NL Holdem Poetic Justice

[chester]

I played at the Bike last night in the $300 to $500 game. The Blinds are five and five.

Around one a.m. I mess this guy up, Old School.
This guy had been raising $100 preflop and on the flop into $15 pots with
a swagger. He'd imbibed several Pacifico's con Limon and proudly
wore his "Please Stack Me" sign around his neck.
Soon the table shrinked to five players and I pick up
King-2 of hearts on The Button. The time was ripe for a felting.
I raise to forty bucks. He pops it $100 more in the Big Blind.
The timid and weak fold in turn and in character.

I call.

The flop comes KQ2 rainbow.

Somewhere in the distance, Beethoven's Ninth Symphony
begins to play, faintly at first, but slowly and steadfastly the volume rises into bliss.

On cue, my foe bets $200 by lining up eight stacks of five in a little wall in front of him.
He grins at me as he completes his task. I wonder if, perhaps, he feels safe while perched behind his little wall.
He's got $225 more behind him. My $225. I revive my best Hamlet
and feign some sort of numbers calculation. Then, after taking
the most perfect amount of time, I dutifully raise him all-in.
He pauses and sternly looks his rival in the eyes.
A brief peering into the shadowy abyss.

He calls.

The turn comes a queen and I nearly barf all over the dealer's box.
Blast ye poker gods!
The river runs blank and I ask him if he holds The Queen. He remains mute.
He appears infirm. I turn my cards over to the collective awe of the table.
Confused and wavering, he relinquishes his hand out into the muck without showing his cards.
What did he have?
J10? A10? K9?
Who knows what he had?
At this point, who cares?
Not me.

The Loser is now physically wavering.
His tiny world is churning upside down and inside out. Alice tumbles down the rabbit hole.
His breathing is strained, shallow. His gaze, unfixed.
He is no longer where he once was and he is alone.
For a second, I feel a deep sorrow for the poor bastard. It fades.
I respectfully bow my head as my Sherpa and I attend to my mountain of chips.
The table is quiet. Somber and mourning time now.
And once again all are reminded of who is Lord and Master.
The Vanquished One now grasps and gropes to find support, rises slowly
and embarks on the long Walk of Shame to the ATM machine.
Time passes in deep reflection.
He returns and he is resolute. His aim is no mystery.
His target, no stranger.

With class, I play the obligatory 2 more rounds and bid my farewells.
My job done, I return homeward to my awaiting Love and sleep soundly into the morn.

[Frogpond]

[Dave Coulier]

Well done.

[shortline99]

[ QUOTE ]
What did he have?
J10? A10? K9?

[/ QUOTE ]