The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of Defeat

In yet another sign that I might be getting older more quickly than I thought, I caught myself half-asleep-on-the-couch head-bopping to Lionel Richie and "Dancing On the Ceiling" during last night's Philly July 4th concert. My deterioration has gone from steady to rampaging...

I have been disgusted with myself since Monday night. I surprised everyone by actually showing up for poker night in Berwyn. I really need to get myself out more. When the host of an event says "Vince! Oh My God! I can't believe you came! I mean, I'm really glad to see you. But, wow!", it generates mixed feelings. On one hand, it feels good to be greeted warmly by your friends. On the other hand, it shows that you aren't getting out to see them nearly enough.

I did myself no favors heading into the night's poker action. I severely damaged myself with a lunchtime Burger King run, and followed that with a rushed ring bologna, potato salad and corn on the cob dinner. My stomach was a mess as I headed north on Rt. 202, and it got worse as things went along. I started the night by winning a nice-sized pot, but I found it tougher and tougher to maintain my concentration and patience as my stomach rebelled against me. Failure to procure allergy medicine prompted a most nasty allergy attack that set in early in the night - which didn't help matters either. We played most of the night 11-handed, $1-$2 no-limit. A game that size no-limit requires patience and intelligent playing of position. I had three wild players on my left, and this hurt me throughout the night. As is the case with a no-limit game, I had up-and-down swings all night. I'd be up $75, and then lose $30 right back. I played very well for a lot of the night, but off-set my good play with some truly stupid decisions, including one that will stand out for a long time that cost me almost $40. In fact, it might have been the worst hand of poker that I have ever played. I ended up buying in for $100, and cashed out $50 for a minus-50 night. I will do better next time I play with those guys. I will say it was worth $50 to see everyone on Monday night. Sometimes you don't realize how much you miss people until you are around them again.

As I wrote in my last entry, I was locked-in for yesterday's Italy-Germany World Cup semi-final. There were many times during the contest that it looked like I would be on the wrong end of the result (and my bet with Herr Maert), but Italy scored twice in the final minutes of the second overtime, and exultation exploded across Italy and the Blando living room. After I calmed down my shrieking and blasting of the Italian national anthem, some guilt crept in. Here I was, on the 4th of July, wildly celebrating a goal scored by the national team representing a country I had never stepped foot in. I felt very much like a poseur. My father is from Italy, and I grew up watching the games with him, cheering on the blue-clad Italian national team, and rooting for Napoli in the Italian Serie A. I am proud of my Italian heritage, but I have never truly immersed myself in it - I never studied the language, and I have never visited my Father's homeland. Let it be said that I am newly motivated. I WILL visit Italy. Once we get caught up on some finances, I am going to start putting money away so I can see my Dad's hometown, and as much of the middle-to-south of the country I can. I will climb Mt. Vesuvius as my Father did when he was a boy, and I will visit Naples and Rome. I will attempt to time my visit so I can attend a Napoli soccer match (that is, if they have climbed back into Serie A by then).

[Currently Listening: Cyrkle - "Red Rubber Ball"]