Let's just say, you know, hypothetically, that you...
Let's just say, you know, hypothetically, that you're at a home game with the following people;
Joe Speaker
Iggy
DP
Garth
Jaoquin
F-Train
Daddy
Wheezy
Grubby
Who do you absolutely, without question, not want sitting to your left?
If you answered "All of the above", you are correct. I mean, Jesus, look at that line-up. Anyone that would willingly sit at a table comprised of these sharks is either an idiot, drunk, but more than likely, all three.
Hi, I'm Chad, have we met?
Why, then, did I decide it would be a good idea to coax these degenerate boozehounds/action junkies into playing at midnight on Friday? It's clearly because I'm stupid. I'd like to blame the 40 of Miller Lite (in a paper bag of course) I was nursing, but this time it was all me, baby. I was itching to play some cards.
"He's picking his spots."
--Joe Speaker, about me, on numerous occasions
I was drunk--and playing well, thank you very much--but the thing about Friday night, the key to my big win? Everybody was much more drunk than I was. It's not tough to win money at a table that will give you action every time you have the nuts, (even though it's obvious that you have the nuts), solely because they're too drunk to realize that folding is an option.
That's my kind of game.
I don't remember much in the way of hand specifics, other than the hand where I resucked to stack Iggy. We got it all in on a jack high flop, I with my set of 10's, and Iggy with a flopped straight. When the cards were flipped, I'm not even sure he knew he was ahead at that point, but rather that he had a pair and an open-ended straight draw. The board paired on the turn, though, giving me the pot.
Snap! Snap!
When the game broke at 3:30am, I was the big winner. Yeah, I know. Me. Who'd a-thunk? Nobody else at the table, of that I'm sure. I didn't want the game to break, but everybody was drunk, and Saturday was a big day for us all. Cubs vs. Padres at 12:05pm, which meant that we had to get to Wrigley by 10:30am to secure 11 bleacher seats, which in turn meant that people had to get up by 8:30am if they wanted to take a shower. I like showers. Showers are good. Syphillis, bad. Showers good.
Hooray for spending a Saturday in sunny, 90° heat after a full night of beer, 15 lbs of meat, poker and an incalculable amount of stupidity!
I passed out upstairs, far away from the Warthog fight in the living room, antsy for Saturday; a day I'd spend peeling other people's 20's out of my money clip to buy copious amounts of Bud Light, Old Style, stadium hotdogs and peanuts. My last thought of the night was, gee, I don't think I've ever been worried this much about having to go to the ER to have a compacted colon deobstructed.
And I wouldn't have changed a thing.
Joe Speaker
Iggy
DP
Garth
Jaoquin
F-Train
Daddy
Wheezy
Grubby
Who do you absolutely, without question, not want sitting to your left?
If you answered "All of the above", you are correct. I mean, Jesus, look at that line-up. Anyone that would willingly sit at a table comprised of these sharks is either an idiot, drunk, but more than likely, all three.
Hi, I'm Chad, have we met?
Why, then, did I decide it would be a good idea to coax these degenerate boozehounds/action junkies into playing at midnight on Friday? It's clearly because I'm stupid. I'd like to blame the 40 of Miller Lite (in a paper bag of course) I was nursing, but this time it was all me, baby. I was itching to play some cards.
"He's picking his spots."
--Joe Speaker, about me, on numerous occasions
I was drunk--and playing well, thank you very much--but the thing about Friday night, the key to my big win? Everybody was much more drunk than I was. It's not tough to win money at a table that will give you action every time you have the nuts, (even though it's obvious that you have the nuts), solely because they're too drunk to realize that folding is an option.
That's my kind of game.
I don't remember much in the way of hand specifics, other than the hand where I resucked to stack Iggy. We got it all in on a jack high flop, I with my set of 10's, and Iggy with a flopped straight. When the cards were flipped, I'm not even sure he knew he was ahead at that point, but rather that he had a pair and an open-ended straight draw. The board paired on the turn, though, giving me the pot.
Snap! Snap!
When the game broke at 3:30am, I was the big winner. Yeah, I know. Me. Who'd a-thunk? Nobody else at the table, of that I'm sure. I didn't want the game to break, but everybody was drunk, and Saturday was a big day for us all. Cubs vs. Padres at 12:05pm, which meant that we had to get to Wrigley by 10:30am to secure 11 bleacher seats, which in turn meant that people had to get up by 8:30am if they wanted to take a shower. I like showers. Showers are good. Syphillis, bad. Showers good.
Hooray for spending a Saturday in sunny, 90° heat after a full night of beer, 15 lbs of meat, poker and an incalculable amount of stupidity!
I passed out upstairs, far away from the Warthog fight in the living room, antsy for Saturday; a day I'd spend peeling other people's 20's out of my money clip to buy copious amounts of Bud Light, Old Style, stadium hotdogs and peanuts. My last thought of the night was, gee, I don't think I've ever been worried this much about having to go to the ER to have a compacted colon deobstructed.
And I wouldn't have changed a thing.
