Verbosities

The Part About Thoroughbred Selections

I’ve got some picks posted in my nearly defunct horse racing blog. Just didn’t want to clutter the space here this morning.

On a side note, we’re targeting Breeders’ Cup Day in early November to tackle the Pick Six again. Our previous investors from a couple Sundays ago are essentially freerolling with us, but it’s going to be a bitch of a card to handicap. Just lowering expectations…

Obliquities and Inertia

I’ve started and stopped and scrapped and reapproached this post all week, and I’m starting to get frustrated. I think I’ve just got to commit to spinning phrases from my fingertips and hope that somehow they connect into something tangible. Sigh…

I think it’d be interesting to construct a Venn diagram of all the things at which I’ve succeeded or at which I’ve found myself capable in this young life of mine alongside the list of things at which I’ve truly had to try. The shaded area in the middle wouldn’t be big enough to paralell park a Hyundai.

I talked a little this week with the shrink I’m seeing about avoidance as a means of defense. There’s been a multitude of reasons and incidents over the past months that I can point to as to why I’ve chosen to revisit therapy, but beyond the panic attacks and general feelings of loneliness the single most confusing and potentially disturbing display of detachment I’ve had was on the prep table just prior to my surgery. For what should have been an emotionally difficult time, for what should have had me re-examining my habits and lifestyle, and for what could very easily have had me leaning over the guard rail peering into the consequences of a wasted mortality…

Shouldn’t I have been more… something? Whatever that something was, shouldn’t I and why didn’t I? Why did I crack jokes with the nurses, and why didn’t my heart start racing? Why did that Monday feel like almost any other Monday, and why didn’t I seem to care about the things that could have gone terribly, terribly wrong?

I’ve talked before about sleepwalking, about how it seems that my interpretation of depression isn’t the standard can’t-get-out-of-bed variety, but instead a waking slumber. Get up at six, brush teeth, shower, morning show with coffee, leave for work at seven, five crackers with peanut butter and two more cups of coffee, lose focus by nine, eat my sandwich at 1130, leave around 430. Each day the same, each day alone and detached from any sort of stimuli that could provoke genuine feeling.

The shrink said it was “probably healthy” that my defense mechanism during my health problems kept me outwardly buoyant and upbeat. Really Doctor? I can’t buy that.

There was a period of time between college and my marriage where I pined heavily for the woman who would become my ex. We got close over my last few months at school, but she ran back to something familiar and safe when I left town, convinced that 90 miles would be too much to handle. I tried to compartmentalize her choice, despite the intersection of rationality and destiny in my head that told me this was “the one.” I tried to be her friend, tried to spend time on the phone small talking with no subtext, but I couldn’t do it.

Actually, I could do it and I did do it. I wouldn’t and didn’t bait her with unwarranted flirtations, there was no begging and pleading and gnashing of teeth. I never thought myself defeated, but I never put her to the choice between me and the other either.

Instead? On nearly every single call, at least twice a week for months on end, I would find a moment to mute the phone and rush to the bathroom to heave up all the discomfort welling in my stomach.

Avoidance. Defense. Even on the two or three occasions that I visited her during this time I’d quietly excuse myself to the bathroom to toss ill overboard. Only once did it manifest in front of her, down in the parking lot of her best friend’s apartment building. She hugged me, I pushed her off and ruined the nearby landscaping.

I didn’t try, didn’t give sign that I wanted and needed her so badly at that point, didn’t tell her how much her abandonment in that time of my life was absolutely killing me.

I deserved everything I didn’t try to get.

This isn’t about my ex-wife though, as every single key juncture of my life to this point and time has been met with the same stoic dismissal, the same lack of effort, the same resignation to inertia.

The only arrow I’ve ever had in my quiver is a shrug.

——

I thought F-Train’s comment about poker blogs dying was an interesting one, and Maudie and I nearly had him engaged on the subject before we got (cough) railroaded off-topic at the Boathouse.

My point in all this isn’t that the blogs are dying, it’s that the perceived interest in what we’ve come to know as “poker blog content” is withering.

Instead of writing a long dissertation on all of this, let me offer a disclaimer asterisk here*, and get on with the point otherwise.

There’s nothing that’s either groundbreaking or interesting about most posts that reference poker anymore. The really good “poker bloggers” are more acknowledged now for the quality of their non-poker content, while those who are still writing almost solely about poker are relying on a number of devices to keep their membership active.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but much like how there hasn’t been variation in sitcom plotlines for years, there really are only a small number of poker blog post types on which the poker blogger relies:

– How I did last night at the tables
– Playing with bloggers
– Home game/casino trip report
– Strategy and hand analysis
– The bad beat story
– Venting about losing
– Poker truths and the grand scheme of life

It’s really just variations on a theme from there. Here’s the thing… For a large number of us who have been doing this thing awhile, we may have our enthusiasm about writing and we may have our enthusiasm about poker, but these things don’t necessarily intersect anymore. It’s not at all easy to rehash the same seven topics over and over again, and those that do? It’s a device, a crutch, the easy way out.

The perception that poker blogs are dying comes from those of us who have been reading them for years, who realize that we’ve read the post we’re reading a few dozen or hundred times before, and who feel that every new voice adding to the clamor feels derivative of the voices that came before.

*The Disclaimer: There’s a difference between the writer’s enthusiasm when he finds a like-minded group of people to talk poker and the veteran reader’s enthusiasm for reading the same sorts of things over and over and over again. It doesn’t make the writer terrible, it doesn’t make the reader a bad person. It’s just an explanation as to why an old timer perceives poker blogs to be dying. Also note I said “feels” derivative. I’m absolutely positively not trying to pin anything on the writer here, just that there are only so many ways to explore the studio space here, and after three-and-some-odd years in the fray, I’ll be shocked and pleased to find a new one when (s)he arrives.

What it feels like out there is white noise. The most unique voices of this community have moved beyond the single subject matter, and that only magnifies the perceived “problem” that somehow we’ve heard all this before. That yet another post saying, “I played the DADI and so did eleven other bloggers,” with eleven Rashomon views of the same online MTT popping up in my Bloglines folder just feels like the same thing I’ve been reading for years upon years now.

——

Using devices and writing the same posts is lazy and easy and a cop out to what’s honest and true and sometimes difficult. It’s like when using Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” with no dialogue at the end of a TV show gives us shorthand for brooding introspection. It takes no skill to be obvious, and it takes no effort to do the same thing time and time again.

My greatest fear in this space is being derivative. Derivative of others or derivative of myself. I don’t write about poker because everything has already been said, and better than I’m capable of saying it anyway. But where I’ve been running into a wall lately? I feel like I don’t have any more stories to tell, and that everything that comes off the keyboard intended for the blog is lame and awful and the same shit either I’ve said or someone else has before.

I almost envy those that have that crutch, who almost revel in writing the same posts time and again. Because at this point, I’m not even trying. The simple act of writing is too difficult, and I shrug it off. I play my stupid football game, I click the refresh button in my Bloglines window, and I look for any distraction possible to not be staring into an MS Notepad window deleting the same three or four gawdawful sentences because they aren’t good enough and I feel like I’m bereft of anything new to say.

Poker blogs might be dying because there’s nothing new to say. Mine’s dying because I refuse to say anything at all. Maybe I’m projecting my midlife crisis onto my blog, but for the first time since I can remember, “what’s easy” isn’t at all what’s going to work for me anymore.

Hallelujah

A long time ago I came to the conclusion that the only things I write more poorly than trip reports are hand histories and tournament recaps. So, in other words, you’re not going to get the blow-by-blow of my weekend with links all over the fucking place referencing those with whom I partied.

Despite my half-assed efforts above, Speaker actually wins the award for most pandering link-filled trip report of all time that still was actually readable. I’m surprised he didn’t link Flanigan’s Boathouse, Philadelphia International Airport and the homepage of WaWa Gas and Sip stores everywhere, but I think he got everything else covered. Well done Kent, I’m too goddamn lazy to look up all the necessary URLs.

I did want to mention a quick few things that stood out for me…

First, Gavin busted my balls solidly for 36 hours, which, since it was for charity, I chose to endure. Of course, it probably didn’t help much that within minutes of meeting him I mentioned that I didn’t believe “Canadians were for much of anything on the world stage, save igloos and fur-lined mittens,” and volleyed another bon mot that Spaceman had to explain to him when I set up a punchline about the metric system in too convoluted a fashion for a guy passing a pipe with Pauly from a country that somehow eschews millilitres for ounces when it comes to alcohol. It’s all in fun though. The guy’s got a heart as big as the ocean and is ludicrously generous with his time and energy – especially for someone who braved the darkest depths of Mordor to return the ring to the bottom of that volcano for the good of all Hobbiton.

The most wonderful sight of all on Friday and Saturday nights was watching Big Mike’s cousin Steve – Michael’s father, he of the intense struggles with Cystic Fybrosis – throw his cares behind him for a few hours to just have a good time. It was really terrific to see the genuine gratitude in his eyes for all the things – big and small – anyone did to help everyone have a great time this weekend.

Of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention getting a chance to sit and talk for awhile with Maudie, the time I got to spend with CJ and the couple Spaceman, getting lost in and out of AC with StB and Falstaff, and seeing faces familiar and not so much over the course of two days.

So here’s the thing in general, something I want to post quickly before I lose the urge and maybe I’ll possibly dig into it deeper tomorrow or the next, work bullshit forgiving…

I was watching “House” on TV tonight, episode three in season three. Here’s the trick: there are two plot devices they’re leaning on nearly every week that bother me. First, you’ve got the observation-as-revelation thing where the protaganist manages to find the key for the mystery by standing under running water or watching a toy tidal wave rock back and forth. He sees something, has the revelation, solves the mystery. It’s easy, it provides a visual clue, it plays on the conceit that the audience is smart enough to understand what’s at stake, what’s in play, and the heroic conclusion that’s rising in his eyes. Two, instead of writing a denoument the writers rely on a piece of mood rock and faraway looks to settle the score at the end, tie up all loose ends, and bring you to the same emotional conclusion.

Both of these things are lazy, trite and derivative. Both are born out of a half-assed effort to turn something complicated into something easy, or at least easier, for middle America to swallow. Since MTV doesn’t play videos anymore, this is what passes. How many shows used the dirge-version of “Hallelujah” a few years back with characters staring wistfully from rain-soaked windows? Since we don’t have Mary Jane in the form of Kim Basinger to give us the appropriate imagery to Tom Petty goofery anymore, network television feels the need to give us our visual cues.

Hallelujah indeed. It’s a short order way of turning something potentially complex into something palatable and easy. Foie gras into cherry Jello. Plain and simple.

I’ve got a problem with this, personally and professionally.

And I’m not really talking about television anymore.

More later…

This Is Not The Post You’re Looking For…

Since StB and I are both feeling like Fortune 500 Deciders today in the “Executive Center” of the Malvern, PA Homewood Suites and since he’s blogging at this very moment too, I thought we could do it IN STEREO.

Wait, that’s not how that works? Well open another browser window and you’ll get TWO POSTS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE.

Or something to that effect.

I only got five hours of sleep – if that – and since my brain is still a little fuzzy from that and the gawdawful coffee in the lobby this morning, you’re only getting a brief post, which from this point forward I will write as if Larry King’s USA Today articles were about my Thursdays:

If you haven’t had a chance to see the Borgata in Atlantic City, you’re missing a gem of a casino. It’s got all the character of Las Vegas’ crown jewel Mandalay Bay… I think Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung” is the greatest song about a pedophile ever recorded by an English Prog-Rock ensemble… If the number of roadside signs I passed in Malvern, Pennsylvania corporate office parks is any indication, that company Centacor must be doing awfully well for its shareholders… Nothing soothes the tempers of our nation’s “greatest generation” like offering some tapioca… To the ebulliant woman calling the three-bet with five-high, I’d like to say “Touche…” If you can’t decide between pizza and sushi, why not have both?… I’d bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in your pockets that a guy who takes the time to match the soles of his shoes to his shirt has a little oval sticker on the bumper of his Jetta with the letters “DMB” inside… A special appreciation this week for Dr. Joel Rubin of Camden, New Jersey whose pioneering work with silicone in cocktail waitresses is truly groundbreaking… Nothing satisfies quite like rest stop fried chicken… Lastly, if you’re any kind of fan of what the kids must be listening to these days, check out Al Jarreau’s take on the theme from “Moonlighting.” For my money, that man defines “hip.”

Found Flickr Item

Updated 9/20/06 at 9PM… see below

Someone wanna call Homeland Security?

*EDIT – If it wasn’t clear, the “tower” to which he’s referring is the replica of the Eiffel right behind him. He’s probably Indian, but you’ve got to figure that’s an unfortunate photo title for someone that looks like that to choose.

9/20/06 Update:

Pinky posted a comment that I wanted to move “above the fold” if you will, because he’s got a good point here and I owe both an explanation and probably an apology. Pinky first, then me:

“It’s not often that I take offence to something I read in a blog and it’s even rarer that I feel the need to voice it.

I believe to a large extent that if someone doesn’t like what they read on someone else’s blog then – unless it’s a personal attack – they can always just not read that blog.

In this case there are one or two points that I I’d like to raise, without wishing to spark massive controversy and without going into great depth.

I do appreciate that this post was meant in light jest and came with a disclaimer (of sorts), but I still felt somewhat uncomfortable reading it.

I think that what IS unfortunate about this photo and caption is that someone can look at it, immediately see a brown face and associate it with acts of terrorism. The phrase “for someone that looks like that” was what really got me.

Secondly… There are plenty of Indians that are Muslims, but more importantly, the implication here is that if he weren’t Indian then there WOULD be something to worry about, thereby tarnishing any other nationalities that his face could possibly fit (which incidentally is many, since who are we to make guesses about his nationality based on the colour of his skin) and at the same time casting aspersions on Islam.

I’m probably over reacting and if so, I apologise. I’m somewhat surprised at myself, but clearly I felt moved enough to post.”
Pinky |

“Pinky, I appreciate your comment on this one… I had that little moment of jumping to the “brown people” conclusion myself, then a little self-flagellation after the fact. I think what something like this does as far as humor is concerned is create that sort of uncomfortable moment within yourself when you think, “why did I just think that?” and, “that wasn’t appropriate!”

Why do I find this funny, at least in my opinion? I find the humor in the discomfort. Gracie and I talked about this just now and she said, “the individual (in the picture) is the butt of a joke due to his race.” I actually see it as YOU (the everyone “you”) being the butt of the joke for seeing this and having that same momentary reaction I did.

This could be poorly executed, and probably is, but I stand by how I perceive the humor here.

The assumption that the guy was Indian, by the way, was safe due to the surrounding pictures in the photostream. I think I just executed what I was trying to do poorly from “punchline” through disclaimer. Certainly was only my intention to pin momentary feelings of guilt on the random passerby for the sake of being funny.

I do totally see your point and Gracie’s as well, and I’m pretty well sorry at this point that I handled this one in the way that I did.”
BG |

Something More Than Ten Minutes…

Hope everyone called their Senator(s) today to voice their opposition to the Goodlatte bill. I called the PPA toll-free and was connected to Senator Santorum’s office, which I would only assume is staffed by minions of Satan with the pointy ears and cloven hooves and the smell of brimstone and sulfur with the tridents that poke and prod. I could swear I heard the wailing of the souls of the damned as the hellspawn staffer on the other end took down my info.

While I was on hold, all I could think about was “what if they ask me if I’d vote for Satanator Rick if he votes down the Goodlatte bill?” I mean, what do I want more – the ability to play poker or the rise of the antichrist across various Senate Subcommittees?

They let me off the hook. Thank god. Choosing between poker and Santorum is truly Sophie’s Choice.

I had lunch yesterday with one of my vendors, a wonderfully attractive forty-somethingish woman who looked like a prettier Alanis Morissette with a pixie cut. Although I only let her buy me an apple and a water to go with my (usual) sandwich from home, I was happy to have the company, not to mention the street cred I should get by being seen in the lunchroom with a hottie.

Anyway, the topic turned to food, as it tends to do when I’m helping to steer the conversation, and we were talking about a particularly good local grocery store when she said, “I brought my people a tray of sandwiches on artesian bread from there once.”

As if there’s some well of bubbling sourdough from deep within the earth… I swear to christ I’m always thisclose to making myself look like the asshole with an ill-placed, “I think you meant artisan.” Of course, I’d probably get even more technical with a reminder that a large chain of grocery stores doesn’t make artisan bread. It can make good bread, or even bread with a rustic and hand-crafted style, but by definition a bread from an industrial bakery centralized for shipping to outlet locations across the region is not artisan bread.

It sure as hell ain’t artesian though either.

So next week will mark the first visit in about five years for me to a therapist’s office, and I’m actually looking quite forward to it. What’s got me so pumped? Well, I found out that because of my prior medical bills I’ve reached my maximum non-copay spend for the year, which gives me twenty visits through December 31st I can make to the shrink free of charge.

Who’s up for some free Freud? THIS GUY.

I’ve had something like nine or ten really solid good days in a row, which makes me happy. This may sound a little silly, but those two good days of almost hitting jackpots in the Pick Six with CJ really invigorated me on a couple of counts. First, it took me out of denial-mode and got me to throw a couple hundy around devil may care style. Second, the narrow misses may have been depressing to some extent, but it reaffirmed that we know what the hell we’re doing with a DRF in our hands. Third – and this is the dumb part – it was great to have ten to twenty of our friends a couple days in a row putting their trust in us.

I felt more useful across those two days than I have in months.

Since then, not much has changed but I’m generally feeling pretty damn good.

One last thing… I was playing Front Office Football, which is a highly recommended football GM simulator (text based, you’re not steering Jerome Bettis through the line), and started a new franchise with an all-player draft. Unfortunately, the randomization of stats led to only three top-tier QBs all going earlier than my pick, so I waited until round 29 to pick Tommy Maddox as my starter.

Ugh.

He started all 16 games in that first season and went 277-488 (56%) for 3453 yards with a 19/30 TD/INT ratio. Took a Carr-esque 44 sacks too. 66.2 QB rating.

Topping it off? I get a message after the draft the following offseason (where I picked UAB’s Darnell Hackney as my QB of the future) from Tommy’s agent saying, “Your QB is a number one QB in this league and demands to be paid as one.”

Tommy Maddox was trying to play hardball with me.

I traded him to New Orleans (worst team in the league, even with a fresh start drafting from the total NFL player pool – go figure) for a fifth-round draft pick immediately.

I’ve always wanted to tell Tommy Maddox to pound sand.

Ahhh… Gameday

Opening week of the NFL season and I’m well equipped for a day of wall-to-wall football. Well, except for the lack of my Lions coming up on the tube. Jesus, of all the places I could be relocated, and it’s fucking NFC/AFC East territory. I suppose that’s better than landing in Dallas, but by my math that really makes a negligible difference. Dallas is on locally this afternoon, has five national games including Thanksgiving, plays the Eagles, Giants and Skins three times on non-national telecasts, and I’d bet week eleven’s tilt against Indianapolis is the CBS national 1PM show. Ten fucking weeks of the Cowboys…

I’m not a fan of AFC/NFC East football. I suppose I enjoy watching the Patriots play, and I think the Giants could be entertaining, but other than that I’m shit out of luck here. I hate the Skins and Cowboys with the passion of a thousand suns, the Jets are hapless and to root for the Eagles now goes against every rule in my book regarding homerism in enemy territory.

Hey, I didn’t start rooting for the fucking BYU Cougars just because I lived a little north of Provo for awhile.

The only other possibility is the steelers, and I’ll choose to respect and be entertained by them rather than being the guy jumping on the bandwagon when it’s now fashionable to do so.

Maybe I’ll just root for Lehigh University football. I watched the first half of their game against Villanova yesterday, and any team that features a black quarterback and white runningback is alright in my book. By the way, the black quarterback? Sedale Threatt, Jr. Plays QB like you’d imagine Allen Iverson would have (except, of course, for the Division II level of talent he possesses and that surrounds him), and scrambled like a bat out of hell. Lehigh’s twice as entertaining as they have any right to be.

So no Lions on TV and no cash on the games either. What’s a guy supposed to do to cope?

Eat.

I went wide with my possibilities today, as the homebound buffet needs to sate me for two meals and a long afternoon of snacking. All praises due to Wegman’s Market, the #1 grocery chain in America, for making this all so very easy. On the menu:

Fried chicken thighs (the most underappreciated cut in the bucket)
Lo mein noodles with teriyaki chicken
Prosciutto, Sopressetta, cheese, pepproncini and bread (duh)
Hummus and crackers*
Chips and salsa (could expand to nachos if I need an audible)
Utz Pretzels
Utz Pub Mix**
Red Bull
Yuengling Lager
Red wine (any one of my eight bottles)
Southern Comfort

*I bought some of these fucking things (crispy garlic), but had to back them up with garlic melba toast after trying them. With a name like “Kavli” I was all ready to blame the Arabs for infiltrating American grocery aisles with this insidiously uncrackerlike balsa snack, but I found out Norwegians are responsible. If I ever meet another guy named “Thor” I’m going to punch him in the crotch.

**I’m one box of TastyKakes and a cheesesteak sandwich away from running the table on the indigenous foods of the eastern Pennsylvania region.

Now, I’m not (necessarily) going to eat all this today, but I got options, and that’s the important thing.

Anyway, on to my picks and predictions for today. Don’t forget to set your fantasy lineups, and fade these picks immediately:

1PM Games

Baltimore @ Tampa Bay: Tampa 23 – Baltimore 13. Matt Stover’s your star today, although Cadillac goes for 110 combined yards and a TD. Baltimore never gets it going on offense, but Jamal Lewis doesn’t split carries either, which is good news down the road for Lewis owners.

Atlanta @ Carolina: Atlanta 26 – Carolina 24. Vick breaks the Panthers spell and throws for two TDs, the defense getting another. Carolina’s D comes up with two turnovers, and Keyshawn gets his first TD in a Carolina uni, to go with seven catches.

Denver @ St. Louis: St. Louis 20 – Denver 17. Steven Jackson goes for 120 combined yards and a TD, Denver’s D is the only thing that keeps this game from getting away from the Broncos. Plummer throws for 220 and two picks, and they can’t find their running game at all.

Buffalo @ New England: New England 34 – Buffalo 10. Think Belicheck has a vested interest in seeing his aerial game work in the absence of Deion Branch? I’d think so. Ben Watson gets at least ten balls thrown his way, and ends up with six catches for eighty-five yards and a TD. Brady looks sharp, and Dillon runs strong. Losman shows flashes, but Buffalo can’t stop the 2TE sets the Pats keep throwing his way.

Philadelphia @ Houston: Philadelphia 28 – Houston 17. Houston’s going to be better than you think this year, but with an awfully green running game the Philly secondary picks Carr three times today. McNabb leads the team in rushing today, and goes for 260 and three in the air. Wali Lundy finds the bench for good by week four for the Texans after 45 yards and one lost fumble today.

New Orleans @ Cleveland: Cleveland 19 – New Orleans 17. If you started any player strapping on a gold or orange helmet not named Reuben in the northern Ohio area today, you either play in a deep league or you’re obviously nuts. Brees and Horn hook up five times, despite throwing nearly fifteen balls his way into Cleveland double coverage. New Orleans signs Darius Watts or Peter Warrick on Tuesday to start opposite Horn, as Colston and Henderson prove they aren’t the answer today. Droughns goes for 150 on the ground today with one score, and Charlie Frye doesn’t do anything stupid. The announcers reference Katrina one hundred and seventeen times.

Seattle @ Detroit: Seattle 33 – Detroit 27. I think the spread is six, so I’m betting it’s a push today. The Lions offense will be better than you think, and Kitna goes for 280 and two in his Lions debut. Roy Williams is the primary outlet, although Eddie Drummond’s going to go for at least one. Shaun Alexander will score two TDs, and I’ll bet you right now he takes a draw play for at least forty yards at least once today. The Lions defense gets no turnovers, one sack, and gives up nearly 500 yards.

NY Jets @ Tennessee: Tennessee 17 – NY Jets 9. Ho-hum. Kerry Collins throws for one and sends two to Jets DBs. Pennington gives two right back. Yawn.

Cincinnati @ Kansas City: Kansas City 34 – Cincinnati 30. Upset! LJ runs wild on Cincy, posting 130 with 60 receiving yards and two TDs. Carson Palmer looks good, putting up 290 and two TDs, one to Chad Johnson. Cincy’s defense gives them one score, but it’s not enough. Trent Green hits Gonzalez twice in the end zone and KC pulls the upset.

415PM Games

Chicago @ Green Bay: Chicago 20 – Green Bay 0. The Favre-watch begins after he throws for 160 and two picks, losing one fumble and taking at least two really awful sacks. Ahman Green runs for 60 and proves he’s lost about a step and a half, opening the door for Noah Herron by week six. Chicago’s offense can’t get it going either, but their defense gives them good enough field position that Thomas Jones’ 75 yards belies his two TDs.

Dallas @ Jacksonville: Jacksonville 27 – Dallas 13. Even with Marcus Stroud a likely scratch, Jacksonville’s D gives Bledsoe all he can handle. The Cowboys will be the “what happened to them??” team by season’s end, and it starts today with stuff like Jones and Barber ineffectively splitting carries and too many checkdowns by Bledsoe to Jason Witten. Leftwich posts 285 and hits Wilford for two TDs in the red zone.

San Francisco @ Arizona: Arizona 21 – San Francisco 18. Warner throws for two and Edge gets one, but the surprise of the game is Alex Smith’s rapport with Antonio Bryant. Bryant gets seven catches for 110 and a TD, and the Niner offense shows signs of life.

Sunday and Monday Primetime

Indianapolis @ NY Giants: NY Giants 28 – Indianapolis 24. You’d think the media would be all over the first brother-v-brother QB matchup in league history, but to this point there’s been nary a peep (rolling my eyes). Let’s ignore the QBs for a sec, here’s who to play: Burress for the Giants gets 110 and two TDs, Brandon Jacobs posts 45 rushing yards and one, and Shockey gets the fourth. For Indy, play Dallas Clark and Reggie Wayne. Harrison will get it going next week.

Minnesota @ Washington: Minnesota 10 – Washington 6. Consider any player in this game to be radioactive and just put as much distance as you can there. Brunell will be on the bench by week five.

San Diego @ Oakland: San Diego 33 – Oakland 6. No faith in the Raiders, but I’ve got tons of love for Phillip Rivers. He debuts strong with 275 and three, and Tomlinson racks up 175 combined with one TD. Randy Moss is more likely to get suspended for violating team rules this season than he is to collect ten TDs.

Oh, and “GO LIONS.”

The Resurrection

The under-explored meme for the week seems to be death and resurrection. Fitting, I guess, as a set of topics to bring me out of hibernation.

Death

I think F-Train’s on to something when he opined that “Poker blogs are dying,” but why? I think there’s some percentage of bloggers out there who got bored with their hobby, another group that realized they aren’t exactly David Skalansky with their advice, and F-Train was probably on to something when he rightfully said that, “(t)he vast majority of bloggers are not excellent writers.” Maybe at some point their little vanity project actually starts to become an embarrassment when held up to unrealistic standards set by more competent writers.

So why am I dying (purely in the metaphorical sense) here?

Here comes the point of this one-sided discussion where I’m on the tightrope and I know not to look down, but something inside me aboslutely positively compels me to. My head gets cloudy, I start to spin, and I feel like taking one step more is going to pull me into a free-fall.

Fuck it, I’m looking down.

I’m not well lately. I haven’t been for a little while, and that’s why I’m dying*. Not literally, mind you, but literally. I cannot and will not construct sentences and paragraphs that pull thoughts, feelings and images from my head and heart because, quite simply, I’m afraid as to what’s going to come out.

*(Again, I mean this only in a metaphorical sense and entirely about this place you come to visit and read about the bullshit that bounces around in my head. It’s an imagery thing, allows me to call back on something familiar – e.g., the memes of death and resurrection via the blog. Actually, I find that whole sentence darkly funny and not at all worrisome.)

I found it odd that at no point in or in-between my hospitalizations, despite the consequences to my health and my very life, did I flinch. I never once broke down and cried, never had the tightening sensation in my brow, constricting my skull and preventing me from any rational thought but the singular focus of my mortality. Odder still, I never once in that same period mentally marshalled my emotions into a state of adrenaline-laced positivity. I wore the same honest shrug day-in and out through what should have been the most difficult experience to handle in my life to this point.

I’m still failing to understand how I made it through those months without blinking. I had the support of my family, my friends (to whom I remain grateful for your financial and other support) and the understanding of my employer. My dog was being watched, my bills were getting paid, I had a job to come back to… I was fine.

I guess.

Coming off the surgery I was dropped into this position in Pennsylvania, flying back and forth for ten weeks out of sixteen. Then I got the word I was transferring out here permanently, those wheels started turning, and between putting the personal part of my life in boxes and the professional part of my life in hotel rooms and unfamiliar environments, I certainly didn’t have a great deal of time to slow down and think about all that was and had been happening.

I’m still blocking that for some reason. I don’t want to think. Somewhere along the way during my business travel I’ve picked up drinking as an extra-curricular again**. I’ve ditched online poker to a large extent, rarely initiate chatting with my friends, and worst of all I’m not writing for either of our benefits. I’m sure all this has got something to do with avoidance, but what exactly am I avoiding?

**(Although drinking until I get drunk is still exceedingly rare, I would have to guess the nights I’ve had at least one drink outnumber the nights I haven’t by a 10-1 margin at minimum over the last 120 days)

The knee-jerk answer you’re all going to give me is that I’m lonely. Unfortunately, that’s not good enough. I’ve been alone for a long time. As a matter of fact, we’re going on year five of not having anyone I can randomly call on a Tuesday night and meet at the bar for a drink without being related***. I guarantee you this has something to do with it, but certainly not everything. I mean, my illness wasn’t exactly a high-level facing-my-own-mortality sort of thing, but I have to assume somewhere deep inside I don’t want to die alone.

***(Within 30 minutes, or the pizza is free.)

Loneliness, however, is probably the key. A lot of this started with the recent Vegas gathering, of which I wasn’t a part. I had good reasons for not going – both financial and regarding the timing of my move – and I was told by a number of people that these gatherings “aren’t the same” as they used to be either. All that being said, I really could have used a weekend with my friends. My move was complete, pictures were on the walls, my entertainment center was hooked up and I had put the program I was tasked to saving back on the rails.

For the first time since just prior to December’s Vegas trip (I came back from that with the early signs of the illness), I had stopped. Everything in my orbits had ceased to move. The distractions receded. I had completed everything my life had thrown my way, both with success and a minimum of inconvenience to myself.

So what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

I was jealous. Real goddamn jealous of everyone who was in Vegas without me. Instead of focusing on what I had been able to do in the year to that point (i.e., the Mansion, Cincy with Iggy/Daddy/Pauly/Maudie), all I could focus on was how upset I was with myself for not hopping a plane and getting out there.

I haven’t been altogether mentally since June. I used that jealousy and turned it into self-denial leading to self-flagellation. I started doubting the friendships I had built as they compared me to others in the group (absolutely silly on its face). I doubted the love and respect I have historically gotten from my peers, and started to assume I was going to be moved into pariahdom by those I had trusted. My emotions began to flag, thoughts collide and there seem to be more bad days than I’m used to. I’ve stared over the edge of some panic attacks that – thankfully – have narrowly missed taking root in my mind. I get legitimately angry at things like TV commercials and drivers on the road. I’m constantly revisiting little moments out of context and replaying them with a horrorshow skew to a worst-case scenario. I’m starting to find these pockets of resentment that I never knew were inside me before, never knew were so deep.

It wasn’t just interpersonal. It was the job too. Despite having as much job security at this point of my life as I’ve probably ever had, despite having a boss and a boss’ boss expressing deep indebtedness to the peace and structure I had brought to a fractured situation, despite their honest words that they were looking out for me, I still managed to find the corners at which this part of my life was sewn in and started to fray the fabric. For instance, when I took this transfer the timing happened to coincide with my yearly increase. My boss’ boss (the Regional Manager, just to avoid further clumsiness) had told me point blank that he wanted to promote me, but it wasn’t in my long-term financial best interest to get the bump right then and there. I could get 5% for the increase and another 3% for the COLA in the status quo, and then another 6% (or so) in six months on top of that with a promotion, or I could take (something like) 10% and a new title right then and there. Naturally, the former makes more sense. But when I get the internal congratulatory emails where people on whom I have both seniority and responsibility advantages on get (in some cases double-) promoted ahead of me, I fall into that same crisis of confidence that’s been plaguing me in recent months. Moreso than ever before. I know my time is coming and I’ll be fine in the long run, but it nagged me badly enough to take the standard “mental health day” that Friday.

I even started worrying about money – again, despite having as much security in that respect as I’ve managed to cobble together in recent years. I get angsty that cracker rednecks can somehow afford to buy a house and a big truck, and here I am. I’m browbeating myself into a carefully constructed budget that’s rooted in reality, but leading me to believe that I’ve got to live in this framework of self-denial that has me bringing bland sandwiches to the office for lunch and tracking every penny spent with disappointment I have to fork even a single one over.

Worst yet, I’m continuing to work my way to the inevitable conclusion at the end of this tangled mess that, “none of this matters, and neither do I.” I don’t think there’s hot Hawaiian girls handing out leis at the end of that journey.

There’s a certain amount of exaggeration at play in what I’m talking about here, but this is more honest than not. I have far more good and average days than bad, but without distractions in my life, the bad days stand out far more than they ever used to. So, I guess what I’m saying is that if you’re reading this and happen to be my mother, don’t worry too hard… you know how critical I am about myself to begin with. And remember, you promised me you wouldn’t bring up what you read here in conversation…

RESURRECTION

I’m really less than comfortable sharing this, but if I’m honest with myself I need to at least get this stuff down between these lines and hope that this is another one of those unburdenings that lets me get back to some of the things that bring me joy – writing and my friendships being at the top of that list. I’ve certainly got some things piling up in my head that I’ve been intending to write about besides all this, but what’s crucial to me has to be posted here first. And it’s not as if I’ve been without support. I’ve got a few people in whom I’ve confided, and those people have been absolutely terrific in providing me the release I needed periodically. I’ve been internalizing most of this, and even though I’ve blown 1500 words on all this above, I easily could have gone for 15,000 more. Even those friends to whom I haven’t talked specifically about this have been a tremendous asset, if for no other reason than just being on the other end of the phone or IM.

I know I need to get back into therapy, and I know I need to change some of my patterns of sedentary behavior that have formed this well-worn groove in which this record continues to skip. I worried a lot about writing any and all of this, as I wasn’t sure I could adequately put it into words. Actually, let me rephrase that… with as self-conscious as I’ve been lately, I worried that I couldn’t craft the words again and couldn’t be the “BG” I’ve been before. I miss that guy. Hell, I hope you miss that guy. But that’s just patently dumb, as I’ve certainly used this space before for complaining and whining of a far less legitimate nature than where I’ve been today.

The best thing I can do with the least effort to try and screw my head on straight is to exhibit that hyper-aware self-analysis that’s probably become my trademark. I think there’s a value to recognizing what’s healthy in my head and what’s not, and I think it needs to become easy for me to push these feelings out to the page, just like I’ve done hundreds of times before. By no means do I think this will fix everything that’s wrong – that’s what therapy and maybe anti-depressants will do – but it’s a start. Honesty is the best emotional support I can provide myself, and it needs to start here.

I’m not going to promise you that I’m getting back to basics here, I need to promise that to myself. It already feels good to have written this stuff down, and hopefully I can piggyback the positivity from this past weekend, this week, and this post into more willing energy to just fucking write again already. I also have the Bash to look forward to, and I’m absolutely geeked to be getting a weekend with my friends that starts in less than two weeks. I miss you guys and I miss my blog. If I have to do the “ten minutes with…” gag to get things going, I will. If it becomes six straight weeks of depressing navel gazing bullshit, let me apologize in advance. But at some point, and soon, I’ll remember what it feels like to be pleased with what ends up on the page again. Hopefully, you will too…

The Real Story Of Today’s Pick Six Ticket

So CJ and I came out of yesterday battered and bruised, but feeling awfully good about three things. First, eleven of our seventeen horses made the money with four winners in six races. Second, that we lost the Pick Six by a combined length. And third?

CARRYOVER. A one day carryover in the pool of a cool quarter mil. We couldn’t just let that sit, oh no… So we rounded up the usual suspects, took in a thousand dollars to play with, and put together another ticket.

It’s a gut-wrenching tale of oh-my-god-no and can-you-believe-we’re-doing-this sorts of angst, but we hope to hell to be as live on the board as we were yesterday. Or liver. More live. Whatever. By the way, the Pick Six at Saratoga today with a smaller carryover will pay anywhere between $62K and one million dollars. I’m just sayin’.

Live Updates To Be Inserted Below… (starting at about 715PM EST)

RACE FIVE, 12,500 CLAIMER – We liked four horses, the 2, 5, 6 and 8, but the 2 and 8 scratched. That made it easy. #5 is MICKY’S DOLL, who probably wants the extra half furlong and was very game in this class last out for a place and has worked good since. #6 is TUG O’ WAR who took awhile to break the maiden, but has the second off angle and trainer/jock connex are solid. This wasn’t a tough one to settle on, but it’s a dangerous opener to be sure.

UPDATE: The two horses we picked are 4/1 and 4/5 respectively, and they’re loading up… Seven furlongs… And they’re off! They both got out good, six is grabbing a share of the lead. Five now snags it. Nine is up there, three’s running well, but five and six are putting three in front of the pack dueling. Hoping this doesn’t sap their energies. Into the turn, five still up, six right there. Looking good right now. Five holds getting into the stretch, neither asked for their best. Five and six lugging. Seven is passing them, five can hold. Hold five. Hold five! Jesus, close… Could have been seven… That was close as fuck, 19/1 #7 got up late. Five was looking good, but I think he got edged. Yeah, I think he got edged. We’re done after one? Really? Yep, seven got up. Fuck. Longest price on the board, let’s hope we have a shot at a good consolation payout if we can run the table from here…

RACE SIX, MAIDEN RACE – The class of the race was #2, who scratched. We found that one out early, which we thought would help us go a little skinnier here. We were wrong. We’ve got #4 MIURA BULL and #9 EL BAMBINO HUEY, who will share the short end of the pricing with a horse we passed, and added longshots #5 SILVER WIND (CJ’s pick) and #6 AFLEET SPY (my pick). If we’re live here, pull hard for #6. We might have thought about going with just #2 here, giving us more options elsewhere, but we got screwed.

Loving this dead-after-one bullshit, but keep in mind we’ve still got a shot at a sizeable 5 of 6 payout if we can run the table and catch a couple of prices along the way. The announcers on TVG made a good point that if you caught the #7 in the last race, you were probably playing that race wide at the expense of playing others as fully as possible. So, our best case is to catch the #6 here, and the #1 in the eighth, along with whoever’s looming large on the board in the tenth. Yeah, that’s likely. Anyway, they’re loading up and we don’t have the 2/1 favorite. Sigh… And they’re off! One needs to die, but got out good. Six and nine and five all out well, which bodes well. Eight, who we don’t have, is trailing. Liking six grabbing ghe pace, but #1 is close. Nine makes a 3W move and takes the lead into the turn, head for head with five. One’s got no room, needs to be blocked off. Nine and one, nine and one… Nine’s got this, so we’ve got a 5/2 winner here, which helps… but not enough. We need a price baby!

RACE SEVEN, OPTIONAL CLAIMING – For awhile here, we were going to single #7 WINDY, who’s going to be real tough to beat here and will be an awfully short price. The TVG announcer is talking right now about getting physically ill the farther he gets into a live Pick Six ticket, and after yesterday I can relate. This is the spot we absolutely have to get past for a good shot here, but we backed up #7 with #5 UDRIGA, in whose notes I wrote “DO NOT IGNORE” in big block letters. She’s got a huge shot to move forward at a price in the 10/1 – 15/1 neighborhood, and is bred for the sprint. Two deep in a seven horse race is okay, we really need Windy here though.

Everyone knows it’s Winnn-deeee… Actually, we need Udriga here big time for any shot at a consolation payoff. We’re wide in races eight and ten, but need a price here and our single in #9 to make any sort of money on this at all. They’re loading up… And they’re off! Five stumbled a touch, seven’s laying off. That’s okay, she’s a closer. Five is out, that’s no surprise. 10/1 would be nice. Two lengths but closing on the turn. Seven’s still chilling in sixth. Moving strong and wide on the turn… Windy’s coming around, and is FULL of run. This is her race, no way anyone catches her. Six ran well, just not as good as seven, who won by something like six or seven. And yes, the announcer just did the “everyone knows…” line. Ugh. We need a price in the eighth, and BAD.

RACE EIGHT, GRADE TWO DEL MAR DERBY – Because of the initial single of race seven and our strong feelings about races five and nine, we thought this was the place to go wide. And wide we went. Nine horse field, and we’ve covered six possibilities. #1 RATEAU is our longshot at 20/1, and I refused to put in this ticket without him. #4 GET FUNKY and #5 LIGHTNING HIT are also priced to play, and we added short prices on #8 UNION AVENUE, #9 POINT DETERMINED and #10 PORTO SANTO. Please, for the love of god, keep 2, 3 and 7 the hell off the track…

We really need the one or five here for a price, otherwise I think we’re looking at a pat on the back and a smile even if we run the table from here. So at least I know which of our six to root for, I guess. Eight, nine and ten are good quality horses and all, and I hope we can nail the one and everyone else has these guys batched up on their tickets. That’s really our best shot. They’re loading up… And they’re off! 30/1 on #1, and he got out clean towards the front. Good stuff. Nonsensical (who we don’t have) isn’t urnning away with it, which was a concern. #1 is out there, #4 is there too. Liking #1 right now, this is a good run to form. Let’s hope he can hold the others off. #4 gets up close, now passes #1. Seven is right there and making a move on the backstretch. He’s passing going into the last turn, and here’s hoping he gets passed by one of ours. One saved ground, isn’t firing. Four is going gamely, Two is running up but GET FUNKY makes a dent, and we get a 6/1 winner here. Not the price we needed, but it’s a positive result again for us. Now root like hell for the nine in the next.

RACE NINE, MAIDEN RACE FOR TWO YEAR OLDS – Here’s where the nausea will set in if we’re live or three-for-four coming into this one. We singled this race. You heard me. We had our ticket put together and were ready to make the bet, and we found out #4 COLONEL CHICK scratched. Fuck, this was a two horse race with #9 DILEMMA, and we felt good about two deep here. Singling this one makes me sick. Absolutely sick. If we’re live here and miss this one… Christ, I don’t even want to think about it.

The ten is a Merv Griffin horse. Isn’t that nice. Now get out there and lose to the nine motherfucker! The nine is 6/5 on the board, and clearly the class. Of course, that means he’s likely to finish eighth as if his pockets were full of lead. They’re loading up… And they’re off! Christ this makes me nervous. For an atheist I certainly invoke the name of your lord fairly often, eh? Anyway, nine got out good and runs up solidly to take a share. Four across to set the pace, ten is out there and a couple of the others I kinda liked a bit are fading in back. Nine is sitting one off the leader and just now is making a move at the top of the turn. He’s getting even with ten and is going to be hard to catch if he keeps this up. He’s moving fast and there’s a couple around him… but they won’t get him. He’s got it, but at 6/5. At least we hit our single.

RACE TEN, MAIDEN – If by any freak chance we’re live coming into the tenth – even for a consolation payout – we’re going to feel real good here. We’ve got five of eleven locked up in #1 JOLLY SPIRIT, #4 KING OF ROHAN, #7 MAJESTIC AMERICAN, #9 SYLVAN HILL, AND #9 OKA KING. Of course, watch the updates to see if we get this far. This card was harder than yesterday’s to be sure…

THE ONLY PROFITABLE SCENARIO HERE IS A WIN BY THE FOUR – CURRENTLY 27/1 – $4500 PAYOUT FOR US – I’LL BE BACK TO LIVE BLOG THIS IN FIVE MINUTES (WILL POST IN ABOUT EIGHT)

We might be seeing a consolation payoff, but I can tell you we’re not making our money back – or even close. I’m guessing $250-$400 or so, if at all. I’ve never hit five of six before, god knows how this works…

PAYOUT UPDATE: I’m going to wait for CJ to confirm before saying this is official, but it looks like our $1K paid out $378. No, not $1,378. Just $378. Of course, the way it looks on the website, it looks to cover those who had a horse that scratched and were perfect otherwise. I dunno if we cash this ticket or not, but to know that we lost two pick six payouts by less than fifteen feet total is somewhere between wildly encouraging and ridiculously demoralizing. At bare minimum, I think CJ and I are really coming into our own on these bets and in our handicapping…

So Close…

After a five-for-nine showing last week at Del Mar, CJ and I went four-for-six today trying to tackle the Pick Six. Hit the first two, missed by a half length in the third, lost by a nose in the sixth. We missed a consolation payout, and it’s small consolation that we had the runner-up when we didn’t hit the winner.

I’m happy with the quality of my handicapping, but there’s a big difference between being right and cashing tickets…