The gambling Gods opened their arms in a warm embrace as I'd requested, pity I didn't notice they were carrying a dagger. It's not been the most promising beginning. If I mean to go on as I started I'll be home by the weekend.
After losing $150 betting on the Chicago Blackhawks who were subsequently soundly pumbled by the Flames, another $100 went up in flames soon after when I made the catastrophic error of sitting down at a poker table populated by 8 Chinesers.
If you're a regular reader of my blog you'll be aware of my almost phobic distrust of the Chinese. Call it prejudice, racism or species-ism - they terrify me and sitting down at that table in the Gold Coast poker room I felt like Winston Smith in 1984 in room 101 facing his most overwhelming nightmare which in his case was having his face gnawed off by rats.
Being consumed by a table of reptilian Chinesers is to me equally as horrific. I only sat in on that game as my feet and eye-lids had grown heavy and my losing hockey bet had made my fatigue from the trip far more apparent.
This was a limit game. As I sat down they were chuntering away to themselves. I considered asking the dealer if the English only at the table rule applied, but I just assumed it didn't and continued to listen to their absurd dialect in the hope that they weren't colluding on how to cook in a pot or even worse discussing how to cook me in a real pot with spices.
Either way my sense of paranoia was palpable and I couldn't help but....Shhhhh...wait...can you hear that? No it's OK, I thought, I heard something, jesus I'm a fucking wreck. Anyway..where was I? Oh yes..being cooked.
I was cooked in a pot as it turned out, not a cooking pot but it was still an experience that left me feeling like I'd be feasted on by them. From watching the Olympics I knew that 8 was a lucky number in China and they weren't kidding. One of the Chinesers, I have n0 idea of it's gender, caught an 8 on the river to fill a gut-shot beating my set of 7's to bust me.
I didn't win a single hand. I escaped with my life though and left them to it. Were they talking about me as I left? All I could hear were noises like a load of grasshoppers chirping in the night and some clicking noises like crabs opening and closing their claws, I'm sure amongst the chirping and clicking I heard the words nice hand white eye, but I can't be sure.
Back in my room I lay down and the fatigue from a long trip and half an hour of blind terror was a load too heavy to bear and with all that weight on my eye lids they slammed shut and I was out.
I regained consciousness about 8am and felt pretty good. I showered, scrubbing the awful stench of lizard breath off my skin and after breakfast the 10am $50 freeze-out at Binions seemed like a good idea.
It wasn't. I should have just sat back down with the lizards or better still eaten a $100 bill and shat it out down the toilet. I was out early in other words. Dealt K-9 spades I saw a flop with an UTG mayeyboy I had nicknamed "$100 Bill" as this was his standard bet. He was first to act on a flop of 2s-4s-9d. I had top pair with a king high flush draw. $100 Bill bet out $100 which I raised to $400.
$100 Bill called and checked the Qd turn card. I bet out $1000 leaving me only $1200 back. He shoved on me and I called reluctantly as I didn't want to leave half my stack out there. $100 Bill showed Ace-9 clubs. I missed and hit the road. "Nice hand, what's your name sir?" I asked politely. "Bill," he replied. Ha, no shit.
I was pissed off at losing but this made me laugh and I enjoyed a pleasant cup of coffee across the street at Starbucks despite my bloody awful start to the week. Also the floor guy at Binions, despite being bald and sporting a ginger beard, is in fact the best floorman of any poker room I've ever been in.
I remember him from last year. Very polite he is but with a no nonsense approach to his TD-ing. The rules are clear and if you mess about you can play somewhere else. When he tells you there's a ten minute for swearing he means it, but when he tells you that he's enjoyed having you in his card room and looks forward to seeing you again he also means it. If only the card rooms in the UK were run the same way.
In order to break even and continuing with the city of contradictions theme - since I'm in the red I've bet on Blue tonight to get myself out of this hole I've dug for myself. I've backed the Blue Jackets and the St Louis Blues in a double which was a difficult bet to place initially as they have different terminology here. It's called a parlay here I've learnt. A double seems more logical, but arguing logically with Americans is harder than betting a Chinese lizard off a gut-shot straight draw.
It's lunch time now and I'm heading off for a steak. Incidentally, for those arriving here later in the week it's 95 degrees. Which in celcius is fucking hot. Oooh wait, one more thing..on my way back from Binions my cab driver was a boxing nut. After identifying my accent correctly as being English and not Australian as the woman who drove me to Binions this morning had assumed, he went on to tell me enthusiastically that Hatton was a bum and so was Lennox Lewis, Joe Calzage and Prince Naseem Hamed. I found it hard to disagree.
This man had clearly forgotten more about boxing than I will ever know and so I think when I return I will be betting on his assertion that Hatton will lose on a TKO in 9 or 20 rounds.
That's about all I have to say at this time. My plans for later today are fluid as we speak. Which means they''re not confirmed and I'm going to drink heavy. Im having an hours councilling to help me over-come my experiences with the Chinesers, but should be free to play again by early evening. I think a trip to Planet Hollywood sounds good - $70 + $10 for an add-on at 7pm. They also appear to have a "ladies night" game on at 9pm.
Will be updating again sometime in the week. If you don't hear from me I've either continued losing or I'm the main course at the noodle bar. Let luck be a lady today. Or just a waitress with firm buttocks and a passion for Australians.
Labels:
Not Awesome,
Places,
Poker
After losing $150 betting on the Chicago Blackhawks who were subsequently soundly pumbled by the Flames, another $100 went up in flames soon after when I made the catastrophic error of sitting down at a poker table populated by 8 Chinesers.
If you're a regular reader of my blog you'll be aware of my almost phobic distrust of the Chinese. Call it prejudice, racism or species-ism - they terrify me and sitting down at that table in the Gold Coast poker room I felt like Winston Smith in 1984 in room 101 facing his most overwhelming nightmare which in his case was having his face gnawed off by rats.
Being consumed by a table of reptilian Chinesers is to me equally as horrific. I only sat in on that game as my feet and eye-lids had grown heavy and my losing hockey bet had made my fatigue from the trip far more apparent.
This was a limit game. As I sat down they were chuntering away to themselves. I considered asking the dealer if the English only at the table rule applied, but I just assumed it didn't and continued to listen to their absurd dialect in the hope that they weren't colluding on how to cook in a pot or even worse discussing how to cook me in a real pot with spices.
Either way my sense of paranoia was palpable and I couldn't help but....Shhhhh...wait...can you hear that? No it's OK, I thought, I heard something, jesus I'm a fucking wreck. Anyway..where was I? Oh yes..being cooked.
I was cooked in a pot as it turned out, not a cooking pot but it was still an experience that left me feeling like I'd be feasted on by them. From watching the Olympics I knew that 8 was a lucky number in China and they weren't kidding. One of the Chinesers, I have n0 idea of it's gender, caught an 8 on the river to fill a gut-shot beating my set of 7's to bust me.
I didn't win a single hand. I escaped with my life though and left them to it. Were they talking about me as I left? All I could hear were noises like a load of grasshoppers chirping in the night and some clicking noises like crabs opening and closing their claws, I'm sure amongst the chirping and clicking I heard the words nice hand white eye, but I can't be sure.
Back in my room I lay down and the fatigue from a long trip and half an hour of blind terror was a load too heavy to bear and with all that weight on my eye lids they slammed shut and I was out.
I regained consciousness about 8am and felt pretty good. I showered, scrubbing the awful stench of lizard breath off my skin and after breakfast the 10am $50 freeze-out at Binions seemed like a good idea.
It wasn't. I should have just sat back down with the lizards or better still eaten a $100 bill and shat it out down the toilet. I was out early in other words. Dealt K-9 spades I saw a flop with an UTG mayeyboy I had nicknamed "$100 Bill" as this was his standard bet. He was first to act on a flop of 2s-4s-9d. I had top pair with a king high flush draw. $100 Bill bet out $100 which I raised to $400.
$100 Bill called and checked the Qd turn card. I bet out $1000 leaving me only $1200 back. He shoved on me and I called reluctantly as I didn't want to leave half my stack out there. $100 Bill showed Ace-9 clubs. I missed and hit the road. "Nice hand, what's your name sir?" I asked politely. "Bill," he replied. Ha, no shit.
I was pissed off at losing but this made me laugh and I enjoyed a pleasant cup of coffee across the street at Starbucks despite my bloody awful start to the week. Also the floor guy at Binions, despite being bald and sporting a ginger beard, is in fact the best floorman of any poker room I've ever been in.
I remember him from last year. Very polite he is but with a no nonsense approach to his TD-ing. The rules are clear and if you mess about you can play somewhere else. When he tells you there's a ten minute for swearing he means it, but when he tells you that he's enjoyed having you in his card room and looks forward to seeing you again he also means it. If only the card rooms in the UK were run the same way.
In order to break even and continuing with the city of contradictions theme - since I'm in the red I've bet on Blue tonight to get myself out of this hole I've dug for myself. I've backed the Blue Jackets and the St Louis Blues in a double which was a difficult bet to place initially as they have different terminology here. It's called a parlay here I've learnt. A double seems more logical, but arguing logically with Americans is harder than betting a Chinese lizard off a gut-shot straight draw.
It's lunch time now and I'm heading off for a steak. Incidentally, for those arriving here later in the week it's 95 degrees. Which in celcius is fucking hot. Oooh wait, one more thing..on my way back from Binions my cab driver was a boxing nut. After identifying my accent correctly as being English and not Australian as the woman who drove me to Binions this morning had assumed, he went on to tell me enthusiastically that Hatton was a bum and so was Lennox Lewis, Joe Calzage and Prince Naseem Hamed. I found it hard to disagree.
This man had clearly forgotten more about boxing than I will ever know and so I think when I return I will be betting on his assertion that Hatton will lose on a TKO in 9 or 20 rounds.
That's about all I have to say at this time. My plans for later today are fluid as we speak. Which means they''re not confirmed and I'm going to drink heavy. Im having an hours councilling to help me over-come my experiences with the Chinesers, but should be free to play again by early evening. I think a trip to Planet Hollywood sounds good - $70 + $10 for an add-on at 7pm. They also appear to have a "ladies night" game on at 9pm.
Will be updating again sometime in the week. If you don't hear from me I've either continued losing or I'm the main course at the noodle bar. Let luck be a lady today. Or just a waitress with firm buttocks and a passion for Australians.
2 comments:
Keep at it mate, you'll soon be in profit. And please say hello to "Brandi", the cocktail waitress in Planet Hollywood!
Obviously I have nothing to say about the poker shenanigans. However, your accent is more English than crumpets for lunch posh lad. If they think you are from Oz god knows where they would place me! Hope your luck improves. Tatty bye.
Post a Comment