Two days ago I decided a secret weapon was needed in my quest for poker glory and decided a
book on gaming strategy was required.
As my usual reading material is limited to publications with centre pages of scantily clad females with staples across
their torsos this was an optimistic endeavour at best. However, never let it be said your reporter is one to shy away from
a difficult task. A book was subsequently obtained from my friend (Paul) and some frantic reading followed.
I had every intention of studying its contents and applying my newly acquired knowledge into an unbeatable playing
style. It might even have worked if exterior forces hadn’t interrupted me beyond my control. That exterior force appeared
in the form of Mrs. Snowman.
Both the wife and her mother have an unerring ability to disrupt every
single moment of quiet contemplation. For example: they can be completely quiet while I’m waiting for a movie to start
on the television and the second it starts they will simultaneously break into a loud and heated conversation ensuring I can’t
hear a word of the film. I’m increasingly certain this is congenital. The weird thing is that the volume of their chatting
is always louder than that of the TV no matter how much I increase it by. I tried it once with the hi-fi system. The amplifier
on my stereo is usually sufficient to blow out the windows from the neighbour’s bathroom but it’s nothing in comparison
to Mrs. Snowman’s vocal chords. Even a frontal attack by Black Sabbath at full blast is drowned out by her normal conversation.
I therefore stood absolutely no chance of reading more than two paragraphs without being interrupted by the most mundane
of questions. I retired to the toilet with the book tucked under my arm and tried to find some peace and quiet there.
No chance.
Within moments there’s a tapping on the door and a familiar voice asking if I’ve fed the cat. I politely
explained I would only contemplate feeding the cat to my friend’s dog and tried once more to get past the first page.
I almost made it before an even more determined rapping preceded a question about the location of a tin of chopped tomatoes
needed to make dinner.
In retrospect the response “How the fuck should I know, I’m not a grocer” wasn’t one of my
better moves. All I can say is that I was fortunate to be on the toilet as her reaction was so scary I would probably have
shit myself under any other circumstance.
Obviously not one iota of knowledge was soaked up from the book and I had to play the subsequent freerolls in my usual
crap and appalling manner.
To everyone’s surprise (most notably my own) I finished the three tournaments of the day in the following positions:
24th - $0.47
78th - $0.13
81st
- $0.11
You may want to re-read the previous numbers as I can feel the disbelief from here. You’re
not alone, I couldn’t believe it either but I nonetheless made the cash in every event. As I didn’t get a chance
to read the poker book I can only assume just by touching it there was some kind of improvement that seeped inexplicably into
my system. Using the same reasoning I’ve currently got a copy of ‘Casanova’ shoved down my underpants.
With this in mind, you may also recall the unfortunate incident where, following a request
for photos, one of my readers sent me an image of their penis (horribly, in a non-flaccid state) with an appeal for a similar
photo of myself. Fortunately, I also had another correspondent who astutely suggested I send them a photo of the cat instead.
Brilliant idea! I duly readied the camera, aimed my shot and the precise moment I took the picture, the cat turned round and
lifted its tail.
I e-mailed the result but also had to write an explanation.
It looked like a hairy pencil sharpener.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $1.17
