Lions, Bengals, and Bears Oh My

Trying to get hyped up for some NFL football to be played this week yet find myself in a weird spot. A dominate home team playing against a team that always keeps the game close no matter how horrible their season is going. A concession about last year, the Vikes should not have won, the Lions should not have gone 0-16. Period.

This year there's reasons to believe such a close game to rely on a flunky-flukey pass interference call or some miracle play should not factor into the outcome. But, the Vikes have been horrible in the second half on Defense while leaning too hard on the offense to bolt down the game after opening up decent halftime leads.

Purple Jesus should nail down a 150+ yard performance, Favre should throw for the minimum but still notch two TDs, and despite Winfield being out (a rube suggestion to sit out one more game, but one that hopefully the injured CB will take) the front four should introduce Stafford to the Metrodome turf no less than five times.

Those are the shoulds, but the Lions will keep this game close so those of you trying to hop on some double-digit line this weekend, beware. Thus, why I don't offer the Nardi brothers +10 as a prop bet. Number of Stafford picks, TV shots of 100% Cheese Free in the stands, mentions of the guy in Purple wearing number four (I'd make this a drinking game but work on Monday would suck), number of dollars Jared Allen will use to bribe the refs after Stafford runs out of the endzone and it goes to instant replay.

Think one up, and I'm game.

Prediction: 34-28 Vikes. Take the points and the over. Daddy always said "fade the public". Those are words to feed to your fattening gambler's wallet.

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The wife is taking a "girls day" on Saturday thus my pristine parenting skillz will be on display while whipping up chocolate chip waffles and five pounds of bacon for breakfast. The time after breakfast will be spent at one of the following:

Minnesota Children's Museum

Minnesota Zoo

Science Museum of Minnesota

The Works

Expect gushing pictures of said children from a crappy camera on Monday unless we end up in Hennipin County lock-up from starting a bar room brawl at Hooters afterwards.

It Hurts So Good

Image from Time.com/Isaac Brekken AP

No matter much I tried to become uninterested in poker the itch to watch, play, and write about it comes back three-fold everytime. This weekend was working the Sunday Warm-up and Sunday Million at PokerStarsBlog and here I am at 3:00am watching turns of the virtual cards for tens of thousands of dollars and trying to pick apart the game as to who was going to win along with trying to make the play interesting to read (I hope I'm accomplishing that for you readers, if I'm not drop me a line with a suggestion or two).

My picks came in fourth and second, both knocked out by suckouts by the same guy. One was a nut punch for the title and a $66K difference between first and second when the four flush fell on the river after just one hand of heads-up play. To think I was pissed about the rivered flushes over the past month that costed me the maximum of a plane ticket to Vegas, this guy just lost a few cars with enough to get fuzzy dice or one of those cardboard pine trees in the windows of each one.

Knowing in the back of my mind I wanted to watch the donkey slaughterfest at the WSOP Main Event final table, last night started off with supporting my wife's new found committment to getting back into a shape we used to enjoy before spitting out the occupants of the other bedrooms in our current house. While you won't find me downing Herbalife shakes with G540-T muscle max protein shakes with a wheat grass chaser, I've been trying to hit the gym 3-4 days a week minimum. More energy to shake off those late poker nights has been most welcome, not to mention gaining a little self-esteem while tightening the belt.

But to give up breakfast sandwiches, pints of Surly and dozen happy hour wings at 3 Squares? Let's not talk crazy here.

Most of the time if I'm hitting up the gym with my bride its to hop into a "class". Yes, I admit to being one of the two male presences in the aerobic classes. Since balance and stamina are the reason I go, it only made sense to put up with the potential embarrassment of doing poses and pirouettes. Usually we attend a Strike class which consist of kickboxing with weights and a weighted pole (not just the one in my shorts HA!). This class is manliness cubed. You kick, you punch, you grunt, and best of all you sweat a lot.

However I tuck my balls in while hitting up last night's class called "Yoga Fusion". You bend, you twist, you try not to check out which color thong the stripper in the front is wearing that night but fail miserably. Before you ask, no, I leave my Hello Kitty pink leotard in the locker opting for the black one which has a slimming effect.

Essentially its dancing which I hate unless I'm wandering around Chicago looking for a hick bar at 2am with The Rooster and DP after endless beers throughout the day, or celebrating a birthday with a hippie in the middle of Phillie-land.

After getting my groove on (last night the thong was black with a lace trim if you must know) we returned home just in time to pass out from an exhausting day, but wait there's poker on TV! All it took was watching poor Schaffel's bullets go down hard versus the quad kings of Buchman and I was locked in on the Sony for the next 90 minutes. Despite knowing every outcome thanks to wonderful friends who kept us abreast of the going ons of Saturday at the Penn and Teller theater via Twitter and their various media outlets, I soaked up every minute of it.

Every set hitting with baby pairs over the painted pairs, every Ace-Queen that Moon held that turned into gold, ESPN's production crew kicked ass splicing the right images. True, the hard-core poker fan would want more four-bet preflop bluffs and find out how these players really battled their ways to those place changing hands over the 21 hours of play. But, the entertainment value for a card lover like me was there.

Officially the WSOP Main Event ended Monday with Cada defeating unmoving logger from Maryland heads-up after 88 hands, but tonight the fanbois of this game will get closure after watching the hole cards come out on those hands that were not flipped over.

And I'll be watching with an ice pack on my back, as a prolonged Warrior pose didn't agree with my girly muscles last night.

Tonight We Pimp, Tomorrow We Dance!

WSOP Spoiler: Joe Cada is your 2009 WSOP ME Champ.

Now if you were a good blogger/poker fan then you followed along at PokerNews, PokerStarsBlog, Poker From the Rail, or of course the original Dr. Pauly's Tao of Poker as Darvin Gump went up against a seemingly invincible Joe Cada for the title heads-up. Leads changed, fans got more sloshed and what was supposed to last a few hands went the distance as Joe Cada will represent the new face of poker after his 88 hand heads-up victory over the logger from Maryland.

As I'm typing this ESPN has Schaffel getting de-tainted by Buchman's quad kings. Yuck.

And... the 3s-4s-2d hand, ok I definitely see Begs reason for betting and going all-in with the straight and flush draws and two overs but good god, the fold, hor-r-i-b-l-e (but mathmatically correct if you factor the cards, which you shouldn't, still horrible).

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Anyway... on to the pimping. Its Truckin' time again! Despite being knee deep in the November Nine hoopla at the Rio, Pauly has his monthly blog-zine up on the stands for consumption (which I'll consume after the kids finish off the popcorn and I finally stop chasing flush draws on the NLO8 tables).

Read on folks:


1. The Stoop by Paul McGuire
I convinced him to meet me at shit hole in the East Village instead of stalking the hooker. He showed up to the bar totally rejected, like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and nailed to his forehead... More

2. A Young Man and Road Gambling by Johnny Hughes
One time coming out of Mexico with my pals, we had the cash stashed for the 300 plus miles home. Smuggling rum brilliantly, we had the backseat floorboard covered in bottles of rum. It was brutally cold, and we had our coats over the rum. The guys in the back had their knees up real high, and we got caught... More

3. Brain Storming by Betty Underground
One comment leads to another and like the winding road that brought him to that beach house, we are all over the mountain of topics that are just 'life'. The non-specific, yet charmed, lives of two souls who have a lot of blanks to fill in and it seemed this time I was doing a lot of the filling-in... More

4. Dick-Hole by Bobby Bracelet
Chlamydia is sort of like the strep throat of the genito-urinary system. It's killed by an antibiotic, but while it's there it causes symptoms that really aren't any worse than strep, just more embarrassing because of the area of the body... More

5. The Ride by George Tate
While fueling he noticed a young long hair in a robe and sandals looking much like a scriptural disciple who had begun to walk across the I-10 bridge then down the east bound ramp towards Phoenix... More

WPBT Tournament Details

Quickie since the WSOP media crew is getting their well rest today/tonight after watching some horrible beats and ending with a Gump vs. Cada heads-up match for the bracelet tomorrow.

(side note: I don't recall seeing a final table with so many under pairs and dominated kickers getting there for eliminations, was really pulling for Ivey).

And tonight I'll be on the bag for PokerStars' Sunday Warm-up and Sunday Million. Drop by for the recaps tomorrow morning.

If you are reading here, most likely you either know about the WPBT Winter Classic and have signed up or you've read about the blogger's exploits in our once-a-year gathering of the minds to discuss writing about poker (ok, not really and mostly just a reason to enjoy the faces behind the blogs). The lovely April has the tournament locked down at Caesar's Palace with a rockin' blind structure should I find myself awake at 10am for sign in.

The $100 buy-in tourney starts at noon, so waltz thru this link to check out all the details.

Quick Hits: The Favre Loyality Edition

Quick hits:

I wish I'd found this video before the Packers-Vikes game last week:



Leroy Butler, Kallie Wong, Touchdown Tommy Kramer jerseys? Not on the bandwagon, these people love their teams and kudos for the funny.


- The World Series is over.



That's the sound outside of New York and their fair-weather fans that spread like H1N1 across the country. The Yankees wins their 27th World Series and it feels like Daniel Negreanu just won two buy ins at the PokerStars $0.01/$0.02 tables. This slight does not apply to those for faithfully rooted on their teams during years that they didn't spend over $200 quadrillion dollars to pluck every available superstar off other teams.

Mike and Mike this morning posed a question to a baseball talking head "teamwork" got the Yankees their championship last night. And the bobblehead agreed that's what is was. Bullshit. For all we know the Washington Nationals were the most cohesive team but lacked the bucks to surround true company men like the Yanks did with Posada, Jeter, Mo Rivera (what a monster!), and Cano.

When asked by Ms. Dawn Summers what to think about the dude with the Yankees cap at her poker table, I quipped "he'll probably try to buy every pot".

So congrats on bullying the table sirs, maybe next year you'll just hand out Yankees uniforms to the AL team with bricks of cash at the All-Star game and finish the season with them.

- For the past two weeks I've played a little more poker than I have in probably 6 months time. No idea what brought on the spurt but I played enough to gain SilverStar status at Stars and almost have enough FTPs at Full Tilt for that Mini Cooper. Ok, a camera but its about the size of a Mini Cooper if you were to look at the car from 5 blocks away.

Some takeaways. Instead of "bonus whores" you now run into "points whores". For example there's a Supernova on the tables I frequently play (lower stakes than a player of this status should be playing) who will complain to no end if he/she is not receiving points at the end of each hand (its based on rake, sometimes the pot isn't big enough to rake for a FPP).

Here's a hint sir or ma'am: No one cares. Because here's your playing line for every hand you play: AAXX (Shove stack preflop), Any ace with two wheel cards (limp), Any combination of all broadway cards (limp), all else pot odds be damned, fold. Post flop, you hit you bet, you miss you fold to any bet, no check-raises, no flatting, no floating. Also, NEVER betting without either the current nuts or a wrap draw to said nuts.

Why would I continue to play such tables? There's never a shortage of people who will call or people have a clue and fold button. It might seem pompus to describe this sort of play as I'm prone to bad calls just as much (you'd think I'd learn by now!), as I'll find my fingers clicking call once in a while against one of these super-nits knowing full well my full house/lesser flush is no good.

That makes me an even bigger donk and a leak that needs to be plugged should I continue this 6-8 tabling across two platforms like its 2006. We'll see if the action junkie in me finds its way to the tables after the missus and kids are tucked away for the evening. Despite losing for the past few weeks I've found the challenge to play again fun and with good friends heading off to Vegas today and tomorrow to set up for the WSOP Main Event final table, my poker interest will only heighten from here. Not to mention seeing said friend in a mere five weeks.

Case in point, I finally sat down to watch an entire episode of the WSOP Main Event on ESPN the other night. Pauly nailed the Darvin Gump moniker in his recent recap. I could visualize the logger going over to his wife on the rail after that unexplainable flush over flush hand against Billy Kopp saying "aw shucks Jen-nay I thinks we's gonna win some money".

Play catch up to the TV coverage with the doc's recaps below:

Main Event Day 8 on ESPN - Liquidity Crisis, Mucking Winners, and Down to 18
Main Event Day 7 on ESPN - Donkeys in the Rye
Main Event Day 6.5 on ESPN - Four Heavy Hitters, Jaws of Ivey, and AngryJulie
Main Event Day 5.5 and Day 6 on ESPN - Introducing the DonkeyBomber
Main Event Day 5 on ESPN - ElkY and Happy
Main Event Day 4 on ESPN - Bubbles and the World Series of Ivey
Main Event Day 3 on ESPN - Aussies, Ivey, and No Shake for Hellmuth
Main Event Day 2B on ESPN - A Kinder and Quieter Hellmuth and the Always Aloof Ivey Time
Main Event Day 2A on ESPN - The Fossilman and Costanza Show

Good luck to all making their ways back to Vegas this weekend.

* and sorry if I missed linking you

Measuring the Tenacity of a Three Year Old

This story I told briefly thru a twitter-like status update on Facebook (okay that sentence sounded 15 degrees of social media gone wrong). It sounded better than posting about poker but to keep my card-carrying poker blogger membership I'll write about that latter this week especially after watching my first night episode of the 2009 WSOP Main Event last night.

Me and wife made the executive decision midway thru the kids' grab for candy known as Halloween to split the kids up as she would take little Optimus Prime (sadly my wife turned down the suggestion of going as Megan Fox) back to our place while I would guide the four-layered fairy princess around the short block back to my parent's place. Last year this was a neccessity since the doe-eyed two year old morphed into some kind of Dungeons and Dragons sub-level middle earth creature Wil Wheaton might describe as a dungeonmaster with unlimited hit points and could not be contained without the +8 Pacifier of Rage.

But this year after picking up not one but TWO full-sized candy bars from good friend's parents that still lived in the area since I stopped attending the elementary school four blocks up the road years ago, me and the princess had a nice cool jaunt around the block.

"Can we go to that house Daddy?"

Politeness is something I'm still getting used to as daddy's little girl is growing up a bit (yes, I'm full aware this will change again but I'm going to soak it up while I can). Trying despirately not to trip on her overflowing dress, she approached every lit house alone to give a quick "trick or treat" with a pigtailed smile. For the most part after the first houses she remembered to say thank you eye-to-eye versus a fleeting salutation once the goods were handed over.

Lawn-side bonfires seemed to be in vogue this year as many parents had a spot for a quick warm-up and no driveways to lurch up to retrieve those bite-sized Snickers bars. But for the houses without flames, she would try desperately to reach the doorbell. Unfortunately, despite being tall for her age, she couldn't quite reach the button and would resort to banging on the door even if I could see a disorted shape approaching from the end of the driveway.

On to the last house before reaching nana and pa's home base her $.50 plastic pumpkin is nearly full and I've taken to carrying it before sending her up the last concrete slab pathway to one more piece of candy that will be going to my co-workers the following week. After climbing two steps to the front door she would try again to reach the doorbell to no avail...

... but this time she would have a plan

After three quick hops to hit the button she put down the candy holder and began climbing the lit jack o' lantern in hope of getting the attention of the people inside. Instead she got my attention as I shout to her "NO KYRA, that pumpkin is lit you're going to burn yourself!".

She would give her father an unapproving look and began studying the pumpkin.

After a couple of seconds, the solution appeared.

Just blow out the candle.

So, my daughter went into a squat position and made like a birthday cake presentation and blew out the flames. Since fire was no longer a detour, she promptly took the jagged top of the pumpkin, twisted it, and made an extra step to reach the doorbell to Oz.

After regaining my senses after my jaw dropped at her innovation I told her "No, just knock on the door". This time I was met by my wife's scowl like I just got home covered in stripper glitter smelling like an opened handle of Captain Morgan. Complete with hand on hip, facing me I calmly informed her that there was someone at the door waiting to hand her candy.

This melted the icy stare as she grabbed the bite-sized M & M's thus completing Trick or Treat 2009.

A Mid-Season Letter to Brett Favre

Dear Brett,

Months ago while you were mulling over the return to the NFL in the form of a grizzled union worker to put in 16 years of service with one company only to be forced out by a younger worker and given the opportunity to sign on with their rival corporation to show you still had something to give, a friend of mine sent you a letter. This friend grew up watching your every touchdown bunny hop and following it up with cheers as year in year out you would breathe life into the Vikings most hated rival.

While I haven’t sent a letter to someone I’m not friends with on a personal level since asking Santa Claus many years ago for that Castle Grayskull set complete with trap doors and limited edition Skeletor, I thought it would be therapeutic to fire off a few words to yourself as we’ve reached mid-season of the most exciting Vikings year since 1998. Like Packer fans would gush over their 1996 team that again, you headlined, the team that could have been here in 1998 represented this franchises best shot at breaking into football’s championship circle once and for all. Now, with a record of 7-1 and you probably returning to Mississippi this week for some much needed rest and with any luck ESPN will not be sending a crew down to your estate to give national updates on your switching from Colgate Minty flavor with tartar block to Crest with whitening toothpaste.

Being a Vikings fan since my late Grandpa Gordy could sit me up in front of the blocky RCA with the big channel knobs that only had four, five, nine, and eleven come in to watch the national game-of-the-week after the Catholic church service with an old school purple hat with gold trim when folded over and a Vikings patch in the front. Touchdown Tommy Kramer was my hero on the gridiron. Tossing passes to Sammy White and future NBA analyst and Mrs. Cosby’s husband Ahmad Rashad gave me the first taste of my fanboism for the home team. But the thing is there was no extra spark on those teams in the 80s, sure there was success in the form of Jerry Burns taking over from long time winner Bud Grant but the team sputtered through the decade with no Super Bowl chances. Same thing in the 90s, but the 1998 team had that spark, breaking nearly every offensive team record in the books with a rookie named Randy Moss and semi-retired Randle Cunningham. That season ended with a wide left and head scratching of what might have been if 72 year old Gary Anderson would have iced the game while extending his perfect kicking season and people outside of Atlanta wouldn’t even know what the “Dirty Birds” were all about today.

After that season Culpepper eventually tried to fist pump this team to the next level, but after the Love Boat debacle and a shredded knee that never healed the team’s Super Bowl dreams sailed off with every pinched penny from Red McCombs who was more interested in squeezing money out of a horribly outdated stadium with a long list of journeymen quarterbacks. Still I cheered while rooting for my beloved Purple on every Sunday that wasn’t blacked out. Then came Zygi (OY OY OY!) and his open wallet to acquire talent in the form of Jared Allen, Pat Williams, Antoine Winfield, and Bernard Berrian. The front office got their heads out of their asses and drafted quality starters like Sidney Rice, Percy Harvin, Phil Loadholt, and of course Purple Jesus.

But one thing was missing.

The spark.

That’s where you came in. Despite this glut of talent the team had no band leader to lead them on the big parade. T-Jack wasn’t it, as fans watched each game he played with the same tentativeness of a parent watching a two year old trying to drink milk from an open cup for the first time. We just hoped he wouldn’t spill versus doing something to win .

And win you have. I can’t recall ever having this much fun watching the Vikings as I have for the past two months all while trying to embrace the fact that you “Public Enemy Number One” as coined by John Randle years ago, are a big reason why this team should coast to another NFC North title. This the question I have for you now that the emotional games of defeating your former team for the first time at the Metrodome and running down the visitor’s tunnel at the house that Brett rebuilt have been played and won:

Now that you have given Ted Thompson the proverbial middle finger in the form of two games throwing for seven touchdowns and clutch passes against his club while the defense decided to nap in the second half, what’s your motivation to finish out the season as it has begun?

You, Mr. Favre, have done everything to solidify your spot in Canton and football lore, what is your drive to stand on the 50 yard line of Dolphin Stadium in February 2010 hoisting your second Lombardi Trophy while chatting it up with Jim Nantz about the game’s MVP award as the confetti settles into the playing field.

Even if the above scene never happens and you’re on a plane from New Orleans returning to Winter Park after losing the NFC Championship game, thank you giving this Vikings fan something to watch this year.

Sincerely,

A Fan


P.S. I'm hoping to crash a team party before the year is out and just to shake your hand and say thanks in person.