IT’S that time of year again when we all start moaning because it’s too hot and we can’t find a parking space for love nor money anywhere. We actually make moaning a full time hobby, especially around the poker table.
The conspiracy theories abound about how lady luck deals her fate to the chosen one. Yes the one who seems to be so lucky that they hit every flop and win every hand because they are so spawney (an Arty McNoodle word) and go on to collect the money leaving a trail of wounded Meerkats in their wake. But it’s all very simple really.
The wicked witch has her favourites and can pull the magic cards from the deck at will. Or it could be that I never win when she’s dealing, or I never win when I sit in seat one with my back to the door, or the deck was blue and I can only ever hit cards when it’s a red deck.
Whatever theory you have it’s all in the lap of the poker gods. When you play week-in week-out, you must take it on the chin like my great pal Stevie. What a gentleman and a perfect example of how to conduct yourself with the utmost decorum and etiquette.
I watched the other day as he made a full house of Queens and Jacks only for the Queen to have made a very rare Royal Flush for our friend Gary, of course all the money was in and if the guys were in Las Vegas they would both be rolling around in bundles of dollar bills after winning the bad beat jackpot.
Without bad luck there wouldn’t be a game, it would be boring if the best hand won every time, wouldn’t it?