Monday, April 27, 2009

Pitcher of Miller Lite and a pound of wings please

The official start of Spring/Summer/anything-that-doesn’t-involve-being-inside is softball season. There was a time (no, put the microphone away Mr. Tyler and by the way your Guitar Hero game sucked) that softball made up the majority of my time during the month-that-are-not-winter. Back in the days of slaving away for $6/hour at OfficeMax with a supervisor that I dated at one time but her perfect little 4’11” frame and wavy dirty blonde hair tried to lure me into the House of the Latter Day Saints for some ritual involving strawberry-flavored oatmeal, a single horned goat with an oversized brass bell around its neck, and a grand wizard proclaiming random bible/torah quotes in French.

She did rock that bright red smock with award pins while making sure the staplers and reams of paper were perfectly aligned though.

College was in the mix but volleyball at Mama G’s and softball at Becker Park with beers at the sponsor bar seemed more important than say getting that piece of paper that would assist obtaining financial security. But, I had my used white Mazda 626 DX that leaked a little oil with that thrown together Jensen sound system that once started smoking mid-ride to a game because my brother the engineer crossed a wire. I’m guessing at his current gig he’s a little more careful about since things because people generally don’t enjoy a pyrotechnics display while listening to their favorite morning radio show.

If I wasn’t explaining to customers why strapping a hundred pound computer desk with twine to the roof of their Jetta wasn’t an optimal idea, I could be found at the fields playing adult t-ball and marveling over the brand-spanking new purple and gray striped pants our sponsor got us for taking down a tourney and adding hardware to their wall collection.

Leap ahead ten years, and now nearing 35 with two kids, a wife, and a slight shoulder muscle tear, softball’s definition is relaxation. A stress reliever of meeting up once or twice during the week to tell these kids with the new purple and gray pants to get off my lawn as part of a decent thrown-together work team enjoys some time away from the spreadsheets and TPS reports. Sure there’s still the parking lot beers and bullshit; but just the thought of closing down the sponsor’s bar after polishing off an order of wings and cheese bread and getting up for work at 4:00am the next morning will remain a memory versus suffering through a rough business day for sake of a few pitchers.

If you want to see what the original 120 pounds of fury on the diamond looked like, I’ll try to score a picture today before my game against Jam’s Lounge and post it tomorrow. People from high school who haven’t seen me in 15 years probably would have to turn a double-take since I’ve put on about 90 pounds of (pure-Adonis rippling muscle) fleshy skin.


After last week’s attempts to play poker tournaments left me with a little dab in the bankroll (two final tables) but horribly tired are there players out there who do well in tournaments but are forced to opt for SnGs or cash games due to family and sanity obligations?

After checking my stats, which are semi-embarrassing but still profitable as I cash between 20-25% of the time, the micro-stakes I play at are for pure enjoyment and not to be seen as a money maker. Would you continue to play at the small stakes, still make dinner-and-a-movie type cash with zero chance of going busto, or go the Waffle route and add the risk of ruin by playing higher than you should?

Its funny that I love gambling and not blink at throwing $20-$100 at a slot machine or the Vikings at a time, but entering a $20+ buy-in poker tournament is cause for mentally thumbing thru all those poker books and play SERIOUS POKER.

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