Who Are The Men?

I got three hours of sleep last night. I feel like Pauly has for the last five weeks. There are no hookers in my cubicle for diversion, however, nor any pot-bellied redneck kids with stripper MILFs hanging out on our smoking deck.

There is poker. Rattling around in my brain with the sonic force of Jed Clampett's jalopy. I'm not going to spew it today. My results still suck, but I'm feeling like my game is getting back on Terra Firma and my attitude is better, as evidenced by the fact I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. playing. And enjoyed it.

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I was repeatedly asked by some poker-playing acquaintances if I was going to try and qualify for the Main Event this year. My answer was an unequivocal "No." (Yes, I did play one FPP First Round Qualifier on Stars, but there was an ulterior motive behind it). That I played in WSOP Event #2 was a stroke of excellent fortune and the experience becomes more important to me day by day, even as it illustrated exactly why I hadn't planned to foist myself upon "The World's Richest Sporting Event" this year.

I'm not ready.

It's what I told my buddies back in February and it's still true. It DOES NOT mean I didn't spent all day yesterday dreaming about being there and playing. I could hardly think of anything else as I hit continuous refreshes of The Good Doctor's excellent reports (you can also find Pauly's work here and here). He also made the final table of the Media/Celebrity Event, putting a bad beat on Shannon Elizabeth in the process. Oh, if only that were a euphemism.

There's a Roman Bath House mood to the proceedings. What's Caligula's chip count? Well-known pros going broke, bracelet winners getting rolled by Twins of Pleasure, mainlining Long Island Ice Teas at Hooker Bars, Isabelle Mercier's jeans riding low.

Quite a contrast to what I will actually be doing this weekend: Going to Legoland. I'm gonna bring a flask, though, so Dial-a-Shots are still a possibility.

And there there's Otis, to whom I've not given nearly enough space. I can only assume it's because I'm a dolt...or that he doesn't write about hookers.

While Pauly gives us the Big Picture--and the Seedy Underbelly--Otis gives us the personal, individual profiles that strike a chord with anyone who's sat at a poker table. He's concerned with Poker Stars players, many with a good story to tell (like being trapped on an oil platform in the midst of a tropical storm), many of them similar to you or I, except for the fact there are THERE, they have deemed themselves READY.

So spend some time with these two. You won't get a better read. It's not being there. It's the closest you're gonna get, though. At least this year.

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In keeping with the theme (that I am a humungous suck-up who is wholly devoid of talent, and am therefore filling my blog with the exploits of others), two snaps up to BG for landing a gig at Oddjack, a site for which his talents are perfectly suited. Bloggers blowin' up all over the Joint. Congrats again, sir.

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Going to less sunny San Diego this weekend, getting a 20-degree break on the weather. Ah, coastal breezes. I'll leave you with the Link of the Day. If only it were Donkeys.

Everybody's doing it.