Tuesday, August 16, 2005
My autobiography will start out "Call Me Doyle Brunson"
Just because I haven't shaved in 9 days, it don't mean that I don't know enough to play the Deuce Six suited. Every time baby. Every time.
I am in the small Blind with no callers back to me, so I limp in making a point to announce my weak status. Prick to the left of me raises. Just try and steal my blind. Now I am gonna let you get 6 bucks instead of three by calling you. (He could have at least let me seen the flop and then raised I would have folded almost anything due to his kindness.)
Now the Flop:
Five. Four. Jack. Now your in trouble bitch, cuz I got me a drawing hand.
"I check." I say.
"I bet you do." The plumpy prick retorts. "Raiser her up!"
To the Turn:
Something insignificant like a 9. He raises and I call like an idiot with 3 WSOP braclets.
Old Man River--( if only I could do sound effects.)
I need a three. And lo Jesus spoketh and the lord provideth a three.
I check. He raises. I re-raise. And then without bothering to check the board..he stammers out..
He seems rather pleased with himself. That is until I flip over the 2,6. Then he is beside himself. He goes off on me like Courtney Love... Three days into Rehab.
"Just keep playing that 2..6 all day man." d
"Uh...I think I used up all my 2..Sixes for this year, but thanks." He says a few other things and I mention he might have seen it coming with my check raise, since the guy to his right shouted at my raise (as he called) "you got the straight?"