Homegame sbo Hooliganism

Some people say scent can inspire more memories than sight.
My entire kitchen smelled like plastic. The baby and wife were gone. The dog was disinterested. And my new Copags had arrived. I played heads up against myself and lost.
My entire kitchen smelled like plastic and the smell was leeching into the living room. All I needed was an excuse and at least five other people.
The smell of plastic was the excuse.
Two hours later, BadBlood asked what he sbo could bring. I said a twelve-pack. His one-word (“Done”) answer didn’t at all indicate what would happen later. Even when G-Rob asked if I needed beer and I said, “Blood is bringing some, but bring more,” I didn’t really think much of it.
But then G-Rob walked in with a giant bottle of tequila.
There was a time (and a time not too long ago, and a time I think I’ve mentioned several times here) during which I would drink nothing more than Diet Mountain Dew while playing cards. I’d further hype myself up with Sweet-Tarts or Spree. Those were the days when winning or losing $50 was a big deal.
The play itself (mine especially) was unremarkable. I lost two buy-ins, all of it on two hands. The Mark made a still unbelieveable call for all of my chips (a substantial sum at that point, but he still had me covered) with an open-ended straight draw. Then I made an ill-timed semi-bluff (that turned out to be less than a semi bluff and left me with one out) against G-Rob. Other than that, I flopped a set against Blood once and those were the only hands of note for me.
In the post below this one, G-Rob chronicles the highlights of the night (my proudest moment is Mrs. Otis sitting down in her first live game and playing the hammer for a win). The rest of the evening is as blurry as the pictures I started to take.
So, instead of a write-up, how about a quick pictorial?
I mentioned the tequila. I didn’t mention that, for the first time in a long while, EVERYBODY wanted to drink. BadBlood had walked in with a bottle of wine which was strong enough to destroy a cheap corkscrew and conjure images of Team Scott Smith. When it was gone, and the beer was getting low, Mrs. Otis found a tray which was reapeatedly covered with shotglasses full of tequila and, indeed, Everclear. At some point, Mrs. Otis was drinking rum out of mini-bottles while the boys from The Mark shot Everclear and chased it with diet soda. Then…G-Rob turned into a cocktail waitress.
When the drinking got heavy, the sidebets and prop bets started coming a little more frequently. After G-Rob re-raise my raise (and made the bet much too big to call), I bet him that my hand would win by the river. He agreed, I showed my AQs, he showed pocket tens (?). An ace on the turn meant I would’ve won. I ended up winning money on that hand. Later that night, I would find myself challenging The Mark to a $100 heads-up match (damned Michael Craig and his book about Andy Beal…). I thought we’d be playing Limit O8. Everyone convinced me I’d agreed to NL O8, which, even in my altered state, I’m pretty sure I would not have agreed to. Nonetheless, we played it out and I…well, I lost. The other contests of the night were mugh more interesting and involved none other than BadBlood’s pythons.
Somehow, Blood (ever-confident about the ammo in his guns) had decided he could beat The Mark in a left-handed arm-wrestlling match. When the match began, Mrs. Otis looked on with fear and admiration (or a belly full of rum and tequila).
I looked on through a lens and could not believe what I saw. It was a bit like the time the next-door neighbor girl told me there was no Santa. Blood, face tangled in disbelief and horror…lost.
The loss, like something out of a movie, inspired G-Rob to believe he, in fact, has any muscles in his arms. Before I knew what was happening, G-Rob had taken The Mark’s seat at the felt.
I suppose I don’t even need to write the result…
Bouyed by beating up on G-Rob (a lot like beating the 16 seed in the first round of the NCAA tournament), Blood went on to destroy the Mark in a right-handed match. I only caught the middle of it through the lens, because I didn’t want a record of it if Blood lost.
Frankly, it all reminded me a bit of the silliness that sometimes ensues in Vegas. And that reminded me I had a few pictures I hadn’t posted from the June outing. I’ll let them speak for themselves. I’m tired.