Yo!
The Diamond here. How's it hanging.
Sorry to say. I seem to have been getting a bit behind with the old blog, recently. To tell the truth, it's not the only thing I've been getting behind with, of late. I don't know what it is. But I just don't feel right at the moment. Know what I mean?
I dunno. I just don't seem to want to get out of bed in the mornings these days. It's like I'm listless, you know? Permanently knackered. Same thing everyday. Wake up all achey. Mouth tastes like dirt. Blinding headache. Can't work out what's causing it? And can't seem to shake it off.
Anyway. As I'm not feeling on top form, last night, I decide to play in a low stakes ($5) 30 seat multi-table online tourney. I'm watching ‘The Sting’ at the same time.
Great movie! That scene on the train when grifter (con-artist) Henry Gondorph (Paul Newman) turns up late for the poker game pretending to be drunk and intent on relieving mobster Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw) of all his money is, in the humble opinion of yours truly, the best Hollywood depiction of a poker game ever made.
The way Gondorph winds up his opponent is an object lesson to those guys you meet all too often at the poker tables these days. You know. The ones with the verbals - all the poker-jive-bunny. They certainly seem to be on the increase.Alright. We all know why they do it. P'ss the guy off. Get him on tilt – take his money. It’s as simple as that. If you do it right and find the right customer.
I suppose, it's a bit like sledging in cricket, when you think about it. Afterall. Who are the best sledgers? Answer: the ozzies. Who wins the most test matches? Answer: the ozzies. Maybe, I should try it some time. But, then again, it's not really in my nature. I like to enjoy my poker. Know what I mean?
Anyway. Back to the $5 MTT. As it’s only a small stake affair, I allow myself the luxury of playing much looser than is my usual modus operandi.
And, d’you know what? In no time at all, I’m chip leader. I’m playing all sorts of hands and hitting nearly every time! And, of course, no one’s got a clue what I’m holding. And I'm taking down pots and knocking out players all over the place. Sweet!
Very soon, I’ve got over 6,000 chips, while the average is about - I dunno - under 1,500? Anyway. Talking, as we were, about sledging or verbals, as you might say. Here’s the hand that causes all the trouble.
Blinds are 25/50. Something like that. I'm in the big blind. Cards are dealt. Pass. Pass. Then someone named jackiehammer on 1,200 chips raises it up to 150 – 3 times the blind – yeah? Then it’s all pass till its gets round to me.
So, I'm looking down at AK suited (hearts as it happens). Anyway. I'm dwelling for a bit and then I’m thinking. Ok. What’s she got? AK. AQ. Pair? Maybe even J10suited.
Well, the worst way – she’s got AA or KK – something like that. In which case I could find myself well strangled. On the other hand, if she’s got AQ, AJ or Ace-anything – and believe me some of these low-stakes players play A6 like it’s the crown jewells or something – well I’m in reasonably good shape. And if, as I suspect, she’s got a medium pair, 1010, 99,88,77, something like that – well, I’ve 2 over cards.
So, this is my reasoning. I’ve got over 6,000 chips. If I shove it all in – she may just fold. If she calls and it goes wrong? Well, it won’t be the end of the world. But if she calls and my AK takes the pot – then I am really in the comfy chair and well on my way to the cash.
So. In it all goes. And it’s back to jackiehammer. She calls like a shot. On their backs. She’s got JJ versus my AK. Board comes. Blank. King. Blank. Ace. Blank. Two-pair. Thank you very much. Luvvly-jubbly!
Well. then it kicks-off.
All of a sudden, I’m getting the verbal abuse. In the chat box. It’s filling up with blue text. You know.
(obs) doesnt anyone want to play poker anymore?
That kind of thing. I can’t remember all of it, but believe me, she’s gone right into one.
Then she says: (obs) all anyone ever wants to do is gamble.
So, for fun, I type in: yeah. damn right!
Only that was a mistake. ‘Cos now she’s ranting: (obs) what kind of a play was that moron? She says: (obs) putting it all in with king high.
Well. Not very nice. Is it? Being called a moron. So, I say: you’re the expert. you explain it.
Next thing she’s challanging me to play her heads-up for $50. She’ll show me!
Wow! I’m thinking. $50 whole dollars. Life-changing. How old is this woman? 15? Anyway, while this is all going on, I am still trying to play the tournament. So, I respectfully decline her offer, explaining that I’ve still got chips on the table. A lot of which used to be hers.
I know. I shouldn't have said that. But she is really getting on my nerves by now. And she did call me a moron. Anyway. That last remark of mine seems to have tipped her right over the edge. Just keeps going on and on. Challenging me. Lots more blue text. I mean - it's streaming down the little box. Well. I say streaming. It's more like the bl''dy Niagara than a stream.
And now some of the others in the game are chipping in with their advice that she should ‘grow-up and go-away’. Stuff like that. Well. Maybe a bit stronger than that. You know. (Funny how you can find yourself getting drawn into these things, isn't it? Despite your better judgement). But none of it is doing any good. She's not listening to anything they've got to say. It's me she's after.
So. why don't you go and find another game? I helpfully suggest. But the lady will not be persuaded. Instead she's saying that I’m too scared to play her.
Then she starts saying: (obs) admit you’re too scared to play me and then I’ll go. She types it over and over. No really. Freaky. Like some cheap scarey movie, or something. I decide to ignore her. Play my game. But still it goes on.
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
Well. To tell the truth. It’s getting a bit embarrassing. It’s spoiling the game for everybody. And I feel responsible. She really is getting on everyone's t'ts. But, on the other hand, there is a point of honour here. It’s not nice to be told you’re a coward. That you are a moron. And that you are a hopeless loser. I mean. What would you do?
Well. why dont you just fo saddo? I finally snap. I know. I shouldn’t have sworn. Well. I didn't actually swear. Spell it out, as such. Just. You know. fo
But, still it goes on.
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
(obs) admit you’re too scared to play me
Well. It's a bl''dy nightmare. I can tell you. I've got to do something to stop it. So. In the end I say:
ok.
you're right.
i’m too scared to play you.
now fo.
And then, after a moment's pause, she types in: (obs) ok. I’m foing.
Nice touch that. foing. Anyway. That. Thank G'd. Is it. She's gone. And I let out a bl''dy great sigh of relief. Now, at least we can get on with the game.
Well. As it happens. I go on and win the whole thing and pick up the $50 first prize. Not a fortune. Obviously. But satisfying none-the-less. Except that it isn't somehow.
I close down the now empty, forlorn-looking table.
gg The last guys types in. But I don't respond. My mind's elsewhere. I get up and stretch my legs for a bit. Open another beer. Have a smoke. The film's ended. I hadn't even noticed. I think about putting on another. Maybe. I dunno. Put on some music. I think about playing another game. But I don't. I suppose, the unpleasantness has taken the shine off it a bit. Well, to be really honest, the whole thing has unnerved me a little bit.
I know it sounds stupid. And I know no one knows who you are online. But. I dunno. I suppose it's spooked me out. And there was that case in the news this week. About the two blokes who paid this other bloke’s house a visit - carrying pick-axe handles - after a verbal altercation in an online chat room.
I've just got this sort of creepy feeling that maybe, if I go to another table, she will somehow track me down. You know. Stalk me, kind of thing. I just can’t stop thinking about that scene near the end of Fatal Attraction when Glenn Close’s head slowly rises back up out of the bath water.
You know?
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