A Cribbage Story

Four years ago I was poised to faced off against my heated cribbage rival, a lanky Pole named Gwidon. It was Anduzzi’s 3rd annual Peg ‘n Keg tournament, which Gwidon and I had split the first two years. At stake was $300, a case of Klements and a hell of a lot of pride.

At the pre-tourney potluck it was announced that the organizer had misplaced (forgotten) the board, and unless someone had one, the tournament would be canceled. Lucky for them, I had my pocket Packer crib board, well, in my pocket. The board itself is about the size of a dollar bill and is known among my friends as the losers’ table board at tournaments held in my basement. (There’s nothing more pathetic than watching grown men try and peg on something the size of a Post-it…losers’ table indeed.)

Being it was the only board available, it was dubbed official and I was given a first-round bye and a handful of drink tickets – I was quite happy. Not much comes to mind after that. My cribbage handlers tell me went through many Jagerbombs and was kicked out in the 3rd round for making threats of violence against Gwidon and his unkept child, Adalbert. According to the Press Gazette, Gwidon had lost in the finals to a newcomer. That was good to hear. According to my handlers, I made out with a chick named Krystal. That was also good to hear. If you are out there Krystal, email me and I'll take you to the Lions game.