A Waste of Good Coffee

I haven’t been on death row yet, but I know how it feels. Spending a rest day in the WSOP main event knowing you’re going back with a third of a starting stack isn’t a lot of fun, and if you can get a good night’s sleep you’re a better man than I am.
All of a sudden, there’s a ray of hope. I went for an early coffee and promptly spilled the lot all over myself. My first reaction was to say **** a little louder than is considered good form at 9 a.m in the Palazzo. I recovered my composure quickly enough to look disgustedly at the guy beside me and consider I did quite well in the blame deflection game. Things got even better when I remembered Surrinder once told me that accidental spillage of beverages was about the luckiest thing that can happen to you. I’m not superstitious myself but a drowning man cant afford to be too fussy if a lifebelt comes his way.

A few hours later, I bounced into the Rio with the confidence of a champion. Shows what an idiot I can be. By dinner break, I had increased my stack to half a starting stack but the very fact I was still involved had me believing that nutjob Surrinder might just be right. I was a true believer at the end of the night when they announced wed be playing two more hands and I was in pretty good shape. I was trying to remember how I’d spilled the coffee in the first place so I could prepare properly for day three. Then it happened. I got the lot in against some lunatic and was shocked when I found we were racing. I got over that very quickly when I remembered I was practically bullet proof and even started feeling sorry for the poor bastard . 30 seconds later I was walking through the Rio wondering wtf had happened. I was so numb I broke the habits of a lifetime and walked past the bar. I was in my room before I figured it out. I shouldn’t have put a dime in the pot without asking this guy had he been involved in any spillages recently. I could at least have checked his clothes for stains. It is after all the WSOP main event. It’s no tournament to get knocked out of because of lack of attention to detail.

I went to the Rio next day to see how my friends were doing. Yeah right. I actually went downtown to have a few beers and gave the punters in the Golden Nugget a lesson in the finer points of the game that they wont forget for a while. I also gave them 1200 bucks so they’d have a few quid to practise with. Satisfied with a job well done, I went for a beer with Scof, the legendary floorman from the old days in Binions. He was telling me a story about a dealer from Long Island who liked his whiskey. I don’t know if I ever met the guy but I’m sure I’d have liked him. How could you not like a guy that comes from a place that’s called after a cocktail? Anyway, a player complained to Scof that this particular dealer had obviously had a drink or two before work. “Thank God for that” said Scof, “You should see the way his hands shake if he hasn’t had a drink!”