What have you done for me lately?
It would be nice to rest on my Grublog laurels for a bit longer, but the tables beckoned and I played a bit last night. Almost couldn't play--my kitten (my wife would laugh at that, as she considers Izzy hers and hers alone) is in that biting-everything stage, and the little rascal chewed through the phone line I used for my laptop. "Rascal" isn't the word I used at the time to describe my feline adversary, but this is a PG-13 blog so I'll leave it at that. I did have an old phone cord, but the plastic tab on the one end broke off, so it kept popping out of the modem jack. To keep it in place I put a tennis shoe on it, and voila! I was back in the poker business. Never underestimate American ingenuity.
Played 2 tables of $25 PL, and ended up $10. It should've been more--I doubled up when I had K-10 and flopped top two pair and soaked a guy who slow-played his pocket aces. But I gave almost all my money away on the other table. I lost a ton playing AJ and flopping an ace, only to lose to a guy who had QQ and made trips on the river, even after I'd made some big bets. Lost more to a guy when I had AA and he had 2-9 offsuit, flopped a pair of ducks and called my $10 bet with them. He hit a nine on the turn and took me down. Oh well, sometimes the fish flop out of the boat.
My friends were all psyched to hear about my victory, and I too eager to tell the tale. They are mostly geeked about the poker chips, as am I, since I'll be getting together a home game soon and will be able to augment my income by fleecing them as well, heh heh. Went out for Mardi Gras to a local pub and got rather hammered (no pun intended) on Penn Pilsner, a very tasty beer made 'round these parts. We met up with a bunch of people and my friend Rico introduced me as "Geno, the poker champion". Which is better than the usual "Geno, the dumb fat smelly ugly disgusting lazy slob". I'm looking forward to being the guy with the bulls-eye on his head for the next WPBT event. Anxious to prove that it wasn't all luck that got me the title, that I have moves, guile, style.
Probably no poker tonight, as I play volleyball and drink beer tonight. Good to get away from the tables for a breather, recharge the batteries, as it were. And, yes, I swear to God I'll finish the Phil post. I've been adding stuff, pulling quotes, polishing it till it shines. And I'm getting sick of thinking about the guy.
To prove this essay isn't the poker blogger version of vaporware, an excerpt:
Tough beats like this happen over and over in poker. Not just to Phil, of course—probably 97% of all poker conversations begin with, “So this idiot called me all the way to the river with only 2 outs in the whole deck, and last card comes up and the bastard…”. But if Phil is, in his own humble words, “…maybe the best poker player in the world”, those beats must seem like the caprice of some malevolent god hell-bent on destroying him. Maybe this is simply proof that there IS a God after all (god with a capital G) or that Karma is, indeed, a bitch. The question of whether Phil Hellmuth would suffer fewer bad beats if he accepted them with a modicum of grace and dignity is a question I will leave to the philosophers...like Sam Grizzle.
As you can see I've finally updated my links, if you don't see your blog listed please give me a gentle reminder and I'll put up the link. Check-raising me all in, by the way, is not a "gentle" reminder.