Voy Por Ustedes

Cause I'm naturally so funny I don't often tell jokes, so I'm not sure how old this one is. I'm not even 100% sure it's funny, but at this time of the night it's made me laugh. I'm full of night nurse though, see what you think.

Tiger Woods pulls up at a petrol station and the attendant dude comes out to fill his car up. As the boy Woods leans over to unscrew his petrol cap a couple of golf tees fall out of his breast pocket. "What are those?" asks the attendant. "They're for resting my balls on when I'm driving" says Woodsey. "Fuck me," says the attendant, "BMW think of everything don't they."

Now then, I was supposed to be on a break from poker until the end of the month, but ennui took a hold of me from within late in the afternoon as I sat in my pyjamas eating a delicious chocolate flapjack and by early evening around 7pm after I’d wasted ten minutes shaving my hair off and trying on some of my hats, I made an impromptu decision to Mario Andretti my way up the M40 to Coventry to take a wild stab at the £40 double-chance freeze-out at the Isle of Capri casino attached like a large boil to the Ricoh Arena.

OK things have reached a point where enough is enough. I'm bombing out of far far too many poker tournaments cause I can't relax and pick my spots accordingly. Poker and a lack of patience is so much of a handicap. Imagine Heather McCartney having to run for a bus or take a free-kick and you'll have some idea of how difficult it is to maneuver your way through a MTT when you're constantly almost choking to get your chips in the middle.

I think this stems from a deep seated insecurity I am burdened with. Yes I know ostensibly I am a brash, handsome, ferociously intelligent, funny and confident chap. A 21st century male and a Leo to boot. Inside however, I'm a but a flower, limp and starved of sunlight and love. This is the currency of life and I am a very poor man indeed.

Consequently, I am constantly concerned about the lack of abundance in whatever aspect of my life. Not enough money, not enough chips, not nearly enough oral sex; my inner chi is constantly off balance making my decision making through this fog of insecurity very tricky.

So the solution as with most things, is to turn to a man who is so at one with himself, he is not afraid to sport a nappy in public. I wouldn't usually take advise from adult nappy wearers. Ghandi for example, was in my opinion, a twat. I wouldn't have him in my top ten humans of all time anymore than I'd put Pele in my top ten players of all time. Frauds, both of them.

Although the Dalai Lama might just be a lunatic who's spent way too much time on his own, I like his style and I don't count Buddhism as blind faith so it's ok to learn from these people. Plus those little Burmese monks are all tough little cookies and anyone who's prepared to take on an army wearing nothing but sandals and a bed sheet is worth listening to.


I'm on holiday now poker wise until November 30th when I shall visit Dusk Til Dawn for the £100 freeze-out. Only time will tell if this will allow me enough time to chill the fuck out. Oooooh, I can't wait I can't wait.

That was a joke, see what I did there? I'll get me coat.

With all the attempts made recently to sample the buffets of Europe’s most exotic poker locations, no attempt had been made at the Pigeons game for quite some time. So it was on Armistice Day with renewed determination and a side bet on who could knock Tim out, the Mob embarked on what was to become yet another futile attempt to negotiate a minefield of poker ability and disability to take down what has become the hardest game to beat in the western world and another tally of unacceptable Pigeon K.I.A’s.

With two tables I at least had an advantage as far as the side bet was concerned, as I was the only Mob member on Tim’s table, but as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for. As it unfolded, a series of four hands sealed my fate; each one arriving with as much welcome and promise as the four horsemen of the apocalypse.


So it goes.

In middle position with the gay mechanic (queen with a jack) I raise to 150 called by Joy, SB folds BB calls.

The only time I ever really felt confident I was ahead in this hand was on the turn. I knew I was beaten when the board paired on 5th street. I didn’t expect Aces, but I knew somehow I was beaten. The Terminatress still insists she’s not sure what she’s doing. I have my doubts. There’s an icing of the blood that occurs when Joy calls a substantial bet and with not a flicker of emotional behind her bi-focals, any bet on the next betting street requires a perfect blend of courage and lunacy.

***

In hindsight, I have to concede I played this hand badly. I wasn’t aggressive enough and fortune favours the brave or the maniac. At the time however, I wasn’t thinking quite so lucidly, so I’ll recount the hand according to my reactions at the time as that’s more entertaining.

Ok what the fuck is this all about? I accept that you need the poker equivalent of the Rosetta stone to figure Tim’s play out, but even by his standards this is insane. Had Gus Hansen played a hand like this it would be on YouTube within minutes, but with all due respect to Tim, he might be unpredictable, but he’s not Gus Hansen. Gus has a method to his madness. Tim, Tim is just …Tim is just on this Earth to deprive me of pleasure.

Let’s just look at this hand again kids. Tim is under the gun here with 2-3 of hearts. Now, I know he likes his suited connectors, and I like them just as much as the next man or woman (thank you Loretta), but 2-3 in first position is going in the muck every time in almost all circumstances. Especially in a game with 5000 starting chips and it’s the first cock-sucking, pussy pig-fucking level.

Deeeeep breaths, deeeep breaths. Ocean noises. Woooooosh woooooosh. OK calm now. So I’ve re-raised to 500 and surely he’ll muck now? It’s ok seeing a flop cheaply with this hand, but calling a re-raise? No! Obviously though, he calls. On a board of 2h, Kd, 4s of course he’s gonna fucking ignore my initial re-raise and bet 600 on the flop. Who wouldn’t? Everyone, that’s who! OK OK woooooosh woooooosh, in with the good air, out with the bad.

Now then, since he didn’t think about his bet, I assume he has no king. If he had a king he’d at least have taken a couple of seconds to think before betting. So, I call. I should have re-raised to find out where I was, but even if he had called or re-raised, with this player, to be honest, I still wouldn’t know.

Obviously as it happened he didn’t have a hand so surely, even Tim must now give up the ghost? Surely, please Lord and the baby Jesus, please tell me Tim isn’t thinking his pair of fucking cunt knocking deuce’s is still good after the action I’ve given him.

Turn card is the five of spades. Tim now has an open ended straight draw and obviously he chucks in a 1000 because this is Christmas for him. At this point I said to myself, if he’s got A-3 I’m never playing this game again. I dismiss this and call. Again I should have re-raised if I felt I was winning, but for several reasons I took the circumspect approach and in doing so got what I deserved.

So far though, from Tim’s point of view, he’s seen me raise his initial bet, call his bet on the flop, call his bigger bet on the turn and so please, Allah, Zeus and Yahweh, please wake Tim up. Please give him vision enough to see that his pair of knob jerking, bollock jockeying deuces is cock sucking cunt licking beaten. Straight draw or not…if the river does not improve your hand you must give up Tim, even General fucking Custer would wave the white flag.

River card, 6s. Tim bets 1500. I fold. I’m still not entirely sure how I’m beaten, but with three spades and 2, 4, 5 and 6 on board I know I’m fucked. Even if has no straight or flush, there is still the faintest of chances he was betting with a King anyway.

Deuce, three of hearts it is then! I think the Pigeons swear box is owed £1 per gentle swear word, £2 for a fuck (bargain Paul!) and £3 for a cunt. I owe it £250. In real terms, I played as badly as Tim here. I should have jammed it on the turn. I didn’t want to go out early and I paid the price.

The aggressive player won the pot and fair enough, although I do feel that he was betting initially because he felt 2-3 of hearts was a decent starting hand and I do feel he felt his pair of deuce’s on the flop was still good, after that with the open-ender coming on the turn it was gravy for him.

Obviously he then went on to shit-cunt my chips off to all and sundry and was out within 30 minutes, but this was of scant consolation to me. Tim is an intriguing blend of all three of Dorothy’s companions in the Wizard of Oz. You can’t fault him for his heart and courage. Brains? Well, that’s a different matter. His potential should he find some is really quite frightening.

***

I forget what possessed me to move all-in here. I was very comfortable chip wise at this point after recovering from my earlier losing confrontations. My lack of patience again or the combination of painkillers and Guinness had me thinking I was indestructible. I destructed though.

***

Board no help

Bubble boy. On Remembrance Day a day to forget for the Mob. Let’s have a moment’s silence shall we.