Voy Por Ustedes

They say Omaha is a drawing game and so it was this evening, but it was conclusions I was drawing this evening not straights and flushes. I appear to have two equal but very opposite forces within competing for my actions.

Conjoined personalities; one side is logical, reasonable, sane; the other has all the mental lucidity and flexibility of someone who's had his head smashed in in a car accident.

And thus tonight; with an enormous bet to call, the sane logical side of my brain told me I was obviously beaten and while frustrating, it was an easy lay down. As I was saying this to myself however, the retarded side of my brain was throwing a stack of chips into the pot which immediately made it's way over to the guy with the winning hand.

Why did I call? What happened? Before I could say, 'come on Rich just one more spoonful' my retarded half had effectively ended my participation in the tournament and was probably off cackling away to itself in parts of my psyche I wouldn't visit at night time without a good psychiatrist at my side.

My good side shall have the mark of Cain upon itself, but it must kill my spastic side or I might as well play bingo. So it goes, nurse, the screens please.