Archive for September, 2008
Posted by: Tommy Angelo on September 28th, 2008
When my dad died in 1996, there was one uproarious moment during the formal mourning period, a story that has been told and retold, tilled and retooled.
First came the evening wake at the funeral home, a highly populated event. The next day there was the funeral at the massive Catholic church with aisles filled. It was our parish church. My siblings and I all went to the grade school next to it. The next day was the burial, a ceremony that began at the church. The immediate family had a final viewing of the body, then we went out the side door of the church to get in a hearse that would lead a procession of cars to the graveyard. There were many emotional spikes during these days, and for me, there were two major ones on this day. One was during the final viewings. The other was the uproarious moment I’m working toward.
My mom died in 1986. Four years later, my dad married an angel. Her name is Jackie. The immediate family that was in the hearse was me, my three siblings — Jude, David, and Paul — Jude’s 16-year-old daughter Josephine, and
Jackie.
The graveyard was several miles due north from the church. But we didn’t take the shortest route. Instead, because of David’s brilliant idea, the caravan went south and west, about a mile, to the fabled Horseshoe Stadium on the campus of Ohio State University, where my dad taught for 31 years without ever missing one day. And he went to every home football game. And he used to play handball with Woody Hayes. People around here like to say “I bleed Scarlet and Grey.” Buckeye fans remind me a little of how poker players can all think they are better than everyone else. I’ve seen Buckeye fans enraged over who is the more maniacally devoted fan. But they’re just fans. They don’t live right next to campus and spend most of their days on it every year for a lifetime. I never saw my dad with an open wound. I can’t help but wonder though, just what color his blood really was.
So this huge trail of cars went down to the stadium and lapped it. It was the right thing to do. No doubt that just like the rest of us, the stadium wanted to say goodbye to Ralph.
Back on High Street, heading north, the mood in the hearse was light. Ups and downs are really just two sides of one coin, I began to notice during this time. We’re driving along, and Josephine said something that was incorrect. I can’t recall what it was. I can’t even recall what kind of error she made. It could have been something grammatical, since that is one of the types of things that people in my family are in the habit of correcting. Or it could have been something stated as a fact that wasn’t. Whatever it was, she said something that was incorrect, and my brother David quickly corrected her.
And Paul said to David, “So who died and put you in charge?”
We laughed and laughed and cried and laughed and did it some more.
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on September 21st, 2008
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Have you ever played a hand so bad that you just can’t let it go? During the session you keep thinking about it. The next day you keep thinking about it. It’s like a festering infection. It’s like the first time somebody put those trick candles in your birthday cake. You blow out the flames, but then they just keep popping back up. At first it’s freaky, and annoying, and everyone is laughing, but I’m not having fun. Playing a hand bad and having it keep coming back in my mind is just like that, except it’s the entire universe laughing at me, and it’s definitely not fun. That’s why, ever since my fifth birthday, I have dedicated my life to gaining the ability to stop the taunting, and I’m pretty far along, but I’m not all the way cured. There are times, like when I totally butcher 72o, a hand that I have misplayed many times, when the coming back keeps comes back.
Like this one time, in Vegas. I was playing in a full $5-10 blinds no-limit hold’em game at The Venetian. Two players folded, and the next player opened for $30. This guy was as reliable as a coin flip. Heads he folds, tails he plays. Yes, he liked to see lots of flops, and yes, his hand range here was very wide, but he was by no means what I would call a donator. He did not get strung out for big money before the flop, or after it, without good cause. Even though he gave himself plenty of rope, he almost never hung himself with it.
Two players called behind him, and the small blind folded. I was in the big blind, and despite having 7-2 offsuit, I folded.
Do I suck or what? My image at the time was very tight, very disciplined, very much like the kind of guy who, if he were to raise from the big blind in this spot, to say, $150, the chances that anyone would call would be dang near zero. That was me. That was who I was at that moment. I was a guy who was looking at one hundred and five dollars sitting in the middle of the table as if it was just sitting there on a sidewalk, and I neglected to pick it up.
Okay, thanks for listening to my bad play story. I think I can let that hand go now.
[This post is still growing, and it will very likely appear in BLUFF Magazine after it matures.]
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on September 15th, 2008
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I was walking through town just now, pretending I had superpowers. It was the coolest thing. I made believe I had this thing called a body, which was basically a self-propelled, self-operated sensory array. The main piece was on top. It was like this orb stuck to the end of a twist-o-flex segmented cable-holding rod thing. The orb had one big hole in the middle, and several pairs of holes, where the magical information would go in. See, the way I was making it up, and I know this is kind of crazy, but there were these weird invisible rays that were basically everywhere, moving around, and they would bounce off anything they came across, and then they’d carry some sort of residual images of objects around. Now, these rays didn’t actually do anything, unless they happened to go through these two tiny holes in the orb that stuck out of the top of my body thing. Oh, I meant to tell you, I wasn’t the only orb toter. Because of the magical information rays and my superpower, I could tell that there were other bodies with orbs and ray holes around me.
Another superpower I gave myself used two of the other holes. They let in a different type of information altogether. It was like, invisible vibrations, that got more intense sometimes, and less sometimes, and they came out of things, and they seemed to sometimes have an upness and downness to them.
And the most tripped out thing I imaged I had was this super flex-o-stretch sheathing of sensing cells that covered my entire body. It allowed me to know, for example, when I came into contact with anything, such as objects, and also I could tell when the stuff that the vibrations moved through was moving.
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on September 6th, 2008
The first time I got a byline for writing a poker article for a print magazine, Bill Clinton was president. The magazine was Poker Digest. A couple years later, Poker Digest ceased to be, and I haven’t been in print since. Until now. In the September 2008 issue of Bluff Magazine that just came out, you can find the last two pages of my book on page 114. The excerpt is called “A Process of Illumination.”
But it’s nothing new, I mean, it’s not new to me. I wrote it a year ago. And lots of people have read it before it appeared in Bluff. What is new, I mean really new, is the stuff I wrote this morning. Words and ideas that I now get to watch every day as they grow, and shift, and bud-off, and die-off, and mutate into something that wants to be a cohesive whole, but won’t be until I send it to my editor Anna, and then she’ll send me back all sorts of wonderful suggestions using track-changes, and then we’ll talk on the phone, and then I’ll go back into the file and add stuff and remove stuff and change stuff, and I’ll print it out and carry it around with me for a few days while I make little marks on it with my red pen, and then I’ll enter those changes into the file, and then I’ll send it to my buddy Alex, and he’ll tell me which parts totally suck, and then I’ll fix that stuff, and then I’ll read it out loud to my wife, and she’ll say just send it in already, and then I’ll send it to a man I am so very pleased to now know and call a friend — we’ve had a couple very long lunches in Vegas, his name is Matthew Parvis and he’s the editor-in-chief of Bluff Magazine — and after he sees it, he might write back and say something like holy cow man, what’s with the run-ons? which I’ll try to explain away as nothing more than caffeine art, and he’ll probably say okay whatever, I’m printing it, your check’s in the mail, and I’ll be like, oh … my … god, I do so love ink.
My first new-article-in-progress for Bluff Magazine is currently titled, “My under-over line at no-limit.” It’s about certain situations where I drastically underbet the pot on one street followed by a drastic overbet on the next street. I’ll let you know how it turns out. :-)
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