Ten of us put up $325 each for a one table, winner-take-all satellite. I open with a raise to 200 with 10-8 offsuit, definitely out of line, and Stephen re-raises all in. I announce that "since he's my friend, I'm going to give him a courtesy double-up even though I know he's got the best hand." Stephen has A-J and I draw out him, extracting a measure of revenge for his earlier win with J J.
Literally hundreds of uniformed masseuses work the poker rooms, charging $2/minute for massages while you play. At our table in quick succession three people order a massage and the table and are immediately busted out. When another masseuse comes by nobody wants one. We even jokingly offer to pay for someone else to get a massage! I kiddingly tell her I don't even want her standing behind me and make a cross sign as if to ward off a vampire. The masseuse gets into the act, offering free samples which of course we all decline.
After a few minutes, though, nothing sounds better or more soothing than a massage, and hey, I'm not really superstitious, am I? I ask for a massage and the rest of the table looks at me like I've completely lost my mind. When I lose over half of my chips on the very next hand they rib me mercilessly.
52 minutes later (I know because the masseuse bill was $104 + tip), however, we are down to two players; my opponent has 83% of the chips. He makes me an offer to more than double my buy-in if I quit. While I would love to keep playing him, the dealer wants to go him, his offer is superficially quite generous, and there is the masseuse curse factor to consider. We shake hands, have a laugh with the masseuse, and call it a night.
All in all, it's been a fun evening in spite of being a little sick. I've had fun with Stephen, a good laugh about the masseuses, and booked two modest wins. I'm sure I'll wake up feeling positive and ready to roll.
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