Poker Bat-tering Ram in Chicago Part the Second Second

Hate to do this to you again and break up this tale into three pieces but the Bat’s gonna do it.  Where was the Bat?  The Bat just insulted parts of Philadelphia and all of Cincinnati while at his Texas Hold’em poker cash game table. Remember the Bat had declined to play poker tournaments because of the looseness of the cash games.

Marge Schott, her zombie or somebody with a great likeness to her took offense. She got glassy-eyed for a second, and though she missed the reference entirely she knew she was supposed to take great offense to this stinger and did, “Pete Rose? Who the… Pete Rose? Pete… who the fu… a child molester… a child molester? A CHILD MOLESTER!?!” Desired effect achieved. You know when you get somebody so angry they can only repeat the last thing you said, and are so flustered they can’t say anything else. The whole room turned to watch her almost scream “Child molester,” over and over again angrily with each time. She got up from the table as quickly as a grumpy, crochetedy 80 year old with a bad hip can, to make her exit.

Elderly indignation always loses its punch when it takes them 2 hours to storm out a place.

As she got about a table away, she raised one finger high in the air, turned around leveled it at the Bat with soused vitriol, fleshy, wrinkly mass instead of a tricep waggling back and forth with her unsteadiness, as she declared for the whole room to hear, “I am not a child molester!”

*Obviously, Pete Rose is not a child molester and nor does the Bat think that or insinuate that he is. Again, Pete Rose is not a child molester. Pete Rose is not a pedophile. Don’t sue the Bat. For the record nobody is saying Pete Rose is a child molester or a pedophile. Oh, and Pete Rose doesn’t wear women’s underwear either or cock fight or swordswallow or bet on baseball. Wait, maybe he did one of those things, but he’s definitely not into child-molesting. And nor is that lady in Chicago area that looks like Marge Schott, apparently.

Okay with that little anecdote a wrap, and it is a glorious anecdote the Bat realizes that. If you could have only seen that woman shouting in her stupor from the Bat’s shoes with a full pocket of cash you would have truly known what it’s like to live.

So where from there? The Bat surveyed the massive tournament area and looked at all the little sturgeon breeding from off the Great Lakes. What an assemblage of no-talent hacks. The Bat hasn’t been this unimpressed since he went looking for a bathroom near a convention and ran into Battlestar Glactica central. Besides asking what the fudge is a Battlestar Glactica the Bat saw more 40 to 6o year old men in need of the vitamin D of sunlight than he’s ever seen in his life.

Perhaps, the Bat should understand his audience better as many of you snot-nosed online players that send the Bat your steaming rants on optimal play and the Bat’s leaks, will one day be likewise albino from being attached to your laptops and desktops. At first the Bat, thought he wasn’t at a Sci-Fi convention as much as he was in a weird neighborhood of San Francisco’s finest considering how few ladies there were and how many costumes were at play.

Anyway, those Battlestar Galactica folks might have been better players than some of the Shenanigans the Bat saw on display in Chicago. Under the guise of three-betting and four betting the Bat saw idiots get it all in with two unsuited low cards. Of course, those birdbrains would usually win. That means the Bat is about to enter the tournament fray. The Bat is headed for a satellite folks and hopes to bring home the Main Event to Louisiana.

Poker Bat-tering Ram in Chicago Part Second

Okay part two of the first part of the Bat’s trip to Chicago.  You were clicking refresh on the Bat’s blog eagerly awaiting the conclusion to the poker hand. Your finger is hurting from all that clicking, but it’s a good pain, love hurts, and loving the Bat hurts a lot, especially if they aren’t any load bearing walls for the Bat to brace against. The other GCPers were crushing the poker tournaments (congrats to the Monkey for his deep cash, uh how about a link poker star) while the Bat was dusting off a cash game.

Where was the Bat in this yarn?  The William the refrigerator Perry guy was going Arnold Drummond on us, and the Bat was thinking “Why don’t you Superbowl Shuffle your way out of this hand a little quicker.”

Then, Marge Schott up from Cincinnati, if she’s dead this woman could make an extra 50 cents a year being her lookalike, calls.    The Bat ponders forever (or three seconds) ain’t no way anybody has a set of queens.  The Bat shoves the stack in.  Min-raiser, Ditka clone1, looks at the Bat like the Bat just pee’d on the table, and in a way, the Bat did.

The min-raiser calls with a losing look on his face, “I’ll pay you off.”  Are there sweeter words in the English language?  Ditka clone2 says “I call” and looks for chips to push in.  Um… yeah, you were already all-in, if you are joking that’s not funny, if you aren’t, it’s still not funny.  Marge Schott says “Well, I got the nuts so I call.”  The Bat can’t believe she’s about to roll over pocket queens.  Everybody freezes, waiting for her to show ’em.  She doesn’t, she looks at the Bat and says “Well?”  Then turns to the dealer, ” I called him.”  The dealer nods toward the Bat.

The Bat turns over second set.  The min-raising Ditka rolls his eyes and the bat sees a queen go toward the muck.  Ditka2 shrugs and mucks and starts patting himself on his moobs trying to decide whether to stay or not.  This goes on long enough for the Bat to wonder if a wet spot is going to peak through the T-Shirt.  Margie, minus her ugly lookalike dog, says “I told you I got the nuts” and flips over Q7 and eyes the dealer like old people tend to do when they said utter nonsense to the pharmacist and expect him to give them a pile of pills,  a receipt and a smile.

The dealer moves the pot to the Bat.  She goes, “I got two pair!”  “Yes ma’am he has a set.”  “I got two pair!”  “He has a set.”  “What’s he got?”  “He has pocket sevens.”  “In my game two pair beats a pair.”  “Yes, ma’am here too, but he’s got three sevens.”  “I got a queen… AND a seven!”  She’s looking at the dealer like she just got fleeced for a quarter at KMart when her expired coupon didn’t take.  The dealer nods and positions the cards on the table.  After some staring she looks up from them, probably finally getting it, and angrily looks the Bat up and down and says “At least, I’m not a fat asshole… you FAT asshole!”   What?

The Bat, though surely a surly, ill-tempered, grossly obese asshole, on most nights took offense at that remark.  On that evening, a winning session with donators like Marge Schott making him rich, he probably was an enjoyable tablemate except for winning all of the chips, and hating on people simply because they are winning is so juvenile, so he said simply, “Pete Rose is a cheat and probably a child molester since he’d deny that too,*” making a reference that maybe only the Bat would catch but knowing two words were all that it would take to escalate the situation.

To be continued…  And please get to the next post to see the asterisk where the Bat states Pete Rose is not a child molester in anyway.

Poker Bat-tering Ram in Chicag-o

First off the Bat hates it when people put their thoughts into two posts with to be continued and all that nonsense.  Well, the Bat’s going to do that because this one runs long.  Secondly, thanks to the shout out from the Texas Hold’em Poker Monkey, the Bat’s blog got double the hits it normally does because of the mention (hey, would it kill a guy to put a link to it?).    The Bat might introduce himself and come out of anonymity any day now.  But back to the poker.

Okay actually it’s Hammond where the Bat was taking fools to poker school.  You thought Walter Payton barreling over defenseless defensive lineman was impressive on Soldier Field you should see what the Poker Bat is doing to the mustachio-ed Chicago-ens on the cash tables.  The Bat, a surly argumentative crumble bum from upper Louisiana, is dealing out hits the NFL is suspending people for, and not bothering to take names.  All the folks from Chicago look the same and talk the same anyway, but now they are getting flattened like pancakes by the Bat. 

Take Ditka, clone him, fatten him up a bit, try to squeeze him on a poker table and you are in one of two places.  An illegal game in Pittsburgh, the mustache capital of the United States, or Chicago.  Smell a faint meat-packing odor and you are definitely in Chicago.  And if you can smell that, you know what the Bat is cooking… fat middle-Americans trying to fit their bellys in to a pair of Wranglers that even Brett Farve wouldn’t text with a dirty picture.  

Alright, now that the Bat has bashed a city, let’s be honest, there are some great people in Chicago, several of them actually exersize and stereotypes aren’t all true.  Just mostly true.  But, that’s alright, these are the Bat’s people.  Break out Da Polish Sausage because the Bat can go fork for fork or shovel for shovel with these Supafans in eating red meat and deep dish pizza.  You think the Bat doesn’t shop at a Big and Tall and Really Big store for nothing?  The reason the Incredible Hulk just wears purple sweatpants is because that’s the only thing that will fit him, same is true for the Bat.  The Bat’s the guy taking up two seats on the airplane and making the pilot push the gas a little harder to get off the ground.  So Chicago is like coming home to a family reunion for the Bat. These are the Bat’s people.

Despite being heckled by jeckylls during the NFC Championship after the Saints lost with Katrina being in the mix of insults (lowest of the low), the Bat likes most of Chicago.  Most of it.  Anyway, let’s stick to the poker.  The Bat is crushing the games.  At a recent 2-5 game the Bat sat down with a pocket full of hundos and left with double his wad.

Here’s what these dumbasses did in one hand:

Bat’s got a set of 7s.  The board is a coalition of gay people with nary a straight in sight (rainbow-no straight cards for those of you with reading comprehension issues).  The top card is a Queen to really set the Studio 54 scene.  q7236 for those of you that want to play along.  Bat opens on the river with a pot sized bet.

Ditka clone one pushes out a min-raise.  Appetizing.  Ditka clone two shoves all in for little more than the min-raise.  Spicey.  William the Refridgerator Perry gives the table a “Whatchayoutalking about Willis” look and folds. 

-To be continued, you must read next week if you want to hear how this hand ends.

Poker Bat on Deck to Bat at WSOP Riches

The Poker Bat took a vacation.  Wasn’t at the Poker Hospital or the real hospital the Bat was just on leave from blogging.  The Bat can blog in his sleep or so the Bat thinks but every time he lays down to sleep he never blogs.  The Bat knows so many of you loyal, avid, aimless, lecherous, and deceitful readers get amped up for a Bat post so it must have been disappointing to go through the last two weeks without a taste of the Bat to tide you by.  The Bat has been playing Texas Hold em poker online, which should come to no surprise to you, the Bat’s faithful readership, but for the rest of you, the unfaithful, the haters, but those that still read and still badger the Bat with insults, here’s the surprise… the Bat’s been killing it.

Yeah, cry the Bat a river. You think he’s a donk yet all he does is win. The Bat is a one man poker school and you’d be wise to sign up and take lessons. First off, the Bat has been playing some cash games with some big dummies online. They all race to sit down at the Bat’s table and talk about VPIP-PITY split, career EV, and abbreviates the Bat don’t care to read or care about.

All the Bat knows is he’s dropping them as the Bat is on a heater like Jaime Gold at the World Series. You got pocket kings MrSwed1sh the Bat’s got a set of 10s. Eat it Scandi. The Bat’s been amassing cash and gearing up for the two World Series of Poker events that are going to be taking place on the coast. The IP has an event the Bat is going to crash and win, so too Harrahs of New Orleans. Don’t know how many tournaments the Bat will play or if the Bat will just nurse the teet of the cash games, but the Bat will be there.

By the way, question for the IP? Why not move the cash tables into the tournament area and create one huge poker clusterdump during the Circuit Satellite event. Rather than players walking up and down a flight of escalators (even when the Bat’s riding one of those things, the tug of gravity on the Bat’s muffin top makes it feel like work) and trotting half a building to go back and forth put all that in one place. Say a player busts out of a tournament and goes on insta-tilt here’s a cash game for him to join. No need for him to walk for five minutes and talk himself out of it, or to cool off his tilt.

Bat likes players hot and freshly busted. Try to win that entry back on one hand you big dummy. The Bat’s got something for you.

The Harrahs event is part of that big tournament circuit where points are tabulated and it acts a bit like the Nike Tour and then they give away a bracelet for it. Yawn. The Bat’s only interested in one thing, busting players, busting tables, and trying not to bust ass while doing it. Yes, the Bat’s known to have a bit of a flatuation problem, but a little gas ain’t harmful to no one but the guy at the table behind him. You are going to know the Bat tooted because the Bat will be standing up pointing at some other guy and talking about the dead racoon he’s storing in his large intestine. Never admit a fart, that’s one of the Bat’s rules to live by.

Oh yeah, congrats to the guy that co-owns the site, Wild Bill, for chopping that soft as molasses Harrahs weekly tournament he calls the Donkley. It must be a stable of donkeys for that nit to win.  Note to Wild Bill and Gene D:  move the Bat up the Gulf Coast Poker. Net blog list.