Ten. Ten fuckin’ years. How many wins have you had? How many bad beats have destroyed your soul? More importantly, how many Roma slices have you fit in your mouth? Probably more than you care to admit!
On Saturday, the league will kick-off with its tenth season – a feat no one could have imagined when we first started. Who would have thought that a ludicrous statement that Chris D is better than everyone at poker would have turned into this?
From its humble beginnings, this tour has grown from small get-togethers to a monthly institution. It’s become apart of our lives so ingrained in our identity that we relive the memories like Al Bundy cherishing his Polk High days. We may not be much in this world – a spec of dust in the ever-expanding universe – but once a month, we’re kings.
Now we stand at the top of a mountain reflecting on what we have accomplished along the way. From 11 players in season 1 to a grand total of twenty big sweaty dudes complaining about the heat in the basement. And sandwiched in between those years are players who have come and gone. Some who have even come back again. We don’t even question why they return. We know already.
This tour is more than just cards. Or the official BBPT chips that weren’t quite right and needed to be washed. Or the tables that Sean M designed for us to play on but haunt his mind every time they need transport.
No, this tour is deeper than arguing about the distance of locations for events each month. Or what the official start time is for the tour. Or what the minimum bet is on re-raises.
This tour has brought us together regardless of some fringe players political leanings or how many push-ups we can do at the table while playing poker.
A bond strongly forged – and for some, an elite championship bond has also been forged – that will not divide us, no matter how many shits Darren can unload in one night. We hold our breath, run into that proverbial bathroom, and get the hell out as fast as we can – cause dammit if we don’t, we’ll be blinded out.
Slow dealing, tables of death, and even baseball caps to the eye won’t stop us from turning up once a month – unless Mitch’s wife has other plans for him.
Then why do we do this? It certainly isn’t for the money. Cause most of you haven’t come close to winning shit. It’s about when break is, the goddamn mozza sticks, and the loser lounge.
Maybe, just maybe you really do have a chance at having your name engraved on the cup and that’s what you tell yourself to show up each month. But hey, that’s okay. Because when you do come close and miss the mark, we’ll be here for you, like we have the last 10 years. We’ll remind you…. “THE CHANCE MAY NEVER COME……….. AGAIN!!!!”
J to the 5 and I’m all in!
Happy 10-year anniversary, bitches!