OK. Up front. For once. The river. There it is. The 7 clubs. What a card to get now. You’re done. Toast. Out. Gone away. But we're going to play this hand backwards, the way you would have liked to have played it from the git-go. But that wasn't an option then. Actually, it was an option then, you just did not see it as one, you were too busy focused on the pot. Always on the pot, never on the process. So you pushed in with twenty, your last twenty, I might add, but it's too late now. The river. 7 clubs. Stand up and be counted. Out. That's how it works. You think you've got it, got the insight, got the vibe, got the trick, got the mojo, got the cards. They're coming your way. Or not. Stand up and be counted.
But we're going forwards when we should be going back. Back in time. Reverse order, remember? The cards. Yes, the cards. Your cards. The ones that were dealt. They were...coming. Coming your way, the cards. In fact they would have gone your way but you made a mistake. Some might call it a calculated one, but who calculates mistakes? No one, that would be silly. Perhaps an over calculation? A tell? Was it a tell. No. Not really, life is always more complex than a tell. A tell you could correct. But luck. How do you correct luck? You can’t really. An over estimation. That you can correct for, could have corrected for, had you seen it coming which of course you did not or we wouldn't, check that, you wouldn't be standing now.
The turn. This is where the luck began to change if such a thing can be said to change. If it can changes is it really luck? No. Strategy changes, luck carries forth. But granted, at the outside you did neglect to imagine that on the turn, after check, check, and check, your dunce-in-the-hole, the patsy who you'd set up 2 hands before, the one who was going to raise, raise, and re-raise. Patsy Boy, that's what you call him, the one with the hair, stepped out. "Out." That's what he said. Just like that. And just for a minute. Away from the table. Cool. Calm and deflected. Patsy Boy who's never, ever neglected to raise on pair of treys, is now out. Why? Turns out it's not deep, because Patsy Boy isn't deep but you knew that. Patsy Boy was recalling a memory of a girl he'd meet the night before at a bar, and had lost focus, not that he ever had much focus, for the moment Patsy Boy lost focus, and wanted to think instead about Mya? Was that her name? She didn't spell it like that, how did she spell it? M Y _ _. So he dropped that hand, it was as simple as that to try and recall the correct spelling, because recalling the spelling was the key to remembering her edress and remembering that was the key to contacting her, since phone numbers were not exchanged, and although he was slightly drunk he'd said, "sure, go ahead, give it to, I'll remember it." So his future, his future with Mayah? it all hinged on his memory, which he was now actively searching. Searching for his future and that was how you lost yours.
But back to the turn. Patsy Boy drops into a reverie and you begin your descent into being a loser, because once Patsy Boy goes the way of promises-yet-to-come you are forced to stare at the table green, because to not stare into the green is to stare into the face of your nemesis who sits across from you. That's what you call him. To his face. "Nemesis?" you'll ask, thinking this helps you understand him, calm your fears, but what you don't realize is that none of that is true. No. The opposite is true. Nemesis understands you. Thus nemesis, instead of combatant. He who imposes the rules of engagement...you are but a victim here. Of your own over-calculations. Once the hands are dealt, everything’s in motion. Things are no longer equal. Not at all. Nemesis. You’re toast. And you know it. Knew it then. Know it now. And therein lies the problem with the flop and this is really where your downfall began to be described. Think about it. A twenty. That's the price of your downfall. That and three cards on the table stretched out in a row.
It's all about possibilities. Really. Think about it. There's so much promise there, right now, at the moment they all come. There they are...ONE...TWO...THREE. Three cards fanned across the table. The possibilities are almost limitless. That's what you say to yourself. Let's play this out. What's the end game from here on out? Best to worse case. OK. Best case. Full house. Knaves and daggers. You'd love that. "Knave this! motherfuckers." That's what you'd say. Or "OK. I've seen your mercy and now to cut your heart out." Yeah that be good one. Really. OK. Second best. Spade flush, not out of the question but such a shame to lose the pair like that. It's not how you win, though, just that you do. So OK, then straight. Top or bottom, it's easy as a two-way. That could work. Now worse case. And this one's bad. Trip, trip, trip down memory lane. Count'em. "one. two. three." All so easy, all so many possibilities. Isn't life grand?"
Grand. Yes it is. You were set to be grand from the git-go. That's what you always called it. First card the git, second the go. The git-go. And what a git-go it was. This is going to do it. Easy now, don't get too over confident, but whoa, what a git. What a go. But remember, we're playing this game backwards. Why? you say, well why not? Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned here. How? How did we get here? Last hand or the first of many to come, sometimes we just never know? So the git. There is it. Now the go. Full steam ahead. Seems like the right cards. Really, odds-ons the best two hole cards to start with. Hard to beat. The best two to start with, but what you didn't know, couldn't know, was that when Patsy Boy stepped away from the table, when he took one last look at those two cards he was holding - and now we'll never know what they were because they just don't matter anymore - when he took that one last look down and then he looked up at you, just for a moment and a little smile edged along his face and then he folded and stepped away, that moment, which really had nothing to do with you, except you were both in the same room, THAT MOMENT, that moment was the tell. You never saw it coming. So you went in with your last twenty. And now you are standing. Standing and out.
We at Warrior Ant Press are losing our patience with the whole Obama campaign fake rhethoric of "oh my! I can't do that, it might offend someone. Got to vote for warrantless-wiretapping cause the suburban moms might not vote for me. Bernie Mac. Dude. Such raunchy humor from a black man, tone in down." 
