what’s shakin’ bacon

(Prefacing this by saying the only person who actually knows this story was sworn to h’secrecy 👃)

His name was Tony.

(I don’t know if he had a Lola or if he tended the bar. I think neither. Anyway).

This was years ago when I was but a young WASP officer, shiny and new and on leave. A few of us ended up at a casino on the West Coast. Nothing wild y’know, just a night out, and at some point I got invited into a private poker game.

Now, looking back, there were a lot of clues that perhaps this wasn't an entirely legitimate gathering of poker enthusiasts. For example, everyone seemed to know everyone. Nobody gave surnames. Everyone seemed to have a nickname, and there was a man called Tony who looked like he could fold a deck chair with his bare hands who I was to befriend.

But I was nineteen and full of the confidence of a sailor, and convinced I was much smarter than I actually was. So I sat down to play.

A couple of rounds in, and I notice that Tony had a tell, and an absolutely awful one at that. Whenever he was bluffing, he'd tap his ring finger against the table. Not once, not twice but constantly. And y’know, once I’d spotted it, I couldn't unsee it.

So naturally I started winning. Winning a lot 💰

And Tony starts losing a lot, and it transpires that Tony (and Vinnie the Knife behind him) doesn’t like losing. Eventually he asks how I know and I tell him. Because at no point in this story am I demonstrating survival instincts.

The room goes quiet and he looks at his hand. Looks back at me. Looks at his finger. Then says, "No, J don’t think so kid.”

But young Gordy assures him that yes, actually, very much yes. So much so it’s painfully obvious and hence my big pile of chips.

About ten minutes later I get invited to continue the conversation in a private office, and because I was young and stupid, I thought this meant they wanted to chat. Instead I walk into a back room and immediately realise I've made several errors in judgement.

For starters, there are about eight of them, and just about everybody I could see is quite clearly carrying a shiny friend that goes pew pew. The one standing by the door clearly lost his last brain cell at the gym. The decor is very wannabe mobster aaaaand suddenly all the nicknames make a lot more sense.

And so they ask me how I knew, and Tony looks very upset, and baby Gordon being baby Gordon, decides to start enthralling them all with demonstrations of his outstanding people watching skills. A little liquid courage had been drank and hey, I love an audience even if they are about to feed me to the pet tiger they definitely have hidden in the bathroom. I decided to diagnose the room. It was all going really well until I pointed out that the third guy from the left looked guilty as sin.

The next thing I know, they're arguing… and then shouting… and then full-volume screaming. Apparently I'd stumbled into an entirely unrelated problem, and one accusation led to another and the guy I said looked guilty really apparently might have been guilty (see? I said my skills were good! Squid sense ftw 🦑)

Somebody brought up missing money. Somebody else brought up a shipment. Tony started yelling that he'd been trying to tell them for months.

At this point I decided I had contributed enough to the discussion. Private affairs and all that, y’know? so I quietly decided to make my exit stage left and absolutely legged it through the casino right as they realised I’d left the party.

The last thing I heard was somebody shouting was "WHO EVEN IS THAT KID?" which remains one of the funniest things anyone has ever yelled while chasing me through an industrial kitchen.

To this day I have absolutely no idea what Guilty Guy had done, but I apparently helped uncover it. You're welcome, Tony's gang. Hope everything worked out 🫶🏻

Fortunately, I have since matured and learned from this experience, namely about who I play poker with. Probably. Maybe.

So there ya go 😌

…

All those times John rolled his eyes and told me that the many and varied reasons you might not come home I was brooding on were so far-fetched as to not unreasonably be described as fantastical…

Or for setting off fireworks outside certain people’s windows at 3am 🙂‍↔️

(Prefacing this by saying the only person who actually knows this story was sworn to h’secrecy 👃)

His name was Tony.

(I don’t know if he had a Lola or if he tended the bar. I think neither. Anyway).

This was years ago when I was but a young WASP officer, shiny and new and on leave. A few of us ended up at a casino on the West Coast. Nothing wild y’know, just a night out, and at some point I got invited into a private poker game.

Now, looking back, there were a lot of clues that perhaps this wasn't an entirely legitimate gathering of poker enthusiasts. For example, everyone seemed to know everyone. Nobody gave surnames. Everyone seemed to have a nickname, and there was a man called Tony who looked like he could fold a deck chair with his bare hands who I was to befriend.

But I was nineteen and full of the confidence of a sailor, and convinced I was much smarter than I actually was. So I sat down to play.

A couple of rounds in, and I notice that Tony had a tell, and an absolutely awful one at that. Whenever he was bluffing, he'd tap his ring finger against the table. Not once, not twice but constantly. And y’know, once I’d spotted it, I couldn't unsee it.

So naturally I started winning. Winning a lot 💰

And Tony starts losing a lot, and it transpires that Tony (and Vinnie the Knife behind him) doesn’t like losing. Eventually he asks how I know and I tell him. Because at no point in this story am I demonstrating survival instincts.

The room goes quiet and he looks at his hand. Looks back at me. Looks at his finger. Then says, "No, J don’t think so kid.”

But young Gordy assures him that yes, actually, very much yes. So much so it’s painfully obvious and hence my big pile of chips.

About ten minutes later I get invited to continue the conversation in a private office, and because I was young and stupid, I thought this meant they wanted to chat. Instead I walk into a back room and immediately realise I've made several errors in judgement.

For starters, there are about eight of them, and just about everybody I could see is quite clearly carrying a shiny friend that goes pew pew. The one standing by the door clearly lost his last brain cell at the gym. The decor is very wannabe mobster aaaaand suddenly all the nicknames make a lot more sense.

And so they ask me how I knew, and Tony looks very upset, and baby Gordon being baby Gordon, decides to start enthralling them all with demonstrations of his outstanding people watching skills. A little liquid courage had been drank and hey, I love an audience even if they are about to feed me to the pet tiger they definitely have hidden in the bathroom. I decided to diagnose the room. It was all going really well until I pointed out that the third guy from the left looked guilty as sin.

The next thing I know, they're arguing… and then shouting… and then full-volume screaming. Apparently I'd stumbled into an entirely unrelated problem, and one accusation led to another and the guy I said looked guilty really apparently might have been guilty (see? I said my skills were good! Squid sense ftw 🦑)

Somebody brought up missing money. Somebody else brought up a shipment. Tony started yelling that he'd been trying to tell them for months.

At this point I decided I had contributed enough to the discussion. Private affairs and all that, y’know? so I quietly decided to make my exit stage left and absolutely legged it through the casino right as they realised I’d left the party.

The last thing I heard was somebody shouting was "WHO EVEN IS THAT KID?" which remains one of the funniest things anyone has ever yelled while chasing me through an industrial kitchen.

To this day I have absolutely no idea what Guilty Guy had done, but I apparently helped uncover it. You're welcome, Tony's gang. Hope everything worked out 🫶🏻

Fortunately, I have since matured and learned from this experience, namely about who I play poker with. Probably. Maybe.

So there ya go 😌

…

All those times John rolled his eyes and told me that the many and varied reasons you might not come home I was brooding on were so far-fetched as to not unreasonably be described as fantastical…

Or for setting off fireworks outside certain people’s windows at 3am 🙂‍↔️

Or for setting off fireworks outside certain people’s windows at 3am 🙂‍↔️

Or for setting off fireworks outside certain people’s windows at 3am 🙂‍↔️

Or for setting off fireworks outside certain people’s windows at 3am 🙂‍↔️

It isn’t a boy’s trip if you don’t rent something good… ✨

And let the man of the hour drive, of course 🙂‍↔️ If I die, blame Parker for his driving lessons.

I’d offer to take you but I suspect a certain other brother might be reluctant to miss out on the chance to liaise with certain other connections we have in the vicinity…

Well, if it makes Flo and her brethren feel any better, the ride’s not nearly as smooth and there’s a bit of a lag in the higher gears. She remains undefeated 😌

Lag and lack of smoothness are both unacceptable horrors. She does feel better now in the secure knowledge that you’ll both choose better next time.

And in fairness I’d wouldn’t mind being the first to take Sprout out in her so… yea.

And she is your girl, so y’know, I was only ever borrowing her. So also thought it might be a good Scooter and Sprout activity.

So would going to England, y’know.

Gotta check out the breakfast options… 🤤

It isn’t a boy’s trip if you don’t rent something good… ✨

And let the man of the hour drive, of course 🙂‍↔️ If I die, blame Parker for his driving lessons.

I’d offer to take you but I suspect a certain other brother might be reluctant to miss out on the chance to liaise with certain other connections we have in the vicinity…

Well, if it makes Flo and her brethren feel any better, the ride’s not nearly as smooth and there’s a bit of a lag in the higher gears. She remains undefeated 😌

It’s fairly genetically untameable so… it’s a Tracy thing.