Groundhog Day

If I woke up this morning stuck in a time loop like Bill Murray in "Groundhog Day," I would have a little something extra that Phil Conners didn't.

My alarm would go off at the same time every repeated morning. My bruised ribs would still hurt as I rolled out of bed. My bike ride to work would be the same, and those I met would parrot the same old greetings.

But unlike in 1993 Puxatawney, I would have Internet poker.

The cards would be different because of the random number generators used by the sites. I could improve my game Groundhog Day after Groundhog Day and expose myself to countless probabilities. In a world where everything's the same, Internet poker would be a rare relief from the monotony.

Or maybe it wouldn't.

Even if the cards were different, what would it matter? My bankroll would never increase. I could never set any goals. I couldn't attach any meaning to my victories and defeats. I wouldn't tilt, nor would I rejoice when I bust a fish. The game is played hand-by-hand with memory-less cards, but they're nothing more than pictures on plastic without something to show for it. We're told not to be results-oriented, which is sound advice, yet those outcomes define the quality of our play over the long run.

Without a tomorrow to play for, I might as well get my kicks at the play money tables.