Monday, June 04, 2007

Par For The Course

Breaking even is great if you’re normally a hacker on the golf course with a swing that resembles Elaine from Seinfeld’s dance moves. My little adventure at Riverwood National this weekend with my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and wife’s uncle had me searching for par and ending with a triple figure score. While I’m not quite ready to take on Tiger and Phil at the next U.S. Open, I do usually manage to clutch on to my around bogey golf score while carefully avoiding double digits for one hole’s tally.

Hitting the white ball with “Callaway” into various ponds and wetland areas is not the optimum strategy for such loft goals as just finishing the round with golf with balls left in the bag. Luckily, others who played this rugged course prior to my arrival were kind enough to leave their extras lying around semi-hidden so I could get a feel for several different brands while striking those off the tee and off the half million dollar homes that surrounded some of the greens.

At the poker tables my balance sheet has not risen to epic proportions since withdrawing for the WSOP in three weeks, nor have I tanked it in Waffle fashion. I’ve earned several frequent player’s points in case an additional stress balls are needed for my son’s inability to retire for the evening in a speedy manner. His new tactic is playing coy about wanting to learn the art of check-raising a douchebag off his top pair with a river bluff. I usually counter with a reading from the tome of Jimmy Neutron’s vast library (Thomas the Tank Engine is becoming kids stuff Daddy).

How fast they grow up.

Hopes for having a little extra cash stash in case my unnamed roommate should want to adventure off-strip in search of naked orbs of silicon laden with glitter, is becoming shorter with every bubble-ish tourney finishes. Save for my awesome Razz game displayed in last evening’s HORSE game with the bloggers. I played HORSEYRIFFIC and the bricks showed me the door quicker then that Japanese dude could stuff Nathan’s hotdogs down his 125 pounds of fury frame.

“Hey baby, wanna see what I can do with a footlong?” I bet he gets all the ladies with that line. Er… maybe not.

Cash games have paid for my lottery-like tourney tickets and the circle of poker life continues on with my break-even ways. Better then losing? Perhaps. A nice score would have put a few more singles in my pocket in case Lisssa (that’s three for exxtra sizzle) needs more encouragement to heave her double Ds while fetching another Cap’n Coke for me at the tables.

Which tables will be decided once I check into the Gold Coast in a few weeks.

Thanks for dropping by, now our blogging brothers and sisters have shot down event #1 at the WSOP. Rock on guys.

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