Why Do I Play Poker?

It’s time to pay up, just like KGB said in Rounders so many years ago. Eric Schwartz is the winner of one hundred American dollars for his submission to whydoiplaypoker. Thanks to everybody who submitted.  We learned a lot.  Mostly, that people don’t want to submit their stories.  This is why Eric Schwartz will be the first and last recipient of our monthly giveaway.  Feel free to continue to submit,  were just not paying anymore.

But we do want to share Eric’s submission.   So here goes…

Why do I play poker?

Two Words.

Mel Fucking Gibson.

Mel Fucking paternal holocaust-denying (fine, Mister Christian.  I’m a crucifixion denier.  Who’s got the photographic evidence?) Gibson.

Mad Douchebag Max, no matter how batshit insane, no matter how much the asshole no matter many whiskeys beyond Thunderdome he rides, will always get the better table at Spago or whateverthefuck ” in” place there is now, which I wouldn’t know about because I’m not Mel Shrimping the Malibu Barbie Gibcuntson.

Because in life,  money, power, they play.  They play always.  Guaranteed if Mother Theresa and Mel Gibfelch wanted front and center at the Bon Jovi reunion, the wrinkled nun would be hanging with the lepers in coach.  By lepers, I mean me, except I fucking hate Bon Jovi, probably because he’d get the seats right next to Mel Gibanalslurp.

But sit Mel Downundereater next to me at Hollywood Park and we have a different situation.  At the table, we are equal.  For at the table, money?  Power? Irrelevant.  What matters is the cards.  And cards change every hand.  That means fortune changes every hand.  I’m a songwriter.  I wait for inspiration.  I hope for talent.  I pray for flashes of brilliance, for the perfect song.  These things might never come.  But you wait long enough, you sit long enough, you are patient enough and have a big enough bankroll to survive the doubts, droughts and suck-outs, you WILL find yourself looking at the corners of two cards, bent upwards underneath your unwashed thumb, with As on them.  And when you do, and when Mister Cockodile Dundee whips out his uncircumcised, latex-ignorant kangadong and throws it on the table, you can chop that motherfucker off and smile all the way up the  405.

And that is why I play poker.

Thanks Eric!   See you at the tables!

Stay tuned for our aboutface at whydoipoker.net!

Wow that was a shitload of exclamation points!