Dear Constant Reader,

My attorney and I set forth last Friday night(May 12) from Los Angeles bound for Las Vegas with myself intent on playing in as many poker tournaments as possible. For logistical reasons we flew out of Burbank airport. Allow me to let you in on a well-kept secret: the Burbank Airport is, if you’ll pardon the expression, the bomb. Low-key, no hassle, easy to get in and out of– also, they don’t have the mechanical jetways to ramp you on and off the plane like they do at LAX, so when you board they roll the portable staircases out onto the tarmac. The upshot of this is that they load and unload passengers from both the front and rear of the plane at once. This is a much more civilized way of travel in my opinion. I was so impressed I even came up with a slogan for them…

The Burbank Airport: Keeping it Real Since Nineteen-Whatever

The plane was an hour late, but that was just fine. We got into Vegas around 10:45, tipped a sky cap five bones and cut the heinous cab line. We were at the Sahara by 11. The line to check in was likewise heinous, so we just checked our bags and I entered the 11 pm tourney as a stand-by. There were seven of us on the stand-by list, so they opened up a new table and let us all join the tournament at once. Out of a hundred or so folks, I finished 12th, which was one off the money bubble. I got blinded off and ended up getting broke with eight-deuce. The only noteworthy hand was the lone bad beat I put on someone the entire weekend. Short-stacked, I moved in from the button for my last twelve hundred chips with seven-six suited and was instantly called by the small blind with pocket queens. Things were looking grim after a flop of five-five-deuce. Then came the running sixes, and Mr. Pocket Queens was not at all happy with me. Tattooed and mustached to the max, he looked like he’d have been right at home with the cast of American Chopper. I apologized for the beat, but it did no good. He steamed off the rest of his chips a hand or so later with a highly dubious holding. Another interesting note: at my table was a gentleman by the name of J.J. Jones, who claimed it was his birthday. He picked up pocket jacks three times (yes, three) while sitting there. Coincidence? You decide…

The next day I went over to Caesar’s for their noon tourney. I bought an all-day pass on the monorail for $15, but it was still quite a walk from the Flamingo station. One interesting note – Caesar’s now requires you to sign up for their comps program before you can enter their tournaments. I already had a comp card from a recent trip to Harrah’s Rincon, but many folks did not have one and the tourney started about thirty minutes late while everyone got their papers in order. While waiting, I prowled around the tournament area of the poker room, which only days prior had hosted a WSOP circuit. The tables and chairs all had the special WSOP logo on them and were still set up for the final table of the championship event. I was hoping they’d hold the noon tourney in there, but they held it in the main room instead. The tournament itself was excellent - smoothly run and with the best structure of any in town. Also, the endless flow of fresh o.j. and Red Bull in a can made the experience a complete joy, despite my coming in 20th out of 100+. The best hand of the tourney for me: some dude raises it to 1200 from mid-position, and I min-raise to 2400 with pocket aces. He calls, then puts me all in on a flop of king-nine-deuce. I call and he shows ace nine, and I left him on a respirator. I mention this only because I’d run into the same gentleman at a final table the next day….

After busting out I went back to the Sahara and joined my attorney for the $7.95 prime rib special. (worth it at twice the price). I played some 2-4 limit after dinner and won $30. Then we headed over to the Wynn to see La Reve. We had second row seats and got splashed quite a bit (equally worth it on both counts). I had a Long Island iced tea there and paid $16 for it (not quite so worth it).

The next day I again went back to Caesar’s for the noon tourney, but this time with a much happier result. First hand of note: with the blinds still at 25/50, a gentleman raised it to 150 in mid-position. It folded to me in the big blind, where I made the call with pocket fives. The flop came eight-five-deuce rainbow. I checked, he bet 300, and I called. The turn came a king and put a two-flush on board. I checked. He raised it to 600 and I re-raised it to 1800. He went all in for his last 3500 and I called. He showed me ace-king and I showed him the rail. I had doubled up to around 9000 after about five minutes of play. I then wandered through the proverbial card desert for the next two and a half hours. It reached a low point when this lady on a short stack moved all in with ace six and I called with pocket tens in the big blind. She flopped an ace and that left me with a little over 4000 chips. That, praise be to the Poker Gods, was the closest thing to a bad beat I took all weekend. After that, things took a turn for the better. As the lady was collecting her chips, someone said “nice hand” to her. She replied that she’d been card dead, but had finally gotten a good hand to play. I made a mental note to myself: this lady thinks ace six is a good hand. A few minutes later, this same lady raises from early position. There was one caller in between, and I look down at ace king. Remembering this lady’s fondness for ace-turd, I move all in and she calls with (you guessed it) ace-turd. The in-between caller folded to my re-raise – he said he laid down king queen. I double through her and get all my chips back plus interest.

A few hands later with the blinds at 400/800, a short stack with a bushy beard moves in from under the gun for his last 1300. It folded around to me in the small blind where I woke up with pocket tens. I move all in to shut out the big blind, who folds. The raiser turns over the jack-queen of clubs and we’re off to the races. He flops a jack right out of the gate, then hits another jack on the turn. Then, just as I’m counting out the 900 chips I owe him, the Jehovah card falls on the river – a ten. I make tens full of jacks and knock the guy out. Mr. Beard tells me “nice catch” as he walks away, but he seemed like a good-natured fellow.

When we get down to two tables playing six-handed each and with the money bubble approaching, I find myself on the short stack. With the blinds at 600/1200, I move in from under the gun for my last 7500 with ace–queen and get called by the next shortest stack at my table, who turns over two black jacks. “Good luck” says I, but I’m secretly hoping that will jinx him. The flop comes queen high with all clubs, which is both wonderful and terrifying. I’m out in front, but still only a slight favorite to win the hand. I decide to use all my powers and call for divine intervention. “Keep it red, dealer. Keep it red”, says I. Only after I say it do I realize that either of the two red jacks will spell my doom. Fortunately for me, the Gods of Irony were not listening and the Poker Gods were. The dealer peeled off running red threes to double me up. A short while later I found myself at the final table with about 15,000 in chips.

After drawing for seats, I’m just left of a micro-stack just around 4000 chips, and just to the right of the King Kong chip leader who had well in excess of 120,000, who just so happened to be the same guy I crippled with my pocket aces the previous day. “Looks like I won’t be stealing your blinds”, says I. Everyone else looked to have between 30-50k. We high card for the button and I draw the small blind, so the micro-stack to my right has the button and gets to see as many hands as possible before he has to go for it. I decide to wait for him to bust before I make a move, unless of course I pick up a monster in the meantime. First hand of the final table: under the gun limps , a gentleman in a purple shirt raises to 5000 and it folds to me. I get a set to muck, then I look down to see pocket aces. Blammo. I shove in and get called by Mr. Purple, who shows pocket queens, and I double up to a respectable 30,000. I eventually bust out in 6th place when I call off my last 13k with ace-jack in the big blind versus pocket nines and fail to improve. If I’d finished one place higher I’d have had to fill out tax forms. Sweet!

After the tournament I walked next door to the Mirage, where it was Day One of the championship event of the WPT Mirage Poker Showdown. I spectated for about three hours in a star struck haze. I saw so many famous poker players there I wrote down their names because I knew I’d never remember them all. I saw Scotty Nguyen playing with Todd Brunson to his immediate left. I saw Huck Seed at a table next to Miami John Cernuto. I saw Alan Goehring bust Maureen Feduniak. I saw Don “Temple of Doom” Zewin look up at the tournament clock and frown like he was smelling something foul.
I saw David Benyamine walking around dejectedly with a stack of hundred dollar bills in his hand. Eli Elezra called to him from the table he was at, asking if he’d busted out. Mr. Benyamine affirmed he had, and mumbled something about bad luck. Then he walked over and handed the stack of hundreds to Nam Le. I believe he may have been paying him off for a “last longer” bet he’d just lost to him. During a fifteen minute break, I saw the great Chip Jett go over to a friend of his and ask if he wanted to go to a strip joint. His friend asked Chip if he’d busted out, and Chip replied “No, but I need something to take my mind off of how badly I’m playing. I just bluffed off forty-two thousand with eight high versus aces full. I may ask you to punch me in the face. I’d like to bleed, I but I still need to be able to continue.” After play was finished for the day, I watched Daniel Negreanu, Gavin Smith, Joe Sebok and Scott Huff recording an episode of The Circuit for Cardplayer magazine right on the casino floor.

All in all, it was one of the best times I’ve ever had in Vegas, and I hope to get back in the next couple weeks. Until then, keep it real.

Faithfully yours,

Suited Jack