Joe Speaker

Sue me.

Because I have two very important questions:

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I feel like I have been asleep for a couple weeks and have woken to find it’s Christmas Eve.  The truth is, I haven’t slept much at all lately, but have been so consumed by events in my life that another event has snuck up on me.

The WSOP starts tomorrow.  I realized this yesterday.

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I went to a wedding in Albuquerque this weekend and the last place I thought I’d find myself was a poker table.

Yet, at 1 a.m. on Sunday, that’s exactly where I was.

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Well…what do we have here. Could that be…is it?…I think it is.

A bankroll. 

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That’s a little more like it. Instead of donking out in craptastic fashion, I made it to the Final Table of last night’s MATH tournament.

No, of course I didn’t make the money.

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The best part about this gambling weekend was an early morning text from Chad that said, “You suck at poker.”

 I was, at the time, three-handed in the first round of a Double Shootout, the last of what would be an entirely fruitless day at the tables. With some rough luck still stinging, I responded,

“Poker sucks at me!”

And laughed hysterically for the first time in hours. I love this game.

I really, really do. But I can’t play it right on the margins. And the online game has been a struggle for me for the better part of a year. I take full responsibility, even if my luck has been documentedly poor. I’ve gifted away plenty of my bankroll over that time with craptastic play. So, I’ve got a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.

I think I can illustrate that sour taste with one hand I played on Saturday. I’ve been wading back into the cash games on Stars since I’ve got some semblance of a bankroll there. Nothing fancy, just $25 max NL. With Jd9d in the BB, I bet out on the flop of 8d7c6d and got one caller. The turn was a black deuce and I fired again on the come, 75% of the pot. At this point, I figure the guy is holding at least two pair or is drawing, same as I. He’s new to the table, so I’ve little read on him. The river is the 4h and, for some reason, my adaptive subconscious tells me he’s totally missed. So I bet the pot, leaving myself like $6 behind. He pushes, I pull a TuffFish (”six, seven, eight, nine, nuthin’!”) and fold.

He shows me QJo, no diamond, no nothing. But better than J9. And while I’m re-loading, he skips away.

Desperate play by me, missing a deck full of draws and losing the pot to someone with no business being in it post-flop. That about sums it up.

Poker sucks at me.

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I did do some railbirding on Sunday night in lieu of playing, watching the Final Table of Miami Don’s Big Game (lotta familiar faces there) while multi-tabling The Sopranos. I also caught the tail end of Hoyazo’s run to the top 3% of the field in the FTOPS Main Event.  Well played, sir. And congrats.

Cue the fanfare. Tonight I will make my triumphant return to the Battle of the Blogger Tournaments, donking out somewhere in the middle while being no threat at all to the top finishers. Ah…mediocrity.

I am, however, on the bubble for the end of season freeroll (me? On the bubble? the hell you say), so I hope to squeak into the points in order to keep alive the dream of donking out somewhere in the middle of that special event.

I’ve been missing the poker lately, but with all currently on tap I’ve had no time to play. I’m a little rusty. In fact, my rust has some rust on it. I suppose I’ll stop and get some primer on the way home to give my game a little makeover. My favorite brand of primer is Newcastle.

I have a couple favors to ask of my readers who live in countries outside the good ol’ US of A. One, can I stay at your house when I’m in town? Two, Mansion Poker is gearing up to run satellites to the WSOP. This is a great opportunity for those of you in countries that are not headed by dickwads to earn a Main Event seat. I suppose it’s open to Americans with proxy servers in Nicaragua, too.

See y’all this evening.

California Governor Arnie S. has proposed privatizing the California Lottery because, well, we’re not gambling enough and the state is stuck a few billion dollars.

The proposal will “lease” the lottery to a private company for 40 years in exchange for a kickback payment of as much as $37 billion, which will be used to pay down the state’s massive debt, debt incurred by legislators who suck at math, which is at trait coincidentally shared by lottery ticket buyers.

Say what you will about the Golden State (”It’s on fire”), but we here in God’s Country spend an average of $81 a year on lottery tickets. Compare that with New York and Gerogia, where the figure is more than $300 per capita. And they say our public school system is failing. Which is why we had a lottery in the first place since the proceeds are allegedly going to fund schools. Either that was the reason or the electronic gaming lobby bankrolled a ballot initiative and out-spent opponents by bazillion-to-one to get it passed.

So, privatizing the lottery will put it in the hands of a far more effective marketing vehicle than the government, which pretty much sucks at everything, and theoretically will boost sales. As for selling future profits for immediate payment, this sounds a little like cashing in your 401k because the interest payments on your penile enrichment surgery have become cumbersome, not that I’d know anything about that.

So, to sum up today’s civics lesson: The government thinks it’s okay to mortgage their future for short-term gain as long as everyone does their duty and gambles some more, or at least tries to be more susceptible to the kick-ass advertising the new private lottery operator will provide. On the other hand, playing a $5 SnG in you underwear is still bad. Bad like clubbing harp seals.

What a country.

Do I owe everyone a dollar if I link someone else’s bad beat story? And is there extra cost involved if it’s in the form of a hand history?

Sumbit your favorite form of payment after you check out this sick beat from my table in the $26K on Full Tilt from Friday night.

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Weird scene these days in my brain. Not unpleasant at all. Rather plush, in fact. Big comfy chairs, good scotch and a decent mix of tunes that does not include either Bonnie Raitt or Air Supply.

But it’s an unsettled place. Unthethered and random. Like I can’t sit still for a second.

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