Of Places I Would Rather Be

WSOP time.

Twice I have made the journey to the seemingly bottomless pit of cards, booze, and degenerate prop betting.  The first time was do to the real thing, crossing off a bucket list item by actually playing in a World Series of Poker event.

That did not go well.

Despite high hopes I made two fatal flaws.  1) Played with scared money  2) Failed to drink

At the time it should not have been scared money as my bankroll was large enough, had backers, and online money was still flowing through ads, writing, and bonus whoring.  Nonetheless, I was not as aggressive as I was sitting behind an avatar but instead adjacent to Marcel Luske and arms reach from the 2005 Main Event champ Joe Hachem.  Noted warthog Joe Speaker was there to record my exploits to the masses but my tepid play had me fizzling out on a non-descript hand shortly after the first break. 

Two years later I found myself in Vegas during the WSOP again, but this time it was to sweat the media at the World Series of Pai Gow, an event I'm much more equipped for and play downtown at the Binion's Poker Classic where the buy-ins fit my bankroll much more easily.  CK, Tuscaloosa Johnny, and myself braved the other side of Vegas, a throwback to what Vegas used to be before the corporations splashed gold-tinted mirage of $100 margaritas, and five star dining two doors down from the 24-hour McDonald's.  This time I played it right.  The game was Omaha Hi/Lo again, this time limit but a game I'm most comfortable with in any setting with any stakes that does not cost me a mortgage payment to check-raise the turn. 

But instead of listening to blog postings about playing "optimal tournament poker" by "getting sleep", "staying away from the pits", and most of all "not drinking".  I did the opposite.  Instead I got myself into that comfort zone.  You know the one.  It feels like fantasy sex, downslope of a rollercoaster, the perfect lick of ice cream on a day reaching triple digits all while sitting on a cloud.  After hour four the waitress who seemed to be the only one serving the 214 players in the tourney didn't even bother asking if I wanted another and would just switch out the cup of ice for one filled with spiced rummy goodness and a splash of Coke. 

Later on that night my friends, the ones with press badges around their necks, already taking a beating from the grueling WSOP workdays in the Amazon Room encouraged me to stay in my zone, especially one AlCantHang whom I would walk stumble back to the final table with holding two drinks after a shot at the bar right before chop talks began. AND still had enough in the gas tank for watching my card-rackery continue at the Pai Gow tables at the Gold Coast.  True friends, they are.  Almost kin-like to my degenerate side.

I mention this now because life is in the way of hopping on a plane to create another Vegas memory.  Work, lack of vacation time threw away the keys as for once, money isn't throwing up the bars of steel, nor is my understanding wife who actually encouraged me to go.  But, thanks to Twitter, the PG-13 rated version of my friend's exploits come to life in 140 characters or less.  I'll have to wait until December or a possible WPBT side trip to hear the XXX version only available after a full night bender and a few toasts to those who couldn't make it but wished they were here.

2010 WPBT Day One: Bet More, Win More Drinks

Here we go!

Most of my birthday on Wednesday was spent in a non-blog worthy way.  Staring out at the snow in the backyard while wrapped in a Snuggie (Yes, I'll own up to wearing one, as flaccid as it may seem they work) and plowing ahead with school work thus leaving little to none for the extended weekend of blogger debauchery.  After finishing up a statement of Cost of Goods Sold with a side of cheesy hash browns it was time. 

The theme of this trip was "Bet More", not just placing a different colored chip in the Pai Gow betting circle or hitting max bet on a slot machine, but to do the things I would normally skip due to cost.  After saving up my funds from working at the PokerStarsBlog and catching a few cards at Full Tilt I had the bankroll to say "yes, I think I'll have that or do that".  While my last few trips to Vegas haven't been bargain bin adventures, this one for the WPBT Winter Classic would have zero boundaries (well, at least ones that wouldn't have me signing divorce papers in three months). 

I showed up at Humphrey International Airport (otherwise known as Terminal 2) about four hours early and was greeted by a very pregnant desk worker for Sun Country.  "You know he's supposed to have the same birthday as you but didn't want to come out today".  Despite the nine pound bowling ball dropping within 48 hours she managed to to give great service and inspired by the theme I asked "do you have 1st class available?".  For just $109.00, I got bumped up to 1st class, granted this is not Delta or United but 1st Class is 1st Class meaning no cramped seats with senor dickhead ramming their seats into my lanky legs.  Plush seats, COCKTAILS!, a hot meal that didn't suck, and the ease of being able to stretch out my frame all well worth the cost.  While I did want to take full advantage of the free drinks, there would be a crew assembled on the ground ready for alcoholic libation offerings to the Pai Gow gods and I didn't want to sprint out of the gate, literally.

So to pace myself I just ordered a drink whenever the well-to-do mid 50s lady next to me did.  Eight drinks later (paced myself with a lush, well played Drizz) we're feeling pretty good and hopping in a cab for the strip.  After a nod to the driver for telling me that he would forego the highway without being told it was time to hit up the MGM Grand and the West Wing room that awaited.  Frosted windows for the toilet and shower, huge king sized bed, TV on the mirror?, and enough pillows for a six year old to make a fort, the bags were quickly dropped off as Badblood was down in the poker and The Mark were already tilting cowboys in the poker room.  Once the slot machines gave me a hint that playing them would not eat up time before Pai Gow was to be played late night ($100 gone in five minutes), I decided to try my luck in the poker room.  Normally I'd sit down with $1,000 at 2-4 limit and have more fun making chip castles instead of actually making reads and check-raises, but instead I sat down and play a little 1/2 NLHE (which is foreign to someone that plays strictly PLO and PL/NLO8 cash games). 

Enter Otis, Dr. Jeff, and 1/2 of G-Rob who's transformation was phenomenal, losing 100 pounds from the last time I'd seen him at Mastodon Weekend. They had a poker jones to sedate, so I grinded at my table picking my slot losses and diving into Cap'n Cokes with nothing to stop it.  The water backs allowed for more consumption as proud poppa Ryan from Absinthetics dropped in to join our merry band on the road to drunken Pai Gow as I left over 1/2 buy-in up and was ready to get my Pai Gow on!

Cock blocked by the Asian pit brush who wouldn't lower an empty game to $15 (on a slow Wednesday night) we were quickly tag teamed by two well-dressed gentlemen who represented a den of ill-repute.  Right in the middle of the gaming floor, not off to a corner or behind the Starbucks but five feet away from the stick handler shouting "SEVEN OUT!".  Promises of limos and boobs caught the attention of BB and The Mark as the remainder of us took to the strip in search of Dragons and Bonus Hands. 

New York New York lacked any love, but the Monte Carlo had the perfect nearly empty $10 table with we would set up shop for the next 5-6 hours.  Multiple drinks, multiple attempts to crack the hard-lined brush that refused to join in on the jokes, as we sat for a bit when F-Train hopped into degeneracy and betting amounts increased while the action surrounding us decreased.  As in none, save for a couple of guys in the adjacent blackjack table we were the only ones still playing Dragon hands while listing to a live band that didn't suck.  Think the pit boss could take her heart out of the freeze slide us a comp for such play?  No.  While denied Steak and Eggs, we would not be denied multiple bouts of white-boy dancing after the dealer turned up Pai Gows.  As the crew dispersed it would be me and Otis enjoy a non-freezing walk back to the MGM with my birthday dance done, and day one of the WPBT in the books.

Call it a filling appetizer for more to come.  I thank those who my birthday an enjoyable one, but the fun was just beginning...

10 Years Already?

Phillies and Yankess currently filling up the screen as the little one decided to allow her father to type on the internet for a few minutes before a wave of bathroom/snack/movie requests come wafting down the hallway.  Relaxation before the storm of SCOOP and covering four online poker tournaments at the PokerStarsBlog in one day next month. 

A week at work doing a lot of clock gazing since me and the wife will be in Vegas celebrating our 10 years of martial bliss or celebrating the fact that neither one of us has turned a Bowie hunting knife on each other yet.  Amazement falls short of describing the fortitude of my wife to put up with my childish ways and not only accept who I am, but allow me the space to find out as well.  My gigs writing about poker helped break my shell of playing it safe and accepting the data-entry level position at work as my career.  It opened my eyes that I could do more and maybe even be successful at it.  Thus, school begins in three weeks to obtain the knowledge for those positions, shredding the cobwebs from that position better suited for someone looking to retire versus in the toddler years of raising two kids.

This weekend me and family also tried something new which I brought back after enjoying it immensely in G-Vegas.  No, it wasn't the Le Trappe quad that went down like a beer that demanded respect while drinking it.  It was the Saturday morning jaunt to a local disc golf park that piqued my interest as I found myself looking up local course yesterday morning and found a short eight hole course just three miles from my house.  It was nothing fancy, heavily wooded, confusing to find the next hole, but me and the kids loved it.  When the weather improves in the near future as Minnesota's six months of snow burial has turned into sludge and winds no longer threaten to remove uncovered fingers, I hope to hit up the massive Elm Creek disc golf course that boasts "18 championship styled holes".  At $3 a round its a deep discount from hitting a little white ball in various directions for $50-$100 a round.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to start the clock watching since exactly seven days from now, I will be knee-deep in Cap'n Cokes while taunting Pai Gow dealers into spreading Jack-hi Pai Gows for the sake of my wife who hates to lose.

For the sake of people on Facebook I got this on my front page for a daily WTF?  Photoshopped boobs FTW!!

Pai Gow Bonus!

Play Pai Gow for an iPod touch?

Get the details at Bodog... come to think of it, I think I finally have some money there :)

Jingle Bells, Batman Smells

Do these commericials on the radio and TV that use a popular holiday song and cleverly sprinkle in plugs for their products while retaining the melody of the jingle make you want to punch someone in the face?

I think I need an almond bark dipped pretzel and maybe some freshly made chex mix (not that pre made crap in a bag) to get this grinch into the holiday spirit.

Or maybe the itch for Vegas is blowing out to a full body rash.

9 Days.

WPBT: Five Points to Follow

WPBT notes because its like only 17 days away and some people haven't even been to Vegas before!!





First and foremost, unless you don't read blogs, Dr. Pauly's tips on surviving a weekend with the bloggers should be your first read before heading to the Imperial Palace Geisha Bar to meet your favorite scribes. Take special note of number two, do not attempt a re-creation of my strip-wide wheelchair ride. I had a personal reason for going on a bender like that, and it had nothing to do with my birthday (which falls on the Saturday while we're there again) or trying to keep up with Al.





Second, make sure you're following the skinny playwright in a plaid skirt blog. Latest update on the tourney pushed it back to 3pm with advice to drink heavily. I plan to follow the sage's words.





Third, check out the prop board at this golfing pro's site: Number #42 for StB is a sucker's bet, he'll clear that before the kickoff of the Cowboys game with ease. As for me and another wheelchair ride, I don't plan on it, but I didn't plan on riding a mechanical bull in Key West either.





Fourth, while you'll be surrounded by people you read everyday, free booze, and free porn slapping, make sure you take time to do a little "raging solo". I tend to do this at eight or so in the morning and get text messages from concerned bloggers like "Are you still alive dude?" since I rarely even visit the hotel room . Personally, I go grab a breakfast sandwich or buffet (MGM is awesome) then just railbird some gaming tables or take a walk down the strip in my shorts and t-shirt to point and laugh at those who are wearing snowsuits and mittens while hitting up the porn slappers for fresh off the press boobies.





Fifth, if you see this stare while you're looking at top pair top kicker (pic courtesy of Otis):

You're about to get check-raised for your stack. Fold.

Thanks for dropping by, now as I mentioned a need for the World Series of Pai Gow... Otis delievers. Get your bets and greyhounds ready!!!

Today It Was A Good Day

I think that was my longest self imposed blogging vacation I’ve taken since the great Alberta Bankroll Clipper of aught five. Even then I tried to hammer away “I lose again” posts night after night as the @#%!%@ and !$!#%#%#$^ comments piled up when my juicy bankroll kept taking hits like Pauly and Change100 in an Amsterdam hash house.

Three words that make sleeping a wee uncomfortable when the humidity percentage and temperature in Minnesota are above 90: No Air Conditioning

Cabins are like that and to be expected but when the ice cubes in my Cap’n Cokes disappear faster then I can make the sweet nectar go down my throat its time to call out Mother Nature for being an unforgiving bitch. No one likes a warm drink that’s supposed to be served cold. At least the Chimay stayed cool enough Saturday night to cap off another enjoyable time up north minus the thirty pounds of sweat that leaked from my internet poker site t-shirt thru the floorboards of the deck.

Back to Vegas for one more day as your dejected and rejected hero was exiting the poker tent in the back of the Rio while remembering yet another line from Rounders as Mike McD was dropping off cargo for a small market talking about “taking a shot and missing”. Its true. No one remembers those who take their shots and miss, they don’t end up with their mugs splashed on major blogging sites with wide smiles about the “hometown” champ taking down a five to six figure score for the good guys. But, I’m not humping a job I don’t want, nor am I regretful for the way the cards laid on the table as I busted out. If anything, it fueled my desire to return next year if Harrah’s keep this big ball of yarn called the World Series of Poker together and lays out my preferred variation of poker again. Grind the cash games, hit a tourney score, or hit a seven card straight flush in PAI GOW, whatever it takes for me to sit next to Joe Hachem and turbo mullet dude while seeing Pauly, Otis, Change100, CC, Spaceman, and everyone covering these carnival games under the big top at the Rio next June/July.

I want to go back, and next time come back with more then a story.

On the last day me and Spaceman met up with Speaker at the Tilted Kilt due to their exquisite chicken strips, hot waitresses that can hold a conversation using multi-syllable words, and an array of beers that you don’t find at a townie bar in Minnesota (unless you like 15 variations of Schmidt or Blatz). After carefully crafted plans were set, the Venetian would be our last flay into the Vegas poker trip for me and Speaker, as Spaceman had a little thing with Bluff that kept him in Vegas for a couple more weeks while motoring around in a PT Cruiser not designed for those who shop at the local big and tall store. Would it hurt some at Chrysler to add a few inches to the roof so the static electricity in my head didn’t short out every light in the Venetian parking lot?

The run-walk scoot was used to get to the poker room quickly, this method is favored by women who shouldn’t wear spandex yet do to my annoyance while exercising, due to the daily tourney starting in under double digit minutes. After swaddling across a sea of pretty people we reached the poker room where I’d take my second shot of the trip.

$8/$16 Mixed Game

I’m dead money in a NLHE tourney, but a mixed game has my interest and an open seat. Why blow $185 when you can lose $400! But, it would last me all night as this was an eye-opener to the live game I’ve wanted to play since I started shying away from playing all hold em all the time.

The lineup: Omaha 8 or Better, Razz, Stud, Stud 8 or Better, A-5 Triple Draw, 2-7 Triple Draw, and Badugi

Dealer, do you have one of those handy card charts you sell in the gift shop for people who don’t know how to play these games? A rack was $400 not $100 as they used $4 chips and $1 antes for the Stud games. The action was fairly high, especially with the drunken Wisconsin native not named Steve on my right. He reeked action like Grubby on an eleven o’clock run to cash in five different slot casino comps before they expired at midnight. KQ8T showing in Razz on sixth street? No problem, RAISE IT UP! Guess he didn’t see the game change while complaining about the worst tasting chicken strips ever (I even got to sample them, not horrible with honey mustard). The camaraderie amongst the table was high despite the variance in age, height, gender, weight, color, and geographic location. It felt like the blogger tables at the MGM Grand during the various WPBT tourneys except the denomination of chips and inside jokes about the beloved seven-deuce offsuit.

But, between me and Spaceman who took over for a couple of Razz and Badugi hands, my stack was left at $28 which I took off the table before throwing it away while waving goodbye to the improbably stacked waitresses that defied every physics class I ever attended with her watermelon sized boobs and steams of beauty cut high enough to make a chastened priest blush with every Cap’n Coke served. Blinders, of the newly minted Fantasy Sports Live website, was still plugging away with a medium sized stack late in the tourney with three to the money as me and Spaceman decided to turn my meager $28 to $100 with a little –EV donk-a-lympics.

One bet on the field line in Craps, if won, one hand of PAI GOW!!

The field bet took a little wrangling as I stepped up to table with gentlemen eye-fucking the 20 year younger blondes they were attached to, and got shushed away by some no-neck in a tux telling me it was a private table. Nice buzz kill asshole.

But, the next table welcomed my scraps with open arms as Steve Perry sang loud enough to knock the two cubes so they came to rest on one and two, PAY THE FIELD! $56, lets play some PAI GOW! $50 minimum bet? Usually the signs detour low rollers like myself as much as the “Salon” high roller baccarat games with denomination chips that would pay off my house with one natural nine for the player. We were men on a mission, and the lovely asian dealer laid out a new spread just for us as I placed $50 into the betting circle, $5 for the bonus, and $1 because she looked lonely and needed the $3K if I hit the 7-card straight flush. Hmmmm… an ace, another ace, a jack, another jack, but no boat. Aces over jacks ma’am, one time please.

She doesn’t PAI GOW so I didn’t get to wake the grumpy high rollers with a ceiling rattling yell better left for the $5 tables, but I walked away with my one chip of high society. Down $300 for the visit to the Venetian but hoping back into the silver PT Cruiser with my smile intact after another quick glance at those walking bowling balls carrying alcoholic beverages.

We capped the night with the nocturnal Otis (fresh off a grumbling defeat at the poker tables) and $10 PAI GOW back at the Gold Coast where making the ice queen pit boss proved to be fun as my Cap’n Coke count got further and further lost with every cigarette I annoying borrowed into the single hours of the morning. Is it hokey that I “felt alive” being surrounded by friends and degenerate of all sorts over a card game designed to eventually empty my pockets? I was a little too loud, but I didn’t care, I was happy and I knew it, so I clapped my hands and shouted PAI GOW for all to hear.

Thanks for dropping by, now if anyone is up for getting together to put the World Pai Gow Blogger Tour on the map of activities during our next meet sometime in December, I have my bonus bet and annoying list of things to say to the dealers/pit bosses ready.