“You don’t know it, sucka, but THIS is your final table.”
I busted out of the Razz tournament on the last hand of level seven, so don’t hold your breath waiting for the invite to the victory party, at least not in Razz.
The curse was when I saw my floorman buddy, Nick Gullo. He raved to everyone at the table about how great my book was, and several players owned up tohaving read it and enjoyed it. Jan Fisher, who had pretty much been talking non-stop since 2 PM, complimented it profusely. “It’s the first book I’ve read all the way though since college.” (That’s an odd thing to admit but nice of her to say.)
Of course, I lost a big pot on the next hand and pushed 4-5-6 for all I had left, picked up a couple queens, and I was done. It never fails with the book, though. As much as I enjoy the attention, even crave it, I’m almost guaranteed to go bust within five minutes of being outed as its author.
Curious game, this Razz. CardPlayer.com and PokerWire.com had practically nobody covering it. If any pretty girl stopped by the rail, she was either on her way to someplace else or watching Huck Seed. After nine hours of a Razz tournament, my back feels permanently hunched over and I may be developing irritable bowel syndome.
Today, I am a Razz player.
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