The Bat wonders if you’ve ever seen those guys that sit down at the table and immediately start caressing the felt. They move those dirty hands around in slow semi-circles like they are petting a dog’s belly, and stroke it like there is some sort of secret spot that will unlock a trove of chip stacks. The Bat can tell them where the G spot is, it’s right in front of them with the thousands they got sitting there in stacks of hundos, that Bat will be happy to unload for them. The Bat knows you don’t have to deal with that crap playing online poker but is terrified about the rumors that poker sites will start using webcams to show the poker players in the hand. The Bat doesn’t want to see what the guy is doing in the privacy of his own home whilst playing poker. Forgetaboutit.
So the Bat watches a few lunchboxes, at the casino that Daniel Negreanu called out in his blog, stroking felt. Apparently Kid Poker, The Poker Monkey, and Pokerbat can all agree the structures in those tournaments turn into shove fests at the end. The Bat doesn’t know from personal experience as the Bat has never made it to the end of anything really except for a special Family Ties episode that dealt with Skippy’s cross eyeds (hey, that pulled at the heartstrings and Mallory really had a change of perspective). Still, the Bat considers both those players wise enough authorities to recognize it as truth.
So the Bat, realized as he signed up to play tournament after tournament he was doing everybody a favor by not going deep so as not to get on his blog and complain about the shove fest that took away all of the Bat’s considerable skills he used to get there. That was nice of the Bat.
The Bat instead cruised the poker rooms and found some of the worst players he had ever laid eyes on. The Bat thinks the more a guy strokes a table the worse he is. It’s like the dude that tries to convince you he can play poker, and starts rubbing elbows like he recognizes you as the other good player at the table, the worst that guy is. All hat no cattle is what they say in Texas.
Amazing how many of these chest pounders will criticize the slightest mistake which oftentimes isn’t even a mistake and then cry bloody murder when their hand doesn’t hold up. Look cowboys and indians, this is poker, the best hand doesn’t always hold up, and the best hand isn’t the best hand until the hand is OVER. Stop listening to Kenny G, wannabees, and start doing some history lessons and listen to a guy named Kenny R. ” You never count your money when you are sitting at the table!” Know why, because it’s not yours yet, it’s still in play.
The Bat watched some idiot try to get around that concept by openly taking the hundos he won in a pot, crumpling them and stuffing them into his massive mom jean pockets. Here’s an anatomy lesson… guys get bellys, they do not get pooches that fit under their Lee’s–okay? If you do, you might want to check if you are in fact a dude. If you are sticking money into front pockets of your jeans that look like ass pockets on somebody else’s jeans, you are probably not only not a dude but also a mom. Yes, you have a kid induced pooch.
Good news is you can start playing ladies tournaments. Bad news is you bore children, worse news is you wear mom jeans.
Now back to this Mother-in-Disguise. He tries to “Go South” and the Bat ain’t having it. “No, no, fella pull your money out… these are table stakes.” The dealer looks at the Bat like the Bat is talking Vietnamese, which is apparently legal at these tables as long as your friend is also Vietnamese, but not if you are the Bat talking after four Crown and Cokes on a different night…. Speak English? “ImasparklingArngish.” So the dealer gets his panties in a bunch, because there is a dude trying to put hundos in his bunch, and the Bat calls him on it.
When the rest of the table informs the dealer the Bat’s in the right not even an apology is proferred. The Bat doesn’t like dealers that don’t apologize.
Alright, the Bat needs to shampoo his sideburns.
Same Bat site, same bat post?