Location: The Spring Hotel
Game: $1/$/2 NL

I'm under the gun plus one with pocket aces. The Dancer raises to $9 under the gun. I make it $25 to go. The small blind, a pro (yeah, a pro in a $1/$2 game--it's that profitable) drops five red chips in the pot and makes a groan that suggests he's calling with a hand he knows is beat, but is hoping to hit. The Dancer calls. Both players check in the dark. The flop comes J96 with two hearts. I make it $75 and the pro raises to $250. At this point, I'm confident I'm still ahead of him, but our stacks aren't small and I know there's a good chance we'll be playing for all our chips. The pro started the hand with around $800. I had just more than $600. The Dancer had close to $400.

I'm on the verge of making a decision about whether to push when The Dancer announces he's all in. It's now quite clear that I'm no longer ahead and probably way behind. I immediately put The Dancer on a set. Furthermore, I know that, even if I jam, the pro has to call. After a minute or so of thought, I mucked.

Now, looking back, this was the easiest of the three laydowns (and the best). As it turned out, The Dancer had a set of nines. The pro had KT suited in hearts for the second nut flush draw and gutshot straight draw. The result: An ace fell on the turn, giving me top set (had I stayed in the hand). The river was a heart, giving the pro a flush and the pot.

In retrospect, I'm happy with how this turned out. Had the players not checked in the dark and one of them had bet, I could've driven the draw out of the pot. In that case, I still would've been behind, but justified in the suck-out I would've laid on the Dancer.

Location: The Gaelic Game
Game: $1/$2 NL (but playing with no max and more like a $2/$5 game)

I was in the middle of a bad night. The game was drunk (I was not), the waitresses were drunk and had spilled two drinks on me, and I was stuck. The max on the game had been lifted a few weeks before and the stacks on the table ranged between $400 and $2,500. I'd been card dead most of the night and the victim of a couple bad suckouts. The table was rowdy. UPS/Dan Heimiller look-alike had just dropped a $2,000 pot to Rhodes after bluffing into Rhodes' pocket aces on a scary board.

I'm under the gun plus one with pocket aces. Rhodes, still high from scooping the pot, makes it $12 to go. I pop it to $35. The big blind, a nit, called. Rhodes called. The flop came down KQx rainbow. Both players checked to me and I made it $80 to play. The nit folded and Rhodes quicky raised to $200. The check-raise was frustrating and a little scary. Four hands seemed likely: KK, QQ, KQ, or AK. The only one I could beat was AK.

Here's where I fucked this one up: I should've folded or jammed there. It's one or the other and after thinking about it for a while, I recognize that. I was into the hand for a little more than $100. Rhodes had me easily covered (I had about $800 to his $2000). Instead--and damned if typing this doesn't make me feel more like an idiot--I min-raised. At the time, the logic went like this: Represent the set, put him to a decision. Looking back, there are so many holes in that logic that I'm ashamed to even be writing this post. Of course, Rhodes started monologuing. "You're so tight. What is it? A set? What a cold deck." After three full minutes, Rhodes announced, "I'm all in."

My cards hit the muck before he finished his sentence.

I thought about this hand more than any of the other three. I made a lot of mistakes in the hand, the min-raise being the most damning of them.

At the time, Rhodes said to me, "You were beat." I didn't know whether to believe him at the time. Later, and for reasons I can't specify here, I developed intelligence that strongly suggests Rhodes held KQ and that I was drawing slim had I stayed in the hand.

Location: The Golden Moon
Game: $2/$5 NL

I'd been playing a good game for a little more than four hours. It was a holiday weekend and the game was loose. I'd put together a decent profit playing a mixture of tight-aggressive and loose-aggressive poker. I'd made only one mistake the entire afternoon and it only cost me $50. I was with relatives who were ready to leave. As they racked up, I decided I'd play...one...last...hand. By the time the cards were dealt, my brother-in-law was standing over my shoulder. I peeked at the first card. Ace of diamonds. "Okay, I thought. Unless the next card is an ace or a king, I'm getting up." Sure enough, ace of spades.

There's one limper in front of me and I make it $25 to play. The small blind (a sweating, limping, wreck of a man who had already been to the ATM to re-load and had since quadrupled his stack with some very aggressive play) called and the limper called. The flop came down 993 rainbow. I wasn't worried about the limper (a lady who never bluffed, called a lot of raises, and folded to almost any bet). The small blind, though, worried me. I watched him as the flop came down and he flinched. It was barely noticable, but it was there. Both players checked to me and I bet $60.

Before my chips hit the felt, the small blind was grabbing for his stacks. He pushed out $260 and put his chin on his chest. The limper folded and I went in the tank. The bet smelled like a bluff. The overbet was fishy. I knew I still had around $700 left to play with. A re-raise would commit me. Just calling would leave me blind. Based on what I'd seen, the guy's range here was very wide. Putting him on a hand was nearly impossible. I could only narrow it down to TT, JJ, 33, or any hand with a nine it.

Then I did something I rarely do. I tried to get the guy to talk. I asked if he had the nine. No response. No movement. I looked for a tell that G-Rob and BadBlood use all the time. It was absent. I wanted to hear the guy's voice, so I asked him how much he had left. I already knew he had around $900 sitting in front of him. He mumbled something and a local at the table announced it was around $900 (I shot the dude a dirty look, but he didn't care that he was getting in my hand).

After another minute of thought, I mucked face-up and told the guy to have a good weekend. The guy pushed his cards into the muck and dragged his pot.

In retrospect, I don't like this laydown as much as I did when I first made it. I think I was happy with my profit for the day and didn't want to lose a $1,600 pot in front of my in-laws. I think there was a 50/50 chance I was behind. Given the chance to re-play the hand, I think I should've kept playing the hand. I think if I had called, I might have been able to pick up something on the turn. Or maybe not. Maybe I should've jammed. I don't know. I've only been thinking about this hand for five days, so maybe I'll find some enlightenment after some more thought.

***

So, there are three hands that I either played well or badly. You tell me.

1994

My memories are like London. The big things leap out and my footsteps are shrouded in fog. I can't remember the names of the people I used to know well or the places we used to go. Sure, I remember the college campus and the concerts and the trip to Amsterdam, but is that memory really mine? We all saw the same thing. As a kid, when we took a school trip to Washington D.C., I took 300 pictures of Smithsonian exhibits. I don't have a single one with my fellow 6th graders. I suck at meaning.

I feel almost guilty, like I've missed the greater part of my own life. I raced through childhood and then again through college. I avoided pictures in college so people have a hard time imagining me with a ponytail to my ass. I avoided damn near everything back then except whatever diversion my hedonism led me to pursue.

Again, it's strange and sad.

But there was this one day, May 12 1994, that makes me seem almost human.

I was in a white convertable, driven by an overweight and over-friendly girl named Rachel. Oddly enough, I couldn't tell you her name except in the context of this story. My roomate was there, and another girl named Molly. I was dating Molly, sorta dating but not really, and Rachel was her best friend.

We parked in the street and walked to the house to drink beer from one of the kegs still left over from a party the week before. Meanwhile, the hot girls across the street were all drinking on the porch.

I loved the house across the street.

The girl downstairs was nuts. She'd bring her giant stereo speakers onto the front porch while she exercised in tight workout clothes. As far as I could tell, the entire workout was comprised of one Proclaimers song and a whole lot of stretching.

I hated the Proclaimers, (I would, in fact, walk almost 500 miles just to be away from that damn song) but it was nice to watch this woman stretch.

Upstairs there were 3 girls. I'd met two of them at one of my bigger parties. I don't actually remember meeting them, but they later said we met and I assume they're telling the truth. I can, after these later meetings attest to the relative hotness of both.

So it was, on this May night, that I met the third girl. She was drinking white wine on porch. She wore a purple striped hat and a raggedy t-shirt. Her jeans were torn in a way that wasn't yet fashionable, and it seemed possible that the wear came from use and not from the Gap. She was the one I noticed from my porch across the street. She was also WAY out of my league. Still, I sent Rachel and Molly home.

I recruited the roommate and two other friends. I grabbed a lukewarm beer. I strolled across the street. Back in the day, I was very bold with these things. But because I was still sober, and had a head full of my own shortcomings, I hit on a different girl. A different blonde named Ashley.

Luckily, Ashley wasn't interested at all.

I talked up a storm to the ladies on the porch. Almost everyone got a little drunk. But the pretty girl in the hat was still sipping the same Chardonnay. I was 19, and thought that seemed sophisticated somehow. I'd barely spoken to her at all.

Then the crazy downstairs girl saved my night, and eventually my life. I was really rapping hard about exactly what kind of music could be defined as "Southern Rock" when a very crazy boyfriend, a car salesman, arrived. He'd had the courtesy, and sense of urgent efficiency, to get drunk on the way over. It was clear in just minutes that he and his crazy girl needed to be alone.

So we went to the park.

There was this really neat park only a block away from our house and we took a frisbee and 3 girls for a game. Sure it was pitch black, well past 11, and yes we were too drunk for a real game, but we went because we had girls and buzz.

Girl with a purple hat taught me to throw a frisbee. As I recall, she picked me up. She knew she could, of course, because she was a beautiful girl, and beautiful girls have little trouble picking anyone up.

Later than night I remember thinking, "I can't believe I'm kissing a girl this pretty."

I assumed it was a fluke.

Wesnesday November 22, 2006

More than 12 years later we have 2 kids together. She's followed me through 5 states and a half-dozen good and bad career moves. She's far more beautiful today.

This past Wednesday was our 9th aniversarry. I'm sure she's had second thoughts about my increasingly fat ass, but I've never doubted my luck in landing her. When you've found a woman way out of your league who seems willing to say, "Yes", LOCK HER IN!

Two days before the aniversarry, we lost our baby. I'd already told everyone about the pregnancy, now I'm telling everyone about our private pain. I'm not certain if we'll try again.

But if the experience taught me anything, I'm lucky to have this woman willing to be my baby's mother.

I don't deserve her.

For the rest of our time together, I'll try to remember the little things I love.

"You'll see it when we get over this hill," my father-in-law said. Before the hill's crest, I found it hard to believe what I'd been told about a Vegas-style casino in the middle of this Deep South state. I looked to my left and there was, quite literally, a half naked man on the front porch of his single-wide trailer. He was tossing out what very well coud've been the bathwater.

Mississippi is the joke-state of the nation. It's a symbol of backward attitudes, racism, and poor education. In some cases, it's an unfair representation. There are some very good and reasonable people who live there. However, there are places in the state where every one of the blue state jokes are 100% correct. I thought about all of this as we tore through the poverty on our way to play poker at a place called the Golden Moon.

The Golden Moon, I thought, sounded more like a massage parlor than a casino. I'd been to Philadephia ten years earlier during a 18-month sentence in the Magnolia State. Back then, the only Indian casino in town was the SilverStar and there was no poker room. Philadelphia was not a destination location. Back then, if you lived in the state capital, Jackson, it was preferable to go to Vicksburg to gamble. It was 45 minutes closer and the riverboat casinos were better. Now, I was told, the Golden Moon had the best poker room within a 90-minute drive from Jackson.

That morning, the day after Thanksgiving, my wife said, "My Dad and brother were thinking about going to play poker today. Do you want to go?" Inside, I laughed. She knew the answer to the question before she even thought it. I answered as clearly as I knew how: "I will never answer no to that question." Half an hour later, I was riding through the center of the state and wondering what could possibly be at the end of the ride.

We crested the hill and I started looking for the casino. It was still daylight, so looking for lights was no good. I tried to imagine what is was like in the early days of Las Vegas and trying to find the gambling outpost from a distance during the daytime. I scanned the horizon and saw nothing. I squinted just as the road started to smooth out and widen.

"The Choctaw paid for all of this," my father-in-law said, gesturing to the brand new section of highway. I looked up from the road and saw the strangest building I've seen in a very long time.

The Golden Moon casino sat across the highway from the old SilverStar Casino I remembered from the late 1990s. The SilverStar was still a dated, white, sprawling building that looked like what it was--a hastily put-up structure that required little thought in the race to build casinos in the mid-nineties. The Golden Moon--despite being connected by a catwalk to the SilverStar--was something entirely different. The main section of building looked like the remainder of the cloth after you cut out a Nike swoosh. The shimmering gold building climbed up in a dangerous parabola and licked at the Mississippi sky.

The reverse-arc was not what impressed me, though. It was the giant sphere that some casino god balanced precipitously on the top of the building. What looked to be some joke of engineering was apparently an actual functioning restaurant and nightclub. I would never see it, though, as I was there to play poker.

When the poker boom boomed, it appears the Golden Moon (part of the Choctaw Nation's Philadelphia, Neshoba County, Mississippi Pearl River Resort) did what most casinos failed to do. It actually put some thought into where it would locate its room. What was once the Sports Ticker Sports Bar is now the Sports Ticker Poker Room. (Full disclosure: I have no idea if the above is actually true. I'm just making an asusmption based on the fact that naming a poker room The Sports Ticker is pretty silly unless it was already a sports bar). The result is actually a pretty interesting room. One wall is filled with giant television screens and a room-length bar. The back corner of the room was host to a snack bar (that, oddly, didn't open until 4pm). The rest of the room was full of smaller TVs and poker tables.

The Golden Moon Sports Ticker poker room has 13 tables and spreads an impressive variety of games. On the day I was there, the room was spreading $3/$6 and $6/$12 limit hold'em, $2/$5 no-limit hold'em (with an interest list for $5/$10 no-limit), $2-$6 seven-card stud, and $10/$20/$30 Omaha.

The Golden Moon staff generally had its stuff together. Their wait lists were digital and the brush was efficient. Players who didn't want to sweat the tables could wander the casino while waiting for their table and listen for their open seat over their PA system announcements. Three floor people worked the room during a period when eleven tables were running. The wait staff was generally pleasant (if a little thick in the midddle).

The bad beat jackpots were huge. Quads beat opened the door to a $88,000 jackpot. The stud and Omaha games also had sizable jackpots. None of them were hit while I was there, despite a level of play that made it clear people were playing for the big one.

If you're the type of person who doesn't like playing against locals, the Golden Moon is not for you. While I was there, the dealers knew the first names of half the people playing in the $2/$5 NL game. That said, the play was not so localized that ABC poker doesn't earn you a profit. As I was with other folks, I only played for about five hours. I walked away with a profit after playing a fairly standard tight-aggressive game. Had I not laid down pocket aces on the flop on my last hand of the afternoon, I might have walked away with a huge payday (or, more likely, broke). Nonetheless, I'd happily play at the Golden Moon again.

I've now been to casinos in four different regions of Mississippi. The coast is still rebuilding from Hurricane Katrina. Vicksburg never really got going. Tunica is the place to be (in terms of southern poker, anyway). With all that in mind, the Golden Moon is still the best poker room in Mississippi right now. If it weren't in the middle of nowhere, it could teach Tunica a thing or two.

**********

I've been a little distracted recently, for a lot of reasons.

Some of you may have noticed my other blog has been "Under Construction." I'd like to elaborate, but perhaps that's the reason it's on hiatus in the first place. Unfortunately, I have an honest-to-goodness job and sometimes it gets in the way of life.

That's the bad. But I'm The Luckbox, remember. There's always got to be good. And this is real good.

**********

It's the first time I remembered "The Big Game." Usually, I'd log on and it'd be half over. Tonight, I ponied up the $75 to play (that's right, no little token for me!). 16 other players joined. And they all finished higher than me.

Deep stack events would generally invite slower play. That certainly wasn't the case at our table. I dumped nearly half my stack on hands I really didn't need to play. When my pocket 9s found an 8-high flop, I raised Derek all in. He gladly called with his set of deuces. I didn't even have the heart to ask the dealer for one of my two outs.

I am Gigli.

**********

Something pretty good happened a few weeks ago. I really need to give credit to a little encouragement from BG. Next time we're in the same place, I owe you a drink.

**********

Four fantasy football teams and four teams in line for the playoffs. One of them is suddenly in pretty big trouble. And the other may need a miracle.

More than that, my beloved Eagles are done.

Donovan McNabb tore is ACL today. His recovery time is somewhere between 8 to 12 months. That leaves one fantasy team to Michael Vick, another to Charlie Frye and my Eagles to either Jeff Garcia or A.J. Feely.

**********

"Maybe you should pick a new favorite team," she told me, completely oblivious to the years of toil and torment I've endured since becoming an Eagles fan.

"I can't," I said, laughing, although down 17-6 to the Titans with McNabb sidelined, I really wanted to cry.

"Why not? They're not very good."

We called today our 9th date. Unfortunately, we only get to see each other on weekends, so the last four weekends we've decided are two "dates" a piece. The last few Sundays, I've tried to teach her a little about football. Being from the Houston area, she decided she should be rooting for the Texans. I tried to explain her to the folly of that decision, but I'm an Eagles fan, remember?

**********

Last week, G-Rob let us all in on a little secret. His third child is on the way. I'm kinda rooting for a boy. I'd like to see how he handles a little G-Rob running around.

A few days later, Otis dropped the kind of post that makes me want to stop writing.

Both of them talked about friends and friendship. The friends I made in G-Vegas are the best I've ever had. It never hurts to remind myself of that. And the friends I've made in our humble little "community" have helped change my life in some of the best ways.

**********

My life at the poker table is running pretty damn cold right now. My Eagles have taken a turn for the worse dragging my fantasy football future with them. And my job... well...

But life is great right now. As good as I can remember it being in a long time. Thanks for asking.

That was not entirely true. In fact, most of what's happened in the past eleven months--good and bad--is technicolor, dolby surround in my head and I can't get it out.

What I meant was this: The past two years of my life have been so odd, so beautiful, so inspiring, and so completely different from the rest of my life that it seems like it maybe even never happened. Like it was a drunk man's dream of barley fields and boobies. Like I made it all up in a workday daydream while waiting for a jury to come back.

The poker blogs, this one and the other ones that blazed a trail of debauchery and silliness, have been around for several years now. A lot of writing and online conversation took place before the writers and their running buddies finally made it all official. It happened nearly two years ago somewhere within a dog's scent of the Excalibur poker room and the Sherwood Forest Bar. For me, it sincerely began when BadBlood and I walked into the poker room and had the accented floor man page "Dr. Pauly." It continued a couple hours later when I first shared a Southern Comfort shot with Al. It fixed itself in concrete a couple of hours later when Iggy introduced himself to me (after, true to form, running a ruse on my cloudy brain).

That was all in December of 2004, about the time my life peeked at the real change that was about to happen. Since then--that heady time when what we were all doing was just a chance to be silly for a weekend--so much has changed that it would take more effort than I am willing to exert to list it all.

There's no doubt that change is snuggling up and trying to spoon our expanded group of misfits. Iggy has, again true to form, been mischievous and frustrating in the extended remix version of whatever change he's experiencing over at G&P. Pauly has become hacker-worthy. I've been...well, I've been loving and living an odd life. Plus, there's a lot more that never has and never will make the pages of this blog or any other. There's stuff that has happened and that is still happening that is of such a personal nature to the players that it doesn't belong on the blog pages.

But, that's sort of my point. In fact, that is my point exactly.

Two short years ago, those people I met in the once great and now worthless Excal poker room were just people. They were people I figured I might someday see again. I had no idea at the time that over the next two years, I would become so close to many of the people. I had no idea that I would invite them into my home, that I would be there for them when they needed it, and they would be there for me when I needed it. That is, I didn't know I would find virtual brothers and sisters that to this moment I consider such an important part of my life. I had no idea I would hold secrets so personal that I wouldn't have ever imagined I would be trusted to hear.

Eulogies, both funny and serious, now dot the blogscape. I've read them with both a sense of sadness and bemusement. I've had many a discussion among what some folks have called the Bloggerati about how nothing we've done in the past few years is real. That is, we've talked about how we've created a virtual world for ourselves that is the poker equivalent to the fake universes populated by people who like to pretend to be elves and, verily, dwarves. I remember a couple of discussions, both deep into the bottle, in which my comtemporaries said ruefully, "None of this is real."

At the time, I nodded because I knew it was true. But I didn't say anything because I wasn't really ready to voice what I already knew. I knew that the blogs themselves weren't clear pictures of the people behind them. I knew that some were money-making ventures and wouldn't exist but for the profit that could be made (and I don't write that without full recognition of the profit I've made from this experiment and the ads that span the right side of this blog). I knew that some blogs existed because people liked to tell stories, both true and semi-true, about their lives. I knew that most blogs existed because people really wanted to be a part of something. As it happens, I am the definition of all of the above and more.

But what I didn't say at the time, and what I think should be said now is this: There is something real about all of this. It's not what you read on the ethereal pages of your web browser. It's not the few bucks we make when we pound out a post. It's not even the fact that many of us have risen and fallen and risen again in the game that brought us all together.

What's real is the people behind the blogs. What's real is the friendship I share with those people. It's the admiration for talent. It's pulling someone out of a hole. It's talking someone down from life-tilt. It's sharing secrets that you know will never show up in a blog post.

Yeah, this universe isn't real. The past two years of this life have been, on one hand, a drunkard's dream in which we created and buried gods of blogging. The past two years have been a process of trading real and virtual dollars over real and virtual felt. On its face, it's an experiment that twenty years from now will be like a childhood summer when the sky was always blue, the thermometer always read 82 degrees, and your bike chain never fell off.

But on a level that actually means something, the past two years have just been a beginning. Iggy may be pulling the plug. Pauly may hint at his ever-growing disgust with poker writing. Al may never throw another Bash. I may never host another Bradoween. And who knows, the people who have put countless and thankless hours into hosting blogger conventions may finally get tired of all the bullshit that goes along with herding cats. The zenith of this time may be already a thing of the past.

However things turn out, though, there will be more than just memories. Friendship may have its genesis in a long collection of intertubes, but it's not bound together by the Internet. There is something greater here and I'm thankful for knowing it will continue.

That is all a very long way of saying thanks to everyone who has earned it.

Yeah, thanks for this drunkard's dream and whatever happens when we all wake up.

POKERWISE

This summer I had a heater. I ran so hot my good friend BadBlood, one of the most consistent poker winners around, was worried I'd leave him behind. Worried, he said, that my skill and bankroll had progressed to a point at which he'd no longer be able to join me at the table.

That, of course, was a very silly concern.

Still, I won more money in the 4 months that led up to our August vacation in Vegas than I ever dreamed of winning. I took the family to Disney with poker cash. I padded the household roll and remodeled this and that. Life, as they say, was easy.

My poker game, as a result, fell into shit.

Success made me sloppy.

OTIS FALLS

In many ways, it's the problems our friends suffer that bring us close. That, and the knowledge that they care about problems of our own.

Last Thursday I went out drinking with friends. We met at a local bar, upstairs (which becomes a material fact in just a bit), for a few drinks at 6:30.

BadBlood and theMark were already seated at the bar when I showed up. Otis, confused about his own directions, was seated by himself downstairs with an entire bucket of Bud Light. Uncle Ted and T both came. So did some workplace friends of Uncle Ted.

We drank booze.

Lots.

By 9:00 Otis stood from his tall barstool and stumbled to the men's room.
At 9:05 he climbed back upon his stool, slid all the way across, and hit the floor.

Hard.

It marks the first time some of our party had seen the now legendary, "OTIS FALL."

At 9:00, slightly embarrassed by the spectacle we'd become, and amazed by a several bill... bill, we stood to hit another bar across town.

Otis led the way. Ass first. Down an entire flight of stairs and into the restaurant below. It was equal parts embarrasing and hilarious. Actually, in hindsight (pun intended), it was mostly hilarious.

POKERWISE

My struggles at cards, on the other hand, have not been so funny. I suck right now. I'm misreading opponents... badly. I'm making bad calls. I'm so aware of my own poor play that I'm not trusting my good reads and so conscious of my diminishing roll that I'm playing scared. The antithesis of G-Rob play.

I need a correction.

In truth, my game has always relied on making good reads. My friends will tell you that when I'm playing well I can read an opponent as well as anyone. I put pressure on players with weak hands and have little trouble folding when the villian is strong. But I haven't been doing it lately.

I have a problem.

The solution is unpleasant. I'm stepping down in limits. To work on focus. I'll put less money at stake while I work out the hitch. The biggest issue, as in most of my life, is focus.

Good reads require laser focus. I have to ignore what my opponents say and the conversation in the room. I have to toss out the problems I brought with me to the table and care only about the problems at hand. Each hand. Not the one before. Actually, it does sometimes pay to worry about problems yet to come, to plan for future hands. But that points to another problem of mine. I need to be more patient.

All of this, of course, stems from having SO much success that I stopped understanding that I HAD to pay attention to win. When winning isn't a problem, an even bigger problem looms.

I'm sure my poker playing companions will understand.

8 BALL CORNER POCKET

So, Thursday, we head to the next bar. We get there slowly because Otis can barely walk and theMark is in some sort of drunken Patton mode barking at random passerbys like they're all buck privates.

Funny, but odd.

When we get to next bar, we find a huge booth for our party. I lost at arm wrestling again, but dammit, I nearly won. At least, I hope, Blood left with a sore left arm.

The fun part, besides a drunk and funny Uncle Ted, was the usually drunk and sometimes funny Otis. The man has problems dontcha know.

It did seem, for some time, that the man had his shit together. I'm fairly sure he still does. But Thursday we got into the old Otis self-loathing and interospection that usually accompanies a few falls. It made me feel good to be there, to listen, to a friend.

It's his problems that make me the friend I am.

Same is true of Luckbox. He has problems too, but he's more qualified to discuss them. Still, it makes me happy that he knows he can turn to me for help... or a virtual ear.

Problems are both good and bad.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO THIS

My wife is pregnant.

Again.

My oldest will be 8 when this child is born. I'll be in my 50s when this kid finishes high school. My long term financial plans are scrapped.

I'm in a world of disbelief. So is my wife.

Still, the children I have, problems and all, are the best thing in my life.

I can't imagine this will be different.

It's a problem.

But a good one to have.

ANOTHER HOTEL

Sometimes our best laid plans come crashing down. It doesn't hurt to lose a lark, but it sucks when a moron makes the right call, by accident, of course.

Last Wednesday I was in a funky mood for poker, I'd just driven my car into oncoming traffic after getting some life changing news. At one point Otis took me outside to say, "You should just go home man, the tilt is just radiating from your body."

For those of you who don't already know, I'll post the tilting news in due course.

But back to the game...

I'm there with three good players, Otis, Blood, and theMark. There rest are totally beatable. Just not by me.

I played one hand against a guy who owns a pizza joint and goaded him into taking a $600 pot. I had AQc on the button. He raised from early position from $2 to $12. Four pepole called. I figured the early position 6x raise stinks of middle pocket pair and decide I want to race him with position, meaning win the hand with my cards or any scare card that DOES come. I make it $40 to go. He smooth calls.

The flop is Q, 8, 3 rainbow and he bets out about 3/4 pot.

I push.

Now he's deep in the tank. For like 10 minutes. It's clear my initial read was correct and he's dominated with his pocket pair.

So I take the cards in front of me, start singing like the human beat box (of "The Fat Boys" fame..)

I'm the human beat box
So let it be known
That I'm the kind of Rock
On the microphone

Then I switch to the Eddie Murphy rap from the "Golden Child."

Dub-Dub-Dub-Double me uuuuup!

Pizza Man makes the call. He has pocket 9s. I grab my iPod and start to walk out of the room. "Nice Call," I said.

The turn is a jack. I'm already out of the room.

The river is a 10.

I wasn't there to see him rake the pot.

No Moore

A week before the elections, I followed the Democratic candidate to the campus of USC Upstate. The State Senator is an imposing man, nearly my height with a full head of white hair. He's way behind in the polls and getting outspent by a 10-to-1 margin, but it's clear he feels comfortable right now. Some candidates are best at a lectern, some on TV, and this guy is best while surrounded by a crowd of strangers.

Lucky him. In this race, with this candidate, everyone is a stranger. He was making his only campaign stop this Wednesday, the last televised debate was later that night in Columbia. He came to the college because public school funding was the cornerstone of his entire campaign, and these were "his" people.

I got an idea for a neat story.

The room our cadidate used was at the to top of the student center. It's as big as your living room and all the kids, eligible voters by the way, had to walk right through to get into the building as they came up the stairs. The Democrat had his signs posted all around the room. Three TV cameras followed him as he shook hands and kissed babes...and babies.

We took our camera to the top of the stairs and talked to the students themselves. I asked 2 set up questions:

Are you from South Carolina?
Are you registered to vote?

Surprisingly, all of the first 30 people could answer "yes" to those questions.

Now, here's question number 3:

Who's running for governor?

Mind you, one of the candidates is flanked by 100 signs with his name on them, and he's standing 4 feet away. The election, at this point, is 6 days away.

Out of 30 students... eligible voters:

Two could name both candidates.
Four more could name the incumbant Governor.
Twenty-four could not name either one.

THE BULLY

We're back at the Spring Hotel and I've flopped an OESD. I called a preflop raise with 57 offsuit and hit. I'd never played with the preflop raiser before, but he was tight and passive. He followed through post flop with a half-pot bet. I raised his bet plus the pot. He called off his entire stack with ace high.

It held up.

Later I said I was surprised he could make such a call. It was ballsy, but perhaps he reads me awfully well, perhaps my 14 outs (twice) weren't too scary.

His reply?

"I heard you like to bully people, so I decided when I sat down that I'd never fold to you."

Sweet merciful Cheeto. That's a stupid thing to say. It would be even stupider if he backed it up. Sadly, Otis busted the douchebag before I ever got the chance.

US VS. THEM AND THE DESTRUCTIVE (AWESOME) POWER THEY HAVE

In the newsroom I used to have this joke about the morons who call the station.

"Thank God for the idiots, what would we cover without them!"

It's true, as you know, that we dumb things down on air. I did a story one morning about, "HOW TO PUT A RETURN ADDRESS ON A PACKAGE." How stupid is that?

We kick it off each night with a few shootings and stabbings, maybe a meth bust, and a car crash. If there's a lot of rain we'll put a weathergirl outside to tell you it's raining... and watch out for areas that are really, really, really, full of water.

Like lakes.

A good friend of mine, who passed away this year, used to follow every editorial meeting with this summary, "It's hot, it's cold, college is expensive, and don't eat fatty foods."

I could never say it better.

Of course the real truth is we pander to the lowest common denomonator for two big reasons:

1. It's common and, therefore, most likely to cast the biggest net.
2. It's very easy to do. Actual reporting is really hard work.

Stupid people are cruel and dangerous and, natch, they have no idea why.

I stepped outside the Democratic "victory" party for some "fresh air" and there was an older couple standing in the door. The woman turned to another guy just walking in and said, "Have you heard anything new? Are we still hanging in there?"

I looked up to the woman and told her the news, "It's over. The AP already called the race. My station's probably aired it already too."

She blew up. Oddly enough, she blew up at me.

"Why??!"

"Whyyyyy??!"

I think she was channeling Nancy Kerrigan.

"Why," she kept screaming, "would anyone be so stupid?"

And now we get to the friggin' point.

STUPID IS AS STUPID DOES

Honestly folks, who puts a calling station all-in, when you only have a freakin' draw? That ain't smart. Sure, he was stupid for calling, but I KNEW he was stupid and, for some reason, I decided to play HIS way.

The whole spectrum of idiotic chat on POKER STARS, is fueled by the stupidity of the target AND the typist as well.

Likewise, an ambitious reporter does something intelligent and forces everyone to catch up, or watch something else. My thinking is most people are smarter than we give them credit for, but we keep treating them like morons and they're willing to play along.

My boss hates real reporting. He'll probably fire me for trying to do it. C'est la vie.

MOM, PLEASE DO NOT CALL ME TO ASK IF I'M ABOUT TO LOSE MY JOB. SHEEESH! ALL IS WELL.

The Democratic screamers and criers were furious at the stupidity of South Carolina voters. To them it's not important that their opponent had a 15 to 1 financial advantage after the June primary. Nor is it important that they were running a total unknown, who had neve run statewide against a popular incumbant.

Hell, I'm the political reporter responsible for covering their guy, and I met him FOR THE FIRST TIME 5 weeks before the election. He was underfunded and anonymous. I thought he AND his opponent were genuinely decent men, something I can very rarely say. But this guy never had a chance.

It makes the Democrats in our state feel better if they call the people stupid.

Perhaps the people are. But they're powerful enough to make a fool outta you.

The players:

Luckbox--Luckbox
BG--Tortured Genius
Penny--Shiny Amercican currency equivalent to one cent -- also, G-Rob's friend
Li'l Otis--Two years old

The Methods

While Luckbox and BG use years of NFL sportsbetting knowledge, G-Rob flipped his friend, and Otis gave his two-year-old the team names for each game. Whatever team name his son spit back out was the pick (witnessed by Mrs. Otis).

The payoff

The next time the four players are in the same city, the loser has to buy the winner (or the winner's proxy) a shot of his choice and a companion shot for the loser to drink as well. The winner also gets to poke the loser in the belly and make the Pillsbury Doughboy noise.

THE PICKS

KANSAS CITY +2.5 AT ST.LOUIS

Penny: Rams
Luckbox: Kansas City, to win outright.
BG: Rams
L'il Otis: Chiefs
Winner: Kansas City Chiefs

CINCINNATI +3 AT BALTIMORE

Penny: Bengals
Luckbox: Cincinnati, although the Bengals blow.
BG: Bengals
L’il Otis: Ravens
Winner: Baltimore Ravens

HOUSTON +13 AT N.Y. GIANTS

Penny: Houston
Luckbox: New York, not even I'm dumb enough to pick the Texans.
BG: Houston
L’il Otis: Giants
Winner: Houston Texans

TITANS + 9.5 AT JACKSONVILLE

Penny: Jaguars
Luckbox: Titans beat the spread.
BG: Titans
L’il Otis: Jaguars
Winner: Jacksonville Jaguars

COWBOYS -3 AT REDSKINS

Penny: Redskins
Luckbox: Cowboys
BG: Cowboys
L’il Otis: Redskins
Winner: Washington Redskins

PACKERS +3 AT BILLS

Penny: Packers
Luckbox: Bills
BG: Green Bay
L’il Otis: Packers
Winner: Buffalo Bills

SAINTS -1 at BUCS

Penny: Saints
Luckbox: Saints
BG: Saints
L’il Otis: Bucaneers
Winner: New Orleans Saints

FALCONS -5.5 AT LIONS

Penny: Falcons
Luckbox: Falcons
BG: Falcons
L’il Otis: Lions
Winner: Detroit Lions

DOLPHINS +13.5 AT BEARS

Penny: Dolphins
Luckbox: Bears, by 30 (my lock of the week).
BG: Dolphins
L’il Otis: Bears
Winner: Miami Dolphins

VIKINGS -5.5 AT 49ERS

Penny: San Francisco
Luckbox: Vikings
BG: Vikings
L’il Otis: Vikings
Winner: San Francisco 49ers

BROWNS +12.5 AT CHARGERS

Penny: Chargers
Luckbox: San Diego
BG: Browns
L’il Otis: Browns
Winnner: Cleveland Browns

DENVER +3 AT PITTSBURGH

Penny: Steelers
Luckbox: Denver
BG: Denver
L’il Otis: Steelers
Winner: Denver Broncos

COLTS +3 AT NEW ENGLAND

Penny: Colts
Luckbox: Colts
BG: Colts
L’il Otis: Bears. Steelers. Colts.
Winner: Indianapolis Colts

RAIDERS +7.5 at SEAHAWKS

Penny: Raiders
Luckbox: Seahawks
BG: Raiders
L’il Otis: Seahawks
Winner: Seahawks

RECORDS
Penny: 7-7
Luckbox: 6-8
BG: 6-8
L'il Otis: 8-6

The Boy Genius Ticket (so named because it's the smartest):

Race 5 (Filly and Mare Turf): #2 Ouija Board, #5 Honey Ryder, #7 Wait a While
Race 6 (Sprint): #6 Bordonaro, #11 Siren Lure
Race 7 (Turf Mile): #12 Gorella
Race 8 (Distaff): #2 Pine Island, #6 Spun Sugar, #7 Fleet Indian
Race 9 (Turf Classic): #7 Hurricane Run
Race 10 (Dirt Classic): #3 Bernardini, #11 Invasor

The Otis Ticket (so named because it's the most expensive, and Otis can afford it):

Race 5 (Filly and Mare Turf): #2 Ouija Board, #5 Honey Ryder, #7 Wait a While
Race 6 (Sprint): #4 Henny Hughes, #6 Bordonaro, #8 Pomeroy, #9 Too Much Bling, #11 Siren Lure
Race 7 (Turf Mile): #12 Gorella
Race 8 (Distaff): #2 Pine Island, #6 Spun Sugar, #7 Fleet Indian
Race 9 (Turf Classic): #4 Scorpion, #6 Cacique, #7 Hurricane Run
Race 10 (Dirt Classic): #3 Bernardini, #11 Invasor

The G-Rob Ticket (so named because we don't really like it):

Race 5 (Filly and Mare Turf): #2 Ouija Board, #5 Honey Ryder, #7 Wait a While
Race 6 (Sprint): #6 Bordonaro, #11 Siren Lure
Race 7 (Turf Mile): #3 Araafa, #12 Gorella, #14 Aussie Rules
Race 8 (Distaff): #2 Pine Island, #6 Spun Sugar, #7 Fleet Indian
Race 9 (Turf Classic): #7 Hurricane Run
Race 10 (Dirt Classic): #3 Bernardini, #11 Invasor

The AlCantHang Ticket (so named because I think we were drunk when we made it):

Race 5 (Filly and Mare Turf): #2 Ouija Board, #5 Honey Ryder, #7 Wait a While
Race 6 (Sprint): #6 Bordonaro, #11 Siren Lure
Race 7 (Turf Mile): #12 Gorella
Race 8 (Distaff): #2 Pine Island, #6 Spun Sugar, #7 Fleet Indian
Race 9 (Turf Classic): #7 Hurricane Run
Race 10 (Dirt Classic): #3 Bernardini, #7 David Junior, #11 Invasor, #13 Sun King

The Luckbox Ticket (so named because it's the longshot):

Race 5 (Filly and Mare Turf): #1 Dancing Edie, #2 Ouija Board, #4 Film Maker, #5 Honey Ryder, #7 Wait a While
Race 6 (Sprint): #6 Bordonaro, #11 Siren Lure
Race 7 (Turf Mile): #12 Gorella
Race 8 (Distaff): #2 Pine Island, #6 Spun Sugar, #7 Fleet Indian, #12 Asi Siempre, #13 Happy Ticket
Race 9 (Turf Classic): #7 Hurricane Run
Race 10 (Dirt Classic): #3 Bernardini, #9 Giacomo, #11 Invasor

That's 5 different tickets, but if the first one hits, that means we win 5 different ways. Of course, if the first one hits, it won't pay nearly as much as some of our other tickets should some longer shots come in.

For some perspective, no one won the Ultra Pick 6 last year or the year before. The year before that, one lucky person held a winning ticket worth $2.68 million. We're not likely to see that kind of payday today, but if we hit, we could be looking at as much as six figures.

BG will likely be live-blogging this over at his blog today, so check in there for live updates. We're probably about an hour away from the start of Race 5 which is scheduled to go off at 1:55pm ET. All of the races should be on ESPN if you want to watch. Wish us luck!

G-Rob: Hello, and good luck this week. Lots of good games. I hope to use skill and insight in picking them all just right.

Coin: Ping.

G-Rob: Well said. Now let's agree on methods. I'll look up the gambling lines on NFL games (as of Saturday morning) then flip you, dear coin, to determine the winner. Heads is the home team... Tails the visitor.

Coin: Ting

G-Rob: Word

G-Rob: Our first game...

KANSAS CITY +2.5 AT ST.LOUIS

Coin: Heads

G-Rob: Good read Mr. Coin. I agree. I like the Rams because they used to have Kurt Warner, and now they don't. Plus, St. Louis is the most dangerous city in America. The Chiefs will be scared.

Luckbox's pick: Kansas City, to win outright.

CINCINNATI +3 AT BALTIMORE

Coin: Tails

G-Rob: WOW! You and I are really on the same page. I like the Bengals because they have that cool "Fear the Tiger" song. Plus, nobody QUOTHS the Raven anymore. Nevermore!

G-Rob: Next up...

Luckbox's pick: Cincinnati, although the Bengals blow.

HOUSTON +13 AT N.Y. GIANTS

Coin: Heads

G-Rob: Damn you're good. By the way, did you know there's a college football coach named Houston Nutt? Nutt? HAW HAW! I'm glad that didn't influence your decision coin. I'd have been distracted.

Luckbox's pick: New York, not even I'm dumb enough to pick the Texans.

TITANS + 9.5 AT JACKSONVILLE

Coin: Heads

G-Rob: Starting to doubt the whole randomness thing Mr. Coin. You're really trying to impress me, aren't you? Don't worry... there's no WAY we could do worse than Luckbox.

Luckbox's pick: Titans beat the spread.

COWBOYS -3 AT REDSKINS

Coin: Heads

G-Rob: I'm checking you... hey... I'm not getting fresh... I want to see your... ouch... OK. You do have tails. I'm just sayin'.

Luckbox's pick: Crygirls, although I hate picking them.

PACKERS +3 AT BILLS

Coin: Tails

G-Rob: Nice. I agree because I'm sick of Bills. Plus, Otis is kind of a Packer.

Luckbox's pick: Buffalo, Favre is on his last leg.

SAINTS -1 at BUCS

Coin: Tails

G-Rob: I'm gonna go with you again coin, but I have my doubts. Athiests have a had time rooting for Saints. At least Pirates exist.

Luckbox's pick: New Orleans... they've got some magic.

FALCONS -5.5 AT LIONS

Coin: Tails

G-Rob: I like this pick because I've interviewed Vick. He was looking for an ear ring on the practice field and I asked him about the grass. I was doing a profile of the guy who cuts it. Plus, my sister in law had a drink with him at a hotel bar. Besides, Ron Mexico is an awesome nickname.

Luckbox's pick: Atlanta, the Lions just aren't very good.

DOLPHINS +13.5 AT BEARS

Coin: Tails

G-Rob: Hmmm, even Luckbox and BG might not make such a silly pick. But, since we're trying to show how useless that analysis is... good pick Mr. Coin.

Luckbox's pick: Bears, by 30 (my lock of the week).

VIKINGS -5.5 AT 49ERS

Coin: Heads

G-Rob: Well said. I think Joe Montana is awesome. You'll have to excuse him, he's upstairs masturbating. (Bonus Points to readers who get that joke.)

Luckbox's pick: Minnesota covers.

BROWNS +12.5 AT CHARGERS

Coin: Heads

G-Rob: This makes me happy because I once won a bunch of money in the Mandalay Bay Sportsbook while singing the Charger fight song with AlCan'tHang. Good Times.

Luckbox's pick: San Diego covers with or without Merriman.

DENVER +3 AT PITTSBURGH

Coin: Heads

G-Rob: I hope you're wrong. I hate Pittsburgh.

Luckbox's pick: Denver wins outright.

COLTS +3 AT NEW ENGLAND

Coin: Tails

G-Rob: I also hate New England. Never met anyone from Boston that wasn't either and asshole or a nerd. Nerds mostly.

Luckbox's pick: Colts win outright.

RAIDERS +7.5 at SEAHAWKS

Coin: Tails

G-Rob: Good Pick again. And remember, dear coin, you're just as likely to succeed as BG and Luckbox. In fact, I'll bet you do better.

Luckbox's pick: Seahawks in a romp.