Trading a Diamond for a Degree

Leaving the mound for what would be the last time after throwing hard and impressing no one after having the similar results of a 16 year old taking a drivers test and running the car through an antique store while busting the rare Faberge egg on the high shelf behind the counter with a cracked pane of storefront glass, what was there to do for someone who's hobby was sports.

Hung up the breezers and helmet last year, love for volleyball was still three glorious summers at Mama G's bar and the rusty old Robbinsdale school away, but baseball was front and center for getting my head out of a computer, my only social machine for a recluse stick-figure of a kid with a hearing problem.  Then came a bored night in Champlin at Clyde Andrews Park while I watched my best friend play softball and scoffed at these adults hitting an oversized ball being lobbed to them as if they were swinging from a tee.  "Baseball players don't stoop to this level" I told my overconfident, snobby self.  But it took one feel from my right arm, remembering all the nights of ice packs, stretching, massaging, and of course the pain as my underdeveloped arm never had a chance of going more than seven innings due to the overuse and it would only get worse.

I played in jeans and Reebok high tops that night like a rookie and after getting handed my first softball jacket and jersey, stepping back on the mound would only happen at the State Fair speed pitch game.  Three nights a week, tournaments on the weekend, 2 for 1 pitchers, and a couple in the parking lots, the adult tee-ball game of slo-pitch softball filled the void of needing competition as I would soon find a couple of great girlfriends and eventually a wife thru its social aspect as well. 

After the head injury at work, my life changed, no longer important was making that tournament in Becker or closing down DeLisi's on Tuesdays.  Kids came into the picture while I attempted to get back on the field, seizures be damned.  A marriage was crumbling yet softball was still a consistant, playing a co-ed team was the one way both us were able to get out of the house, away from the blackness that our vows continued to be weighted down by. 

A new home, a new baby, a new start soon came after and softball took a back seat to the birth of another group of friends that showed that my love for cards, gambling, and sarcasm was to enjoyed via writing.  Thus the birth of this page of which I've chronicled the last nearly six years of my life.  Effectively giving both my marriage and my self-worth a big enough boost to live again versus going through the motions of the average.  Working at the PokerStarsBlog for the Sunday Majors along with WCOOP and SCOOP Poker Tournament showed me what could happen if I'd step out of my comfort area of plunking numbers into spreadsheets.

Bringing me to today.  For the first time in 16 years I will not be donning the jersey of a local pub, auto body repair shop, or local construction company on the fields in Crystal, Brooklyn Park, or Maple Grove.  Between school, work, family and friends is were my free time will be this spring and summer.  Playing catch with my son and daughter in the backyard for the past two nights nailed the coffin on my playing days.  Sure, I may step in for a special guest appearance on the diamond like Wil Wheaton stepping onto may different sets including playing Sheldon's neimsis on Big Bang Theory (which I watched the show for the first time on Monday and got hooked).  And if school goes well, I may find myself playing an abbreviated season in the fall, but as for the kid who watched behind Field #3 16 years ago, he might have grown up a bit in the respect of placing what is truly important.

Don't worry, one part of me will never break the Peter Pan spell which I'll hold to till death as becoming a GET  OFF MY LAWN type will have to wait until I'm sitting on my porch on an Arizona golf course several decades from now sipping my morning scotch pelting the country club types with my Daisy BB gun for trying to retrieve their horrible shanks.

Rock Em', Sock Em, Fight, Fight, Fight

There's some poker on Tee-Vee tonight as Father Andrew Trapp will be taking on a Team PokerStars Pros for a shot at $1 Million today in the PokerStars Million Dollar Challenge.

Check out the video below:


Watch Million Dollar Challenge on PokerStars.tv

But, first its NFL Sunday!! For Vikings fans we're hoping for a continuation of the tide, and no injuries against the woefully bad St. Louis Rams. A trap game the pundits are calling it, I call it a reason to sport my new fanboi acquired Jared Allen jersey that I ordered at the beginning of the season. No sack dances today as last night I played in a softball tourney in 35 degree weather, while that may seem fine to our friends to the north, the temp is in fahrenheit. Add on a 20 mph wind and just gripping the ball to pitch became a chore. But, a recollection of day's past when spending a day or a weekend at a sports bar with two sweat soaked uniforms and a dozen empty Miller Lite pitchers on circular raised tables was the preferred way to enjoy a weekend.

Now, older, wiser, and body feeling like a Packer's offensive lineman from last week this morning, sitting reclined with Wyatt munching on Fruit Loops while Casey Kasem revives his role of Shaggy on Scooby Doo's adventures seems like a safer play...


... at least until it SKOL TIME!!!!

Champs or Chumps

There's a co-worker at the big box that signs the bi-weekly paychecks that approached me several months ago while snow still tapped various street signs and sidewalks to play softball for a team mostly comprised of fellow cube dwellers who get 10% off their favorite store that you enter but cannot physically walk away with just the items on your shopping list.

"I'm retired" I told him in my best Kurt Russell playing Wyatt Earp voice

But, this was around the time stress in the house really started to fall off and better days were showing ahead. After a brief nod from the wife that playing again would be fun, and give the kids a chance to mock their father as he picked up a "sport" that let me touch the feeling he had growing up on the diamond throwing a ball from 60 feet 6 inches with hopes that the unfortunate batter wasn't maimed from the errand inside fastball.



Eventually with incentives of a virgin a day with bedside drink service for a year at the most posh Motel 6 he could find, I relented. He had played softball for 20 years without sniffing the smell of a freshly minted trophy or my favorite free t-shirt emblazed with the sport bar waitress panty-dropping words "LEAGUE CHAMPIONS".



This team was different from those he assembled in the past, players were recruited and omitted for a shot at fielding a team with a shot at taking home those wearable ego boosters that are important to no one but those who don them. The average height and weight for the batters 1 thru 7 was 6'2" 210 lbs. and six of those guys could hit home runs. Unlike teams in his past where a home run over the lengthy 310 foot fences came on a fluke 25 mph wind blowing straight out night, these guys could hit some when it counted, wind aided or not.



Fast forward to two weeks ago, the team goes 10-1, crushing most teams with one game remaining against a team who posted a 9-2 record. A loss meant no t-shirt, and a very sad co-worker. Immediately we fall behind by a few runs giving up 6 in the first, and fall behind 16-6 in the bottom of the fifth.



But, something clicked as the top of the order was up and both batters ahead of me got on and I managed to not screw-up my role and hit a ball that if you've ever split a fairway with length where the ball barely tickled the club, thrown the perfect spiral on a fly pattern, or shot from 3-point range and immediately headed back up court without looking because you knew it was perfect, that's how the ball traveled. The best feeling in softball/baseball aside from those parking lot beers after the game, is hitting a ball so the outfielders cement their feets and just watches the ball travel over their heads landing somewhere in the grain behind the fence.



A couple more home runs and hits, and we found ourselves winning 18-16 going into the last inning due to time constraints. They would blank and gruffy umpire would call the game since we were the home team and didn't need to bat as the field timer ran to zero and free swag makes this guy very happy.



The story behind this one, would you break up a team for the sake of winning just one time? In this case my co-worker didn't have to choose much as we were already friends outside the office along being friends with some of the added players.



But, a relavent question to this site... if the poker bloggers were to have a Dream Team-type event, would you find yourself choosing the team that would have the most fun. Or the one who is more likely to take home the bricks of cash?

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.

I Heart Air Conditioning

When is my two cent head ever going to listen to my semi-aging body? No, you cannot play ten softball games a weekend in 90 degree plus heat and expect to have the poise of a runway model on coke in heels during a Marshall Fields fashion show the next day. I’ve heard of a product called “sunscreen” that protects fair skinned white boys like myself from showing up to work with a neck that resembles a well-cooked crustacean with butter and a side of cole slaw.

I R SMRT

Anything to play and feel the plush grass in your face after diving unsuccessfully after a ball because you saw the same play on Sportscenter last night and thought you could replicate #7’s play-of-the-day. As a parent and 9 to 5 working man, the chances to spend a weekend as one-of-the-guys are few and far between. Breakfast on Saturday morning with a little hair of the dog with the team, plus greasy bacon and eggs at a local diner started the weekend off right. And an interesting home game ended the day with a mix of 16 guys on the team and their wives/girlfriends/chicks-that-were-very-hot-and-I-tried-not-to-drool-profusely-on-my-uniform-while-not-staring.

Of course I get outed by my wife’s cousin who plays on the team by introducing me as the guy who played in the World Series of Poker. Target painted.

But, at the end of the four hour tourney (smoke breaks, kick ass queso dip break, beer breaks) your hero walked home with a chop of first place after outflopping a weak ace with T7o and still not looking at the guy’s very attractive lady across the table with questions about playing at the Rio. Nope, but I did want to ask if they were real. The prize money made up for a little financial fiasco while retrieving dinner before being coaxed into playing the poker tourney.

Kentucky Fried Chicken had some BRAND NEW TERKIYKI BONELESS WINGS that looked good enough to go with an order of mashed taters and biscuits since the eggs from earlier in the morning worked their way to bottom of a nasty smelling port-o-potty at the ballpark. Not that I helped with the stench. I place the order with the food service representative for these nuggets of chemical goodness (not horrible, but tasted a little “metallic”, chicken quality saved them) and my order came to $6.38 complete with a welcomed ice cold refreshment. Driving around to the window I hand the hard working gentleman a twenty and receive the dinner and drink in my scalding hot car since I’d been playing softball since 9am and leaving the windows up rendered my rust bucket to turn into oven.

(Side Note: Why the hell are most steering wheels black? I think oven mitts would have been appropriate handwear while driving)

Being tired and feeling like I just downed a row of Jag bombs I drove off without receiving the remains of my financial transaction with the Colonel. The money was gone hopefully to supplement one of the worker’s Coors Light beer fund, but since I didn’t figure it out until the second bite of chicken hit my mouth at home in the a/c (and I was 15 minutes away). I admit to several levels of retardation in forgetting the money, but shouldn’t the drive thru jockey give the change BEFORE handing the food to the obviously mindless idiot in the sweat drenched green softball uniform?

Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I should learn its much more fun giving away funds at the Omaha tables instead of paying twenty bucks for a dinner that goes thru the digestive system faster then your local Chinese buffet.

Thanks for dropping by, now I was hopping to congratulate Speaker on his FTOPS cash this morning but he ran into the brick wall of the RNG a little short of the money.

Stinky Brew

Twinkies suck! Go Brewers!!!

- StB 05/18/07


Bite me Cheesehead! Skol Twinkies!!

- Drizz 05/21/07

Long weekend, made longer due to unexplainable losses at the casino and a flaccid bat during the softball tourney. My WSOP ticket will be purchased when I get my checks from Stars and Tilt in about a week, so if those who have expressed interest please make the transfer via Stars (drizztdj), FullTilt (drizztdj), or Paypal (hrking275 A T yahooooooooooooooo.com without many of those o's).

Since my head is still full of barley hops and alcohol flavored diet coke, I'm going to pass on drafting a trip report right now and give everyone a heads up about a rebuy tourney at Stars for a worthy cause. Much like my absence for the Blogger Big Game last night, I'll be at my cabin this weekend and will miss the tourney but I'm throwing my $10 towards event.

Here's Pauly with the information about the Darfur charity tourney:


Dear Poker Bloggers,

PokerStars is hosting a chairty tournament ONE WEEK from today to help raise money for the war torn Darfur region in the Sudan.

Date: May 27th 2007, 15:30 ET

Buy-in: $10 plus rebuys.

Prizes: Top 4 receive tickets to June 5th premiere in Los Angeles plus 2 nights hotel and $2k for travel/spending. Top 18 receive autographed copy of "Oceans 13" DVD. Total prize pool will go to charity. PokerStars will match the donation. The tournament is open to all players. Good luck!

I'm encouraging all bloggers to spread the word about this event. Please post the information on your blogs.

We got less than 300 players in last week's charity tournament. That was pathetic. My goal is to get at least 1,000 players in this tournament. I need your help.

Please blog about next Sunday's charity tournament. Blog about it two or three times. Please encourage all of your friends to play and if they can't play -- tell them to blog about it.

As I wrote on my blog... online poker players are painted by the mainstream press as degenerate criminals. Here's a chance to show the world that we can do some good with online poker.

Information is on the Tao of Poker. Feel free to cut and paste.

Karma points will be coming your way.

Thanks,
Pauly



Thanks for dropping by, now hopefully won't donk off the rest of my vanishing home bankroll at the Corky-like special players $2/$4 tables at Grand Casino this weekend as I'll write about some crazy (and bankroll denting) happenings at the Treasure Island tables last weekend. The post will include "when straddling goes bad" and "no, four cards to a straight only works if everyone folds".

Yes, It Is a Sport

Poker on Yahoo!

Poker on AOL.

Poker on "Comcast On Demand" far behind?

Give it five years and you'll be playing $2/$4 Stud Eight or Better with your Wii Remote on ComcastCasino.com while watching the series finale of Lost, and betting on the 5th at Canterbury Park on your TV.

If I could use those frequent players points to pay the nasty cable bill each month, I'd multi-table until the Playboy TV/Sunday NFL Ticket add-on charge was paid off.


Question: If there was someone standing no more then twelve feet from you and could launch a projectile at a speed approaching 100 m.p.h., would you try to piss off this individual?

Why a slowpitch softball pitcher would ever want to taunt the batter AND run close to home plate after throwing is beyond my comprehension. Luckily for him it was a friendly game last night in the bar leagues so I sent a kind reminder to his Mizuno cleats instead of his overpriced Under Armour black and silver cap.

He didn't dance after that.

I will be trying to attend more of the Battle of the Blogger Tourneys later this week (Mooooookie and Riverchasers) as I got home a little too late from playing last night due to three different downpour delays and the fact that my team took almost 20 minutes to finish their half an inning before the mercy rule came into effect.

Worst for the other team but there's nothing like sitting on a wet bench for 20 minutes to finish off a 33-7 game. Must be how the Yankees feel every week.

Thanks for dropping by, now I must confess to being signed up for a 2-day bowling tourney this weekend, adding that to the softball tourney last weekend what should be my next choice of "athletic" competition?

Darts?
Horseshoes?
World Series of Quarters?
Euchre?
ACA sponsored Cornhole tourney!

All Ben Gay'd Up

Yo, Adrian!


Welcome to the purple. We have a welcoming boat out on Lake Minnetonka all fired up for you. Smoot left it as a going away present, just watch the floor for "unknown substances" as twisting an ankle on astroglide or a glitter-ladened g-string isn't the best way to impress the coach.

I'm copping out today because I'm burnt, semi hung-over from downing a year's supply of Coors Light (not my choice) and UV rays at the ballpark over the weekend. Due to my ability of barely hitting the sphere past the pitching rubber and my teammates ability to crush the twelve inch glow ball away from various no-neck outfielders, we managed to snag a bid from winning the tourney to play adult t-ball in Panama City, Florida (which I've found out is NOT close to two of my favorite bloggers in Orlando).

Remember to sign up tonight for Hoy's tournament at Full Tilt as the BloggerChallenge rolls on. This week also starts the softball season for me, so my virtual double Ds will be on display less often as this old man tried rolling home and ended up with a sore back and jammed pinky finger.

Yes, I'm a wuss.

Thanks for dropping by, now congrats go out to brdweb for taking down the first WSOP blogger bracelet race this year last night!! It was nice to see the mysterious Bracelet getting down to two tables as I was rooting him on despite his luckbox team defeating the Twinkies and avoiding an embarassing home series sweep yesterday. Inge? Yes, indeege.

Did everyone else enjoy their team's NFL draft? Moss to the Pats? Oh my.

Cameron Frye, This One's For You

Cam (as Mr. Peterson): ROONEY! GRRRRRRR I want my daughter out in front of the school in 10 minutes by herself!

Rooney: Yes, Yes, Yes, Sir!

Ferris: How can we pick up Sloane if Rooney is there with her?

Cameron: I said for her to be there alone and you freaked.

Ferris: Now, I didn't hit you. I lightly slapped you.

Cameron: You hit me. Look don't make me participate in your stupid crap if you don't like the way I do it. You make me get out of bed, you make me come over here. You make me make a phony phone call to Edward Rooney? The man could squash my nuts into oblivion. And-and-and then, and then, you deliberately hurt my feelings.


I've been giving serious thought into picking up my IGN-validated Geek Union card by purchasing an unnamed computer-based RPG after watching some of those WoW videos (damn what a busy interface!). The raids, the 15 year old guild leaders that spill their cases of used Red Bull cans like their life depending on getting that uber-cloth sleeve of banishment for defeating Monocule the Sighted, or the simple competition matching reaction times and accuracy with fellow Blademasters and Sorcerers.

Each time I feel that pull of spamming a Twin Blade reactionary swing after a successful parry (go read your Electronic Gaming Monthly if you understood that, dork) I am reminded at home what a slippery slope those games can be to a person with my addictive personality. Guild raid at 11pm lasting until 4am???? No problemo! I have to be there to be the main assist for a gank squad raid on some nOObs while dinner is on the table?? rAwK oN!!!!

Unfortunately as I fell further and further down that pixelized pit, the gap between the unintentionally funny guy in the video yesterday and myself was my ability to walk away, otherwise that could be me shouting at my computer monitor while Teamspeak assisted the group members over headsets with shouts of "heal me!" "peel this assassin off!" "I just jerked off to the new hentai video Cooking Mama OhLaLa!".

Being introduced to poker has been nothing short of a blessing as I have a little bit extra income, a little bit more self-confidence, and a few more people that I call my friends. Even that suckout artist Smokkee.

I've met people that in no way would I have had as much in common with those that I killed Trolls and Orcs with several years ago. Sure, some of the older players I would have felt comfortable grabbing a beer with, but the chats on IRC and IMs didn't reflect real life, and that was ok for the time due to my deep battle with depression and illness.

Avoidance.

Parry.

Now, I use words like "rebuilding" and "happiness" to describe a normal day in the neighborhood. While I'm not whistling a happy Mr. Rogers style tune each day, I'm learning to become o.k. with showing a geniune smile versus one that appeased the masses. You could read countless books on depression and recovery, but I'd bet a drink at the MGM Sportsbook bar that the biggest struggle isn't climbing out of that black hole, but stay on top of it and reminding yourself its ok to feel good. Maybe its a buried Catholic guilt thing for feeling confused about multiple days where I don't feel like shit. Things that would have had me ducking for cover under a desk, now just roll off after a quick rant and resolution. Except skulling my new lob wedge from 30-40 yards out, that brings out a rage in me that only an attentive beer cart chick can quell.

While you won't see me hoping aboard a float in a Chi-town parade belting out golden oldies, I sincerely hope you won't see me sulking into dark areas like at the last WPBT event or receiving two wheeled transportation assistance. I am truly blessed to call several of you my friends.

Group huggles?

Thanks for dropping by, now enjoy your weekend as I will be donning my stretchy pants and acquiring some grass stains while playing in the first softball tourney this weekend for my new team.

Winner gets a bid to go to Vegas.

I like.