Hammer date

In a fit of wimpishness, I decided weeks ago to eliminate the hammer from my poker repertoire. When I first got involved in all of this bloggerly tournament foolishness, peer pressure and the lunatic spirit that surrounds these competitions prompted me to drop the hammer with elan. While there were memorable hammer drops (can you say quad 7s, beatches?), I'm guessing it proved to be a -EV play in the long run. How could it not? Alas, like an ugly girlfriend whose oral skills no longer make up for her other deficiencies, I retired that butta face to the scrap heap of unsound poker strategy.

But today, like a desperate horndog home alone on a Saturday night, I dug deep in the phone book and called her up. And by golly, not only did she willingly agree to see me, she wore the brightest shade of red lipstick known to man.

We met at a $10 rebuy at the Mansion. That's right. I still have an account there and will continue to as long as they hold my money hostage. Their latest ransom demand was a set of Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders game-day panties. I countered with a vintage Leon Lett jockstrap, an offer that was quickly rebuffed.

By the time Hammer Baby and I became reacquainted, the action had gotten a little steamy in the wake of my pocket queens succumbing to an A-9 shove. I found her on the button with blinds at 50/100. Three people limped and I pushed my last T1275 with 7h-2c. All folds and a limp-call from Ah-Jd. Two clubs on the flop, one on the turn and one on the river delivered the wickedest beat I've laid in recent memory.

I wish I could say these shenanigans propelled me to great riches. Instead I busted 25th (38 runners) in a blind vs. blind battle shortly after the break. Small blind flopped trip 2s against my top pair, king kicker. I'm guessing that was karma doing some well-deserved ass kicking. It was fun while it lasted.