Have you ever driven out to the country on those two-lane roads?I wonder if I'm the only one to notice the plethora of bicyclists that like to slow down traffic on those roads during weekends. I have noticed that most of these guys are pretty fit. Hell, they must be to ride a bike long enough to get out there. I lose feeling in my ass when I just try to read on the can. On the contrary, have you seen the bicyclists that don't get that far? They kind of just meander around the suburbs. Some of them are really decked out, too. I nearly hit one the other day and shouted out to my wife, "Hey, honey. There's a bicyclist wearing a yellow jersey. I think it's . . it's . . Nope, it's not Lance!" Too bad it wasn't, too. I have a running bet with TommyTwoToes that a stage of the Tour De France goes through downtown Plano. It was just the proof I needed. Retaining my defeated voice I remark, "Nope. He looks like he might have EATEN Lance, though." The guy was more overweight than . . . .well, me! Not that there is anything wrong with that. I just think that bicycles with tires so thin they're measured in millimeters wearing skin-tight lycra outfits and helmets designed to cut threw the wind, are a little ridiculous above 250 lbs. No offense, but you probably shouldn't try to be a jockey or a Formula 1 driver, either. Maybe I'm wrong, but from the back they look like Humpty Dumpty balancing on a toothpick. That's when it struck me like a cinder block to the crotch. I'm Humpty Dumpty on a toothpick! The poker version!
That is really how The Galactic Alliance of Fish came about. I thought to myself (I mean, who else am I going to think to?) for awhile. I wasn't going to realistically graduate from "fish-hood" anytime soon, so why not embrace it? I have a lot going on in my life. My 7-year-old owns a horse and takes karate multiple times a week (she hasn't learned the "Touch of Death" yet, so we're safe). My son is now 2 years-old and a complete handful. My wife is starting a new business venture with her sister while still operating her last business venture. When I get home from work, she is often waiting in the garage so that she can make her appointments on time. As many of you already know, I iron a lot of clothes. All this while putting in about 65 hours a week at work. I'm not attempting to gain sympathy, just understanding that I can't possibly play enough poker, online or otherwise, to escape fish-hood for quite some time. Regardless, I shouldn't be taken seriously just because of my past. I'm married with kids, so my dignity went out the window with my first "poopy" diaper. I might as well come clean and be honest with you guys.
I'm one of those players that didn't play poker until Chris Moneymaker. It wasn't too long afterwards Glenn stopped me in the alley and asked me if I wanted to play at his next game. The location was close enough, and I knew this was the last conversation Glenn would have with me voluntarily (since he didn't know me well). So, I jumped all over the opportunity to play live poker. Then the worse thing that could have happen, happened. I came in 2nd and brought money home! It wasn't Christmas, but that night I had visions of sugarplums dancing in my head! I was going to be a professional poker player! World Series of Poker Main Event, here I come!!! After all, if I can beat 9 amateurs at a game in Frisco, TX who's to say I can't take over the poker world? I thought the only thing left to do is find out if there a dress code for players at the WSOP. A small detail of my dream is to come to the final table wearing only a marble bag (with the drawstring wrapped around my waist) claiming that I lost a game of strip poker a few minutes before arriving.
My first step was to build a roll of bank. I remembered that it costs $10,000 to enter the Main Event, so I went online and looked through some tourneys and found a satellite to a tourney where the winner was paid $150,000 or so. I entered for $11. Then reality stuck up its ugly Medusa head and almost turned me to stone. I had just entered a tournament with 8,000 other people. I shielded myself from reality with one last blast of optimism. I thought, "Well, that's only 1,000 people for every person I beat the other night at Glenn's!" That sundae of reality I was eating (along with 8,000 other people apparently) was topped with the whipped cream of placing in the 7,900 range and the cherry of lasting less than 5 minutes. The dreams I had held so dear for 2 to 3 days were flushed down the toilet. I was lost! I started posting on WestonPoker.com and was dealt an even more lethal blow to my dreams. "These guys aren't professional, and they know a helluvalot more than me. What is betting the turn? Why would I want to come over the top of another guy? What the hell is a 'frush'? Is that an oriental flush with an accent? If I catch quads, can I get rid of it with antibiotics? Is 'getting a set' the same as after you 'get ready' and before you 'go'?"
Over the last year or so, I have become comfortable in the place the Poker Gods have assigned me. Once I convinced my boss that my two-week notice was just a joke, and that I never planned on becoming a professional poker player, I was back to work at my real job.
Sure, I have multiple voices in my head. I'm also the founder (and sole member) of a make believe galactic alliance. I end all my posts with really dirty one-liners. I can't recall a hand I want to tell you guys a story about, but die trying anyways. I have trouble remembering if a flush beats a straight (or is it the other way around). Even through all that, you guys still reply to my questions and laugh at my jokes. So I bear the name "fish" with honor.
Things could be worse. I could have started "The Galactic Alliance of the Humpty Dumpties Balancing on Toothpicks"! Of course, then I would have to exercise!
