M
Mike_25
Guest
At 50 years of age, I'd say it's time to bid farewell to the tables. When your cards get as creased as your face, and the grind starts feeling more like punishment than pleasure, that's the sign you've played this game long enough.
The young bucks with futures still ahead of 'em have joined the game since my day. My reflexes ain't what they used to be, and I find myself counting on luck more than skill. The cards love new blood, but an old dog like me has had my share of wins and walked away happier than if I'd pushed it too far.
There's honors to defend and debts to repay, sure, but a broken body and minded lost ain't worth no pot. At 50, life's too short for anything but small bets and even shorter nights. Them days of going all-in are best left to fools and boys with something to prove. An old pro knows when it's time to walk away.
The young bucks with futures still ahead of 'em have joined the game since my day. My reflexes ain't what they used to be, and I find myself counting on luck more than skill. The cards love new blood, but an old dog like me has had my share of wins and walked away happier than if I'd pushed it too far.
There's honors to defend and debts to repay, sure, but a broken body and minded lost ain't worth no pot. At 50, life's too short for anything but small bets and even shorter nights. Them days of going all-in are best left to fools and boys with something to prove. An old pro knows when it's time to walk away.