NO. I WON'T BE ON ESPN. 

On Sunday at work, I joked to a couple of people that I might stop by on Tuesday for dinner because I had nothing to do. I said after dinner, I'd probably head to the casino to play a little poker.

About an hour later, I get a call from Derry asking if I'm playing any of the tournaments at Harrah's this week. I totally forgot about the World Series of Poker going down this week. I thought it was hilarious that my plan happened to be to go there Tuesday. 

So, I played in the 10 p.m. Tuesday night tournament, which has an entry fee of $200. Just before the tournament starts, the guy sitting next to me pulls a D (definition No. 1), except to an extreme degree. Somebody else was glancing at SportsCenter and commented that Plaxico getting suspended was a sad situation. 

The dude next to me then says (totally serious as if he was informing the other guy): "Did you hear what he did, though? He shot himself in the foot."

First, he shot himself in the thigh. Second, that was like four days ago, moron. I think we might have heard about that by now. I don't even think D has been four days late before. Whistle, anyone? 

Early in the tournament, I made two pair on the turn and thought I was winning. I was wrong. The other guy had a royal flush. You get that? A royal flush. That's like the best hand you can have. I've never had one myself. In fact, until Tuesday, I had never been at a table where somebody got one. An historic first, indeed. Plus, it made me lose a lot of my chips. 

During the tournament, I knocked out three people on the following hands (mine first): A-J vs. A-10, K-10 vs. pocket queens, A-5 vs. J-Q. The other hands I won with early in the tournament were: K-3, K-Q, pocked nines and Q-10. I lost a big one when my pocket sixes lost to A-Q.

At the first break, I had $2300 chips. You start with $2500 and the average was now like $3500. During the break, I consulted Derry for advice. He told me I still had enough to do some damage and to be patient. And I was. 

For the rest of the tournament, I only had the chip average for about five minutes. Which means I was playing with barely any chips most of the time. Every time I got a decent hand, I went all-in and hoped for the best. In total, I called all-in 10 times. I was fortunate, though. I only got called twice. The other times, I just collected the pot, which a few times was a decent amount.      

Here are the hands I went all-in with but didn't get called: A-2, A-Q, K-8, pocket aces, A-5, A-9, J-6 (luckily, no one called that), A-2.

The top 18 get paid in the tournament. Basically, I was trying to hold on until I made the money. One big hand helped me do that. I'm running low as usual and look down to see pocket aces for the second time. I go all-in, and this time I get called by a guy with A-9 of diamonds. I know that if I win the hand, I can probably fold every hand until I make the final 18. 

The flop: J of diamonds, 3 of diamonds, 7 of spades. I yell pretty loudly: No. And I also fell down to one knee and pounded the chair. If one of the next two cards is any diamond, I'm eliminated with like 20 people left. That would be devastating. I had been playing for four hours at the point. 

The gods were with me, though, and neither card was a diamond. I ran around the table and then hopped up on the stage (the tournament is in the Harrah's theatre) landing in a sitting position. It was a pure moment of joy. Though I'm sure a lot of people were giving me strange looks. Who cares, right?

When we got down to 18, I was still low on chips compared to the other players. But I didn't care because I had survived to make the money. This seems like a good time to tell you that there were 122 players battling it out Tuesday for a first-place prize of $6,500. 

Just after winning a hand with pocket sevens by hitting a third seven on the turn, I took a chance that didn't work out. Long story short, if one of eight cards hit, I suddenly have enough chips to contend for the title with 13 people left. Since it didn't hit, I was back to just waiting for a good hand and saying all-in. 

I came in 11th, which paid $331. After a small tip, I ended up making $121 for my five hours of playing. Worth it. On the hand I got knocked out on, I had no other choice (because of the rising blinds) but to go all-in with pocket threes. My opponent had pocket eights. 

Before the last card came, the board read: Q-2-4-A. So, if the last card is a 3 or a 5, I win and stay alive. It was a seven. As soon as I was sent packing, the final table was set. Missed it by that much. 

I considered myself lucky, though, to have survived that long with such a low amount of chips. I did do some good things in the tournament. Overall, it was an equal combo of luck and skill. 

I did blow my chance to make a new friend. At one of the tables I was at (they move you around a lot in tournaments), everyone at the table was friendly and having a good time. Then, I got moved, and one of the dudes from the old table ended up with me at the new table. We talked about the Saints, Hornets, LSU and the Heels. We talked about The Office. He complimented the way I was playing. 

I even got an obscure reference he made to the ESPN original poker series Tilt. I know we were playing a poker tournament, but I guarantee you that we were the only two people in the room who knew what he was talking about. However, not only did I not say, "Hey, what's your number, man? Maybe we can hang here some time and play a cash game or go to a Hornets game," I didn't even get his name. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is reading the TV listings in the Living section for Wednesday. "What happened to TV? There ain't fucking anything on anymore. Used to be all this stuff to record. Now nothing." I tell her that shows are taking a holiday break and that I could use a break from all this TV watching I've been doing. She responds: "You could use a break because you can't catch-up. That's because you're living in your own fucking world."

Mom and I then discuss the Vince Marinello trial, which is taking place in Lafayette. "You think those jurors really never fucking heard about that shit?"

Me: Maybe not. It is two-plus hours away.

Mom: Fuck, man. ... Lafayette used to be the fucking place to live like Baton Rouge is now.

I sarcastically ask mom a question about the latest Heroes episode. "What you asking me for? I've never seen a fucking episode."

Mom is upset about a perceived mess I made. "You can't even tell I cleaned this fucking house up."

Mom is reading from the paper. Here's what it actually says in the paper about an event Thursday: "Loyola is dumping 20 tons of faux snow on the horseshoe lawn ... " Now, here is what mom read to me. Keep in mind, she's reading the story to me. "Loyola is dumping 20 tons of fucking snow on the horseshoe lawn."

Mom is thinking out loud. "I wonder why they moved my fucking appointment?" I ask her what she's talking about. She tells me her dentist appointment Thursday was changed from 11 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. Huge.

Mom is talking about me receiving benefits from work. "You need to push for benefits. After seven fucking years, you deserve 14 or 15 sick days and two weeks of vacation." (I should have brought her to the looking-ahead-to-2009 meeting at work Wednesday afternoon.)

FOUR CORNERS

A closer look at The Gene Pool world

-- Last Thursday, the streak of consecutive days blogging reached 150. I said I wouldn't celebrate milestones until at least 200, but this is just a simple pat on the back. 

-- While I was at the Molly Ringwalds concert Saturday, I came up with two T-shirt ideas. I ran them by Kelly. I thought her reaction was interesting: she laughed and rolled her eyes.

1) Black shirt. White block writing across the front: SUGGESTION BOX with an arrow pointing down. Get it?

2) For guys. Darker color with bright color writing. YOU CAN TOUCH, BUT YOU CAN'T LOOK

-- For as long as I can remember, I've been highlighting items on The Daily Top List with a variety of colors. I used to just use whatever color I felt like on that particular day. Sometimes, I would use the same color for like four days in a row. 

The other day I started a new system. I now highlight the top list times with the color that I'm using for the headlines the next day. Sort of like a preview. And it gives the site some consistency. 

-- Last Saturday, a new cleanup guy was fascinated by the police scanner we have in the office. I'm working on the blog when he stops at the scanner and asks me what it is.

Me: That is our police scanner. 

Him: It's for hearing the police?

Me: Yeah. So that we know when something big goes down.

Him: And that goes directly into the computer?

Me: Well, the reporter can hear that a shooting just happened, and he can then go to the scene to write about it. 

Him (pointing at the scanner): But the information from this goes right into the computer?

Me: Basically.

He then took a break from cleaning. (Who wouldn't want to?) He sat down in the chair by the scanner, put his feet up on the desk, stared up at the scanner and listened intently. 

PARTING SHOT

As reported by Derry from work Tuesday night.

JRap: Bake, you ever go cow tippin?

Bake: Yeah. I usually give 15 percent.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My top five TV dads. Lead characters excluded.

5) Mike Brady. The Brady Bunch.

Just for the speeches.

4) George Bluth, Sr. Arrested Development.

Great parent. In his defense, he did tell Michael that there was money in that banana stand.

3) Henry Spencer. Psych.

My favorite father-son interaction is with Shawn and his dad. So realistic. 

2) Frank Barone. Everybody Loves Raymond.

Holy crap! I think this is how I will be as an old man. 

1) Arthur Spooner/Frank Costanza. King of Queens/Seinfeld. 

Jerry Stiller: Best father ever.