxs fan to hide my shame (this concludes my Red Soxs ripping of the week).

Once all the cheese curds were demolished and root beer floats emptied we headed home for a few hours of normalcy (naps) before heading off to the one live fantasy football draft that I’ll endure because its all close friends. The only thing worth noting was how quick it took (and my friend BJ’s excellent salsa). In years pasts we would wait for people coming home from their cabin, or some other Labor Day vacation despite setting an afternoon time slot for people to be ready at. And after some fifth string tight end from the Chargers got drafted it would be 11:30pm or past midnight. But this year we managed to get thru 12 rounds of a live draft (with two keepers from the previous season) in a sliver under two hours and still get home in time to watch WifeSwap and SuperNanny (which is a definite eye-opening show for parents of younger kids, WifeSwap I could do without however). Being the draft guru I am, I managed to draft a team without a backup quarterback while drafting a quarterback who is coming off major knee surgery (don’t go gimp on me again Culpepper!!!).

I’d note something about my poker play but there just wasn’t time to give away more moneys to the wonderful people on the internets. This week I promise to draft something about making enough money to cover the trip to the Bash or gloriously flushing a percentage of my bankroll down the tubes on a straight flush draw.

Thanks for dropping by, now if you ask for Arby sauce at a drive-thru window and do not receive said Arby sauce but do not realize this oversight until you’re half-way home (5 minute trip) do you go back and risk looking like a tool for a couple of packets of the mouth-watering chemical goulash?

Does it matter if what you ordered?

Do curly fries need the Arby sauce more then the home-style fries?

Regular roast beef versus a melt?