From the archives: The most messed-up game of hold-em I’ve ever played

I was trolling a poker forum and came across a post I made about 2 years ago, or so.  I think it predates this blog and was reposted from my OLD blog, which is now dead and buried.  I’ll RE-repost it here for lulz:

 

So me, my uncles (Steve, Tommy, and PT), and my cousin (who shall be known as “Devilspawn” or “DS” in the future)are all looking to play a home poker game. Steve was in charge of setting up the table, I was counting out the chips, and I asked PT to go to the nearby store to get a new pack of cards since my sister spilled beer on the last new deck we had. PT later returns with TWO decks, and we settle down to play.

Let me first give you a little background description of the various relatives. PT (Paul) is 39 and the most like me. I get along with him pretty well, and he’s more like an older brother than an uncle. He tends to drink a bit, but he becomes easier to beat when we play poker. I’d say he’s my biggest competition and plays better than the rest, but he gets predictable.

Then there’s Steve. Steve is a year older and a bit of a crackhead. See, “Crackhead” is a phrase or term that I use to describe the type of player that we’re all familiar with. The guy who’ll refuse to fold a pair of 7’s, even with 3 over cards and a possible straight on the board. He’ll go all-in on a bluff frequently – sometimes he has nothing as you fold your 2nd pair, and sometimes he flopped quads while you and your full house mutter under your breath. His personality fits his style, though. In his younger years, he was a bit of a…what’s a polite way to say this? A man-whore. The guy who could go through the yearbook pictures, point to the pictures of women and go, “yes, yes, no, yes, no, yes, her AND her sister, yes, yes…” He also was, and still is, a bit of a pyromaniac – a trait we tend to share. He’s definitely a lot of fun to be around and good to have on your side, but a pain to play poker with. I’m getting better at reading him, but it’s a constant struggle. I usually try to outwait him since he either wins or busts early.

DS is my uncle Steve’s son. His real name is Steven as well, so the nickname will help remove confusion. He’s a typical 14 tear old kid and loves to annoy me. Unfortunately for him, I love to throw him in snowbanks, shoot him with paintballs, or generally let him know that he’s still inferior. For the most part, he’s an ok kid and somewhat decent at cards. He tends to be a bit cracky, but he’s easier to read than his dad. When he bets big – run. He thinks that the quicker he gets all of his money in, the sooner he’ll double up off of his huge hand. He’ll also call you with anything, so don’t bother bluffing him.

Then there is Tommy. Tommy is the oldest of the uncles, at around 45. Tommy is perhaps one of the strangest individuals I’ve ever known. He’s kind of an introvert and isn’t exactly blessed with the social graces. He’s your typical, redneck, nascar-loving, classic rock type of guy, but he also has the overwhelming need to try to fit in. Hanging around my other uncles and I, he tends to try too hard.

Take his changing interest in music. Lately, Tommy has signed up for a free month of music downloads off of AOL, and has made the most out of it. Now, when Tommy goes to a bar with a jukebox, he normally starts picking groups like George Thoroughgood and Kansas. However, I underestimated his tendency to try to fit in. As the 5 of us were sitting at a table to play poker, Tommy decided to get up, go to his computer in the other room, and play music. Soon, we heard the Black Eyed Peas telling us to “get it started.”

As Steve, PT and I looked at each other, Steve whispered that Tommy actually borrowed Steve’s playlist and put the exact same songs on his list. Tommy doesn’t know whack from fly, frontin’ from representin’, or Ice Cube from Vanilla Ice. If you want to have a visual, think Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. He came back to the table as we quietly shook our heads and played. It can be hard to concentrate on your cards when you hear Ludacris telling you to bend over to the front and touch your toes, but we somehow managed…

Right away, things seemed strange. PT dealt out cards, face-up, to see who was going to deal. First card – king of diamonds to DS. I got the jack of diamonds. Tommy got the 10 of diamonds. Steve got the ace of diamonds. Since he had the first ace, he was the dealer, but I made PT deal out one more card to try for the royal. He pulled a 9, so no royal. Still, it seemed odd. I was dealt into the game, and a few hands in, I looked down to see pocket 10’s. Not too shabby. I was first to act, so I raised. EVERYONE at the table called. I’m thinking – ok, I have a family of crackheads, but let’s see what happens. The flop? 10,J,Q. I have a set of 10’s, but the possible straight is scary. Plus, there were 2 hearts. DS is first to act, and he bets. I raise. EVERYONE calls.

… I might be in trouble.

The turn was a 9 of hearts. Great. Now we have 9,10,J,Q out there, and I was sure someone had a straight, possibly AK to give them a huge straight. Plus, there were now 3 hearts giving someone a possible flush. Steven bet. I called. So did everyone else. What the…?

The river? A queen. That’s a great card for me, since I now have a full house – 10’s over Queens. Sure, if someone had pocket jacks, pocket queens, or a Queen plus a board card in their hand, I was in trouble, but I thought the chances were rare. DS bets big to open. He plays like a crackhead anyways, so I wasn’t too scared. I just called. So did EVERYONE else except Steve, who called us all crackheads as he folded in disgust. We all turned over our cards. DS had a KJ, giving him a straight. Tommy had a KQ, giving him a straight as well. I was happy with my hand until PT looked at me, apologized, and showed his pocket Jacks. I just sat there in shock. That was an incredible hand and I got beat? I was on tilt, but we kept playing.

The next hand, I was in the big blind with J9. Everyone called until DS raised. I was still steaming from my earlier beats, since it seemed like I had a playable hand EVERY time, but kept losing. I wisely folded and let those guys slug it out. The flop was A,K,10. DS went all-in. He got both Tommy and PT to call him. I was shaking my head as Tommy showed Steve his cards. I figured that was a sign Tommy had a good hand. PT and Tommy played the turn and the river – both bet smaller amounts just to raise the pot, but neither folded. 2 10’s came out on the turn and river, making the board A,K,10,10,10. After the betting was done, Steve looked at DS and shook his head. He said, “Sorry son, you lost this one.” DS swore he didn’t. Steve said, “Uh, yeah you did. You can’t win.” PT turned over an ace, giving him a full house. Tommy smiled and turned over a 10, giving him the 4 of a kind. DS slammed his cards down – an ace and a 10, giving HIM a four of a kind.

…

Wait a minute…3 10’s on the board, plus a 10 in each person’s hand…I’m not a math major or anything, but that’s 5 10’s.

We wondered just what the heck just happened, until I grabbed the deck and turned it so all the cards were face up. There wasn’t a single card under a 9. It was a freaking Pinochle deck!

It seems PT didn’t check to see what decks he was buying, and got us 2 Pinochle decks. No wonder I had such good hands, yet everyone else did too! I think I cracked a rib from laughing so hard, but we eventually dug up an old deck, minus beer stains, and went on to play a real game. After it was all said and done, I was $20 richer.

My hell ride back from across the state and other random cliffnotes

Sigh.  Ok, Jen – you win.  You beat me into submission, so I’ll go ahead and fill you in on the relative non-excitement going on around these parts.

 

So, I finally have the Jeep back and under my name.  It’s fixed, and both windows open AND close, which is very handy in western PA during the winter.  However, the Honda is back in the shop for something that I forgot about.  Seems that the threading in the oil pan got worn down, and it was given a temporary fix by a mechanic by fitting it with an over-sized oil plug.  The wal-mart guys won’t even touch it to change the oil, so I had to get someone to put a new oil pan on it.  That was about a week ago, and I still haven’t heard from the guy…

Luckily, the Jeep was able to take me on a less-than 4 hour drive.  I stayed out there for 2 nights – I could tell the trip was going to be weird from the start, though.  I’m not usually big on signs, but I did a double-take when I saw a cloud in the sky.  I swear, it looked exactly like God was giving me the finger.  It was a big cloudy lump, with a white pillar sticking straight up from the middle.  It looked just like a white fist with one finger sticking out.  The drive out still wasn’t too bad, even with the random trucker at a rest stop checkout line.  He graciously let me in front of him as he had no idea what he wanted yet.  I got my purchases (cough drops/gum) and turned to nod my thanks again, just to see him shaving.  In the middle of a turnpike rest stop.  While in line to get food.  Yuck.

After I finally got to my destination, I had a good time, though.  I actually went to a bar that was having a poker tournament, so I got signed up.  First 4 places got paid and about 50-60 people signed up.  I was mostly card-dead for mst of the tournament, and was seated with the most obnxious guy ever.  He was a greasy rednecked Ohio State fan, and loved to talk shit both about everyone’s play and their respective sports alliances.  I remained calm and smiled at him when he tried to talk shit about Penn State, then decided to raise on his blind for the next 2 hands in a row.  Unfortunately for him, he was gunning for me and called with worse hands. He gave me enough chips to double my short stack up, and I got moved soon after.  About 7 minutes later, he got moved to my new table and looked a bit surprised at my stack.  Before he got there, I had won about 3 hands in a row and was now one of the bigger stacks.  I outlasted him, since he was kinda pissed off and on tilt.  I eventually found my way to the final table and did well to keep my chips and even get a few new ones.  It got down to 5 people left, and I saw what I thought was the short stack on the big blind.  I figured since 2 people folded to me, I’d raise with pocket 5’s and put the guy in.  Even if he called and won, I’d have 2/3 of my stack left.  Besides, this guy was playing really tight so I doubted he’d even call.  Unforunately for me, he woke up with pocket queens.  Even worse, I apparently can’t count.  He turned out to have a lot more chips…exactly 100 more than me.  He called, I sighed, and busted on the bubble.  Oh well – I thought I did well.  Aside fromt he final table, I was amazed by just how badly some people play this game.  Live poker is SO much easier than online, for sure.

Besides the poker, I got to watch a Pens game at a different bar and took part in some trivia contest.  I ended up winning a gift certificate that I’m almost never going to actually use.  The guys running the contest wanted everyone to make up a team name for the contest.  I immediately came up with “Sexual Chocolate” but that got vetoed.  Fortunately, I had a back-up name: The Amish Armada.  The contest guy got a kick out of it, at least.

The rest of the trip was great, but the ride home was a bitch.  It took me about 7 hours to get home – almost twice what it took me to get there in the first place!  I got on the PA Turnpike and about 5 minutes later saw that there was a detour up ahead.  I turned the radio to the info channel and evidentally I was going to have to take the exit before the one I actually wanted.  I figured – no big deal.  I’d pull off at the next rest stop, read the map, and figure out the rest.  I got back in the car and exited the rest stop.  Big mistake.  Abotu 2 minutes later, I hit the traffic jam.  I guess I shoulda known that this detour would overload the alternate route and having that many cars all needing to exit just one exit was a bad combo.  I ended up stuck in the same spot for 10 minutes at a time, moving about 200 feet, then re-parking.  I started turning the car off between stops, and took the time to get out and wander around.  At one parking lot break, I even opened the back to get out a book and the laptop.  I figured I might as well have something to do while I waited.  It was kinda cool, though – people were milling around and it almost looked like a tailgate party. 

Unfortunately, all this waiting around and drinking my gatorade caused my to start feeling the need to take a piss.  Since I was in the middle of a highway surrounded by 3 lanes of stuck vehicles, there wasn’t any way I could really do this on the side of the road.  I tried to hold off as best I could, but I have my limits.  Finally, I saw that I had little choice – I was going to have to piss in a bottle.  I had an empty ice tea bottle with me that would do the trick.  Now, I just had to figure out how to pull this off without being obvious.  I went into the back of the jeep and got out my wind pants.  I figured they’d be easier to slip back on than my jeans.  I climbed back in, and tried to inconspicuously take off my pants.  I got my shoes off and worked the jeans off.  Luckily, it was getting dark so maybe people wouldn’t realize what was going on.  I sat there in my boxers/shirt/socks and opened the bottle.  I worked my junk through the peep hole and tried to figure out just how to do this.  I couldn’t really sit down and go since I’d be squirting upwards.  I’d have to turn around and aim down, yet this would look kinda suspicious.  Hm….

At that EXACT moment, the cars around me all turned on their engines.  FUCK.  This meant good news and bad news.  The good news is that we’re going to move forward again.  Bad news?  I’m half-naked with stuff flopped out in the open.  I shoved my extremities back in my boxers, and turned on the jeep.  This time, it wasn’t just a 200 foot drive.  We all kept going at about 30-40 MPH.  While this is normally nice progress compared to a parking lot, I was gritting my teeth.  I turned on the radio again and heard that the detour was lifted.  As we got closer to the alternate route, I saw that there was a ton of cars on it and it was bumper-to-bumper.  fuck that – I went ahead past and chanced it.  I finally made it to the next rest stop and pulled in.  The place was packed – probably all refugees from the traffic nightmare.  I pulled into a parking spot and hoped I’d be able to dress.  No luck – there was a car next to me and the people there were outside their car fucking around with something.  Every now and then, they’d glance over at the strange guy giving them dirty looks from the jeep and doing some sort of pee-pee dance.  Finally, I decided I didn’t care how obvious it was that I was half-naked, and shimmied till I could work my pants back on.  I slipped on shoes and finally made it to the bathroom.  Ahh…

I got back on the turnpike and got off my exit.  I saw a Burger King and felt like rewarding myself with a burger or 2.  I got in, ordered my food (I hate drive-through…I prefer to order inside), and got my empty drink cup.  There was an old guy in front of me – kinda skinny and seemed to be by himself.  I went to the other fountain and filled up my drink.  He then turned, saw me, and started talking:

“Heh heh you ever heh with beer, you know, uh when you get the bubbles heh?  They say you heh can stick your finger in there and heh make them pop you know. That true?”

“Uh…yeah.  That actually works.”

“Heh huh. *garbled*”

At this point, the old creepy guy started shambling towards me, finger outstretched, with his eyes on my coke.  I quickly realized that he was about to violate my drink with a digit that’s been God-knows-where.  Horrified, I mumbled something in response, and quickly turned back around to see if my food was there yet.  Have it your way, my ass.  I got my food, turned, and slipped past the dude.  As I walked out, I shook my head at the thought of this guy offering to put his finger in my coke.  I then stopped in mid-stride and wondered if that was a metaphor for something a bit worse.  “Can I put my finger in your coke” may not have been exactly what he was after.  Ew.  Seriously, though – wtf?

What else has gone on since my last entry?  The fall soccer season is over – we ended up with a winning season, even after losing 2 of my captains to injury before the season even started.  PT’s place is all cleaned out and DJ now lives there.  I was done to visit while getting the Jeep’s title transferred and it was a bit unsettling.   I’m glad DJ’s happy there, though.  He used to live there as PT’s roommate for a time, so it’s almost like the place is staying in the family. 

I’m sure there have been other things I could write about, but they either slipped my mind or aren’t important enough to discuss.  I just got done typing up a speech for tomorrow’s soccer banquet, so I’m kinda fried anyways.  The fact that I typed THIS much amazes me.  Anyhow – enough for now.  Does this work for you, Jen? <3

Updates, Regis Philbin, and PT’s big gay liver

So…I suppose I should update from that last post.  Long story short – we got in to the hospital around 2 or 3am.  I loaded PT up in a wheelchair for easier mobility (he can walk around, but steps and long trips tire him out) and wheeled him up to his usual floor.  The nursing staff was a skeleton crew, and one of them followed us into the room.  I was attempting to maneuver the chair past some hospital equipment, and the nurse behind me commented that she could never have fit through there, since she sucks at driving those.  I laughed, got him in the room, and then stepped aside so she could move past me.  She kinda looked familiar, so I looked down at her name tag.  Her name was Kathy.  Kathy, Kathy….oh shit.

 ”Kathy?”  She looked up, got a better look, and exclaimed, “Jeremy!” She then gave me a big hug.  At this point, PT and DJ were a little confused.  Why was I hugging some random nurse?  She then turned to them and explained, “Jeremy and I go way back!  In fact, he’s the only guy, other than my husband, who I’ve let in the bathroom while I take a shower!”  The guys were kinda lost for words at this point, and I guess I don’t blame them since so was I.  See, Kathy was an old friend from back when I went to college in Erie.  She and I never dated or anything, but she was obviously comfortable with me.  I used to “serenade” her with Beastie Boys lyrics, actually.  It probably wasn’t flattering, but she laughed.  I changed the lyrics to “She’s Crafty” to “She’s Kathy.” 

She’s Kathy, she gets around

She’s Kathy, she’s always down

She’s Kathy, she’s got a gripe

She’s Kathy, and she’s just my type – she’s Kathyyyyyy….

Evidentally she had been trying to get a hold of me for some time, especially to be at her wedding, but she said none of my fraternity brothers knew how to do so.  I explained that I don’t really like them, so I wasn’t updating my info.  Anyhow, she got my email and #, and seemed happy.  I was still in shock, but I guess I’ll write back if she does.  I’m weird about getting back into contact with people from my long-lost past, but if it doesn’t creep me out too much then I guess I’m ok with it.  I wish I could explain that better, but I don’t care to try.

 We hung around in the hospital until about 7:30am.  PT got taken down for dialysis, so DJ and I went back to PT’s.  I planned on passing out, as I had yet to sleep.  I figured I’d get a call when PT was done, then go back in and wait for the surgery.  Well, it seems that the liver they found wasn’t suitable, so it didn’t happen.  I guess the guy was too fat, and the liver wasn’t acceptable.  PT seemed kinda down about it, but managed a decent demeanor.

That brings us to today.  PT got a call and there’s a new liver waiting in D.C.  They’re harvesting it, and shipping it to Pittsburgh.  It’s actually a younger liver – the guy who had it was only 26.   He was also gay, had a life partner, and everything.  PT told me that he was told that they checked it out thoroughly, and it seemed clean.  As PT put it, “No HIV, Hep C, or anything resulting from improper anal penetration.”  If so, this is a good thing since most livers that get donated are usually by older folks.   Unless the docs see something visually wrong with it that wouldn’t show in blood tests, it’s his.  I guess we go into the hospital in a few hours.  I’m sure once everything is said and done, the gender preference of his liver will be the source of a few jokes, but I’ll probably wait until it’s safely hooked up before I start in on that.

In non-liver-related news, I went out to the casino in Chester, WV the other night (the 6th) with my mother and sister.  The 28th of February was my mom’s birthday, but she had mentioned a while back that there was a concert she wanted to see.  It was Regis Philbin and Don Rickles.  I don’t know about you, but that just seems like a ridiculous combo.  Whatever – I got the tickets and we planned on going.  I only got 2, though.  I had no desire to see it, and wanted to ship my mom off with whoever while I went to play poker.  Since her friend Deb didn’t go, my sister got stuck having to tag along.  We made the drive in – they picked me up at PT’s, and wow did it suck.  The last 15 miles or so into the casino is this depressing, dead area that had absolutely nothing around it.  It was all a 25 mph road, too, so it took forever.  We parked, and were of course running late.  It was weird – I could actually make out Regis’ voice singing…something.  I picked up the tickets, handed them off, and had the ticket girls call me a shuttle bus to take me to the poker room.  I was impressed – it was huge, compared to a lot of the rooms I had seen in Vegas.  I put my name on the $2-$4 limit hold’em table (structured betting increments – no like “no limit”) and put my name as well on an “interest” list for $3-$6 omaha hi-lo.  My limit HE table opened up relatively quickly, so I bought in for $80 and sat down.

 Something that seems weird to me – I have no problem at all buying in for that much, and playing, yet I get uncomfortable buying in for anything more than a $5 tournament online.  In online cash games, I play low limits, and rarely sit with more than $10.  I’m not sure why that it.  The game was a good one, too.  By that, I mean that I felt really comfortable.  There was only one guy who worried me, and he sat on my right.  That meant I always had position on him.  He played almost anything in late position, and if he bet then he usually had a great hand.  I waited for the big blind, and got 10,9.  I checked my option, and the flop was 10,10, J.  Whee!  I check-called the flop, check-raised the turn, and got someone to call me on the river as well.  I loved this table since people rarely, if ever, raised preflop.  Most of them, if they did raise, you could easily put them on a hand like AA, AK, KK, QQ, or even JJ.  I felt like I was a better post-flop player than most, so I liked being able to get in cheaply and out-play people.  Some of the guys to my left were kinda bad, and they liked trying to predict everyone else’s hand.  When I had the above-mentioned 10,9 they asked, “You had a jack, huh?  Ace jack?”  I just smiled and raked the chips.  I was in a pot with one of those guys and had a pair of 3’s.  The board was something like 8,7,2 and he bet.  I didn’t like it, but there were a few callers so there was a lot of $ in the pot.  I just called.  The turn was a jack, maybe, and everyone checked.  Fine by me.  The river was a 3, which gave me 3 of a kind.  The guy on my left bet, got called, and I raised.  The guy agonized, then called me with A7.  He asked, “You paired your jacks, didn’t you?”  I smiled and said, “Nope.”  At this point, he started to smile as he thought he was good, but I flipped my cards over and said, “I got something better.”  He didn’t like that a whole lot, but it was his fault for giving me a free turn card.

There was a few other hands, and I got lucky on a couple.  I won’t go into too much detail due to time constraints.  Later, my mother and sister found me and commented that Regis was ok, but Don Rickles had them crying.  My mom probably had a drink or 2 in her, and thought she should try poker.  I said, “I am sure the entire table would LOVE to have you sit down.”  She sucks.  Bad.  She sat down and ordered a glass of wine.  Before that was done, she had another on the way.  I didn’t mind having her to my left, and mentioned, “You know, i’ve often told people that I’d check-raise my own mother on the river – now I might get my chance!”  The table laughed at this.  She then asked me, “So you’re gonna help me, right?” 

“Uhm…no.  I’m not allowed.  Just ask the dealer if you don’t know what amount to call or something, but you’re on your own.”  She didn’t realize that one player helping another during a hand might be slightly improper, I guess.  I think she won a total of one pot while she was there.  i think she sat for an hour, hour and a half, and lost $160.  Yes…one hundred and sixty dollars.  In $2-$4 LIMIT poker.  That’s just horrible.  She would do things like call with 3,5 of hearts, raise when 10,10,j hit the board (2 hearts on board), call 2 bets on the turn, then raise on the river when she hit a flush, when one of the solid players (guy on my right) showed strength the entire time.  He flopped a full house, and she was more than happy to pay him off.  She later observed that some crackhead that liked to bulldoze pots with mediocre hands was “buying pots” so she thought she should, too.  She ended up trying to RERAISE him on the river with 9-high.  She didn’t realize he wasn’t folding any hand, especially when there was a good amount of $ in the pot and she can only reraise someone $4 at a time.

 My sister also sat down, pregnant stomach and all.  She only bought in for $20, unlike the $100 that my mom brought.  The dude on my right commented that she was “playing for 2.”  He then thought maybe he offended me, so he said, “sorry.”  I laughed and said, “I call her ‘Prego’ all the time, so don’t worry about it.”  She won a pot off of my mom, but other than that?  She didn’t last long.

My mother, being a home game-only player, doesn’t realize how she needs to peek at her cards.  She would hold them up about a foot or 2 away from her face off of the table.  If I had glanced to the left, I could have easily seen them, and kept trying to tell her so.  She just said, “Well quit looking!  Look at him!  He’s cute!” and pointed to the dude on my right.  Great – the guy I had been chatting with probably now wondered if I had been hitting on him.  I said, “Um – he’s not my type (no offense)”  Later, the dealer chastised her a few times for not having her cards on the table like everyone else, so she started to listen.  You’re supposed to overlap your cards slightly, cup your hands around them, bend towards them, and pick up the corners to see what you have.  It’s then customary to put a chip or something over them and then make your decision.  It takes some getting used to at first, but it’s not all that hard.  People that don’t do this risk being labeled as a “noob” and thus – easy pickings.

Towards the end of her cash donating, she overheard the $2-$5 no limit table near us.  One of the guys was loud and mentioned that women had no place at the no-limit table.  She then decided that she would love to go over to spoil his fun.  Luckily, she didn’t, as her losses would be astronomical.

One dude at the table looked familiar, so I asked him where he was from.  He named a place 20 miles away from where I live, and my mom said, “Oh – he’s a homie!”  At this, several of the black guys from a nearby table peaked over their shoulders at her, while I covered my face.  I tried to explain that people could take that differently, but she didn’t “get it.”

I could go more into detail about the ride home, and how I tried to convince my mother that I was 1/8th black, myself, but time is wasting – gotta run. 

Where things stand, and temporary relocation

As I type this, I’m currently down at PT’s place in Pittsburgh.  I guess his new liver is imminent, as he would have gotten one a few days ago, had the guy above him on the last been incompatible with it.  Since all the hospital was really doing was charging him rent until the liver came, they agreed to release him as long as someone would be able to be with him should anything change, and to be able to drive him to things like his tri-weekly dialysis appointments.  This is where I come in.  I packed enough clothes to last me for a while, and between me and his friend DJ, we’re pretty much going to be around him 24/7. 

 I suppose I’m being petty, but I know it’s going to be driving me nuts after all too long.  I already miss my nook at home, with all of my stuff.  Obviously I have internet here, and can still remain in contact with the outside world, but I guess I just feel really uncomfortable knowing that I could be here for a while.  And then I realize that things are 100x worse for PT, so then I just start to feel guilty…either way, I’m still doing whatever he needs done, and that isn’t so bad.  He’s a bit cranky, though, not only with the medical issues, but the fact that his friends had cleaners come by his place and now he can’t find a ton of things.  He keeps going on about how they left 2 blankets worth $25 each, yet they tossed away a $500 duvet.  If I knew what that was, I’d sympathize more.  I guess it’s a pretentious blanket. 

 Tomorrow I’ll be heading into Wheeling, WV with my mother and sister.  The 28th was my mom’s birthday, so we’re taking her to a concert at the casino in Wheeling.  The concert is probably one of the weirdest combos ever.  It’s Don Rickles…and Regis Philbin.  I bought 2 tickets and then suckered my sister into going while I go play cards.  She’s probably going to fight me over who sees the concert, with the loser having to go.  My poker game has been ok, lately.  I’m not doing so well in large tournaments, and I keep busting right before we make the money.  That’s called bubbling, and it sucks balls.  The ice skater is still around, although she’s ONCE AGAIN pissed off.  It goes in cycles – she gets all huffy, then hangs up in mid conversation, and refuses to make contact again.  For me, being hung up on is one of my top 3 pet peeves, so I refuse to get a hold of her.  If she hangs up on me, she can fucking rot for all I care.  This time, she just logged off on me, so it’s tricky to judge.  It began when she slipped up and mentioned that she is paying some dude to mentor her at poker.  I was instantly curious to hear details, as this was the same girl that just LAST NIGHT told me sincerely that the best way for anyone to learn the game of poker is to learn by playing.  Books or any other method are unnecessary.  So yeah - I wanted to hear why the complete 180, to where she thinks it’s a good idea to actually pay someone for lessons.  She became instantly evasive, which of course irritated me and got me even more curious.  Why hide the details?  She finally told me that she was paying a guy friend of hers $20 an hour, and while she just started doing this yesterday, she and he had discussed the idea for a while, now.

Yeah.  Didn’t make sense to me, either – especially with the conversation from last night in my head.  So I kept asking questions, all the while taking great care not to comment one way or  another as to if I approved or not.  She assumed I hated the idea, even though I never made a comment that would confirm or support that point of view.  Here’s the tail end of the conversation we had:

xxx: i think it is a good move
doox: ok then
xxx: therefore
xxx: it is a good move
xxx: i wouldnt work with him if i didnt think i could get anything from him
doox: good luck with it then
xxx: and im pretty sure i can improve my game by working with him since he is a master of online poker playing
doox: you don’t have to justify yourself – my opinion is unnecessary
xxx: this is how i came to my results of working with him
doox: ok
xxx: and he doesnt offer this to many people
xxx: he watches people
xxx: he doesnt look for rich suckers with no brains
xxx: he dumped midnight cuz he was too stupid
xxx: hehe
doox: ok
xxx: fuck i just folded a hand i wanted to play
xxx: this is why i cant do this while in a game
doox: don’t blame me – i told you 5 minutes ago that i had yet to give my opinion and wasn’t asking you to justify yourself.  i’ll log off so i don’t get further blame
xxx: nice jealous reaction
xxx: ffs (stands for “for fucks sake”)
xxx: whatever (she logs off, here)
doox: don’t tell me what it is – i’m refusing to be blamed
doox: that’s your interpretation, not mine

If you’re confused, she blamed me for her missing out on a hand that she folded.  Even though I was clearly not trying to actively continue the topic.  I kept my feelings to myself, but I definitely wanted to hear the details.  I’ll continue to keep my opinion to myself on the topic, as the only 2 people that read this don’t play poker, so it doesn’t really matter.  I copy/pasted this and emailed it to her as well, so that she could read it after she predictably flamed out of her tournament.   I refuse to be the scapegoat for her results, as it’s clear her inability to control her emotions is her biggest downfall at the poker table.  I went out of my way to not be opionated on this, as I knew she’d get pissy, defensive (as she obviously did by her constant need to justify herself), and then blame me for her mistakes.  The ball is in her court – I’m too preoccupied with other shit to lose sleep over it, and I’m no longer willing to settle for the constant blow-up, cold war, reconnect cycle that keeps repeating itself.  That’s pushed me to the point where it’s easier to get along with her than to deal with the roller coaster. 

Anyways, i’m going to finish up the game I’m in (57th out of 122 left.  468 signed up and 63 get paid.  I fully plan on doing my best, but past history shows that I end up taking a bad beat and then get whittled down to nothing, eventually busting out within inches of the payout) and head to bed – I gotta be up in the morning to get PT to his appointment.  To close this emo-filled bitch-fest that is sure to cause more angst if the skater ever remembers how to find the blog link, here’s an awesome collection or 2 of GI Joe PSA’s.  Remember that cartoon?  They used to do PSA’s where cartoon kids were in certain “bad” situations, and would have the Joe’s come by and help them out, then give them valuable life lessons.  Some geniuses have taken those PSA’s and dubbed over them.  The results are some of the funniest, most random shit ever.  (I dare you not to bust out laughing at “pork chop sandwiches!)

Enjoy:

and part 2:

 

Update for Jen:

Since my only loyal reader (that I know of) cared enough to ask how PT was….

He’s…ok. He’s now in a different hospital and is supposedly on a list for a new liver.  Apparently, donors are more plentiful these days, so they seem to think he’ll be able to go under the knife relatively soon.  Thing is, he’s going to need someone to stay with him pretty much 24/7, so it looks like I’m going to be logging quite a few miles as I travel back and forth, while taking “shifts” with either PT’s 2 friends or my mom or Tommy.   I guess some social worker wants to meet with PT’s “support crew” this coming Friday, so maybe we’ll learn more then.

Tommy and I actually went to go visit him last night.  He warned us that he was kind of “out of it” and might be groggy.  We drive down, and for the entire ride, the conversation was nothing but strippers and random mumbling.  I really don’t know why he hasn’t figured out that I am entirely unenthused to talk about why he thinks one stripper likes him more than another, or which one “deserves” the present he bought them.  I barely even grunt anymore when he starts talking about them, but I guess he no longer notices.  Anyways…

We got to PT’s room to find him asleep.  We didn’t know exactly what to do, but we finally decided on dropping off the stuff we brought, writing him a note, and letting him sleep.  Sleep was something he barely got over at the other hospital, and we figured that he probably needed it more than he needed us waking him up.  We then decided to head to the bar near where PT lives for old time’s sake.

As we walked up to it, I told Tommy, “You know we’re probably going to see (Psycho Girl) in there, right?”  Sure enough – there she was.  I decided that it’d be more fun to see what happens than turn around, so I kept walking inside.  It actually wasn’t TOO weird.  She was there with her new guy that she swears is the nicest ever.  I give it a week, but I guess she’s happy.  I even offered them both a beer – she accepted but he didn’t.   We talked for a bit, but I don’t consider the conversation important enough to post.  Basically, I was in “fearless mode” and decided to see what I could get away with saying to her, while her boyfriend was on the other side of her.  Posting the exact wording wouldn’t translate well enough, and it would just make me look like an egotistical ass.  I’m actually really not, but it’s a wonderful thing when you truly do not care about any negative consequences of your words or actions.  I’m sure the beer, the fact that the ice skater was once AGAIN not speaking to me, and the fact that it helped me release stress kinda added fuel to the fire.  No harm was intended, though, and I wasn’t seriously trying to cause problems for them.  I just wanted to see if I could still get a reaction from her.  Maybe that makes me a bad person, but it was fun and it wasn’t like she totally minded.

In poker news, I’m just barely treading water.  I lose 10 bucks one day, gain 9 the next.  I then gain 15, then lose 14.  I’m like a friggin’ hamster in a wheel, so I gave myself a mini-goal.  If I get my Full Tilt bankroll up to the $400 level, I’ll start playing qualifiers and work those into the $24 tournaments.  If I give that a shot and my bankroll drops back down, then I’ll just have to suffer through the micro stakes again until I “earn” the chance to take another shot.

In closing, here’s one of the funniest damn things I’ve watched in a while:

 

Yet another new post? A doox-blog record!

Just a few updates:

PT has taken a slight turn for the worse.  He’s still in good spirits, and my sister has cut his hair for him, but his liver isn’t doing so well.  A transplant looks more and more like a real necessity, and to be honest – what are the chances of that for a guy who drank as much as PT did?  I thought about a House episode I watched a week ago – it had a sister with liver issues, and a brother who donated half of his to her.  (He had Hep C and she died later, but that’s irrelevant)  It made me wonder if I’d be brave enough to be able to do that for him.  I still don’t know, and I feel like shit to admit that.  Who else would do it and possibly be a match?  My mother?  Her’s probably isn’t in great shape, either.  Tommy/Steve?  Neither one of them are related to PT by blood, so who knows if they’re a match. (Steve’s a former foster kid my grandmother took in, and Tommy was adopted by her)  That leaves me, and I have no idea what my blood type is, let alone his.  I don’t drink and am in reasonably good shape, but the thought of donating part of my body while I’m still alive is beyond me.  Knowing PT, he probably wouldn’t let me.  Either way, I feel like a horrible person, which really doesn’t help matters.

Poker is probably a bad idea right now.  Downswings happen, and I seem to be in one.  I had someone on the ropes a few times in a winner-take-all type of game, and I kept on getting in with the best of it…yet losing to the only 2-3 cards in the deck that could help my opponent.  Since I’m close to the edge, I uncharacteristically snapped and swore at the guy.  I entered a few other games, and they all ended the same way.  If I got my money in with a 50/50 chance, I’d always lose on the last card dealt.  I got fed up and self-excluded myself for a week from both sites that I play on.  I’m tired of losing money as well as my peace of mind.  I’m tired of seeing players who I felt better than, seem to excel, while I muck around and slowly bleed my bankroll away.  I’m just not in the right frame of mind to do anything but get in trouble, so I’ll try to eliminate the ways that I can do that.  My knee is still fucked up, but slowly getting better.  I’ll be missing tomorrow night’s game, which is just as well.  I’d most likely end up getting in a fight.  The last time I felt like this, I screeched my car to a stop, got out, and challenged a pedestrian to a fight just because he was looking at me a bit too long.  That was shortly before my grandpa succumbed to cancer.

I’m not really sure what to do with myself.  When I get like this, I start eliminating things from my life – whether it be people, ways to entertain myself, or whatever.  I’m not sure what’ll be next.  For the sake of my one reader (Hi Jen), maybe I should eliminate my emo-ish writing style, because reading this last entry would make me want to carve My Chemical Romance lyrics into my arm.  Speaking of, I still really like this song that I’ll end the blog with:

This sounds like me last week…

 Let’s hope I can embed that video…

 Sweet – it works.  After coming back from my self-imposed ban, I decided to play an omaha h/l game versus players from  a message board that I used to belong to.  I figure I play that type of game more than most at that site, so I ought to do well.  I finished in 4th…top 3 get the money.  I guess I played ok, but I made a few mistakes coming down to the bubble.  I need to work on maintaining a stack into the money, instead of letting it slowly whittle away.  I was upset after the game, of course.  I never am happy right after busting out, but I think I handled it better than I would have a week ago.  Since then, I’ve played sparingly, and have done reasonably decent since. 

I’m STILL sore from playing soccer 2 days ago.  That was a big test for my ankle, and although it went pretty well, I can tell I’m rusty.  I jumped in goal to start the game and something wasn’t quite right.  Sure, I dove and hit the ground a few times, but my thighs were sore as hell right above the knees.  At one point, the ball came over my head and bounced off of a side wall.  I tried to back up and fell a bit.  I scrambled to get up, turn around and go after the ball…and fell.  For a period of 5 seconds, I felt drunk.  I couldn’t get my legs under me, and they wouldn’t listen to what I wanted them to do.  I have no idea what that was all about.  Luckily, I didn’t get scored on at that moment, although I let 2 goals go by total.  One I might’ve gotten if I hadn’t gone low too quickly, and one I had no chance on.  I came out, cut down the angle well, but that team was just too good and the guy buried one off of the inside post.

I played out on the field in the 2nd half and did ok.  I made a nice move around one of the defenders and got off a shot.  I don’t have much shot power, though, and my accuracy isn’t there yet, so the shot went a bit too slow and a bit too wide.  It’s a start.

Beaten into submission

FINE!  Thanks to an insistant email, I figure it’s about time to update this puppy.  I can’t promise it’ll be long or interesting, but I suppose I have a few months to cover.  It usually seems that the things I feel are interesting bore people, but the things that are “normal” for me that I take for granted (Such as “uncle stories”), people find intriguing.   (much <3, Jen – I blogrolled you, btw)

 Let’s see…well, the school season for soccer has come and gone.  I lost a few decent players, but I still had a strong core and I got a few good younger players.  I figured the team would miss the talented few that I lost, but the depth ought to make up for it.  Judging by our record, I’d say it did.  We finished 12-3-3, which is an improvement on last year.  Me being me, I still can’t help but think we should have done better.  We ended up tying a team twice that kicked our asses last year, but we had them on the ropes…we just couldn’t finish them off.  We also lost the very last game of the year, against a bad team that was missing their starting keeper.  I don’t know what to say – I’d have bet $100 we’d win that game, but they played their best game all year, and we sucked up the field.  The game ended 2-1, but I know it should have been 5-1 in our favor.

The older girls finished their season as well.  They started out poorly, but managed to finish out 2nd in their section, so they made the playoffs.  For some reason, they were listed as the home team versus their playoff opponent – North Allegheny.  NA played us last year, coincidentally, and they smacked us around.  Thing is, the game was to be played this year…at North Allegheny.  Through a fluke in the schedule, they were listed as a possible site for playoff games, and they just “happened” to be selected to host our team.  They also had a turf field, of which they were very used to playing upon.  Our team?  Not so much.  So congrats girls – we’re the home team, but we get to play NA AT NA, and on their turf in front of THEIR fans.  What a crock of shit.  The game was actually close, though, and was tied at the half.  We had a few defensive miscues, and couldn’t finish our shots, so the game ended 3-1, North Allegheny. 

 After a game like that, the girls are obviously disheartened.  Some were choking back emotion, some were just pissed off.  Some of the bench players felt bad for the others, but would obviously get over it.  This is the time for a coach to step in, say something inspirational, and put a cap on the season.  Amy just cried.  I’m not the overly emotional type (except if I see a team win the Stanley Cup – fuck you, it’s special to me), so I kind of cringed.  Instead of letting the team know how well they did, and how prould she was, she kinda sniffled and said, “Yeah….um…*sniff*  it’s rough….wow…um…” 

After the game, I ran into a few parents and was social, since I like most of them.  I lost track of the bus, but finally found it and got on.  I saw Amy with her sunglasses on, sitting in a seat staring forward.  I started to put my stuff on the seat next to me and I heard a loud *ssSSNFFFGUWUMPGHhh!*  That was the sound of Amy suddenly letting loose an unchecked sniffle that she obviously had building for a bit.  I ignored it, as I really didn’t know what to say.  Later on in the ride, she turned to me and thanked me for helping out this season…and then informed me that she won’t be returning next year.

 No, I didn’t jump for joy, mutter “thank god,” or moonwalk.  I kept calm and asked, “are you sure?”  See, it’s not that I necessarily want her gone.  Well, maybe a little.  I honestly didn’t feel any animosity towards her – I felt bad for her.  However, I want her position.  She assured me she was done, and so did her assistant coach Mike.  His daughter is graduating this year, so he wanted to take time next year to be able to watch his 10th grade son play soccer. 

So far, I have yet to let the Athletic Director know that I’m interested in it.  This is for a few reasons – I don’t want to look overly eager, and I don’t think it’d be kosher to start nosing around for it before Amy actually makes her official announcement at the banquet (the 19th).  I’m also trying not to get my hopes up too much, but I have to admit that I’ll be upset if I don’t get it.  I’d like to think my past involvement and track record should help my case, but I’m not a teacher at that school.  This means that I’m not part of the union, and the union makes sure they get first choice.  I don’t know of anyone who would actually step forward to take it, and I’m hoping if someone wants to coach that badly, they’ll realize that maybe they had better coach middle school before stepping into a varsity coaching position.  I know that I wouldn’t have been able to coach varsity 3 years ago without having a MAJOR learning curve to climb, but I feel I’m ready to give it a shot.  We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.

In other soccer news, I’ll soon be playing indoor again.  We moved to a co-ed league, since that sounded more fun to me.  The guy making the team let me know we needed a few women, and since the age range is 16+, I recruited a few of the seniors.  I got Liz, who’s a solid defensive player, and who I’ve dubbed “the little ball of hate.”  She’s really short, and gets really pissy when she plays.  I can identify..not with the height, but with her attitude on the field.  I also recruited one of the captains, who happened to shatter the school goal scoring record over her varsity career.  She finished with something like 112 goals, which is just nuts.  When you figure on having only 20 games per year for 4 years, you have to average over a goal per game.  This is soccer, not basketball, so that’s a pretty rough pace – especially when your first 2 years are your freshman and sophmore years.  You have to battle against players much bigger than you, not to mention beat out older girls on your team for playing time.  She led the team in scoring every year, though, so obviously she’s a special type of talent.  Great girl, polite, coachable, and loves the game.  I hate to admit it, but she’s better than me – even if my ankle was 100%.  She’ll know for sure whether she can play or not, but having her, Liz, me, AND Amy on the same team ought to be interesting, if nothing else.  And no – my ankle isn’t 100% yet, and is starting to look like it may never be.  I’m going to either learn how to tape it correctly, or give this fucking ankle brace another test run.  So far, it cuts off my circulation and cramps up my foot.

**************************************************

I got a call from my buddy Parker (we share a first name, so we go by last names with each other) about playing pick-up football.  At the time, my ankle was healing nicely (I tweaked it since then) and I thought it’d be fun.  I showed up at the park and saw only 5 people, counting me.  Oh well – we threw the ball back and forth a bit.  It was just me, Parker, Pat (mutual friend from back in my Wal*Mart days 10 years ago), Parker’s cousin, and some guy named Art.  We were still fucking around when this guy comes wandering down to the field from over the hill.  Right away, this guy seemed…off.  He started loudly speaking, and asked if we needed a 6th to get a game going.  Me being me, I both love to play and I love a good story.  This guy seemed like he’d provide one.  He started going off on a tangent as he was coming our way about wearing Brian Minto’s jacket, and waving a stuffed plush toy at us.  Brian Minto is a local-area boxer, and I barely knew of him.  I have no idea why this crackhead brought that up.  I use the word crackhead not to literally say that he does crack, although I wouldn’t count it out.  He just seemed very random, sketchy, and abnormal, so the term crackhead has a wide range of use as far as I’m concerned.

Anyways, he started waving the doll around and informed us that it was “Wario” – Mario’s evil nemesis from Super Mario Brothers.  He went on about that fucking toy for a good minute or so, while we all looked at each other.  I was grinning, since this seemed like fun, and he wasn’t going to be on my team - I had Pat and Art.  This guy was dressed in a polo shirt, with courderoy pants on, but that didn’t seem to bother him.  We shrugged and got ready to kick off.

 Right away, this guy’s mouth was running.  He started loudly proclaiming how good he was, and that he was a former punter from Mars High School.  Let me note that this guy was in his mid 30’s, and since I coach at their rival school, i was not impressed.  That, and he couldn’t catch a pass to save his life.  He then decided that since his teammates weren’t throwing correctly, he’d need to save the day at QB.  Every incomplete pass he threw was someone else’s fault, and he felt the need to talk trash every play.  I knew that with Parker in that huddle, things might get interesting.  He usually isn’t afraid to set someone straight, and we were all playing a friendly game.  This guy talked as if this were a playoff game.  Don’t get me wrong, i play to win, but at the same time i can sit back and laugh if Parker burns me on a play.  If I think I can jump for an interception but will probably knock into someone hard, I’ll back off.  It just wasn’t THAT competitive, in our eyes.  This guy felt otherwise.

After I made a few TD’s and interceptions, he started to focus his talk towards me.  “Yeah, you bring that shit in here next time.  I got your number!  I played for Mars and this is how we bring it, baby!  All day, every day!”  This was usually muttered to presumably himself, right after throwing an incomplete pass.  He also started pretending he was Peyton Manning, and started calling audibles at the line of scrimmage.  I looked at Parker’s cousin and saw him staring in disbelief.  Keep in mind, they didn’t actually huddle, so this guy’s teammates had no idea what the fuck he was doing.  As I stood ready to play defensive back, he started calling out, “Yellow!  Yellow!  42!  42!”  I looked down at this point at my bright yellow shirt, and somehow made the startling leap of logic to realize that he was going to throw to my guy.  Since there were only 2 receivers anyhow, it was usually a 50-50 chance of that, so it wasn’t like I was ever caught napping.  Of course, he threw it deep to my guy and for an incompletion.  As I trotted back to the line, I asked Parker’s cousin if this guy really thought we were so stupid as to not figure out his “code.”  He laughed and said that they never discussed this in a huddle, so apparently he figured his teammates would figure it out, but we wouldn’t.  At this point, Parker had started to let the guy know he needed to relax a bit.  Cracky would say, “Oh yeah, I know..” and then walk away while muttering, “I ain’t gonna relax, i’m bringing this shit cause that’s how we play this game!”  He apparently didn’t think anyone else could hear him.

After I made another interception, Cracky realized that I needed to be covered by the best player on the field – himself.  “Ok, looks like I better take over on this guy since we ain’t getting it done!  I’ll show you how we play in my hood!”  Keep in mind, Butler’s population was 15,121 as of 2000.  This ain’t Compton.  Anyhow, he lined up across from me.

 Now, when we play defense, we give a buffer of about 5 yards or so, then run backwards for a bit with our eyes on the player.  We then turn and match the WR as best we can, and hope the ball can be deflected or picked off.  This guy, however, decided to change that a bit.  As my QB was saying “Set!”, I looked across and saw the crackhead lined up 3 feet in front of me.  Ok…a bit close, but whatever.  He outweighed me by about 30 lbs, so I figured I’d just burn by him.  As Art said “hut!” I started forward.  This guy reached out and grabbed my shirt, and clung for dear life.

 I should stop at this point and better define my sports personality.  I tend to turn into a little ball of hate, myself, especially when either fucked with or when some ass decides to cheap shot me.  I also can’t stand to be restrained by somene, in any sort of way.  I tend to kind of stop thinking, and violently react.  In the past, this trait has caused me to get a soccer game forfeited, land me in a hockey penalty box, and punch someone repeatedly as they were wearing a goalie face mask.  Seeing as this game was mostly friendly, except for this one crackhead who had been steadily getting on my nerves for the past 20 minutes, I took more exception than usual.

As the guy clung to my shirt, I attempted to cut around him.  Cracky decided that he was going to stop me by trying to wrestle me to the ground.  At this point, i snapped.  I knocked his arm away, yelled something like, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” and did a 180 past him.  As I was travelling past him, i was still facing him.  At this point, I threw out a punch to this guy’s neck.  I then grabbed him as I was moving past him, planted my feet, and dragged him with me, over my thigh, and towards the ground.  As he was travelling down, I put my other hand on his back and added a push to make sure he hit it hard.  He did.  I half thought about punching him while this was going on, but I just stood over him.  When he hit, he kind of crumpled up and I think he hurt his leg in the process.

He responded while on the ground, “Well now what’s that all about?”

“That’s for trying to rip my damn shirt off.”

 ”I didn’t rip your shirt off!”

“Not for lack of trying.  The last time someone tried to do that to me, I bought her dinner first.”

“Well I don’t know why you need to be doing that!  I was just playing defense!”

Parker stepped in and informed the guy that playing defense doesn’t mean draping yourself over someone and trying to wrestle them to the ground.  I was still pissed, but kinda pleased with myself.  This guy had it coming, and I’m not the type to just let someone toss me around.  I must have a sign on my back that says, “Please fuck with me!” because I get minor stuff like that all the time in sports.  In soccer, I tend to be pretty fast and decent, so older, fatter, slower players like to clutch and grab.  This guy, however, went way overboard.

He got up slowly, dusted himself off, and muttered a half-assed apology.  I shrugged, and we played a few more minutes.  After one incomplete, I had to walk near him on my way back to our huddle.  He held out a hand and said, “Hey, sorry about that.  I was just playing defense, you know?”  I didn’t turn around, but I gave a brief hand shake as I kept walking and muttered something like, “No problem.”  As I kept going, I heard his trademark muttering, “I’m not sorry!  I’ll bring that shit all day!  That’s how we play this game, baby…”  I shook my head and laughed.

Soon after, we decided to break up the game – Pat had to go, and me, Parker and his cousin were going to go to another place to play with more people.  The crackhead gathered up his(?) jacket, his Wario doll, and melted away into the woods.  We have no idea why – Parker thought he went in there to go lie down and lick his wounds.  Pat left but loudly proclaimed me as “the man” as I did what they were secretly wishing they had done.  I almost feel bad, but that guy was a dick – screw him.

**************************************

I realize this is getting long, so I’ll briefly touch on a few more things.  I’ve been running hot and cold in poker.  I recently played a tourney and won 3rd, which was good for $520.  Too bad I was staked for it (it was out of my usual buy-in ballpark)so I ended up having to give a solid portion of it to my backer.  You’d think that’d tide me over for a while, but I went on tilt after losing a few too many el-cheapo games.  My total winnings still outweighed the amount I donked away at the low-limit games, but I hate losing no matter what the stakes are.  Even after still being up about $60, I got fed up after busting out of yet another tournament in 5th place.  Top 4 got paid, so that always hurts.  I ended up banning myself (poker sites have an option that you can cut yourself off if you feel you have a gambling problem) for a week, as I was too disgusted with poker and knew that I was in no mood to handle any more losing.  That’s the way this game is – the losses you take always seem to outweigh the wins.  You always remember that heart-breaking hand, but become fuzzy on the details of a winning hand.  I can still remember my losing hand from the Omaha Hi-low tourney that I played in Vegas ($150 buy-in, I had a 9922 and hit a J924 board.  The river was a 5, which gave the pot to the 2 crackheads playing A3xx and A36x.  One had a straight and tied for the low, one had a higher straight and tied the low.  I had 3 of a kind twice over, but that doesn’t count for shit against a straight.  Goodbye me.)  Can I remember any winning hand from any tourney I’ve ever won?  Nope.  Anyhow, I’ll be allowed to play this coming thursday again, so hopefully my luck will change.  After the week off, as well as going outside to hack shit apart with a machete, I’ll hopefully have it all out of my system.

 There’s some major drama going down involving my uncles (Steve and Tommy), credit card fraud, and an upcoming lawsuit.  I don’t really want to go into all that much detail.  I never really talk about the major things in life – just the superficial things.  I may touch upon it more later on, but it’s getting ugly.

 Oh, I wrecked my car.  Nothing TOO major, but going through a barb wire fence on bad tires tends to make a little damage.  I now need to replace my left blinker and right passenger mirror.  I’ll stop here, as this is already way too long.  I guess that’s what I get for waiting months to update it.

So how creepy is this?

Let me set the stage:

 My family owns a lake house that we visit in the summer months.  It’s nice and right on the shore.  I actually haven’t been there yet this year, but my mother/sister/brother/uncles have been.  It’s reasonably spacious, has a hammock and cable.  The only thing it doesn’t have is insulation, which means it gets cold in the fall/winter.

Last weekend, my mother, sister and niece went up to the lake.  While they were sitting there in the living room, they heard a knocking sound above them.  It sounded like it was coming from the upstairs bedroom.  My sister thought it might just be a water pipe, or something.  Now that I think about it, I don’t believe there are any water pipes in that wall, but whatever.  Keep in mind that everyone heard the knocking – even the dog.  The knocking continued, and finally my mother looked up and loudly said, “Ok, could you PLEASE stop knocking now?  It stopped.

Soon after, my sister went up to investigate and found nothing.  Then – the phone beeped.  It was being paged….from the base where it houses the handset.   Needless to say, they were a little freaked out.

Side note – someone once died in that cottage.  I know this because I found pencil writing on one of the closet doors.  The writing was from the 30’s and 40’s, back when another family owned the place.  One of the entries in August said something like, “Mother is sick again.”  Later, in September, there was an entry saying that she died.   To me, that pretty much confirms it happened in the house, since it was still a warmer month and who would go back up to the cottage after that happened just to pencil it in?  Is she the phantom knocker?   Who knows?

 If that wasn’t enough, my mom and sister later went on a boat ride.  The lake is shaped like a kidney, and they were near the narrow part.  As my sister went to put her purse between the captain’s chair and the railing, she accidentally dropped it over the side.  Luckily, it was floating and never tipped over, so they circled the boat around and snagged it.  Thing was, her wallet wasn’t inside it, and they didn’t see it when they got the purse.  At this point in the story, I asked if the wallet would even float, and my mom said that she didn’t think it would, and if it did, they probably would have seen it.

When my sister went home, she had a message on her answering machine and the caller id was from right around the cottage.  Seems that some woman found her wallet…it washed up on shore.

…

At this part of the story, i need to point out that the lake has no current and no waves.  The only time any ripples hit the shore, it’s because someone in a boat made a wake which carried to the shore.  If you ever have a boat or beach ball float away, it’s because the wind carried it.  Conclusion?  We have no idea how the wallet landed on the shore, or how it was even found so quickly.  All in all, it made for a really strange trip.

*******************************************

As for the poker quotient of my blog entry, I’ve been playing like shit.  For me, anyways.  Normally I’m a barely grind out a profit player on average, but lately I’m busting out before the money more often than normal.  I’d like to think I know when I’m getting unlucky, but I had to sit back, stare at the screen and say, “Man…I’m really playing like shit.”  Making calls I know are bad, drawing to hands I shouldn’t be, taking people raising my blinds personally…just made for a horrible stretch.  To put things in perspective, i’m only down about 8 bucks on Poker Stars and 10 on Full Tilt, but that’s only because I play pussy stakes.  I played ok earlier today, but at the dollar sng’s, anything can happen.  I actually feel that I got more unlucky than outplayed, so it’s a start.  (had a couple hands where i had someone beat until the last card on the board gave them one of 2 cards that they needed…)

 On a lighter note, I had an amusing exchange on Stars a bit ago.  I use an avatar of Blackwolf the Dragonmaster.  You might remember him as the black guy who thought he was a wizard during the premiere of Star Wars: Episode 1.  Triumph from Conan O’Brien showed up and made fun of the Star Wars nerds, and Blackwolf was there to get picked on while he ate his Filet o’fish. This is his pic:

People usually have no idea who that is, so they think it’s actually my picture…which amuses me, so I see no reason to tell them otherwise. It’s not easy to tell he’s a wizard, so people think I’m “Black Santa.”  I just go along with it.  I had some random guy at my table say the following:

shareasoda: btw doox
Dealer: Game #10809690807: bushong wins pot (225)
shareasoda: that’s one of the worst santa outfits i’ve ever seen
Doox: whatever makes the kids sit on my lap, you know?

Yeah, i’m going to hell for that one, but I got the cheap laugh.  That’s really all that counts.

The Amy Saga (prelude included)…plus a poker tidbit or 2

What is the Amy saga, you ask?  Well, let me explain the back story by digging up a thread on a message board about the very subject.  Retyping seems redundant and I’m lazy:

**********************************************************

I coach soccer this upcoming fall for a middle school. My team is comprised of 7th and 8th graders, and is a “feeder program” for the varsity team. This team is coached by Amy. Amy is…not a great coach. She is a poor communicator and lacks expertise in strategy. To top it off, she is very paranoid and believes everyone is out to get her. She’s easily threatened, and dislikes explaining herself or answering questions asked by her players, for fear that she’ll look bad. She gets pissy and accuse them of being difficult or trying to make her look stupid. As a result, the team tends to just do their own thing. They seem to like me, and I tend to give them actual advice and talk to them as a person. Amy, as a result, feels like I’m gunning for her position. It doesn’t help that the players have actually asked me to take over (as if it’s up to me), but it’s not my intent.Last year was my 2nd year at the school and I went over to the sidelines of the varsity game since my team’s practice had ended. The way I approach varsity games, is that I mill around the sidelines, say hi to the players that greet me, and try to get a feel for the game. If I see something, I try to point it out to Amy, so that she can later repeat it to her players. Sometimes she gives me credit for it, but it isn’t like it bothers me if she doesn’t. The players are smarter than that. Up until that point, I had always been careful not to indulge them when they mentioned how they disliked Amy and would rather I coach them. I would thank them for the compliment, but let them know I wasn’t participating in the conversation.In this particular game, I noticed something wrong on the field. The star player, Amanda, was fighting with the ball in the offensive zone, on the left of the field. The bulk of her teammates in the same zone were all on the right side of the goal. There was one player in front of the goal, and the rest of the players on the team were located around the half line or further back. There was absolutely nobody directly behind her for support. I pointed this out as a problem, as the girl who should have been there was in front of the goal. Amy let me know somewhat rudely that that was by design. I shrugged it off, and stepped away. I confided my thoughts to the “unofficial” assistant coach (not paid…players love her and she shows up when she could), and she laughed at me thinking it was a good idea to try saying anything. She agreed with me, but knew Amy well.After the game, Amy walked near me and tried to explain her reasoning. Amanda was the best player, and she could get free to send the ball across. If most of the team was there, it’d be easier to get a goal. My response was that she’s just one player, and she was being double teamed. She was too deep to do anything but go backwards, and she had nobody to pass it to. She didn’t have a path to cross the ball, and having all her teammates in one little area made them really easy to defend for the other team. Plus, if she lost the ball, there was a jail-break oppurtunity if the team had any speed to go the opposite direction. Amy just got quiet, and I thought that was the end of it. Later that evening, I got a phone call:

Amy: Hey, how are you?

Me: Fine, and yourself? (I have a feeling I know what’s coming…)

Amy: Good…hey about today…I just think it’d be best if you didn’t come over to the bench area during our games. I mean, i’d still like you to come to the games and give your input. I mean, you have good points, you see things well, and you’re a better strategist than I am. It’s just…a lot to handle. It’s kind of overwhelming.

Me: … Really.

Her: Yeah, I mean, I want you to watch and look for things, but it’d be easier if you told me after the game what we need to watch for.

(Now, tell me if this makes ANY sense. She admitted I know what I’m talking about, say and do the right things, yet doesn’t want me to have any influence on the game in progress. What good am I going to do, here?)

Me: Amy, I’m not trying to “overwhelm” you. I see things on the field that need to be seen, and I point them out to you. This is what I do. This is what I’ve always done. I’m there to help the game in progress.

Her: I know, it’s just that I think it’d be best if you helped after the game, not during.

Me: …Hey, if YOU think that’s best.

Her: … (she knows I’m pissed) Well, ok then. Have a good night.

Me: Bye.

Now this all happened a while ago, and it’s never really been brought back up between us. Since then, I’ve played against her in pick-up games, and even knocked her down a few times. Recently, she’s mentioned that she’s doing a preseason team camp out at a ski resort that’s 4 hours away. Last year, I went there, but for her brother’s team. He knew I worked with goalies as well as general coaching, and hired me to train his goalies. Amy was going to bring her team to combine with his team. To help cover the cost, she has her team do a mini-camp for younger kids. Last year they did it for 2 weeks. This year? 3. Logic says that means more money will be earned, and possibly more will go towards expenses. It seems, however, that less money is going towards expenses. Amy mentioned at the meeting for new players (I was present) that we’d all be heading down seperately and we’d all carpool. She thought maybe I could go down and take a few of the girls in my car.

… First off, I still hadn’t given her answer to if I was going or not. I’m going to let her know that I’ll help out this season, but only if I can be sure that sideline banishment bullshit won’t happen again. I’m there for the players, and I resent being asked to only help out Amy when she thinks nobody will notice. I still haven’t figured out a good way to bring it up, though. Second, I have a slight problem with driving someone else’s kids that far. I don’t want to be responsible for them if I’m in a fender-bender. To me, taking a bus would be smart from a legal AND resposible standpoint, and I’d imagine the extra money would help that cause.

After the game, I mentioned something about this problem to a parent. This woman knows exactly what all went on with Amy and I last year, and supports me. She’s also great at keeping her mouth shut, so I can speak to her a little more candidly. She informed me that Amy considers these summer camps her “summer job.” Even though the girls vote on what they do, she refuses to disclose financial info, even to the team treasurer, who happens to be this parent’s daughter. She tried asking Amy about finances and if more could be put towards lessening the cost per player, and she ended up in tears after Amy rudely shot her down.

Here’s the crux – to me, it seems really wrong, morally and possibly legally, to do what Amy’s doing. She’s heavily suggesting that these girls go on this camp, and while this means it’s not quite mandatory, the girls that don’t wind up on her shit list. She doesn’t provide quality instruction, and is probably counting on me to help with that aspect…and she never offered what kickback, if any, I’d receive…not that it’s the point. She’s representing the school, yet the school isn’t charging nor receiving any funds. They presumably go in her pocket and she isn’t really shy about that fact. She’s collecting more $$, and expecting the team to do more as far as expenses. It just seems wrong, although I’m not sure if it is in the legal standpoint.

I advised this parent to go to the athletic director in person along with a few other parents, and explain these points. I can’t for a variety of reasons, but they can. (it looks bad on my part to openly spat with a coach, and she technically helps decide whether I get to come back next year or not) I hate it, and I hate that the kids have to deal with crap like this, but I can’t very well campaign openly to boot Amy’s ass. I hate how she provides little instruction, and coerces them into filling her checking account. I have yet to tell her what I plan on doing as far as the camp is concerned, as I want to see how this all pans out.

****************************************************

After making this post, I fielded feedback on how I should approach this situation.  After considering all the advice, I brought it up during a phone call that I wanted to discuss the next season – specifically, my “role.”  She didn’t seem pleased, and said she would have to discuss it later.  She called me back a week ago (right after injuring my ankle), and we hashed it out.  Here is the recap, taken from an email reply I had made earlier to someone who knew of the situation:

Long story, short – I explained that I was there to help and that I had a vested interest in seeing the team do well.  Not to mention that 1/3 of the team will have been formerly coached by me…she said it wasn’t personal, and I told her that being “banished” from the sidelines was anything BUT impersonal to me.  She soon got flustered during the conversation, so I had to explain her point of view for her.  For example:

me:  Is it that you don’t trust me to pull one of your players to the side and point something out?

her:  No, it’s not..I mean..I certainly “trust” you, it’s that…um…how do I uh…I just felt like you…um…

me: … You thought that I might be undermining your authority.

her:  well, yes…um.. that’s probably a good way to…yeah.

It went on, but you get the idea.  Her main thing was that she wanted to appear to be in charge, and that she wasn’t able to process a lot of info at the same time.  Sorry, but that’s coaching – you get 5 things tossed at you at the same time.  Thing is, she doesn’t HAVE to deal with that, if she delegates and uses her assistants.  Kinda like how I was more than happy to let you handle the subbing/shift timing during indoor.  I’m not stupid enough to think I can easily do everything at once.  She doesn’t get that, though.  She thinks delegation is a sign of weakness, even though she still can’t handle everything.  She just chooses to ignore certain things to make her job easier…such as anything her players try to say.  Problem solved?  I once again told her I wasn’t trying to overwhelm her, but I can’t just sit back and not say anything when I see something wrong. 

I then explained that my friend Parker and I used to coach together.  95% of the time, we were in total agreement.  That 5%, though?  It would usually involve one of us with our arms crossed telling the other, “Ok, fine.  Go for it.  I think it’s wrong, but we’ll try it.”  In a case of a tie, whoever was the “head” coach would make that final decision.  It’s normal when coaches don’t totally agree, but it’s good to get different points of view.  She then tried to explain that I shouldn’t have questioned her authority in front of her players.  This is where my weird memory came into play.  I can’t always remember what I ate last night, but sometimes certain things stand out.  I replied:

“Well, I agree that we shouldn’t argue in front of the players.  That’s why I came up to you while you were standing about 4 feet off the left side of the bench, and went on your left side to ask why Sharbaugh had no support behind her.  You then turned and said that Audrey was where you told her to be, and that was your design.  I then put my hands up, said, ‘ok’ and let it drop.  AFTER the game, you continued the discussion by coming up to me and saying, ‘Hey…sorry for earlier…’ and I thought it was a good time to explain why I felt the way I did.  See, I don’t say things without knowing exactly why I feel that way.”

she tried to question whether it happened like this and I continued:

“No, we didn’t discuss it in-depth by the bench, and I’d never hassle you about it there.  You came up to me as we were walking towards the locker room.  you know, by the area beside the school where the huge mud puddle is.”

We continued on, and I assured her that I would only say something when I knew for sure that I was right.  I wouldn’t comment on things that might be formation-oriented, since I wasn’t totally comfortable with the defense she now runs.  If I did see something common-sense oriented, though, I would speak up.  She originally wanted to “limit” my involvement to just night games, but I explained that before my “banishment” (she made a little squeaking noise everytime I said it) that I was only able to make 2-3 games, anyhow.  I said that I wanted to know that if my practice ended, I could walk over to the bench area of her team and check things out.  Besides, we both know that you guys only had like 2 evening games at home, so there was no way I was going to accept that.  She agreed.  While I was at it, I also explained that I wanted her assurance that I could feel free to say what I thought, and not have to be worried about a repeat of last season.  She agreed that I wouldn’t be kicked off the sidelines for speaking up, as long as I didn’t fight with her in front of the players.  I don’t do that anyways, so no problem.  I then told her I’d probably go to the camp, although my ankle is still a question mark.  

So basically, the only restriction on me is that I talk to her before speaking to one of her players during a game…although I have free reign to speak to a goalie, since she said that she’s “clueless” as far as goalies go.  Several times during the conversation I was tempted to tell her off and concentrate on my team, but I thought that’d be counter-productive.  I’m reasonably happy with how things turned out. 

 ******************************

So that’s how things stand for now – we’ll see if things change during the season.  For the record, I hate this bullshit, but I feel like I’m forced to play the game, so why not play to win?

Speaking of playing to win – an update on poker.  For the last few days, I have hardly won anything on Full Tilt, but the weeks before it have more than made up for it.  Sure, I lost about $20- in 2 days, but my account had been at $250 just a couple weeks ago.  Now?  $346.  I was happier with $366, but I can’t complain.  I’ve also started winning a bit on Poker Stars again, and finished 2nd in an Omaha Hi-low tournament for about $30.  Not bad for a $1 entry fee.  Before that, I wasn’t doing so well building a bankroll there.  The dollar games are just a fucking grind, and it seems impossible to beat them consistantly, but I’m managing slowly.  Here’s a sharkscope graph of my progress on the 2 sites:

   (click to enlarge)

I don’t have a ton of games played on Stars, so that tends to make the graph a bit more drastic.  I’m more proud of my progress on Tilt, as that’s over a much longer period of time.  Poker is a bitch at times, kinda like my last few games on Tilt, but that’s how short-term variance is.  You can go through a period where you can’t win a damn thing, and then hit a span like I did where you cash in almost every game you play for over 2 weeks.  To get off a bad streak, i usually just switch games and/or sites.  Since I’m running badly on Omaha hi-low on FT, I’m playing a bit more no-limit hold’em on Stars.  It helps keep things fresh.  Keep in mind that the graphs above don’t account for ring (cash) games or tournaments – just sit n’ goes.

On a final note, it looks like I’m heading to Vegas in August.  I’m hoping I can figure out my issues with limit hold’em cash games (lost a buy-in or 2 last night) before I get there, since I’m thinking that’s what I’ll be playing when I get there most of the time.  I have time to work on it, though.