I was playing in a NL Hold'em tournament in Vegas shortly after the big playoff run.  We had to rush to make it before it started so we just dumped our bags in the room and ran for the monorail.  I was still wearing the Clipper Nation shirt I wore for the trip into town.  I was concerned about it because I knew it would draw unwanted attention, but I had little choice.

I'm not one for chatter so generally I say as little as necessary while I am competing.  A couple rounds into the tourney the dealer asks, "What's a Clipper"?  10 faces are now staring at me.  There are a million ways to respond to this question, and my instincts throw five really mean ones at me.  This is poker.  I have a table image to maintain.  I'm not here to make friends.  How could this question be sincere?  He's a grown man who is obviously American born and raised.  Surely the logo is at least vaguely familiar to you.  They were the feel-good story of the early summer.  Where have you been?  Maybe he's screwing with me.  No he really looks lost.  What could these nine other players be thinking?

Fortunately for all involved, I shake that nasty tendancy and give my best pokerface answer: "They are a professional basketball club from Los Angeles."

"Oh, I thought it had something to do with haircuts."

Discussion over.  Sweet silent anonymity resumes.