Weird and Wonderful — Part 1

Definitely weird, but I’m not so sure about the wonderful — local rules, that is. Despite my threats not to attend the Tunica tournament this past January, I got roped in at the last minute. And while there, I came across a couple of rules that were mind-boggling, to say the least.

 

The tournament ran what were called “ultra-supersatellites.” They were well-structured, reasonably slow freezeout events, and although I in fact won my seat into the $10,000 main event through one of them, it almost came to a sad end. However, they don’t call me Golden Ovaries for nothing. I had just won a mega three-way pot by hitting one of my only two outs, and because I in the process had eliminated the other two unlucky players, our table was broken up and we were on the move. Nobody said anything, there were no racks in sight and no help at hand, and I had a mountain of chips to carry, as well as my drink. I could have batted my eyelids and pleaded female helplessness, hoping one of those Southern gentlemen would come to the rescue of a damsel in distress, but as much as I envy those women who manipulate the weaker sex into doing everything for them, I have never mastered that fine art. So, I stuffed all of my chips into various pockets and rushed over to my new seat, hot to trot. Needless to say, before I could sit down, I had to empty my pockets, and whilst doing so, all the action stopped, and all eyes turned to me. I was standing there thinking, wow, they’ve never seen so many chips, and that’s why they’re gaping in silent awe. But no, those Southern gentlemen had smelled blood! I had committed a cardinal sin, and the floorman was called to make a ruling; chips are not to be pocketed under any circumstances. A nice floorman came over to ask if I had indeed pocketed the chips. When I told him, “Yes, all of them,” he looked at me in total disbelief and shook …