The Boy Who Cried Structure

A Tourney Boy tended to his Stack in a grubby tournament not far from his village. Soon he found life in the tourney very dull. All he could do to amuse himself was chat with his Tourney Bros or play on his phone.

One day as he sat watching his Stack and the tournament, and thinking of what he should do if the payouts were not quite right or if the blinds were too fast, he thought of a plan to amuse himself.

His Coach had told him to call the Tournament Director and all the Tourney Bros should the Structure be not quite right, and the TD and all his Tourney Bros would fix the problem. So now, although there was basically nothing wrong with the Blinds or the Payouts, the Tourney Boy ran toward the Tournament Desk shouting at the top of his lungs, “Bad Tournament Structure! Bad Payout Structure!”

As he expected, the Tournament Director and all the other Tourney Bros who heard the cry dropped their Stacks and ran in great excitement to the tournament desk. But when they got there, they found the Tourney Boy doubled up with laughter at the Trick he had played on them.

A few days later, the Tourney Boy again shouted, “Bad Tournament Structure! Bad Payout Structure!” Again, the Tourney Bros ran to help him, only to be laughed at again.

Then one evening as the WSOP was setting behind the forest and the shadows were creeping out over the Big Tournament, a Bad Payout Structure really did spring from the underbrush and fall upon the Tourney Boy’s Stack.

In terror the Tourney Boy started posting at the Tournament Director and all the Tourney Bros, texting “Bad Payout Structure! Bad Payout Structure!”

And the Tourney Bros agreed once again and typed that they would help him once again.

So, anyway, the Bad Payout Structure had a modestly bad effect and the Tourney Bros were greatly pissed off, but they all played in the tournament, battled for the Golden Cock Ring of Rungood, and paid a shit ton of taxes.

And the Tournament Director, who had heard it all before, patted the Tournament Boy and all the Tournament Bros on the head, said they were right, pushed some buttons, then announced the next tournament while he rubbed rake all over his nipples and was voted into The Poker Hall of Fame.

Moral

Whiners still have to be believed when they speak truth, which is really fucking annoying but kinda meh at the same time.