BACK TO BLOGGING! THAT WAS THEN...THIS IS NOW.

The Dos Equis guy, circa 1979

Well OK, folks, the powers that be at www.GulfCoastPoker.NET have subtly nagged me over the last few months to dive back into their blogosphere. The words you see before you now are a testament to my ability to give up and do as I’m told.

Jay Cutler, you’re not alone.

I haven’t blogged in over a year now for reasons I’d rather not share (not yet), but let me say I have missed it tremendously, as I’ve missed getting all-a-y’all’s feedback on my little sordid tales from the deep dark recessed corners of the casinos where our kind feast parasitically on one other.

It was a great way to meet people unexpectedly as blogging is kind of like opening up your mind and heart, and broadcasting into the dark, globally, and never quite knowing who’s reading, minding, laughing, snorting, rolling their eyes, disgusted, turned off, amused…you learn not to care and just enjoy being yourself. You know…a “those who mind don’t matter” kind of liberation.

Sometimes you find yourself getting compliments from people who were strangers to you just moments ago, accompanied by laughter about something you wrote a couple of years back!

“That thing you wrote with the wolverine in the dark closet, and the fire alarm goes off, and it goes berserk and goes after your sack? That was hilarious!” Sometimes, they miss the point behind the joke, or re-tell it worse, but that’s ok.

For those of you who have never blogged before, I’d imagine I could compare it a bit to riding naked through a village on a donkey. You’ve got only a blindfold on and earplugs. You’re holding a large sign that says, “I can’t find my car keys.” An hour later, the donkey, knowing his way around town, brings you back to your village hut, and you’re back safely in your home. Your original intent was to get a few laughs, but because of the blindfold and the earplugs you have NO IDEA what reactions you got. Your best guess is that you made lots of people laugh, some people had no idea what to think of you, some were disgusted, and some, maybe most, just looked away in disinterest and spent their day unbothered.

And it’s that lack of immediate feedback that drives you nuts as a blogger; the complete opening up of yourself in a one-way communications vehicle into the dark vacuum of silence. We’re a people conditioned to have instant reactions, instant gratification, instant everything…so there’s something instantly unsettling and unnerving about opening yourself up to what’s usually just a few comments. Even if you get thousands of hits and readers (as I had), very few of your voyeurs will actually take the time to comment on your post. Peeping Toms rarely, if ever, leave calling cards in the windowpane or graffiti on your walls.

Those of you who remember my last blog on this site, entitled “YOU’RE ENTERING A WORLD OF PAIN,” might have noticed that the title and it’s content were an attempt to de-glamorize the televised, bright and shiny world of poker and present things as they truly are sometimes. The celebrity (barf!) aspect of it is still in its infancy, but to those players who are, say, in their twenties (internet whippersnappers), that’s the way poker has always been in their lifetime! For myself, a guy on the wrong side of thirty, it’s still a concept I’m shocked with, and have trouble getting used to, since I had always played when being a poker player was regarded with contempt, suspicion, and a general assumption of what the remainder of what your free time involves.

If you were a poker player before the Moneymaker/Negreanu/Ivey makeover of the industry, you were generally considered to harbor some kind of illegal addiction, to be guided by absolutely no kind of an ethical compass, actually held residency in a casino if not residency in a seedy motel in the underbelly of a warehouse district, had a laundry list of claims where you were known as the “defendant,” knew at least five people named “Vinnie,” frequented peep shows bi-weekly or more, or even worse; you were suspected to be able to claim ownership of your own bowling ball.

The face of poker circa 1979

Now if you’re a poker player, you’re a brilliant, hip, master of money, math, psychology, and women. You’re stylish, money comes easy to you, you’re reasonably good looking, and very fashionable. You’re sure to be the next big TV sensation, your bankroll is like a self-perpetuating cash cow, you date “Rounder Girls” or whomever the tart is that the magazine of the month supplies you with, your superstar income can be googled by anyone with the click of the mouse, you never lose, and, most importantly, no one ever, ever gets hurt by gambling.

I realize as I write this that Stuey Ungar could have been the only one to actually fall into both camps had he worn anything other than 70’s jogging suits or Members Only windbreakers, and had more than a figment of a nose left to breathe with.

(I’ve always wanted to use "figment" outside of the imagination context. Thanks, Stu!)

The face of poker today, 2011

So since the poker player perception pendulum had swung so ridiculously far to the “media darling camp” in 2009, when I first started blogging, I thought I’d like to offer the antithesis of what is forcefed to the wooled masses via television. “You’re Entering a World of Pain” didn’t present ANY glamour to our favorite hobby, but instead, tried to chop down that tree of lies of the glamorous poker lifestyle. Poker players are nothing more than guys trying to outsmart the next guy and take their money. The great lie of televised poker was that it was cannibalism made sexy. Thomas Harris did it with Hannibal Lector, then television did it with poker.

Somewhere between those two camps lay the truth, and I wanted to present it. As for the poker “World of Pain” being what it is, I know that whenever I’m deep in a major tournament, I’m so stressed out and my gut is wrenching, that I’d rather be anywhere else than in the tournament right now…but I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave! It’s severely stressful. If you “go the distance” in a major tournament, it’s around 32 hours of sudden-death, elimination, high-wire stress. Even when you’re in “the zone,” well, I’ll let “Big Ern” from “Kingpin” take it from here...

“I know that right about now, your bladder feels like an overstuffed vacuum cleaner bag and your butt is kinda like an about-to-explode bratwurst.”

All you can do is use that nervous energy to find an edge. Then you see someone make a mistake, and he goes home to suffer his mind second-guessing itself for as long as it takes his stomach acids to stop its fiery churning, and hopefully, he really does have rent money left. Really. World of Pain. No autographs, please. I’m broke now, no photographs, please. Name a famous player, 98% of them have been BROKE, and many will be again.

…ever feel like you’ve kind of strayed off the path? Where was I? Blogging.

"Roooooooxxxanne!" circa 1979.

So as I had blogged on this site, I learned that recognition for your drivel comes at times when you least expect it, and usually from strangers. My former boss said I had a “Roxanne moment” when a couple of customers came into our workplace (in a casino). He explained Sting’s “Roxanne moment” of recognition that what you’re doing is catching on comes to you unexpectedly. Sting got that moment, my boss said, when he was passing by a ladder with two workers painting a building. One was whistling the Police’s first single out loud to himself. He knew what his band was doing was catching on.

So when these two guys came into our business, I was helping them out and they kind of kept looking back and forth at each other, a little confused. Finally one of them asked, “So…are we entering a world of pain?”

Cool.  The blog caught on...

"Roooooooxxxane!" today.  2011.  I know my mind is made up.  Put away the makeup.  Seriously.

So here’s the deal. I’ll keep feeding you voyeuristic jackals our torn up remains from the pit to feast on, the bones to pick at, the whisperings and gossip to savor, and whatever else I feel like blogging about IF I feel like blogging about it. But don’t beg me for more; I can’t rush this stuff. It comes at its own pace. I’m not Monkey, I don’t have “diarrhea of the fingertips,” and I can’t blog once a week. You’ll get it whenever you get it, probably more often if you LEAVE COMMENTS. That’s your subscription price. Add a little something to the discussion. Spit out an opinion. Don't have a Google account? Post under the "Anonymous" button. And you have to deal with long periods of silence. That’s just the way it is.  As a bonus, this blog will only be about poker stuff about half the time.  Refreshing, huh!

Go check out “Pokerbat’s” blog if you crave MORE…that scandalous old curmudgeon kind of has things figured out in a deliciously, salty, old psychotic kind of way.  


Anyway enough blogging about blogging, I’ll get back to you licentious jackals soon enough with a recap of the past few months, and my take on the WPT and Beau Rivage’s Southern Poker Classic. All right, I’m done for now.  My wrists are sore. I hate typing! Coach, take me out!  Waaaaaah!!!!  Waaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!