I’m not sure what it is, but I can’t stand the Venetian.  I’m now at the point where walking into the place feels like arriving at the proctologist’s office.

Maybe it’s that the tournament poker tables are basically located on the casino floor, complete with the attendant smoke, noise and mayhem.

Maybe it’s the hard, strange poker chips they use.  They make an unsatisfying metallic clink when they touch each other.

Maybe it’s the general incompetence of the dealers.  Today one of them just sat there looking into space while the action unfolded around him.

Maybe it’s the gross, assy perfume that is pumped through the place’s air ducts in copious amounts.  The entire place smells like a delightful mixture of smoke and assy perfume.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I have now played upwards of thirty tournaments at the Venetian with a single solitary mincash (for 1.2 times the buy in!) to my credit.

I’m starting to trick myself into thinking that the environment is affecting my play at the Venetian.  I’m convinced that I must morph into a moron whenever I walk into the place.

F the Venetian!

chock full of assy goodness.

Here’s my bustout hand from the 1k WSOP Event I cashed in:

I had about 48k, the bubble had recently burst and we dropped from 324 players to 250 in very short order.  Two players at my table had recently accumulated a lot of chips.  One in particular had begun to play very spazzy.  He had roughly 115k at the start of my bustout hand.

The blinds were 600-1200/100 and he opened to 3100 from UTG +2.  It folded to me in the big blind where I found the Ac7c.  It figured to be the best hand against this kid, so I chose to call.  The flop came J-10-2 with two clubs.

I had to process quite a bit of information before acting.  My first determination was that I was going to look to play a big pot here.  There were no money jumps that were of remote interest to me until the field got short, so I felt it was time to gamble.

My second consideration was how to get my stack into the middle.  Basically there were two options:  1) lead the flop and 3-bet jam if raised; 2) check the flop, intending to checkraise and then jam any turn or checkraise/call off my stack.

Because I felt the odds of a continuation bet from this player were very high, and because leading the flop and getting flatted would put me in a weird spot, I decided to check and let him put some more money in the pot, then execute the rest of my plan.  I checked, he bet 4,200, and I made it 12,800 to go.  He immediately moved all in, at which point I shrugged and called.

He tabled the 10-2 of spades (!) for bottom two pair.  When the 4c hit the turn, I was already envisioning the havoc I would systematically begin to wreak once they dealt the next hand.  It was very brief vision.

I could see the 2d rolling off the top of the deck on the river before it even hit the table.  I let out a very audible “oh no!” then gathered my things and stood there, waiting for my payout ticket.

I’ve run bad for three days straight now.  Talking to Janeen and looking at the picture of Ruthie that I use as my Blackberry screen saver are giving me pangs of homesickness.  I’m still determined to do some damage out here, though.