Smells Like Favre Spirit

A little more than a year ago, the air musky with a hint of despiration smelling like Great Aunt Lovey's den.  Once the center of attention in year's past and as soon as that afternoon now contained a tired group of on-lookers and even more depleted group of players.  The raised poker table had six players left from the 2009 Binions Poker Classic Omaha Eight-or Better tournament as the clock turned into the single digits of the morning.  A far cry from the high rolling pros who called this casino home for the month long endurance series called the World Series of Poker for three decades, now forced to offer local grinders and discount tournament players a series at 1/10th the cost of the bracelet chasers and "famous" pros. 

A deranged woman who like someone just tossed her puppy into a microwave fidgeted back and forth with a sack of papers that became more and more of mess with every meth-addled step.  From my vantage point in the four seat, a group of scribes had rolled downtown from the Rio and decided to cheer on a half-deaf kid from Minnesota playing the one game he felt comfortable enough to sit with anyone.  Despite their tired faces, the smiles gave me a greater high than oxy, ecstasy, and Jesus ever could.  If you want to get into those writers shoes for a brief moment I highly suggest reading this post, then clicking here to buy Dr. Pauly's Lost Vegas. 

Hop over here for the skinny on the book

The blinds were at the point where no one had more than 10 big bets, and I was facing a raise in the big blind from the Hawaiian kid in the eight seat whom I chatted with a bit on the other tables.  A drink a hour was the pace but I was doing the Captain and Cokes more for the caffeine at this point and looked down at a ragged low hand.  Calling left me with three big bets and slighly more than his stack, and missing meant two more orbits as the prize money ramped up steeply (for me, remember I'm used to getting excited about final tables in chicken nugget buy-in online tourneys) from $1,000 to over $3K for fifth with $8,500 to the winner.  I made the call and as the dealer laid out a two low, all heart flop I checked my cards to see a lowly pair, a VERY weak low draw, and one heart but the Aica, HI native told me that he'd rarely played O8 and liked NLHE more.  So, immediately I cut out a bet and put on my face of granite.  A little sweat, a peek toward Otis, Mean Gene, the lovely CK (who finished 8th), Al Cant Hang, and F-Train and they all knew I was full of shit, but that didn't matter and would probably earn me a drink or two later.  For a few minutes my opponent hemmed and hawed, tried to half-muck his cards in order to get a reaction from me but once the pot got pushed I carefully slid those rags to the dealer and two hands later the Hawaiian was out and we were on break coming back to 50K/100K blinds and I'm holding just enough to squeak by an orbit without playing.

This isn't about that night which was probably one of my best gambling rolls I'd ever been on, and despite drinking for a solid 15 hours, three more 60-minute intervals of booze and Pai Gow would come because one does not refuse a drink (or four) from Al Cant Hang or the chance to watch an Otis  Degree All-In Moment at the Pai Gow tables with a greyhound resting in your hand. No, it's about the bluff I pulled which unfortunately is rare (because I suck playing poker sober) but the situation warranted it, unlike Mr. Brett Favre, my bluff did not cause the world's largest sport station to turn into a montage of my playing career.  One peep from "sources" and instead of Phil Mackey chatting on ESPN1500 about Vikings training camp and the resurgent Twins who looked strong against the Rays this week but fell short, he had to field questions about number four returning to the purple today instead of after week one of the preseason for the length of his noon to two spot.  Then at five p.m. with dinner at my parent's place, Sportcenter dribbled out Ed Worthless live from the Favre compound and another 25 minutes of filling up my favorite show with bloated "Favre is retiring" themes.

photo cred: here

You could have sucked up 100 days of oil spill with that vortex of hot air.  Good grief people, I about as rabid Minnesota Vikings fan as you can get and I'm sick of it.  After the news came out I fully ready to publish a Onion-like parody with Favre pulling off the biggest practical joke ever by screwing over the Vikes in last season's finale with the interception that erased a missed FG by Gary Anderson as the most painful Minnesota sporting memory, arm and arm with a laughing Ted Thompson behind the scenes shouting GREEN AND GOLD FOREVER from his trusty John Deere riding lawn mower in the middle of Lambeau.  But, the man gave me the most exciting year as a fan ever.  Even more than 1998.  For that he gets a little shred of respect and hope that the media circus pulls up its tent stakes quicker this year.

Just play or don't play Brett.  Either way, thank you.

A Walk Through 2009: April thru June

April:

- SCOOP became a big thing around my household. Not as a player (might change this year, as I’m looking to take a shot sometime this year) but as a humble scribe. I would have thought by now reporting on online poker tournaments the lack of human interaction would turn this job into a tedious one.

Exact opposite.

There’s a strange rush I get from watching unknown pros, hoodie/sunglasses WPT-wannabes, and the basement dwelling 30-tabling Supernovas battle it out for more cash than I’ll see in a decade. There’s no resentment of making the “here’s your new SCOOP Champion yaKKaZuMA69 who won $350,000.00 after defeating RubYoMama heads-up for the 6-max Super-Turbo One Card Exposed Hold Em’ Championship!”. It sounds ridiculous but I enjoy my Sunday nights and those big tournament gigs that test sanity with 6-8 hours of work till the wee hours of the next day, then trying to cram a 10-hour day of spreadsheets and invoices all while remembering that Kyra only likes the purple bendy straws in her chocolate milk.

- Had a shot at the elusive Mookie title but vacated the wait

- Got ready for another season of softball after “retiring” for the most part. One of the better decisions as the nights in the parking lot after the games were a mid-week stress relief.

- Minnesota tried to ban online gambling which would have effectively killed my future blogger endeavors since my funds for such trips comes from working on the PokerStarsBlog and the very rare tournament scores.

May:
- The first Brett Favre reports come out. Of course I’m in dreamland now with two games before a possible Super Bowl, but as a lifetime Vikings fan Brett Favre represented the epitome of football hated as the best player on the rival’s team (and even if they go one-and-out I'd thank him for the excitement this year). But, this fan of the Purple couldn’t comprehend the media coverage that follows this guy. Holy shit even Randy Moss, Joe Mauer, Kevin Garnett, and Visanthe Shiacoe’s dong combined couldn’t get more face time on ESPN than this guy.

- There was also quick hit about what your Minnesota sports jersey says about you

June:

- WSOP begins, friends start their long journey thru the Amazon Room’s bad food, strippers looking for tricks on the rail, and 17 hour days for the next 40-ish days.

Personally, I will try to make it out there again this year because I did seemed to do quite well chopping up the O8 event down at the Binion's Poker Classic despite being not in-the-bag, but thru-the-bag-and-searching-for-discarded-hooker-handouts after a 15 hour playing/drink-athon. Seeing Otis, Gene, F-Train, and Al railing me and CK while taking in that couple straight from an HBO special on “What Happens When Psych Patients Don’t Take Their Meds”.

Sadly the guy could have ran over the final table with the chip lead he had but instead watched that mighty fortress of clay reduced to pleading to be included in the 5-way chop. Basically his ego and harpy wife cost him the $5K difference between the chop money and stated first prize.

Next up July, August, and September also known as the only months you won't see three inches of ice on Minnesotan roads.

Redemption of Skill or Fate of Luck

Now that the alcohol has run its course and sufficient bodily rest occurring it was time to sit down with Sportscenter running in the background to write down a few paragraphs about the first Vegas trip that ended with more money than I left Charles Lindbergh International Airport with last week.

This was supposed to be a trip to reconnect with friends spread across this land of the brave who come together once a year to chronicle a month long festival of poker degeneracy in their unique voices for those at home who cannot join the carnival themselves. They put you at the final table, in the bathroom, in the middle of a juicy cash Pot Limit Omaha game and occasionally jump into the fray themselves to show some poker chops behind the pen.

A trip to reconnect with my wife, trying to strengthen a marriage that has seen much and not received the attention needed. Of course, she was in Vegas for work reasons so this did not pan out as much as both of us wanted. We settled for enjoying our time in bits and pieces: a dinner at PF Changs, a decent variety show at Planet Hollywood, hitting up the penny slots, or the best pool/beach I’ve been to in Vegas at Mandalay Bay.

The highlight will be the trip downtown to Freemont Street where dreams of Vegas past are illuminated for a few minutes every hour during a free song and light show that doesn’t suck. Lower limits and lower expectations are found along this stretch of casinos that have done well in carving out a marketing plan to keep the coupon toting crowd coming back for more 99 cent fried Twinkies and afternoon shift strippers at the Glitter Glitch.

My Vegas dream started with the Las Vegas Monorail ride from MGM Grand to Sahara with $160 earmarked for the Binions Poker Classic Event #38 Limit Omaha 8 or Better (listed as NLHE but we know I wouldn't play that) event starting at 2pm. Due to my ten cent head, I walked from the Sahara to the Stratosphere for a cab ride since I had forgotten about the $2 bus ride that would have saved me some time in the dry 106 degree heat.

After arriving at the birthplace of the World Series of Poker, and handing over a good amount of money left in my wallet thanks to a cranky ATM machine there was a wait for CK to leave the boys at the Wynn cash game to join me so I sat down at a dime keno machine to channel my inner PKP Neil Fontenot by throwing down an American dollar and hitting nothing, but threw in second dollar and bounced around with it until my last solidarity dime hit six out of six for $160.00 meaning the tourney was a freeroll!

For the first eight hours of the tourney I spent my time chatting with a couple of locals about the dangers of ice fishing at 30 below, my choice of alcoholic beverage which they noticed came by far too often, and enjoying a leisurely live game of O8 that I don’t get to indulge in very often. My stack was the table leader by far after five hours, but my cooler wife walked in and I managed to lose the next three hands I played but still retained the table lead and was around the par stack after the dinner break. Looking up I could see CK was doing well for herself, plugged into serious poker mode yet remembering to shoot the boys a smile hidden with meaning. “Yes, I will be taking your chips soon”.

After I rinsed out the horrible Benny Binion hot dog with a few Captain and Cokes, three tables were left and I was moved to the left of the chipleader for a spell. Nothing significant happened except learning he was from Minnesota and moved out to California while my stack stayed the same thanks to a crap board hitting my big blind special. Once into the money the fun stopped.

There was a new table coach in the form of a green shirt sporting blob that once taught Phil Ivey a thing or two about split games. There was no stopping this douchebag’s runaway train of filth, spilling a cargo load of insults on good natured players who were either having fun, or hey there seems to be seven grand we’re playing for! I was in the fun boat having blown through my twenty singles nearing the twelfth hour of the tourney and starting to feel tired or the after-effects of that rat meat in a sausage casing. Having the table covered with authority this waste of oxygen managed to blow through so many penalties he didn’t play a hand for nearly two hours and still would end up chopping.

I was pissed because he managed to kill my well-labored buzz and having to turn off my hearing aids wasn’t helping. Nor was his harpy wife who had missed her clonazepam dose and shock treatment down at the dollar store back room pharmacy, she managed to catch the ire of the brush and also had to take a break away from the table while clutching some assortment of crinkled Fed-Ex wrapped papers like they were a sick child.

Were we playing poker? Ah, yes. Somehow I missed a bunch of draws and found myself down to a small blind with 14 or 15 left. Won the hand all-in preflop. Next hand all-in again, tripled up. Three hands later, doubled up again after calling a raise and forced someone off their hand with just one bet behind while the other table people dropped like recent celebrities. With five big blinds, I watched a lady with many years of poker under belt lose the last of her chips as the final table was announced!

FREE FUCKIN HAT!!! I love swag more than money, and was very excited to win it due to my very short stack I wasn’t looking to make more than the bottom money anyway.

But I did.

Caught a strong double suited A-3-X-X in the big blind with someone raising into me, doubled up. Very next hand catch A-2-6-K double suited, someone raised into my small blind, doubled up again to go from shorty to mid-stack in short order. Meanwhile places 10th, 9th, and 8th took leave to set up the reason why I chopped third place.

Folded around to CK on the button she raised as I looked down at a very welcome A-A-4-8 all red. I three-bet as CK elected to call with the flop coming down T-8-2, I bet she calls. Turned 3 gave me the nut low, so I bet as she raised, and the rest of my stack went into the middle turning over the black aces good for ¼ of the pot until…

… river 5

Runner-runner wheel scooped the pot from the friend I did not want to beat. Shortly after she would bust holding all crubs and I was forced to make a few bluffs due to the cards turning ice cold. The doucherocket returned to the table and immediately took a pot or two to salvage a few chips as we headed into the break, 25K/50K blind level coming back with me only holding three big blinds and in third place. Since the crew of Otis, Mean Gene, F-Train, and the walking party himself AlCantHang dropped in I tried to play the part of serious poker player but couldn’t help but smile seeing my friends travel downtown in the wee hours of the morning after their hard workday at the Rio.

Double fisting drinks with Al during the break, chatting about non-poker things we headed back to the elevated final table to find four anxious players awaited the Joe Mauer draped player to return.

“Do you want to chop?”

Having just three big blinds it made sense to me, but as the TD wrote down the stacks even the big stack only had 10 and we were left to playing Casino War for differences in the thousands. Even the deep-throating tampon was in for the chop, doing a 180 from prior requests.

$4,900 for 1st, $4,300 for 2nd, $3,270 for 3rd-5th, as I sat in third in chips.

But wait there’s a jacket for the winner! Oh man. Torn between my love of stitched garments to be worn at the gym and the biggest cash ever for this low roller, Al was the voice of reason and told me to take the money, stop being an idiot, and stop scaring them.

With the chop in hand with a glob of chips the crew reconvened at the bar for a couple round of celebratory drinks as the amount of 100s laid out was for once for me. We would head to the Gold Coast for a continuation of my luck, that’s a story for another time.

(I'm hoping the guys with their camera phones have a few pictures as my 90s style phone can hardly handle text messages)

From PokerPages the official results.

Hey, I have my own ranking!

Oh, Is That Money For Me?

Spam blog? WTF.

I may compose dreck here most of the time, but that's a little way fetched to call this a spam blog. Hopefully the all-mighty Google powers will see the same.

Glad I had to get online for some business or this writing haven would have gone the way of Billy Mays and Michael Jackson this week.

As for the business, I'm shipping Tuscaloosa Johnny his cut of the money I won at the Binion's Poker Classic. If you perspective how much Johhny made, add in that the beautiful and deadly CK made the final table as well (I'll expound on the severe Bayne roaching I did late in the tourney to get to the 5-way chop for first), Johnny unofficially made 14th place money out of 210.

Not a bad day.

As I told the rail of Otis, Al, Mean Gene, and F-Train who came out in the wee hours of the morning just to see a wide-eyed surburban hick make his biggest cash in any kind of gambling. "Oh wow".

My babbling went on for several hours washed down by a multitude of Cap'n Cokes and Greyhounds while they cooled me down at the Gold Coast afterwards (the cards did not cool, again a story for another time) and smiles that a peppy cheerleader would have envied. I only hope those mentioned understood just how out-of-body it felt (and I still haven't composed myself) to chop up that cash.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to grab a McGriddle then join my wife at the pool to stare at some pretty people and perhaps not worry about the price tag on those poolside drinks for once ;)