I was in bad shape. The Wrigley Field bleachers were all I’d imagined them to be in my mind. Hot, sweaty, perfect. The beer went down like water. The game played out just under our noses. The thunderstorm came just in time to cool us off. As with any experience, I simply soaked it all in, marvelling at the intimacy of the setting. I didn’t plan anything past the moment I was in. Though I figured I’d grab a buzz, it was shortly after the game ended that I knew I was in trouble.
Walking right into a pole was my first clue.
I didn’t hit it square. A glancing blow, that spun me around a little bit and gave Daddy a giggling fit. “You just wallked right into that pole, Speaker,” he said, between guffaws.
Somewhere between Wrigley and the Houndstooth bar (which served 40 oz. beeers in paper bags), the headache started. It gathered steam through the next thunderstorm andd a couple more pints. By the time we got in a cab to head back to Donkey Puncher’s, it was a riot of pain, multiple icepicks assaulting my various lobes. Then our driver executed an elaborate, high-speed s-swerve, a move that ended with me whacking the side of my head on the taxi window.
That didn’t really help.
Neither did the nap I immediately fell into back at DP’s place. I was “fighting the warthog” and while the couple hours sleep rested me, my headache was still in effect when I awoke.
I figured I’d fight through it and join the card game that had been hopping during my slumber. My seat happened to be UTG and I put out the live straddle of a buck (.25/.50 blinds). This being a friendly game, there were many limpers and I didn’t raise my option even though I looked down to see pocket 6s.
Chad-a-rama laid down a flop of JJ6. Um…I check.
DP bet and I was the only one to call. The turn was an ace, putting two diamonds on the board and I check-raised DP. He pushed (I think he has a jack!) and I called with the rest of my stack. First hand post-nap, all headached up, live straddle…and I put all $40 in. He flipped over KJ and groaned when he saw my boat.
He felt better when he rivered the king.
My reaction was to a) blame The Bracelet for sitting so close with his black cloud of lucklessness and b) start drinking again. I went out to the back porch for a few minutes first (upon seeing me, F-Train remarked, “Stacked already?”). And that’s when the magic happened.
Perhaps it was the rush of blood, quickening when all the money went in. Maybe it was the Good Lord himself, taking pity on me getting 4-outered and reaching down Himself to heal me. Whatever…my headache disappeared almost immediately.
Free from pain and armed with alcohol, I fought back to win $30 or so before we headed out to the bar and started punching things.