PART THE LAST

wherein our hero lives happily ever after
2008.12.16

I wake up and feel like a giant heel from a Merrie Melodies cartoon. After a spell of lying in bed smothered in self-pity, I realize that I really do need to check out and go to the airport at some point today, and all this wallowing is cutting into my play time. It doesn't help that the view from my room looks directly down onto the poker room, just sitting there, taunting me. I don't generally like playing with a deadline, as it encourages ugliness, but I'm past that point. I'm not looking to get even, I'm simply looking to remind myself that I can play this game.

I walk up to the board where they point me to a game so fresh they haven't finished selling chips. I'm always happy to join a new game, so I sit in my second-favorite seat, #9. Number nine. Number nine. The button is drawn and I'm UTG. New game, first hand. I cannot resist. Straddle! A few limpers to my QTo, and a pot-sized raise takes it down. Cocktails!

May I please have an orange juice and a bottle of water?

With a crazy gambling image firmly established, I tighten up while doing my best to give the appearance of action. I'm mildly chatty, but not nearly the endlessly rambling douchebag I can sometimes become. I aim for affable without becoming overbearing. I reconsider my previous aversion to daytime play, as I'm finding the table rather soft and predictable, without the crazy high-variance drunken moves that appear at 2am.

My nemesis is a friendly fellow in the 5 seat who seems to have a clue of what he's doing, but takes it a little far sometimes. I've built up a bit and fire with AK on a K-high drawless flop. This elicits a raise from him, so I push with a low SPR. He tanks for a while, and I do my best to throw out a confusing yet subtle array of tells and false tells, until he finally calls with KJ. His excuse is that my straddle raise on the first hand got him to do it. Kickass. The fates piss on my head when his J hits on the river, but hey, that's poker. Rebuy! Later in the session, after I've built up a bit, I'm able to get the chips in again, this time with top two against his top pair, only to watch the bottom card run for trips. I feel the fates spraying my face with urine, smearing it on my glasses, all the while chanting, "I'm not touching you! I'm not touching you!"

I can make no hands. I still haven't seen AA (or even a big pair), and I either miss completely with everything else or suffer suckouts. Despite this, I'm able to build up a mild profit when I see it's about time to leave for the airport. Figuring I should get the most for my money, I order one last white russian for the road. After consuming it I prepare to leave, which includes checking the flight status. Delayed! I raise! Cocktails!

With a second white russian in my hand, it's now truly time to leave. Considering how cold the deck has been to me, I consider my mild loss a success compared to last night. As I'm standing up the dealer pitches me a card. This never ends well.

QTo! I did so well on it with the first hand, might as well play it hard now. I have my chips racked and my jacket on, but surely they'll think I have a real hand, rather than a desperate play at one last score before leaving town. Flop of AJx and I bet out only to get called and raised, and I'm done. "This is my least favorite dealer ever," I say with a smile and a wink, taking my now slightly-less-mild loss to the cage.

A plane, train, and automobile later (not in that order), I'm home safe and sound, scratching my cat behind his ears. Despite the pain of my spiraling nosedive the previous night, my cash play the rest of the week softens the losses, and the tournament puts the overall trip as a solid leader. I've laughed, I've loved, I've learned. I've gotten in more live cash game play than I've seen in a long time, and after a few stumbles played one of my best tournaments, resulting in my biggest single-game payday to date. I've returned home with renewed confidence and vigor, ready to take on the world. All without killing a stripper.

How much are flights in January?

THE END

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