Low-limit comedy
It's only been in the last month that I've switched from Party to playing almost exclusively on Poker Stars. One of the elements of the site that I've enjoyed (in addition to the vastly improved interface) is the variety of $1.75 multi-table SNGs. That's a buy-in I'm quite comfortable with to play Stud Hi/Lo and NL Omaha 8, games I know virtually nothing about but figure I should learn in order to become a well-rounded poker player. (That's right, next stop the Big Game at Bellagio).
A testament to how badly other people play in these things, I've found that I've actually one a few, resulting in massive 500-600 percent ROIs -- WOOHOO! Last night, in a stud hi/lo game, I went on one of those incredible rushes that made me wish I was playing for real money. About 4 levels into the tournament I had collected nearly half of the chips and had recorded more KOs that Mike Tyson. When the two tables merged, I had miraculously managed not to donk off my swollen stack and prepared myself for a Sherman-like march through the rest of these chuckleheads. Here's where the low-limit comedy begins. Two of the donks, I noticed, were sitting out, paying their small antes, content to watch the rest of the action go by. The reason quickly became apparent -- they were attempting to ante their way into the money. WTF? Four places paid with prize ranging from $2.40 for fourth to $9.60 for first. What kind of desperate losers are these people? My stack, aggression and a little luck, in fact, allowed them to do just that. One of the feckless souls never played another hand and collected his life-changing $2.40.
When I got heads-up with the other loser, I felt it my responsibility as a responsible adult and a guardian of poker integrity to calmly lecture him about his actions. Thus, I typed:
"You and the other guy are big p*ssies for having sat out all those hands." (We professional writers take great care in choosing just the right word at moments like these.)
His response set me rocking on my heels. "Sore loser," he typed with what I'm sure were trembling, nicotine-stained and possibly palsied fingers. He hit me hard with that one, especially given the fact I had him outchipped 2-to-1 at the time. Undaunted, I continued to lecture him about the temerity of his actions and managed another "big p*ssy" broadside to drive home my point. (Repetition is a favorite of mine in the toolbox of literary devices.)
That's when he typed: "But I got a family."
Say what? Got a freakin' family? Are you living in some Third World country where the average annual income is $4.99? Is Sally Struthers putting money in your Neteller account? Should we get Bob Geldof to organize a Donkey Aid concert on your behalf?
Then, in a moment of enlightenment, I conceived a plan ingenious for both its charity and evilness -- a duality that set my head spinning with self-congratulation. I would allow his stack to dwindle to one bet and then sit out, allowing him to win the tournament, netting him an additional $2.40, but only after waiting the 4 or 5 hours it would take to ante me off. (Okay, maybe it would have taken 20 minutes.) I pondered this possibility for a moment, but then scuttled the plan, once again failing to seize a golden opportunity laid before me (a recurring theme in my life). Instead, I dispatched him with a vicious suck-out on 7th street, depriving him of much-needed cash that would have filled the distended bellies of his starving chirren for the next month. Do I feel bad about this, you ask? No, sir. I thought he could use a cold, hard lesson in Darwinian theory.
Plus, I say, screw him. I got a family, too, you know.
A testament to how badly other people play in these things, I've found that I've actually one a few, resulting in massive 500-600 percent ROIs -- WOOHOO! Last night, in a stud hi/lo game, I went on one of those incredible rushes that made me wish I was playing for real money. About 4 levels into the tournament I had collected nearly half of the chips and had recorded more KOs that Mike Tyson. When the two tables merged, I had miraculously managed not to donk off my swollen stack and prepared myself for a Sherman-like march through the rest of these chuckleheads. Here's where the low-limit comedy begins. Two of the donks, I noticed, were sitting out, paying their small antes, content to watch the rest of the action go by. The reason quickly became apparent -- they were attempting to ante their way into the money. WTF? Four places paid with prize ranging from $2.40 for fourth to $9.60 for first. What kind of desperate losers are these people? My stack, aggression and a little luck, in fact, allowed them to do just that. One of the feckless souls never played another hand and collected his life-changing $2.40.
When I got heads-up with the other loser, I felt it my responsibility as a responsible adult and a guardian of poker integrity to calmly lecture him about his actions. Thus, I typed:
"You and the other guy are big p*ssies for having sat out all those hands." (We professional writers take great care in choosing just the right word at moments like these.)
His response set me rocking on my heels. "Sore loser," he typed with what I'm sure were trembling, nicotine-stained and possibly palsied fingers. He hit me hard with that one, especially given the fact I had him outchipped 2-to-1 at the time. Undaunted, I continued to lecture him about the temerity of his actions and managed another "big p*ssy" broadside to drive home my point. (Repetition is a favorite of mine in the toolbox of literary devices.)
That's when he typed: "But I got a family."
Say what? Got a freakin' family? Are you living in some Third World country where the average annual income is $4.99? Is Sally Struthers putting money in your Neteller account? Should we get Bob Geldof to organize a Donkey Aid concert on your behalf?
Then, in a moment of enlightenment, I conceived a plan ingenious for both its charity and evilness -- a duality that set my head spinning with self-congratulation. I would allow his stack to dwindle to one bet and then sit out, allowing him to win the tournament, netting him an additional $2.40, but only after waiting the 4 or 5 hours it would take to ante me off. (Okay, maybe it would have taken 20 minutes.) I pondered this possibility for a moment, but then scuttled the plan, once again failing to seize a golden opportunity laid before me (a recurring theme in my life). Instead, I dispatched him with a vicious suck-out on 7th street, depriving him of much-needed cash that would have filled the distended bellies of his starving chirren for the next month. Do I feel bad about this, you ask? No, sir. I thought he could use a cold, hard lesson in Darwinian theory.
Plus, I say, screw him. I got a family, too, you know.
posted by Poker Jones at 8:35 AM
1 Comments:
Funny shit.
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