WPBT 2011: The Attack of the Re-served Fish

24.

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The next day was spent with an itinerary, a mission, and on objective. No, pale, taller Jack Bauer was not going to stop a terrorist plot unless Al-Qaeda was going to hit a golf course, casino, or a wonderfully delicious Japanese restaurant tucked into a strip mall inside Vegas’ adjacent Chinatown.

The only explosions would be coming from a borrowed driver as F-Train was kind enough to pick up three people of Nordic stock in myself, Pebbles, and Bam-Bam along with my now awake and caffeinated roommate Joe Speaker were ready to destroy the course and clubhouse bar (in some cases one more than the other). Not everyone plays slots at 3am half-drunk in their pajamas before golf?

Wimps.

Meeting up with Dr. Chako and friend we split up into a foursome (Doc, Pebbles, Bam-Bam, and Doc’s friend) while I taught F-Train and Joe Speaker on the finer points of the Lebron James outline to perfect golf.

a) Win lots of money performing well in the regular season

b) Shut down like a five year old who didn’t get their naps and refuses to eat the asparagus

Long Drive? Check. Closest to Pin? Check. Skins? Check. Raving Speaker on giving me strokes and shooting near par for the first time in my life? Youbetcha.

However when the second half came and like Mr. James' ability to flop in the playoffs, so did my swing, my shoulder, and my chances of winning as Speaker’s brand of golf billiards using poor, defenseless winged animals as rails would prove to be victorious this day as dusk rapidly approached and many beers and stories needed to be consumes within the spacious bar/clubhouse.

Back to the strip after nearly paying for my round thanks to Speaker’s Taylor Made Burner driver and a lofty 6 iron that sailed with the majestic flow of a seagull about to land on a sea-hardened wooden pier. Quick change and we were off again, this time for what has become a tradition for myself and many WPBT’ers. A nice sit down meal that does not involve 70s rockers, salad troughs, or former Penthouse Pets dancing behind frosted screens (lets make this one a reality, but they better serve excellent hot wings).

A green rectangular sign stating “Chinatown” similar to “Maple Grove” when I drive home was past as this was my first adventure or even knowledge that such a town existed next to the monuments of gambling. Raku meaning “Charcoal Grill House Enjoyment” according to the website has an alternate meaning that would be shared by those who sat down at the very table pictured on the front page of the website.

“Stuffed”

A wave with an undercurrent of food soon graced our table as many pleaded for a second or third stomach as giant pitchers of Sapporo were the only constant along with the banter consistent with just intelligent minds pouring over fish made six different ways and in some cases remade. Personally, there it was only my second time being forced to use chopsticks, the first being a family meal with a Korean friend but his mother was kind enough to take two tongue depressors with a spacer and tape them together as his soon-to-be restaurateur younger sister giggle at the American trying to pick up squid with them.

I will leave the culinary critique to those that actually have eaten or cooked with half the ingredients used on Chopped, and are used to fine dining as my experience with dinners that cost as much as my family’s weekly grocery bill is limited to these yearly splurges. Make no mistake, I soaked in every ounce that I could in conversation, atmosphere, and beer. And despite the lack of a fortune cookie at the end of the meal, Raku is for you. Then again the people surrounding this table could make the buffet at Excalibur seem like a Michelin award winning spread.

My memory is a little fuzzy by this point as the next memory is waking up SOBER (getting old?) for the WPBT tournament at Aria. And that will need to wait for another day.



Gambling Mexican Style with Refried Beans and Rice

If you like even an iota of sports you probably watched the exciting ending to The Masters yesterday and today thousands of bloggers will pummel you with Spaceballs quotes.  MAY THE SCHWARTZ BE IN THE HOLE!  HIS SCHWARTZ IS MUCH BIGGER THAN YOURS!  Somewhere Mel Brooks is gearing up the distribute Spaceballs the Loft Wedge and Spaceballs the Divot Repair Tool.

Just remember who set the trend before the South African even stepped up to the first tee at Augusta National.

This guy.  

Not really, I thought Bo Van Pelt and the rest of the crew from the Grand Ole Opry would gank the green jacket yesterday.

I looked up this morning and saw it was April already meaning time is not exactly slowing down for this multi-tasking white boy, but at I can open the windows now without fear of catching frostbite while typing up the Sunday Warm-up wrap at PokerStarsBlog.  Or mindless entertainment from DragonAge 2 which will be in place until the poker gods decide to stop the spankings that would make a submissive scream the safety word.  January to Mid-March = Awesome, Mid-March to yesterday = fuck you very much

Subtle.

See?  Poker whines can be condensed to small packages in which you owe no one a dollar and they don't hop screens to read about Paris Hilton's new favorite orifice to hide crack rocks on TMZ.  If I can find my Flip camera, I'll try to post a wonderful short documentary on How to Survive a Mexican Bathroom by drunk Drizz in which I don't remember a thing and my wife's photos from Facebook were the only reminder that I was there.  That and some bruises from trying to arm wrestle with a beefed-up gringo slinging $2 movies named Jhonny.  Oh, and extending my reach of degeneracy to the younger aged members on Nuevo Progresso as seen below:

It's no Mr. Cashman, but the slot machine does pay out just not to me

I put in a dollar (12 pesos) and sadly did not win enough to feed the multitude of beggers along the streets.  But I did have enough for a Mexican Mojito which consist of nothing but alcohol with a faint splash of club soda.  Faint as in pouring as long as your four year old's attention span while Phineas and Ferb are on and you're trying to ask them what they'd like for dinner.

Good day.

High Stakes Golfing with Brunson and Tomko

While the poker-gasm is heading into the final turn with the WSOP Main Event coming soon, here's a chance to see some poker legends off the felt via interviews on high-stakes golfing.  If you did not catch the show tonight, there are links below the media lead:

The Golf Channel’s hit show, Golf in America, will be featuring interviews with Jack Binion, Doyle Brunson, Dewey Tomko and Mike Sexton about the high stakes world of betting on golf. The interviews are for a story about Bill Walters, the legendary gambler turned golf course property developer and his influence on the landscape in the city of Las Vegas. The show features. The show will air on the Golf Channel tomorrow, Tuesday, the 29th, at 9 p.m. ET.


Watch the preview here

And download the episode here.

The Rash Returns

Kfavre.com is baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! Sigh.

How would you like to be Rosenfelds right now after pitching a 10 for 13 game, work hard at training camp, and still have this wall of white stuff that hangs from the sides of your mouth when you're dehydrated ready to swoosh in stunt dick style and steal the scene. (Kare11's story showing quotes from Brett Favre ballsack carrier Peter King and Fox's Jay Glazer)

Even my favorite morning radio crew is hanging their heads that Favre will make his return. Has Vegas set a line yet on this? Would anyone gamble on that? It might be more unpredictible than facing a Phil Ivey river bet and twice as tough to get paid off since his decision flip-flops more than a incumbent two months before Election Day.

UPDATE: Glazer appearently knows more than I, per KFAN.com Favre is on a team plane as of right now coming here to sign. Drama over.

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Still amazed how quickly the summer has past as the weather here in the Twin Cities has begun to fade into Fall-like crispness in the afternoons with a hint of the smokey humidity happening once or twice a week versus the 150% invisible cloud of sweat residents of this state are used to. Last weekend at the cabin had all the seasons except the polar ice caps. In a span of eight hours the temp swung some 30 degrees going from baking heat, to calm outside card playing climate, to downpours and tornado warnings.

Despite the fact that The Great Minnesota Get-Together is next Friday officially marking the end of summer for this lefse-loving state, its been a good two hours of summer that was enjoyed to its fullest this year with many trips "up north", the VERY profitable Vegas/WSOP trip, and of course enjoying a game of baseball and a top 5 dinner with my invisible internet friends in Chicago.

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I have a confession to make.

I enjoy play money online slot machines.

I actually shot up a fist pimp when my son correctly picked all of the bonus round selections on the Tomb Raider "nickel" machine to win 30,000 virtual coins and Lara Croft starting bouncing up and down.

I live a sad existence but least I do it with a smile on my face and have a family to put up with my dorkiness.

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Tiger's downfall has surely been beaten to death by the virtual and real media and I had the chance to be there yet I sat at home watching the lack of life on my TV screen versus the plush fairways of Hazeltine (by the way if you type "Hazel" you get Keeley Hazell as the first search, not there's anything wrong with that, take your time there).

Chance of a lifetime sure, but two kids needed someone to climb over and on, for some reason I put my frantic sports rube in the closet and decided being a daddy was more important.

To tell you the truth, it was.

Steak and Stakes

Yes the microphone is still on here, just summer/work craziness has my writing time down to beyond nil.

(a side note: has anyone been successful from getting listed on Google again after being de-listed?) Drop me a note.

After nearly a week of watching the kids alone as my wife trucked up north to Duluth for a drinking engagement work conference, came home for a day, then left for her annual “girl’s weekend”, I have a new found respect for those who stay home or interact with little humans on a daily basis in a classroom.

The thirst for adult conversation at the end of the day after listening to your mouth say “please turn left” and they go right for a solid week was near Gobi desert desperation on Saturday. Sure, my little walking genes were adorable and attentive some of the time, but what the hell wires these kids to do everything but what you say to them. It was like talking to women (which I’m sure the fairer sex would say the same about guys)!

Parental learning experience put into the database for later use as the boy’s sixth birthday party in the artery clogging humidity at Elm Creek park on Sunday went as smoothly as possible with the kids enjoying the massive timber structured playground and adults relaxing in the shade with iced down beverages. The real treat was the little ones’ batteries were spent by the time they hit the bathtub a few hours later that not one “GET BACK IN YOUR ROOM!!!11111” was uttered/screamed/threatened.

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Tell me. If you make millions of American dollars or Euros and enjoy a certain amount of fame due to your athletic ability/acting ability/gag reflex ability would decide that someone deserves a Anderson Silva on Griffin beat-down because the service person lacked enough change to purchase four pieces of Bazooka gum at the dollar store?

Patrick Kane, your karmatic taint punch is coming after mistaking a cabbie who was 20 cents short for Tie Domi. My hopes are the next time you pass out while tipping back too many lime-flavored Zimas at the local Dave and Busters, someone tattoos the word “Asshole” around your mouth.

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Anyone feel bad for Padraig (cousin of WSOP champ Dan) Harrington for chunking a chip on the 70th hole of the WGC Bridgestone Invitational and literally giving away the tournament to the Phil Ivey of golf?

As if Tiger needed the “help” but what kind of pro hits a chip over a green and into the water from 20-30 feet away (that’s feet, not yards)??? That’s the kind of shot better left for hackers like myself to perfect on exotic locals like Three Rivers executive nine off Bass Lake Road in Plymouth, MN. But I wasn’t hitting the little white ball for a paycheck the size of all my assets put together Indecent Proposal style hoping that red comes up for the fifth straight spin.

Choke.

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Another choke may be not finishing off my sixth place finish in the $1,000 PLO8 guarantee at Stars after outlasting 692 runners and being 2nd in chips with 14 remaining. A good run for sure, but the sheer horrible play of those near the final table fueled a very easy run to the decent ROI and a hanging head that I didn't finish in the top two.

I’ll save poker-heavy stuff for a post at Minnesota Poker Magazine’s site, but this run of tournament success (I cashed in a 4-max PLO8 tourney at the same time with another deep run) has me thinking about the 2010 WSOP for taking another shot at the big money for this small operator of four card crack. Maybe its false pride and the cards just fell right over the past few years but the itch to take another shot (perhaps with the help of my fellow degenerates as consulted by my financial advisor The Rooster), is definitely getting in my thoughts.

If I can extract enough time to play a few more of these (my run ended at 3:00am after starting at 9:30pm), and hit up Running Aces for some $4/$8 w/half kill O8 action, you might see a Captain sailing Drizz at the Amazon Room next year in a playing capacity unless I get tapped for a writing gig to chronicle the 2am $10 min bet blogger Pai Gow game at the Gold Coast.

Time will tell as will my wholely amateur review of Pittsburgh Blue steakhouse in Maple Grove stemming from next week's anniversary dinner is still being pan seared with butter.

Say What You Mean, Mean What You Say

Amazing how the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon applies to meeting people from your past and zoom forward to give your present a new twist. While I won't be dancing in a barn to illegal rock music anytime soon, due to a co-worker of my brother who works closely with a friend that used to be my neighbor growing up there might be a new place for poker-esque writing in the near future.

As posted here before Minnesota Poker Magazine debuted a few months ago and my scribblings and metaphors may find their way over to their blogging page soon. Bonus, that I might even find a home game where the people don't suck and actually enjoy discussing the game while kicking back a few drinks.

Stay tuned.

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Did someone forget to pick up their degenerates at day care again?

(Photo credit: Lotus Media)

Awesome job guys, for all your hard work covering the WSOP, we salute you on your Dream Team Win.

As for the WSOP Main Event coverage... Darvin Moon will be your chipleader that poker agents are currently jerking to as the rest of the poker tables are broken down in the Amazon Room until November. I doubt with Jeff "Happy" Shulman and something called Phil Ivey at the final table the chipleader will be the main story for the next four months.

If this Ivey character decides to hook up with an online site for free poker coaching and logo'd hoodies, the other eight won't even need to bother to reserve suites at the IP in November. He is short-stacked but its Phil Ivey damnit, the bankroll of the poker world who most likely has won more in prop bet making the final table than the first place prize they are playing for (1st place = $8.2 million if I'm not correct).

A bad prediction: Full Tilt Poker may give this journeyman red letter pro status and 100% rakeback as well. Just a guess.

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Brett Favre-gasm of the day: The Brett states he'll wait until the begining of training camp to solidify what he's already stated. If healthy, I'm a Viking.

Sigh. This is about as hidden as your spouse telling you she's really doesn't need that new dress/iPod/pair of shoes while shopping. Stop fucking around Favre, man up, say you're in and go have a porterhouse with Purple Jesus at Manny's and become a teammate not some rented gun Allen Iverson-type "Practice? We talking about practice?" that just wants to show up on gameday.

Oh, you may want to acknowledge the dude wearing the severed kodiak bear on his head that still has the warm blood dripping down on his Cher t-shirt. He'll be making sure you get to rest in-between interceptions.

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The Phil Ivey of golf is not leading a golf tournament, sportsbook give a sigh of relief.

Tom Watson leading the British Open (or The Open for those across the pond) which is shocking since anyone other than rabid golf followers didn't even know Tom Watson still played anything besides Tuesday shuffleboard events at various South Florida retirement communities.

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Find and take my money tonight as I'll be donating to the various low rolling MTTs this evening after softball while enjoying Coca-Cola laced with alcohol as prep for a 75 minute! aerobic class my wife signed us up for on Friday morning.

When its bad, its still pretty good

I wonder if the author for Yahoo's "Mock NFL draft" understood the irony of the Lions choosing a wide receiver with the first pick?

After reading, the collective Lions nation takes their spiffy new logo'd jerseys and burns down every McDonald's in the Detroit metro area.

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Yesterday was windy, drizzled rain, cloudy, and a touch chilly.

"Man, you guys must really have a need to go golfing"

"Yes, ma'am."

Six O'clock by the time my buddy was released from his not-so-nine-to-five job and an extra fifteen minutes to wash down some pasta with a Smithwicks and moving my daughter's milk glass over a dozen times in attempts to prevent her from another "oops" moment despite her pleas of drinking competency.

A short course, no more then a glorified par three layout with wide open spaces and speckled tree lines to help you hit back towards your green despite being two holes east of your destination. Skulling the first five shots, mixed in with my past hatered of golfing in sub-prime weather would have brought out a Tin Cup moment of snapping my faux Nike Slingshots like a used Sizzler's toothpick.

Not yesterday.

After figuring out that bending the knees a tad helps gain some ground there was the blissful moment of watching a perfectly struck three-iron (I don't do woods/drivers anymore) go about 240 yards. Almost on par with watching a softball clear the Victory Sports Bar and Grill scoreboard, the view of a golf ball in flight makes up for any crosswinds mother nature was throwing at us.

My score was a little below bogey golf thanks to my Mickelson moments of missing three different three-foot putts, yet there was no anger because I could hear my buddy talking about his new assistant manager position and every note of the newest Carrie Underwood musing. My first reaction when someone speaks is "uh?", since there was no catching the person's first words it became a necessary habit. Now, to catch the hitch and switch over to active listening mode has been slow but will get there in time.

Since there was no time for a full 18, as we approached the final hole for our half round, a crack of sunlight made its way thru the overcast skies. Perhaps applauding my ability to hit a driver 50 yards straight up then smacking a three-iron around 250.

While the ability to hit the dimpled white ball may never be there to boast of a sub-par round, the ability to enjoy the round under any conditions is nearly here.

U.S. Women Open at Interlachen

My wife snagged me a couple of tickets for the U.S. Open at Christmas and today was the today to cash it in since Sunday has me behind the computer and Saturday in the batter's box.

Here are some numbers:

15,000+ - Minnesotans running abOOt the hallowed ground of Interlachen Country Club

15 - American dollars for two hot dogs and some chips

-1 - Annika Sorenstam's score after a 67 today, of which I watched her absolutely nut a fairway wood on a Par-5 within 15 feet to putt for eagle

1 - Women who looked like a Joey Ramone months from death

3:2 - Ratio of shorts to skirts (but no panty shots when looking over a 25 foot double-bending putt)

13 - Number of feet I came from winning a closest-to-the-pin contest in the Lexus corporate tent, winner got an all-expense paid trip for two to next year's U.S. Open. Next time, need more backspin

Snow Snow Go Away Come Back Never

I want to be Matt Leinart. Make globs of money, nail ASU co-eds while rehabing injuries, and have two all-pro WRs waiting in case you decide to take this playing football thing seriously. Visit The Dirty.com (probably NSFW) for the pics.

So, who's coming over to my place this weekend to shovel the driveway?

I offer homemade chocolate chip bars, two adorable kids that will serve drinks with a smile their mother gave them, and all the Guitar Hero you can handle! If bored from Tom Morello kicking your ass, you can always toss the malcontent fat cat to see if he always lands on his feet.

This weekend I was supposed to be enjoying the first 18 holes of the year with a good friend that recently returned from Iraq. Mother nature decided that April wasn't soon enough to close down winter for the year so we'll be stuck playing poker all-night, followed by micro-stakes Euchre while chasing down Bacon McGriddles in the morning instead of plunking golf balls off woodland creatures due to a slice that would have David Feherty wondering why you like to light money on fire by buying golf clubs and paying green fees.

BBT3 rolls on to the Mookie this evening which I will not be playing in. After my snapping in the girly chat box last night it was clear I need a rest until drunken poker night tomorrow.

Why Yes, I Do Have Quads

It doesn’t look like work is going to let up, much like the rain outside that had us dashing indoors with the kids early this morning.

Just a quick shout out to Mike, who put up with my hacking (and I mean HORRIBLE) golf game on Saturday. While on the driving range prior to my adventurous 108, I was shanking more balls then Britney Spears after an eight ball and tequila shooting binge at a Vegas nightclub. Remember Tin Cup getting ready for the US Open before Cheech loosened him up with the change in his pocket and probably a spiff off screen?

That was me, while I didn’t get to nail the hottie in my Winnebago afterwards, I did managed to score a 12 on a hole (graciously rounded down to a 9 by my scoring partner).

I do want to write up a bit on the card slinging at Canterbury (and the Fred Flintstone style golf carts we used at a rather expensive golf course) as live poker >>>>>> online poker and since Saturday I’m having a very hard time logging onto Drizztdj and my wonderful breastalicous nurse at Full Tilt.

Later.

Par For The Course

Breaking even is great if you’re normally a hacker on the golf course with a swing that resembles Elaine from Seinfeld’s dance moves. My little adventure at Riverwood National this weekend with my father-in-law, brother-in-law, and wife’s uncle had me searching for par and ending with a triple figure score. While I’m not quite ready to take on Tiger and Phil at the next U.S. Open, I do usually manage to clutch on to my around bogey golf score while carefully avoiding double digits for one hole’s tally.

Hitting the white ball with “Callaway” into various ponds and wetland areas is not the optimum strategy for such loft goals as just finishing the round with golf with balls left in the bag. Luckily, others who played this rugged course prior to my arrival were kind enough to leave their extras lying around semi-hidden so I could get a feel for several different brands while striking those off the tee and off the half million dollar homes that surrounded some of the greens.

At the poker tables my balance sheet has not risen to epic proportions since withdrawing for the WSOP in three weeks, nor have I tanked it in Waffle fashion. I’ve earned several frequent player’s points in case an additional stress balls are needed for my son’s inability to retire for the evening in a speedy manner. His new tactic is playing coy about wanting to learn the art of check-raising a douchebag off his top pair with a river bluff. I usually counter with a reading from the tome of Jimmy Neutron’s vast library (Thomas the Tank Engine is becoming kids stuff Daddy).

How fast they grow up.

Hopes for having a little extra cash stash in case my unnamed roommate should want to adventure off-strip in search of naked orbs of silicon laden with glitter, is becoming shorter with every bubble-ish tourney finishes. Save for my awesome Razz game displayed in last evening’s HORSE game with the bloggers. I played HORSEYRIFFIC and the bricks showed me the door quicker then that Japanese dude could stuff Nathan’s hotdogs down his 125 pounds of fury frame.

“Hey baby, wanna see what I can do with a footlong?” I bet he gets all the ladies with that line. Er… maybe not.

Cash games have paid for my lottery-like tourney tickets and the circle of poker life continues on with my break-even ways. Better then losing? Perhaps. A nice score would have put a few more singles in my pocket in case Lisssa (that’s three for exxtra sizzle) needs more encouragement to heave her double Ds while fetching another Cap’n Coke for me at the tables.

Which tables will be decided once I check into the Gold Coast in a few weeks.

Thanks for dropping by, now our blogging brothers and sisters have shot down event #1 at the WSOP. Rock on guys.