Monday, May 24th, 2010, 7:06 pm
The eighth episode of Band of Brothers is titled “The Last Patrol”. It’s narrated by David Webster, a private who went through basic training at Toccoa, jumped with Easy Company on D-Day, jumped again during Operation Market Garden, and was wounded in fighting outside Arnhem. He was in England recuperating during the Battle of the Bulge and so wasn’t there as Easy endured the hell of Bastogne. When Webster finally rejoined his unit he found that those who survived that crucible now looked upon him as an outsider. Or worse, a malingerer who decided a warm bed in England was preferable to an icy foxhole in Belgium. Much of the episode deals with Webster trying to rejoin the band, as it were.
On a much, much, MUCH lesser scale, I feel a bit like David Webster right now. The last few days all I keep reading are posts and tweets from my friends who are picking up stakes and heading to Vegas for the World Series of Poker. And this is the first time in three years that I won’t be joining them.
Oh, I’ll be there for the Main Event, and 17 days in Vegas is nothing to sneeze at. But those of us who do a full tour of duty on Media Row tend to look down our noses at those who drop in for just the Main Event, and this year I’ll be the one staring at flared nostrils. That is a totally disgusting analogy. Jesus.
It’s not like I’m refusing a direct order to present myself at the Amazon Room, and I’m gonna be plenty busy with other work in the weeks leading up to the Main Event. Plus I’ve gotta get myself situated in the house and teach my new wife how to do things the Right Way. I’m actually looking forward to spending much of the summer in Pittsburgh, grilling on the deck, playing a little beach volleyball, enjoying temperatures below triple-digits.
But I feel guilty. Indeed I do. I’ll be following along with the action and reading posts and tweets and looking at pics and feeling like I should BE there. And that’ll especially be the case when I read about meetups at the Hooker Bar and wee-hour Pai Gow. I’m not sure how long this guilty conscience will plague me, or how many minutes in the Rio it’d take before I thought, “Y’know what, sitting on the deck would be mighty nice right about now”. The grass, always greener.
So godspeed, all you insane poker bloggers strapping yourself in for seven weeks on the roller coaster. Reinforcements arrive on July 3rd.
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