At loooong last, we've finally finished our WSOP tribute poem/video, The Ballad of Jackie Mayfair. And just in time for the ME Final Table. Good luck to everyone playing for the bracelet this weekend!
Produced by John "JimmyLegs" Wray
Animated by Micah Sedmak
Poem by Jake "defenestrate" Sapozhnikov
Story & Characters by John "JimmyLegs" Wray
Inspired by "Casey at the Bat" by Ernest Thayer
Narrated by Tyler Moore
Sound Design by John "JimmyLegs" Wray
Special thanks to Taylor Caby & CardRunners
and the TwoPlusTwo Poker Forums
THE BALLAD OF JACKIE MAYFAIR
The tournament calls, entices, enthralls. The wealthy, the sharp, and the brash
Assembled within the city of sin to battle for glory and cash.
The lesser events had proven intense, but much to the railbirds' lament,
The legends were struck by terrible luck on starting the final event.
We glowered, morose: illustrious pros succumbed to an onslaught of woe.
"I call," someone spoke, and Jesus was broke, supplying the fishes with dough,
A dolorous shout as Hellmuth went out in torrents of verbal abuse,
And fortune would foil the eminent Doyle with ten and a traitorous deuce.
The ladies would act with minimal tact, proclaiming the river a bitch,
And try as he could, esteemed Robin Hood was shipping his chips to the rich.
We groaned in disgust as Ivey went bust, the stations were crushing the sly;
The deck was as cold for heroes of old as Vegas was hot in July.
It was a disgrace - no recognized face remained, though the field was immense.
Each legend's defeat, each horrible beat had burdened the hearts of the fans.
The seedlings of doubts, those poisonous sprouts, had started to blossom as feared.
We turned to the doors in dozens and scores - when Jackie the Slugger appeared.
What glorious sight! A man of his height no eye could have possibly missed.
He winked at the stands, his champion's bands aglitter from elbow to wrist,
Exuding command with beer in his hand. The people would later agree:
Majestic and proud, he parted the crowd as Moses had parted the sea.
A boss all around, the Slugger had found few equals on felt or on field.
Dejection abates from glimpsing the greats; the railbirds were instantly healed.
No longer they'd mope. The embers of hope, though dampened by tears, persevere.
Forsaking their plans, the legions of fans erupted in thunderous cheer.
When staffers revealed the seat to be filled, the public went green at the gills:
Through ante and blind, his stack had declined - where stood Himalayas were hills.
But Jackie appraised his pittance unfazed, with only a smile on his lips.
He bellowed, "Beware, I've got me a chair - along with a fistful of chips!"
And so, reassured by confident word, the masses believed in the man.
Betraying no fear, he guzzled his beer and doubled again and again.
No timorous nit could help but submit to Jackie's relentless attack,
Attempt as they might. By end of the night, he sat with a dominant stack.
The subsequent days went by in a blaze, with Jackie the source of the heat.
The antes grew high, the bubble drew nigh. Distributing doom and defeat,
His powerful blows had felted his foes. Of living opponents bereft
But duly enriched, his table was switched - another huge stack to his left.
These sinister chips that threatened eclipse belonged to a skeletal youth.
Agressive and fierce, he'd looted his peers. His manners were rather uncouth:
The fellow was prone to text on his phone, as though unconcerned with the hand.
Though others complained, his habits remained in spite of the floorman's demand.
We froze in our tracks: gargantuan stacks and egos were set to collide -
And perish or win. To Jackie's chagrin, the kid hacked away at his pride,
Abusing his seat by raising each street, a difficult tactic to best,
And rubbing it in whenever he'd win by rubbing the chips on his chest.
Now most would have planned to wait for a hand when out of position and deep,
But Jackie had known: aggression had sown, and thusly aggression must reap!
The action began. He opened again, two raises - and bitter regret:
Uncowed, undeterred, the villainous nerd was shoving right over his bet.
The Slugger was pissed; he lashed with his fist, destroying a bottle of beer.
His patience had burst, a definite first in all his exalted career.
Ignoring the shards, he glared at his cards, then suddenly baring his teeth,
He snarled, "I'm aware you've got a big pair - but is it in front or beneath?"
What tension and thrill! The public went still as time seemed to come to a halt,
And everyone's breath was silent as death. The villain renewed his assault
With ultimate mock by calling the clock. A gasp, and the eyes were on Jack.
'Neath lights from the stage as hot as his rage, the Slugger committed his stack...
Oh, places exist where revels persist, and laughter and sunshine prevail,
Where fortune may kiss the people with bliss, but here in Las Vegas, the rail
Makes futile demands of lachrymal glands whose contents are utterly spent,
And sniffles, appalled, for Jackie has called - and bubbled the final event.