James James James was his name. He never got to meet his parents to discus that issue. James, as we will call him, as seeing that saying his full name is way to annoying, was waiting with his cards, staring at the heavyset man across from him, trying his best to remain calm. This was the World Series of Poker event, the last game, and only himself and this man left to discard. A person with a yapping dog was just outside the building, but it was all he could think about. Not whether the man was holding good cards and that was why he raised the jackpot, or whether he just made an outstanding poker face. If he was lying, he was the best one James has ever come across. When it came time for James to either fold or join the pot he just froze. "Go tell that asshole to shut that dog up," he wanted to scream. "Just give me a few more minutes to think," he wanted to plead. But time was up, and James had to decide. He threw his money in, crossing fingers and toes, swearing that if he lost that he would find that dog, one way or another. The man threw down 2 pairs and the relief James felt was indescribable. Maybe I'll go get myself a dog, he said, as he basked in the glory of winning.