World Series of Poker Day 3: Losing a Baby

The next poker explosion looming: slot tourneys. Woodpeckers hitting a button as rapidly as they can. At the end each session, there is a number over the slot with a score or something. Pavlov's dog would be dry-mouthed compared to these folks.

Dealers at the ready, thirty minutes before World Series of Poker Event #4 $1.5k LHE.

ESPN's production braintrust. Security dude in top left is my buddy, as we chat it up for five or ten seconds all the time.

The ESPN Final Table gets finishing touches. Can Juan Carlos Mortensen recover his momentum? He'll be the only one there that has the coveted jewelry for his wrist.

I spill my coffee on the set as I peer up at the lights, gazing like the first time I looked up at the Empire State Building. Of course, I wasn't a dork ruining a set and creating an OSHA hazard when I was looking up on Fifth Street. Yellow tape was already there, not caused by me (I did steal a towel and give it to the crew after cleaning up the residue left after a member used napkins).

Sweetie dropped the Big Guy, our eldest son, at Furman Soccer Camp north of G-Vegas. This is the first separation like this (camp, four days) for him, so while it isn't like he's been shipped off to a sugar mill in Cuba it is a bit impactful on her. He's got alot of her in him: a bigtime reader (he reads on his stomach each night for an hour, huddled under a nightlight plugged in an outlet), a quieter guy who has extreme caring for others. He's a puppy, but he also has some of me for sure: a bit of a baby physically (not as in baby fat but easy to feign injury), athletic, decent looking but not a looker (I mean, I'm not hideous or anything, but I'm not whatever you call it now). All-in, our middle son, is the outgoing ladies man. I've used him in advertising campaigns before, and I think he could absolutely get modeling gigs if we were weird parents. The Little Guy is two and has his mother wrapped around her finger, so there's not much to say.

Anyways, I do want to ask you folks a favor, a real favor (not that you ever do anything I say, but what the heck). Write Sweetie at honeycunn@yahoo.com and, well, thank her for letting me come out here. I shouldn't be here, as long time readers would know. I'm not a writer, I have a struggling consulting business, and I have three boys and an incredible wife who needs me. I'm here though. So if you are glad I'm here, then tell her about it. She won't read any of it probably until we get back after the 4th, but I know it would mean alot to her.

The transition of kids through different phases of life is a kind of loss, but it doesn't compare to losing a child. When you wake up in a hotel at a bizarro time of day, you see things on TV that you wouldn't normally see, like Oprah. Okra had Dick Ebersol and Susan Saint James along with their boys. He is the NBC Sports executive, she best known as Rock Hudson's wife in McMillan and Wife. The family was there for an hour, describing the loss of their son Teddy in a private plane crash that seriously injured Dick Ebersol and older son Charles as well as. Charles found the silver mane of his father under 250 pounds of kitchen supplies and wreckage and pulled him to safety while suffering third degree burns on his arms. He returned to the burning jet searching frantically for his little brother Teddy, but he had been ejected from the plane and died instantly under the fuselage. A Today Show interview captured Susan's loss as well.

My prayers go to anyone who lives each day of their life with this sort of loss. Go hug your son or daughter in a special way today. The World Series of Poker is really great, but nothing's better than that hug. Thanks for stopping by.

Edward Bright "Teddy" Ebersol (10 June 1990-28 November 2004)