Saturday on Sunday & Psychotropic Zen Poker
Its Sunday. I know that. Feels like Saturday though. Apparently the weekday gods have overslept. Or just experimenting to see if anyone notices. Sundays are quiet. Saturdays are loud. There's about 20 decibels difference. Saturdays are Chinese hot and sour soup. Sunday is miso. Saturdays are Spike television. Sundays are A&E. Somebody switched menus and programming feeds. Hmm, soup. Maybe later. That interim thing.
Sigh. Still miss Clyde. I drove by his old place the other day. The tears came without warning. I only tried to hold them back so as to avoid an emotional wreck on the freeway.
I have a big poker tournament later today. $100,000 total. I have won this same tournament before. It was $50,000 then. {{Thank you, thank you}} Takes perfect decision making and some luck along the way. Some people have said poker is really a zen exercise. The Thursday night game with the boys certainly isn't. Cigars and beer avoid saffron robes. But big tournament poker has definite zen elements to it. To win, you must transcend contradiction. Understand that Saturday on Sunday is adopted quantum physics. {{Whatever the hell that means.}} The other thing about tournament poker is jungle patience. It's required. And a killer instinct. Stone cold, no conscience, no remorse, taste blood, killer instinct. A pacing cold-war Russian assassin. Eyes vacant.
Actually the image that I get when I am winning is a semi truck. A huge overloaded semi crawling up the I5 grapevine in compound low gearing. I start in Bakersfield and head south toward LA. Diesel engines cranking. Inching, inexorably toward the summit. Angeles national forest looming. A sign of victory.
I also notice that drinking water helps me win. Carrot juice too. I'm sure there is science that explains this. It's not psuedo coincidence.
It also helps if you become slowly insane during the tournament. I'm serious. Start with a generous amount of psychotropic drugs that control insanity. Provide temporary rationality. Then let the drugs wear off during the tournament....turn into a raging, unpredictable, drooling schizophrenic. Make people afraid of you. Very. Nothing like a truck driver, in a carrot juice induced psychosis, weaving between lanes to clear the freeway. Make everyone pull over in a panic. Push the chips this way please.
Well maybe a jacuzzi will turn the noise down. Turn Sunday back into Sunday. But if I have to order from the wrong menu....at least I get to eat. So, I'm grateful.
Tournament results later. Hopefully I'll do well. If I get knocked out early though, I do have plans. Going to clean the espresso machine. I don't wake to wake up again and start out the wrong day with a dirty quad latte.
Update: Finsished in 475th place out of 487. 13th out of the tournament. My A,K got beat by a 9,3. Hmm. The truck never even made it out of Bakersfield.
Sigh. Still miss Clyde. I drove by his old place the other day. The tears came without warning. I only tried to hold them back so as to avoid an emotional wreck on the freeway.
I have a big poker tournament later today. $100,000 total. I have won this same tournament before. It was $50,000 then. {{Thank you, thank you}} Takes perfect decision making and some luck along the way. Some people have said poker is really a zen exercise. The Thursday night game with the boys certainly isn't. Cigars and beer avoid saffron robes. But big tournament poker has definite zen elements to it. To win, you must transcend contradiction. Understand that Saturday on Sunday is adopted quantum physics. {{Whatever the hell that means.}} The other thing about tournament poker is jungle patience. It's required. And a killer instinct. Stone cold, no conscience, no remorse, taste blood, killer instinct. A pacing cold-war Russian assassin. Eyes vacant.
Actually the image that I get when I am winning is a semi truck. A huge overloaded semi crawling up the I5 grapevine in compound low gearing. I start in Bakersfield and head south toward LA. Diesel engines cranking. Inching, inexorably toward the summit. Angeles national forest looming. A sign of victory.
I also notice that drinking water helps me win. Carrot juice too. I'm sure there is science that explains this. It's not psuedo coincidence.
It also helps if you become slowly insane during the tournament. I'm serious. Start with a generous amount of psychotropic drugs that control insanity. Provide temporary rationality. Then let the drugs wear off during the tournament....turn into a raging, unpredictable, drooling schizophrenic. Make people afraid of you. Very. Nothing like a truck driver, in a carrot juice induced psychosis, weaving between lanes to clear the freeway. Make everyone pull over in a panic. Push the chips this way please.
Well maybe a jacuzzi will turn the noise down. Turn Sunday back into Sunday. But if I have to order from the wrong menu....at least I get to eat. So, I'm grateful.
Tournament results later. Hopefully I'll do well. If I get knocked out early though, I do have plans. Going to clean the espresso machine. I don't wake to wake up again and start out the wrong day with a dirty quad latte.
Update: Finsished in 475th place out of 487. 13th out of the tournament. My A,K got beat by a 9,3. Hmm. The truck never even made it out of Bakersfield.
posted by Sonoma Blue at 10:58 AM
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