Rebel Yell

Since I had a little extra time this morning, I decided to get a haircut. Now, I had been putting it off for about a week and a half, so it was definitely time for a trimming. I headed north on San Jose blvd, here in Jacksonville, and started wondering if I should not go to my usual hair place and instead stop at one of the others I would be passing along the way. I usually go to a place called Sportsclips.

Now, I'm not aware if these are all over the United States, or just in the southeast, but Sportsclip knows how to cut a man's hair. In fact, I've never seen a female customer in the place. Before you get the wrong idea, it's just a sports themed hair cuttery, with mini televisions in front of each booth playing ESPN, and sports paraphernalia decorating the walls. They have men's magazines in the waiting rooms and are lacking toys for the kids. In essence, Sportsclip has decided to try to make getting your hair cut an enjoyable experience for the men of this world, rather than something that is to be avoided, like playing Ace-jack under the gun at a full, ten handed table. Trust me, don't do it, you're not that strong a poker player.

I walk into Sportsclip and there are no other customers. The sign outside says you get $2.00 off the regular price of an MVP cut. The MVP is a haircut (styled), a wash (with scalp massage), a hot towel on your face, and a shoulder massage with a vibrator. It's a nice deal. It spoils me, and it only cost about 25% more than a cut and shampoo at any other place. How can I not love this? The girl asking me for my phone number is new, and young. This pleases me. She looks like she has weak hands though, and this concerns me because I want some pressure when all of this rubbing starts to take place! She directs me to the chair and puts one of those black plastic bag things around my collar. I guess it's a cape.

I tell her I want it shorter than it is now, but not much of a change. She says "Business cut?". I immediately say NO, not like a business cut. Not that short. Ok, no problem, and she starts clipping. I'm watching the little tv to my left, and this girl starts talking to me. Now, I don't know how you are, and I realize everyone is different, but I'm not all that interested in hearing about this woman's kids right now. I came in here to get a haircut and relax. As she's talking I begin to realize she has a few kids. I find this peculiar since she looks like she is about 19. I decide not to ask for details.

As she is clipping I mention that I don't want it too short because I'm trying to NOT look like a businessman, and I'm actually going for something a little more rebellious. But, I say, not too rebellious, I mean, I don't want tattoos or anything that might be permanent. Well, that was probably not the right thing to say since this woman, Melissa, has four tattoos, one for each child. One of her four tattoos is a rebel flag, with hearts around it, and has something to do with her son. Apparently, a former friend of hers told someone about the tattoo and told some people that Melissa was a racist.

You can imagine me sitting there, hearing about her four kids, and her rebel flag tat, and then she says to me "well, all of my children were born out of wedlock, and they all have different fathers".

Say what?

I'm beginning to think there is a camera somewhere nearby because this might be a little bit too much information. I mean, we just met. Maybe you should save the rebel flag tattoo and your four illegitimate children until the next cutting.

All the while she is just clip, clip, clipping away. She was talking for a while, and I've already decided that I'm tuning her out, so I begin to watch the highlights of the U.S.-Italy soccer game on ESPN. The U.S. lost, but it looked like a good game. The highlights then moved on to cover the Brazil game, also from yesterday. I never got to see who won because it was at that time that I glanced at the mirror. She has nearly clipped me clean.

Whoah!! Don't cut any more! That's good! It's short enough. Please. Stop.

Hair grows back, so this is not a big deal, and I'm not all that fazed. At this point I want to get finished and get out of here. We go into the back for the shampoo portion of the "experience", and sure enough she can't give a good scalp massage to save her life. She's very gentle and barely touching me and the worst part is she's now talking about how much she likes soccer. Her fiance' doesn't, he likes football, and he says only girls play soccer. Melissa seems to enjoy the game even though it is clear she has never watched a soccer game in her life. Ya know how when something feels really good and it seems like it can never last long enough? Well, this was the opposite of that.

The hot towel was good and hot. I was very relaxed. She also massaged my face a bit, which was nice. The best part was the vibrator on my shoulders. The vibrator was loud enough that she decided to not try and talk over it.

She was finishing up, and she had run her fingers back through my hair. I looked into the mirror, and I'm like, "hey, that looks good!" Meaning, I like my hair JUST LIKE THAT. It did look good, too. Even though it was a bit shorter than I wanted, it did seem to still say "There is no place I have to be right at this moment". Of course, Melissa immediately grabbed a brush and started combing my hair. I'm not sure what part of "that looks good" she failed to understand, but she thought it needed improvement.

I just do not understand why she would divulge her life story to me after knowing me for two minutes. My first thought, as I sat in the car afterwards, was that she would make a great interview for one of those daytime talk shows. My second thought was "those poor kids". Talk about needing to "come from behind". Those kids got dealt deuce-seven offsuit in a world full of pocket nines. Maybe the flop will come 2-2-7. I hope so, for their sake.

After getting my hair cut I had just enough time to get down to the local card room so I could sign up for another poker tournament. This is the same tourney I played in last Tuesday, and I was hoping for another final table. After finishing first and second, respectively, in the two tournaments last week that are part of the Player of the Month contest, I was leading by a few points. There is still a long way to go and another strong finish would probably keep me in the lead.

I played pretty good, but there were two hands in which I was all-in and should have been out, except for lady luck sitting on my shoulder. I took A-7 up against pocket queens, and flopped and Ace. After that I took A-2 up against A-Q, and flopped two deuces. I was very short stacked in both instances, and in both instances I moved all-in first. That makes a big difference. I probably wouldn't call a raise with either of those hands, but I'm willing to raise with both of them myself.

I ended up finishing in second place. Somehow. The blinds escalate so very fast that at the final table there is almost no play. It is just an all-in festival. We were playing five handed with the blinds at 6,000-12,000 and an ante of 3000. The largest stack is 90,000! Well, we ended up chopping it five ways, and then we played down to the end for the points. I was able to knock out one guy when two kings came out on the flop and my AK won against his pocket aces. If I'd known I was going to be so lucky I would have wanted to play it out for the cash too.

Heads-up play lasted all of two hands when my ace-five lost to my opponents King-Jack. Another second place finish. This is all very odd because I normally don't like tournaments. I particularly detest the end of tournaments when every hand is basically flipping a coin. But, how can I scoff at the results? I now have to keep playing in this month long deal. I have a head start on everyone else and need to keep the pedal to the metal. I have finished 1st, 2nd, and 2nd in the three past tournaments I've played. Pretty amazing run. Really amazing, actually.

Why am I not in Las Vegas?

This might be the rush that could have netted me possibly a few hundred thousand had I been playing at The Rio or one of the other many casinos that host various tournaments during the World Series of Poker. It seems like so many things in life depend on timing, and I'm worried I may be missing out on a golden opportunity. Of course, good fortune in Jacksonville does not necessarily mean good fortune in the desert. I'm just happy my bio-rhythms are on, and the cards are coming my way.

Back to my bread and butter, the cash games, tomorrow.