OK. No use in prolonging the agony. I had pocket [55], raised it up, CJ calls, flop comes [832], CJ checks and I made a bet of $160, CJ calls. Turn is a [3] (I think), CJ bets $400, I raised, CJ thinks ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... and calls. We are both obviously committed now, with, respectively, 300 and 350 chips remaining in our stacks. The river, the ever-loving river, the ever-loving-gawldernmuddereffin river, comes [4], Ceej pushed, I called, he flips up pocket [44]. We'd both put each other on overcards. I'm out first. End of story.
[[[UPDATE]]] Tuned back in at the tail end of the tourney - Up for Poker - CJ took top honors winning his place in the Vegas shootout along with -EV.. Glad my chips helped him get there! Good job, kiddo!
This isn't a goddam restaurant, it's a cafe!
— Stella, Town Tavern cook
It was the kind of establishment
you rarely see anymore these days. It was the place where I first dared to eat
out in public by myself. You sat where there was an open seat - there wasn't
the "territory" claimed by one person at a 4-top or a booth. It was
not allowed. You had an empty seat by you, it was going to be filled. Being
right off campus, you could find yourself sitting next to Barry Switzer on any
given day as as you were to find yourself sitting next to the latest incarnation of pierced
and tattooed goth.
The place was The Town Tavern. Established around 1929, it was hailed as our town's oldest restaurant. Bordering the top of the walls were hand painted placards of each OU football season's scores. The coveted booths were elevated on platforms and gave view to the comings and goings of people on the street. There were daily specials and the signature Charburger on the menu. A cup of coffee was bottomless and could last all day, as it often did. The waitresses were "career" waitresses - Barbara knew you always took cream with your coffee and you never had to ask for the catsup. She'd bring it, without fail, with your eggs.
The late 70s saw new ownership and a celebration of the culture of the time. During that time up until it's close in the late 80s, The Tavern opened it's doors to the talent of the area - be it musical, theatrical, literary. A few tables would be moved out of the way and every inch of floor and booth space would be crammed with people there to see the SanMan Band or a talent show or The Street Players Theatre or any of a number of local musicians, poets and performers. No where else would you have experienced the marathon reading of Moby Dick.
It
was not unusual for the Tavern to be a daily stop for a faithful group
of locals who were known as regulars. It was also not unusual to come
in for a cup of coffee in the morning and end up spending the larger part of
the day there. It was a comfortable, welcoming place to be. When it closed,
it's customers and "regulars" were left to wander in the desert, so
to speak. There was no place to reconvene. No place which could recreate the
indefinable experience which was The Tavern.
An era came to a sad end when The Tavern closed. I hadn't realized the depth of the loss until a couple of months ago when I went to a reunion of sorts. One of the old "regulars" wanted to reunite the members of SanMan Band - the band many of us considered the best local band of its time. Of course I was going to attend. What I wasn't expecting, though, and what made the evening poignant, was seeing all the "regulars" under one roof again, the familiar faces, albeit several years older and seeing the scrapbooks that were filled with years of Tavern memorabilia. This was much more than a reunion of a band, is was an unexpected reunion of spirit.
Bette, the former owner of The Tavern, brought clarity to the moment when she spoke before the band played. She mentioned Ray Oldenburg's notion of the third place (the Great Good Place, 1989). The first two places being home and work, the third place is where casual social interaction is fostered and takes place on a regular basis. Oldenburg maintained that this kind of public informal interaction has critical social, psychological and political implications. The third place brings balance where, otherwise, "people’s expectations toward work and family life [would escalate] beyond the capacity of those institutions to meet them."
These neighborhood places - the restaurant, bar, salon, etc. - have steadily given way to urban expansion, mega-malls, franchising and the drive-through. There's been some revival by way of bookstore and coffee chains. But, such as they are, they lack the "localness," the sense of ownership that comes with that one unique place you know isn't recreated anywhere else but on the corner of Asp and Boyd.
As I sat listening to
SanMan Band and looked around at the people in the audience I thought
of this little corner of the blogosphere. Some may say that the internet is
anathema to the notion of a third space, but I would have to heartily disagree.
I realized, while sitting there listening to the music, that what we have here
is a third place - where we come together through the words we write,
the "blogger" tables and the tournaments, the chats. Is it any wonder,
then, that we've created this community of sorts - reaching beyond the simple
desire to write about a card game? That we are compelled to meet up - face to
face? Friendships have developed, new opportunities have arisen, lives have
been changed - all from this one in a series of little conspiracies across the
internet.
I've been at this for two years now. It would have ended up being another short-lived experiment had I not serendipitously connected with a few of you in the beginning. I've enjoyed the hell out of all this. Every morning, I drop in to this place and engage with the latest goings on with each of you who have something to say for the day and, when inspired, I share with you what's up with me. It's a positive compliment to the long-time friends I have here and with whom I commiserate weekly at our brunches. I've said it over and over again, I treasure the experience. It's about so much more than just poker.
When this ebbs (and it will, although not anytime soon, I hope), I expect there will be little tidal pools of us who will remain fast friends and stay in touch - it's only natural, after all. It's what happened when The Tavern closed. But we were still left with an empty spot - the feeling of disconnect on a grander scale. So while we have what we have now - let's take care of this third place. Nurture it, participate in it, have fun. Let's keep this ball in the air for as long as we can. Deal?
