"Shall we dine?"
"Sure, can we eat first?"
-Love and Death
After a hellaciously busy June (including a business trip to NYC where I met my first honest to goodness poker blogger, the inimitable Hoyazo, who is as Hoyish in person as he is in his blog and-I-mean-that-in-the-GOOD-sense), I think it's time to start writing again.
And ten or twelve people just shrugged and said, 'OK, whatever'.
Back from the vacation, where I managed to righteously whack out my back in the Cedar Point wave pool. Good for me. I now hobble around like a ninety year old, and if it weren't for the double stroller we brought in case our three year olds got tired, worn out, or just plumb tuckered, I wouldn't have even had a walker. Seriously, I look like some malicious kid broke me in two and then glued me back together improperly.
Degrading body foreshadowing incipent middle age tilt is mine.
In poker news, I am card dead and playing like a donkey simultaneously. But! Oh but! The Big Game is coming the Big Game is coming the Big Game the Big Game is coming!
I loves me some Big Game, people. Big prize pool, decent stakes, and most especially, deep stacks. Yes, the deep stacks that let you make a move without crippling yourself. The deep stacks that give you room to maneuver. And . . . hey, Don! What about this? PokerStars does a quarterly $1000 on the Sunday Millions, what about a Biannual Big BIG Game with $150 entry fee and Super Stacks? Does FT's private tourny builder allow it? Count me in if you do it. I will be there fo sho.
If you'll recall (not necessary, actually, I'm about to tell you), I nearly took the Big Game apart when I flopped a set while we were four handed and I was one of the two big stacks. The other big stack was fluxer. Now, fluxer is a man of many abilities. He can arm-rassle any genetic mutant intermingling that Dr. Mureau can concoct (including the beaverpanzee, the chicken-coon, and the voracious ratapus). He can start and continue wildly amusing blogger feuds. He can make cider out of his own pee. He can put his hands in the air. He can wave them in such a way that it would make bystanders believe that he simply does not care. He can recite entire episodes of The A Team by memory. But he can't lay down an up and down straight draw for all his chips. And he got lucky to send me to the rail, where I railed to the poker gods my poor fortune.
So here comes, boys and girls. The end of the BBT. My chance to seal the deal and land in the top 50 and the freeroll. My chance to take down the tournament.
And if you haven't all been thanking Al and Hoy and Mookie and Don for making this awesome, awesome series happen . . . go do so now. Go! Do it! I'll wait to finish my post. Then congratulate Pauly for cashing in the WSOP! Then sign up with Blinders new site! Then go to Chad's site and . . . never mind, he doesn't have time for you, he's final tabling four MTTs right now even as we speak. But go thank the BBT organizers! Go! Go now!
OK, you did it? You're back?
Suckers. I'm done with my post anyway.