Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Monday Night Razz
"Brick. Brick. Brick." - F Train's notes
It was Razz Night at the Blue Parrot and featured a rare cameo from Ugarte. In all reality it was "Get kicked in the junk night." Who was the genius who thought about putting this together? Oh yeah... F Train. My message to you kind Sir is... Fuck you, asshole! I want 4.5 hours of my life back!!

All joking aside, it was one of the worst sessions of poker in my life. Man, just awful. Talk about some brutal beatings. If I wanted to get the shit kicked out of me in a sadistic manner, I could have called up one of those really skanky-sexy Suicide Girls and asked them to pierce my nut sack with a rusty nail.

I'm not over exaggerating the events either. I made the big mistake and stayed sober for the whole night, drinking only a single beer over the session. That was my first mistake. I should have bought a ticket on the AlCantHang express and stumbled off into Judy Garland territory. Ah, in honor of F Train's stellar Razz tutorial, I shall offer up my wise-ass Razz suggestions.
Pauly's Razz Tips
1. Wear a cup because you are going to get kicked in the balls.
2. Get shit faced. It makes those seventh street suckouts seem invisible. Oxycontin is preferred. The Oxy high sustains itself over a longer period of time and counteracts the harsh beats.
3. See everything to the river. I never saw so many bricks fall late in the betting rounds since John Starks went 0-45 in Game 7 of the 1994 NBA finals and cost the NY Knicks (and Pat Riley) and championship.
With that being said, I wish I took my advice before I even walked in the door. Alas, I only lost $35, but my poker soul has been disfigured for life. Coach was lucky he had to work and missed the ugliness.
The Players:
Seat 1: F Train... otherwise known as Asphnxma, he's the man, the myth, the legend who loves sitting to my left at the Blue Parrot.

Seat 2: Ugarte... the former high-priced attorney turned stand up comedian used to be a skinny kid before he got his first job at Carvel ice cream. Cookie Pus, blow me.

Seat 3: Nader... one of the "new guys." He's the quiet mathematics professor who slowly built up his stack over the night.

Seat 4: Ferrari... proprietor of the Blue Parrot and suck out king will be thinking twice about any future Razz themed evenings.

Seat 5: Joel... the mortgage banker and the elderstatesman of the group. He gave F Train and myself cool notebooks so we can take notes during future games. Thanks, Joel!

Seat 6: Om... the downtown fashion photographer hasn't played much at the Blue Parrot recently. He's the self proclaimed Gus Hansen of the Blue Parrot and will play any two cards in hold'em!

Seat 7: Arthur... another "new guy" who came all the way from Coney Island for the game. He built up his stack early and held onto it the rest of the night.

Seat 8: Pauly... our hero has a known weakness for donuts, malcontent elevator button heiresses, and Woody Allen moves. He started out in a good mood and all of that came to a crashing halt as he slowly morphed into grumpy, pissed off Pauly.
By the way, I'm not going to give you the conventional write up with times and play by play. Why? Because it would go something like this.

9:03pm EST... I found three Wheel cards to start 2-A/4. By fifth street I have 2-A/4-6-2. Then it got ugly. Ace on sixth street and a King on the river. Playing Razz is like going to see a movie and finding out its horrible two minutes in and yet, you still sit through two more hours of it anyway... oh and you also get kicked in the balls.

Or do you want to hear me bitch all night long about this...

9:38pm EST... I had an excellent starting hand with 7 high through fifth street and two players in the pot with face cards and pairs showing! Of course on the river I lose to Joel who caught runner runner to snag a better low. Playing Razz is like taking out a girl you really like and have been after for months. She finally agrees you have an awesome dinner (Thai-Icelandic fusion), excellent conversation, then get a few cocktails before you get to do the freaky-freaky with her all night long... until WHAM! The next thing you know she gets picked up standing in line for the ladies room by some two-bit hipster named Chase (or insert your stereotypical nemesis -- bad ass biker dude, philosophical beatnik, Republican from a red state, Euro trash textiles baron, Canadian Curling champion). Stolen on the river by some nit wit!

A sample of my nightmare Razz hands

The only fun part to playing Razz was dealing (1/8 of the time). Nothing was better than giving someone the high card to bring it in... especially when there were face cards showing! Of course, I loved tossing brick after brick to people. The better the starting hand, the heavier the brick. "Lemme pair up your door card," seemed more fitting.
Final Tally:
Arthur +130
Nader +100
Ferrari +40
Ugarte +15
Joel -20
Pauly -35
F Train -47
Om -140
Did I happen to mention that Razz is an awful experience? Playing Razz is like walking up to a complete stranger and telling them to kick you in the balls. I think I'm going to do that the next time someone suggest we play Razz. It could have been worse. At least Ugarte was back after his self-imposed exile and he was cracking a few jokes. Some of which were actually funny. Go see his upcoming gigs schedule.

Stay tuned for the next installment from the Blue Parrot. Until then, I'm going to start seeing a dominatrix on Monday nights. I wonder if any of them read my blog and are willing to trade poker lessons for an hour or two of having my nuts shaved by a Brill-O pad?

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