Of course, beware of people who play sbobet “the hammer”.
I was playing over at Frank the Tank’s last Wednesday, it was a $60 tourney where I played like crap, when someone dropped a huge hammer bluff. Weird thing about it was: a) I’d never seen this guy before and b) he called his hand “the hammer.”
One of the players at the table, an older guy sitting to my right, asked him, “why do people call that hand ‘the hammer’?” A third sbobet player, at the end of the table, another guy I’d never seen before, chimed in, “That’s what it’s always been called… like Big Slick… it’s what all the pros call it.”
I was stunned.
BadBlood, who was also at my table, chimed in with this nugget of truth, “Actually, it was invented by a friend of ours, a writer named “Grubby”.”
The entire table laughed at what they obviously thought was a joke. BadBlood didn’t bother to insist.
HEY! WE’VE GOT GAS
So back to the big party for a bit.
I rang in the new first number, the biggest bash of them all, the long awaited year 2000, in the breakroom at a station in Georgia. I worked as the weekend anchor there and was stuck on that special night.
We got the assignments at about 11:42. Here’s the News Director’s plan:
We’d go lve at exactly 12:01, cutting into the national celebration and the dropping NY ball, to bring you a very special West Georgia news update. It was 15 minutes long, until 12:16 AM.
Our main female anchor, Teresa, was to hold down the fort. She’d sit at the main news desk and handle everything there.
The main male anchor, Phil, was out at an ATM. The premise, at least what I assume was the premise, was to demonstrate that the Y2K bug hadn’t crippled the banking system. We’d be watching Phil make a withdrawl.
Our main weather girl was stationed at a big gala downtown. She’s blessed with the ad-lib gift and was almost certainly the one thing we couldn’t screw up.
One reporter, Jon, was downtown, using the same live truck, talking about the festivities in the street.
I was in the breakroom, telling viewers the lights were on, the water was running, and yes… the stove still had gas. No need to panic folks.
So at 12:01 Teresa welcomed the drunken, and now disappointed viewing audience, and told them we’d be taking control. Then she tossed to Phil.
Phil did his best to calm the Y2K fears. Then he took his debit card out of his wallet and put it in the machiene. “Looks like we have a problem,” he excitedly declared, “It will not let me make a withdrawl!”
After several minutes of dramatic number bashing, rivaled only by the climactic photocopying scene in “THE FIRM,” Phil left confusion in the air as he tossed it back to the desk.
“Gosh!” Teresa declared, “We’ll try to find out the extent of this Y2K problem! But first, Let’s check in with our weather girl downtown….”
Sure enough, this went off fine. Our weather girl introduced us to her husband and son, and they talked among themselves. I’m not 100% positive she knew she was on camera, but still, it was the greatest success of our night.
So, glowing from this unexpected success, Teresa tossed to Jon downtown. Jon forgot to use a microphone. We watched his lips flap for a full 90 seconds before we finally cut him off.
Now, in the breakroom, I was ready to get it done. The ND himself was running my camera… he’d forgotten to schedule a photographer. He’d also forgotten to get a mic. I ran into the studio and grabbed the weather girl’s wireless one, but the breakroom was out of range. When Teresa tossed, all she heard was static.
So, now unhappy about the two failed shots, Teresa had to update our lead. Phil had called in. His failed withdrawl wasn’t Y2K… nossir… his wife, afraid of Y2K, had just made the MAXIMUM DAILY WITHDRAWL. He couldn’t get anymore. Folks, the banks are fine.
It was 12:06
The News Director ran back to the studio and held up a handwritten sign. It said, I kid you not, “CAN YOU FILL 10 MINUTES??????”
Teresa was not amused. She said, and I quote, “I guess we just can’t handle this, I’m going home. Have a happy new year!” Then she took off the mic and walked directly to her car.
The ND was fired on the next Monday.
After a few decades of waiting for this party, I ended that New Year with a cup of coffee and a very excited prayer from my Evangelical ND. It wasn’t what I planned.
Later that year, I got a much better job in a much better place. I moved from an apartment to a house. My first child turned one and my second was concieved (the best and most underrated part of having kids). And I moved to G-Vegas that year.
I’m at work again. You can tell I’m at work because this post is 10,000 words long and makes no sense. Instead of hitting a party, I’ll head straight home for the ball’s fall. Not the party I’d planned.
But this year my contract expires at the place I call home and I may be moving again. I hope I’m just as lucky. I also hope that this will be the year I drop the label, “WORST POKER PLAYER ALIVE!” But I’m not sure I can ever be lucky enough.