Sunday, February 15, 2009

This Game Is Easy

You'll forgive, Dear Reader, if I'm a little less snarky or hate-filled than usual today. I'm in the afterglow of the best night of my life on the felt.

One of the guys at my monthly game gave me the tip on another house game, this one in a flat-out unbelievable setting. You drive up to a place with a quarter-mile long driveway, into a game room with five full tables, the biggest big-screen TV I've seen outside of a showroom, high-end framed NFL memorabilia and more, more, more. Twenty-seven people signed up for the tournament, and with some of the best play of my life (and cards, and luck), I was able to get to the final table in just my second tournament (outside of my single-table home game).

Just a few hands in, I doubled up against one of the guys I rode in with when I caught trips on my pocket sixes, then boated with aces on the turn; he was unable to get away from his trip aces. Trip deuces gave me another big payday at my second table, and I was able to chip up against a player who read my table presence as strong, even when I had little.

At the final table, I was to the left of the guy who paid me early, and my Q-K was able to break his A-10, and score the knockout, when I caught a queen. The short stacks to my left kept catching cards to make the table last until the antes got huge, leaving the final players all more or less short-stacked. When we got to heads-up, the final opponent and I split the pot for everything but the last $50 (awfully sporting of him, really), and after dodging a half hour of all-ins with several river saves, he took me out. Second place was worth a nice chunk of change, and after a break, I joined the cash game with a nice bankroll.

The cash table that I sat down at was loose and wild, with players putting cash on the table for straight and flush draws like they were betting on high pairs. I joined in the insanity when a minimum blind bit on 10-J spade matched up with Q-K spades on the flop. I hung in long enough to catch a 7-spade on the river, and from there, my table image was made. I didn't take a bad loss in the next two hours of play, was able to take down a fair number of pots without showing a card, and more or less added to my chip pile for the entire duration of play.

The whole night reminded me, oddly, of golf. Play that game long enough, and you'll have a breakthrough round, one where the shots fall, the putts lip in, and the luck is with you. You then make the great comic joke of golf, the one that men have been making for centuries, and the subject header of this little post.

And the next time you've got a club in your hand, it all goes to hell.

So, if you're free next Friday and want some easy money, come on down. I'm due for hours of crap cards, bad plays, and hard-core misery.

1 comment:

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