When a fat washed-up has-been states publicly that he doesn’t read poker blogs because people who blog are attention-seeking egotists, a watchful commentator might point out the delicious hypocrisy that this comment was made on the leading micro-blogging network.
When the same self-professed former degenerate gambler/closet current degenerate gambler is himself a compulsive micro-blogger, a conscientious reporter might feel the need to expose the obvious cognitive dissonance taking place.
When the same man who regards himself as an honest, no holes barred, warts ‘n’ all author but is, in fact, merely a composite character in his own autobiography makes it so apparent the disdain he has for modern poker culture, a reflective person might question why he hangs so desperately onto that culture, scrounging for commentary gigs, surviving but barely surviving off the dying remnants of his celebrity cache.
Luckily, I am none of those things. When I see this tumescent hemorrhoid on the anus of the poker world spout off in a card room about Ireland and the Irish despite the fact that he himself claims Irishness when it suits him, I am just grateful that he doesn’t read poker blogs so I can say anything I want about him without worrying that he could ever possibly take offense.