Fight Night

Nothing better to generate a little action than fight night. I got the whole gang together at my luxurious two bedroom apartment to see which UFC fighters would end up face up on the canvas. As I always do I bought way too much food acting like I was trying to be a good host, but clearly I purchased many of the overflow items like munster cheese and jim beam for their leftover value. People started to roll in as the preliminary bouts were gettin underway, with the house reaching capacity at ten eager testosterone driven pugalistic enthusiasts. It wasnt difficult to get some bets going, and since I had researched the lines online prior to to stare down, I was sure to get the better end of every bet I made. The bong made its way around, and cans of american made light beer were toasted as I collected on wager after wager. By the time we got to the main event of Arlovsky vs Silvia, I was up thirty bucks ten dollars at a time.
We got into the generic discussion of whether tyson in his prime could have taken anyone we put against him in the octogon. Every redblooded american in the room thought iron mike would cold cock any son of a bitch that tried to shoot for his legs, but the sissy members of their high school wrestling alumnus associations refused to allow such a ridiculous claim to stand. They swore up and down that any reasonably sized UFC fighter would beat any reasonably sized boxer in the octogon and the oppossite would be true in any boxing ring. Where the discussion got interesting was when I added Muhammed Ali to the conversation, and my buddy cameron claimed that he participated in the single worst martial arts fight in the history of the world. Apparently, Casuius went to japan to fight some judo expert, but instead of going toe to toe with the greatest, this dude just laid on his back and started bicycle kicking the air. The fight was an hour long, and he never once got up, Ali just stood across the ring beckoning for him to get up as the crowd viciously booed. After an hour of this, including many things being thrown into the ring, the match up ended in a draw with neither ever throwing a single punch or kick in the other’s direction. Basically, the challenger lured Ali to the orient, lured a huge crowd to watch them throw down, and made a mockery of the whole ordeal, pretty fucking dominant.
Back in the present, the pit bull Andre Arlovsky came in sportin his signiture fangs, and it looked like it was gonna be bidness as usual for the defending heavyweight champ. He was going off as a four to one favorite, so when I got an offer to lay three to one against, I fucking took it. A couple big punches landed and it looked like things were gonna go the right way, when our boy got caught with a straight right hand and fell flat on his face. After a few shots to the back of the head of a defenseless opponnent, the fight was stopped and I had given away that which I had won on my previous fights. Worse yet, as I hung my head in shame, I was the only one that realized that Cameron’s victory leap had landed squarely on the ill positioned bong. The stempiece was crushed into the cavernous base sending glass shards in every direction, and leaving me to discard a fallen soldier that had served me well in months of battle. I couldnt really hold a grudge, but I know a lot of people who refuse to break out a water pipe with drunks in their midst and those cumdrugenons may blame the incident on my lax rules. Fuck that, if the tipsy want to toke, then I say let em toke. Ill pay the price of a bong here or there in order to perserve my open door policy.
I clearly wasnt going to allow the evening to end on such a sour note, so I organized an expedition to the MGM Grand poker room. My buddies Cameron, Scalley, and I each cashed in for two hundred bucks at a one/two no limit game, and we each basically doubled up within two hours. I didnt want to press my luck given that I was already halfway to pass out, so when I suggested we leave with our winnings Cameron was on board, but a drunken Scalley gave me a lecture on the importance of playing a rush before finally caving to clearer heads. I was up 217, Scalley was up 256, and Cameron was up 170, proving yet again that you tourist fucks are chum to us vegas sharks. I wish I had a couple good war stories, but I never had to put more than fifty dollars in a given hand and I basically only played strong cards against the weak field. The only dominant play I made in the two hour session was a call I made with second pair jacks against a possible flush possible straight that I just felt like the dude had overbet for 40 on the river. After scooping the hundred and twenty dollar pot, the dude started to get upset loudly asking “how could you call with that?” I looked at him in the eye through his wannabe sunglasses and told him “I just didnt believe you.” Never a bad way to end a night, up money, and with a fridge restocked with a variety of cheeses.

Fight Night

Post a comment