Why I Hate Augusta National

From the first round of the Masters, WSOP veteran Rocco Mediate has yanked his bad back through the first round to sit one shot out of the pace set by Vijay Singh while being railbirded by none other than one Fossilman. Why do I hate the Masters? Because I never get invited, and every donkey, lemur, and horrendous person gets to go. My neighbor has been. Molly, the early twenty-something girl that grew up in the Mountains with my brother-in-law marshman, got to go a few years ago. My client who has never broken 100 asked if I wanted a shirt this year (absolutely not). My in-law's used to get hooked up annually. I understand that I don't like pimento and cheese, but still I'd love to chat it up with Raymer, maybe even get a game up while we're there. Fine, whatever.

So, the G-Vegas real-game initiation was a blast at BadBlood's crib. Got to meet all of the glitterati that you only read about: Otis (who crused the game and put a brutal blind all-in call on my brother-in-law, oh by the way), Shep and TeamScottSmith (Shep getting continually sucked out upon by a notably frustratingly transparent player at my table), Otit, Mike (who may have another name but I'm not really good at names). Mike played what sounded like his typical game: building a big stack early (once due to my donkified A9o over-the-top with an ace on board when he's playing AJ or something), then giving it all back starting at 11:00 or so, only to make a thirty-minute call to end the night with a set vs. BadBlood's nut flush draw with three hearts on board. In case you're not that familiar with poker slang, a thirty-minute call is when a player takes literally thirty minutes to call. I dropped about $150, donking off about half that in the last hour trying to make something happen. I got sucked into staying after marshman was knocked out by convincing everyone that I love to deal (which I do). He knew we were in til the end and I would donk most if not all of my chips due to this, which was correct. It's never a good sign when you continually never know how much you're supposed to call when you've limped in and are trying to play wonder hands like 89o and 8h5h. It would have been nice if I was totally transparent with my play, but I kept making good decisions when I was behind in bad position, laying down when I was supposed to and all that. I got respect when I didn't want it then solid competitor hands when I wanted respect. Mrs. BadBlood was a great hostess, taking a nice pot from her husband when she played Shep's fourth re-buy hand. Mini-Blood wasn't that solid what with all the harrassing from his dad early on. A great time for sure, and many thanks for having me.

No golf this morning as I had to wake marshman up at 7:30 for his 6:30 wake-up call. Getting in a little work instead, then heading up to the boys last golf lesson. We're hoping to get in nine holes following the lesson, then drive back. Have a good weekend, and good luck.