Batting in the Poker New Year…

Not sure if the Chinese calendar has a year of the Bat, but it should, because this is the year of the Bat.  The Bat will set the poker and gambling world afire by winning WPT and WSOP events.  The Bat saw Wild Bill’s Resolutions/Proclamations for poker success this year and the Bat thinks the kid is setting the bar way too low.  Well, way too low for the Bat, might not be too low for the Wild one but using those paltry goals as inspiration here’s what the Bat thinks his GCP brethern should use as resolutions:

Reid G.  Win a major online tournament.  The guy is crafty, you can tell by reading his blog he puts a lot of thought into the game, though maybe he should take a step back and live in the moment a little more.  Too much schooling makes a street-smart kid smart but not street.  Reid continue to play your online poker tournaments, build your bankroll, and crush it like we know you can, play poker tournaments online every day, every night, keep crushing it, go up to bigger and bigger events, play online poker like its your job because it  is, execute proper bankroll management and enjoy that Sunday Millions title.

The Monkey.  Mend fences, stop throwing monkey feces at every casino like a petulant orangutans, and go back to winning tournaments.  While we are in the farm, donkeys don’t need to be reminded they are donkeys.  And structures aren’t great unless an occasional donkey can’t get deep.  Why not?  If they aren’t fooled into thinking their luck is skill they won’t return.  Poker’s life blood is people with misconceptions of the poker skills.  Monkey you have it, but don’t get so mad when the idiots win.  If the final table is only a club for good players why would all the knuckle draggers play?  So sayeth the Bat.

Gene D…  Stop with the periods… you have more of them then my Nanan… who never went through menopause and is still popping out cuz’ns at… 90.  Keep grinding you are a machine.  The Bat enjoys your writing and appreciates you allow the Bat to post on GCP.Net.  This is the year… GeneD… gets his biggest score of his life.

The Honest Poker Player.  Stop lying to yourself.  No poker player is honest.  Stop lying to your readers, call yourself the mostly honest poker player. 

Kai Landry’s sexy poker blog is a no holds barred, eye-gouge and bean bag twisting look at poker.  That guy can write and can play.  Kai, resolve to stop relying on the casino to supply your whipped creme.  That’s your prop and your future endorsement.  Bring back more whipped creme.  Why (eyebrow arched), because the Bat sez so.

SouthpawRounder write a blog post once a year.  The clock just flipped, it’s time.  The Mayans say the world is going to end by 2012 let’s at least get one blog post by then.  Your readership will thank you.

Tiltin’ Texan way to beat the big C.  Why the folks at GCP.Net haven’t started a charity tournament in your honor is beyond the Bat, those bastards.  What’s the resolution for you TT?  Keep grinding, keep fighting, and take the same attitude you had in licking cancer to licking poker.  And slowroll often.

Pobody’s Nerfect.  Terfect Pitle but The Bat could have told you that.  The bat once saw the hottest girl in school without her make up and thought she was her brother.  Come to think of it, the Bat never saw the two of them together.  The guy looked like Dustin Hoffman the girl like Tootsie.  The Bat’s definition of beauty may be different than yours.

Jonathan Little.  Win the NBC Heads Up poker tournament and get your boy Shannon Shorr an invite this year.  Don’t dare lock horns with the Bat, the Bat might leave your wallet 30 or 40 dollars lighter.

Goondingy–Your poker skills are rusty.  Get the rust off, get out the house and into the card room.  The bat wants to see you three racks deep in chips again.

Virge–Be careful in Asia.  They don’t like to gamble over there.  Don’t be such a nit.

Jena Delk–resolve to hang out with a better class of people than the GCP.Netters your are too elegant for us.

Brandon Jarrett– The Bat sez it’s time to get your name out there, hustle a little bit kid, make this the year of the BJ.  Well, the second year of the BJ, the first year of the BJ was right before the Bat got married and it’s been downhill ever since.  See Jena, the Bat told you not to hang out round ‘chere.

Austin Martin, Shoats, Da Rock– See Southpawrounder’s resolution.  Update your blogs more regularly.  Do it.  All three of you also change your pictures ASAP.

Poker BATting .400

Christmas is one of the Bat’s favorite holidays it’s right up there with Halloween and eating gobs of candy, with Thanksgiving eating gobs of Turkey, and Valentine’s Day eating gobs of chocolate.  Course the Bat likes to fry a christmas goose.  Tip one for frying your own goose.  Like Duck, Goose is a meat best eaten rare or medium rare. 

It’s a tasty bird, a tasty, tasty bird.  During the holidays while the Bat is ready to cook his goose, the Bat plays some online poker tournaments.  The Bat kills online poker, KILLS it.  At least of late.  The Bat’s favorite game is playing six handed.

After the Bat turns the crank on the old Commodore 64 to get it up and running he turns to his mac and plays some real poker.  The Commodore 64 is like the world’s biggest paperweight.  Though the Bat is a bit of nostalgist.  Anyway, the Bat digresses.  When the Bat sits down to play poker online, the Bat is fully aware he’s going to kill it.

Depending on the site, the Bat has careful notes about all of his opponents.  At least the Bat did until he heard so called Data Mining is illegal.  The first thing the Bat did was shred all the paper evidence of the data mining, then the Bat emailed his friends and told them to not do it, and then the Bat took a big magnet to his computer to clear any evidence… um… data that might have been mined. 

The Bat can’t believe this Isildur1 vs. Brian Hastings vs. the online poker player’s world.  What?  Isildur1 ran over the likes of Tom Dwan and then some geeks from Card Runners pooled their data and crushed the kid.  Didn’t they send Durrrr the memo? And then what?  The guy that won most of the money, over 4 million, mr. Brian Hastings, promptly thanks er… rat’s out… Brian Townsend.

Townsend was the mastermind.  He’s the goose that needs to be cooked.  Hastings slyly implied when he gave full thanks to his windfall to Townsend.  All that did was get Townsend’s red pro status revoked.  But wait their’s more…

Isildur1, who’s own goose was cooked when he saw all his nosebleed winnings head over to Hastings account, read about the collusion… er… data mining and he’s not too pleased.  The Bat should think not.  Why would he be?  The kid only took the nosebleed stratosphere by storm playing every single big name at once it seemed.  And for the most part winning.  Then some guys who wouldn’t last long enough in a dodge ball game to be second man out sat around their laptops, spreadsheets, and slide rulers devising a strategy to top him.


The Bat’s not sure what to think.  Data mining seems to be here to stay.  Sure it’s frowned upon but is it really?  Brian Townsend at most got a slap on the wrist and the other two seem to be getting away scott free.  What if Isildur1’s protest gets honored.  What player wouldn’t start accusing every successful opponent of being a lowly, black-tarred data miner?

The Bat knows he would point the sooty feather at many an opponent.  When the Bat sits down to play poker online he does so to compete against one man for each hand.  So what if the Bat has data on all his opponents it’s not fair if they have data on the Bat.  Plus, there are several sessions the Bat would like to do-over.  Perhaps, his site can launch an investigation into the freaks that rivered quads against the Bat.  Or the guy that called every bet that one day.

Anyway, the Bat scooped exactly 4 tournaments out of the 10 he played this week.  That’s pretty phenomenal.  Next stop Isildur1 and that gang of data miners.

Bayou Poker Challenge Review

So the Bat descended on decadent New Orleans, finding himself a cozy vinyl booth in a strip club on Bourbon Street sipping a beer the size of his head, holding dollar bills between his teeth, ogling the pretty girls, and trying to ignore the stank of the strip club when he realized he came down to play some pok-a.  The Bat left the buxom silicone ladies at Rick’s, Larry Flints, and elsewhere despite their heaving breasts, and promises of love to get back to Harrah’s Poker Room.

Who knows what time it was but the Bat barely aware of daylight, or lack of it, on his rambling walk over keyed into his surroundings and knew he was going to crush it.  The poker room had its usual assortment of welfare check recipients trying to strike Gold on a bad beat jackpot or an epic run of cards, freshly minted Internet luckboxes that think every table has a holecam and the casino cameras are trained on to them with a panel of security members admiring their deft folds and ballsy re-raises, the out-of-town drunks, and your rocks growing mold on their casino beaten faces.

The Bat felt right at home.  He pulled out a wad of cash, now far lighter after the sojourn at the strip club, where Hurricanes had blinded him to denominations and the Bat inadvertently tipped hundos instead of singles.  No fear, the Bat’s been running good especially in Texas Hold ‘Em Poker.  Now was the time to take these fools to poker school.  Finding a seat at a swollen 10-25 table the Bat splashed a wad onto the table.  The future victims eyed the Bat’s stilted movements and listened in glee to his slurred words with several openly rubbing their hands in delight.  But the Bat knew better, oh the Bat knew better.

The Bat’s plan was to watch a round of play and then attack, attack, attack.  Five hands in pocket queens changed that plan and the Bat eyed the pot as the old man with the creaky arm led out with a bet.   The elbow joint literally cracked like a champagne bottle being opened and even a drunken Bat could recognize the embodiment of tightness was entering the pot.

Rolling his eyes, the Bat popped it to the $350.   The old man didn’t flinch.  The bystanders got out-of-the-way.  Old Man Winter waited until the action got to him and waited some more.  The Bat wondered if Death had finally creeped up and squeezed the old coot’s heart until like a rotten tomato it fell in upon itself.  Had the old man with his wispy beard finally succumbed.

With a resounding crack of his other elbow, the geezer found life force anew to toss out a stack of black chips.  If the Bat was going to play, it was going to be for 2k.  The drunken Bat felt beaten and looked down at the remainder of the 5k in chips in front of him.  He checked his cards again, still two queens. 

The old man turned his creaky neck until he was eyeball to eyeball with the Bat and as he did so his thick 1980s Bill Gate glasses slid down the top of his nose.  They looked like their very heft would take the nose with it, tearing it off his ragged face.   The Bat fumed.  He has to have it.

The Bat pushed out 2k and said to himself, I’ll hit a queen.  The old man visibly rocked by the call sank into his chair.  He doesn’t have it!  The Bat thought to himself.

The dealer slowly scooped in the pot and readied himself to show the flop. 

“Today, dealer, I want to make sure he’s alive to see the end of this hand,”  The Bat quipped.

The dealer spread three cards and the Bat’s Q came. 

The old man put out 2k and the Bat shoved over the top for the last 1 k, “I gotta set old man!” taunting his opponent.

The old man turned slowly to the bat firing in the extra thousand with one hand and spilling his cards with the other showed J10. 

“Jack f’ing 10?”

The dealer said “Straight” and fired off two meaningless cards.  He pushed up the Q9 and 8 that flopped.  Whoops!

The Bat Blogs Again, Poker is Under his Skin…

Who is Isildur1?  Who is the Poker Bat?  And who is Russell from Survivor?  Is Russell really a millionaire, is Isildur1 really a bored billionaire, and is the Poker Bat really a dollarnaire.  Would it shock and surprise and awe you if all three were one and the same?  The Poker Bat wouldn’t be surprised, course the Bat doesn’t have much time for sleep so there’s always time to try on a new identity or two.

The Bat likes his casino games, his roulette, his blackjack, his three card poker, his three card monte, and basically anything with green felt.  Poker, Billiards, Pool, Snooker, and screen-in porches of your over 60 set.  The Bat wants to say hey you got a game table for a carpet.  The Bat got his start with a stick and some dice way back when on a blue-haired lady’s screen porch, so the Bat’s been around the block.

The Harrahs tournament Challenge thingamachinga is upon us, and as much as the Bat has been laying waste to the online poker geeks, the blackjack tables over at bwin, and the scooping a jackpot at the Beau, the Bat can’t help but get a little excited about trouncing on all the old familar faces.  The Bat is ready to take on the GCP.netters like GeneD, the Monkey, The Texan, The Southpaw Rounder, the Honest Player, and the other dingbats that make a partial living from playing the game.

The Bat has been a one-man wrecking crew and a demolition man that would make Wesley Snipes regret ever assuming the moniker.  Playing roulette online the Bat has tripled his roulette bankroll.  Sitting down to play online roulette is such a treat the Bat enjoys it with a Mint Julep, a slice of avocado pizza, and foot massage from the lady the runs the laundrymat down the block.  Granted with the Bat gets to stomping his feet and slurring his words the foot massage lady picks up some laundry business from the spilled Juleps and a black-eye or two from the wayward feet of the Bat, but it’s all worth it.   After a successful evening, spinning the virtual roulette ball online, the Bat will smoke a menthol and buy something off an infomercial.

The Bat, is dubbed the Bat because of his nightime proclivities.  They are rooted in watching infotainment television.  The Bat can see a Juicer commercial once, but give him a Jack LaLane’s juicer ad and it’s heaven.  See the Bat used to be a pitchman himself, and watching the masters wheel and deal, ABC style, Always B Selling… the Bat gets goosebumps.  Folks like Billy Mays are the Babe Ruth’s and Pele’s of the Bat’s world.

Recently, the Bat watched that actor Vince pitch a shamwow, and shamwow! the Bat was buried in orange towels that lose all their appeal after a couple of washes.  What is a shami anyway?  The Bat knows, another worthless rag for the foot massage lady from down the block.

Where was the Bat, oh yeah, destroying roulette online and thinking about getting in some live poker time at the Harrahs Challenge.  The only Challenge for the Bat would be not ridiculing all those “players” that think they are fricking Phi HellMouths and Daniel NeGROANus.  Look make a decision and finish acting. 

Live poker is so fun and easy except for all those idiots that play.  Stack your chips creatively and get out of the Bat’s pot.  That’s all the Bat’s got to say.  You’ll see the Bat at the six handed poker tournament on Thursday.  Look for relaxed feet, the gentle breezy breath of a mint julep, and freshly laundered clothes, and a wallet fat from online roulette winnings.  The Bat’s gotta fly.