Michael Craig's Journal

In my previous post, I started explaining the threat Iggy poses to my cushy existence. In the few days since, I have calmed down, lost a grand at Full Tilt Poker, consulted various members of the Brain Trust and the Call Girls, and formulated a plan.

This is probably the point in this screed where you expect me to say, I’m honestly thrilled Iggy is here, he’s a great guy, welcome to the team, etc. etc. etc.

I’m not going to say it. Iggy IS a great guy. He is a pioneer among poker bloggers. He has a giant audience. Pokerworks was smart to get him.

All that has me feeling very insecure.

I. HOW DOES IT FEEL?

When I heard rumors that Iggy was giving up blogging for more honorable work, my initial thought was that some carbolic factory or novelty shop would come out a big winner, and we fans of poker would be the big losers. Therefore, when I heard the next set of rumors, to the effect that Iggy had dropped out of clown college and was giving blogging another try, I thought that was great.

But HERE? On my turf? Where my bosses are tolerant of me, judge my work in a vacuum, and/or have forgiven me?

I was immediately reminded of a baseball story I read when I young, from Lawrence Ritter’s THE GLORY OF THEIR TIMES. The book is a series of first-person accounts by professional baseball players from the early days of the 20th century. Because Honus Wagner, the larger-than-life Hall of Fame shortstop for the Pittsburgh Pirates, was the greatest player of the era immediately before Ty Cobb (and no worse than the second-best player in the “dead ball era”), he was a major topic of discussion. (Wagner, who died a decade or two before the book was written, mostly played shortstop but was considered the best player in the league at every position, won several batting championships, could hit the ball further than anyone else, was the leading base stealer, and was an unequaled physical specimen of the era.)

Tommy Leach, a young semi-pro third baseman in 1898, was being sold to a National League club. The owner said Washington and Louisville expressed interest. To which team would he like to be sold?

Leach asked the team’s manager, who said he should go to Louisville. “If you go to Washington, they have a man there who’s a darned good third baseman. His name is Wagner.”

Back then, there was no way for Leach to know anything about either team or this Wagner fellow, so he took the advice and chose Louisville.

His first day at Louisville, he’s sitting on the bench and he sees his team’s third baseman make this remarkable play. With his bare hand, this GIANT smacks down a sure line-drive base hit, bounds after the ball like he is on steel springs, and fires a bullet throw to first base, easily beating the runner.

Leach, a 20-year-old KID, weighing 135 pounds, had been feeling pretty good about his quick rise to the big leagues until this moment. He asked who that man was at third base.

“Why, that’s Wagner,” another player said. “He’s the best third-baseman in the league.”

Leach groaned audibly and thought, Wagner’s not with Washington. He’s HERE.

That’s how I feel.

II. THE EXIT STRATEGY, REDUX

I’ve had it great at Pokerworks since I got here in July. Linda Geenen was one of my first friends in poker and it’s been wonderful working with her. I’ve had just a little contact with the owners of the site but they pay me well, pay me on time, provide me little feedback, and mostly live and work 10,000 miles away. What could be better?

In return, I’ve tried to provide value wherever I could. I’ve written over 100,000 words since July, including some of my favorite written work ever. I’ll give you another best-of/review column soon but I’ve tried to write as much as possible and, if I say so myself, I’ve hit the ball out of the park on several occasions.

But nothing good lasts forever. I’ve gotten fired or kicked off almost every job I’ve ever had. I never expected Pokerworks would be any different. In the back of my mind, I figured I’d start phoning it in sometime early next year, rally for the World Series of Poker in the summer, and get unceremoniously canned after the ‘07 Series.

The new law has already messed with that timetable. On one hand, it had to cost money to web sites that profited from affiliate revenue when PartyPoker and some others closed their U.S. customer accounts. On the other hand, all those orphaned players, unless they were giving up online poker for good, were suddenly up for grabs.

In short, I was not asked to clean out my cyber-locker. But who knew when the axe would fall?

Like I said, I never expected this gig to last forever. I am a lazy, arrogant man and they pay me a lot of money without, to my knowledge, a benchmark for measuring whether I am worth the investment. A great writer and commentator who works hard and brings a zillion people to the site might provide a harsh light that leaves me looking like Liza Minelli without make-up.

III. THE BRAINIACS AND THE CALL GIRLS

I am lucky that I know many wise men and women through poker. Surely, they would help me figure out what to do.

My first instinct was to sue somebody. It hadn’t occurred to me that I am a lawyer myself, so I thought I would ask Andy Bloch. Andy has a near-perfect record as a litigator but, unfortunately, his only client has been himself, so I didn’t feel comfortable asking him to help me trump up some lawsuit to get me a lot of money without doing anything.

Ted Forrest has always been incredibly generous with his time, and has spent a lot of his adult life in sticky situations. Maybe he could figure this out for me.

Alas, his whereabouts are a mystery at the present time, and there is a chance is cell phone is MIA. But I’m not sure if he’s the right man to ask. I’ve always thought that Ted has so much confidence that he’ll allow himself to be put in situations that no rational person would recommend. Someone - not Ted - told me the online site he was promoting during the Main Event last summer made him an unusual offer. The owner of the site, supposedly, owed Forrest a lot of money and said, “If you want any hope of getting paid back, I need you to endorse my site.” I have no idea if the story is true, but Ted did tell me of a time when he repossessed the car of a player he and some others were bankrolling because the player had not repatriated their share of some recent winnings. Ted left the player with HIS OWN CAR, which had previously belonged to Tom McEvoy and Phil Hellmuth.

I thought I lucked out when Richard “Quiet Lion” Brodie came to Scottsdale on Monday. He’s one of the smartest men I have ever met, so surely he would figure something out.

The problem with Richard Brodie, however, was that he came to town looking for Skin.

I could tell he was too addled to focus on me and my problems, based on some IMs we exchanged in advance of his trip. (He has written about some of this on his site, Lion Tales.) He tells me he is not a strip-joint guy, and I believe him, but he had an “incident” in Reno.

Some casino host took him and and other high-rollers to a VIP restaurant opening. The restaurant had invited some dancers from the local strip joint to make the place seem even hotter. The group later went to the club to visit some of these girls.

BRODIE: I meet a couple of the older skankier ones who try to con me into giving them money at the tables.

CRAIG: By “older” and “skankier,” you mean they are, like, 27?

BRODIE: Then this one who’s about to turn 20 comes and sits with me. She is uber hot and I buy the first 2 lap dances of my life. She asks for my card and I ask for hers. She writes down her myspace address. SHE GAVE ME A PHONY MYSPACE ADDRESS.

CRAIG: Now that’s getting hosed, 21st century style!

BRODIE: Should I give up all hope of meeting a nice girl?

CRAIG: Yes Richard. I think you should give up all hope of meeting a nice girl. In a strip joint.

Richard then tells me about some woman who is calling him every couple weeks. Let’s call her Cheryl. Richard gives me her myspace link. I look at her page.

CRAIG: Is this the right page? Half of the pictures are of her new husband, a Marine with a buzzcut. And she looks like she’s 9 years-old.

BRODIE: She’s the one who stood us up when I invited to join us for cigars at the Palazzo Suite during the Series.

CRAIG: It was probably past her bedtime. Or her trailer door jammed. Or her hubby needed his uniform pressed for Night Maneuvers.

BRODIE: They got married so he would get more pay from the military. I think they’ve actually spent very little time together. She’s the kind of psycho girl I’m looking for, though I don’t really relish the idea of a husband with an automatic weapon.

Although I heard no more of Cheryl during Richard’s visit, I could see that he was still having trouble negotiating the on-ramp to the Single Lanes. His divorce left him badly in need of a tune-up. To conclude this trite automotive metaphor, he showed up in Scottsdale on Monday thinking a local strip club might serve as his Jiffy Lube.

Clearly, my problems were going to have to ride in the back seat.

TO BE CONTINUED

This entry was posted on Friday, November 24th, 2006 at 4:35 am and is filed under My favourites:.