Last night my buddy Billy and I decide to take a break from our regular SoFl live casino and take a trip to gulfstream for a session. We finally get called for the 5/10/20NL (no buy-in cap) game and I get sat in the 10, Billy gets sat in the 8 seat. I am 6ft 3in tall and 275lbs, so I definitely noticed when the fat Mountain of a man in the 9 is incapable of moving his poorly circulated tree stump legs to give me my fair share of real estate under the table (which is crucial for a big guy in the 10 seat as any of you live players will attest). While I get situated, I knock into these fat stumps a couple of times with the intention of getting this behemoth of a man to shift his position to no no avail. I turn to give this dolt a good eye-to-eye look and stern comment about his lack of empathy when I realize:
This fat bastard is Russ M_ther F_cking Hamilton.
I give Billy a
look and he is wondering what is wrong with me. Billy hasn't yet looked at this guy in the face, he is too busy contemplating the 10K in front of the fat rat (Billy is a relentless table selector and likes to play deep stacked). I mouth to Billy without making a sound "that is mother f_cking Russ Hamilton" and Billy immediately clues in and decides that on this day, this wretched man is going to feel sorry for what he did.
Billy proceeds to engage Russ in conversation. Russ is clueless for the first few pleasantries, but then Billy starts to get under Russ's skin with an array of subtle verbal abuses that imply that Russ is karmic-ally screwed unlovable rat with no chance of having real friends and that Russ will have to always look over his shoulder and fear for his safety. Billy did it in a really clever style, nothing was a direct threat or insult, but it was clear that he was abusing the jerk. Finally, after I bluffed Russ off a hand with 8 high and showed, Billy said something to the effect of "tougher game when you cannot see your opponents cards" and Russ snaps.
"You are a f_cking d_ck.... a f_cking dick. If you believe everything you read your are just stupid, just a stupid f_cking d_ck. You do not know what you are talking about, you were not there. You just read about it and think you know...", says Russ with a beaming bright red face and the veins on his neck popping out. Mind you, it is not an easy feat to bring veins (other than varicose) to the surface of the skin of a man of this morbidly, diabetes ridden, obesity level.
The floor man comes rushing over as Russ is probably a valued customer there (he was talking about betting the horses in addition to being a bad LAGtard at Gulf's biggest NL game) and asks Billy to stop tormenting this lard a_s. Billy says loud so that most of the room can hear, "You let cheaters play here, and then you make me stop talking when he screams at me...??". The floor says that Billy is going to have to leave if he does not settle down and Billy responds, "I don't want to play anywhere that caters to this type of cheating scum". We pack up our chips and leave.
As I was packing my chips, a sweaty foreheaded Russ was so upset, his heart pounding so hard that I swear I could hear the blood struggling to squeeze through his mayonnaise encrusted veins.
Score one for the good guys.
Lucky for us, there is another 5/10/20NL 10 minutes down the road 7 days/week. Gotta love Florida poker.