High On Poker

In a way, HighOnPoker has truly come full circle. This blog started as a hobby, where I could write about poker and analyze my own play, without any expectation of readership. Over time, readership came, but as any loyal poker blog reader can attest, since the Events of 4/15 (hat tip to WCP), the world of poker blogging has dried up. After all, its a lot easier to write about poker when we are playing nightly online, but once the poker is gone, there is only so much navel gazing that a blogger can do.

Alas, here at HighOnPoker, I’ve done my best to roll with the punches, and part of that meant changing my blogging schedule, so I would only write when I had something worthwhile. Fortunately, it now feels that this site went semi-dormant enough so that I can shake off the self-imposed shackles of readership and simply revert back to the core of why I wrote about poker: to chronicle my experiences and hopefully learn a thing or two.

With that windup, I should also admit that before my most recent day trip to Atlantic City, I really faced a crisis of conscience. Part of me felt like I just didn’t feel like going, and that it was more of a chore than a day of fun. I had seen this before in other settings. For instance, the Wall Street Poker game was awesome in its day. Host Jamie ran a tight ship, filled with fun, laid back players, quality supplies, and a great location. But after a while, the game dried up. People eventually get burnt out, even on a good thing. Before I left for AC, I really worried myself that I had lost that spark. I even considered jumping up in stakes to force myself to concentrate. In the end, though, it was that feeling of responsibility and loyalty, to ASG actually, that got me to go.

ASG had emailed me, or maybe I emailed him. Whatever the case, I knew I had Saturday free and I wanted to see if he was available for some underground poker in the city or, barring that, a trip to AC. After some emails, we decided on AC,with a plan to meet at the Port Authority Bus Terminal for the 9am bus. Once the plans were locked it, I was not going to flake. I had done that recently to ASG (and Matty Ebs) for an underground game in the city due to work commitments, and I didn’t want to do it again.

So, admittedly, feeling some duty, I forced myself to get up early and travel to the Port Authority early Saturday morning. I arrived earlier than necessary and ordered myself a breakfast sandwich from a generic deli. I then bought my ticket and waited by the proper gate.

At about 8:40, I saw the bus loading up, so I hopped on line, assuming that I would be set for the 9:10 bus. As it turned out, I read the schedule wrong, and the buses weer 8:30 and 9:00, so the 8:40 bus was actually the 9am bus, which had arrived early. Alas, by the time ASG had joined me, we were about 6 people from the front of the line, and the 9am was full. Thankfully, we had a last minute life suckout, when seven people left the 9am bus. The 7 complained that they could not get seats next to each other. Before they could reconsider their complaint, I had volunteered to take some of the newly opened seats. I ended up next to a smartly dressed hipster, who read Elle Decor the entire way. I can safely assume he was gay. ASG ended up several rows back, so I popped in my ear buds and watched different programs on my iPod during the almost 3-hour drive (due to Jersey Shore traffic).

The bus left us off at Trump Plaza, which worked out well, since I forgot all of my players’ cards. With the Academy Bus service, you get the roundtrip ride plus a casino freeplay of $25 for a total price of $36. Most casinos require you to have a players’ card, but Trump Plaza’s system is a bit different, so I got my $25 freeplay without having to first get a card. I ran through the $25 in a $1 slot, while ASG won $7 with his $25 freeplay at a video slot machine. To be clear, he actually lost $18 of the $25, but since he could withdraw the $7 (after playthrough) he ended up with $7 more than me.

After running through out freeplays, it was time to play some poker. We first headed to Bally’s so that ASG could cash in another freeplay. As it turned out, he didn’t actually have any more freeplays, but we were close enough to the Bally’s poker room that it seemed like a logical option.

Sadly, the Bally’s poker room seemed dead. There was only one 1/3 NLHE game spread, and I was unwilling to play their 1/1, $100-cap buy-in game. ASG wasn’t willing to wait either, so we walked to the next hotel on the strip, Caesars.

I really don’t love Caesars. Their table games are overpriced and their food selection lacks the type of easy takeout places a discerning poker player needs. But it was nearby, and I didn’t think there were many better options, so off we went.

When we arrived, two seats were open on the same table, so ASG and I locked them up and we went to the cage for cash. I tried something I hadn’t done in a while, and bought $400 in chips, two stacks of reds and two $100 chips. I stuck the $100 chips in my wallet for reserve, and hoped that I would not need to top off my stack during play.

Looking back, I think I bought the extra $100 chips because I hate waiting for the dealer to make change between hands. On another level, when one does that, I think it signals to the other players that you are losing (which you obviously are, if you are rebuying). Losing begets losing, largely because your opponents can taste the blood in the water and will go after you harder; meanwhile, the person losing is often susceptible to tilt or other forms of leaks.

I grabbed the 4 seat and ASG took the 7 seat, eventually moving to the 6 seat when it opened up. On my immediate right was an older gentleman, with a slight frame and a gray mustache. He was very friendly, and also very bad at poker. He limped with any Ace and called down hands light. My position was perfect. On my immediate left was an Asian guy, probably in his mid-20s, who was from the Buffalo area. He was friendly as well, and I respected him instantly as a player because of the way he conducted himself, but as the session wore on, it became clear that he had his leaks as well.

I won my first significant pot from the Old Guy on my right. I held A6d and limped into the pot. The flop was KK6, and the Old Guy bet $5. I was the only caller, even though there were a lot of limpers. The turn was a blank and he bet $15. Something seemed fishy so I called. The river was another blank, and he pushed all-in for $14. I didn’t realize how short he was prior to the hand, which was my error. Now that I only had to call $14, I felt priced in and even announced, “Okay, I guess I’ll pay you off.” At showdown, he had A8o, for high-card Ace. I took down the pot with my two pair, Kings and Sixes.

Once I saw the type of player he was, I made some more cash with JK. I was in the SB, and he was in position on the button. The flop was Jack-high, and there were a decent amount of limpers. I bet out $8 into the $10 pot, and only the old guy called. I bet $15 on the turn and $21 on the river, bets designed to keep him in the hand. It worked. He called and at showdown, he showed middle pair. My top pair was good.

It was one of those days when you are faced with the reality that you do not have to be the best player in the world as long as you are better than the players around you.

I lost $100 or so when I was drawing for the nut flush draw with A9s against the Asian. I probably called too much when he re-raised me on the turn, but at least I got away from his all-in river bet.
My next big pot came when I held 66 and raised to $12 preflop. I was out of position and there were lots of limpers, so I hoped to thin the herd. It utterly failed, though, and most players stayed in the pot.

Fortunately, the flop was 623, giving me top set. I bet out (I do not recall the amount) and got action from the Asian and an old white guy in blue polo shirt who had been playing alternatively aggressively and tight. The turn was a 4 and I bet again. This time, the Asian raised allin, but not for much then I already had bet. To my surprise though, Blue Polo pushed all-in on top. After my earlier losses, I had taken out one of my $100 chips and placed it atop my stack of reds. I took my time trying to figure out whether Blue Polo had the straight, but I could not see any hands that made sense there, given the preflop and flop betting. Finally, I decided to call all-in for my last $175+, thinking that he maybe had a vulnerable hand and/or wanted to isolate against one player.

Sadly, Blue had 55, the only hand that made sense (somewhat) and could beat me. I say somewhat, because he called the flop bet, which was sizable, with nothing more than an inside straight draw and middle pair. Regardless, I saw that I was now woefully behind, and I began to think “2, 3, 4. 2, 3, 4,” hoping for the three cards that would help me make a full house. The river was a 3, and suddenly the huge pot was pushed in my direction. But first the dealer had to count out my all-in call. Blue Polo had me well covered.

After counting out my reds and placing my $100 chip in its own single-chip pile, the dealer announced the amount, something like $178. Blue Polo was surprised. “Wait, how much?” The dealer repeated himself and then pointed out my black chip. Blue Polo complained lightly, “That should have been visible. I didn’t see it.” Finally, I chimed in, “It was on top of my chips, and nothing was covering it. What else was I supposed to do. It was clearly visible. I wasn’t going to put it in its own stack. It’s just one chip.” Thankfully, an older gentleman in the 1 seat agreed with me and stated so, “It was out there on top. Plain to see.”

For what its worth, Blue Polo didn’t fight it much and accepted his fate and my explanation. But, it did highlight for me that there may be a benefit to packing your own backup chips. When you need to reload, not only do you avoid the announcement, “HEY I’M LOSING OVER HERE!” You also gain a hidden advantage, since people are not expecting your $100 chip in play. Ka ching!

I should also note that after winning the hand, I sheepishly offered, “I just got lucky.” I didn’t 100% mean it, but I like creating the impression that I am lucky and not good (ironically, if a blogger were to post that he/she thought I was lucky and not good, I would take offense; if a live poker opponent said that, I would nod and agree…pride is a weird thing). In response, Blue Polo made a very astute comment, “I had to get lucky first.” We both agreed, it didn’t matter who got lucky. All that mattered was who got lucky last.*

In my next big hand, I held QQ in the SB, with lots of limpers. I considered raising big to thin the herd, but I wanted some action, so I went with $12. That was too low, as it turned out, because I got a slew of callers to see the 985 flop with two spades.

I am a bit worried about the flush draw, so I bet out $40. Amazingly, ASG of all people raises to $110, and it folds back to me. I tried to think things out, but nothing clear was coming to me. I figured he either got lucky with a set of some sort, or he had the draw. I could even see a draw like JTs, for a flush and straight draw on the 985 flop. I finally reluctantly called after goading him with, “Are you pulling this with a flush draw?” In hindsight, this was a stupid statement to make, because once the flush card river came, I had to fold to his bet. And what did he have? 98, for flopped two pair. Whoops! At least I was giving money to a friend.

At around 3:00, I was fairly hungry, since I had breakfast at 8:30. We finally racked up our chips and decided to grab some grub. I was up $153 on my session, after peaking at around $270+. Most of the lost profit went to ASG, who had a struggle at the table yet left nearly even.

The next question was where to eat. It turns out that Bally’s has a mini-food court with a Sack O’ Subs and a pizza place in it. We went there and I wolfed down a chicken parm hero while ASG leisurely ate his Sack O’ Subs special, which is essentially an Italian hero.
After lunch, we decided to check out the Bally’s poker room again. This time, there were more tables running, and once we added our names to the 1/3 list shortly before a new table was called. I once again loaded up $200 in red and another $200 in backup chips, this time 8 $25 chips, since the cage did not have $100s.

In my first hand, I was dealt J8o in the SB, and saw a J9x flop with five other players. I bet $10 and a tall, thin Punjabi on my left called. I wasn’t sure if he were Indian or Muslim, and I’ll admit that as a bit of added motivation, I thought of him as a dirty terrorist. I know that may seem odd and maybe even a tad racist, but I do find that sometimes I can get extra motivation from such things. I had to win his chips so that it wouldn’t go to Al Qaeda! In reality, he was definitely Indian, and was extremely Americanized, with two white Dudes accompanying him to the game. Even so, he acted like the big shit, like he was going to show everyone who was top dog. I picked up on that fairly early, and it fueled my hate for him as the day wore on.

The turn was a Jack and I check. He bet out $15 and I check-raised to $40 before he almost instantly pushes all-in for $200 more. He had me covered and I took my time. I had trips, but any better kicker had me  beat, and I could not see why he would push with a weak Jack. I finally decided to fold, and he flashed me the Jack. I replied, “Yeah, we all knew about that one. It was the other one I was curious about.” He mucked his cards and then said, “It was a Two.” I’m fairly sure he was lying, but maybe he was telling the truth. In any event, I replied, “In that case, you had me outkicked,” as sort of a snarky, wise-ass retort and a sign that his cards and chatter didn’t really bother me, since I said it in a flippant manner.

My next major hand was AJo. I called a raise to $10 preflop with many other players, and we saw a Jack-high flop. I bet out $40 and ASG called. It then folded to the guy on my right, who raised. I asked to see my neighbor’s stack and then decided to push all-in. My thinking was that he could not have an overpair because he did not raise pre-flop. I also figured that I looked weak after my fold to the Punjabi in the J8 hand. To my surprise, ASG and the guy on my right called, and we saw the turn and river. The river was a beautiful Ace, and when we reached showdown, it was revealed that ASG had the nut flush draw that missed (he hit his Ace, but that wasn’t enough) and the guy on my right had Queens. He was ahead until the river, when I sucked out. Lucky me! And just like that, my $200 stack was up to 450.

I had my vengeance from the Punjab when I held 44 and raise to $10 in EP. I got a shit ton of callers and we saw a 467 flop with two diamonds. I bet out $50, determined to push out the drawing hands, and Punjab raised to $125. One of his two Dude buddies were sitting at the table behind a bunch of chips. He wasn’t a particularly good player, but he was a gambler and had gotten lucky with shit cards before. The Dude folded and the action got back to me. I decided to push all-in, and the Punjab called me without counting my push. He then announced to the table, “He has an overpair,” gesturing to me. Clearly, this guy was SOOOOO good that he saw right through me.

Of course, I did not have an overpair, but rather the lowest possible set. But as my mind is thinking, I came to realize that based on his statement, he probably also has a set, since he can beat an overpair. Since I have the lowest possible set, I must be in trouble, right?

I ask, “So if you think I have an overpair, then you must have a set, right?” He nodded in agreement. I asked which one and he shut up.

I figured I was definitely the loser, especially after the turned 8 and rivered 2 of diamonds. However, when I showed my cards, the Punjab folded. As it turned out, he had top two pair on the flop, or so he claims. For what its worth, I believed him. I also delighted in his prediction. “He has an overpair.” Good job, Kreskin.

I only had one significant hand that I took notes on after that hand. In it, a loose player ended up all-in against me for around $108 preflop. I held QQ and he had AQ. He hit his Ace and I gave back some of my winnings.

When the session was done, I was up $453 at Bally’s alone, and $606 total on the day. At my peak at Bally’s I was probably up near $700 or more, but my hands stopped hitting and I gave some of it back. Alas, it wasn’t a bad take on the day.

We decided to leave the game when the Punjab and his friends left, leaving the table shorthanded. We made our way to some diner-type place, where we ordered grilled cheeses to go. We made our way to the bus depot at Bally’s and made the 8:30pm bus, eventually arriving in the city around 11.

$606. Not bad for a day’s work.

Until next time, make mine live poker!

*This parallels my thinking when it comes to that fateful hand between Chris Moneymaker and Phil Ivey from the 2003 WSOP Main Event, where Ivey got lucky hitting a flop (or was it a turn) before Moneymaker got lucky rivering a better hand. Ivey got as lucky as Moneymaker, but Moneymaker got lucky last.

Several months ago, wifey Kim and I were discussing her birthday weekend. Wifey Kim had decided to avoid the traditional birthday celebrations, so I came up with an alternative plan: Atlantic City.

A week ago, I was in my office with my co-workers at a special lunch held for a co-worker’s birthday when everyone was discussing their upcoming weekend plans. Someone asked me and I explained that I was going away with wifey Kim for her birthday. Where?, they asked next. “Atlantic City,” I replied, and the entire room snickered.

Yes, I was taking wifey Kim, a non-poker player, to a gambling den for her birthday, but it was not like I bought her a bowling ball with the initials HoP. I sincerely wanted to show her a great time, and I realized that the best solution would be to give her a mini-vacation geared specifically to her likes. Surprisingly, AC had it all.

Our plan was to come in Friday night, but by Thursday, it was clear that we would be wiped from a long work week. We settled on canceling Friday and leaving early in the morning Saturday.

Saturday morning, wifey Kim and I woke up around 7am and quickly got ready before heading to the Port Authority Bus Terminal for two $35 roundtrip bus tickets to AC. We arrived shortly before 8:30 and were able to get seats in the half-empty bus without issue.

At approximately 11am, we arrived at Bally’s, one of the two stops for the bus. Neither stop was particularly convenient for us; we were staying at Harrah’s, which is located off the Boardwalk, so we’d need to find our own transportation to our eventual destination.

We disembarked and waited for two $25 freeplay slot coupons, which came with the $35 bus ticket. Once we had those in hand, we walked to the casino to run through the play-through as quickly as possible. We found a bank of 50 cent Wheel of Fortune slots and went to work, eventually cashing out $53.50. In the ten or so trips I’ve made to AC by bus, this was the first time I actually walked away with money from a slots play through. Ka ching!

Wifey Kim and I then made our way to the taxi stand and headed to Harrah’s, where we checked in early with nary an issue. We were placed in the Bayview Tower, which is actually attached to the newest tower, the Waterfront Tower. I had considered upgrading to the Waterfront, but I didn’t know much about it and I got a great rate for the  Bayview. Now, I’ve never been in a Waterfront room, but I can say that if you were to walk on any given Waterfront Tower floor and transition over to the  Bayview Tower, you wouldn’t even realize you changed towers. The connecting area is simply another hallway, so it feels like one tower instead of two. Of course, the Waterfront rooms might be amazing for all I know. The Bayview rooms were great, though, with a huge, well-appointed bathroom, a comfortable couch, and a great view of the indoor pool dome.

Once we had settled in, I started phase 1 of wifey Kim’s birthday weekend. We changed into bathing suits and returned to the first floor before making the short walk to the pool’s entrance.

The Harrah’s pool scene is like no other in Atlantic City (hell, maybe the North East). The pool is enclosed in a 9-story glass dome, and is temperature controlled at 82 degrees. The scene feels like something out of a Vegas pool, with oversized lounge chairs around the pool for “tanning’” (more on that later), a bunch of private cabanas with couches and TVs, multiple hot tubs all around the pool area (at least 5, of varying sizes), fake palm trees for ambiance and a bar for drinks and food, complete with high tables for eating. Cocktail waitresses in bikini tops and small wraps around their bikini bottoms served drinks poolside and in the restaurant area of the bar.

It was probably around noon and we were able to find one available lounge chair. We dumped off our stuff and made our way to the bar area, securing a table so that we could get some food. I went with a chicken caesar wrap and a beer; wifey Kim went with a salad. Both were very good.

Surprisingly, the bar staff was filled with 6s and 7s. It was so obvious, I even pointed it out to wifey Kim. “Wouldn’t you think that Saturday afternoon would be prime time to be a poolside cocktail waitress?” “Yeah, I guess.” “Then why aren’t they bringing in all the attractive waitresses! This is like bringing in the weekday girls to work the weekend night shifts at a strip club!” Amazingly, wifey Kim didn’t flinch at the analogy and actually agreed.

After eating, we returned to the lounge chair and annexed another one nearby that had just become available.

For 82 degrees it wasn’t quite “hot” in the pool area. I would’ve guessed it was closer to 75 or so, but without a breeze, it was pleasant enough.  Wifey Kim and I both read poolside until she and eventually I fell asleep. We were only asleep for about 30 mins, but we woke up refreshed.

As for the tanning, well, no luck there. While the room is designed to feel like you are outside in a tropical environment, the windows are actually designed to block UV rays. So, while my goal was to allow wifey Kim to tan in the winter (she loves the sun), instead we got the equivalent of a O’Doul’s tan! All the flavor of the son, with none of the fun effects!

After some time in a hot tub, we laid out some more. Our plan was to go to one of wifey Kim’s favorite restaurants, Ruth’s Chris Steak House, for dinner, but we hadn’t gotten reservations and wifey Kim was curious about other options. The fine dining options at Harrah’s didn’t appeal to her, so we checked out the nearest hotel, the Borgata. After seeing what they had to offer, we settled on reservations at Bobby Flay’s Steakhouse. We were aiming for 7:30 reservations, but could only get 6pm or 8:30. We went with the latter.

After lounging some more, we returned to the room to shower and get ready for the evening.

Our first stop were the table games, which were incredibly busy. We eventually made our way to a bar in the middle of the casino floor. Wifey Kim was thirsty, so we got her a seltzer (no booze just yet) and sat at one of the high tables that had a touchscreen free videogame system in it. Why the hell would a casino offer a free videogame in the middle of its floor? Likely the drink minimum for the table, which I suppose is easy profit too. Incidentally, we never hit the drink minimum, nor were we asked.

We got up from there and moved to an electronic roulette setup, where twenty or so touchscreens are set up around a pit with a single roulette wheel. I usually dislike these machines, but the place was packed and the birthday girl wanted to play roulette. The game was a lot better than I expected, though, once I got a handle on the betting system. The benefits are obvious. There are no fat people taking up the entire rail around the betting area. There are no crazy Asian squeezing in between players (always leading with their elbows, somehow) to drop $100 on Red. The stakes can be lower (you can bet increments of 50 cents, if you like) and the minimum total bets was lower as well ($5 instead of the $10 or higher at the normal tables). Wifey Kim ended up even. I ended up busto on a $100 buy-in. All was well.

From there, I had wifey Kim join me for some Pai Gow Poker, where I lost another $100. By then, it was getting late, so we headed to the cab stand and made our way to the Borgata.

We were actually more than 30 mins early for our reservation, so we decided to walk the casino floor and scope out the scene at the Borgata. Its a beautiful hotel with a great selection of restaurants, but the higher minimum stakes and air of eliticism is a real turn off for me.

At about 8:10, we returned to Bobby Flay’s Steakhouse and announced our appearance to the woman checking the reservations. We then grabbed a couple of drinks (alcoholic) and killed some time in the bar area.

We were seated about 5 minutes after our reservation time, which was impressive since the place was packed. While those around us were ordering appetizers and the like, we decided to cut right to the chase. We both went with NY strip steaks. I went with the “Philadelphia” style steak, served with Provolone sauce and sauteed onions. Wifey Kim got some spicy steak thing that was originally a T-bone (she downgraded to NY strip because she wanted to avoid a cut that had a lot of fat – - not fat calories, but actual fat on the steak).  For sides, we went with two potato dishes, a smashed baked potato with goat cheese and a sweet potato gratin. The smashed baked potato was delicious, reminding me of a side dish I stole and adapted from Astin’s blog. The sweet potato gratin tasted more like a sweet maple dessert than anything else; it surely wasn’t cheesy. The steaks were the highlight of the meal. Both had a perfect char and tender inside, and the sauces, served underneath the steaks instead of atop, were delicious and not overbearing on the meaty steak flavor.

For dessert, wifey Kim got the key lime pie, which was too liquidy to me. She liked it though. Me? I skipped dessert. I was too full from steak.

After dinner, we returned to our hotel. Later that evening, wifey Kim had already fallen asleep, so it was time for my time.

I carefully left the bed, making sure not to wake my Sleeping Beauty. I had already laid out my poker clothes earlier in the evening. It was no surprise that I was sneaking out for poker. It was well known to wifey Kim. I wait for her to sleep mostly out of respect and love; also, it was her birthday.

Geared up, I left the room at about 11pm. Granted, it was early for sleep time, but we were up at the crack of dawn and had a long day behind us.

I made my way to the poker room and considered a 2/5 game, since I wouldn’t have much time and I was looking for an excuse to up the stakes. Alas, the 1/2 tables had no wait and 2/5 did, so I took a 1/2 spot and bought in for $200.

I didn’t record hands, but I do recall that I lost about $80 before reloading another $100, after I tried to bluff a hand away from a guy two seats to my left. The guy was in his 50s, and looked like a grayer Capt. Lou Albano.  In fact, the inset picture is a more recent pic of Albano that is fairly close to the the guy on my left.

Albano was wearing a Green Bay Packers jersey and was rocking a couple of face piercing, which was unexpected, given his age. He had a gravelly voice and liked to talk. Meanwhile, a cadre of other scummy-looking dudes kept stopping by to pilfer money or check on the status of their ride back to the rock they crawled out of.

The whole aire about this guy was odd. It was as though he were the Daddy to a clan of white trash degenerate hillbillies.

I was in the 7seat, and Albano was in the 9th. He was calling with a wide range preflop and took down my pot and about $80 when I thought I could push him off of a hand, when a couple of scare cards came. He ended up calling me down with top pair, low kicker, teaching me a lesson in the process about picking your spots.

Meanwhile, in the 2seat or 3seat, a round-faced dude was putting on a show. He was in his late 40s, most likely, and as I sat at the table, I learned more about him from the people around me and his own actions. The dude had tight graying hair, clearly balding atop to the point that it was just a smattering of bristles atop. He wore a blue pullover hoody that was not in the least stylish. He had a chipmunk’s mouth that was often slightly agape, allowing his two jacked up front teeth to get full display of the action. He looked perpetually confused and had to ask about the action repeatedly. He also took his dear sweet time with every decision. He was, to state it plainly, druink.

Supposedly, when he came to the table, he said that he never played before. Albano wasn’t buying it or the drunk routine, and since I was closer in proximity to Albano, I agreed with him verbally, and disagreed internally. I think Albano was just upset that he wasn’t able to get anything going against the Drunkard. It was actually quite annoying, because Albano at some points would even talk shit loud enough so the entire table could hear. I wanted him to shut the hell up, and even suggested once that we didn’t want to scare away the “fake” drunk because even with his “act” he still was a soft spot at the table. At one point, one of the dealers was fed up with the Drunkard’s slow play and antics, to the point that me and one other guy at the table had to remind the dealer to not scare away the players.

After being down around $100, I eventually made a comeback, leaving 2 and a half hours later with $156 in profit. It was a small sum, but good enough, so I decided to lock in the profit and call it a night early. I was initially willing to play to 3am, but the hours started to drag on me and I had grown exhausted.

With money in hand, I took the trip to the elevator, and rode up in a crowded car. I was the second-to-last floor, such that right before I got out, it was just me and five white dudes, who were clearly drunk. The entire ride up, I was joking with them, and when we were alone, one guy in particular, bald, tall and fat, turned around and made a joke to me about punching me in the face. It was out of nowhere and I was clearly outnumbered, so I did what I usually do in these situations: I talked my way out of it. In this case, I acted like it was all a joke. “Yeah, ha ha. I’d like to see that!” The elevator door opened, and I pushed the guy aside to get out. I still thought that we were all joking, but as I stepped out, I heard him say, “Douschebag.” WHAT? This was clearly out of nowhere, and lord knows I don’t have the ability to let anything slide, so I responded, “You’re calling me a douschebag? Fuck off,” as I walked from the elevator. I had rounded the corner when I heard the ding of the elevator door opening and heard him call out, “You are going to call me a douschebag?!” I guess he thought I was calling him a douschebag back, but it just as well could’ve been that I misheard in the first place and when I questioned him, he thought I was calling him the dousche. I had already rounded the corner, but I heard him call out, “Come back here and say that to my face.” My room was right around the corner, so I entered the key quietly as I said, “Alright asshole, I’m coming back,” as I quietly entered my room and closed the door. I knew once I was in the room they wouldn’t know where I had entered, so I was really just fucking with him in the end. But the whole interaction fucked with my head, and it was a good while before the adrenaline had passed and I was ready to sleep.

The next morning, wifey Kim and I spent my $29 in comps and an additional $20 on the breakfast buffet, so that we could avoid any lines. The buffet at Harrah’s was fantastically appointed, and we both grabbed some items for later in the day.

We then made our way by cab to Caesar’s, where we left our  bags with the bellhop and walked to the outdoor outlet mall. Several hours and hundreds of dollars later, we were back at Caesars, grabbing our stuff and heading over to the bus depot for the 1:30 bus.

When we arrived at Caesar’s bus depot, we were confronted by an insanely long line. It was 1:06 pm, so we were 24 minutes early, but there were enough people on line to fill up the 1:30 and likely the 2:30 busses, meaning we’d have to wait for 3:30. We hopped on line while we discussed possibilities. Meanwhile, another couple ahead of us discussed the possibility of taking a cab back to NYC. We hit it off and found out that collectively, it’d cost $250 for a cab to NYC. We agreed on an even split, and were out by 1:45pm in a cab. Several hours later, we were home.

The trip was an amazing success.  Wifey Kim got to enjoy some summer-like weather, a good steak, and some shopping. I got to enjoy some poker and seeing my one and only happy.

I have a renewed appreciation for AC. Here was a trip where gambling was secondary, and yet we had an amazing time. After a brief overnight trip, we both felt refreshed and relaxed.

Until next time, make mine poker!

On Christmas morning, while the gentiles were waking up to gifts, I was waking up with a hangover. Wifey Kim and I were up fairly early, so we decided to order in room service for breakfast. For room service, the food was pretty good and fairly fast. The price, $30 total, wasn’t that bad either.

After breakfast, wifey Kim still had a lot of showering and such to do, so I decided to hit up the casino floor for some Pai Gow. I spent a while at a $25 minimum table filled with mostly Asians. Wifey Kim finally found me when I was down about $100, a common theme of the trip. We decided to leave the game and move on to another.

That’s how our day went. We roamed around, gambling here or there. At around noon or later, we met up with wifey Kim’s grandpa and his girlfriend. they had bussed in for the day, so we had lunch with them at RiRa, an Irish pub/restaurant in the Trop. I had the cheddar burger with sweet potato fries. The meal was delicious and fairly cheap, thanks to a 20% off coupon from my Mom.

After lunch, we did some more gambling. Eventually, we had enough and went upstairs to relax. I headed over to Roose’s room, where Roose, Robbie Hole and Marc were hanging out. I taught Marc Israeli Poker, a game I’ll probably explain here some time soon. We futzed around before heading downstairs and saying goodbye to wifey Kim’s grandpa.

After that, wifey Kim and I hit up the craps table, where we lost some more. We were gambling with my poker money. It’s like a little gift each year, since wifey Kim let’s me play poker a shit ton. So, even though we were losing, we were having fun. My parents stopped by, fresh from Avatar, which they saw at the Trop’s IMAX theater. My mother proclaimed it amazing, which was enough to convince me that I need to see it soon.

Tired of gambling, the crew met up at the Rumba Bar, a newer bar near Trop’s table games floor. We each had a drink or two and enjoyed a cigar. When we were done, we headed to Cuba Libre, another Trop restaurant, fro dinner. We had previously arranged for a table near a TV, since there was an NFL game on, but when we got there, we learned they didn’t have the channel. Lemon!

We still sat near the bar, and ordered a ton of food. Mostly, we just got a bunch of samplers. While we waited for the food, we played 31, another great time-killer of a game that I may describe here shortly. I won for a $4 profit. BOOM!

Dinner was great. Once done, though, the guys were off to poker. I decided to hang with Kim, but when she started to fade, we went upstairs, where I eventually left her for some more poker.

I waited for a good 20 minutes for a seat to open up at 1/2 and when it finally did, I took my seat. The table looked like it was full of rounders. I sat down in the SB and had to sit out a hand. I followed the play as I heard an announcement that a new table was opened. I only heard about 8 names read off, so I returned to the cage and asked if I could be moved, seeing as I hadn’t played a single hand. The cage okayed my move and I joined my most fun table of the trip.

The benefits of a new table versus an established one is pretty obvious. At a new table, everyone starts with at the same level. There are big stacks beyond the max buy-in. There is no history or established reads. Hell, the players are even still on the same plane as it relates to getting into the flow of a game.

The negatives are a lot less, but still worth noting. The biggest negative, in fact the only one I can think of, is the tendency for players to be tighter when their session first starts. Consider most homegames that run multiple tournaments in a night. I can almost guarantee that in the first tournament of the night, the players are tighter and it takes a longer time for the first bust-out. By the last tourney, though, the players are already loosened up from the higher blinds (in later stages of the earlier tournaments) and emboldened by either their previous wins or losses.

So, my new table was tight. I mean, $6 raise preflop and everyone folds tight. But it was fun. It was basically a bunch of Jews and a couple of Asians, including a hot Asian chick sitting to my immediate left. My side of the table also included a young Asian kid on my right and his buddy, a Caucasian kid, on his right. The four of us (including the hot Asian chick) conspiratorially chatted and conspired when some obviously clueless players on the other side of the table made some truly absurd moves. We were all licking our chops.

I actually played fairly well, but the entire session can be boiled down to two hands. The first gave up most of my $80 or so profit. Even though my table crew were licking our chops, the Asian chick busted (after buyin in short twice) and the Asian kid couldn’t get much traction and left down about $100. The nitty table had a lot of small stacks, $100 or less, but I was looking to have fun and it was a relaxed table, so I didn’t mind.

In the first of my two hands, the Asian kid was already gone, replaced by a young, fit kid in his early 20s. The Kid was friendly, and sat down while saying, “Let’s give this a whirl.” I was under the impression at first that he was just trying out poker, based on his statement and small buy-in, but he seemed to understand the game fairly well. He had pushed all-in on one occasion and showed an unlikely 2 pair (rivered his second pair) for the win, so I had some thoughts on how he played.

The hand was a doozy. I held 48s and I was either in the blinds, or more likely I made a loose $2 call, since there wasn’t much preflop raising and I could outplay most of the table post-flop. I think there may’ve been a raise from one of the particularly weaker players, so when there were several callers, I joined the fray.

The flop was 6s7sX. It checked around. There was a small bet from the original raiser and I called, along with two other players.

When I hit my flush on the turn, I bet out a decent amount. My only caller was on my right, the Kid. The river was a blank. I was mildly concerned that my 8-high flush was no good, but when the open pushed for over $100, I had to think it out. I remembered that hte last time he pushed, he had rivered two-pair. I considered that he may’ve had two pair again, but I didn’t want to rush my decision. I turned to him and asked, “Do you have the flush?” “I do. It’s a high one too.” He waited a second and said, “The Queen.”

Now, I’ve said this here before, but not in a long while: Often times, people tell the truth when you ask them their hand. This is especially so if they do not hesitate. It is the usual reaction for human beings to tell the truth, and in poker, oftentimes they think, “I’ll tell him the truth, and he won’t believe me.” It’s like reverse psychology.

So, when he admitted to a Queen-high flush, I had to seriously consider that he was telling the truth. It would explain his play 100%. Calls the flop on a draw. Calls the turn when he was slowplaying. Pushes the river because now he knows he’s good. It may’ve even been an overbet for value. I considered that he had a major hand the last time he pushed. He then offered, “I’ll show you no matter what.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Everything told me he had me beat. He seemed confident, we were friendly at the table before the hand, he said what hand he allegedly had, it made sense with the play, it fit his past play, and after all of that he offered to show no matter what. I figured he was being friendly. So, I folded. And he showed his bluff. Maybe he had top pair or something, but not a flush. Oh, and he did have the Queen flush card, but not two of the suit.

So, I made a mistake. I misread the situation and maybe talked myself into folding. Lemon! To make it worse, he then said, “I figured, why not, it’s my last hand.” He then packed up and left. FUCKER! I still laughed it off.

Before we get to my last hand, I figured I’d take a moment to discuss one of the more odd exchanges. I was playing a hand with a guy who looked like Pat, the androgynous character from 1980s or 90s SNL, except he was clearly a dude. He played like he thought he knew what he was doing, but it was all very ABC.

So, we are in a hand together and he is staring me down. So, I turn to him and stare him down, eye to eye. We held our pose for at least 30 seconds, which is a long time for a silent stare down. He then mucked and I laughed, “I think we just shared a moment there!” The table loved it and we went off on jokes about our “moment” for another 15 minutes. My favorite line was, “Was it just me, or was Endless Love playing in the background during our hand?”

I love those moments. All at once, all the tension is gone from the table and we are all just friends playing a game.

My final hand was in my last orbit. I held AQd and raised preflop to $12, getting a couple of callers. By now, the table had loosened up somewhat, but it still wasn’t an action table.

The flop came down A22 and it checked around. There were so many players, I didn’t want to mess around just yet. Anyone with a 2 was betting out, given the table, and I was out of position.

The turn was a King. LEMON! If anyone else had an Ace, my kicker would no longer play on the A22Kx board. But I bet out anyway and got one caller.

The river was a harmless 8 (thanks for the editing help, Woffles). My one sole competitor had about $50 in front of him. I figured we were lock for a chop, so I decided to push all-in. I figured I could pretend that I was slowplaying the deuce and maybe puck up the entire pot instead of half. It was a play with no downside in my head.

Now, if he had $300 behind, things would’ve been different. But he didn’t. He had $52, to be exact. So when he called, I was bummed to see his A8. If not for that rivered 8, it would’ve been a chop. Go fucking figure. He had no right to be in that pot with my prefop raise, but I wanted him there, so I wasn’t going to complain.

I was about even before that hand, but after it, I was down $97. It was late and I had enough. It was a fun session, but not entirely profitable. But sometimes, that’s just how poker is.

The boys all went upstairs for a late night hang out, before returning to our rooms for rest. The next morning, we all met up with the large group, as we said our farewells. Before leaving the city, though, we stopped by White House Sub Shop for some of their famous subs. Good stuff!

That’s it for this years X-mas in AC. Thanks for reading.

Until next time, make mine poker!

Having lost the tournament on the near bubble (14th place with 9 spots officially paying), I took a walk around the sports book and considered my options. Poker. It had to be poker. I made some calls and found out that different people were scattered throughout the city. So, I went with what was easy: The Caesar’s 1/3 NLHE game. After all, I was right there.

I was seated at a game near the rail of the raised portion of the room. I took the only available seat, the 1 seat, and looked across the table at the 4 seat, an Asian guy, maybe in his mid-20s, with his Caucasian new bride sitting behind him. How did I know that they were newly wed? She was still wearing her veil and they both wore “Just Married” sweat suits. It was ridiculously cheesy and more than mildly trashy, but apparently it worked for them, since he was up several hundred dollars at least, based on his stack.

To his immediate left was Dan Michalski of Pokerati fame. Dan is an interesting guy. Pokerati is probably one of the premiere poker blogs out there and with good cause. But its clear that Dan is a humble guy and easy to get along with, which I suppose should not be a surprise, but is. At first, Dan and I (intentionally or not) acted like strangers, barely acknowledging each other. I don’t mind this at a poker table. If people knew that we knew each other, it would simply be more information from them. But eventually, it became clear that we knew each other, mostly because we kept getting into pots together where we would show no mercy and then joke about it immediately after.

The happy couple got up and I took his lucky seat, mostly glad to leave the shitty seat I was in. I was now immediately on Dan’s right, which probably was not an ideal position, but the 1 seat was cold-decking me, so I was happy for a change of scenery.

A new player sat to my immediate right. He was a clean-cut guy, Caucasian in his late 20s to mid 30s. He was from the North East, like me, and he had a pleasant demeanor, so we hit it off quick. I essentially made my buddy at the table. That’s a more important thing than some people realize. As you get to know your “buddy”, you can pick up more from their game; but more importantly, with familiarity breeds passivity, and that is something you can often exploit.

While chatting with my newfound friend, I overheard something in the distance. “Did you bet on the fight?” My ears perked up. I remembered hearing about a Manny Pacquiao fight that was recently announced, but I wasn’t sure what the overheard voices were discussing. I asked the table, “Does anyone know of any upcoming fights?” Someone mentioned the UFC, and I immediately knew that I had to speak with my height-challenged compadre.

I took a walk from the game. I was probably up about $50-100 by that time, just playing as solid poker as possible.

I found my midget friend, Iggy, who incidentally has a little website called MMAJunkie.com. “So, I heard there is a UFC fight tonight. Any picks on who you think is going to win? Just curious. I won’t hold you to anything.” He rifled through some names, Penn, Mir and Florian. They were all favorites, and Iggy thought they’d win their matches with relative ease. I thanked him and walked off, or more accurately ran to the sportsbook. “Three pick parlay on the UFC fights tongiht: Penn, Mir and Florian.” I got my ticket, $40 to win $116, and returned to the poker table.

The only major hand that I can recall was actually a misplayed but profitable one. I held 33 preflop and called the $3 blinds. Dan, immediately on my left, raised. I don’t have the exact raise amount, but it was probably $12 or $15. There were several callers and when it got back to me, I called as well.

We saw a beautiful 663 flop with two spades. I flopped a nearly unbeatable boat. An EP player bet $20, which was uncharacteristic for the player. I was happy to just call, hoping that someone would turn their nut flush and pay me off. Dan then raised to $60. A player in MP/LP called. He seemed like a fairly loose player, but definitely knowledgeable. He only had about $80+ though in front of him. It folded back to me (the original $20 bettor folded) and I re-raised all-in. I had at least $400 in front of me at the time. Dan folded his QQ (if he is to be believed; given the action, I believe him) and the player with $80+ called.

The turn was a 3; the river was a blank. I showed my Quad 3s and took down the pot. I also got a $100 bonus for my Quads.

In hindsight, I should have flat-called Dan’s raise to $60 or perhaps re-raised to $120, but not all-in. So, it was a misplayed hand overall, but a profitable one nonetheless.

I played for several more orbits before taking a walk to check on the final table of the blogger tournament. As an aside, by that time, everyone knew that Dan and I knew each other at the poker table. We were chatting about the blogger tournament and random bloggers would stop by to start a conversation.

I went back to the sportsbook and decided to check the fight times. According to the sheets I saw, the last fight was to start at 8pm, but it was already past 8 and all the book knew was that Florian had won his fight. I was officially 1 for 1 in my 3-fight parlay.

I was fairly starving at this point and I had reached my poker saturation. Excuse this, as I’ve said this before, but poker really feels like a “need.” As I had once heard, a “want” is something that cannot be satisfied, like money. You always want more money. A “need” is something that can be satisfied for a time, like hunger. You can eat, but only to a point, after which you must stop eating until you are eventually hungry again and the process repeats. Poker felt like food moreso than money. I had enough, and I think I was officially stuffed on poker.

I cashed out after playing another orbit and decided to send out some text messages. Peaker was at MGM playing poker, so I told him I’d meet him after stopping at the IP. I also texted Kat, who was supposed to be at the IP, but I don’t think we got back in touch. I may have texted Schaubs as well, but I don’t recall.

I walked back to the IP and decided to use some of my well-earned comp dollars at their burger joint. I ordered a philly cheesesteak, which I had had shortly after arriving at the IP on Friday. It was actually pretty decent for what it was. I returned to my room and sat down on the bed for a moment. I was just so exhausted. I considered my options and decided to relax before heading to the MGM. I had to be up around 8am the next morning for my flight home.

After a while, I realized that I was not getting out of bed. I was busy refreshing my ipod Touch to get updates on the UFC fight. Frank Mir had won as well. 2 for 2, with only the BJ Penn fight left. I texted Peaker, thanked him for a good trip and apologized for being such a puss. About 3 minutes later, I got a text. I thought it’d be Peaker giving me shit or, more likely, saying goodbye. It wasn’t. It was Schaubs.

I called Schaubs and he mentioned that he was coming to the IP to hang with Pauly for some late night in depth discussions of the horticulture situation in Southern California in Pauly’s hotel room. I like horticulture as much as the next guy, so I agreed to meet up. But first, I had to take care of some business. Some news had just come in. Penn had won. 3 for 3 on my parlay picks, thanks to my diminutive friend. “I’m heading to the Caesars sportsbook. Call me when you get here.”

I walked over solo, happy to collect my moneys. I also took some time to admire all of the hot chicks in the Pussy Cat Dolls section of Caesars. Each dealer was a hot chick wearing a skimpy outfit. Behind them were two chicks dancing in go go cages wearing lingerie. Amazingly, the entire group of girls (dealers and dancers) had made a costume change in the brief time between leaving Caesars and returning. That takes commitment.

I collected my money and was outside the casino when I got a text from Schaubs. He also won a sports bet at Caesars, so I decided to wait for him there, sitting outside in the brisk air. He arrived a short while later and I got another pass of the Pussy Cat Dolls gambling area. “Las Vegas is filled with hot girls whose only marketable skill is that they have nice tits. It’s a magical place.” Schaubs didn’t argue. I continued, “Just think of all those neglectful parents.”

We returned to the IP and hung at the Geisha Bar with a large crew. The One Man Party, AlCantHang, was there, just off of his 2nd place loss to Astin in the Blogger Tourney. I was shocked for three reasons: (1) AlCantHang is a partier, so I expected more party and less poker winnings. (2) Astin was a super shortstack with me when were were down to 18 or less players. God damn that man! I was just glad to hear that a friend won. (3) Even with 2nd place money, Al was pissed. I was shocked. I expected him to be celebrating, but he really seemed irked that he didn’t win. I think I bought him a shot to ease his pain. From the look in his eyes, though, he didn’t need my drink to deaden the senses.

Eventually, Pauly, Schaubs and I headed upstairs. Over our horticulture appreciation, I had the exact same conversation with Pauly as I had the night before. I mean, it was new to me, since I didn’t remember much of the last night, but I’m pretty sure Pauly thought he was watching a rerun.

I was still exhausted and I considered calling it a night, but Schaubs had yet to ever play Pai Gow. We hit the casino floor, both of us well shitfaced now, and stumbled our way to a Pai Gow table with two empty seats side by side. A third seat opened up just as CK arrived, so she joined us. It was around 12am.

Schaubs did something I had never before done: make a plan. He suggested a stop-loss and also a hard end time. Both seemed to make sense. We bought in for $200 apiece, but agreed only to play with $100 as our stoploss. (Quick casino tip: If you only plan to play for a certain sum and you have self control, always buy in for more. The casino notices how much you buy in for and considers that when they work out your comp dollars. The More You Know… du-dee du dee!). We also agreed to walk at 12:30, which was essentially 30 minutes.

An odd thing happened on the way to 12:30. CK kept chopping. Schaubs got like 5 Pai Gows to start (i.e., no pair hands, which is pretty bad). And I was on a tear. I have a simple strategy:

1. No Fortune Bonus.

2. Start with an amount, usually the table minimum.

3. If I win, add an extra $5. If I push, don’t change the bet size. If I lose, go back to the initial bet. If you keep winning, keep adding those $5.

12:30 came around and Schaubs was down maybe $50, CK was near even, and I was up $60 or so. That’s when Schaubs, the Commissioner of our Pai Gow rules, added an amendment. “Ok. At 12:30, we can both play for two losses. Not back to back. Two losses total. If I lose a hand, win 3 and then lose 1, I’m out.” Ok, I thought. It caps losses and we were having fun, drinking more heavily then ever, because in Pai Gow, a push is a win, but only if booze is involved.

It wasn’t until about 1:10 that Schaubs had finally lost two hands. He had made back most of his money, but now that he was done, as per our rules, that was it for him. I could keep playing, though, since I still had “one life”. CK had moved on when we added our extension. The dealer was changing decks, which she saw as a bad omen. She was right, too. Her replacement player was losing steadily. Good for CK.

“Hey, I have an idea,” this time it was me with the suggestion. “We can share my 1 life. If either of us lose, we both leave.” Schaubs one-upped me, “And if we win three in a row, we can get a new life!” This was the most complicated problem gambling rationale ever, but it made sorta sense. I even offered, “And I will pay your losses. I wouldn’t even be playing if not for you.” Ironically, that meant my exposure was tiny. After all, Schaubs was only down $20 or so at this point and could only lose one more hand before he had to quit. I was up over $100, so I could afford to make that offer.

Sure enough, we then both went on tears, earning two “free lifes” before we lost three hands between the two of us and decided to stop adding rules. We packed up around 2:30, after intending to stay only until 12:30. I was up over $200 and Schaubs was up a few bucks too. That made it a +$300 Pai Gow run on my trip. So, look for my new blog High On Pai Gow.

I finally decided I needed some sleep, so I made my way to the Geisha Bar to say my goodnights. That’s an impossible task in this group. Just when I thought I was in the clear, I’d get into another conversation with a random blogger. This is not a complaint. Quite the opposite. It was awesome getting to chat with everyone.

A couple of highlights of that last minute Geisha Bar stop: I met BloodyP for the first time. He pulled the old, “Do you know who I am?” Now, I’ve always pictured BloodyP as a skinny tweaker, probably in a tattered, blood and snot stained shirt, with disheveled hair. Instead, he looked like a normal guy. A bit…too normal.

I also got into a conversation with Iggy. He had no idea I was actually going to use all of his picks for a parlay bet, and was pretty happy to see I had made some loot off of his well-seasoned brain. Now, I don’t know if it was the booze or what, but it was actually kinda flattering all the nice things Iggy had to say. It was like a freakin’ mutual admiration society. Ironically, Iggy is one of those characters in the bloggoverse who can come off as a bit intimidating, if for no other reason than his appropriate nickname as the Blogfather, not to mention those tiny midget hands. Tiny hands always unnerve me. But I probably feel more comfortable around him than most. He’s just such a generous guy, and even though he hates the Jews, he doesn’t seem to mind me much, probably because I’m a self-hating Jew.

The last notable conversation (that I can remember) was with Carter. Now, Carter, I have to admit that (a) I’m not sure if we ever met before…I feel like we have, but I’ve met other Carters and other guys who look like you in this group, but I’m terrible with names, faces and memory in general, so please take no offense. And (b) I don’t read your blog regularly, so if you see this, hit me up with a comment or email with your blog site.

The memorable part about my conversation with Carter was simply the fact that he had such nice things to say about the blog. I’ve been on the other side of the coin on this one many times. There are some blogs that you read and you can really get to know the writer to the extent that you feel that on some level, you know them. And you do. People write more honestly than they’d ever talk to a stranger or even some close friends and family members. It gets to the point that sometimes, you just want to introduce yourself to a fellow blogger because meeting them is like meeting someone you already know; and its also like meeting a celebrity in a way. Ironically,  on the very same trip, I had failed to work up the “courage” to speak with PokerGrump during the Blogger Tournament. I wasn’t sure if it was him, and even if it was, I wasn’t sure what to say. Well, Carter just wanted to say hi, and I was more than glad to chat. If I remember correctly, he may be in the NY area soon, so that’s another reason for you to hit me up with an email or comment.

I finally decided I had enough and returned upstairs. I packed up to make my morning easier and hit the sack.

My next morning and flight back were uneventful. I watched football on the JetBlue TVs, but my three team NFL parlay (timed intentionally with my flight) was lost in the second game, so instead, I just enjoyed football for the sake of football (and my pickem league).

This was probably the most fulfilling WPBT trip I have had. It really is one big family reunion, and whereas I used to feel like a newbie and then an outside looking in (neither of which were true, but that’s just how I felt), now I just feel like one of the family. I admit that I could’ve used more time in Vegas and maybe spent some more time with various people, but these trips have got to be played by ear.

Thanks to everyone for a great trip. That includes wifey Kim. There aren’t many women who would encourage their husbands to spend a weekend (their birthday weekend no less) in a city known for debauchery with a bunch of Invisible Internet Friends. She’s the real prize in all of this, even if you all will never ever get to meet her.

Until next time, make mine poker!

When we last left our hero, he was clutching onto his bedspread wondering when the bed would stop spinning. As we join him again, he is suddenly awake, 7:30am in the morning, Vegas time, or 10:30am in NY (i.e., reality time).

Jordan woke from his bed surprised to find that somehow in the course of the evening, he had worked his way under the covers. More accurately, he had worked his way underneath the bedspread, which as any good germaphobe knows is ground zero for uncleaned jizz stains and other sordid toxic spills. Jordan rolled out of his bed and dragged himself into the bathroom. Finding no identifiable bruises from the other night, he popped a Motrin and decided that the best cure for his queasy stomach was some food.

He had remembered a text message late at night before he fell asleep. It came from Kat and read, “Where are you? I’m so pissed right now, I’m going to punch somebody!” His feeble attempt at a response last night simply read, “Where are you?”, but he had gotten no response. Either Kat was asleep, in jail, or both. He had hoped for the former.

Jordan lay in bed hoping to get over his rocking hangover. He turned on his iTouch and began to watch a movie until it suddenly froze. SHIT! The iTouch was Jordan’s only real entertainment with him, so the flight home was going to suck without some help. He tried all of the various tricks but nothing worked, so he left the room in search of food with his iTouch and USB plug just in case.

It was too early to call anyone, so Jordan walked the casino floor stopping by the various eateries to see if anything piqued his interest. He came across an elevator in the middle of the casino floor with two signs above it. The first said “Hash House” and featured ideal food; the second said “conference rooms,” which was a little less appealing.

He entered the elevator and hit the button for 4, the number indicated on the sign above the elevator. The elevator moved before making a grinding noise, as though it would suddenly stop and then hit free fall any minute. When the doors opened, Jordan was happy to see he was still alive, but the hallway showed only conference rooms. Breakfast fail. On the way down the elevator, Jordan held tightly to the railing…just in case.

Breakfast ended up being a bagel and cream cheese from a little dinette place near Jordan’s room tower. After breakfast, Jordan walked the casino floor, hoping to find a poker game at the IP. Third try, third fail. The room was desolate. Instead, he found a Pai Gow table, where he grinded another $50 win before moving on to craps, -$97. There went all that hard Pai Gow work.

Eventually, Jordan received a text from CK and F-train, who planned to  head for brunch at the apparently existent Hash House. “Do you or F-Train have a laptop?” “Yes.” “I’ll be right up.”

Jordan arrived at CK and F-Train’s room with his iTouch ready to go. One simple plug into F-Train’s laptop and it was back to normal. God bless that F-Train. Once everyone was ready, the three left the room and headed out to brunch. The destination was the elusive Hash House.

With his two shirrpas, Jordan was finally able to find the only passable restaurant in the IP. He, F-Train and CK met Alceste of IHadOuts fame there, completing the NY foursome. Food was eaten. Jordan opted for the stuffed burger, which was incredibly large. He barely finished half. The rest of the table was filled with equally huge portions.

Satiated, the crew left brunch. Jordan ran to his room to suit up for the private blogger tournament scheduled for 20 minutes at Caesars, across the street. Once dressed, he ran through the IP in the hopes that he would make the tournament on time.

Success! Jordan arrived at the Caesars poker room with time to spare. He paid the $100 and found his seat at table 33, seat 3. He already had a set.

Jordan’s table was a good one, if for nothing else than the company. He won’t try to name everyone, especially since the table dynamics kept changing, but to his immediate right was Lightning36 (probably one of the friendliest and most likable bloggers Jordan has met), along with StB, Poker Peaker, Schaubs, Carmen‘s mom, and a bunch of other blogger/players/ne’er-do-wells.

Jordan had a good time at the tournament, getting KK in his first hand, good for 200 chips in profit. More importantly, he was hamming it up. It was one of the rare occasions that he knew that his antics would be met with appreciation, instead of violence. It’s not easy to call your opponent a donkey, but when the person knows that the source is a showboating self-important blogger like Jordan, the insults go down a lot easier.

Jordan tangled several times with Carmen’s mom specifically. Always the gentleman, he even showed her a courtesy when she was in the SB and called the BB even though Jordan had raised. The dealer announced that she could fold, but had to leave the full BB in the pot. Jordan sent it back. No harm no fowl, especially since he ended up felting Mrs. Carmen’s Mom a couple of orbits later.

By the 300/600 level, though, Jordan had been all over the place. He was up over 10k for a while, but eventually settled in to about 6k when the first break occurred. Meanwhile, Jordan’s Luckbox Team Challenge teammates, Waffles and Dr. Chako, were in better shape with about 7k and 15k or more, respectively. A quick double-up, though, with god-knows-what and Jordan had some breathing room.

“Massages!” Jordan’s ears perked up. This group of bloggers was a ragtag bunch, but it was also a generous bunch, and since landing in Vegas, Jordan had his share of freebies at the hands (and wallets) of his blogger compatriots. Now, it was his turn to give a little back. He approached the masseuse with a $20 ready to go. “See that guy over there?” He pointed to his teammate, Woffles. “Give him the best 10 minutes of his life.” He handed over the $20 and called out to Woffles, “Hey Woffles, I got a gift for you.” Woffles turned around and at the thought of physical contact with an actual female, winced. Jordan whispered to the masseuse, “If he doesn’t want it, you can keep the $20.” After all, Jordan wasn’t going to force the girl on Woffles or take his money back.

As Jordan returned to the table, Woffle’s massage started. Jordan turned to his tablemates and shared, “I’m just helping Woffles get used to paying for a woman to touch him.” Always the thoughtful gift-giver, Jordan went back to poker with a renewed sense of purpose.

Things went quiet for a while. Jordan was card dead, holding only KK that one time on the first hand and JJ one time as well. That was it for pocket pairs, but there may have been one AK as well. No AQ though.

Jordan’s table broke and he was moved to his final table for the day. There were still five or so tables, but Jordan tightened up due to his cards and the escalating blinds, and eventually found himself to be a shortstack at a table of shortstacks. Jordan used his Short Stack Specialist skills as best he could, but card deadedness is card deadedness, and he spent most of his time folding and acting the fool. He even took out his bandanna, tied it around his face like a ye ole bank robber, threw on the hood and went into super-tell-lockdown, more as a goof since there wasn’t much tells to be seen in a shorties all-in.

Jordan got so low at one point that he had about 2 BB. UTG+1, he pushed with T6h. After all, there were enough antes out there and at least with T6h, he hoped to have outs. It amazingly folded to the BB, a bald Asian gentleman who our humble narrator believes to have been one of Astin‘s crew. The bald Asian considered what to do. Jordan was shocked. It was maybe 1 BB more, and with all the antes, the bald Asian was getting amazing odds…until he folded. Incredible! Jordan is just that good.

Jordan was able to double up once with QJ over AK all-in preflop, but eventually the blinds caught up with him. He began pushing blind, since his cards were so bad that looking would only cause him to freeze up. It worked once or twice, but eventually, F-Train called with A5d. Jordan showed 67o. The flop had a 5. The turn had another. Jordan was out of the tournament with two tables left in 14th place, 4 spots out of the money. It was technically a Lemon(!) moment, but it felt like lemonade.

Jordan left the table and wandered around for a bit. He finally decided that he should play more poker. But he was at Caesars, home of the stupid 1/3 game. Should he give it one more go?

Next time on The Neverending Trip Report: Jordan plays poker…but where?  Sports bets are placed…but on whom? Jordan turns in for an early night…or does he? Find out all this and more, next time on High on Poker!

Until next time, make mine poker!

The anticipation before a WPBT trip is often a double-edged sword. On one hand, you know, in your heart of hearts, that it will be a great trip. After all, it’s Vegas. Even if I was going out there for a Douchebag Expo, I’d have a great time. But there is also that trepidation. When I had dinner with some college friends last night, I mentioned my Vegas trip.

“Who did you go with?”

“Um, myself, sorta. I was meeting people there.”

“What people?”

“Um, other bloggers.” This is where I wait for the awkward pause. “I mean, um, a bunch of them are local and I’ve hung out with the group before. It’s not like that. We all know each other.”

Once I’m there and for a long while after, I can appreciate this ragtag group that borders on a dysfunctional family. But the night before, all sorts of scenarios can race through one’s head.

All that being true, I’m not one to go to sleep early. I often joke with wifey Kim that sleep is my enemy. I just hate sleeping. It’s so boring. But that didn’t stop me from going to bed around 10pm on Thursday night. After all, I had a flight to Vegas at 7:25 am, and I was way too excited to do anything productive Thursday night, anyway.

Friday morning, I got up at about 4:40 am, or 1:40 am Vegas time. While I was getting dressed in the dark, there was already a slew of bloggers in Vegas, probably shit faced drunk as I still cleaned the gunk from my eyes. Like a good soldier, I just kept my eye on the mission. I got dressed, grabbed my pre-packed bag, and left the apartment, off to the subway. From there, I took the Air Train to the airport, about a 1 hour trip door to door.

The JetBlue terminal at JFK airport is pretty awesome. Once I got through security, I grabbed some grub and found a place to wait for my flight. The flight itself was mostly uneventful. I just remembered that it was long. Very long. I guess something like 6+ hours, but it felt like 10. I tried to sleep a couple of times, but each time, I would nod off for maybe 5 minutes before waking back up. It was useless, so I spent most of my time flipping through the shitty channels on the JetBlue TV (er, maybe shitty programming, since it was so early on a weekday), and watching movies on my iTouch. God bless the iTouch.

Let me take a moment to sing the praises of traveling solo. Life is so much easier when there are no attachments. All I have is me and my backpack. No concerns about anyone else or anything else. It is an amazingly isolating and yet freeing experience.

Once I landed in Vegas, I was back in soldier mode. I headed to my next checkpoint, the taxi stand. I hadn’t brought any bags, aside from my overstuffed backpack, because I didn’t want to wait for the luggage carousel. No joking, I literally jettisoned clothing while packing merely because of space issues. Before I left for Vegas, I had already decided on no fancy meals…I couldn’t fit nice clothing in my backpack.

A quick ride from the airport (which seemed overpriced at $20 with tip, but I was just happy to be there), and I was at my Vegas headquarters, the Imperial Palace.

The IP is a great hotel if you are not looking for any bells and whistles. It has a nice sized gaming floor and is not overly dominated by wall-to-wall slots, like some places. The poker room is small, but the players are usually super fishy, not that I would play any poker at the IP this trip. The hotel is slightly dingy, but the rooms have always been clean and adequate.

Once I was checked in to my totally free room, I started to walk to the back of the hotel to my room in Tower 4, the Lost Tower. I swear, by the time I got there, I had to take two mini-escalators, a flight of stairs, an elevator, and a canoe. I think my room was officially in Henderson, even though the hotel was in Vegas.

But I’ve already skipped over a key fact. By the time I was at the IP, it was probably 11 am or so, Vegas time. As I walked to my room, I scanned the floor, hoping to see some of my fellow bloggers. As I passed the Geisha Bar, which incidentally sounds way nicer than it actually is, I had my first sighting. There, sitting at the bar, drinking various adult beverages, was none other than the One Man Party AlCantHang, Dr. Pauly, his brother Derek and a young lady by the name of Katie. It wasn’t even noon, and I had already done a shot of SoCo with Al and crew. Just typical.

And if it wasn’t obvious, whereas I was up all morning, those guys were up all night.

I got to my room, dumped off my stuff and decided to do what came naturally: poker. I was already dressed in poker gear. I was wearing a new Flash t-shirt (courtesy of wifey Kim for my recent birthday), cargo pants, and my brown Buffalo hoodie. I grabbed my other necessary items and started the trek to the poker room. I figured if I didn’t see anyone down there, I’d eventually bump into someone in the poker room.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly the case. The poker room at IP had two tables going. As I got closer, it became clear, though, that I was looking at one of the saddest tournaments ever. I walked to the floorperson and asked what was spread. The Asian woman looked at me like she didn’t understand the term. I confirmed my suspicions: only a tournament right now? She nodded. I still wasn’t sure that she speekee Ingrish, but it didn’t matter. No poker for me.

Las Vegas is the land of opportunities (for VDs) though, so I took to the streets. I was contemplating my next stop and decided to just start walking. It didn’t take long until I arrived at the next building, Harrah’s. I made my way through to their poker room.

The Harrah’s poker room, unlike the IP room, is actually its own room. It looks to be a decent size, as well, with maybe 30+ tables, but it didn’t look like they needed it for their Friday afternoon crowd. Once again, the room was woefully short on players, and maybe three games were going, with at least one 2/4 limit game in the mix. I put my name on the 1/2 list with two names in front of me and grabbed a Bluff magazine from the rack. I was several articles into the magazine when I gave up. The one 1/2 table I could see seemed like no one was going anywhere anytime soon. In subtle passive aggressive protest, when I left, I didn’t take my name off the list. That’ll show them!

So, with 2 failed attempts at poker, I decided to go to a poker room that I generally hate: Caesars. Incidentally, I didn’t realize what a Harrah’s whore I am; all three hotels, IP, Harrah’s and Caesars, are owned by Harrah’s. I guess they got the last laugh.

Caesars’ room, in and of itself, is actually quite nice. It’s a big, private room, just off of the sports book. It’s actually like two rooms. There is the main room where the cash games are usually played. I won’t even hazard a guess at how many tables they have, but I’d be shocked if it was less than 60 total, including the back room. The back room is huge and is usually reserved for tournaments.

I do have one beef with Caesars, though. I hate that they spread 1/3 NLHE instead of 1/2 NLHE. It’s such a minor difference on paper, but I still find that the 1/3 throws off my bet sizing and general play. They use $2 chips also, which also throws me off.

Alas, at least there were games going, so I signed up on the list and then headed back to the sports book to place a ridiculous 5-game parlay ticket on the NBA (I lost my first pick and declared that I’d rather lose the first game in a parlay then the last). I waited about 15 minutes, and they finally called a new table.

At the new table, it seemed like the usual mix of players. No one particularly concerned me, but there were also no obvious donks. We started somewhat shorthanded, but I was fairly card dead, so I just watched the action around me. I had bought in short, at $200, since I only saw one guy with more. So be it.

Admittedly, the hands I am about to divulge are not my proudest moments. In the first hand, I held K8d in LP and after a bunch of limpers, I limped as well, finally getting re-popped preflop to $15 from one of the blinds. There were five callers by the time it got to me, so I called as well. The flop was T86, with two diamonds, giving me middle pair and the 2nd nut flush draw. The EP preflop raiser pushed all-in. It folded to me and I decided to call. He only had $88 in front and the pot was already $75+ preflop, so I was getting slightly less than 2:1. It wasn’t the best play in hindsight, as I think I could’ve found a better spot at the table, but I guess part of me was in the mood to gamble. The turn was a Jack and the river was a 6; my opponent showed pocket Jacks, so he turned the set and rivered a full house. At least I didn’t have to show my cards. I just mucked, rebought another $100 (bringing my total buy-in to $300) and moved on.

I may’ve bled some more chips on some preflop hands that did not develop. My last hand, though, just plain sucked. I held AK in middle position and raised it to $11. The button seemed like a pretty astute guy, in his 40s, tall, with glasses. It was coincidentally his birthday. It was also mine. When it got to him, he raised to $30. To my surprise, a chick who was in one of the blinds called. She was a pretty loose player, though, so I didn’t think to much of it, aside from the fact that a raise and re-raise must’ve indicated some level of strength. When it got back to me, I just flat called, hoping to see a flop before I got deeper into the hand.

The flop was a seemingly nice K53. It checked to me and I pushed all-in. I think I had a pretty penny left, maybe $130 or so, but with a $90 pot and, if I’m not mistaken, a flush draw on the board, I would be happy to take it down. The Birthday Guy folded and the Chick took a moment before calling. She then showed 55 for a flopped set. To add insult to injury, I turned an Ace. In other words, I was going broke one way or another.

After that hand, I only had $15 left. I think I pushed on the very next hand with King-high. I lost and decided to leave. After all, sometimes you can just tell that you’ve lost the table. Unless I started getting monster hands against second-best hands, I wasn’t going to be winning much with my now tarnished image. I wished the table good luck and headed out.

This seems like a decent enough place to pause. Coming up, we have my first Pai Gow session of the trip, my visit to the Hard Rock cafe, and more pokery action.

Until next time, make mine poker!

I missed all of eight hours from work to attend this weekend’s WPBT Gathering in beautiful Arctic Las Vegas, but by the look and feel of things back at the office (not to mention the wear and tear on my body and soul), it looks like I missed a week!

A full trip report will be forthcoming, but in the meanwhile, feel free to check out Poker Peaker‘s trip report post.  Peaker does a great job of explaining how some of the more awkward concerns regarding these WPBT gatherings usually end up in the most pleasant of surprises. I also give him kudos for his fine writing. Reading his report really makes me want to up my game here. So, enjoy!

But before I go, I wanted to share with you a little lesson on sports betting that I learned this weekend.

Presenting, High on Poker’s Five Easy Steps to Sports Betting Success

Step 1: Learn about bettable event. This may be done in any way, but I recommend overhearing someone mention an event; then, allow your action junkie tendencies take over (as though you had a choice).

Step 2: Find a midget. Any midget will do, but I prefer Internet celebrity authors. Alcohol dependence is a plus, although with most midgets, it’s also a given.

Step 3: Ask midget, while he is actually doing other things and therefore is only half paying attention, who will win the given event. In this weekend’s case, the event was a UFC card. When possible, get multiple bet recommendations from the inebriated little person for your parlay bet.

Step 4: Place bet at sports book; parlay if possible. Do not, under any circumstance, use any personal judgment. That’s what the drunk midget is for.

Step 5: Profit.

It’s that easy. But more on that during the full trip report. Right now, though, I need to get back to the weeks-worth of work I missed on Friday.

Until next time, make mine poker!