Inheritance


Ahh… the sound of summer. Single cylinder petrol mowers chugging across gardens, the chinking bottled beer salutes of British MotoGP fans cheering Cal Crutchlow and Bradley Smith, not to mention Scott Redding, and MotoGP fans everywhere cheering Rossi to his comeback win at Assen, mixed with the astonishment of Lorrenzo turning out, let alone finishing so well… what more can I guy ask for? The Aussie cricket team in turmoil… check — The explosion of tuppeny ha’penny F1 tyres… check.

All this happening while I whiled away the hours on the felt. Well, not so much as I’d like in the past couple of months, but there’s been enough 3:30 a.m. bed times to tell me my poker profit and loss account is on the healthy side.

Just blowing my own trumpet really, my ROI hit a new high with a couple of FT’s and some cash play that had me grinning like a cat who’d inherited a cream factory.

And I say inherited ’cause of one of my FT’s. I’d floated quietly through to the paying places in a large field MTT, not really paying too much attention to the game as I was also doing some other work on the ’puter. So once I’d cashed, I thought, See how it goes… lady luck tumbled one way then the next in one big hand, my flopped set versus a nut flush draw – I said, No you don’t with a pot size re-raise, but my opponent fancied their chances which turned the hand to them… and then back to me when the board paired.

So I made the FT, albeit as the short stack and paying full attention to the game now, laughed my socks off as all hell broke loose and I just about folded my way to fourth, while testosterone fuelled head butting encourage five to fall before me.

Some days you don’t even have to play your hands to make a profit.

Good luck at the tables