Festive Poker

Picking music for the iPod 'Poker' playlist:
My original tactic was to have some decent background, elavator, instantly forgetable hit music with a touch of guitar dribbling through the earphones, but discovered at the Jackpot €100 game that the slow depressing Sade-esque suicide inducing anthems were a bit too successful and lead to me being the table wimp... so that HAD to change. Plan B, crack out the old Eminim Show album, stick that on the iPod and picture all my opponents as my money-grabbing mother who desrves a beating, effectively TIGHT AGGRESSIVE... bingo! However, due to a technical hitch in the updating of my 'Poker' playlist, I now have "My Love" my Justin Timberlake on my iPod about seven or eight times, still not sure how I managed that!

Respect at the Mayfair Christmas game:
When I play in the Mayfair in Arklow I do well, I don't know why but I do. I think maybe the idea of driving for an hour for a game of cards focusses the mind somewhat. Having won their End of Month game before and dragging Lloyd in the door with me fresh from his 30k win I got the impression that the locals weren't happy to see the two boys from Dublin. Its a noticeable change when people respect you before you sit down at a table, in contrast to some Dublin clubs where if you are under the age of 25 people assume you're a cocky no talent ass hat! I think between myself and Lloyd finishing 3rd and 2nd respectively we more than justified whatever respect, if any, shown to us.

Shoes can be terribly constricting:
I have a pair of shoes, they're not particularly nice shoes. Lloyd tenderly refers to them as my Sporting Emporium shoes, as I wear them in order to get in the door their as they frown upon my life policy to live and die in runners . So the morining comes for myself and the usual crew of Dublin student dealers to work at the JP Poker Christmas Festival, and our hero needs a pair of shoes, so I break out the old reliables! These shoes, I know, have seen better days, they are in desperate need of replacement, but I gamble and go to work in my much travelled shoes. Most of the day passes without event, but at about 2pm, after you've been wearing the same shoes for near on 16 hours, they get uncomfortable, and the real shit of it is once you noticed they're uncomfortable it'll take a frying pan to the side of the head to make you think of anything else. So there I am, dealing away, at nearly 3am watching Ken Powell and Rob Taylor showing off their rather impressive MTT skills, and ALL I can think about is my shoes. Being super smart that I am I decide I'll just take the damn things off. This plan is flawless... until play stops and you have to get up from the table... now shoeless! Is there a lesson to be learnt from this experience? There probably is!