For weeks, I've been looking forward to playing a decent tournament. So, earlier this week, I booked a room at the Sheraton Wilmington South and planned on playing the noon Deep Stack at Delaware Park. $150 buy-in . . . $30,000 stacks . . . 25 minute levels.
Last night, I set my alarm for 8:30 am, with plans to hit the road at 9:00. I'd take the scenic route west over the Bay Bridge and up route 301 through the eastern shore. A 2 hour drive, which would put me at Del Park an hour before cards up. I tried to get to sleep around 10:00. But, 5 episodes of Catfish later, it was almost 1:00 am. Damn, you Nev!!!
I awoke at 8:00, not quite as well-rested as planned. Hit the road, and was registered by 11:15.
I worked my stack to $42,000 by the first break. Feeling good. Then . . . . . . . . . nothing. Two hours of crap. 63, 82, K3, A4, T6 . . . Two. Fucken. Hours. Best hand I had was KJ. But I was UTG and folded it.
Eventually, I was blinded/anted down to $32,000. Bored. Like, really bored. Blinds were $600/$1,200/$100. Dude in early position, sitting on about $50,000, opens to $3,000. Action to me, and I looked down at QQ. FINALLY! I re-raise to $8,000. It folds around to original bettor. He shoves all in. Um. Great. I still have $24,000 chips. Average stack is $45,000. If I fold, I'm not crippled. I think - what the fuck am I beating here? Kid had played some hands; but he was not splashy. AK is likely the bottom of his range. And, why would he not just flat with AK? Is he risking his stack with JJ? He must know I have a hand, since I literally haven't played a hand in hours. It's an easy fold, right?
Wrong. Perhaps it was a result of playing NOTHING for two hours. Perhaps my head had been taken out of the tournament. I'm not sure what the cause. But the result was a call.
Shockingly (sarcasm alert), villain flips cowboys and I'm done.
I went and grabbed dinner and some beers, and planned on playing the 7:00. But, frankly, I knew I was not in the proper mental state to play an MTT. I was still the guy who called off $32,000 with QQ in a four-bet pot. Instead, I went back to the Sheraton to grab a few more drinks at the hotel bar. And update this blog.
And, as if my horrible call was not punishment enough . . . I'm stuck here with a fuck-load of young kids from a local soccer tournament and their drunk and annoying parents. I mean, the bartender clearly does not want to make another Shirley Temple for your shitty kid. Nor does she want to pour any more waters, or place another order of chicken fingers, for your obnoxious brats. Nor do I want to see this poor woman wasting her Saturday night serving these non-tipping fuckers. While I don't have frequent contact with this demographic, my impression is that soccer parents are assholes. Your kids are not adorable. They are not special. Even if your kid scored two goals today against 12 other out-of-shape shits, he's still likely to be a loser at life. Further, soccer moms are not cute. Just varying degrees of fatness. And, if you think you are the cutest of the group, just remember -- shit be relative... And, from what I'm overhearing, personality is no equalizer in this crowd. As for the dads. Go fuck yourselves. Why are your kids/wives hanging out in the bar area annoying me anyway? Just because your Saturday night is fucked doesn't give you permission to permit your shitty family to poison mine! Yet, here I sit. After my performance, I deserve no better . . .
Vegas Thursday. Zoom. The future is bright.
P.S. Fuck these annoying kids.