Dad

Dad walked down to the basement to watch me play poker for a few minutes before he went to bed. He sweats me so bad I might as well have Mike Matasow standing over my shoulder.

"How could you fold that hand?!? It was suited! You could have made a flush," Dad said about my 75 suited vs. a preflop three bet.

I get the same crap when I hold unsuited connectors.

"Mark, you're passing up all these golden opportunities for straights and flushes," Dad said. "How are you ever going to win if you keep folding all the time."

It gets better.

Sometimes I'll hold a hand like JTs and the board will come AA5 rainbow. The pot gets three-bet to me, and I'll fold.

"How could you fold that? You had a pair of Aces," he said.

"But so does everyone else," I whined.

"Yeah, but you could make two pair if you got a Jack or a Ten," he said.

The Dad will start complaining about taxes or about how I haven't put my empty iced tea glasses in the dishwasher. He knows he can give me a hard time because I tease him all the time just for fun.

I love my Dad, but his poker advice really sucks.