Road Warrior: Spent the night in Big Daddy from Cincinnati's RV

[NUTZ IN YA MOUTH]

After being found in A.C. by Moneymaker and making a trip to Foxwoods, I realized if it’s that easy for a former World Series of Poker champion to find me, surely the F.B.I can’t be far behind. I decided to get the [censored] out of dodge (away from Southern Connecticut and it’s fugly women) and set out to see some flops on the Bayou.

I bought in to a $1500 NL tourney at Harrah’s New Orleans and quickly accumulated a mountain of chips. When only 30 players remained, we consolidated to three tables, and I was seated to the right of “Big Daddy from Cincinnati” – Mark Hanna. I didn’t even realize this until I raised from the button, and heard the fat man next to me sing “I don’t mind when you steal my blind.”

When the waitress came over, Big Daddy ordered a beer for himself and told her to get me a Hurricane. I told Big Daddy not to, but he insisted, staring deep into my eyes and said “Don’t worry. It’s on me.”

After a few hurricanes (and if you’ve never had a hurricane, let me tell you, they will [censored] you up), I was feeling pretty damn good. The tournament went on a short break, and Big Daddy said he’d go to the bar and get me another. For whatever reason, he urged me to drink it fast.

Fast forward to the next morning. I wake up in Big Daddy’s RV, completely naked. Big Daddy was sitting in the corner, sipping jack on the rocks, just watching me. It was quite a strange situation.

“What happened last night?” I asked him. “Why am I naked? I don’t remember a thing after you went to get me that hurricane!”
“Yeah,” Big Daddy said nervously. “I think someone – might’ve roofied your drink.”
Still in shock, I asked “What about the tournament?”
Big Daddy took a big gulp of Jack and smiled at me. “You played like a champ. Third place. I was proud, and took good care of you last night.”

At this point, I just wanted to get the [censored] out. “Big Daddy, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking my clothes and bankroll and be going now.”
Grabbing his guitar, Big Daddy said “I don’t mind at all. I want to sing ‘Old Man River’ with you first though.”
“Big Daddy, this is ridiculous, I just want to..”

But he cut me off. “Just once, we’ll sing ‘Old Man River’ together, you’ll get your clothes and bankroll and be on your merry way.”

Grudgingly, I joined him in song as he strummed his guitar:

“Here we all work long the Mississippi
Here we all work while the white folk play
Pullin’ them boats from the dawn till sunset
Gettin no rest till the judgment day

Don’t look up and don’t look down
You don’t das make the boss man frown
Bend your knees and bow your head
And pull that rope until your dead

Let me go way from the Mississippi
Let me go way from the white man boss
Show me that stream called the river Jordan
That’s the old stream that I long to cross.

Ol man river, that ol man river
He don’t say nothin, but he must know somethin’
He just keeps rollin’, he keeps on rollin’ along

He don’t plant tatters, and he don’t plant cotton
And them what plants em, are soon forgotten
But ol man river, just keeps rollin’ along

You and me, we sweat and strain
Body all achin’ and racked with pain
Tote that barge and lift that bail
You get a little drunk and you lands in jail

I gets weary, and sick of trying
I’m tired of livin’, but I’m scared of dyin’
But ol man river, he just keeps rollin’ along”

Afterwards, Big Daddy had tears in his eyes and went into the other room. He had my clothes in one hand and my roll in the other. I quickly snatched both and got dressed.

“There’s an extra 10 G’s in there, from me,” he said sheepishly while kicking the ground. “You know, for last night.”

Horrified, I ran out of the RV as fast as possible. As I fled the scene, I heard Big Daddy strumming his guitar and breaking into song.