I’ll start this with an admission:  Before I played Event #12 at the WSOP, my poker year had gone horribly, and I was fucked in the head.  Nobody really knew, because I didn’t feel comfortable telling the world how frustrated and scared I was.  Only Janeen (poor girl) knew how tormented I was. 

Acknowledging your lack of progress by making a joke out of growing your hair long is one thing.  Admitting that you’ve lost your confidence, that you are having trouble sleeping, and that you’ve begun to think about alternate ways of making money is quite another.   And I’m only comfortable admitting this publicly now, in the wake of a very large win.  But that’s where I was before this tournament.

I lost at poker consistently from January through April.  Continuous, monotonous losing with a few isolated moments of success.  Then sometime in mid to late April, I began to also lose my mind.  Part of me felt like I was just experiencing a very ugly, unpleasant downswing.  But a growing part of me felt like I was a break even player who fluked his way though 2006.  And that idea was really eating at me.  Each losing session was becoming more and more painful and creating more and more self doubt, so I decided to do something about it. 

At the beginning of May, I decided to drop down in stakes and establish that, at the very least, I could beat lower limit games.  I set out to prove that the worst case scenario for me was grinding out a living in small games.  So if you looked for me online during that month, you probably found me sitting in $30 sit ‘n go’s or shorthanded 1-2 NL games.  At the end of the month, after logging hundreds of hours of play, I was barely above break even.  I had not earned enough to make a decent monthly wage.  My income for the year was negative, and I became even more anxious and unhappy.  At this point the World Series of Poker was right around the corner, and although the thought of putting together a hot streak seemed farfetched, I decided there was no turning back.  A professional poker player does not skip the World Series.

So I decided that June would be a true make-or-break month, and possibly a determining factor in my future (hence my “Month of Reckoning” blog entry).  Even Janeen, whose stock response to my whining had always been “you’re a poker player, period,” changed her tune to “see how the World Series goes and reevaluate from there” when I talked about my uncertain future.  In my mind, my five month losing streak had grown to the point of statistical significance.  I adopted a Parcellsian “you are what your record says you are” view of my 2007 results.  And the results said that I was a bum.  It wasn’t really about going to the barber.  It was about proving to myself that I’m not a joke.  This might sound like an overdramatization, but it isn’t.  Only Janeen can corroborate how crappy I was feeling.  Craptasticly crappy.

June started with a stop in Chicago for Janeen’s brother’s 40th birthday.  It also served as a pre-World Series rest period for me.  The birthday party itself was a fun backyard affair, like a grown up kegger.  Nice party.  And once that was over, I was off to Vegas for the beginning of my self-imposed trial by fire.

There were no affordable hold ‘em WSOP events planned for my first several days in town, so as mentioned in this blog, I played one Venetian tournament and a ton of single table satellites.  I had a solid but unremarkable showing at the Venetian and was a net loser in the single table sats.  For the trip, I had turned about $4000 in cash into $2500 in tournament lammers.  The single table tournaments were particularly vexing.  I continually worked my way down to the final three or four players only to get drawn out on in some kind of all in confrontation.  I was playing poker for at least twelve hours a day and was getting nowhere.  This went on for three full days.  At the end of each night I shuffled out of the Amazon Room, through the Rio, down the block to my discount room at the Gold Coast and crawled into bed, profoundly depressed but hopeful that I’d turn it around the next day.  But each day turned out the same.

On Wednesday I played my first bracelet event, $2000 NLHE.  It was also a disaster.  There are three things worth noting about my experience in this tournament.  First, the dealer at my first table was a nice woman I befriended in a 2-5 NL game at Foxwoods last fall (hi Claudia!).  Second, my opening table had Chau Giang, Tom McEvoy, and one internet superstar whose name I don’t know at it.  Third, I was out before the first break.

I went and played more single table sats.  I acquired two $500 lammers but spent over $2000 trying to get them.  Blah.  I felt like complete shit.  The losses were piling up too high and influencing my mental state too severely.  So before I went to bed, I decided to skip the $1500 Six Handed NLHE bracelet event the next day in favor of the $500 event at the Venetian, thus saving me $1000.

And thus ends the negative portion of this blog entry, and begins the portion where the fickle hand of fate intervenes.

I woke up late on Thursday in the same dejected mood and began to get ready for the Venetian tournament.  I turned on my cell phone and found that I had a text in my inbox.  It was from Kevin, who was in Vegas for a bachelor party but intended to play some poker first.  We had discussed both playing the Six-Handed Thursday event back in New York a week or two earlier.

Kevin:  Playing 2day right?  I’m here, wheeeeeeeeee.

My response:  Maybe.  Might play Venetian.  In actuality, I had already decided to skip the WSOP event, but I was leaving the door open to be convinced.

Kevin:  6 handed equals good times.  Come get your bracelet. 

The concept of me winning a bracelet was hilarious.  But still, I thought about it a little and realized that he was right.  I was in town to play the World Series, not $500 tournaments at the Venetian.  What kind of professional poker player skips a $1500 WSOP event?  If this was the month of reckoning, I had to stay somewhat positive, gather up the energy every day, and go full speed the entire time.  Plus it would be nice to see a familiar face after spending four days alone.  I went over to the Rio and registered.

The tournament area was totally rammed, and in the minutes before the tournament began, I found Kevin outside the auxiliary tournament area (basically a huge tent full of poker tables set up in the parking lot).  We made some small talk.  I neglected to mention how lousy I was feeling about my game.  And then, with just a few minutes to go before the tournament kicked off, I finally got around to asking him if he wanted to do a swap.
Kevin and I have established a tradition of swapping a percentage of one another in all the tournaments in which we’re both participating, both live and online.  I like Kevin, and I like the way he plays, so it’s a no-brainer for me.  For the year 2007, I was ahead on this arrangement, as Kevin has had more cashes in the Pokerstars Sunday Million than me.  On Thursday, I actually hesitated to ask Kevin if he wanted to do the swap because I was so down on myself and secretly afraid of being rejected.  Kevin pays attention to my results and knew that I had exactly one solitary small cash in all my live events this year.  So I had to muster up the courage to ask him for the swap.

“You wanna do a swap?” 

“Sure,” was his reply.  “How much?  Five?  Ten?”

“Let’s do ten percent,” I said, figuring that the more Kevin I owned, the better off I would be.

And with that, we went off and played. 

I am now going to try and provide a good recap of my tournament, but I’d like to mention in advance that I spent much of this tournament in a strange mental zone.  I was quite focused on the tournament as it took place, but I am lacking my usual ability to recall hands with clarity.  Even on the breaks between levels I was often unable to remember how I acquired chips.  I’ll do my best here.

My first table was a very easy draw.  There were five inexperienced, tentative players and me.  I resolved to play the opening levels the same way I play shorthanded cash games:  fast.  I was going to openraise a lot and reraise the other fast players a lot.  We only had 3000 chips in our stacks, so it was risky, but screw it.  If playing fast busted me early, so be it.  Gimme chips or get me out of here.

Within the first twenty hands, at 25-50 blinds, I picked up the K7 of spades in the cutoff and made it 150 to go.  The button called and the flop came down K-Q-x with two spades.  With top pair and a flush draw, I led at the pot for 300 and the button called.  The turn was the jack of spades, completing my flush draw.  I led out again for 450 and the button immediately shoved all in for about 2500.  I expected him to turn over an ace high flush, but there was no way I was going away with the second nuts, so I called.  He turned over A-10 with the ten of spades, having turned the nut straight, but he was drawing dead.  I had eliminated my first player, doubling up in the process.  So I began to openraise roughly every other hand and soon busted another player, but I have no recollection how.  Then they broke my table.

I was moved to another good table, with only one player I recognized (he had won a satellite I played in the night before and was solid).  Soon I picked up more chips:  At the 50-100 level, I was on the button.  The cutoff, an active player sitting on around 4000 chips, raised to 300.  I reraised to 850 with A4 offsuit and he called.  The flop came down 9-4-4, and he checked to me.  I bet 1200 and he immediately checkraised all in.  I called, he turned over 10-10, and I busted him.  At the first break I was among the biggest stacks in the room with around 13,000 chips.         

After the break, they moved me to a new table, where I once again began to pester everyone with continuous raises and reraises.  Then something unexpected happened.  The player in the two seat busted and was replaced with…. Kevin.  I was busy stacking my chips, and looked up to find him unracking his.  He gave me a pained “hi.”  I responded with a disgusted “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”  We had a mutual silent understanding to play our normal games but not reveal to our four opponents that we knew one another.  I continued being pesky but didn’t really tangle with Kevin, except for stealing his big blind on one occasion.  After perhaps 20 minutes at the same table with him, I was moved.  The player to my right, who had a habit of limping into me, thereby invariably getting popped with a raise, said he was happy to see me go.  The player to Kevin’s right, probably because he considered me reckless and stupid, said he preferred having me around.  As I departed, I finally broke the silence.

“I’m quite happy to be leaving, thank you very much.  I own ten percent of the player in the two seat.”  Bye Kevin!

They moved me to tougher table.  It had the always dangerous Tony Ma at it.  Mr. Ma and I had one big confrontation.  At 100-200 blinds with an ante, I raised in late position to 600 with AK suited, and Tony was probably sick of watching me raise, so he reraised to around 2000.  I considered the correct course of action, since we were both deeper than 10,000, and put in a third raise to 5500.  He scowled and folded. 

That table broke pretty fast (a six handed tournament with 1427 players has a remarkable rate of attrition).  I was sitting deep with around 15,000 chips.  But my new table was pretty tough.  In particular, there was a young player two seats to my right who was quite obviously in charge.  He had more chips than me.  I later learned that his name is Garrett Beckman, a ranked Poketfives.com guy (getting ranked on that site is no small feat), and I would be tangling with him off and on for the next two days.  He’s a very good player whom I respect.  He is the type of player that wants to play flops with you.  He thus openraises to slightly more than 2x the big blind constantly, looking to get involved in large, complicated postflop sequences in position.  Super tough.  On the very first hand after I arrived at the table, I was moved into the big blind, and he raised to 600 from the button.  I had a nebulous sense that he was trying to send a message to the new guy, so I decided to return to sender, so I reraised to 2000 with 7-2 offsuit.  He flashed an ace and folded. 

At this point, despite the relatively early phase of the tournament, around two-thirds of the players in the tournament had already been eliminated, including Kevin, who had been nursing a short stack for most of the day.  Beckman and I were about to have two confrontations, one of which I would win, but the second of which would seriously damage me.

In the first one, I decided to limp in second position for 200 with A7 offsuit.  It was folded to Beckman in the big blind, and he checked his option.  The flop came A-K-2.  He checked, I bet 700, and he checkraised to around 2500.  I didn’t put him on a big ace, since he checked his option in the big blind, so I figured he was just stealing since he couldn’t put me on an ace either.  I called.  The turn was a seven, giving me two pair.  He checked to me and I bet around 4000.  He thought for a very long time, then declared that I had flopped a set and folded his hand face down, saying he had AK.  I told him that I didn’t believe he had AK, but if he did, he made one hell of a laydown.   

Soon thereafter, I dumped about one third of my stack to an old lady sitting to my right when my AQ ran into her QQ.  But I rebuilt to around 19,000 chips when the following hand developed.  I believe this took place at the 200-400 level. 

I openraised to 1100 in first position with the J-7 of spades.  It was folded to Beckman in the small blind and he called.  Everyone else folded.  The flop came K-J-x with one spade, and we both checked.  The turn was the 8 of spades, giving me second pair and a flush draw.  Beckman bet something like 1600, and I raised to 4200, which was a semibluff designed to look like a raise with a made hand.  He called very quickly.  The river was a low spade, completing my flush.  He considered the river card for less than one second and fired a huge bet of 7000 into the pot.  I considered this bet for a few seconds, trying to determine whether I should put my last 8000 chips in with the fourth nuts or just smooth call.  The speed of his bet smelled like a bluff, as if he had told himself to make a large river bluff if it came a spade.  But then I considered who this player was and decided he was very capable of giving off reverse tells, so I took the cautious route and just called.  He showed the Q-9 of spades.  My stomach turned as I disgustedly mucked my hand face up.  I was crippled, just like that.  The kid had all my chips and decided to turn the screws a little bit verbally.

“That’s twice.  You better get me back soon,” he said with a smirk.  He was implying that he had outplayed me on the two hands.  Unfortunately, it was now very unlikely that I’d have a chance to get him back.  As it turned out, he’d come in very handy much later in the tournament.  I couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so I just smiled and said “Yeah.” 

For my next trick, I fell victim to a very amateur angle shoot.  I raised under the gun to 1100 with pocket eights, and got called by an older man on the button.  The flop came down K-4-2, so I made a continuation bet of around 1800.  The older man considered for a little while and flat called.  The turn was a seven, and the older man checked.  Wait, why was he checking, I was first to act.  Did he just absent-mindedly tap the table, or did he just check out of turn?  I replayed what I had just seen, and he was definitely looking at me nervously and rapping the table, indicating a check.  But it was my turn to act.  I looked at the dealer, and unsurprisingly, he was staring off into space with no idea of what just happened.  So I took matters into my own hands and said to the older gentleman “It’s my turn to act, sir.”  He had no response.  Was he angle shooting or was he just a putz?  I decided he was a putz and fired a second barrel, 3500 chips.  Ooops.  He immediately went all in for around 8000.  I could tell by the way he put his chips in that he had likely flopped a set, or at the worst, had AK.  I fired my cards into the muck, disgusted at both his illegal, unethical comportment and my foolishness for falling for his bullshit.  I was stewing, and about two hands later I let him have it. 

“You know, if I was the type of player to do it, I would make the floor enforce a penalty right now.”  He looked at me, pretending to be totally dumbfounded. 

“Huh?”

“Never mind.  You know what you did.”  And he did.  

Pretty soon after that hand, our entire table was moved en masse from the auxiliary tournament area into the main room.  Only 20% of the field remained, but I was down to about 3000 chips with the blinds at 200-400 with an ante.  Push/fold territory.

I had a hard time finding a spot to jam my chips in, because I held nothing but trash hands and players were continuously raising in front of me.  Finally, down to less than 2500 chips, and surrounded by large stacks, I openshoved 9-7 from under the gun and got called by the old lady in the big blind with Q-8 suited.  The first four board cards helped neither of us, and as I gathered my things, a nine fell on the river.  Oh.

Now I had about 5500 chips, still short but not super desperate.  A few hands later I looked down at 9-9 with a raise in front of me.  I reshoved and got called by A-Q.  The flop came A-x-x, and as I once again gathered my stuff and stood up, the turn produced a nine.  Whoa!  I instinctively snapped my fingers and lifted my right knee halfway up, like a retarded stork.  Then I sat back down.  Suddenly I had over 11,000 chips and a semi-average stack.  And then they moved me to another table, which turned out to be quite fortuitous.

On my very first hand at this new table, I was placed in the small blind and looked down at the very first monster hand I had seen all day:  two kings.  It was folded all the way around to me and I put a raise to 1200.  The big blind called and the flop came 6-4-3 rainbow.  I led out for 1700 and the big blind called.  The turn was another four, and now I checked to indicate that I was giving up on two overcards.  The big blind made a large, pot sized bet, indicating that he was protecting top pair or an overpair, and I moved in.  He thought for awhile and folded, saying he had an overpair.  My stack was getting respectable again.  On the next two hands, I picked up AQ and AK, winning with a raise and reraise, respectively.  I was liking this new table.  All of the sudden I had over 20,000 chips.  And then I played a very, very important hand—probably the hand that caused the transformation I’m about to describe below. 

On the previous hand, the player in the two seat played a huge pot with the player in the three seat, directly to my right.  The player in the two seat doubled up with pocket aces.  And on the ensuing hand, he had the button and I was in the big blind.  We both had about 20,000 chips.  He openraised to 1200, and I held two tens.  I felt like he was charged up from his double-up and was just looking to assert himself, so I reraised to 4500.  He moved all-in without hesitation.  Time for a huge decision.  I went into the tank for a long time. 

There were a couple of possibilities.

1-He held another monster; something in the range of JJ-AA, AK; or

2-He was putting a power move on me.

I considered several factors.  One was that he was a young player, possibly an internet pro, and putting in the third raise with junk in this kind of situation is a very common move in internet tournaments right now.  Another factor was that we were pretty close to the bubble, which actually weighed in favor of a call rather than a fold.  Since I had him pegged as an intelligent, aggressive player, I felt like he might have believed that the bubble pressure would cause me to fold, thus increasing the range of hands he’d make the move with.  And a final consideration was that you must play tournaments to win, period. 

But there was a deeper, more intense factor which was telling me to fold:  my lack of confidence.  I was scared to trust my read, because I would beat myself up if I was wrong.  I knew that if the kid turned over JJ, I would go to the rail in a state of total self-annihilation.  The thought of being wrong was almost too much to bear, so the easy route, with my tournament on the line, was to fold.

I had been thinking for probably 40 or 50 seconds when it dawned on me.  Fold?!  Fuck that!  Trust your read, you’re a goddamned poker player! 

“I’m gonna call,” I finally said as a slid all my chips in and tabled the tens.

The kid’s face fell.  Yes!  I was ahead.  Now what the hell am I fading here?!  He had A-9.  Okay.  The dealer burned and turned.  No ace.  No ace.  NO ACE!  The sheer horror of these situations is hard to describe.  There is a tremendous buildup, especially when the dealer takes his time between the flop, turn and river.  This particular dealer was going very slow.  All I know is I wanted this hand very badly.  No ace on the flop.  No ace on the turn.  And… thank you… no ace on the river.  I exhaled and gathered and stacked the chips.  The kid barely had me covered.  When he busted a few hands later, he was very gracious and commended my call.   I had over 40,000 chips and it was time for dinner.

Kevin had stuck around, so we ate dinner together before he departed for his bachelor party.  After the break, some kind of transformation occurred.  The call with the pocket tens changed my outlook.  I really went to work, but I can’t recall how exactly what was going on.  I just know that I played my ass off.  I remember the constitution of the table at this point quite well, as I befriended all the players and we sat together for a very long time. 

I was in the four seat.  To my right sat a player with a lot of chips who was a very nice guy and a solid player.  I was not in the mood to fold my big blind, so the two of us were continually clashing.  To my left sat a player who wanted to create a tight image, but whom I later learned was capable of making moves.  In the six seat was a player whose name I didn’t know but whom I recognized from playing with before.  He turned out to be a total nit near the bubble.  In the one seat was a wild player who was there to gamble and was dangerous for that reason.  And in the two seat, replacing the A-9 kid, was a player who seemed inexperienced and very tight.  At this point the money bubble lurked about 50 players away, and was approaching fast.  Soon it was 20 players away.  Four of the other five players at the table, it seemed, were content to limp into the money.  And having correctly made that read, I simply opened fire.  And then, before I knew it, we were only one player off the bubble and my stack was a robust 55,000.

What ensused was literally the longest bubble period I have ever experienced.  It stretched on for an hour and a half.  It was like a license to steal.  I openraised almost every pot.  When someone else openraised, I called with any two cards and took the pot from them after the flop, regardless of the board.  I was engrossed in a total zone, vacuuming up every chip in sight.  The blinds went to 300-600, then 400-800, so the uncontested pots were quite large.  My stack increased to 60k, then 70k, then to about a bloated 80k.  To the dismay of the other players at my table, the bubble would not burst.  All around the room, short stacks were somehow surviving their all-ins.  I robotically raised roughly 8 out of 10 pots, encountering no resistance.  The prize for 126th place was $2,143, and these guys wanted a return on their investment, which was a very good thing for me.  And then, on one hand, all my work was undone. 

We were still on the bubble, which was played hand-for-hand.  This meant that in the long intervals between hands, players were free to roam around the room and look at the other stacks.  It was thus common knowledge that a couple of players were on life support, with only a couple of antes (less than one small blind) in their stacks. 

On the hand in question, the loose player in seat one (one of three guys named David at the table), sitting on around 33,000 chips, openraised from under the gun to 2400.  I was on the button and looked down at A-J.  I decided to put him to the test and moved all in.  He called immediately and jumped out of his chair.  I thought I was in big trouble, but he showed 10-10.  A crowd gathered around our table to see if the bubble would finally burst, which would propel me to the very top of the leaderboard.  However, the board came all bricks, and his daring call paid off, completely destroying two full hours of meticulous stackbuilding and reducing me from one of the tournament leaders to only the third largest stack at my own table.  The player in the one seat, who was a very excitable (and also very nice) guy, went apeshit, and I silently slid several 10k stacks into the center, which the dealer delivered to him.  Soon thereafter, the bubble burst, and all the friendly folks at my table, who had been chatting between hands, congratulated one another.  And then “it” happened.

“It” was me entering the zone.  I am being perfectly honest when I say that I have no recollection of anything specific from the time period between the bubble bursting and 2:00 am, when play broke for the night.  I do know that I played very well and increased my stack way up to around 65,000 once again, which put me in position to do serious damage in the tournament.

I didn’t come out of my poker daze until I got back to my hotel room, whereupon I blogged about how much I still love poker and thought about the task that lied ahead of me.  I only got about four hours of sleep after a fourteen hour day.  But during the late phases of Day One, perhaps during the time I took to make the call with 10-10, something in my head had clicked.  With or without a full night’s rest, I was undoubtedly ready.
Part II to come….              

The good:  I won a quarter million dollars.

The bad:  I suffered the beat of a lifetime.  Literally.

I’m very happy with my performance and my bottom line.  🙂

I’ll be flying home in a couple of hours and I have much more to say about my day yesterday.  Thanks to everyone for their support, reading your comments, emails and texts made me really happy.

DZ

I made the final table of Event #12, 6-Handed No Limit.  To say i’m giddy is an understatement.  The official chip counts have not been posted yet, but I’m in good shape and feel comfortable against the five other final tablists.  I have a real shot at taking this thing down.

I really dominated today, it was sweet.  Send some good vibes my way tomorrow, it’s a big day for me.

-DZ   🙂

PS:  Haircut when I get back to NYC.

Just when I’m close to my wit’s end, wondering why the hell I’m alone in this godforsaken town hunched over two pieces of laminated plastic, fondling filthy pieces of clay for twelve hours a day with nothing to show for my efforts, something like today happens.

I wasn’t even going to enter the $150o Shorthanded NLHE World Series event, but my friend Kevin talked (actually, texted) me into it.  I need to thank him for that.  It turned into an exciting, marathon whirlwind tournament for me, and when play finally broke for the night, there were 62 players left in the field, with me sitting somewhere around 10th place with 96,000 chips.  Play resumes tomorrow at 2:00 PST.  I might earn only a couple of thousand dollars, and I might make well over $400,000 and win the bracelet.  Who knows?  It’s beside the point.

The point is that today got me really excited about poker again.  It was exhilirating.  Tournament poker, when played over an extended period, leaves the realm of mechanical “do’s and don’ts” and enters a different zone where it can be honestly described as an art form.  Today I entered that zone, and it felt very good to be back.   

I harbor no illusions about my play.  I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m not one of the world’s elite players.  But I am a very good poker player, and one who can take apart exploitable players over the course of a long day’s play.  And that’s exactly what happened at the Rio today.  There is too much to explain about all the unique situations I found myself in today; I’m too tired to get through it all right now.  It was a great day.

I’ve loved poker since I was a little kid, but it’s been a long time since poker loved me back.  The flame is rekindled.      

I have reached the point where coming to Vegas alone is simply business.  When I’m out here alone, I play poker, eat meals, and sleep.  Nothing else.  I have acquired the Vegas resident’s immunity to all the nonsense going on around me.  It’s no secret that all casino/hotels are designed in a way that requires the customers to walk through the casino floor to get anywhere, including the poker room.  And it’s the casino floor where all of Vegas’ great lures can be found.  When I’m here in Vegas alone, I can now honestly say that i’m unaffected.  None of it matters to me anymore. 

The table games, the clubs, the bars… and of course, Vegas’ calling card–the millions of people going absolutely nuts 24 hours a day–none of retains any gravitational pull.  When I’m out here alone, the average tourist’s Vegas–the place where whatever happens stays–is something to be tolerated, not something to be celebrated.  My Vegas is merely the place that happens to be the undisputed poker capital of the world.  Nothing more, nothing less. 

Which brings me to my main point:  if poker is out of control on the East Coast, then here in Vegas during the WSOP it is foaming at the mouth and writhing around in a straight jacket.  It cannot be controlled.  Everyone is out here right now, playing poker.  Everyone.

The first no limit hold ’em event of the 2007 World Series of Poker drew over 2,900 entrants.  That is a staggering number, and it was more than Harrah’s was prepared to handle.  The tourney occupied the entire Amazon Room and spilled over into other parts of the casino.  The lines for registration were so horrible that the start of the tournament was delayed for a long time, and alternates were put into play for over three hours. 

Yesterday, my first full day in town, I decided to forgo the $1500 limit hold ’em event and play the $300 no limit event at the Venetian, which is running a special series of deep stack tournaments throughout the WSOP.  I figured that maybe 200 players would opt for the Venetian, since the big tournament was at the Rio, and juicy cash games were ongoing everywhere.  I was wrong.  I showed up over an hour before the tournament was scheduled to start and walked into a total mob scene.  I wound up waiting on line for an hour and a half, and the tournament sold out before I got to the front of the line.  While over 900 players competed in limit hold ’em at the Rio, I eventually joined 588 other players at the Venetian as an alternate.  The WSOP has a grip on Vegas right now, and every big poker room in town is going off.  Incidentally, the Venetian tournament had an excellent structure and I finished just out of the money.   

I have spent the rest of my time here in the Amazon Room, which is absolutely abuzz every day from 10am until 3am.  While they have already screwed up many other aspects of the 2007 WSOP (e.g., the “new improved playing cards” were impossible to read and were taken out of play before I even got here, interminable waits for registration, general confusion in the satellite area), Harrah’s has gotten one thing right:  being at the WSOP feels like being at a major sporting event.  In 2005 and 2006, the Amazon Room felt like an airplane hangar with hundreds of poker tables in it.  It was an impressive sight, but only for its sheer size.

In 2007, the Amazon Room feels like a sports arena.  The reason is that some structural changes were made.  First, the walls are now lined with massive pictures of each of the Main Event’s past champions.  And second, the TV table area has expanded.  In additon to the familiar bleacher setup, Harrah’s has constructed an elevated bar area, where attendees can drink and watch the action.  Also, the tournament director provides a play-by-play (action, not analysis) of every hand at the final table.  The result is a much rowdier scene than in year’s past.  As I played a satellite during the first final table of the 2007 WSOP, the TV table area continually erupted with chants and wild cheering.  We already know that poker is fun to play and has been made TV friendly.  Now, the WSOP is doing a good job of making it a spectator sport.  Railbirding poker tournaments is going mainstream. 

Other notes from my first two days here:

-The currency of the WSOP is the $500 lammer.  These white chips can be acquired in single table satellites, which run nonstop from mid-morning until…. early morning, and they can be used to buy into bracelet events.  Various different buy-in levels are offered in the single table satellites, ranging from $125 to $1060.  The structure of the $125, $175 and $225 sats is disappointing, as the blinds start at 25-25 and the stacks are only 1000 chips.  You have to spend $300 to get 2500 in chips.  I did manage to chop a $225 sat, so I have a few lammers in my pocket.

-Yesterday’s $5000 Pot Limit Omaha with Rebuys event drew 132 players and they made over 400 rebuys.  In other words, the average player invested over $20,000.  As you might imagine, the 14 tables comprising this field were filled with poker’s heaviest hitters.  Name your favorite player from television.  He/she was playing in the 5k PLO, surrounded by other players you’d recognize.   

-Holy side games.  There are HUGE cash games running around the clock at the Rio.  We’re talking about games where the black chips are the smallest denomination on the table.  My personal favorite, which I stopped to watch for ten minutes last night:  200-400 Badugi.  Raymer was getting killed in this wild game at 2am last night.

-I guess I am officially part of this scene.  Both times I walked into the Amazon Room, I received “the nod” from guys I’ve played with before.  On this trip, I have yet to sit at a table where I haven’t recognized at least one of my opponents, either from past experience or from watching him/her play in the past.

I’m off to play some more sit n’ go satellites with lousy structures (I really need to address this addiction), and possibly some cash games.  My first bracelet event is tomorrow.  That’s all for now from pokerland.  Stay tuned.

It is time.   Time to release the hounds, open the barn door, let it all hang out, put the pedal to the metal, turn up the heat, dig down deep, and all the other cliches you can think of.

A lot of money goes into play in June.  My schedule, as of now:

Mon June 4:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Tue June 5:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Wed June 6:  $2000 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Thu June 7:  $1500 6-Handed No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Fri June 8:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Wed June 13:  $500 No Limit Hold Em @ Borgata Summer Open

Thu June 14:  $500 No Limit Hold Em @ Borgata Summer Open

Fri June 15:  $750 No Limit Hold Em @ Borgata Summer Open

Tue June 19:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Wed June 20:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Thu June 21:  $1500 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Fri June 22:  $2000 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Sat June 23:  $1500 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Batton down the hatches!

Oh, and for those of you keeping score at home:

Short answer:  yes.

Back in October 2006, in the wake of Congress’ passage of the Unlawful Internet Gambling Enforcement Act, I speculated on the new law’s possible impact on online poker.  One of my hypotheses was that the new law would make funding poker sites more difficult, thereby eventually chasing the weaker players off the sites.  Seven months later, I firmly believe that I was at least partially correct.

I have no hard evidence to support this claim.  In fact, Pokerstars actually broke its attendance record in the Sunday Million this past week.  Online poker isn’t shriveling up and dying.  But in the past year, the game has certainly evolved, and there has been a palpable decrease in the number of boneheads splashing around out there. 

First, and most obviously, the general climate surrounding online poker has taken a turn for the worse.  Everyone is aware of the new law, probably because two of online poker’s former landmark institutions, Party Poker and Neteller, have disappeared.  Players seeking to fund their accounts at the surviving sites have had to use alternate means.  And, in a sharp break from past practice, the World Series of Poker, which is owned by Harrah’s, has severed all ties with online poker.  This year, Harrah’s is not allowing any advertising for online poker entities whatsoever and is no longer accepting entries wired to them by a third party on behalf of any player.  In other words, Main Event entries won via online satellite will not be honored in 2007.  All Main Event participants must either 1) win a live satellite sponsored by Harrah’s; 2) personally wire ten grand to Harrah’s, Inc.; or 3) personally hand a teller at the Rio ten grand if they want to play. 

The online sites are continuing to run “WSOP Satellites,” but the package no longer includes an automatic entry and hotel accomodations for a week.  In fact, the “package” isn’t a package at all; upon winning a satellite, ten grand in actual cash is simply dumped into your online account, where it remains available for the player to risk (and possibly lose) before the WSOP ever starts.  The almost certain fallout is that the number of entries in the Main Event will decrease for the first time in many years (ever?).  The fallout for me personally is that I will not be focusing much on online satellites, which are really nothing more than regular tournaments with a $10,000 first place prize.  The hotel package offered by the sites was a real selling point for me. 

Anyway, back to my hypothesis.  In my opinion, today online poker is indeed lacking the rampant, seemingly endless supply of idiots that it once offered.  This has been pointed out by several authorities recently, including Anthony Holden in his curmudgeonly (but entertaining, and familiar–it eloquently covers many topics perviously discussed in this blog) sequel to The Big Deal, along with other observers ranging from respected Cardplayer columnists to countless poker message board contributors.

There are two reasons for this change:  the first is the legislation.  Bad online players need to be able to replentish their accounts.  When the government made this more difficult, many of them simply gave up on online poker.  For some, I imagine, the legislation served as a sort of wakeup call.  Having to establish an entirely new, less reputable way of sending money off into cyberspace for the purpose of gambling it away probably served as an awakening for thousands of habitual losers.

The second reason for the “donkey decrease” is the availability of relatively cheap expert instruction.  On a daily basis, extremely valuable, insightful information about poker is offered on websites like PokerXFactor, Cardrunners and 2+2.  All three of these resources either did not exist or existed in a severely diminished form only two years ago.  Today, any reasonably intelligent person can learn to play solid poker.  The requisite characteristic is nothing more than simple dedication.  And millions of people possess it in spades.  Poker is a complex game that involves exploitive strategies.  For that reason it has always been evolving.  But in recent times, that evolution has been happening at hyperspeed.

For instance, online multitable tournaments are completely different today than they were two years ago.  The prevailing strategy a couple of years back was to cling to your chips and avoid elimination at all costs.  As a result, a new aggressive strategy was popularized by Gus Hansen and other pros, in which “aggression” was embodied by the stealraise, especially in late position.  “Taking a stand” against the new breed of stealers was accomplished by calling in position with a decent hand, or defending one’s blind by calling the raise and playing a flop.  That was the tournament landscape at the time:  the active players wore down the table, firing multiple barrels pre-and post-flop when defenders forced them to.  Many of the aggressors were, in actuality, tight players, but as long as no one turned the screws on them, they were able to dominate through selectively pushing hard on the hands they had brought in for a raise.

The proper exploitive strategy against the stealraise was always known, and the idea of accumulating chips in tournaments rather than simply surviving was already being bandied about, but it didn’t gain widespread momentum until around a year and a half ago, when all the online instructors and a few books let everyone in on the secret:  simply reraise.  You don’t need a big hand.  If you’re out of position, or the stacks are shallow, or you just plain suck at postflop play, that’s ok.  Just reraise all in.  What is Gus Hansen gonna do when you shove a huge stack of chips in his face and he’s holding 7-4?  Fold, obviously.  For awhile, a lot of players–myself included–have had a lot of success employing this strategy against timid players and Gus Hansen wannabes alike.  I had a lot of fun doing this in live tournaments in particular.  Live tournament players tend to be way behind on the learning curve and today are still succeptible to this maneuver in the right circumstances.   

Online, the “reshove” caused a seismic shift in tournament play.  Where a preflop openraise on the button used to succeed with regularity, it quickly became (and remains) the Rodney Dangerfield of tournament poker.  It’s nothing more than an invitation to resteal.  About a year ago, everyone and their mother was taught that resteals succeed a high percentage of the time, and that even if a resteal is called, whatever hand you hold is probably at least 30% to win the pot against even the strongest holdings.  So bombs away!  The average player, who was once scared to put any chips into the pot, became a LAGtard.  And thus was born an army of restealers.  Picking up pocket aces on the button used to make me worry about whether or not I’d get any action from the blinds.  Now, when I see AA on the button, i’m licking my chops because I’m likely to get all my chips in against a resteal. 

The exploitive strategy against the restealers became somewhat prevelant at least six months ago, but is only now reaching widespread acceptance.  There are two things you can do to counteract resteals:  1)  call reshoves light; and, if the stacks are deep, 2) put in the third raise. 

The first strategy leads to a situation that was unfathomable two years ago but is now commonplace, and it goes like this:  about halfway through a tournament, with the blinds at 100-200 with a 25 ante, player A openraises from the cutoff for 650.  It is folded to the big blind who pauses for a second and then moves all in for 4700 chips.  The cutoff instantly calls, leaving him with only 1500 chips behind.  The entire table anxiously leans forward to see what hands are revealed.  The cutoff has A-9 offsuit, and the big blind has the 10-9 of diamonds.  Two years ago, everyone would immediately assume that both of these players were completely out of their minds.  Today, this hand is pretty typical.  The cutoff knew that the big blind was shoving a wide range of hands, so he made a stand with a hand that was likely to be favored.

The second strategy takes even more guts and goes something like this.   The scenario is the same, but both players have 10,000 chips.  The cutoff raises to 650.  It is folded to the big blind, who reraises to 2200.  The cutoff thinks for a moment and then moves all in.  The big blind folds, and the cutoff shows everyone J-8 offsuit and drags the pot.

This is the kind of poker that is being played now in online multitable tournaments.  No one, not even the poor players, is weak-tight.  Errors now tend to be errors of aggression, rather than errors of passivity.  The last bastion of crappy passive play–the most exploitable form of play–appears to be live tournaments, where the nitty player is alive and well.  But online?  Thanks to the recent legislation and easy access to instruction from very bright players, it’s a shark-eat-shark world.  What is the next evolutionary step?  Maybe it’s the kind of poker that was played in the 1980’s, when no one ever entered a pot with any kind of marginal hand and everyone sat around folding.  That would be amusing.

While most multitable donkeys have either disappeared or evolved, leaving the remaining players to continually adapt to one another, the situation is even worse in sit-n-go’s.  While sit-n-go’s used to offer a huge rate of return to any player who knew basic tournament concepts, this is no longer the case.  In fact, nowhere has the online landscape changed more than in this area.  What was once the province of donkeys looking to play a quick one-table tournament is now a total minefield.

The reason:  preflop sit-n-go strategy, especially near the bubble, is nothing more than a math problem, and a solvable one.  Because sit-n-go stacks are relatively shallow, postflop play ceases to exist, and the game always boils down to a single decision:  push/fold.  In the past year or so, several poker scholars have “solved” the correct strategy for pushing and folding hands in the various stages of sit-n-goes (and labeled this study “ICM,” which stands for independent chip modeling), and their solutions have not only been posted on websites, but have been taught in both online videos and live lectures.  Just as is the case with multitable tournaments, the only characteristic required for becoming proficient at sit-n-go’s, provided you have a modicum of intelligence, is determination.  In multitable tournaments, there are numerous adaptive strategies that can overcome whichever strategy is employed.  This is less true in sit-n-go’s, which can be more or less completely mastered.

So what happens when nine sit-n-go masters sit down and play a sit-n-go?  The results become almost random and the house takes its cut.  There are still very small edges that can be pursued, but pushing/folding on the bubble is something that there is an indisputably correct way to do, and there is nothing much anyone can do to counteract it when it’s done properly.  I began to notice that the overall quality of sit-n-go play was improving several months ago, and my solution was to drop down to lower stakes sit-n-go’s, where I imagined some idiots might still reside, allowing me a continued high rate of return.  Unfortunately, learning solid sit-n-go play is so easy that I’ve noticed decreasing numbers of ill-informed players remaining even at lower stakes.  There are still tons of expert players, many of whom are multitabling, at the lower buy-in sit-n-go’s. 

Sit-n-gos are really not worth the trouble unless a readily identifiable donkey is at your table.  It’s a shame, because I used to love them.

It appears that the final frontier for really shitty online poker play is in cash games.  It is in cash games that a smart player can employ one of the last weapons available to him against the much-improved masses:  game selection.  It is easy to tell, by looking at statistics, or by simply observing a cash game, whether a lousy player(s) is present.  There was a time–in the glory days when donks roamed the earth and sat in every game–when doing this wasn’t necessary, but I am now actively looking for dummies when I pick an online cash game.  Game selection is, quite simply, an integral part of the arsenal, and one that I’m not ashamed to resort to.

So what am I really saying in this windbag blog entry about how tough online poker has become?  That I’m disillusioned?  That I’m not good enough to make it?  That my adventure is over?  No, no and NO.  I’m doing quite well, thank you.

I do intend to do the following:

1) Play more live poker.  A little something called the World Series of Poker is almost upon us, so it shouldn’t be hard.

2) Play fewer sit-n-go’s and even more cash games.  I’ll miss my old addiction.

3) Try and stay a step ahead on the learning curve in multitable tournaments.  The answer to “what is Sugar D doing in this hand?” will hopefully be “I have no idea” more often than not. 

The drought is over.  I have my first substantial live tournament cash of 2007. 

It came in the $1,000 buy in event at the Harrah’s WSOP Warmup yesterday.  This tournament was seriously under advertised, and the 1k event drew only 58 players.  The field consisted of mostly Atlantic City regulars and young internet pros (no fewer than three fielded calls from their mothers in my presence), with a smattering of dead money types.  I have a small edge in this situation, as I’m both a quiet player and a relative nobody, but one that knows the names, repuations and playing styles of many internet players.  I’ve played with all of them online and know who they are.  But they have no idea who I am.

I came in fourth in the tournament.  In light of that, the following were unusual: 

-I showed down only one hand before the final table.  At the final table, other than situations where I called an all-in, I showed down exactly one hand.

-I was never dealt pocket aces, pocket queens, or pocket jacks.  I was dealt KK once and got no action.  I held AK twice.  The classic chip-accumulater, where someone runs into your monster hand, never happened. 

In other words, I won no huge pots.  I won many smallish to medium sized pots with continuation bets.  I bluffed postflop more than I typically do.  A few interesting hands and situations:

At my first table, at the 100-200 level, a TAG player limped in middle position and I overlimped right behind him with the KdJd.  Both blinds called.  The flop came Q-J-4 with one diamond.  It was checked around.  The turn was the six of diamonds.  The blinds checked to the MP limper and he bet 600.  I put him on a jack, a middle pair, or some kind of a draw and raised to 1400.  The blinds folded, MP limper said “queen-jack, eh?” and folded.  Thus began my ascent. 

Ari Engel, a.k.a. ‘Bodog Ari’ was at my first table.  He’s an amazing tournament pro who until recently was too young to play live events.  He’s a nice jewish kid from Brooklyn with a very quiet, semi-nebbishy demeanor.  He’s too young to grow a beard, but he’s trying.  The result is a scraggly little mess that he nervously plays with.  His vocal announcements at the table (e.g. “raise,” “reraise,” etc.) are barely audible.  It’s his play that establishes his presence.  He gets leverage in many pots by raising in position, especially if a player or two limps in front of him.  He’s also very dangerous after the flop and will test his opponent, even if he isn’t holding much of a hand.  Thankfully he was two seats to my right, so I had position on him.  We never really tangled.  I did see him make an amazing call later in the tournament: 

When we redrew for seats with 2 tables left, Ari once again ended up at my table.  We were down to around 14 players with the top 9 making the money.  Ari was on the button, and it was folded to the cutoff, who made a very large openshove for about twelve big blinds, or around eight times the pot.  Ari just barely had the cutoff covered and contemplated for around a minute and a half before silently reraising all in and turning over Ah7h.  The cutoff grimaced and tabled KQo.  In Ari’s position, I’d fold without much thought, because my tournament would be on the line and I’d assume that bigger aces are a major part of the shover’s range.   But i’m not Bodog Ari.  The flop brought a king and Ari was out of the tournament a few minutes later.  A few players at the table were critical of Ari’s play in this hand, but in my opinion, it was an amazing call.  Ari obviously plays tournaments to win, not to cash, which increases his overall equity.  He somehow correctly deduced that he was a favorite against the shover’s range, and he was in fact favored to win the hand.  The detractors criticized the concept of calling off all your chips as a 60-40 favorite, but an edge is an edge, and it is safe to assume that Ari would have been very difficult to deal with if he acquired a big stack on the bubble.     

Another interesting hand I played occurred when we were down to three tables.  The blinds were at 100-200 with a 25 ante, and I was on the button.  I called a raise from a player I recognized as “Hoodini2810” from Pokerstars on the button with the 54 of spades.  The blinds folded and we played heads up as the flop came A-8-3 rainbow.  My opponent bet 1000.   I knew he’d fire at this flop with or without an ace, so I floated and waited to see what the turn would bring.  The turn was a deuce.  My opponent checked, and I took down the pot with a bet of 2500.  It was only after I had thrown the chips into the pot that I realized that I had hit a gutshot wheel draw and was holding the current nuts.  Oops.  I probably would have bet the turn either way, as we were both relatively deep stacked.

At the final table I drew a very good seat, in only 5th position in chips but seated to the immediate left of the two chipleaders.  We reached the money when I made a big blind math call against a shortstack (the aforementioned ‘Hoodini’) with Q3 and sucked out against Q9.  We then played two full levels (over two hours of poker) 8-handed before the next elimination.  This was a grueling period during which I played normal ABC poker, picking up chips by stealing from the tighter players, and staying out of the way of the aggressive guys, with an occasional resteal against them.  I had a tight image and used that to my advantage on a couple of occasions where I made continuation bets with nothing against tight guys, and one large resteal with nothing against the most agressive player at the table.  Then, with 6 players remaining, I won my first and only classic race of the tournament with 1010 against a shorter stack’s AQs. 

Eventually, the tournament worked its way down to four players:  1) the very tough, very solid Joe Brooks, a.k.a. ‘JOEYTHEB,’ who was second in chips; 2) the shortest stack, a young, very LAG-y player named Kyle, seated to my right; and 3) the chipleader, seated to my left.  More on the chipleader:  I mentioned earlier that there was a smattering of dead money in the tournament.  Well, one of the dead money guys managed to have the chiplead when we were four handed.

This guy was one of the funniest nits I’ve ever played with.  He both resembled and had the mannerisms of the character “Milton” from the movie Office Space.  Yep, the guy who loves his stapler and ends up blowing up the building.  He had super-thick glasses that made his eyes appear very large, a strange nervous stutter, ill-fitting clothes, and a habit of involuntarily rocking in his chair (think Leo Mazzone) whilst muttering to himself.  I hadn’t sat with him until the final table, but he apparently had engineered a huge suckout to get there.  Then, at the final table, here is how he acquired the chiplead:  first having played about 2% of the hands for three hours, he was down to about 10 big blinds and was seated in the big blind when I was in the small blind.  I had J10s and shoved him, presuming no resistance.  Instead, he checked his hole cards and practically spilled his drink getting his chips in.  He had pocket aces, and they held up.  For his next trick, after folding his big blind to the LAG-y player’s raise about ten consecutive times, he finally reshoved Mr. LAG and was instacalled.  This time LAG had a hand:  QQ.  Milton had A7o.  But the flop came 7-7-x, and voila, new chipleader.

Unfortunately, I did not have position on Milton, and I was card dead.  Not a good combination.  Both Brooks and the LAG recognized that Milton was a total nit, and began to reshove Milton’s hesitant steal attempts.  Each time, he’d pause, say “I know I have the best hand,” and then toss his cards into the muck with trembly hands.  I really needed him to call these shoves with his monstrous stack, but he was not experienced enough to realize that neither Brooks nor the LAG had to have a hand to make their shoves.  So he slowly leaked chips to them until I was the lone shortstack.  On my final hand, I was down to about five times the pot, was seated in the big blind with KQo, and I beat LAG into the pot on his obvious ‘any two’ shove from the small blind.  He had a live J7 and flopped two pair.  Adios.  On Cardplayer, the nit is listed as the winner, but i’m not sure whether or not they made a deal after I got bounced.  If not, Milton is one very unlikely tournament winner.

I cashed for a relatively paltry $4,400, which is not a big payout in a $1,000 tournament.  But I feel this cash might turn out to be an important one.  The schneid is finally over.  It is very hard not to be results-oriented in tournament poker.  The correct way to measure your ability and progress is by examing tournaments on a hand-by-hand basis, and digging for weaknesses in your playing patterns.  I have been doing this all year, and despite having no cashes to my credit, I honestly felt that I was playing well.  I never sit there blinding myself off.  I adapt well to the other players at my table.  I have put my money in as a favorite in almost all of my elimination hands.  The one place where I didn’t love my game was in my lack in inventiveness in postflop play. 

For the most part, it’s been a pretty simple diagnosis:  I’ve run bad.  That’s the unfortunate thing about tournament poker:  you’re always a dog to cash, and droughts are simply part of the landscape.  Still, no matter how well-adjusted, rational and analytical you are, continuous failure is bound to toy with your confidence, and I’m afraid that I’m no exception to this rule.  The most important thing I am taking away from yesterday’s tournament is the knowledge that I still know what I’m doing.   

From Tuesday May 1, 2007 through Sunday May 6, 2007, I played no poker whatsoever.  This was my longest poker hiatus in at least a year and a half.  The reason for the break was a gift my sister, brother-in-law and I gave to my parents last Christmas:  a vacation to Nashville, Tennessee and to the Kentucky Derby.  We selected Nashville because it was the birthplace and childhood home of my paternal grandfather.  We selected the Kentucky Derby because it seemed fun.

I’ve been really uninspired blogwise lately, so I will just provide some short snippets of information about the vacation, broken down by day.

Tuesday:  The vacation hadn’t started yet, but it was my birthday.  In November, I managed to secure a reservation for four at Rao’s, an old Italian restaurant up in East Harlem.  After hearing a bunch of lukewarm reviews, I was very happily surprised.  It is a true old school experience.  There is no menu, the manager comes out and tells you what he has that night.  There are only two seatings per night.  The food is simple but delicious.  Almost everyone in the place is obviously a “regular,” and throughout the meal several of the proprietors come over to introduce themselves.  Around 11:00, they turn on a jukebox and a bunch of old mafioso types sing along to the doo-wop songs.  It’s a totally authentic, unique experience.  I can’t recommend this restaurant highly enough.  Good times.

Wednesday:  the crew consists of my parents, my sister, my brother in law, my 10-month old nephew, Janeen and I.  The evening flight goes off without a hitch, but when we land and go to the rental car counter, it occurs to me that this vacation will be reminiscent of the old childhood stationwagon tour:  we’ve rented a massive Dodge Caravan, and the seven of us (and our luggage) fill the entire thing to the brim.  Ezra (my nephew) has an ungodly amount of accoutremont:  a stroller, a car seat, a bunch of other stuff.  I’m a bit apprehensive about the trip, as I have not spent four consecutive days with my parents (or anyone, for that matter) in many, many years.  Partly to minimize the amount I’ll have to interact with everyone, and partly because I like driving, I unilaterally decide that I’ll be the family chauffer for the entire trip.  Once we’re inside the truck, I discover that my father has brought his GPS, which is an amazing invention.  On the vacation it ends up saving us countless minutes and a lot of aggravation.

Thursday:  Time to explore Nashville.  First stop was Andrew Jackson’s plantation.  To the curators’ credit, they didn’t sugarcoat anything:  we learned that Andrew Jackson was the largest slaveholder in the region, and a generally nasty one.  His mansion has no bathrooms.  He shat in a pan then called upon his house slaves, who dumped it out back.  I also learned that our forefathers bathed only 3 or 4 times a year.  We had a nice steak dinner at Ruth’s Chris. 

Later on, everyon except Ezra and my parents decided to grab a beer in Nashville’s famous nightlife district, which is nothing more than 2 blocks of bars.  Living in NYC really skews one perspective of what constitutes “urban.”  By my standards, Nashville is tiny.  It is also, quite apparently, the place where many Southern musicians migrate to “make it.”  We discovered this by stumbling into a karaoke bar, where any thoughts of performing were quickly squelched by a long string of pro-level performances of country hits by struggling Nashville singers.  I have to give the local karaoke mavens credit.  They were all blasted and having a good ‘ol time.  Some of the performances were quite memorable in both their quality and hilarity.   Here’s a snippet of video from a guy we called “Soggybottom” singing something about his boogie-woogie choo-choo baby, or something. 

[janeen’s video goes here]

From there, we bounced around from bar to bar.  Suzanne (my sister) wanted to see line dancing, but there was no line dancing to be had.  Just a string of very large places, all featuring stages, live country/rock music and patrons of all ages drinking one of the three bottled beers available:  Bud, Bud Light, or Coors Light.

Friday:  Janeen and I got up much later than everyone else (I was still on poker time) and discovered that everyone else had consumed a big southern breakfast in the hotel.  This was not a problem, as there were at least six fast food places within a half mile of our hotel.  At noon, each one had a drive thru line over 10 cars long.  People in Nashville–and, I suspect, the entire South–love fast food in a way northeastern Americans don’t.  Maybe it’s because they have fewer options, maybe it’s some other reason, but the fast food joints in and around Nashville were always packed.  So if you’re gonna open a Wendy’s franchise, do it down South. 

Next, we toured Nashville.  We took a bus tour, which took us all over the city:  past the bars we had frequented the night before, past all the run-down country music studios, past an area which was virtually all hospitals (Nashville is the health care capital of the South), and through the park where my grandfather rode his horse every weekend as a child.  Once the bus tour was over, we hit the Country Music Hall of Fame.  While I am not a fan of America’s favorite genre of music, I was able to appreciate the musem, which had a lot of cool listening stations.  I confirmed what I had already suspected:  I like bluegrass, I like Johnny Cash, I like old ratty steel guitar songs… but I despise modern country music.  We had some authentic BBQ at some dirty little place after the museum. 

The next stop was the Grand Ol’ Opry, but we had a few hours to kill and no hotel room, so we drove to the mall at Opry Mills and did nothing.  After successfully killing the requisite time, it was Opry time.  To put it bluntly, the Grand Ol’ Opry is a place for geriatrics to hear old country music by old washed up country stars in a genteel environment.  The most interesting thing about the Opry is that it is a live radio show, with live commercials read on the air in between songs.  We were subjected to the same commercials for Cracker Barrel, U.S. Bank and Vietti Chili (“it’s a kick in a can!”) over and over again.  In between the commercials, crusty old country crooners were trotted out on stage, and they sang, as best they could, their old hit(s).  It was all very subdued:  the only time the crowd got a little rowdy was when an old dude called Mel McDaniels impolored them to “stand up for America” accompanied by a video of Old Glory waving in the breeze.  The absolute lowlight was a group of white men in traditional Mexican attire doing a cheesed-up set of mariachi songs in “honor” of Cinco de Mayo.

Thus ended phase one of the trip.  It was around midnight, and it was time to hightail it to rural Bardstown, Kentucky, where we had booked a bed & breakfast for the remainder of the trip.  The trip took us up Interstate 65 and then some very dark highway, and it was longer than expected.  It didn’t help that we passed from the central time zone back into the eastern time zone on this journey, so an hour of sleep got flushed.  The GPS also screwed up for the first and only time, and we lost an additional half hour driving in a circle in the middle of nowhere.  By the time we pulled up at the bed & breakfast, and fumbled our way into our hostess’ house, it was around 3:00 AM.    Breakfast was going to be served at 8:45.  Crash.

Saturday:  Derby Day started off with a southern breakfast, consisting of a lot of eggs and pork, served by the owner of the quaint bed & breakfast.  The hostess made things significantly less quaint by gratuitously mentioning that she was no longer married, had buried both of her children, and was only running the bed & breakfast because she needed the money.  Gulp.  Pass the butter. 

We were about 40 minutes away from Louisville and left for the Derby bright and early.  My father, my brother in law and I were dressed in jackets and ties.  My sister, my mother and Janeen wore dresses, heels and big goofy hats.  I had heard numerous reports on both Louisville and the Kentucky Derby, so when we got to the Derby, none of the following facts surprised me:

-Louisville, Ky. is a DUMP.

-Churchill Downs is massive.  Over 150,00 people show up.  Over half this many drink heavily.

-Various small industries spring up around the Derby.  Louisville residents charge Derby-goers to park on their lawns, and residents turn their cars into cabs for the day, as your parking spot is unlikely to be anywhere near the track.

Our day at the races was pleasant enough.  Our tickets were for a pavilion off to the side of the track (literally built on top of the parking lot), so we had a private seating area in a tent, open bar, and our own mutuel windows.  While this setup was away from the action, it was perfect for Ezra and my parents.  In any event, being away from the “action” was all right by me.  At the Kentucky Derby, “action” entails standing in unbearable crowds, avoiding fistfights and vomit, and pondering exactly who these trashy people are, so it was all good.  It’s not that I have a huge problem with drunk rednecks, I really don’t.  It’s more about my rather NYC-centric idea of partying, which is at direct odds with Kentucky Derby partying.  I like to have my fun late at night, when the rest of the world is asleep.  This preference is likely honed from years of living in New York.  In my world, the days are for working or relaxing, they’re not for getting fucked up.  That’s what God made nighttime for.  The sea of trashed humanity on display at 2:00 pm at the Kentucky Derby does not appeal to me.      

Anyway, I hit a nice exacta in the fourth race, but lost thereafter, having picked the horse that ran second in the Derby.

Leaving the track and getting to the car was the lowlight of the trip.  I’m not providing any details.  Suffice to say it was a major pain in the ass.  When we finally got to the vacationmobile, we drove back to the bed & breakfast, ordered pizza, ate it, and crashed.

Sunday:  The last day of the trip was a quirky haphazard tour of rural Kentucky.  First stop was a down-home Civil War museum, which featured a lot of authentic artifacts and interesting information about the battles in the western theater.  Next, we made a stop on Kentucky’s “Bourbon Trail,” which is a series of bourbon distilleries.  Think wine tour, but with whiskey.  We went to the Maker’s Mark distillery, where we saw each of the various stages of bourbon production.  Then, headed for the highway, we came upon a small parking lot on the side of the road, behind which sat an old log cabin.  The sign said “Lincoln’s Childhood Home.”  Okay, why not.  We stopped for 10 minutes.

The last stop was for food at a Cracker Barrel.  For those unfamiliar, Cracker Barrel is a peculiar little chain of diners that serves Southern comfort food and always has a general store attached to it.  Here is Ezra, the world’s happiest baby–he didn’t cry for the entire trip, enduring a full four days in the back of a minivan–having some fun at Cracker Barrel.

[kml_flashembed movie=”http://www.youtube.com/v/lteQIv36nuQ” width=”480″ height=”360″ /]

And that was more or less it.  Griswald adventure complete.  Back to poker! 

Two weekends ago Janeen and I took a trip to Atlantic City with a big group of friends.  I have been traveling to gambling destinations with these friends for many years, but this trip was among my first as a professional gambler.  And, as I’ve learned in the past year and a half, that changes things.

Typically the highlight of these short trips with friends–whether to Vegas, Atlantic City, or Connecticut–has been our time spent at the craps table, where we have a good time risking a few hundred dollars, having free drinks and loudly blurting out a bunch of strange private jokes.  It’s always been fun for me.  Until recently.

The problem with craps, as with all other casino table games, is that you are expected to (and eventually will) lose.  As a reasonably intelligent person, I have always understood this.  Long before I became a Sklansky disciple capable of calculating expected value and hourly rate of return, I innately understood that craps was a game in which these numbers were negative.  When I was drawing a salary like most of the other people in the world, I viewed game’s negative expectation as a sort of entertainment cost.  I learned how to mitigate the game’s negative expectation, and the fact that i was a 2% dog didn’t bother me because I was having fun gambling.

Nowadays, the concept of “having fun gambling” holds much less appeal and is amusing in its redundancy, as I already spend half my waking hours gambling.   I do not draw a salary.  As a matter of fact, my living is derived from continuously playing poker with a small statistical edge against my opponents.  This edge, not so ironically, is almost identical to the one the casino exerts on the scores of people stupid enough to plunk their money down at the craps table (actually, it’s a lot smaller than the casino’s edge against the average craps player, who commits quick fiscal suicide through moronic bets like the “hard way” wagers).  So when I choose to play craps in my leisure time, I am essentially taking time off from being a small favorite in exchange for time being a small underdog.  It makes a lot less sense than it used to.

Despite losing my desire to shoot craps after becoming a professional poker player, I have nevertheless indulged in an occasional session.  The reasons vary:  sometimes I have played for companionship.  Sometimes I have played to maintain comp status at a particular casino (they hardly rate you for poker).  And sometimes I have played out of a combination convenience and sheer boredom.  Throughout 2006, despite drawing almost no pleasure from the game, I was remarkably lucky at craps.  However, unsurprisingly, things have changed this year.  Nearly all of my sessions have been losers, including my latest foray with my buddies in Atlantic City, which was abominable.  My craps playing has not grown to the level of a “leak,” but losing money at a game that you don’t even enjoy playing is… the opposite of fun. 

For years, I’ve trained myself to gamble in spots where I have the edge and milk those spots for all they are worth.  Being a voluntary underdog?  I’m through with it.  Sklansky would be proud.

That said, I’m off to the Kentucky Derby the day after tomorrow.  -EV for sure, but a novel enough experience to retain its entertainment value.