Maudie at PokerWorks

I’ll be defending my title tonight in the Mookie. Come join the fun and take aim at the target on my back. It shouldn’t be too difficult to send me packing!

What: The Mookie!

Where: Full Tilt Poker

When: Tonight at 9:00 PM CST

Password: vegas1

At tourney time, I drew seat 3 at table 1. On my right was a portly gentleman probably around my age. He’d settled in with a service table and his accouterments as though he expected to be there a while. On my left was a younger lad, very typical of younger lad poker players.

The rest of the table was a mix of intense, rough looking and quizzical.

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A few days before, I received directions and instructions for gaining entrance. I’m just naive enough to believe that I would’ve actually had to squint at the closed circuit camera and utter “Ninny-gagga-bannu” for the gates to the underworld to allow me in.

The day before, I requested that my friends keep a phone nearby - just in case ’cause I would only get one phone call.

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Maybe it was a little inspiration from Lakisha Jones on American Idol, or maybe it was the chapters of Harrington on Holdem III I’ve been studying, or maybe the poker gods just decided to shine a pen light my way…

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When my Dad clued into the fact that I’ve been traveling to Vegas a couple times per year, he made an insta-call with the conclusion that I was on the road to ruin.

I thought my last conversation with him on the matter assured him that I was well in control. I’d explained how I’ve never touched household or 8-5 paycheck funds and that I fund my passtime through moonlighting and other means (he would not have grasped at all the concept of blogging and earning income via advertising, so I just left that as “other means”).

This evening after arriving home from work, I opened what I thought was a rare letter from dear Dad. When I unfolded the envelope’s contents, it was immediately clear that, as these things usually go with parents and children, I’d utterly failed at setting his mind at ease.

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A three day weekend, chores done, what to do?

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Amy Calistri and Tim Lavalli have the next installment up on their investigation into the 2006 World Series of Poker $2 million chip controversy.

(pokernews.com/news/2007/2/two-million-chips-six-months-after.htm)

Kudos to them both for their excellent work!

Oh boy.

Re-reading my wanderings of the last post, I’m wondering if a line hasn’t been set on which window from which floor of what tall building out of which I will jump.

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Nope, Doyle Brunson wasn’t arrested.

I’m relieved and, I’m sure, Doyle is, too.

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Sometime Saturday evening, while attempting to regain the buy-in I dropped at the Riverwind, I was the victim of a sneak attack. An army of microbes had invaded and stormed the beaches of my nostrils.

I managed to decimate a few battalions with several bone rattling sneezes, but it wasn’t enough to seize the day. The allergens’ Special Microbe Forces managed to best my defenses and successfully set my histamines into a panic.

I toughed it out, though. I was on a mission of my own and I wasn’t going to allow a runny nose, itchy eyes and fits of sneezing to deter me.

It was the six-seat - he was my target.

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