This is the report of the homegame we had during the evening of the Eurovision Song contest. It was the opposite of the homegame we had last time, as it was 9-handed on a sudden moment. Besides that, the Fat Kid had thought his game through while driving at the game this time.

Because I already expected a long session (a lot of players and some of them are well known for SERIOUSLY slowing the game), I had to prepare very well, calorie-wise. Luckily I visited a BBQ first, where I was able to spoil myself with a spierring, two hamburgers, three sausages, three ‘filets de cabillauds’, veggies, bread and patatjes. When my stomach was still processing this amount of food, the overbetting pseudo-pro was outplayed by a guy who was mentally not even at the table because he had smoked himself into a heaven during the entire day.

From that moment on, Eurosong started to take over the evening. But this didn’t stop Qauttro Cane-Iz from thinking he was the man of the evening after some way too tough showdowns. The Fat Kid was influenced by this attitude with statements like ‘Let the money come to me.’,  ‘Back in business.’,  ‘Ni mauwe he’ and ‘Zieke geest!’. Meanwhile, I was patiently waiting for the right spot and I was finally able to become chipleader after I played JJ in a marvellous way.

But that cheapleadership was a jinx to me, as I immediately lost the next hand, and more important, it costed me a big chunk of my stack. To confuse me, the Fat Kid started talking of buying a koersfiets to lose weight and get some chicks. Bullshit of course, as everybody knows you just have to buy a pilot suit to succeed in this. Except for the former Walrus of course, who just ‘neemt’ the chicks, even with parents walking into the room. Unlucky for him, I became chipleader again after taking his stack with an enormous knock-out.

After that pot, I just bullied the table for half an hour by winning ALL the pots. I’m already looking forward to the next game, whatever happens: I won’t forget to eat my lucky bbq-menu first.

I’ve been very bizzy lately with building the necessary sanitary provisions for the city so I forgot to post some reports of the most legendary homegame in town. But no worries, I made notes and will tell you everything about it now. Because the summer has begun, and the only other thing left I have to do now is to show my sixpack to the hot poepkes in the djembé-circle.

It was a few months ago when we had another legendary game. Eight people promised to show up, but the game started 4-handed thanx to all the gaylords who didn’t pick up their phones (eventually, we had a good 5-handed game). The Fat Kid was so confident of himself in this shorthanded game that he decided to start drinking from the start. The only problem was he failed to open the bottle of wine with the peteitescheller.

This evening was alltogether dedicated to the bloody fights between me and the Fat Kid. In  the beginning I was on fire, when I took a pot with 72 after the monkey even led out on the river with K high. To make him even more jealous, I told him about the meal I had: boomstammekes, potatoes and veggies with it, nicely steamed. Unfortunately, it was me who began to steam myself a few moments later. I made an all-in call with TT on a 7K7 board, while even the couple on the other side of the road in the emtpy room figured Quattro Cane-Iz had KK or AA.

That guy was however cheating like hell, cause some hands later he spiked quads again and acted like he didn’t have a pair. For me, this was the moment to enable my secret weapon: I passed one of my tasty cigarettes to the overbetting pseudo-pro. The result was unbelievable: he just gave me all his money and suddenly there were 32 bets on the turn before it was even dealt! It was like poker paradise for me from that moment on; the pseudo-pro talked about having smoked a garbage bag of weed and the fat kid mumbled something about an Ivan who had to return to Russia.

During one of the last hands of the evening, the Fat Kid gave me a staredown like he wanted to put a knife in my stomach and said to me: “I don’t fear the Ace.”. I called with the best hand and won a nice pot. Nobody threats Biscotti.

It’s irreversible now: Biscotti turned 26 the other day. So the age of 30 is not at all far away now. And my age is already damaging my brain, my memory to be more specific: I forgot all about the homegame we had on my birthday. But then I found an old report on my desk about the last homegame we had at Quattro Cane-Iz and I realized I didn’t yet write about it.

The corruption was everywhere again in this illegal cardroom: when I entered they tried to convince me that the seating was already decided and I was placed next to the Iranian idiot from the Netherlands. I simply replied by going all-in on the first hand. They immediately realized they can’t fuck with Biscotti. Just when I was starting to get in the game, I told them about the horny grape I saw in the Colruyt (”she had wel iet”, as we say), they were trying to steal my button every time I was on it. That made clear to me it was time for my masterplan: I tried to mark the cards by dropping them in the ashtrey, but they noticed it.

From that moment on I concentrated myself on the quest for a Tipke for my big cigarette, while the invalid fatty was telling everybody some nonsense about buying a car with his redundancy bonus. That period proved the theory of the Roguish Buffalo: when you don’t search for a good hand, you’ll find it. I cracked aces by making a flush and I was very proud of myself after that hand.

But then I was confronted with the luck of the overbetting pseudo-pro. That guy spiked the first flush of his life that night, so I had to know something was going on. After I bought in for the legendary amount of 5€, I fought myself back in the game. I threw it all-in with QQ preflop against K5 from this moron, and the idiot made a wheel on the river. When the fatty said “Bye bye Biscotti”, I wanted to punch him in his face so the blood would pour out of his head. In the end I didn’t, but I’m not sure I can control myself next time in that spot.

Another homegame, another profit. Not as much as last times, but the winning streak of Biscotti is still alive: I DON’T lose in these games anymore. It’s all about paying attention baby.

I was perfectly on time this time and at 8.30 pm it was gameon! It all started reasonably peaceful (lots of limper’s pots), but while the fat kid was mentioning he would like to see the hamster of the girl next door, I lost a first big pot with AK, which I played like a moron against someone’s AJ. I simply had to know those guys overplay this kinda hands when an Ace pairs. Luckily I won a big pot when I flopped top set and filled up to a full house against the Iranian monkey. I have to admit he controlled the damage with his QQ, having a good read on me.

After that pot the circus had definitely opened it’s doors: players entered the pot on the flop (leading out immediately), checking after a double straddle and stating they had a royal straight. Mr. Miyagi even made a straddle on the button, LOL. But I also have to admit something in this case: this move was the beginning of his impressive comeback in the game. This in contradiction to Boatman, who wants to help me building houses, but maybe I’ll have to teach him something about variance in poker instead: a big overbet on the flop with JJ meant one of his scarce pots of the evening.

I was not able to build a very big stack the rest of the evening as I didn’t (in contradiction to Quattro Cane-Iz) catch a flush on EVERY board… But my six euros profit was enough to buy me some bingo scratch cards which brought me a profit of 20€ total! Oh yeah, one more hand to mention: I was very proud of myself when I played the 72, but I wasn’t man enough to play it till the river. Me catching a runner runner set of sevens would have been the result against two all-ins… But hey, after the game I had a good spierring at home, because that’s what I do. Biscotti FTW!

Aloha everybody. Like you can already deduct from the jolly words of welcome, I’m in a good mood again. Why? Because I scored an official hattrick the other day, beating my homegame for the third time in a row. These guys really have no chance anymore sitting in a hand with me.

The line-up was promised to be enormous as a group of beginners were supposed to sit down with us. So I prepared my meal on time and took off for the game. But what did I see when I entered the room? Only four guys sitting down, with the two rocks, the iranian dutchman and some other fat kid which for some reason substituted the former one. Like they were trying to trap me or something. Moreover, they were trying to fool me by saying that it was the Iranian’s birthday. These guys really go all the way to disturb my concentration. But I didn’t fall for it and even the horrible music they were playing  (from Animals or something) couldn’t break me: I sticked to my plan of just waiting for the donkeys to walk in.

One by one they entered the room and I observed them like a tiger does with his prey. One guy was even so impressed by my staredown that he made a little impression of it while sitting on the table:

So I was sitting their with something sweet to smoke while the first pot evolved which reminded me of following the right tactics: the ‘birthday-boy’ won a pretty huge threeway pot with just middle pair (I can still hear his arrogant ‘King is good’). From that moment on it was basically three players ruling the table, all three waiting like raptors to eat a donk now and then: me, dutchman and the guy who was soon to be known as ‘Quattro Cane-Iz’ when he spiked quads against a full boat.

I was also able to let some guys pay me maximally while holding El Nutzo but the sickest pot was for dutchman, who looked down at his cards and before he had even noticed that it were two kings, three other players had shoved their chips in with AQ, KJ and 88. Always hard to see that bastard win a great pot, he’s even more annoying after that. Luckily this wasn’t the most heroic pot of the evening, because before Boatman went broke against the quads, he played heads-up against some of the newbies and that one put in €0.10 bet on the river into a pot of like 6€. Then Boatman minraised to €0.20, like in a real duel. The newbie called and showed him the winning middle pair. You got to love this game.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, we had a homegame again the other night with the same bunch of people and guess what? Biscotti entered the room, had a look at all the poor guys and left with some 45 € profit. I have to admit, I was running reasonably good. No, I was running like hell.

I made my first move of the evening when I was not even sitting on the table yet. I decided to cook a nice and healthy meal for myself when the game was already supposed to be on for like an hour. This way I got the players sitting on the table a little on tilt already. Besides, healthy meals keep me in great shape so I can conquer some grapes in the near future. My second move was wearing an awesome distracting tshirt. While everybody was guessing after what was exactly on it, I picked up a full boat with my Hellmuths and doubled up against the fat kid. He was so confused by my genious play that he decided to go broke another two times in like seven minutes.

The Turkish guy meanwhile used his own methods to command the table: he just threatened to pound one’s player head with a ‘matrak’. I guess that must be some archaic Turkish weapon or something. He happened to have picked up a new 32 year old girlfriend from South-America btw, I think she must be hot because I think all South American women are hot. We played some more hands and the Iranian Dutchman, who was dressed like a moron but nothing new there, was having (I have to admit) an awesome read on the table. That sucked in one particular hand, where I flopped a set of jacks. I led out immediately and he mucked his toppair stating I had exactly this hand. I tried to throw in a little bad acting by saying I had AK (also toppair) but he didn’t believe it  from the start.

I was able to build up a nice stack the rest of the evening, playing aggresively against the two rocks and having patience against the loose jobless guy, who played almost 90% of the hands. That’s my formula of winning every time: outflop the good players and outplay the bad players. That’s how I rule my kingdom!

Hell yeah, I love poker! What’s a better occasion for writing a first post on my brand new blog than a fine homegame in which Biscotti played one of his best games?

I didn’t make too much profit but that wasn’t the most important goal yesterday. I didn’t play for some time with these guys in a live game as I stopped playing for a while because of all the bad luck I always had. Besides, I had to make some masterpieces at school. But I felt like playing again, brought along my ‘unabomber-glasses’ (I don’t think Phil Laak is that great a player but his girlfriend Jen Tilly has very nice tits) and they’ll all remember for a while that Biscotti was there.

After all, I didn’t start that well. I misplayed my toppair against the loser to my left, who always gets an enormous ego-boost when you tell him you’re afraid of his idiotic raises and then donks all his money away. I had to rebuy some moments later but with my second bullet I hit a lot of targets. I had a LOT of patience when I was shortstack again and then it was time to shine: that pseudo-pro, that arrogant Dutch monkey and the other jobless guy, a Turkish guy with a weapon, two tight fuckers of which one went broke against the other (AQ vs AA, LOL donkaments) and the fat kid: I won pots from everybody in any position. Basically, the only thing I didn’t win that evening was the hot chick that was in the room next door.