So what do you do in Vegas when you’ve been cruelly and undeservedly exiled from the big tournament? Oh, I dunno, it’s Vegas, I guess I can find something to do. And my buddies Domenic and Derek are here too, which is kind of cool because I’ve never been that guy who goes to Vegas (or anywhere else for that matter) with “the boys”. If I’m not with Ruth and/or the kids, I kinda prefer to travel single-0, I just like it that way. It’s not that I’m self-absorbed or anything it’s more that… well… I’ve never quite found any real use for other people. So finding myself, quite by happenstance, in the company of two fellow poker players, a forced state of camaraderie if you will, has given me a quick glimpse of what life would be like if I was normal. It’s kinda fun.

On my own though, I go the spa to go for a run on the treadmill and to get a schvitz and a steam. I love going to the spa. I go everyday when I’m in Vegas. I don’t know why but I always feel like I’m going to run into the actor George Segal there, but I never do. I think he might even be dead now, making the prospect highly unlikely at this point. Anyway, it’s The (highly touted) Canyon Ranch Spa, no less, thank you very much. Meh. Nice enough, but it just doesn’t have the all-out disgusting opulence that I’ve come to appreciate at The Bellagio. No complaints though.

Anyway, Domenic suggests we play in a tournament they are running here at the Venetian, a satellite to win a seat in the next big NAPT tournament at a place called Mohegan Sun Casino. I don’t know where that is exactly or when the event takes place but I tell him I’m in – which either gives you some insight into my unconditional love for the game; or a sneak peek at my compulsiveness. You decide. However, while I’m enjoying “an oasis of water therapies including state-of-the-art hot and cold experiences”, Domenic calls from the poker floor to let me know that they’ve cancelled the satellite due to apathy (apparently 9 people showed up).

OH MY, there’s only 300 other poker rooms in town. What to do? What to do?

We decide to go to the 7 PM tournament at Caesars Palace. It’s a $160 buy-in with unlimited re-entries for the first hour (interesting structure, actually). So by the time all the entries and re-entries are in it’s 120 entrants @ $160 apiece for about a $20000 prize pool with about 5 G’s going to first place. Not a fortune, but enough to buy maybe a sink or faucet or an oven top or something (remember, kitchen renovation).

Now I’m catching a few hands. Now I’m winning a few races. Now I’m building a stack. Now I’m making moves – and they ‘re all working. Now I’m running over the table. Now I’m bullying. Where the heck was all this action yesterday in the BIG tourny I ask you ? I dunno, but “yesterday was yesterday and today is today” (Proust I believe… or Ralph Kramden). Anyway I’m a monster. I’m putting on a clinic here.

I look over at Domenic’s table and I can see that he’s amassed a chipstack even higher than mine. Domenic is uber–agressive, likes to see a lot of flops, never backs down, and when he goes on a run he’s impossible to stop, delighting his table-mates with non-stop entertainment as he takes their chips. Frankly,he’s also pretty entertaining when he’s giving them back, which is why you gotta love the guy.

We get down to two tables, and I think I can safely say that Domenic and I are the chip-leaders at our respective tables. This is when they announce the payout structure which is that the top 9 will get paid. Domenic and I and several other players (and even the dealers) find this strange. The standard procedure is that you pay at least 10% of the entries. In fact there is a trend now to pay more, moving towards 15% and in some cases even 20%. So why on this night do they only pay 9 the wise boy asks? But we shake our heads and shrug our shoulders and carry on because as far as we’re concerned, Domenic and I are going to be final-tabling anyway and that’ll just mean a bigger prize divided among less of us. Sweet. If you’ve already guessed how this ends, feel free to skip the next couple of gory paragraphs.

I hear from the other table a long Italian expletive-filled moan and I know something bad has happened. Dom’s QQ got cracked by 55 and he’s gone from chip-leader to chicken-feeder in one gross hand. He never recovers and goes out in 16th place.

Over on my table I have to deal with “Arrogant Black Polo Shirt Guy” who clearly thinks he is a very good player. He is in fact a very bad player but he’s amassed a healthy stack nonetheless. It happens. He’s weak, a calling station, who refuses to be intimidated or humiliated. In short, he’s a bonehead with chips and I plan to make him my punching bag. At this point I have about 120K as chip leader at the table. He has about half that. With “Arrogant Black Polo Shirt Guy” in the BB, (call him ABPSG for short – and just for clarification here – the guy is white and the polo shirt is black) I look down at AK. I watch him pick up his cards and immediately I get a read on him. He likes his hand just enough to bludgeon someone with it, he would like to hit someone over the head with it, he would like to steal the blinds with it, but he doesn’t want to play poker with it. It was the raise of the eyebrow, the way he lay the cards right back down and went directly into his smug routine. Anyway call it an instinctual thing but I didn’t put him on a hand. Now the chess match begins. I put out a very soft raise. I’ve been targeting him all night and he’s very aware of it. I know, like Howard Beale, that “he is mad as Hell and he’s not going to take it anymore!” (I also know he’s never even heard of Howard Beale). Predictably he reaches into his stack, says “I raise” and randomly tosses out a bunch of chips (no math genius here) that amounts to about a three times raise. He eye-balls me as if to say “that’ll teach you. Stop fucking with me”. Now I know he has no hand. I put him on A-rag at best, and at that I think I might be giving him too much credit. I don’t hesitate. I’m no actor. I re-raise all-in. A good player in his position would realize his move didn’t work and live to fight another day. Not this guy, he insta-calls (which I knew he would) and smugly turns over A-7 unsuited. I’m not sure what he thought he was beating, but one look at my AK and that whole arrogance routine he’s been working up all night fades away like Joe Pesci’s career. The flop gives him no help, nor does the turn, but the river does. The dreaded 7. Snap! Now instead of chip leader, I‘m middle of the pack. I twist and turn for the next 20 minutes and we’re down to 12 and the blinds are soaring out of control on this short table of six. I decide to get my TT all-in against the guy who looks like Rick Moranis‘ father. He’s like a poster-boy for nebbishism, how can I possibly lose to this guy? Let me count the ways. He connects with AJ and I’m done for the night. Just like that. 12th out of 120 and yet out of the money. Who ever heard of such a thing? No matter, I love the way I played tonight.

Next night Dom, Derek and I get to the airport about 9:00 PM to catch the red-eye only to find our Air Canada flight has been rescheduled for next Shevuot. Depending on who we speak to, it is a combination of bad weather, mechanical error, pilot fatigue, and “that time of the month”. So you can plainly see how we have no choice but to get our asses right back in a cab and straight back to Caesars where the $70 buy-in is starting at 10 PM. I won’t bore you with the details (as you can clearly see from the paragraph above that I have no interest in boring you with details!) but I finish 2nd and my prize is $506. FIVE HUNDRED AND SIX DOLLARS! Is that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard? No? Thank God. Or Orel Hershiser.

Back home the next day, older, wiser, balder.

See ya soon.