Degenerate Diaries: The Chronicles Pt. 2

[boldie]

...stunning

[kinboshi]

Wednesday night field review:

I began the night on table 42, where I was seated amongst poker's elite. Only the best of the best could hope to compete in this game; the crème de la crème. This was the who's who of high level holdem. I managed to secure seat 5, for reasons such as "good view of the TV," "it was my lucky seat," and so forth. I suppose they were just trying to keep the fish happy. To my immediate left - keeping me in check and making my life difficult - was "11bet." I couldn't be certain whether "11" was strategically the optimal bet size in every spot or whether he just never learned any other numbers for the short time he stayed in school (probably to the age of 11,) so I inquired with hopes of storing away a useful piece of information that I could take back to my usual game and use to exploit some of the regs. He said, "you see people 3bet and 4bet and then they get their aces cracked, so I just 11bet." Turns out that no, he was not being facetious.

To his immediate left was arguably the best player at the table: an open seat. To the left of him, however, was one of the giants of the modern game: heir to his father's amassed fortune (or in his terms, "daddy's money") Alistair Campbell Hollick. Al Ca Hollick to his good friends. He was first and foremost a gentleman, and his behaviour was in no way indecorous. He was not at all loud or boorish, and he spoke with such articulation. Either that, or he was an intrusive drunk that never missed an opportunity to offend all five senses.

To his left was "Doucheball." This is a witty little portmanteau I compiled as a play on "deuceball;" "deuce" and "ball" as separate entities, and "douche." Let's explore. Let's expand upon "ball." Now I have seen some bald gentlemen in my time, and without fail have wanted to land a spit-soaked bacon slap on them: the kind that echoes through room and leaves a stunned silence, the kind that perfectly emulates a firecracker. This was a different kind of bald head. This was a perfectly round "ball" head. This was the kind of head that could not be slapped, as it was so waxy and polished that one's hand would slip right off, and one's spit would merely be repelled by the hydrophobic surface. I tried to make a good impression on this player, so we could perhaps become friends and he would leave me in his will, that way when he passes on, I could carefully peel off his scalp and market it as a more durable non-stick alternative to Teflon. In the meantime, however, he is so hot-headed and quick-tempered that all you need do is engage him in a discussion where you don't share his opinion and his scalp still unfortunately attached to his head will provide an excellent surface on which to sautée your vegetables. Let's expand upon "deuce." He reached into the freezer and pulled out the cold 4bet (probably to moderate the surface temperature of his head) after I opened the gun to £4 and 11bet made it £11. I 5bet jam £200~ and he spouts something about being pot committed with £40 invested and calls. I sigh when the 5 3 2 2 4 board runs out, thinking that we probably chop now. Turns out four deuces beats a straight. Something else I can take back and amaze my regular tables with. I won't expand upon "douche," as by now it probably speaks for itself.

There was another bald gentleman on the table I moved to after Doucheball inexplicably left with my hard earned cash. I'll dub him "Bulbous Sore." This was a different kind of bald. This was like a matte bald (eg. Matte Russell.) He felt the need to explain to me my image at the poker table. "Don't go raising light, we know what you're all about, opening for £15." My read is that he pulled all his hair out in a futile effort to understand what a pot-sized bet was. I would have stopped to enlighten him, but it seemed like he all of a sudden clicked. It was as if a light bulb appeared over his head. Upon further inspection, it turned out what I thought was a light bulb actually was his head.

My brief visit to the 2/2 Dealer's Choice table turned out to be unsuccessful, "raising light" with in hi/lo and getting it in versus for the board to run out all clubs, with the counterfeit case deuce for good measure. Maybe Bulbous Sore can sweat a session with me and spot some leaks in my opening range.

I've run out of words.

POTY

Could pick out my favourite bits, but too many to choose from.  I will be calling EvilPie "Matte" from now on though.

[DMorgan]

haha, didn't expect to hear the term bacon slap again since leaving school!

[craigbetts]

Wednesday night field review:

I began the night on table 42, where I was seated amongst poker's elite. Only the best of the best could hope to compete in this game; the crème de la crème. This was the who's who of high level holdem. I managed to secure seat 5, for reasons such as "good view of the TV," "it was my lucky seat," and so forth. I suppose they were just trying to keep the fish happy. To my immediate left - keeping me in check and making my life difficult - was "11bet." I couldn't be certain whether "11" was strategically the optimal bet size in every spot or whether he just never learned any other numbers for the short time he stayed in school (probably to the age of 11,) so I inquired with hopes of storing away a useful piece of information that I could take back to my usual game and use to exploit some of the regs. He said, "you see people 3bet and 4bet and then they get their aces cracked, so I just 11bet." Turns out that no, he was not being facetious.

To his immediate left was arguably the best player at the table: an open seat. To the left of him, however, was one of the giants of the modern game: heir to his father's amassed fortune (or in his terms, "daddy's money") Alistair Campbell Hollick. Al Ca Hollick to his good friends. He was first and foremost a gentleman, and his behaviour was in no way indecorous. He was not at all loud or boorish, and he spoke with such articulation. Either that, or he was an intrusive drunk that never missed an opportunity to offend all five senses.

To his left was "Doucheball." This is a witty little portmanteau I compiled as a play on "deuceball;" "deuce" and "ball" as separate entities, and "douche." Let's explore. Let's expand upon "ball." Now I have seen some bald gentlemen in my time, and without fail have wanted to land a spit-soaked bacon slap on them: the kind that echoes through room and leaves a stunned silence, the kind that perfectly emulates a firecracker. This was a different kind of bald head. This was a perfectly round "ball" head. This was the kind of head that could not be slapped, as it was so waxy and polished that one's hand would slip right off, and one's spit would merely be repelled by the hydrophobic surface. I tried to make a good impression on this player, so we could perhaps become friends and he would leave me in his will, that way when he passes on, I could carefully peel off his scalp and market it as a more durable non-stick alternative to Teflon. In the meantime, however, he is so hot-headed and quick-tempered that all you need do is engage him in a discussion where you don't share his opinion and his scalp still unfortunately attached to his head will provide an excellent surface on which to sautée your vegetables. Let's expand upon "deuce." He reached into the freezer and pulled out the cold 4bet (probably to moderate the surface temperature of his head) after I opened the gun to £4 and 11bet made it £11. I 5bet jam £200~ and he spouts something about being pot committed with £40 invested and calls. I sigh when the 5 3 2 2 4 board runs out, thinking that we probably chop now. Turns out four deuces beats a straight. Something else I can take back and amaze my regular tables with. I won't expand upon "douche," as by now it probably speaks for itself.

There was another bald gentleman on the table I moved to after Doucheball inexplicably left with my hard earned cash. I'll dub him "Bulbous Sore." This was a different kind of bald. This was like a matte bald (eg. Matte Russell.) He felt the need to explain to me my image at the poker table. "Don't go raising light, we know what you're all about, opening for £15." My read is that he pulled all his hair out in a futile effort to understand what a pot-sized bet was. I would have stopped to enlighten him, but it seemed like he all of a sudden clicked. It was as if a light bulb appeared over his head. Upon further inspection, it turned out what I thought was a light bulb actually was his head.

My brief visit to the 2/2 Dealer's Choice table turned out to be unsuccessful, "raising light" with in hi/lo and getting it in versus for the board to run out all clubs, with the counterfeit case deuce for good measure. Maybe Bulbous Sore can sweat a session with me and spot some leaks in my opening range.

I've run out of words.

Do not run out of words, this needs publishing. Excellent wordage!

[smashedagain]

Pmsl. I saw Alex to tonight but missed you. Were you in Dtd tonight as I needed a word. May come back and play the hi roller sat in the afternoon but am having second thoughts as I don't fancy multi tabling that and the main event on Sunday

[zerofive]

Pmsl. I saw Alex to tonight but missed you. Were you in Dtd tonight as I needed a word. May come back and play the hi roller sat in the afternoon but am having second thoughts as I don't fancy multi tabling that and the main event on Sunday

Mincash both obv.

I was in for the shortest session of my career, wasn't in the right frame of mind and after a couple of bad beats called it a night. Will be in tomorrow, I'll come and find you sir.

[SuuPRlim]

Wednesday night field review:

I began the night on table 42, where I was seated amongst poker's elite. Only the best of the best could hope to compete in this game; the crème de la crème. This was the who's who of high level holdem. I managed to secure seat 5, for reasons such as "good view of the TV," "it was my lucky seat," and so forth. I suppose they were just trying to keep the fish happy. To my immediate left - keeping me in check and making my life difficult - was "11bet." I couldn't be certain whether "11" was strategically the optimal bet size in every spot or whether he just never learned any other numbers for the short time he stayed in school (probably to the age of 11,) so I inquired with hopes of storing away a useful piece of information that I could take back to my usual game and use to exploit some of the regs. He said, "you see people 3bet and 4bet and then they get their aces cracked, so I just 11bet." Turns out that no, he was not being facetious.

To his immediate left was arguably the best player at the table: an open seat. To the left of him, however, was one of the giants of the modern game: heir to his father's amassed fortune (or in his terms, "daddy's money") Alistair Campbell Hollick. Al Ca Hollick to his good friends. He was first and foremost a gentleman, and his behaviour was in no way indecorous. He was not at all loud or boorish, and he spoke with such articulation. Either that, or he was an intrusive drunk that never missed an opportunity to offend all five senses.

To his left was "Doucheball." This is a witty little portmanteau I compiled as a play on "deuceball;" "deuce" and "ball" as separate entities, and "douche." Let's explore. Let's expand upon "ball." Now I have seen some bald gentlemen in my time, and without fail have wanted to land a spit-soaked bacon slap on them: the kind that echoes through room and leaves a stunned silence, the kind that perfectly emulates a firecracker. This was a different kind of bald head. This was a perfectly round "ball" head. This was the kind of head that could not be slapped, as it was so waxy and polished that one's hand would slip right off, and one's spit would merely be repelled by the hydrophobic surface. I tried to make a good impression on this player, so we could perhaps become friends and he would leave me in his will, that way when he passes on, I could carefully peel off his scalp and market it as a more durable non-stick alternative to Teflon. In the meantime, however, he is so hot-headed and quick-tempered that all you need do is engage him in a discussion where you don't share his opinion and his scalp still unfortunately attached to his head will provide an excellent surface on which to sautée your vegetables. Let's expand upon "deuce." He reached into the freezer and pulled out the cold 4bet (probably to moderate the surface temperature of his head) after I opened the gun to £4 and 11bet made it £11. I 5bet jam £200~ and he spouts something about being pot committed with £40 invested and calls. I sigh when the 5 3 2 2 4 board runs out, thinking that we probably chop now. Turns out four deuces beats a straight. Something else I can take back and amaze my regular tables with. I won't expand upon "douche," as by now it probably speaks for itself.

There was another bald gentleman on the table I moved to after Doucheball inexplicably left with my hard earned cash. I'll dub him "Bulbous Sore." This was a different kind of bald. This was like a matte bald (eg. Matte Russell.) He felt the need to explain to me my image at the poker table. "Don't go raising light, we know what you're all about, opening for £15." My read is that he pulled all his hair out in a futile effort to understand what a pot-sized bet was. I would have stopped to enlighten him, but it seemed like he all of a sudden clicked. It was as if a light bulb appeared over his head. Upon further inspection, it turned out what I thought was a light bulb actually was his head.

My brief visit to the 2/2 Dealer's Choice table turned out to be unsuccessful, "raising light" with in hi/lo and getting it in versus for the board to run out all clubs, with the counterfeit case deuce for good measure. Maybe Bulbous Sore can sweat a session with me and spot some leaks in my opening range.

I've run out of words.

 

excellllllent

[nirvana]

You're writing & creativity is really top class.

You should get some kind of creative work going and leave poker behind to the rest of us, who in the majority (well me anyway), lack the imagination to do something better with their time

[hombre32]

Another option could be to look at poker journalism!

You have a writing style that people like, you understand the game, therefore you could try and complement the two!

[david3103]

Your diary is indeed
a cracking read, and I'd guess it's a defense mechanism for you, but it seems to me to be funniest when you're reporting a losing session.

[  ] lose more

[smashedagain]

in for starting a "keep Sean in the game if he goes busto" fund .
we need moar

[zerofive]

in for starting a "keep Sean in the game if he goes busto" fund .
we need moar

Herbie I know we make fun, but every now and again you have a fantastic idea.

[titaniumbean]

in for starting a "keep Sean in the game if he goes busto" fund .
we need moar

Herbie I know we make fun, but every now and again you have a fantastic idea.

Consider me to have pledged multiple big macs to your fund Sean!

[zerofive]

Another option could be to look at poker journalism!

You have a writing style that people like, you understand the game, therefore you could try and complement the two!

I have thought about this, but I'm not entirely sure who I would speak to or what my portfolio would have to include. Does anybody have any knowledge on the subject that they would be willing to share?

[kinboshi]

 I don't think you need any qualifications or specific skills. Ask Barry Carter.