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Posts tagged slow roll
Win big tonight, Honey!
Jan 11th
Those words are the kiss of death to me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard them and actually won.
The part that sucks the most is my wife is so earnest when she says them. She’s actually rooting for me. She wants me to win. Yet, that’s all it takes for me to know I’m fucked before I even start. I should just take my money and go to a strip club.
“Uh, Honey, you know those those nice, encouraging words you gave me before I went out? Well, they fucked up my head. As soon as I heard them, I knew I would lose at poker so I went to Crazy Girls and spent $300 to have this Latina spinner dry hump my leg.”
That’s at least logical. It doesn’t say much for me as a husband, but it makes sense. However, I don’t do that. I go and play. When I walk in the the casino, the valet might as well yell “Dead man walkin’.” Now it’s just a matter of putting in the time and money to make this self-fulfilling prophecy come true.
I tell myself I’m not even superstitious. But obviously I am. Okay, I admit, I don’t like playing poker on Friday the 13th either. What’s that about? I’m a serious poker player. I don’t believe in luck. I roll my eyes when I even hear someone complain about it. But if I hear the three words “Win big tonight!” I mentally throw in the towel. Same thing when I see that dealer who killed me when I had quads.
Okay, so I’m superstitious. I can accept that. The thing that makes me crazy is that I don’t adjust my game. If I have someone really loose on my right I adjust. Someone really tight on my left, I change my attack. So from now on I’m going to adjust my game when I hear those words “Win big Honey!”. I’m not playing.
I’m probably not going to the strip club either, but I always wondered what a $300 ice cream sundae looks like.
I guess sometimes I play poker to know sometimes I shouldn’t.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
Fucking Stanley
Jan 11th
“C’mon Stanley, show your hand! You bet, I called, you show.” There’s a big sigh. A shrug. Another sigh. A very long pause. “C’mon is my straight good?” I ask impatiently. Stanley gives yet another sigh and turns over the nuts.
He’s slow rolling again.
“Oh, that’s slowrolling?” He asks coyly. “I’m sorry, Dude.” Yeah, right. He knows he has my number. He’s just one of those guys that’s gets under my skin.
Why do I choose to spend my Monday nights with this guy? The rest of the week I’m surrounded, mostly, by people that want my life to be better. Not this guy. He wants me guessing whether I’m coming or going. He wants me on the verge of getting up and leaving the table. Nothing would make him happier than to hear “Fuck you , Stanley” and wait for the door to slam.
You know what?
I love it. I even love him. He’s a living, breathing, slow rolling workout for my patience and anger management. You know what else? I’m getting in better shape. What used to send me into a murderous rage now only barely irks me. I know what’s coming and I roll with it. I wish I could say I have a zen-like amusement about it all, but I don’t.
So here we are again. Stanley bet. I called. I wait. He’s really Hollywooding. “I’m vulnerable” He says. “Just show it.” I say. Reluctantly, he turns over a full house. “I have the small one.” He says with a smirk. “That’s good…” I say. Then I wait. And proceed “…because I have the big one. Oh, is that slowrolling? My bad, dude.”
I play poker to say “Push those chips a little closer to me, bitch.” Okay, so I still hold a little resentment.
Why do you play? Let me know at stories@whydoiplaypoker.net
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