The Poker Report

9-27-01

"Two Days Late and Not a Care In The World Since 2001"

It's hard being the editor of a major poker weekly. There are deadlines, and there are contributors. This week there was neither.

It was an ugly little game this Tuesday that lasted only three hours. Donahue was a winner, not just for the second week in a row, but for the second time ever. He's been more determined since a cold hearted stranger commented that the smell of sucker coming off of Donahue was rank. But to become a winner Donahue had to sacrifice something perhaps more precious. Because the gnashing Donahue that showed up at my house this week was not the amiable sucker who usually funds our game. This was a mean, competitive Donahue, hurling insults, attacking, beating his chest over his opponents prostate forms while reading aloud from Machiavelli's The Prince. This was not "Mr. Safety", resident loser but well liked Donahue, but rather a take no prisoners blood on his teeth Donahue. The rest of us were, of course, surprised.

Filling the void where Donahue's money used to be were Wendy, Cooney, and Abby, the ten dollar triplets. Wendy actually only lost six bucks in her second outing. She's getting bad advice from a tan skinned somebody. Wendy was also voted most popular in the first Poker Report poll for bringing a cheese and fruit spread to poker night, very classy. Abby lost her full ten quick chasing baseball straights into four of a kind country, then said the most insightful thing anybody has ever said at poker night, "I don't understand why I lose all the time, I'm a good player." And she is too, a very good player. Why she loses every week is a mystery to all of us. Except perhaps it is a just God punishing her for being so good looking and gifted in so many other things.

Jensen was a first timer since losing his shirt on Mt. Shasta and could of left a winner if not for a brutal turn of the cards in a last game of CLUE where his queen of diamonds was jumped coming around a dark corner and beaten mercilessly by an angry king with a pipe, her guardian ace lying open faced next to a trash bin, saying nothing, betrayal.

I ended up six bucks on the night though for awhile I thought Cooney had pinched a bill and stolen my underwear. It turned out to be bad accounting on my part. Everybody else struggled for existance on a remarkably unassuming Tuesday.

Steve Elliott

Editor

The Poker Report