The clamoring cribbage hoards of St. Paul.
After the relative success of the previous night, I wake up hopeful. It’s St. Patrick’s day, March 17, and the luck of the non-Irish (Swede and Italian) is with me. Nonetheless, I don a cheap green t-shirt I’ve had since college that reads “Shamrock Campground – Miles and Miles of Irish Smiles,” and hit the road.
I arrive in Woodbury just a few minutes before the tournament starts. I grab my scorecard from Todd and Ginger, and Todd stands up and takes out an envelope. “I owe you money, sir,” he says, and lays $100 on me. I see Jerry, and he hands me another $80. Friday night, my 13 points and +94 spread was good enough for 6th, and I scored both in the general pool and Jerry’s side-pool of $10. If I had beat Ed–if I hadn’t lost in the stinkhole–it would have been worth at least $30 more. Continue reading
