Just to be an Asshole

On Tuesday night, we were playing our usual game, 7 card stud, hi-low, nothing wild. On the third hand, I was dealt an ace on third street, an ace on fourth street and a third ace on fifth street. There were a couple of promising high hands that dropped out in the face of my potential aces over boat.

Larry Dot Net said he folded trip 8’s. The Colonel said he had a hell of a hand, but the three aces and potential boat were just too much. I wasn’t challenged for the high, and so I mucked my cards. Everyone wanted to know if I had the boat. I told them, “check my blog tomorrow for the answer.”

Hey, anything for regular readership. To hear my answer, you’ll have to read to the end of this piece, boys.

Anyway, one of the topics of conversation came in response to someone asking “Why?” I don’t even remember the subject at that time. And the answer to “Why?” was “Just to be an Asshole.” I observed that made a great title for a blog entry.

I’m born and bred in New York, and I’m willing to say anything for a laugh. In New York, that’s just one of the crowd. But after 32 years in San Francisco, that generally just makes me an asshole.

On the second to last hand of the night, I had the only low on the board with A-2-5. Unfortunately, that 5 paired me underneath, but I continued to bet as if I had the lock low. After a final round of max raises, Mr. Leaguer, with 6, 8 and two face cards showing went low with a 10 low (which, for you non-players, really, really, really stinks). I had paired up again on the river, and so I was bluffing with a king low. How he could throw $32 into the pot on the last card with a 10 low with my board is beyond me. I did something awful at that moment: I whined. I asked him why he would stay in and go low with an unbluffable low board and a terrible low hand.

The answer: “Just to be an asshole.”

It was, for me, the difference between winning money and losing money (particularly after losing the previous pot to him when he topped my 8’s over full house).

Speaking of assholes, Barry Bonds hit a game-tying homer with 2 outs in the ninth yesterday. I have a couple of observations about the current state of Barry’s ability. First, he can’t pull the ball. There is something with his knee that doesn’t let him get around with power. All of his homers have been to left center, to the deepest part of the ballpark. He blasted another ball in the 11th yesterday, but it died on the centerfield warning track.

Barry is really hurting. He’s beyond a liability in the field: he’s worse than me, and I’m 53 freaking years old. And I stink! He almost won the game yesterday, but he also lost it when he let a soft liner by Chris Woodward not only drop in front of him, but he then played it into a double. The winning run scored and Woodward ended up scoring an insurance run for the Mets. Right now it’s hard to imagine Barry playing beyond this season.

You might be wondering why I put a picture of Phil Hellmuth in this entry. Well, it’s about poker and it’s about assholes. And I didn’t have a picture of Mr. Leaguer turning over that full house the other night.

So did I have Aces full? Maybe. If you really wanted to know, you should have paid to see the cards. Instead, I mucked them.

Just to be an asshole.