Mean Gene

Marsha Waggoner Made An Enemy Tonight

Marsha, of course, knocked Isabelle Mercier out of the WPT Ladies Night event that was shown tonight. But let's go back in time a bit, shall we?

My niece and nephew are staying over this weekend, and as we headed out to see the Wallace and Gromit movie (quicky review--outstanding, hilarious, must-see) Hailey got the mail. In the mail was a letter I'd been expecting, with a South Carolina return address and OTIS listed as the sender. "Who's Otis?" Hailey asks.

"Is that like Milo and Otis?" Bryce says.

"Uh, no, not Milo and Otis," I say. "More like Pauly and Otis."

"Is that a better story than Milo and Otis?" Bryce asks.

"Uh...a different kind of story," I say.

"What's it about?"

"Um...I...um...um...I'll tell you later. Like when you're thirty."

Inside the envelope was an important historical document--an Isabelle Mercier biography sheet from PokerStars AUTOGRAPHED by the lady herself. "I know where this is going," I said as I held it in trembling hands. I have my business school diploma framed and hanging in my office--say buh-bye!

But the possibility that this piece of paper may be hanging in the Smithsonian was increased exponentially by the fact that it was also signed by Otis and Pauly. Odd, I would've thought Pauly of all people would know how to spell the F-word...I guess he was either drunk or swooning. Or both.

So we come home from the movie, we eat dinner, Bryce and I are downstairs watching Penn State vaporize Illinois, and once the game got out of hand (with 5:38 left in the first quarter) I flipped on the Travel Channel to catch the beginning of the WPT broadcast. Hailey joined us after she heard me and Bryce loudly contesting a game of War (and I kicked his ASS!) and I showed them both the autographed picture and pointed to the TV screen. "She's the person who autographed this."

They were impressed. "Is she famous?" Bryce asked. I said not famous enough. They showed the ladies lined up before they took their seats and Hailey said of Isabelle, "Wow, she must do a lot of sit-ups."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled. Anyone who saw the show, well, they know what Hailey was talking about.

"I can do a thousand sit-ups," Bryce boasted, and we made a prop bet on the spot--I bet he couldn't do ten. A bowl of ice cream was in the balance, and Bryce blasted out ten crunches like he was friggin' Terrell Owens. I think I got suckered, but I paid up.

The kids wanted to know how to play poker, and I think I explained in fifteen seconds not only the rules but all the vagaries and nuances of the game. They showed Isabelle's little interview segment and Hailey wasn't quite taken with how Isabelle wore her hair up in the earlier action. Odd, Hailey's fashion sense is usually impeccable, but in this case I had to emphatically disagree with her, to the point where she was nearly in tears. Or maybe I was nearly in tears. There was crying, I know that.

And then Isabelle went all-in with queens, Marsha Waggoner called with pocket sevens, and flopped a seven to put Isabelle in bad, bad shape. No tears from me or Hailey this time, though my lower lip definitely trembled. There was still over an hour to go, and no more Isabelle? And to think, there are still people believe in justice. Of course, I knew that Isabelle went out in fifth place, but that didn't cushion the blow.

Although they have had Isabelle on giving commentary as the show has gone on. Steve Lipscomb is no fool. I thank the gods for his probity and wisdom.

It's about time to put the kids to bed, but a few quick comments about the show. Like the new glasses-free Mike Sexton. Like Courtney Friel (I'm speaking strictly about her hosting skills and not about her obvious aesthetic appeal), though she's a bit too polished at times. She asks a question and then in mid-answer turns to face the camera and gives us that 50,000 megawatt smile. A worthy replacement for Shana.

I see Michael Mizrachi wearing his hat that says, "The Grinder" or "The Grinder is a Machine" and I just want to start laughing. It's a great nickname, but I keep imagining a situation where he's away from the poker table and engaged in a conversation a group of people and someone who doesn't know him well asks, "So, what to you do for a living?"

And one of Mizrachi's friend's says, "He grinds", as if that's the stupidest question in the world. I know I'm not quite conveying the humor of what's appearing in my mind. What does a Grinder do, he grinds...never mind.

OK, kids gotta go to bed. As soon as they clean up the poker chips they dumped and mixed all over the floor. That'll take about an hour. I finally got Bryce to understand that just because the chip is stamped $500 doesn't mean it's worth five hundred dollars. I think he was thinking about pricing Porsche Boxsters.

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