Twas the Tournament Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, with my face in the bowlie,This is what happens when you mix shame with your stoli.I started the tourney and played with such flairThat I knew before long I would be a millionaire.Some players were sitting, squirming in their seatsThey were still chaffing from some recent bad beats.When someone arrived so late and uncouth,I knew in a moment this prat was Hellmuth.I called when he raised and smiled at his jibes,I knew by the throbbing vein in his head I was getting a rise.Then what at the river should happen that was great,The only card left that would give me a straight.His face flushed bright red, he thought he had won at the flop,Phil looked like a tick that was ready to pop.His reaction was predictable, and quite profane,He ranted, and tantrumed and called me some names."You Donkey! you moron! you *$%@ing twit!",This tirade seemed to be the extent of his wit"You're stupid! You're thoughtless! You ought to be banned!Only a crack snorting chimp would have played that sort of hand."My joy was short lived, my victory a mere speck,After becoming Phil's hobby, I was a wreck.My chips how they vanished, my buy-in so pricey,I will have to subsist on only beans and brown ricey.My final words, and it's not quite a wish,Don't go swimming with sharks when you're only a fish.Merry, Merry Christmas!