I feel like Ghandi. ![]( "pocketkings")
When did poker become Jerry Springer?
Not being able to sleep last night, I decided to fire up the Macbook and played a little online poker. I normally roll into Full Tilt to play because the players are generally pretty cool. That and it’s about the only one I can play on my Apple.
There’s a decent amount of smack talking at times, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Typically people talk their junk, but when all is said and done, they log off quietly, tiptoe past their mom’s room, grab another pack of her smokes from the top of the ‘fridge and head back to their apartment the basement to read the Help Wanted section and play PS 2 until 4 AM.
I generally play in the in the freeroll tournaments (tournaments where the only thing at stake are play chips. I don’t play for real money online).
I got lucky and pulled two great hands right from the start. I knocked out five people in those first two hands, but never saw another decent card for at least an hour! There was a nice stack of chips in front of me and people at the table were kind of quiet. Then “Lou” showed up.
Lou’s probably not his real name and I won’t tell you his screen name. I call him Lou because I think his first name is probably Lou-ser. The guy was a total cock and railed on everyone, but seemed fixated on me for some reason.
It was probably because everyone else blocked his chat. Or maybe it was because I was the only guy who was talking shit back to him. He was kind of entertaining and I enjoyed taking his garbage and shoving it up his ass nose.
He’s kind of the poker version of my Twitter/ blogger friend Aaron Gueveia. Aaron is a Celtics fan and enjoys talking shit about the Lakers. Whatever.
We’re playing at $15/25 and $25/50 antes when Lou starts running his gums about the $180 and $270 pots that he “stole from me”, (for the record, I folded those hands). The long and short of it is that Lou is a douchebag.
This went on for a while until someone at my table told him to take a break and go smoke a bongful so that he could mellow out a bit. Come to think of it, I was the one who told him to go smoke some chronic. Lou didn’t dig that. I know he wasn’t opposed to the idea of toking up because he had “420” in his screen name.
Well, Lou got all bent out of shape and told me what I could do with the bong. I had to explain to him that while I appreciated his offer, I just don’t roll that way and I was gonna go ahead and pass.
That seemed to piss him off even more. Dude was flipping out hard until ,in a fit of rage, he decided to go all in (his $1,080 against my $16,760). After going all in he called me a pussy.
I looked at my pocket 9’s and thought, “what the hell”. I showed my 9’s and he flipped pocket cowboys—two kings. He told me what a dumbass move I made and how he just doubled up on me.
The flop came out, 9, J, 9. I wish I could have been in the same room as this guy, but it’s probably good that I wasn’t. Dude went BALLISTIC! I couldn’t even understand half of what he was trying to type in, but he sure got his meaning across. Needless to say, I knocked him out.
If you thought that knocking this guy out with quads was the best part of the story, you have another thing coming my friend, because it gets so much better.
I played down to the final 18 (we started with a couple hundred) and Lou was with me as an observer every step of the way until I busted out. Whatever table I got transferred to, he tracked me down.
He was running his mouth and telling me that he was gonna kick my ass all over the place. He was going to “literally” kick my ass. At least that’s what he said. Repeatedly. AND IN CAPITALS!!!
I kept trying to ignore him, but he was like an addiction—I HAD to respond after a while. I try to be observant when I’m playing and I remembered he said that he lived just outside Mobile, Alabama.
Are you as shocked as I was to glean that piece of information? When he asked me where I lived (for the 100th time) I told him, “Mobile. Near downtown.”
Dude took the bait and started firing off more specific questions. I, being the non-antagonistic person that I am, jumped on the Internet and started looking up shopping malls and business addresses so that I sounded like I was from Mobile.
I found the address of an anger management clinic, gave that to him and said, “This is where I’ll be tomorrow Meet me here at 10 AM.”
I’ll probably never find out the true ending to this story but I know that if he does show up (and I would be willing to bet a few real chips that he will), the reaction could end up on one of those MasterCard “priceless” commercials.
I figured I was actually doing the people of Alabama a public service. With his attitude he would obviously never admit that he has a problem with anger and thus never take the first step himself. I simply directed him to someone who can truly help calm his inner-soul. I feel kinda like Ghandi.
J.R.
P.S. If Jerry Springer ever did a show titled, “Shitty online poker players who smoke pot but for some reason still have anger problems”, I would totally expect to see this guy on it.
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