When you have a toddler and twins whose cuteness factor seems to be multiplying daily as they continue to not only figure out how to smile but use it liberally and especially when Daddy is around (they already are manipulating me), you have to make choices with that hour or so of free time you're granted daily.
Assuming you've already worked out, and you can't go climbing, given that that takes much longer than an hour and the wife already let you guide a trip Saturday that netted you around $450 as well as a calm soul (see photos below), let's look at our options.
Poker: After a hot spell, the suckout bug has returned, along with a few set over sets, which sure feels like a suckout. Finally, last night I flop a set of 4s, take it to the streets just like the Doobie Brothers, and a 5 falls on the river. When the guy pushes on my pot-sized bet, I push for my last scrap of chips, and he waits, and waits, and waits, until he finally calls.
And shows 5,5.
Presto is gold, indeed. Presto sucks.
He then types in LOL in the chat box and says "I wanted to enjoy it."
So the fucker — oops, I may have just blown my G rating — was slowrolling me after hitting his 4 percent chance of winning.
There have been maybe three times I've wanted to crawl through the computer screen and force feed those chips down a throat, maybe with a little salsa or dirty cigarette butts.
Make it four after last night.
Harry Potter: A terrific series that actually got better as the hype increased. I'm not sure I can say that about many other pop culture moments. The new "Star Wars" series failed miserably, with only the third installment worth much, and the third "Matrix" was one of the worst movies I've ever seen. The Beatles? Sure, but that was a long time ago. "The Simpsons" did, for a time, until Season 10 got here.
But Harry Potter is truly brilliant, a series that started out as a kid's fantasy world and became a book for adults, maybe even more than children.
Oh, lookie here, the last installment arrived in my mailbox yesterday.
The decision really isn't that hard, actually. Apparently after some posted success I can't drive 55, but I can treat myself to finally finding out whether Harry lives or dies.
Showing posts with label suckout. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suckout. Show all posts
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Hard landing, softer heart
Thunk.
That was, in an instant, the sound of my stomach hitting my ankles and the sound of Andie, wrapped up in her swaddler, face down on the hardwood floor, a foot or two below the couch where I had placed her a moment ago.
Her desperate, shaken screams, complete with virgin tears, still make me sick as I write this Sunday, a day later.
In a moment's grace, a grace that I would like to think shadows thoughtful parents (but I know better), Andie escaped unharmed, for the most part, except for a bruise on her temple.
It's the third time in my life as a parent I've gotten away with what you could either call a mistake or carelessness, depending on your mood. I think it's probably between the two.
Jayden once rolled off the changing table and into his PacNPlay as I answered the phone , and another time he rolled all the way down a flight of carpeted stairs when I forgot to replace the baby gate. He was frightened but otherwise OK, and I now have three, instead of two, scars on my heart after Andie's tumble.
All three times, including Saturday, came at a time when I was overstressed from day-long cries, bottles, diapers and millions of other bits of things to do.
And every time, in my stress and a little burnt-out weariness and frustration, I forgot that I was taking care of fragile babies and not, say, my lawn out back that I would have to cut later.
Of course that doesn't mean I treated them harshly. Far from it. But it did mean my vigilance was less than what it should be. It was, in fact, downright poor, until...
Thunk.
That was, a second later, the sound of my brain hitting my skull, after Andie's pain seeped into me and I pounded my head with my hand. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
There, there, I said to her, and she looked at me, tears in her eyes, afraid and hurt and, I think, a little worry. She trusted me, and I let her down. Daddies do that sometimes. That's a lesson she had to learn at too early an age.
I don't know why I need painful reminders such as this one that they come first, and that they are worth more than any thing you may not get to that day, and that, most of all, you are lucky to have them because at any moment, a thunk can take them away from you.
I am now out of my funk of the last couple of weeks, and I'm sorry for all the bitching and whining. This blog is supposed to be cathartic for me, too, but after a while, I'm sure, it got a little old.
I had a great run today, a 6-mile, fast-paced jog, partly because I'm at peace for the moment.
Everything in my life is hard, I realize, and I prefer it that way. Writing, what I do for a living, is tough, and reporting, at times, is even harder. I climb mountains and run races and play a frustrating card game for fun. I spent whole summers chasing down the state's 54 14ers until I climbed them all. I keep this blog going and spend hours on home movies for my kids rather than settle for something simple with the video camera. I have perhaps the world's most energetic toddler. I also, as my wife will tell you, occasionally have a difficult personality.
And so yes, right now, my family life is hard, but one thunk, and it's not only just a part of my life, it is my life.
Karma came later as I played poker, with Andie asleep on my shoulder, snuggled next to ear. After some success early on in the cash game, and after a week of progress, I was dealt QQ, raised it up and got two calls.
A Q came on the flop, with no draws out there, so I checked, and got a couple bets. I bet the pot, about $12, on the turn, when an 8 came, and I got a call. On the river, another 8 came, and I was more than happy to call his all-in raise after my bet.
Until he showed 8,8.
Strangely enough, that didn't burn a hole in my heart, as it normally would.
It had taken enough hits that day.
That was, in an instant, the sound of my stomach hitting my ankles and the sound of Andie, wrapped up in her swaddler, face down on the hardwood floor, a foot or two below the couch where I had placed her a moment ago.
Her desperate, shaken screams, complete with virgin tears, still make me sick as I write this Sunday, a day later.
In a moment's grace, a grace that I would like to think shadows thoughtful parents (but I know better), Andie escaped unharmed, for the most part, except for a bruise on her temple.
It's the third time in my life as a parent I've gotten away with what you could either call a mistake or carelessness, depending on your mood. I think it's probably between the two.
Jayden once rolled off the changing table and into his PacNPlay as I answered the phone , and another time he rolled all the way down a flight of carpeted stairs when I forgot to replace the baby gate. He was frightened but otherwise OK, and I now have three, instead of two, scars on my heart after Andie's tumble.
All three times, including Saturday, came at a time when I was overstressed from day-long cries, bottles, diapers and millions of other bits of things to do.
And every time, in my stress and a little burnt-out weariness and frustration, I forgot that I was taking care of fragile babies and not, say, my lawn out back that I would have to cut later.
Of course that doesn't mean I treated them harshly. Far from it. But it did mean my vigilance was less than what it should be. It was, in fact, downright poor, until...
Thunk.
That was, a second later, the sound of my brain hitting my skull, after Andie's pain seeped into me and I pounded my head with my hand. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
There, there, I said to her, and she looked at me, tears in her eyes, afraid and hurt and, I think, a little worry. She trusted me, and I let her down. Daddies do that sometimes. That's a lesson she had to learn at too early an age.
I don't know why I need painful reminders such as this one that they come first, and that they are worth more than any thing you may not get to that day, and that, most of all, you are lucky to have them because at any moment, a thunk can take them away from you.
I am now out of my funk of the last couple of weeks, and I'm sorry for all the bitching and whining. This blog is supposed to be cathartic for me, too, but after a while, I'm sure, it got a little old.
I had a great run today, a 6-mile, fast-paced jog, partly because I'm at peace for the moment.
Everything in my life is hard, I realize, and I prefer it that way. Writing, what I do for a living, is tough, and reporting, at times, is even harder. I climb mountains and run races and play a frustrating card game for fun. I spent whole summers chasing down the state's 54 14ers until I climbed them all. I keep this blog going and spend hours on home movies for my kids rather than settle for something simple with the video camera. I have perhaps the world's most energetic toddler. I also, as my wife will tell you, occasionally have a difficult personality.
And so yes, right now, my family life is hard, but one thunk, and it's not only just a part of my life, it is my life.
Karma came later as I played poker, with Andie asleep on my shoulder, snuggled next to ear. After some success early on in the cash game, and after a week of progress, I was dealt QQ, raised it up and got two calls.
A Q came on the flop, with no draws out there, so I checked, and got a couple bets. I bet the pot, about $12, on the turn, when an 8 came, and I got a call. On the river, another 8 came, and I was more than happy to call his all-in raise after my bet.
Until he showed 8,8.
Strangely enough, that didn't burn a hole in my heart, as it normally would.
It had taken enough hits that day.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Whiny ass post, v. 7.3
I simply need to vent.
Blog, you're it.
The twins have decided that they were making things a little too easy for us, so they've swapped times they needed to be held throughout the day. Jayden also apparently had a Chernobyl-like meltdown for almost an hour, and though I wasn't there to witness it, I felt it when I got home, as the fallout from said meltdown turned our normally cheery household into a black hole sun.
I was mentally exhausted by 9 p.m., and after another hour-long battle getting both girls down (I'm awake, no, I"M awake, no, MY TURN NOW to be held by Daddy), I finally got a chance to sit down at poker.
I played well, if I do say so myself. I won a big pot with Q-Q, bluffed several times, had a couple draws come in and twice got all my money in when I was at least 5-1 to win.
And I lost both those pots.
And I finished down $30 for the night.
And I was PISSED.
I still am. In fact, just thinking about the two beats leaves a thin drool of anger creeping down my chin.
Again, I'm venting. The first time I had a set of 4s, turned my full house and gladly called the monkey who decided that was a good time to push his A-A (he could not have telegraphed his cards any more even by turning them face up).
Still, shit happens, right? I played well enough to crawl back into even or close to it, and then with five people in the pot, I called a raise with 7,7 and got a board of K,5,7 rainbow.
Beautiful.
By the time the betting is through, three others push their stacks in, and I need to call $22 to win a $84 pot.
Um, OK.
What do you think they all had? I put one, the initial bettor and a donkey who bet two times the pot on an underpair, one on A,K, and the third on an underset.
I was right on the initial bettor - he had 8,8. One other guy did indeed have A,K. The third I was wrong about. He had two pair. He was the only one who had me covered, of course.
I really don't mind the call with two pair. It's probably not a great call but he was getting nice odds on his money, and as I said before, those other two players really had a wide range. You could even make a case that the big bet with 8,8 wasn't terrible. At least he was betting. The call with A,K is simpy inexcusable. What on earth would make you think top pair was good there?
Well, for my good play, the poker Gods saw it fit to reward Mr. Two Pair and give him a runner, runner flush.
So. If my monster, huge favorites hold up, if the odds just play out, I'm easily up $75 for the night, or at least three buy-ins. That's a lot for me. I'm a conservative player. No way would I ever, ever ask for a suckout to get those numbers, as I know that will never happen. I've also reviewed the hand histories and poker tracker and I haven't sucked out for a big pot, or even a pot over $5, in two months. Unbelieveable, isn't it. I think the ratio over the last two months is 25-1.
Now, yes, this sucks anyway, but in the last two months, I've basically been treading water because of beats like this. Yes, I've made a few mistakes, but most of the beats have come just like this one, where I get my money in and get fucked over. I'll show you the hand histories.
When you have kids in the house, you can't throw something or even yell, so I'm hoping this will work out some of the anger. I haven't been this angry in a while, and I really don't know why. Maybe it's because my poker time is limited now, so it burns me when I lose money cause it's hard to win it back, or maybe it's just everything else and I'm really tired. Or maybe I'm really fucking tired of losing when I make the right play. That was a huge pot last night, and I won't get another chance to win a pot like that in months.
Honestly I'm so fucking discouraged right now I am thinking about putting poker off for a while. If the game is truly like that these days, where you have a great night, slowly build your bankroll the right way and then continue to have it chopped down like a tree because of some fucker catching his miracle card, forcing to you once again build it back up and then rinse and repeat, so be it. I don't need that in my life right now, not with demanding kids and climbing season approaching.
We'll see.
I've got a meeting with a group I'll be guiding this summer up three 14ers, and then I've got a date with the new James Bond.
And when he loses that huge hand I've heard about, I'll simply smile.
We've all been there, Mr. Bond, and misery loves company.
P.S. Stay tuned tommorow for some cute Wordless Wednesday pictures instead of a bitter, whiny poker post.
Blog, you're it.
The twins have decided that they were making things a little too easy for us, so they've swapped times they needed to be held throughout the day. Jayden also apparently had a Chernobyl-like meltdown for almost an hour, and though I wasn't there to witness it, I felt it when I got home, as the fallout from said meltdown turned our normally cheery household into a black hole sun.
I was mentally exhausted by 9 p.m., and after another hour-long battle getting both girls down (I'm awake, no, I"M awake, no, MY TURN NOW to be held by Daddy), I finally got a chance to sit down at poker.
I played well, if I do say so myself. I won a big pot with Q-Q, bluffed several times, had a couple draws come in and twice got all my money in when I was at least 5-1 to win.
And I lost both those pots.
And I finished down $30 for the night.
And I was PISSED.
I still am. In fact, just thinking about the two beats leaves a thin drool of anger creeping down my chin.
Again, I'm venting. The first time I had a set of 4s, turned my full house and gladly called the monkey who decided that was a good time to push his A-A (he could not have telegraphed his cards any more even by turning them face up).
Still, shit happens, right? I played well enough to crawl back into even or close to it, and then with five people in the pot, I called a raise with 7,7 and got a board of K,5,7 rainbow.
Beautiful.
By the time the betting is through, three others push their stacks in, and I need to call $22 to win a $84 pot.
Um, OK.
What do you think they all had? I put one, the initial bettor and a donkey who bet two times the pot on an underpair, one on A,K, and the third on an underset.
I was right on the initial bettor - he had 8,8. One other guy did indeed have A,K. The third I was wrong about. He had two pair. He was the only one who had me covered, of course.
I really don't mind the call with two pair. It's probably not a great call but he was getting nice odds on his money, and as I said before, those other two players really had a wide range. You could even make a case that the big bet with 8,8 wasn't terrible. At least he was betting. The call with A,K is simpy inexcusable. What on earth would make you think top pair was good there?
Well, for my good play, the poker Gods saw it fit to reward Mr. Two Pair and give him a runner, runner flush.
So. If my monster, huge favorites hold up, if the odds just play out, I'm easily up $75 for the night, or at least three buy-ins. That's a lot for me. I'm a conservative player. No way would I ever, ever ask for a suckout to get those numbers, as I know that will never happen. I've also reviewed the hand histories and poker tracker and I haven't sucked out for a big pot, or even a pot over $5, in two months. Unbelieveable, isn't it. I think the ratio over the last two months is 25-1.
Now, yes, this sucks anyway, but in the last two months, I've basically been treading water because of beats like this. Yes, I've made a few mistakes, but most of the beats have come just like this one, where I get my money in and get fucked over. I'll show you the hand histories.
When you have kids in the house, you can't throw something or even yell, so I'm hoping this will work out some of the anger. I haven't been this angry in a while, and I really don't know why. Maybe it's because my poker time is limited now, so it burns me when I lose money cause it's hard to win it back, or maybe it's just everything else and I'm really tired. Or maybe I'm really fucking tired of losing when I make the right play. That was a huge pot last night, and I won't get another chance to win a pot like that in months.
Honestly I'm so fucking discouraged right now I am thinking about putting poker off for a while. If the game is truly like that these days, where you have a great night, slowly build your bankroll the right way and then continue to have it chopped down like a tree because of some fucker catching his miracle card, forcing to you once again build it back up and then rinse and repeat, so be it. I don't need that in my life right now, not with demanding kids and climbing season approaching.
We'll see.
I've got a meeting with a group I'll be guiding this summer up three 14ers, and then I've got a date with the new James Bond.
And when he loses that huge hand I've heard about, I'll simply smile.
We've all been there, Mr. Bond, and misery loves company.
P.S. Stay tuned tommorow for some cute Wordless Wednesday pictures instead of a bitter, whiny poker post.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The first race, suckout special and still put
Every time I’m in a race, there are moments I just want it to be over.
“Damn,” I’ll think to myself. “This is HARD.”
Thoughts of stopping and walking always haunt me. It just looks so sweet, those walking alongside the course, the way new parents look at pillows three stacks high or dieters gaze at cheesecake (or poker players smile at a turned set).
There are many reasons I run races. Not a whole lot of them have anything to do with fun.
Sunday I ran my first race of the summer season. It was a 5-mile run over rolling hills through Greeley and put on by our running coach. It, like many of the races I’ve run, was a lot more fun upon reflection than during the actual race.
I think a lot of our experiences are like that. Christmas dinner with the family can mean itchy sweaters, tense moments and dry turkey. Poker tournaments are stressful, sometimes cantankerous affairs, yet I always think how much fun they were, even after I bust out.
Races are the same way, too, and Sunday was no exception. It was hot at times. At times I couldn’t breathe much. I gagged a few times after the bile in my throat got caught in my craw. I was exhausted at times, too, and other times I had lots of energy. I rarely felt really good, but I know my running is improving because I rarely was completely miserable either.
My time was 38:52, or about a 7:47 per-mile pace. I was proud of that, and that time meant I may very well reach my goal of 47-48 minutes at the BolderBoulder, one of the country’s biggest (and most fun) 10K races in Boulder.
Still, there were many times during the race when I wanted to stop. The fun comes when you push through that pain and make yourself go, and go, in fact a little faster.
• • •
Speaking of pain, last night a guy at my table was raising every hand, and I pushed all in with AA when I flopped a set. The guy got his runner, runner flush on the river when he couldn’t let Q,10 sooted go to a re-raise.
That’s what I get for playing .5/.10 poker as a wind-down to the evening after playing the $25 NL tables for the better part of an hour Friday night. If I’m going to hang around there, even if it’s just for fun, I have to expect suckouts. I got one.
• • •
Oh, yeah, the girls. Kate is taking those blood pressure pills, and though she’s still having the occasional contraction, they’re still staying put for now. The doc wants her on those pills until they are 36 weeks, but I’m almost thinking a compromise is in order. They make her feel dizzy and exhausted all the time.
I say she takes them until mid-way through the 35th week. They’ve had those steroid shots and they’re already 5 pounds each. Really, how bad could it be?
Kate also thinks her body is getting ready for labor.
They’re coming. I can feel it too. Just not right now.
Probably.
“Damn,” I’ll think to myself. “This is HARD.”
Thoughts of stopping and walking always haunt me. It just looks so sweet, those walking alongside the course, the way new parents look at pillows three stacks high or dieters gaze at cheesecake (or poker players smile at a turned set).
There are many reasons I run races. Not a whole lot of them have anything to do with fun.
Sunday I ran my first race of the summer season. It was a 5-mile run over rolling hills through Greeley and put on by our running coach. It, like many of the races I’ve run, was a lot more fun upon reflection than during the actual race.
I think a lot of our experiences are like that. Christmas dinner with the family can mean itchy sweaters, tense moments and dry turkey. Poker tournaments are stressful, sometimes cantankerous affairs, yet I always think how much fun they were, even after I bust out.
Races are the same way, too, and Sunday was no exception. It was hot at times. At times I couldn’t breathe much. I gagged a few times after the bile in my throat got caught in my craw. I was exhausted at times, too, and other times I had lots of energy. I rarely felt really good, but I know my running is improving because I rarely was completely miserable either.
My time was 38:52, or about a 7:47 per-mile pace. I was proud of that, and that time meant I may very well reach my goal of 47-48 minutes at the BolderBoulder, one of the country’s biggest (and most fun) 10K races in Boulder.
Still, there were many times during the race when I wanted to stop. The fun comes when you push through that pain and make yourself go, and go, in fact a little faster.
• • •
Speaking of pain, last night a guy at my table was raising every hand, and I pushed all in with AA when I flopped a set. The guy got his runner, runner flush on the river when he couldn’t let Q,10 sooted go to a re-raise.
That’s what I get for playing .5/.10 poker as a wind-down to the evening after playing the $25 NL tables for the better part of an hour Friday night. If I’m going to hang around there, even if it’s just for fun, I have to expect suckouts. I got one.
• • •
Oh, yeah, the girls. Kate is taking those blood pressure pills, and though she’s still having the occasional contraction, they’re still staying put for now. The doc wants her on those pills until they are 36 weeks, but I’m almost thinking a compromise is in order. They make her feel dizzy and exhausted all the time.
I say she takes them until mid-way through the 35th week. They’ve had those steroid shots and they’re already 5 pounds each. Really, how bad could it be?
Kate also thinks her body is getting ready for labor.
They’re coming. I can feel it too. Just not right now.
Probably.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
A weekend so bad, it made me hurl
OK, so I don't need to go through another weekend like that one for a while.
Like, maybe, NEVER.
It had so much promise. I dropped Jayden off at Grandma-ma and Granddadas and met my brother and his family for dinner at my favorite sub place (and saw my super-cute niece) and was looking forward to a longtime friend's home poker game.
I went up to the counter and confidently ordered a cheesy crab. Now, I've been in love with the Cheesy Crab since I was a freshman in college, or about 75 years ago (drum kick). I used to order it at least once a week, but it was an occasional affair, as I could only get them when I visited Lawrence, Kan.
And then...paradise. The shops chained out and even made Denver. They aren't in Greeley. Yet. So I'm still limited. But not QUITE as limited as I once was.
So I ordered my love. And the counter guy smacked my hand.
"I don't have any crab," he said. "I discontinued that. I'd only sell like one of those a week."
But...but...but...I wanted my cheesy crab!
I wound up ordering a chicken sandwhich with red sauce and quickly discovered that a sub place is only as good as a treasured item (translation, it wasn't nearly as good as the crab).
So then I thought the poker would make up for it. And it did. For a while.
Until I started to feel funny.
Wifey, Kate, had a bit o' the stomach flu earlier in the week, and I really, really thought I wouldn't get it. Ha. I started to feel worse an hour into my arrival, and then, I had to visit the restroom.
And puked and puked and puked.
Nice.
I knew I wasn't going skiing the next day. I really thought I could continue to play poker, and I did, doubling my buy-in, but after a few more minutes, I prepared myself for the miserable drive home.
I drew on every ounce of my past experiences driving home exhausted and sometimes sick after a day in the mountains, and after a stop at McDonald's and waiting 20 minutes for a Powerade after being so thirsty I would have drank from a men's room urinal, I made it home at 2 a.m. I growled at my wife and hit the sack, praying that I could hold down the drink.
I did not get up until 5 p.m. the next day.
I haven't slept through the day like that in several years. I did manage to keep down the drink, and wifey Kate fixed me some grape Jello, which I ate and then ate some chicken noodle soup. Then I played some online poker just to be up for a while.
And I troll around for an hour and make some great folds, including a fold to two pair when I was tempted to push, and I'm rewarded for my effort by getting dealt AA. I'm the last one in, so I raise, and I get one caller, and the board flops J-high.
He bets the pot, $5, and I'm convinced he has K,J or maybe J,Q. So I re-raise, he pushes, and I gladly call.
And I'm right. When the third A hits, I figured I have it.
Until the fourth club comes down, and he wins with J,K os runner, runner, runner, runner FLOOSH, which floooshes down $62 and a good portion of my Ultimate Bet profit that I had worked hard to build for the last month.
Occasionally it's very hard not to get cynical about poker, even as it's going away and I'll miss it when it does. I work hard for three weeks and see all that work get crapped away when my 9-1 favorite doesn't hold up.
What a great way to end the night.
And the weekend.
P.S. The lone highlight was reading "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. God what a great book. You must read this now.
Like, maybe, NEVER.
It had so much promise. I dropped Jayden off at Grandma-ma and Granddadas and met my brother and his family for dinner at my favorite sub place (and saw my super-cute niece) and was looking forward to a longtime friend's home poker game.
I went up to the counter and confidently ordered a cheesy crab. Now, I've been in love with the Cheesy Crab since I was a freshman in college, or about 75 years ago (drum kick). I used to order it at least once a week, but it was an occasional affair, as I could only get them when I visited Lawrence, Kan.
And then...paradise. The shops chained out and even made Denver. They aren't in Greeley. Yet. So I'm still limited. But not QUITE as limited as I once was.
So I ordered my love. And the counter guy smacked my hand.
"I don't have any crab," he said. "I discontinued that. I'd only sell like one of those a week."
But...but...but...I wanted my cheesy crab!
I wound up ordering a chicken sandwhich with red sauce and quickly discovered that a sub place is only as good as a treasured item (translation, it wasn't nearly as good as the crab).
So then I thought the poker would make up for it. And it did. For a while.
Until I started to feel funny.
Wifey, Kate, had a bit o' the stomach flu earlier in the week, and I really, really thought I wouldn't get it. Ha. I started to feel worse an hour into my arrival, and then, I had to visit the restroom.
And puked and puked and puked.
Nice.
I knew I wasn't going skiing the next day. I really thought I could continue to play poker, and I did, doubling my buy-in, but after a few more minutes, I prepared myself for the miserable drive home.
I drew on every ounce of my past experiences driving home exhausted and sometimes sick after a day in the mountains, and after a stop at McDonald's and waiting 20 minutes for a Powerade after being so thirsty I would have drank from a men's room urinal, I made it home at 2 a.m. I growled at my wife and hit the sack, praying that I could hold down the drink.
I did not get up until 5 p.m. the next day.
I haven't slept through the day like that in several years. I did manage to keep down the drink, and wifey Kate fixed me some grape Jello, which I ate and then ate some chicken noodle soup. Then I played some online poker just to be up for a while.
And I troll around for an hour and make some great folds, including a fold to two pair when I was tempted to push, and I'm rewarded for my effort by getting dealt AA. I'm the last one in, so I raise, and I get one caller, and the board flops J-high.
He bets the pot, $5, and I'm convinced he has K,J or maybe J,Q. So I re-raise, he pushes, and I gladly call.
And I'm right. When the third A hits, I figured I have it.
Until the fourth club comes down, and he wins with J,K os runner, runner, runner, runner FLOOSH, which floooshes down $62 and a good portion of my Ultimate Bet profit that I had worked hard to build for the last month.
Occasionally it's very hard not to get cynical about poker, even as it's going away and I'll miss it when it does. I work hard for three weeks and see all that work get crapped away when my 9-1 favorite doesn't hold up.
What a great way to end the night.
And the weekend.
P.S. The lone highlight was reading "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. God what a great book. You must read this now.
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