AWFUL NOISES

FALSE MAYAN APOCALYPSE COUNTDOWN  47 SUNDAYS LEFT.  Sun Jan 22, 2012

BLAM BLAM BLAM     BLAM  BLAMBLAM

They say your recall of those events is never right, the devil in the details gets lost.  Was it six shots?  Seven?  Ten?  It happened so fast.

I thought they were fireworks, but they were pretty loud and the rhythm was all wrong in those three seconds. Or was it two?  Whatever it was it sounded like a gangland hit.  Was it leftover fireworks?  Some idiots with M-80s from new years?

I try not to know people.  Maybe it's anti-social, but I prefer in poker not to get too chummy with most people.  Not to know their names.  Not that I wouldn't like to have a drink or two with some of you at the next social gathering, or maybe get really toasted enough to the point where we wind up singing old Viking war anthems and challenging the next group of guys to go outside (this never happens), but for now, the situation that we're in, with each of us trying to take each other's money, dictates that I may have to raise you and make you fold.  Or smooth call you down and make you cringe with temporary embarassment.  Or check-raise you.  Mmmmmm...my perosnal favorite...to check raise you.  Especially if it's on the river and I have absolutely nothing, but so did you. 

I think we're both more comfortable if I don't know your name is Ed...or...whatever.

We won't be cuddling, so I don't see much point to resorting to pillow talk.  "Nice hand, Ed." 

Whatever.  I don't say much.

So I guess it gets doubly awkward for me when people call me by my name and I haven't taken the time to learn theirs.  Hey, Kai, did you blah blah blah blah...?

I make up names in my head for a lot of players.  Maybe you've done the same.  A lot of them aren't flattering, but most are innocent enough.  The odds of your liking the nickname I've assigned to you?  Pretty slim.  Ruprict, Lazy-Eye, Fletch, Dorkapotamus, Slinky, Tornado Bait, Professor Puddingsworth...

But most of the time I just make up a name that someone looks like.  He looks like a Charlie.  She looks like a Gretchen.  His name's probably Whittaker.  I'm sure I've been called worse.  Much worse.

I've already put a quantitative value on their conversational input, choice of topics, degree of how easily amused they are, how they play, and/or physical attributes...and some of these criteria go into the artificial name making process.  Is it a little shallow?  Maybe.  It is kind of fun though.  Anonymity is best when blood's involved.

So this is my last shot at getting into the main event.  A mega-satellite the day before.  And a guy I've named Tugboat Charlie over the years, an older nice guy and good player, makes a raise at the 50/300/600 level.  A novice player in town for the rodeo wearing a ginormous white cowboy hat makes a meaningless call.  He's the guy who will call anything.  If he goes into the Chevy dealership and the salesman tells him that the truck costs $450,000, he won't blink for a second...he's in.  He's probably real agreeable in real life.  Let's call him Sasperilla Sam.  He just called off his entire stack with a KT a moment ago for no particular reason and rebought in for a full stack.  Of course that wasn't nearly as good as when I watched someone accidentally turn over AA after going all in, which Silverado Sam clearly saw...and called off his entire stack -- against the visible AA-- with KQ!!!  Although jaws dropped all around the table, everyone had the good sense to keep quiet.  And drool.  And wait.

I look down at QQ.  It's a little challenging to exercise control because I know Tugboat Charlie isn't raising light, and Silverado Sam isn't going anywhere, so why not just call to see a safe flop and enjoy my position?

PLAYERS WE'RE STARTING A $550 SINNNNGGGLE TABLE SATELLITE IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM WITH DANIELLE, A $100 SINNNNGGGGLE TABLE SATELLITE.  YOUR CHANCE TO GET INTO THE MAIN EVENT RIGHT HERE IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM.  SINNNNGGGGLE TABLE SATELLITE, PAYS TWO PLACES....

Oh, God.  Not now.  It's Ringmaster B and his full blast repetitious speech booming down in a shower of game show host madness from the speaker systems directly above our heads. 

Must focus...I'm probably going to just smooth call....that's when my peripherals kick in...

What's this?  The cool college kid two to my left is going to do something.  He is unsure of what, but he has a good hand.  His body language has gone from asleep to wide awake though he's trying to look just like he did last hand when he folded. 

Sometimes it only takes a sliver of a second to get that mini-pulse, that little vibe, that little almost imperceptible click that goes off in your brain that someone next to you has a big hand, or what exactly they have.  But when it goes off, it roars off like a canon inside your brain and your gut.

I don't know why most people play poker.  Some do it because they're degenerates, some because they love a difficult way to make easy money, some for social interaction maybe?  But for me it's all about that little micro-second of absolute clarity.  It's like heaven when you figure out something you're not supposed to know.

So I decide to just smooth call the raise with my QQ, and see what exactly College Kid, behind me, has in mind for Tugboat Charlie, Sasperilla Sam and me. College Kid takes even longer than I did to decide what to do with all those delicious pre-flop chips out there.  He wonders what took me so long...what Tugboat Charlie is raising with...none of this is an act...he really feels he needs to make a stand with this marginal power hand...but he's genuinely uncertain which course to take...it's now screaming only one of two things.  AK or JJ.

SINNNNNGGGGGGLE TABLE SATELLITE IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM WITH DANIELLE!  PAYS TWO SPOTS!  FIRST PLACE RECEIVES...

Breathe, Kai, breathe.  Focus.  Shut out the cattle auction...

So he's taking a really long time, but finally decides after almost smooth calling, and then after almost raising...to just grab all the chips and shove.  It's starting to look more and more like JJ.

Sasperilla Sam, to no one's surprise calls off his entire stack in this re-buy tournament.  Again.  His range actually includes some Tarot cards and Uno cards as well.  Anything is possible from this guy. 

So now I'm looking at a major all-in triple up if I decide to play the third best starting hand in poker -- but three way.  That's a big decision.  If they hit, I'm not in the main this month...I have to be absolutely sure this kid has JJ and not AK.

I flash back to those gunshots from earlier today.  I found out they were gunshots when I walked up my really peaceful block here where I live in South Mississippi.  Ugly scene.  Not what you want fresh in your head before a tournament.  A truck's tires have been blown out.  Body on the ground.  Cops surrounding him.  Another cop zipping around the scene spooling off  DO NOT CROSS yellow tape all around the wide block.  A cop truck zooms down my 15mph street at about 80.  VROOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!  Ten cop cars.  Fire truck.  Abulance. I'd find out it was some idiot criminal who held up a Walgreens, tried to escape and outrun the cops.  Then after the cops took out his tires, he thought running out and bringing a knife to a gunfight was the best course of action.

BLAM BLAM BLAM     BLAM  BLAMBLAM

PLAYERS WE HAVE ONE SEAT LEFT FOR THIS SINNNNNNGGGGGGLE TABLE SATELLITE IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM!  DON'T GET SHUT OUT!  IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM!  ONE LUCKY SEAT LEFT!  DON'T GET SHUT OUT!  SINNNNGGGGGGLE TABLE SATELLITE ......AAAAAANNNNNNDDDDD....

Oh, God.....the carnival sledgehammer is about to slam down on that one syllable and strike the bell...

SOLD!

In my mind's eye I see Ringmaster B dropping down to the ground hard into a celebratory split and twisting his fists by each each other in a lightning-fast 70's type dancefloor victory celebration.

I love Ringmaster B.  I really do.  If he needed a kidney, I swear to God I've got two for the guy...but the microphone thing...we've talked about it...it's getting better...slowly...

Back to now. Back to reality. Focus, idiot! Focus!  The action is on you!

I've got to know if this kid has AK or JJ.  It's a life or death difference.  I mumble something to the table...I don't even remember what...it's like sending out a radar signal...trying to see what comes back.  It's almost like my eyesight shuts down in those moments and I'm relying just on radar.  People mumble some things back and there's a little chatter but I'm focused on the kid through the sides of my head.  It's weird when you try to get a read on someone's hand and it becomes like synesthesia...when someone has AK it has a certain flavor to it...an orange heaviness...a heavy hollow bell chime ring...There's a feel to certain people's hands that defies description.  JJ has a totally different...flavor.

He mumbles something and throws in his last chip which he doesn't notice which was behind his arm, makes a semi-funny comment and smiles and gives a little laugh.  But as I'm watching him, I see his smile has an unnatural ending to it...it doesn't just fade out by a slow drop...it breaks off too tensely and suddenly like the smile was a little artificially confident.  Got it.  He has Jacks.  My Zen moment of absolute clarity has arrived in that tiny fraction of a second!!!

I'm a 4:1 favorite against him!  Not a 1.2 : 1 favorite.  I'm getting well over a gigantic triple-up pot agaist him and Sasperilla Sam's random hand.  I win this one, I can navigate my way easily to the main event! Shove-all-in!

He flips over Jacks. 

Sasperilla Sam turns over a Ten......and an Ace.  2.5 : 1 favorite over this calling station to boot!

Flop:  Ace.

BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAMBLAM BLAM.

PLAYERS WE ARE STARTING A NEW SINNNNNNGGGGGGLE TABLE SATELLITE IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM WITH DEBBIE A SINNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG.....






I decide to take my kids and dog out for a walk around the neighborhood later on that day.  It's a gorgeous day and I'm ready for some normalcy.  I guess I should have focused equally on Sasperilla Sam's hand...been more precise with his holdings as well.  Should I have been more careful? Would it have mattered?  Wouldn't I have still shoved?   Time to leave tournaments behind for a few months and focus on...other things.  Today all my focus is on my kids.  Leave that crazy stuff from earlier behind me.

My kids, dog and I are loving our walk.  Suddenly a cute perfectly trimmed little white poodle sees my dog, my kids and I from across the highway and decides to jot across it and say hi...it doesn't see the car coming from behind it.  It's going to hit in half a second.  I can't stop it.  I yell at my kids to look away!  "CLOSE YOUR EYES!" I scream.  I try to throw up my arms and shield their vision.  They can't help it.  They look.  They see it.  They hear it.  I can't stop their horrible crying and screaming for a really, really long time...

This week cannot end soon enough.




In lieu of a book this week I'm HIGHLY recommending ALTEC earbuds. I bought one of those Skullcandy earbuds recently and became aware of how deeply Skullcandy products suck. Returned! These Altec babies were half the price ($20 or so) and are AWESOME!  They clobber your eardrums with deep, thick bass and lush, bright sounds. And complete noise filtering without bleeding music. Which is great for drowning out the sounds of people getting shot to death or poodles getting crunched under a tire.

Hmmmmmm....

Don't think I'm gonna have this blog up by Sun night...but I like how it's evolving, morphing, and getting laid out...maybe put on a finishing touch Monday night.  Right now it kind of reads like this...

But with proper time to let it sit overnight and touch it up a few details, it will read like this tomorrow night.

However, I know if I work too long and too hard on it, it will just be as annoying as THIS...

So I think one more day is the proper incubation time.  See you voyeurs tomorrow night.

K

WILL PLAY FOR POPEYE'S FRIED CHICKEN

FALSE MAYAN APOCALYPSE COUNTDOWN  48 SUNDAYS LEFT.  Sun Jan 15, 2012.

Details below.

CRYSTAL AND TIFFANY AREN'T JUST NAMES OF ENTERTAINERS AT RICK'S...

Well if this isn't just salt in the wound...

Flashback about one month ago.  I get the only bill in the mail maybe anyone could ever possibly look forward to receiving.  And tearing the envelope open with a big smile like it's Christmas morning.

"Dear <Mr. Landry>, it is with great excitement that we are pleased to announce ticket sales for the post season.  The NFL has directed us to go ahead and prepare to sell playoff tickets to our season ticket holders as soon as possible tickets for up to two postseason games..."

Boom Shaka Laka Laka!

Our boys in black and gold had done it again!  Record shattering amazing bastards!  Greatest Show on Turf's points?  Shattered.  Dan Marino's record?  Shattered.  Peyton Manning's record?  Shattered.  Drew Brees even shattered the completion percentage record formerly held by the great Drew Brees.  Upwards of fifteen long standing NFL records were obliterated by margins of up to 7-8% by this team.  Sproles.  Graham.  History books.

And then... the comedy of errors at Candlestick Park, against the long-hated 49ers, the double-decade dynasty of the former NFC West allignment.  It was kind of like the 1982 Aints had continuously made cameo appearances in the script...leaving me feeling violently nautious, and leaving a team with this much heart and talent, the most offensively potent team of all time, watching the playoffs from home  This was supposed to be the mental confidence bounceback game for the Louisiana/ Gulf Coast area after the LSU/Alabama EMBARASSMENT. 

What amazed me most about the Saints is how they didn't quit and made an amazing comeback, and damn near victory, all while numerous ridiculous turnovers... bad beat after bad beat...never once shook their confidence.  It was an absolutely amazing effort...

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

...as opposed to the LSU Tigers' "performance," which damn near had me going on Ebay to sell my collegiate football fan allegiance to the highest bidder.  Twenty bucks to root for the New Mexico State Aggies for the rest of my life, and never have to root for these quitters again?  Tempting...

There's no dirtier word in sports than the Q-word, and I'll be damned if that's not what they did.  Congratulations, Alabama.  Congratulations, San Fransisco.   While the Saints game may have had me cursing and screaming like a drunken, inner-city Tourettes stricken sailor with an unbridled amounts of equal parts rage and insanity, coming damn near close to throwing my HDTV out the window with the last energy of a dying human body that had it's living, blood-pumping heart ripped out by Vernon Davis with 0:09 left on the clock, at least I can say that the Saints never gave up and fought like hell to win that game.

But as for LSU?  OOOhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, it's gonna take a long, long time for me to forgive you for this one.

We all saw every damn one of you on the bench halfway through the third quarter...not speaking to each other, heads down...dejected.  It was the "no mas" fight of college football.  It's really disrespectful to Alabama that they didn't even have to earn this one.

So much for getting some more crystal and Tiffany silver trophies down here, no matter how great your teams were this season.  The horrific South Louisiana gridiron apocylapse on 2012 is now behind us, but the sting throbs and festers really badly!

Cures sorrow.  Take as directed.

Once the Saints are out of the picture, the NFL has about as much excitement and luster to me as AA womens' basketball or sitting around listening to NPR and quilting all day. 

But the salt in the wound is that I got ridiculously "lucky" with the Saints this year in my request for additional playoff tickets.  All that simply had to happen this week is that the Saints take care of business and the Giants do the impossible and defeat Green Bay at Lambeau Field, and I would have had the rights to sell THIRTEEN NFC Championship tickets at the game that would have been held at the Superdome next week.  And as I just watched it unfold, shaking my head in disgust, New York took care of their part.  Thirteen golden tickets to an event that doesn't exist... 

MILLION DOLLAR HEATER AT THE BEAU RIVAGE.
First off, severe congratulations to my really, really good friend Scott....something.  I forget his last name.  Whatever.  But he's a tremendous competitor.  Tremendous enough to take down the opening event at the Beau last week with over 1,500 entrants.  Williams?  Yeah.  That's it.  Scott Williams.  I think he's this guy in this picture or something:

Forgot to stick out his pinkies...

Anyway, when asked about his strategy, Scott said, "I just cross my fingers and hope a lot."  Well said, Scott.  Truly inspirational.  Let's just "hope" Scott keeps winning so he can enlighten us with more nuggets of wisdom like this.

As for myself, I bubbled that same event last week, then bubbled yesterday's event, coming in 32d with 27 getting paid.  The only two events I've played.  This just hours after watching the Saints lose in the last seconds during dinner break.   Swish that around in your mouth for a while.  Tastes like "despondency" and "malaise" doesn't it?  MMMmmmm!   Despondency!   I can't complain though, as it's been a little while since I've played, and feel like I'm getting the "ring rust" off quikly in just these two openers, and I can definitely feel I am starting to get back into strong tournament form.

WILL WORK FOR POPEYES

Anyway as far as the main event goes for the Million Dollar Heater Main Event, if anyone is interested in staking me for the entire buy-in, I will work for no more than one three (3) piece white spicy Popeyes dinner with red beans and rice as the side, and a large Coke as the drink.  That means if I take down first place for an estimated $300,000 or so; it would be entirely yours for the contractual consideration of the spicy delicious Popeyes dinner described above.  All forms would be filled out accordingly.

I don't really feel like getting into 60/40 split, 70/30 split with makeup discussions...so let's just put this out on the table as simply as I can.  I will only accept a cash payout of ONE POPEYES THREE PIECE WHITE SPICY DINNER, WITH RED BEANS AND RICE AS THE SIDE AND A LARGE COKE AS THE DRINK.  All cash winnings would be yours and you alone also responsible for taxes.

I know what you're thinking...why would anyone go against the policy of, as the Joker said in The Dark Knight Rises, "If you're good at something, never do it for free."

Well simply put, I'm interested in attaining a working relationship with a backer from here on out.  Up to this point I've been the only one fronting myself with two exceptions in this years WSOP (one i won, the other I didn't).  And I'm really interested to see what I can do in a different set of circumstances.  Could you just "Buy a Piece?"  Maybe.  But you front the damn chicken, and you get a 100% payout.

Don't worry.  I have a great game plan to win.  Have Jordan Jefferson run the option or throw a screen on every play, then eventually just give up.

Just kidding.

Or I'll just satellite in and keep every damn penny for myself.  Let's see. 

But the 99.9997/ 0.00003 (no rake back) offer is on the table.

Yes, I am serious about the chicken.

JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY

If anyone is from the New Orleans metro area and old enough to remember the old LAS Siding commercials with Oscar the handy-man sitting on an old rickety bench and staring just off to the camera and looking pathetic (while the camera slowly zooms out) and the narrator says, "This is Oscar...Oscar is out of work and could install affordable siding on your home..."

I'm asking because I came across this LAS shirt on the internet but couldn't find an Oscar t-shirt anywhere...did I just imagine this character as a child or was this real?  Somebody help!

Kai-prah's Book of the Month Club:
Just finished "Bad Bet on the Bayou."  For any of you ever gambling at Harrah's in New Orleans, and amazed by how awful the dealers and service are, you'll be even more amazed story of the political nightmare and corruption that penetrated every level of government in Louisiana to get this casino built and gaming legalized in the state.  A few months back I highly recommended "Havanna Nocturne" to you, a book about Castro getting the mob and gambling OUTof Cuba during the revolution.  This book is about getting gambling and the mob INTO Louisiana by an equally slimy individual, Governor Edwin Edwards.  Prepare to be shocked by all the incomepence and corruption in 1990's Louisiana government.

SUNDAYS, EVERYONE? ONLY FIFTY LEFT!

So I ran into the consistently obnoxious, loud and foul-mouthed owners of our website (GulfCoastPoker.NET) this evening (Bill Phillips and Gene Dudek) at the Beau Rivage in Biloxi.  I'm sure most of you know these guys, so I'm sure you'll know exaclty what I'm talking about when I say this...

After having to endure their never-ending barrage of dead hooker jokes, Penn State jokes, and limericks set in "Nantucket." I managed to squeeze in a few words of my own...barely.  You know these typical guys, right?  The ones who leave the frat house...but it never really leaves them.  The ones who keep slapping you on the back, belching, and asking you if you want a beer...only to be distracted by ANY woman who walks in the room to look her over from toenail to hair-do?

I mean...it's not so much that these guys offend my deep Christian sensibilities as it is that they're so damn childish.

Anyway, inbetween the one about Michael Jackson's proctologist and the one about Little Bo Peep's unwanted pregnancy (I've worded that more delicately than they did) ...I told them both how I "resolved" to churn out more blogs for them this year.  Even if it's just fifteen or so. I enjoy writing, and feel like I need to hit the ground much harder than I did with things I believe I have a knack for, poker being one of them.  To really leave a strong impression in 2012.  To write more often ...to read and play poker much more consistently...how I need to take things more seriously once again and use...

Once again, Gene's just pretending to listen to me, but then interrupts me to ask me to "pull his finger."

I indulge him.  Yes, Gene... I can tell you had Arby's for dinner.  How fascinating.

I tell them how I enjoy writing and have these ideas for a couple of BOOKS I'd like to write.  One about a serial murder with a heart of gold who spends all his spare time at Wal-Mart.  One about an old widower's personal spiritual quest.  One dark comedy about a union organizer in a sewerage plant where the workers are filthy, and the pay gets worse.

Bill decides to cut me off here with another unrequested "comment."  No, Bill.  That's not what santorum really means.  Show some respect to the man.  He just placed second in Iowa.

I look over my right shoulder and see Gene is shooting three Jaeger-bombs in the time it takes most people to sneeze and asking everyone if they know who the "player of the series" was at the IP just recently.  And how that guy "don't take **** from nobody."  Thankfully, most of the room goes unbothered.  Even when he raises his right hand and does "the shocker" as his little victory move.  "THE SHOCKAAAAHHHH!!  YEAH BOOOYYYYYEEEE...."  Suddenly, Gene falls over quickly and awkwardly on an empty table fifty-one, really hard, and right on his left side.  It looks like it hurt like hell.  From this angle, it looks almost looks like he intentionally head-butted the poker table at full speed with the left side of his face.  He gets up really quick and tries to act cool.  Once again, he raises his right-shocker-hand in victory to the "delight" of the crowd. "shockaaahhh" he just kind of whispers this time.

But I guess this boorish "who cares how I behave, the money's always gonna keep pouring in!" kind of attitude is what we can expect to exist when a couple of guys like Bill and Gene make it big with an incredibly successful poker news site like GCP.NET.  That's life.

I start telling Bill, the possibly more sober of the two -- as if that word could ever apply to them -- about how I want to find a serious backer this year.  How I've got a goal to even write a poker book with a situational quiz format.  How...

His eyes glaze over.  He's looking right through me like I'm made of glass.  But right when I think he's mentally gliding over the foggy methane surface of Mars, he aggressively grabs my shirt and shakes me with a viscious sneer on his face and a deranged, yet totally zen look in his eyes.  "Sundays," he says.  "You gotta spill your nasty little verbal gumbo out on my site every Sunday."

Bill throws up a little in his mouth.  And then...it disappears back where it came from.

"If you write one day a week, even if you don't ....  have no material or nothin'....even stupid stuff...on a set day of the week....you really can increase your readership.  People like that set day stuff.  Givess 'em shomething to look forward to."

Hmmmm.  From the mouths of children... pearls of wisdom.  Amazing.

"How bout that, Lumpy (Bill calls me Lumpy for reasons NO ONE understands), you want Sumday?  How bout Shhunday?

Sounds pretty good.

Let's do it.  After all, according to the Mayans, we've only got fifty Sundays left.  I mean, why should I not take serious calendar and self-burial planning advice from a virtually extinct Indian tribe who practiced human sacrifice on their own people and had not yet stumbled upon big technological marvels...like the wheel?  Couldn't be any worse than believing Bill...who I just took advice from.  Could it?  Let's assume both Bill and the Mayas are right, so I'll churn out 50 blogs, one each Sunday, for you people, until December 21, 2012.

I wound up hanging out with these two buffoons for the next half hour exchanging stories.  I'm thinking Gene really hurt his spleen from that fall and should seek medical attention, but, hey, who died and made me Dr. Schweitzer, right?!  I just walk him over to his car and watch him drive off.  He'll probably be ok.  Whatever.

But, hey.  It's simple politics.  If you want to keep having cyber realty space to print your blather on, you yuck it up with these owner / editors.  Pretend you like them.  Laugh at their jokes.  Slap their backs. Take an occasional Jaegarbomb.  And then get to writing.  In the big picture I have planned out for 2012, with my personal goals, those dudes are just speedbumps along the way.  I'm all cleared and now I got talked into doing 50 blogs for you people.  YOU'RE WELCOME!

2011 was such a year of "almost" for me in every single way.  Almost scored big here, almost got a ring there, almost got my first WSOP bracelet there, almost...well, some of these "almosts" are too scandalous to tell.  Sorry.  But 2012 will not be an "almost" year.  I can feel it coming.  And I'm feeling determined again to leave a lot of "almosts" behind me.

So from now on, Kai's blog will come out every Sunday night on GCP.NET.   And yeah, I think I can churn out 50.  And hey, Gene and Bill, let's change the name of this thing back to "You're Entering a World of Pain."

Well there's a Shocker!!!


Next Sunday:  The Viking Auctioneer and Self-Composure