A lot of Chips and a Chair - Warning, long Poker Talk

I used to be very much into poker. I enjoyed and thrived in the sense of intense competition virtually played out as a chess match with cards. It invoked the best of all games by combining a match of intelligence, instinct, and lavish rewards if played right. All intrigued me so of course I was hooked.

I played mostly online at first, cashing out at Bodog.com during my freshman year of college with a whopping $350.00 check (after a initial deposit of 20 dollars). I was a driven tourney player, grinding lower stake sit n' go's for hours at a time. After the initial cashout, I went on to play at Full Tilt poker and Pokerstars to participate in more action, hopefully with more donkeys eager to give me their money. 

It was a little after this time I also decided to play some live games, playing outside of my broken down college bankroll. I would save up some 100 dollars and then go to the local game in Newton with my fellow poker playing pal Anthony. I ran terrible at Newton, so I decided to hang up the boots for a while and focus my interests elsewhere - hopefully somewhere I wouldn't lose large sums of money.

Well, on Sunday I got a call from Anthony, who also hadn't played poker in sometime, saying there was a $100 + 10 buyin tournament located in a sick apartment in Medford. I was initially reluctant, a $110.00 tourney after not practicing in a year? The odds weren't in my favor at all. 

However, I was kind of bored and I can actually afford it so against my better judgement I took Anthony up on his offer and decided that while I could light a hundred dollars on fire, let me make somebody else happy and give it to them instead. I packed up my sweatshirt, blackberry, and hopefully my best poker game to head over to the area of interest. 

The poker scene in Boston is surprisingly great for being underground and illegal. Although our main area of action in Newton was shut down, they essentially packed up and moved to Brighton, where games run every night of the week. The same people hosting that game also hosted this tournament, which is where our tale begins. 

We found the apartment complex after a brief search. Initially, we wondered if we were in the right place, but we quickly spotted a riced out Honda being parked and its driver emerging with full poker uniform: flat brimmed hat adorning the Celtics logo, ipod headphones, trendy hoodie sweatshirt, latest Nike shoes sporting a rainbow of colors. Yeah, we were in the right place. 

A pleasant asian man with a lisp met us at the door, we all shook hands and he introduced himself as Tsang, one of the dealers for tonight. He guided us up to the 8th floor and through the apartment doors, revealing one hell of a poker suite. 

Our eyes were met with a apartment full of poker degens, waiting around for the tournament to start. Waiting around for poker players usually means starting prop bets over ridiculous things, laying money on the college basketball game that night, or even involve themselves with intense chessmatches (played on the biggest chess table I've seen). We walked up to the money taker and paid our entrance fee, resulting in a baggie full of chips, myriad in color. Now we just have to wait.

There were three tables set up, all filled to capacity: 10 players to a table. I looked around my table and I can already spot the gamblers: One enormous, sun-glasses clad guy they called Harry, a Jewish looking man with glasses similar to mine and a drink in one hand, and a skinny version of the enormous Harry also adorning sunglasses. Sitting to my right I had the pleasure/displeasure of Justin. 

Justin is probably one of the more solid poker players I know. I first met him through Anthony back in Newton and out of everyone in this tournament I probably give him the most respect in poker playing ability. However, he's a great guy, hence the duality of having a great guy/great poker playing sitting directly to my left. 

Anyways, the first few rounds of the tournament were underway and I was practically card dead for a couple hands. I intended on playing tight aggressive for the most part of the tourney and seeing how the cards came, so it didn't really bother me. The first hand I was involved in I had A - Q in early position. I raised it up and got one caller, the jewish looking fellow mentioned before. Ace on the flop, rest blanks. I checked it over to him to try and play it slow and he bet out. Fair enough, I called and saw the turn. The turn was also a blank and I decided to bet out to see how he would respond. He ended up calling and we saw the river. At this point, I was content on keeping the pot small, especially after having Ace Queen out of position. However, if I checked, he could make all kinds of move behind me which would give me such a headache. I decided to check and surprisingly he checked behind, flipping over A- K for the pot. I tapped the table and there went half my stack in half an hour. 

Thankfully, I won it all back a few hands later. I had KingQueen of hearts in early position and got one caller after a preflop raise. The flop came down with two hearts and I was happy with that. I checked and he bet behind me. I decided to play this slow so I just called and saw the turn. Fantastic, another heart. I had the nut flush right now and I checked the turn to keep it slow. He checked behind and the river came a blank. Knowing I was good, I put out a value bet and he called. Ship it to me. 

At the first break I was about at the starting stack, so in decent position. However, now came the big pots. 

My descriptions of the hands are now going to be more brief because of a couple of reasons: 

1.) Only people who truly like poker will follow my hand descriptions anyways and

2.) I started drinking alot of beer

With that said, a few hands back from the break I saw a glorious hand. On the button, I peaked down at aces. Awesome. What made it even better though, was seeing enormous Harry, opening up with a raise. Ok, awesome again. But wait, oh no somebody in the next seat pushes all in over the top. What do I do here, I fake asked myself. I shove all in over the top and Harry waits a few minutes to think over what to do. He eventually throws his last chips in and flips over 88 and the other fellow QQ. 

So, right now I'm ahead and thank god it holds up, I'm now chip leader. 

One more orbital around the table and I'm back on the button. I peak down at KK. Wow, I'm a card rack tonight. "Yeah, but I bet you didn't get any action this time, Dan" you're saying. Well, I did and boom, next thing I know I win another all in. I hate this game. 

So as the beers are being drank my luck apparently improves (thank you foxy waitress Nicole). I ended up getting value out of a couple other flushes and I'm doing great on chips. Next thing I know, I'm sitting center stage at the final table. 

This is where the old jewish lady comes in. For the sake of naming her (even though her name is Mary), I start calling her Barbara Streisand. She bears more than just a resemblance to her, if she all of a sudden stood up and started singing "The Way We Were" I would have just shook my head and say I told you so. Anyways, her poker playing is not as good as her singing. And by "not as good", I mean god awful. 

She comes over as short stack, just begging to be knocked out. She gets involved in a couple hands and she's eventually down to one black 500 chip. The blinds at this moment were 500/1000, so she had literally a chip and a chair. Well, god damnit if she didn't but she got four double ups and was soon in great position, with just one more person out before the money pays. Well, this sharp dressed man in a Gucci suit ends up bitting the bullet and taking bubble boy, sorry man. This means there were only 5 left (with 5 payouts). 

Well, congrats Barbara you did it, you made money in poker. Now, please sit down and stop running around and yelling at the top of your lungs. 

One more person is knocked out, and its down to four: me, barbara streisand, mr. Ukraine, and a cool guy whom I don't have any nicknames for just yet (how about Fonzi? Yeah, that will work). So, we're playing and they all bring up the idea of a four way chop (split all of the remaining prize money four ways). I'm not really a fan of the idea, but the three of them are talking rather excitedly because after doing the math, everyone would get roughly 700$ each for a equal chop. I don't feel that's fair because of my presence in chips at the moment, so I say I'll chop only if I get 800$. Mr. Ukraine throws a fit saying he doesn't think its fair so I tell him by all means, lets play it out. 

Well, Fonzi said he's too cool for a little bit of extra money so he'll be glad to throw some money my way if we chop. Good enough for me, so we call the tournament and I now have 800$ from my first big live tournament. I am now up overrall in live playing, which is a great feeling. 

I received my money (wow thats a lot of hundos) and we shook hands with everybody and left. Me, Anthony, and Mike decide to drink more so we ended up heading into Boston to have a small party at Anthony's girlfriends' place. More beer was drank and memory deteriorated so that's where I'll conclude the (lengthy) story for now.

TL;DR I actually won at poker. 

Trying to Find the Juice In This Jungle

Eyes opened, head swimming. I'm still a bit drunk.

What happened last night?

Let's open the time portal we call drunken memory and try to figure it out.

I remember getting home from work. The call came - "Cameron" appears on the LED screen of my blackberry (shameless plug). All he says are two words: "Frat Party". I hang up and have approximately 30 minutes to get myself organized and present my hygiene in a manner beset of picking up copious amounts of women. I spent 25 playing video games.

We picked up Al and bought some pre-gaming material. Cheap vodka and powerade? Yes, please. Damn it all, I bought red powerade. It's only a matter of time before I get the red lip, destroying any chances I have of positive social interaction. Or, just maybe, this could be the cool "in" I need to go up and talk to chicks. They will all be so enthralled with my red upper lip that the conversation could only end up in excessive amounts of tonsel hockey. Yes, this could work.

We drive into Northeastern to meet up with Mui and his roommates. We then traverse across the barren tundra known as Boston, Massachusetts; a small price to pay for an occassion where there will be much drinking and dancing. 3 hours later and we're at the door, 5 bucks to get in. The toll is paid and I wander into the great halls of the Frat house.

This is where it gets hazy. Flashbacks will be my method of rememering the events that took place.

Sweet keg operation, lot of beer. I like beer. Beiruit table. The table is twice as long as other simple, primitive beirut tables. Bad people playing, please leave. We sign our names and head downstairs.

Loud music, lot of girls. People are starting to get tipsy, room divided like a awkward middle school dance still. I eye out some bitties that may catch my eye, they return the seductive gaze. She quickly averts her eyes with a roll. No, Bittie, I saw you. Don't try to hide it.

I keep sipping on the powerade, letting the alcohol run its course. People are dancing now, but I am nowhere near enough drunk yet to show off my incredible dancing skills.

Starting to get hazier, a flash here and there of what happened. Dancing. Alot of dancing. Who am I dancing with? Ah, a ebony queen. My how good you at dancing. How long did we dance? 10 minutes, 20 minutes? You eventually pull away. What's that? You are going to get on the counter to join the five other ladies up there dancing away in a narcisistic fashion where guys like me wish they could be? Sure, let me rendevous with friends.

Al is visibly drunk. The jungle juice is taking its toll. John is dancing with a chick. Time to approach him with a comment about how is girlfriend keeps calling me. No, that would be a sin, let me keep dancing.

Benny Bennasi's Satisfaction starts playing. I like this song. John and I spy some ladies. Yes, let's dance.

Song over, they jump on the table for the next. "Perhaps you should join them, dear friend" John says. I agree and jump up. We dance, John took picture. I fall off, John took picture. I brush myself off, don't worry ladies, I'm just getting started.

Crowd starting to thin out. More and more awkward to dance. Let me grab a smoke. Hey, you girls smoke too? Cool, lets talk.

Grabbing coats. Leaving time. As leaving, I hear a group of girls talking and laughing amongst each other: "Did you see that skinny kid with glasses? Yeah, the kid with the kool aid lip. He looked like he sucked off the kool aid man! Maybe that's who taught him to dance! Ahahahaha!" Was that me?

Talk to people on walk home. Introduce Al to everybody on the street as Ping. Yeah, it makes me laugh for some reason.

"Hey baby, I bet you like a man who knows how to program" I yell out to random strangers on the street. No Responses, muffled laughs.

Get home. Black.

Really, Dan?

I promised myself I wouldn't.

"I'm not going to join the faggy crowd of hipster-like, thick framed glasses adorned, Apple computer blog masses" I lied, to my Imaginary friend.

Well, sorry to dissapoint everyone with a reasonable amount of intellect who unfortunately stumbles across this, but my blog is now being broadcasted throughout the entirety of the internet where my uncanny, unfunny, and downright retarded writing style will both infuriate and confuse its readers. You've been warned!

Now that I've cleared my conscience with the disclaimer and filtered out people with enough sense to not read any further, let's try and see what can become of this heaping mass of shit.

Let's outline some goals for this blog. 

1.) Become a internet celebrity. Watch out Huffington post.

2.) Ramble and rant about my life as a safe method of venting ordinary annoyances that otherwise may or may not induce a post office-esque murder spree. These rambles/rants may entertain/provoke critical thinking/disgust the readers. If they do, I will deem it a success.

3.) Let others peer over the edges of my life and into the delicate fabric of my soul where my inner child lay vulnerable and exposed to criticism and mockery. Yeah, I cried a little bit reading that too. 

Hopefully my internet career will take off and my name will forever be plastered upon the walls of internet stardom for years to come. But I will probably just fade away into the sea of other blogs, with typed trash no better than any other.

By the way, congratulations me on such a innovative blog name. I consider it truly unique (even though IBloggedTheToilet.blogspot.com was registered already). Sometimes I amaze myself.

Fake Edit: Damn, should have taken "TheBlogCabin". Son of a bitch.