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Shuffle the Deck
Mar. 10th, 2003 12:00 am"Vegas!", he thought. "Finally I've made it to the World Series. I can't believe it. Still, I can't let this get to me. I must keep my composure. Strategy is the key to this game, and i am cool, calm and ready."
The dealer was ready and looked over the eight contestants briefly. The cards had already been cut and shuffled. The chips were in piles before each player, and there was another considerable pile in front of the dealer. There was a crowd watching, furthering the tension around them.
The rules allowed you to place any sized bet you wanted, but these were the high rollers, here in the World Series. "I'll start with 5 thousand dollars, that should show them I'm up to the challenge." He placed 5 pink chips, special ones for the tournament, in front of where he was sitting on the green felt.
"I'm sure that these Blu BlockersTM will only enhance my game and serve to intimidate the other competitors," he thought. It didn't, everyone thought he looked like a fool, or at least was doing an unnecessary homage to Canadian singer Corey Hart. "I have to have my "A" game face on now. No-one can out do me."
The cards started flying from the dealers hand. Quickly they flew to a spot in front of each man, and he counted each one, as it landed face down.
"One, two, three, four (that one's mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine (for the dealer);
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine;
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine;
What strategy should I use, fake'em out? Why does he have that twinkle in his eye?
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine (for the dealer);
I'm not going to fall for that, what's he doing?
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine."
Then there were the two face-up cards that would be dealt.
"Eight of spades, ten of diamonds, three of diamonds, two of hearts (ugh), five of clubs, nine of spades, Jack of spades, five of spades, Queen of diamonds (for the dealer);
Seven of clubs, ten of hearts. King of spades, seven of diamonds (crap), ace of clubs, ace of hearts, eight of diamonds, two of clubs, and the Queen of Spades (damn that dealer)."
He knew he had to keep cool. "A two and seven? What crap is that?" He needed to look at the other cards and then he could discard two of those five. Whatever he had left would determine his fate. He lifted them from the table and turned them in his hand, scared of the tale they would tell.
"King of diamonds, three of clubs, two of clubs, five of diamonds and a Jack of spades. I have two twos. I must keep composure...bluff? Fold?"
Before he could make up his mind, a voice from beyond, filled the entire cosmos. the loud baritone seemed to be upset, pointedly so. It said, "What the fuck is this crap on ESPN?"
Suddenly there was a flash and he found himself in a totally new place. He was leading a group of men and women in an undersea lab in the near future.
He thought. "I need to find my Happy Bake Oven. People will pay if I don't find it"
The dealer was ready and looked over the eight contestants briefly. The cards had already been cut and shuffled. The chips were in piles before each player, and there was another considerable pile in front of the dealer. There was a crowd watching, furthering the tension around them.
The rules allowed you to place any sized bet you wanted, but these were the high rollers, here in the World Series. "I'll start with 5 thousand dollars, that should show them I'm up to the challenge." He placed 5 pink chips, special ones for the tournament, in front of where he was sitting on the green felt.
"I'm sure that these Blu BlockersTM will only enhance my game and serve to intimidate the other competitors," he thought. It didn't, everyone thought he looked like a fool, or at least was doing an unnecessary homage to Canadian singer Corey Hart. "I have to have my "A" game face on now. No-one can out do me."
The cards started flying from the dealers hand. Quickly they flew to a spot in front of each man, and he counted each one, as it landed face down.
"One, two, three, four (that one's mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine (for the dealer);
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine;
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine;
What strategy should I use, fake'em out? Why does he have that twinkle in his eye?
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine (for the dealer);
I'm not going to fall for that, what's he doing?
One, two, three, four (mine), five, six, seven, eight, nine."
Then there were the two face-up cards that would be dealt.
"Eight of spades, ten of diamonds, three of diamonds, two of hearts (ugh), five of clubs, nine of spades, Jack of spades, five of spades, Queen of diamonds (for the dealer);
Seven of clubs, ten of hearts. King of spades, seven of diamonds (crap), ace of clubs, ace of hearts, eight of diamonds, two of clubs, and the Queen of Spades (damn that dealer)."
He knew he had to keep cool. "A two and seven? What crap is that?" He needed to look at the other cards and then he could discard two of those five. Whatever he had left would determine his fate. He lifted them from the table and turned them in his hand, scared of the tale they would tell.
"King of diamonds, three of clubs, two of clubs, five of diamonds and a Jack of spades. I have two twos. I must keep composure...bluff? Fold?"
Before he could make up his mind, a voice from beyond, filled the entire cosmos. the loud baritone seemed to be upset, pointedly so. It said, "What the fuck is this crap on ESPN?"
Suddenly there was a flash and he found himself in a totally new place. He was leading a group of men and women in an undersea lab in the near future.
He thought. "I need to find my Happy Bake Oven. People will pay if I don't find it"
