Poker, Prose, Ponies

In the wee hours on Saturday night, I received an invitation from Daddy to Ram and Jam on some unsuspecting tourists in a $50 SnG on Full tilt. Iggy was along, as well. I was, at the time, folding my way to immortality (aka "the bubble") in the $9K but...Daddy? The Blogfather? It was an offer I couldn't refuse.

It took me a while to shift from ultra-tight MTT mode into Let's Gamble a Little SnG mode. At the $50 buy-in level, I tend to assume folks know what they're doing. The exception was the one guy on whom I had notes, which he perfectly defined with his play and mis-guided comments. Yes, I busted him. Calling my raise with A9 and jamming unimproved on the flop? Tourist.

The table chat was hysterical. Daddy mentioned how he was down to his last $60 so he had to win. He responded to a comment about playing above his bankroll by saying his brother, he of the "sweet...tricked-out Eclipse," would give him more money if he went broke. We had plenty of smart-alecky railbirds, too.

All three of us were alive on the bubble, but an interloper busted Ignatious in fourth.

From there, only one result was possible. It was pre-determined long ago, the prophecy contained in the Book of Isaiah. The Daddy and I would be heads-up. He claimed to be a little more in the bag than I and I'm inclined to believe him, but lucidity was not a problem for either of us. At least after the first hand of heads-up where we went to Donkey War. I made a horrible call, banking on one of my seven outs to hit. It did. Except, I only had five outs, the ace giving Daddy the frush. That gave him about a 10-3 chip advantage and I had to pull my head out.

The next 20 minutes were artistry. Sure, some of the railbirds thought the play was "like watching paint dry." They just didn't get it. Like trying to explain the nuances of baseball, the always-changing strategery, to a Luddite. And Daddy and I were painting. Sliders on the black. Uncle Charlie in the back door. High fucking heat. He and I have had enough conversations on the Art of the SnG that it was like playing a mirror. So some trickery was in order. Level 12 all the way. I had some good hands, but couldn't get him to pay me off, though I steadily chipped up and, after a time, took a lead. Finally, we got it all in with my flopped pair of aces holding off his flush draw.

It was the most fun I've had playing poker in a while. The company, for sure. The commentary...gorgeous. Being able to do something different than playing ABC poker to grind out a small win...gold. Thanks, gentlemen and ladies.

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Full of hubris and my first heads-up triumph in Idontknowhowlong, I waded, puffy-chested, into my postponed mana a mano duel with Veneno. I was crushed. Fast. Premature stackedulation. Maybe my plan to counter her aggressiveness with more aggression wasn't such a good idea, especially considering I had only 8 river outs when all the money went in. At Level 1. AJ...not particularly gold this time. I bow to The Poison.

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I had Point Determined in The Derby. It has not been determined whether he has finished yet.

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$330 NLHE tourney tonight at Commerce, part of their Heavenly Hold 'Em series of events. Ryan, with an ITM finish in last evening's contest, and I will be playing. Send good mojo.

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I've been reading poker books lately. And some self-help stuff ("How to Be a Great Divorced Dad"). This is due to my mind's propensity to wander these days, so following a fictional narrative is a bit difficult. Heck, I can't even watch TV with any noticeable level of concentration. However, after reading Mean Gene's post about books, I went over to Amazon to read the first few pages of The Mysteries of Pittsburgh. I figure a good writer who loves a book that much can't be wrong. He wasn't. I bought it on Saturday and tore through half of it yesterday. And I can't wait to pick it up again. It's not just a great story. Not just impeccably written. It makes me wanna write.