Boo

Hoo

Sigh.

...Anyways.

It was the Player's Club, even though it didn't rain. I played my first live hands of Big O and Cr/Lazy Pineapple, hi/lo split style at the $3/$6 dealer's choice table. You thought Omaha was fun, try playing Omaha with five hole cards. I dropped $100 before getting called to the hold'em game, and considered myself lucky at that. gamb00l.

The regulars are very regular, the same crowd is there every time I come. A very odd assortment of retirees, young asians and toughneck white boys (who as I gather are all part of the local boxing scene), middle-aged businessmen, and a few colorful women. The dealers often cycle into the games inbetween downs, or take over hands for friends taking a smoke. It's a nice chance of pace from the Badbeat Jackpot asian madhouse that is Commerce. I only have a few stories from this place so far, it's more tame than the mix of people could lead you to believe... I haven't had my life threatened, nor watched someone attempt to urinate on a dealer. It really doesn't feel like live poker.

Also, you really get to know the playing styles of your opponents when they're so few and regular. One particular asian guy plays fairly straightforward ABC poker, until he's stuck, and then he gamb00ls it up preflop, raising any bet to him on seemingly random hands. I had just seen this guy bust out of the $6/$12 Big O game, and knew he was steaming, when he sat down at my table at the beginning of a kill pot (when the person who won the last pot wins a second time in a row, the stakes are doubled and that player is forced to post a double-sized blind). The kill was on the BB, a new player. Crazian was UTG+1, and I was in MP. UTG limped, Crazian raised, and it was folded to me in MP with KQo. Normally this is a very bad hand to play here against an early position raise, but the players acting after me were not going to call a three-bet in a kill pot without AK, AA KK or QQ, and Crazian had a very wide range of raising hands. So this was one of those few spots where three-betting KQo against an early position raise is clearly superior to folding (and calling the worst of the three). It got folded to the BB kill, who called, as did Crazian. The flop came Q 7 3 rainbow, and it was checked to me. I bet, and both called. The turn was a 9, same story. The river was a 6, again checked to me, and I had an easy bet. The BB called and Crazian folded, the latter tabling pocket tens and everyone at the table started egging me for three-betting KQo. Newbies.

Another guy had absurdly tight raising requirements PF, always QQs, KKs or AAs. I folded JJ to his raise, and sure enough, QQ. That may have been the second time I've folded JJs preflop in a limit game.

Afternooning

My desire to smoke becomes a near compulsion whilst the neighbors are outside fighting. I feel like a moth drawn to a flame. "Mommy, I want a mullet!" etc.

In other news, my brief career as a poker pro nearly came to a screeching halt earlier this month, and I've been more or less on vacation for the last few weeks awaiting word on a few things. Mustang, sensing weekness, decided to throw a tantrum and blow a headgasket. Bitch.

I should have all my account issues solved soon, then I'll be back to the grind. For now, it's daily trips to the Player's Club when I can't fit golf in. Looks like it might rain soon, so I haven't decided what's on tap for today.

Late night auto-biography

A boy wandered aimlessly through the tall grasses of the pasture. A storm was building in the west, towering thunderheads darkening the late evening sky. The warm damp air was thick with the buzzing of insects and the muffled rumblings of distant thunder. Scents of wild-flowers and grass born on the westerly breeze took on a slight tinge of ozone, a promise of things to come. Shivering in anticipation, the boy eagerly made his way to the edge of a nearby pond.

The rotted out remains of a great fallen oak tree lay alongside the bank. As the winds began to pick up, he shed his boots and socks, and clambered onto the trunk. Playfully dipping his feet into the water, he stared off into the distance at the looming stormfront. A hazy wall of rain stretched from ground to clouds, all briefly illumined now and again by arcing flashes of lightning. It reminded the boy of a play, in that short time between scenes when the darkened and curtained stage hides the hurried rearrangements of props and settings.

He began counting the seconds between each thunder-clap as his father had taught him, and reached six-mississippi before the next rolled over the pond. The ground trembled with its violence, and from behind a nearby clump of brush out sprang a large dog. Balancing on one foot atop the log, the boy gazed curiously at the new animal. He quickly realized it was no dog, but a coyote; lank gray hair covering a rail-thin frame, and long muzzeled head capped with large pointed ears. It caught sight of the boy, and it's muzzle opened wide in a snarl, exposing long sharpened teeth. He stood rooted in shock until the next peal of thunder sent the animal bounding back into the tall grass.

The wind gained in fury, the branches of the trees about the pond whipping against one another. The thunder was coming in quick succession now, and flecks of moisture splattered against his face. He dropped back to the ground, and ran up the trail to the dirt road leading to the farm. The increasing violence of the storm spurred him onwards, the rough gravel giving way grudgingly to soft bare feet as he recklessly flew down the road. Thick sheets of rain lashed down on him, thunder boomed in his ears, stabs of lightning blinded him. The tree-lined drive of his home appeared before him, and he crossed into the soft cool grass of the lawn with a leap. His mother stood framed in the doorway of the porch, lit by soft electric light, and hurriedly beckoned him in.

* * *

In the morning, the boy set back out for the pond to recover his socks and shoes. Though this time with much more care, tredding on bruised and swollen feet. The storm had left little mark in passing, and he found the clearing about the pond much as he had left it, save for one tree that had been struck by lightning, huge splinters of wood jutting from it's ruined trunk and angled towards the fallen remains of it's body.

As he gathered his shoes, idly examinging the new sight, he spotted an animal stuck under one of the tree's branches. He made his way to the ruined tree, and tried lifting the branch. It was large, and heavy enough to have killed the animal it covered. To his amazement, it was a coyote. Probably the same one from last night, he thought, dragging the branch aside. The muzzle was again open, but frozen in a rictus of death. He stared in fascination and disgust at it's swollen tongue, grossly lodged between two great canine teeth, and the slash of blood matted hair where the branch had caved in the coyote's chest.

He was suddenly overcome with an urge to tear out the canine teeth of the animal. A friend at school had a necklace laced with two large age yellowed teeth. He wasn't able to boast having collected the them himself, though. The boy reached into his pocket for his clasp-knife. He flicked the blade open, and squatted down beside the ruined animal. Gently prodding the tounge away from it's teeth, he realized that he had no idea what to do. Not pausing to doubt himself, he plunged the tip of the knife into the animal's gumline. In angry embarrasement, he simply hacked away at the bottom of one tooth, leaving a bloody mess of pulpy tissue under his knife. But the tooth would not come.

Stubbornly grabbing it between his fingers, he pulled and yanked, blinking away a sudden rush of tears and swallowing back a spurt of bile. The tooth came out with a sharp pop, and the boy fell back onto the ground. His eyes wandered from the bloody tooth to the ruined maw of the coyote. Getting slowly to his feet and rubbing his sleeved arm against his eyes, he looked around him at the lush tangle of wildflowers surrounding the pond, and the bright clear summer sky. A cool breeze stirred the tops of the trees and sent rolling waves through the tall grass. He gave one last glance at the ruined animal, and cast the tooth into the pond. He bent down to the water to clean the blood from his hands, then gathered his shoes and quietly made his way back up to the road.