Vegas: March 2007: Part II: DYKWTFIA?

If you haven't read Part I, what the fuck are you waiting for?

Friday In Vegas.

I awoke with a number of thoughts and burning questions rushing through my head:

1: Man, I'm so lucky Mrs. Dynamite lets me jaunt off to Vegas at will. Being a softy, I lob her a text message: "I miss you." Yeah, Kid Dynamite is whipped. Completely.

2) Why does my calf hurt? Oh yeah - I almost forgot about the Mirage's attempt to tilt us last night: We were dominating the double deck blackjack game late night, and they decided to close the poker room crapper "for cleaning," around 2:30 am... for about THREE hours! We retaliated by dashing off to the sports book head instead, whenever the situation warranted. Since we were drinking heavily, and I have a bladder the size of a baseball, this resulted in frequent trips to the inconvenient bathroom. On one of these junkets, I missed one of the steps by the circle bar, and tweaked my left calf. While it appeared the Mirage may be succeeding in their attempt to take me off my game, and had even managed to inflict a calf injury somehow in a double deck blackjack game, we re-gained the upper hand when our dealer mentioned: "You know, there's a nice bathroom right behind this table in the high limit slots salon."

Big Show and I looked at each other, and dashed to check out this new found oasis. I beat him to the solo-bathroom: a luxe escape, with real linen towels, air freshener, mints and hair products! Jackpot! Suck it Mirage!

where was I... oh yeah.. Friday morning...

3) Where the fuck is Big Show? In all of our trips to Vegas, which now number almost 30 I believe, I don't think Big Show has ever awakened before me. This must be the result of his 3 hour power nap the night before. I knew I'd find him in the Office, and quickly showered and pumped myself up for some Mirage No Limit domination, and hopefully some serious sigmas.

I arrived in the Mirage poker room around noon, and found Big Show sitting in the 1-2NL game which I cannot beat. Danielle, my favorite floor person in all of Vegas, didn't have a 2-5NL seat for me yet, and I ran through the list with her: "10-20 limit?" "It's full." "Omaha eight?" "You're too young," she laughed, and I regaled her with the story of how I tilted the crap out of the game last trip by playing a non-nut hand and nearly caused 3 heart attacks and oxygen tank failures at the table. Since I didn't want to play heads up 40-80 limit hold'em with some resident cock chugger, I decided to destroy the 1-5 stud game while waiting for my 2-5NL seat!

Yeah baby - DYKWTFIA? I will take on any game at any time. This seems like a good time to mention that I've never played more than 10 minutes of stud in my life. Still, that couldn't stop me from crushing the game for $35 (BOO YAH!) in 15 minutes before Danielle called me for the 2-5 NL game.

The 2-5NL game was unspectacular. As usual, I was the dominant force at the table, but, even with my headphones on, I was steadily building into a state of full TILT, on account of Mr. "What's It Look Like?" Normally, being a Beantown original myself, I love people from Boston: the ignorant accents, the passion for the Sawx, etc. This doucheball, however, was driving me fucking crazy by asking "What's it look like?" every time someone bet. I'd say "THIRTY," as I stacked off red chips, and he's still say "WHAT'S IT LOOK LIKE?" What? Did you read a book or see a movie that made you think that was a cool thing to say? It looks like fucking THIRTY - that's why I said "THIRTY" when I bet it, so you wouldn't have to ask me what the fuck it looked like.

There was a multi-sigma Chinese guy to my immediate left, whose only English consisted of: "All in," "No pair," and "first time poker." He'd push all in, win a pot. Then he'd push all in, get called, declare "no pair," and nod as his opponent raked in his chips. Then, he'd reach into his pocket and buy another $400 in chips, and laugh "First time poker!" "Yeah, keep trying," we commiserated, as I begged for the chance to get a piece of the action: The guy was in for 2 grand, and I had none of it so far.

I finally captured some of the sigmas in this hand: Mr. "What's It Look Like" (WILL from here on) opens for $15 in EP. He gets called twice, including a call from a woman who hasn't played a hand yet to my immediate right. I am on the button with QQ and a $650 stack. I make it $60 to go. Chinese Maniac (CM) cold calls $60 from the small blind, and the big blind cold calls also. Now WILL surveys the situation, and calls, as do the two players between him and I. I can immediately put the big blind and the lady to my right on pocket pairs, and WILL has either 99-JJ, AK or AQ. CM can have any two cards. I know full well I'll have no clue where I stand in this pot, and can only hope that I'll be able to gain some insight from my position on the button.

The flop is a beautiful: T-T-T. To the FELT! Everyone checks to me. Ok, I bet $200 into a $300 pot, begging that one of these idiots will call me with their under-full. CM quickly moves all in for $340 total, the BB folds, and now it's on WILL. "Holy crap - this is so sick," he's whining. Jeezus you dipshit - you've clearly watched too much poker on TV. Just because Antonio and Phil Laak say "this is so sick" a lot doesn't mean THIS hand is sick. You have AK and you should throw it in the muck you fucking cockchugger - what do you think I have? DYKWTFIA?!??

He eventually mucks (AK), as do the other two players. I call, and turn my hand over. CM nods, says "no pair" and I drag a nice pot. WILL then pipes up "that woulda got interestin' on the turn - I had haaaaaahhhhts too," as he would have picked up a heart draw. "Congrats - I flopped a full house," I pointed out, and he nodded: "Ohhhh yaaaahhhhh."

Shortly thereafter, CM got up to go get some food, and I didn't want to wait for him to come back - the game was boring, and although I'd love the chance to attack his stack again, I couldn't be sure he'd return, and there was negative EV awaiting us all over the strip. I prodded Big Show out of his 1-2NL slumber, and we went off to fuel up... at.. CHIPOTLE!!!! The Chipotle rebuy! A patented, and highly risky play.

Big Show executed the Guac Freeroll AGAIN, but I settled for a guac-less fajita burrito, and we planned our assault. We decided to head over to Caesar's, where the National Heads Up Poker Championship (NHUPC) was being filmed.

The Caesar's poker room was abuzz, as poker royalty was all over the place. We quickly walked right into Shawna Hyatt, and Gus "The Great Dane" Hansen, as Big Show hypothesized on the lines Gus was feeding to her. Fossilman was eliminated from the tourney, which we couldn't really get close to, and wandered out seeming somewhat annoyed. "Twenty bucks if you tell him a bad beat story," I propped to Big Show, but he only laughed.

Scotty Nguyen took a lot of time to glad-hand with his fans outside the poker room, as did Shannon Elizabeth. I quickly texted MO, who has a collection of blurry, impossible to identify pics of celebrities on his cell phone: "standing next to shannon elizabeth." He replied instantly: "200 bid for cell cam pic of shan e-liz," and Big Show and I laughed hysterically, as Big Show realized, "we could just take a pic of a random person - you can't tell anyway on the cell phone cam!"

After gawking at the poker pros for 20 minutes, we got bored and decided to keep moving up-strip. I called Chops on our way out the door and he explained that he was on his way into Caesar's to pick up some press credentials for the NHUPC. Hmmm... The wheels were turning as Big Show and I agreed it was worth a shot to stick around. We quickly found Chops at the entrance to the poker room. He was with a coworker from RawVegas.TV, and they quickly claimed their passes. The press guy then turned to me, "and you are?" "Kid Dynamite," DYKTWFIA?!?!? I didn't miss a beat - but he simply stared at me. "With WickedChopsPoker," Chops filled in, and just like that, Big Show and I had all access passes too, courtesy of the immortal Chops.

We blazed past the crew of NBC doucheballs, flashing our passes in their mugs, and Chops introduced me to the smartest man in the room, Brian Balsbaugh. Balsbaugh formed a company, Poker Royalty, to act as agents for the poker pros, to help them optimize their bankrolls, fame, and exposure.

I tried to help Chops come up with an idea for a RawVegas Prop Bet that Gavin Smith could win, as Joe Sebok had been kicking his ass. Tug of War? Hot dog eating contest? I eventually settled on belly flop contest, and Chops seemed to like the idea. Hopefully it will come to fruition.

Chops, Vegas mover and shaker that he is, had to go back to "the office," so Big Show and I decided to take a break from the NHUPC scene as they were going on lunch break anyway. I couldn't focus on poker at the moment, with so much buzz in the room, so we decided to instead crush the THREE CARD POKER table right near the sports book and poker room. On the first hand, I refused to play the "pairs plus" sidebet, severely tilting our old school dealer, Billie. After clarifying the rules, I got on board with the pairs plus, and manged to spike 6 straights, and take about 25 units out of the game. Our dealer, Billie, who'd been dealing at Caesar's since 5 years after they opened, also threw us these monstrous Caesar's medallions, which would surely come in handy as intimidating bling later, especially when combined with our NHUPC press passes.

We cruised back inside for the start of the next session of the NHUPC, featuring Scotty Nguyen vs. Phil Gordon, Jamie Gold vs. Jennifer Tilly, Michael "The Grinder" Mizrachi vs. John Juanda, and Mike "The Mouth" Matusow vs. Kid Poker Danny Negreanu as the feature match. This really isn't much of a tournament, as rapidly escalating blinds and antes quickly turn it into a push-fest.

As I confidently strode to the set, some uninformed NBC cockchugger put his hand out: "Can I help you?" I thrust my chest out, attempting to intimidate him with my pecs (I'd done some push ups before getting dressed that morning) and giving him a clear view of my all access press pass. "I'm just going up there," DYKWTFIA?!?!! I explained. "Who are you with?" What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?

"WickedChops," I explained patiently, but was somewhat unprepared when he retaliated with:

"What's that?" What? DYKWTFCI? (Do You Know Who The Fuck Chops Is?!?!?!) I thought "I'm with Chops" would open up every door in Vegas - places only the highest of high roller and inside men get to see - but here I was, being cock blocked by some NBC flunkie, even after busting out my "open sesame" pass code.

"It's a website," I explained, being elusive, and taking another step forward, not to be denied.

"Oh, do you need access for your laptop?" Was he trying to trick me?

"No thanks, my map is in my head," a la Sean Connery in The Rock. Kid Dynamite does not need a laptop. He writes a running diary real time in his head.

Thus, we scampered onto the set, and took a spot in the bleachers. It's pretty friggin' boring to watch, as we quickly realized, but were able to share several exciting moments when Negreanu twice went runner-runner to suckout on The Mouth and stay alive, before finally sucumbing to The Mouth. Over at Phil Gordon's table, Phil had Scotty all in, and drawing dead to three outs. Scotty spiked a miracle on the turn, and Phil slumped in his seat, but Phil re-sucked out on the river to slam his own 3 outer, and claim the match. "NICE SUCKOUT," I bellowed over the crowd, hoping to set Phil up for a vicious circling.

We exited the NHUPC set, and there was only one thing left to do: Circle Phil Gordon. This is where I, Kid Dynamite, became a complete pussy and blew the opportunity of a lifetime. I had a black $100 Caesar's chip in my pocket, which was the perfect bait to use for Phil: "Hey Phil - Roshambo for a hunge," I'd say, as I pulled the black chip out of my pocket with my thumb and forefinger around it. He'd look at it, I'd shout "BOO YAH!" and slug him right in his rotator cuff.

Perhaps it was his guido-esque Full Tilt leather jacket that intimated me, or the fact that I was worried I wouldn't be able to reach his shoulder, as he's about 6'9". I was somewhat concerned that he'd decide to pummel me if I ambushed him like this, or, more likely, I just completely pussed out and left shaking my head at my own incompetence - another optimal opportunity blown. I fear I'll regret this non-circling for a long time.

We proceeded over to the Flamingo, for an extended double deck BJ session, which will be recounted in Part III, along with the conclusion of the trip, featuring:

-The only six deck shoe we played all trip: at Harrah's

-Wynn Peach Chip cold decks

-Hollywood preflop action in the Wynn Peach Chip game

-Mirror ceiling heat at the Frontier

-a first class upgrade for the flight home

until next time,

KD

Answer Me This

Pete Rose broke the rules. He bet on baseball. He is also, unarguably, one of the greatest baseball players of all time. Today, he admitted that he bet on his Cincinnati Reds every single night, not 4 nights a week as he had originally claimed. Interestingly enough, Rose was making this admission as a means to show that he was not acting against the interests of the team, for example, by saving his closer for Saturday night's game, in case he hadn't bet on Friday night's game.

"I bet on my team to win every night because I love my team, I believe in my team," Rose said. "I did everything in my power every night to win that game."

Especially in today's error of thuggery and criminal activity by athletes, Rose really isn't the devil some make him out to be. He wanted to win. He was incented to. Is that so wrong?

-KD

Meanwhile

Vegas trip report Part II will be coming this weekend. In the meantime, check out this hot video, "This Is Why You Suck," to the tune of the immortal "This Is Why I'm Hot"

-KD

Vegas: March 2007: Desperately Seeking (negative) EV: Part One

Dear car service driver,

I've never thrown up in the backseat of a car before. Never ever.

However, if you don't stop gunning it to thirty and then hitting the breaks back down to zero as a method of negotiating this bumper to bumper traffic on the Long Island Expressway, I will christen the backseat of your Lincoln with today's lunch.

best,

Kid Dynamite.

Although I arrived at JFK nauseous, I was on time, and my flight actually landed in Vegas on time too. The problem was, they made us wait on the taxi-way for 40 minutes because there was a plane at our gate. What the fuck is the deal with this? There are about 20 other empty gates, but we NEED to wait for gate B22... while tables all over the strip are calling my name... "Kid Dynnnnnnnamite," they whisper. "Negative EV awaits you!" I hear their seductive callings, but am helplessly stuck in seat 17C. I hit Big Show and Chops with text messages: "The eagle has landed," and am rewarded with almost immediate replies. Big Show is in The Office, aka, the Mirage Poker room, and Chops tells me how he'll be crushing Caesar's tomorrow for the National Heads Up Poker Championships.

As a Vegas professional, I was able to keep my plane taxi-way tilt to a minimum, knowing that there would be ample time for me to absorb all the negative EV I could handle. The lack of a cab line further placated me, and I found Big Show just as he was called for a 2-5NL seat at the Mirage. Since it was midnight on Wednesday, and I wasn't yet ready for the poker table, I convinced him to chill for a while in the Pai Gow pit, where, as we all know, it's impossible to take too much of a beating... Errr, at least, that was the plan. After dropping my bags and 1/2 my cash stash in the room, we hit the quarter Pai Gow table downstairs.

After losing the first hand, Big Show obviously employed the invincible Marty Up strategy, aka, the Martingale, doubling his bet after each loss. Within an hour, I was down over a dime, big show was down three large, and we were shaking our heads "what the fuck just happened?!?!?" There was only one thing to do: return to the room to get more cash.

We headed over to the notoriously soft, yet tilt-inducing Venetian double deck blackjack game. We crushed the Venetian game for several hours, earning a comp to the Grand Luxe Cafe in the process, but I then tilted off another buy-in at the Venetian Pai Gow table. Fuckin' A - so much for Pai Gow being a game where you can't really lose a lot. Serious leak. Several hours into the trip I was still keeping my "no Red Bull," vow alive - I had promised not to indulge in a single Red Bull for the duration of the three days - attempting to avoid the feeling of lying in bed with my eyes open, unable to stand, yet unable to sleep, twitching like a cockroach.

In the midst of the blackjack assault, we had this unusual encounter in the Venetian bathroom at around 2am: Coming out of the bathroom, a middle-aged middle American guy wiping off his hands inquires eagerly, "You boys want to have some fun?"

"Dude, you have to be careful asking that at 2am in the bathroom," I explained.

"See that big Alaskan-headed woman over there?" He continued, pointing to a 50-something woman sitting on a stool right outside the restroom. I don't know what Alaskan-headed means, but anyway...

"That's your wife," I cut him off right away.

"NO, NO. She's a hooker!" He practically shouted, "She thinks she's coming to bed with me! Go over to her and tell her you want to fuck her silly!"

"No thanks," I shrugged, recognizing a no-win situation at once.

Big Show and I returned to the blackjack pit to see him talking to her as we left. I'm almost certain it was his wife.

Thursday

Before Big Show woke up, I had time to hit the Office, and absorb the effects of a 1-2NL cold deck, where I backdoored the second nut flush at the same time my opponent back doored the NUT flush, and I still somehow managed to not get stacked. Big Show arrived soon thereafter, and we went in search of food.

To fuel up for the 2pm Venetian tourney, we hit the Chipotle next to Harrah's for breakfast at around noon. Big Show worked his first expert angle-shoot of the trip, when he executed the patented Guac Freeroll. When the burrito maker scrawled the "G" on the foil wrapper of his meal to denote that he had guacamole on it, Big Show calmly placed his thumb over the "G" as he went to pay, and wasn't charged the buck fifty extra. For a guy worth more money than most people will ever dream of having, it was still a moral victory. "Hey, you have to get something for free in Vegas," he explained. I lacked the experience to pull off the Guac Freeroll, being a Chipotle Virgin, and was left to consult with Dirty Dave on the matter later: "A bead of sweat would form on my forehead, and the cashier would catch a pip of the G" Dave admitted, and had me laughing out loud at the thought.

With an hour to kill before the Venetian $330 "deep stack" tourney, we went back to basics and decided to annihilate the 4-8 limit game! Big Show executed another angle shoot, when he called a raise from the BB with A-4. He bet a flop of 9-4-2, and was raised. He bet the brick on the turn and was raised again. When the 9 paired on the river, Big Show checked, and his opponent checked behind him. "Two pair," Big Show declared, and tabled his hand. His opponent nodded and MUCKED! I was sitting on the opposite side of the table from Big Show, next to his opponent, and commiserated "Ace king?" "No, pocket jacks," he admitted, still not realizing that he'd mucked the winner.

I managed to get into this monster situation, which, tragically, was in 4-8 limit, against a complete and utter pussy. I raised in early position with pocket fives, and a late position guy 3 bet me. I called, and led out when I flopped a set on the 5-T-Q two heart board. My opponent called. The turn made me QUAD fives, and I led out again. He called again. On the river, the jack of hearts completed all possible draws, and I bet out again. This time, he raised me, and I calmly three bet. My opponent thought for 10 seconds before calling and tabling... POCKET JACKS! "What?" I practically jumped out of my seat, "How do you not lose more bets there?!!" I was in shock. "Well, I don't have anywhere near the nuts, and you have all those chips sitting there." He drawled back. I had bought in for $300 in $1 white chips, $200 of which were still in their racks, stacked on the rail.

"You can BUY these at the cage!" I whined, as Big Show laughed out loud. I couldn't believe my big stack had intimidated an opponent at 4-8 limit! I later called E-dub, master of all things limit hold'em, and explained the situation to him without telling him my hand, asking him how many bets he would have lost there. "At LEAST 5 more big bets on the river," he answered, on account of my expert flop-a-set-and-bet-it-out play.

Big Show and I hunkered down for the deep stack tourney, which is somewhat of a misnomer: you start with 6k in chips, with 25-50 blinds, and 40 minute levels, but I quickly recognized that such a stack doesn't give you too many pot sized bets to play with. I was eliminated at the end of level one when my A-K ran into KK on a king high flop, and my pot sized bet (3/4 of my stack) left me no escape.

I have to hand it to the Venetian poker room: they really do a great job. The floorman thanked the players at the start of the tourney, and provided food comps for all tourney participants. The service is great and most importantly: FRIENDLY, and they seem to genuinely care about the players. Dealers were competent, and floormen got the job done right - I was impressed when one boss, responding to a complaint from a player that the remains of a nearby veggie and dip platter were stinking up the table, quickly removed the platter himself, instead of calling for an underling to do it. The platter was also another nice gesture: one of several free snacks (cookies, fruit) for the tourney participant.

Big Show toiled in tourney hell for 5 more hours as I demolished the 2-5 NL cash game. He finished well short of the money, as I carried racks of chips to the cage, and we went in search of blackjack negative EV.

We pounded our way through several more double deck shoes, but Big Show would not make the mistake of sitting down at the Pai Gow table again. Big Show was in desperate need of a nap, and executed the patented 10pm short-buy. Still keeping the No Red Bull vow, I was dying, and hit the room at midnight, nabbing an hour of shut-eye as we listened to the sweet sounds of Big Show's latest Ghetto Mix XIV. Properly motivated, we then got dressed and decided to check out Jet.

We got the the door at 1am, where there was no line, and a dude at the desk asking for a $30 cover. "Is there a discount for hotel guests? We just want to check it out real quick," We explained. He tried to sway me by showing me his little clicker which said there were 700 people inside. "Seven hundred dudes," I muttered to Big Show, as he laughed. Of course, being completely under the spell of Mrs. Dynamite, it wouldn't matter to me. He suggested we ask the cashier girl about hotel guest discounts, which she promptly shot down, so we paid the cover and went in.

Despite an absolutely incredible sound system, Jet was mediocre. Granted, it was Thursday night, and there was no line, but the house music was a total nuisance. Also annoying was the sweat hog who kept trying to push me out of the way to get to the bar, as I was scooping my drink. I mockingly yelled at her (in Big Show's ear) "Hey, look, I know you think you're a ten, but you're more like a five and a half. If you touch me again I'm going to dump my drink on you," and he cackled in approval. The funny thing was, the music was so freaking loud that I could basically yell that right at her (which I did), and she had no clue what I was saying.

After two drinks, we retreated to the comfort of the double deck blackjack pit, where we punished the Mirage until they yielded us comps to the Caribe Cafe for a 6am nightcap. I devoured a buffalo chicken sandwich, which I washed down with a bread pudding. ON THE HOUSE baby.

We stumbled up to the room to refuel on sleep, and prepare for a legit poker cash game assault on Friday

stay tuned for Part II.

-Kid Dynamite

Certified Stud

The O-dog did it. Under the masterful tutelage of Mrs. Dynamite, who taught Oscar to heel using two serving spoons taped together and coated with frozen peanut butter, Oscar passed his therapy dog test, and is now an official Delta Society Pet Partner. Now, he can go to nursing homes and hospitals and make people happy.

Mrs. Dynamite has been working with Oscar on this for several months - we've been driving all the way uptown every Saturday morning for two months, with the goal of Oscar becoming comfortable enough to pass the test: he can do the test items no problem, but when he's in the testing room, he gets antsy, and, without the benefit of food rewards, sometimes just wanders off to smell all the dog smells in the room. He's also a little skittish around medical equipment (walkers, wheelchairs).

On Sunday, however, despite the attempts of the testing evaluators to tilt us by running 30 minutes late, we had time to settle down with Oscar in a side room and do some treat-reward training with him before the test, so that when he walked in for the actual test, he heeled like a true pro, looking up at Mrs. Dynamite the whole time, waiting for the treat that wouldn't come until later.

The funny thing is, that while I've repeatedly stated that I might want to pursue a career in dog training, it's Mrs. Dynamite who's really done all the work with Oscar! I taught him to shake, but that's about it. She used the same powers of persuasion which get ME to obey, and taught Oscar a variety of tricks and commands which he happily shows off.

Unfortunately, Oscar had to get his haircut today, and the groomer really took my boy to the FELT! He's shaved completely, and FURIOUS about it. Oscar wouldn't even come over to greet me when I walked in today - instead simply glowering at me from his bed in the kitchen. The only time that's ever happened before is when he was sick. Man - the little dude hold's a friggin' GRUDGE! Mrs. Dynamite was pleased that at least he wasn't just pissed at her, as she was the one who actually took him to the groomer. This is an old picture, but he's giving me and the Mrs. the same angry scowl today.

Later in the week I'll publish my Vegas trip report, which includes:
- Mirage PaiGow Marty Up debacle
- annihilating random low limit poker games (Mirage 1-5 Stud, Venetian 4-8 limit hold'em)
- Wynn Peach Chip cold decks
- National Heads Up Poker Championships
- Mirage and Venetian 2-5NL dominance
- Foiling the mirrored ceiling pit boss heat at the New Frontier double deck blackjack game

until next time,
KD

Ad Wizards

So if I were to give you the following phrases,

Sausage Sensation
Big Sausage Pizza

and ask you:

"Which is a) a late night movie on Skinimax, and which is b) a new offering from Papa John?" What would you say?

If you guessed a) for Sausage Sensation you're shit out of luck - Sausage Sensation is the new pizza from Papa John's! Who are the ad wizards that came up with this one?!?!?

Interestingly enough, Big Sausage Pizza is a porno on the Spice PPV channel, NOT a Papa John's menu item. So confusing. Alas, I have not yet had the pleasure of screening it.

In other ass-tastic news, Gavin Smith and Joe Sebok have upped the ante for their most recent Prop Bet - an ongoing series on Chops's RawVegas.TV.

The latest wager is a last longer bet for the $10k L.A. Poker Classic main event: whomever is eliminated first has to get the other person's initials tattooed on their ass. Talk about bad beats and backdoor draws...

Kid Dynamite and BigShow hit Vegas again Wednesday night - an unadulterated assault of poker, blackjack, PaiGow and beats that will hopefully produce some blogworthy material.

Until next time,

KD

No, thank you, I do NOT like money

So, I'm not really a "feel" player - but sometimes I will make a read and go with it... and I'll be wrong... or sometimes I'll be right:

The scene: 5-5 NL with a $10 straddle, slightly more sedate crew than normal. I have $600

Zack limps ($10)

Greg Limps.

Joe mucks, and I make it $60 to go, with black QQ

Glenn (tighter player) smooth calls.

Richie folds. Chris calls in the Small blind. Mike calls in the big blind. Zack calls. Greg calls

flop: 6 ways, $60 each: T-6-2 with the ten and 6 of clubs...

now, barring rainbow flops, and flops with queens, this is about as good a flop as I could diagram.

Mike checks.

Zack checks.

Greg bets $300.

I have $540 left, assume everyone covers me.

What's my action?

Now, Greg is a pretty loose player, but not an overly aggressive player. I do NOT think he'll bet a set like this. He may bet less, or he may check to trap, but he's really not sophisticated enough to bet a set assuming I'll call with an over pair (I have a relatively tight image in this game). I think it's QUITE likely he has two pair - as he's more than capable of playing T6 or T2 to close the action in a multiway pot.

I say "Greg - REALLY?"

"Yes. absolutely." he replies.

"Come on.. really? You're winning?"

"Yes," he says, and adds, "I cannot take it back."

Normally, this is an insta-call... but I think Greg has two pair. I'm almost sure of it.

"Seriously - you're winning?" I ask him again?"

"YES." no hesitation, pure confidence. Greg is also an honest, relatively straightforward player in situations like this. I decide to.. MUCK! I made a read an went with it - I gave Greg two pair. Also, I'm somewhat concerned with the presence of 5other players in the hand - I think they count for SOMETHING (small!)

Is this the worst lay down ever? Flame away. I named this post "lost in translation" because I feel like I COMPLETELY mis-applied what I had debated with others previously - about not getting tricky without good hands in this wild game...

The thing is, here, I had a good hand, on a PERFECT flop against a player who is probably NOT skilled enough to bet a SET here (yeah, that's SKILLED)... and the bottom line is, that if I decide my worst case is that I'm against two pair, i still have 25%-30% equity.

In reality, I think it's 70% Greg has two pair, 25% he has a ten and 5% he has a set or a straight + flush draw...if I add up my equity against those hands, I'm supposed to call.

on tilt because i folded,

Kid Dynamite

p.s. - not that it matters, but Greg showed a ten, and claimed K-T.. which I'm 95% sure is what he had. Not to mention that I'd spent 3 hours the night before with E-dub discussing strategy to apply to this game, where he concluded: "Just play sets and overpairs."

When asked how bad this laydown was, Jay "The Chairman" Greenspan answered: "It's bad."

I concurred with E-dub that on a scale of 1 to 10, where 10 is the worst laydown I ever made, this laydown is at least a 7 to a 7 1/2.

The good news is: I'm of to Vegas on Wednesday with the BigShow for a gambling ASSAULT. This will be a multi-sigma event: may the force be with me.

Hound Dog

Mrs. Dynamite baked me cupcakes for Valentines Day. When I came home, they were arranged on the table like this:

Now, you may notice that there is one cupcake missing: the "A" cupcake after the heart. The little yellow stickie explains what happened to it: "Oscar got the "A"!"

Turns out my highly talented pooch stood up on his hind legs, pulled the "A" cupcake off the table while Mrs. Dynamite turned around to answer the phone, and dragged it into the bedroom where he licked the frosting off of it before he was caught. Quite an impressive heist, when you consider that he can barely reach the table when he stands on his hind legs.

Instead of being mad at him, we were impressed. The little guy is impossible to get mad at.

Until next time,

KD

Live from Vegas

Big Show called me from Vegas with an important question:

"All blackjacks at O'Shea's pay 6-5 - not just the single deck game. How do I neutralize that edge?"

"Easy," I explained, "Increase your wager!" Marty UP baby!

I'm not in Vegas with the crew, but Big Show is keeping me up on the Brooke Hogan sightings, and the trials and tribulations of partying at Tryst with Dwayne Wade.

At the gym yesterday, I decided to hit the treadmill. I'm still recovering from my busted knee, so I haven't really run much, but I got there just in time to tune in to the climactic fight between Rocky and Apollo at the end of Rocky II. Talk about motivation. You probably forget how great these scenes were - although Rocky II was a slow, boring movie in general, the final fight is one of the all time great adrenaline scenes of all time. And the subtle comedy:

Rocky, waiting in the ring with Mick, as Apollo makes his entrance: "It's Apollo."

Micky: "Who'd ya expect?"

Rocky: "I was hoping he wouldn't show." Great stuff.

By the time Rocky told Micky "I ain't goin' down no more," I was hauling ass on the treadmill. As Rocky pulled himself to his feet for the victory, and gave his classic "Except for my son being born, this is the greatest night in the history of my life.... Yo Adrian.. I DID IT," speech, I was cranking at a heart rate of 180. I had further motivation as Rocky III was on immediately afterwards, but I was in no shape to continue.

Earlier in the week, Dirty Dave and I had a deeply analytical discussion on IM. Although neither of us are Investment Bankers, we are both close enough to it (he's a salesman, I'm a trader) to recognize value when we see it:

KidDynamite (7:53:00 AM): talks of MGM being a possible bidder forHET... how would that be allowed? they are basically the only two bigboys left!!! antitrust wouldn't work right?

DirtyDave (7:54:25 AM): Cannot see that happening at all.

KidDynamite (7:54:31 AM): no way

KidDynamite (7:54:36 AM): WHOLE strip! (minus o'sheas!)

DirtyDave (7:54:39 AM): Isn;t PE for HET facing enough regulatory scrutiny?

KidDynamite (7:54:55 AM): it will get done with the PE

KidDynamite (7:55:09 AM): they may have to sell the IP back to the market though! get your bid ready!

KidDynamite (7:55:19 AM): Capitano is your inside man! and i have Frank !

DirtyDave (7:55:24 AM): lol

DirtyDave (7:55:38 AM): I got the briefcase of cash ready

DirtyDave(7:56:02 AM): Gonna spin off the buffet and unlock full value

KidDynamite (7:56:12 AM): spin out the dry-erase board sports book!

DirtyDave(7:56:16 AM): yes!

KidDynamite (7:56:21 AM): spin out the Dealertainers!

KidDynamite (7:56:25 AM): and the on-floor security!

KidDynamite (7:56:36 AM): and the Geisha bar!!! there is SO MUCH VALUE!

DirtyDave (7:56:59 AM): Sum up those parts and you basically are getting the Auto Museum for free!!

KidDynamite (7:57:06 AM): !!!! lolol

DirtyDave (7:57:37 AM): Sick idea

KidDynamite (7:57:50 AM): i'll make a powerpoint presentation, you work on the IRR Excel sheet

Yes. This is my life. Reduced to making jokes about Private Equity taking over the Imperial Palace and spinning out the pieces to unlock the value. If only.

until next time.

KD

Romance

Happy Valentine's Day!

Teddy Bear courtesy of Elizabeth.

-KD

The Bracelet

My in-laws were in town last weekend, but so was Bobby Bracelet. I had to explain to my wife that I had to go meet The Bracelet out at a bar.

"I have to go meet someone," I knew this might get confusing for her.

"Who?" She was immediately suspicious.

"Some guy I met on the Internet," wow - that really didn't come out right. She returned a quizzical, doubtful raised eyebrow.

"He's a blogger, and he was the 860th best poker player in the world as of a few years ago," I explained.

"So you're basically this guy's groupie because he's a good poker player?" She inquired, as I immediately laughed out loud.

"No, it's more because of his legendary Huge Junk status," she had no clue what I was talking about, and I was digging myself a deeper and deeper hole.

I cruised over to the normally too cool for school LES (that's Lower East Side for all you non-cool kids), and was pleasantly surprised that the crew, consisting of F-train, Dawn & Karol, and Bobby Beergoggles had chosen a bar that didn't have any hipster kids wearing top hats. The bartender carded me at the door - DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM?

It didn't take long for me to witness the power of the Huge Junk in action, as more than one doe-eyed young (and I mean YOUNG) lady sent vibes in Bob's direction. Of course, I was standing right next to Bob, so it's quite likely that Kid Dynamite still has the kevorka, but I'll give Bob the benefit of the doubt.

Unfortunately for him, Bobby "The floor is moving" Blasted was too worn out from the night before, and too inebriated to capture his prey. After several rounds, some talk of TGOD's, and poker; Bob, F-train and I eventually tapped out, as Karol was persistently angling for shots.

Thus the long anticipated collision of the worlds of Kid Dynamite and Bobby Bracelet ended somewhat uneventfully, but with promise of future debauchery.

The week since then has been a lesson in futility for Mrs. Dynamite, who spent the week dealing with Dell and Microsoft's outsourced technical support. Our home pc crashed last weekend, a result of my dipshit neighbor deciding that the best way to fix a blown fuse was to repeatedly fick every circuit breaker in the master box, which resulted in our power going on and off multiple times for a few seconds. Somehow, though it wasn't a power surge issue, this resulted in the frying of our hard drive. Mrs. Dynamite didn't have the operating system discs to re-install everything, so she went out and bought Vista. When the install wouldn't work, she spent the day on the phone with Dell, who eventually concluded that the hard drive was fried, and happily charged her three times market rate for a new on. She eventually managed to get everything straightened out, so now I'm back in business.

Ship it.

-KD

oh - p.s. - the National Anthem at the Super Bowl came in UNDER by a mile: 1:30 by my clock. Dirty Dave had it right again. Aiyahh!

Validation

I mean seriously - now I know I've made it...

Kid Dynamite's world shows up on the first page on Google Search if you type in "O-Ring Blowout." I feel like a proud papa.

Not only that, but this site is the number two listing on MSN's search for anyone looking for "Ed Reed Human Ball Magnet."

ship it.

-KD

Mad Props: National Anthem

Big Show, in an attempt to bring me out of retirement and put me on full tilt by running up a fresh deficit at the end of the NFL season "(which would doubtlessly lead to me handicapping WNBA games), shot me a list of Super Bowl prop bets. One that stood out was:

"Length of time it takes Billy Joel to sing the National Anthem: 1 minute 44 seconds"

Over: -115

Under: -125

Now, I'm a big fan of the National Anthem. I think it goes back to my Boston Garden youth days - even watching on tv - when Rene Rancourt would sing the National Anthem at a Bruins playoff game, you wouldn't be able to hear him by the final verse: the crowd would be screaming so loud.

Now, living in New York City in the post Sept. 11th world, the Anthem is still always an emotional event. I always try to make it to sporting events on time, if for no other reason than to see the National Anthem.

More importantly though, I thought this prop line was beatable. I immediately conferred with the ultimate degenerate, Dirty Dave, who liked the angle, and set off on his own research.

Today, Dirty Dave came back to me with a YouTube video of Billy Joel singing the National Anthem at the 2000 World Series in Yankee Stadium. He clocked in at 1:40. Now, there are several mitigating factors here, and we set off analysing it like the Zapruder video:

1) The World Series is big, but it's not the Super Bowl

2) Billy Joel is a native New Yorker, and actually seemed a little nervous on his home stage.

3) Billy sang the Anthem about as quickly as he could - not really any pauses, and only one real drawn out note ("and the lannnnnd of the freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee") - there is clearly room for pauses or more long notes.

Dave thought the under was a slam dunk. "Presidential approval ratings are highly correlated with the length of the National Anthem," he postulated brilliantly.

"Please work up the covariance matrix," I demanded, leaving nothing to chance.

"the R squared is running .96" Dave had it on the tip of his tongue.

I was worried about another factor: booze. I mean, a few shots of Johnny Black, and suddenly Billy, who's no stranger to the bottle, slurs a word, forgets his next line, and blam, we're at 2 minutes easy. Dave wasn't buying it "No way - clean and sober," he corrected me. "But Dave, we're talking about the fucking SUPER BOWL here - Billy is a top notch professional, but he may very well have a drink to calm his nerves, and is likely to take his time, enjoying the spotlight." Big Show added, "I'm sure he'll have a driver, so that won't be an issue."

I continued my own research, looking up past Super Bowl National Anthem videos, and coming up with the following evidence:

Whitney Houston: SB XXV: 1:55 (Persian Gulf)

Cher: SB XXXIII: 1:45

FaithHill: SB XXXIV: 2:00

Mariah Carey: SB XXXVI: 1:54

Dixie Chicks: SB XXXVII 1:32

Beyonce: SB XXXVIII: 2:07

With the exception of the Dixie Chicks, who were clearly out of their league, all the times came in over 1:44. Whitney, Mariah, and Beyonce and Faith Hill are all divas who really like to whale on their high notes, and are on the upper end of the spectrum. The Dixie Chicks wanted to get out of the global spotlight, and rushed through it. Cher did a pretty much no-nonsense version, seeming like she'd drag out the last verse, but wrapped it up tight. I can see Billy Joel smiling for the camera as he pauses professionally before bellowing: "And the hooooooooome, of the bravvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvve," as the clock hits 1:52.

I then checked a few non-super bowl events, and found that Jessica Simpson's NFC Championship performance came in sub 1:40, as did Kelly Clarkson's renditions. This lends credence to the fact that the Super Bowl anthem is likely to take longer than Billy's World Series Anthem.

Big Show clarified the exact rules: "Time starts when Billy Joel sings the first note: Action is on Anthem only."

Dirty Dave realized "So if he busts into Captain Jack the under is safe!!!" Again, ladies and gentlemen, the incomparable Dirty Dave.

We couldn't help but take our NASA level analysis to the market analogy extreme, as Dave mocked, "I hear one guy had sold it futures style (meaning the longer the anthem goes, the more money he loses) and was panicking to hedge out his Piano Man risk," before we found out about the "Action is on Anthem only" inane clause.

In the end, Dave was adamant on the "under," but I think the risks lean toward the "over," especially given the slightly better price (-115 vs -125)

For a legendary Anthem-related performance, check out this awesome clip from Boston where the fans gave a raucous standing ovation during the CANADIAN national anthem to basically say "Suck It" to the Montreal fans who had booed the U.S. Anthem in Canada. This is from the Fleet Centre, not the Boston Garden, but the crowd noise is insane, and it's the legendary Rene Rancourt. Imagine every game being like that. Goose bumps.

I give props to the Canadian Anthem too - they can do it right. However, the best Anthem ever is this one from the NHL all star game in Chicago in 1991 at the start of the Gulf War. Probably the best rendition you'll ever find on video. And that's why I love the National Anthem. Hit it hard Billy Joel.

Until next time,

KD

SUCK it!

If you enjoy a good video of one dog humping another dog's face, then check this out. Complete with soundtrack. Unfortunately, this is not my dog.

-KD

Odd Lots

I can't believe I hammered out this quality post including a) my dog, and b) porn, featuring the O-Ring Blowout, and no one seems to care. What's the matter with you people?!?! No one had a comment on this subject?

Chops called me a poker blogger today. At least he did it in a post about porn. As Vortex constantly reminds me, I stopped writing about poker long ago - which is probably a good thing. However, Jay Greenspan did send me this stellar video today. Check it out - quality stuff.

And speaking of poker, Soxlover proved he can still talk trash, as he taunted some online cockchugger with barbs I appreciated so much I'll repost them here:

devinr12: dude i am a professional poker player

devinr12: i play 5-10NL

SoxLover: that is sad

SoxLover: you totally dropped out of college didn't you?

devinr12: actually yeah

SoxLover: lol. wow

SoxLover: i feel like i should dump to you, your life is going to suck so bad

until next time,

KD

Michael Vick... Really... and Oscar humping

A funny SnL skit for once! Actually, it's not a skit, but a segment from Weekend Update, regarding Michael Vick's encounter with authorities in the Miami Airport.

***

My dog Oscar had a friend over a few weeks ago - a Puli named Arnold. Pulis are totally bizarre dogs - like walking mops, but Oscar didn't mind - he tried to take Arnold down...

Notice the look of determination/desperation in Oscar's eyes as he tried to hump his much bigger prey. He couldn't even figure out which end was which on Arnold, who was more interested in raiding Oscar's toy basket. Later, Oscar wooed Arnold over to his bed and hit him hard, just like daddy taught him.

Yep. This is my life.

Check out Chops' new site, Rawvegas.tv. It's an I-TV channel with all sorts of legit original programming, from Gavin Smith and Joe Sebok talking prop bets, to interviews with clown pornographers, to a segment with the real life John Anthony himself, Brandon Lang.

Finally, today's NY Times had an article about the effects of high definition programming on the porn industry. The article can be summed up by the quote from starlet Stormy Daniels: "The biggest problem is razor burn." 'Nuff said. The article continues:

Ms. Daniels is also a skeptic: “I’m not 100 percent sure why anyone would want to see their porn in HD,” she said.

Hey Stormy, I loved you in Camp Cuddly Pines: Powertool Massacre. Which brings me to another point - check out that IMDB listing for CampCuddlyPines. Poor Keri Sable's role is listed as merely "Porn Slut." Wow. I mean, talk about telling it like it is. I felt a little bad for her, until I clicked on her bio. (go ahead - do it - there is no chance you can read her list of credits without laughing - even I laughed out loud when I got to "O-Ring Blowout") I quickly realized that, judging by the titles of her "films," it's clearly a role she was born to play. I wonder if Keri asks people "DYKWTIFA?!??!! I'm PORN SLUT!!!"

It also seems a bit odd that there are now porn stars who were born in the late 1980's. I mean, I'm not familiar with Keri Sable's work, but when I think of the years of the 80's, I always think of what the Topps baseball cards looked like each year, and who the hot cards were. Yeah - you remember the 1986 Topps - with the team name in big bold letters across the top of the card? I feel like if I were watching Keri in action, knowing she was born in 1986, I wouldn't be able to get that image of a young Rocket Roger Clemens out of my head.

until next time,

KD

That'll Move the Chains

Wow. What a fucking game.

I could bitch about the officiating - how Reche Caldwell didn't get the same endzone pass interference call that Reggie Wayne did - but that really wasn't the difference in the game. Indy moved the ball at will in the third quarter, and turned a home embarrassment into an epic shootout.

Unfortunately, a ridiculous roughing the passer penalty on Tully Banta-Cain, who tapped Peyton Manning on the head on the Colts' final drive, setting them up to run the ball in, rather than having to throw it, was the real black mark on the game. I mean seriously - Peyton is like paper mache - if he gets hit, he collapses, trying to draw a flag. He didn't even flinch on this play, and given the situation, the flag was ridiculous.

Indy may well have won the game anyway, but they would have won it as it should have been: a game tying field goal as time expired, followed by the storybook OT ending...

Adam Vinatieri lines up to kick a 55 yard game winner in overtime... Nantz and Sims point out that he's never missed in the RCA dome... We get a close up of Belichick... We get a close up of Vinatieri - chewing gum - nonchalant... We hear Phil Simms mention for the 45th time "I bet the Patriots wish they'd re-signed Adam Vinatieri right about now." It's pure cliche... They'd talk about how important the holder was - Hunter Smith... The snap would come - CBS would broadcast it in real-time-super-slow mo. The snap... the placement... the kick - then we'd get a split screen of Tony Dungy, wide eyed, following the ball, nervously sidestepping down the line... Adam Vinatieri's follow through, head down, coming up, immediately jumping in the air, knowing it's good... Bill Belichick on the Patriots' sideline, stoic, eyes barely moving, expression not changing... and as the ball sliced the uprights,the Indy fans storming the field, having finally vanquished their nemesis by beating the Patriots with their own weapon.

That's how it should have ended.

The worst officiating call of the postseason was in the NFC Championship game - the inexplicable New Orleans fumble on the kickoff - even after the play was challenged, and the replay showed that the return man was down: his knees, hips, elbows, AND shoulder on the ground before Chicago ripped the ball away - the Bears were still awarded the ball on this pivotal play. Ridiculous.

I think Indy will destroy Chicago in the Super Bowl. Lay the 7 points, and after that, lay 'em again.

until next time,

KD

What Were You Thinking Part II

Remember the theme in Jurassic Park, where you couldn't contain evolution, because it "would find a way" ? That's what the Patriots are like. If you haven't figured it out by now, they find a way to win. The key in this game was pretty much Charger coach Marty Schottenheimer, who should retire immediately on account of gross incompetence. You could see the wheels coming off when Marty challenged a 3-sigma turning point play where Brady threw an interception on 4th down, but the Chargers fumbled the ball back to New England on the same play! When Marty donned the headset, you knew it was all over. The timeout Schottenheimer wasted probably would have been useful in the end... when instead he was forced to send out Keading to attempt a 54 yard field goal.

How did it get to that point? Let's see... Schottenheimer declined to attempt a 47 yard field goal early on in a 4th and 11 situation, instead settling for a 7 yard sack on fourth down - nice hand sir. After making Brady look like an incompetent rookie throughout the first half, San Diego allowed him to revert to the Championship Brady for the final two minutes of the first half, where he led the Pats on a 2 minute drill touchdown drive which kept them in the game. San Diego fumbled a punt... San Diego had an incomprehensible personal foul penalty which extended a Patriots drive. Brady threw 3 interceptions, but San Diego was unable to capitalize on them... San Diego started with the ball 1) at midfield, 2) at the Patriot 47 yard line, 3) at their own 41 yard line, 4) at the Patriot 32 yard line, and 5) at their own 40 yard line on drives in which they scored ZERO points. And Tom Brady did just enough when it mattered to lead his team to victory.

Oh - and the second dumbest coaching decision of the day came from Chicago Bears Coach Lovie Smith: After sacking Seattle QB Matt Hasselback near his own 45 yard line with under 20 seconds left in the first half, Lovie let the clock run down to 2 seconds before calling timeout. Maybe he figured that he'd be forcing Seattle to punt to his lethal return man Devin Hester. On the other hand, maybe Lovie is retarded: if he called timeout right after the sack, Seattle would have had to punt. Instead, they dropped back for a final free-roll hail mary attempt, which ended harmlessly with Hasselback throwing the ball out of bounds - but that doesn't make Lovie's decision any less idiotic.

Quotes of the weekend: I believe it was Dick Stockton who said "they threw that right at Ed Reed - the human ball magnet," which was trumped only by Phill Simms: "If you've never played against Tom Brady, he really likes to stick it into some tight places."

Well said gentlemen.

Go Pats!

-KD

WHAT were you THINKING!??!?!

Seriously, Sean Payton, what the fuck were you thinking?

The Saints, five point home favorites, are up by 3 with the ball on the Philadelphia 30 yard line and 3:30 left in the game. Every gambler in the world is working out the scenario: New Orleans will run the ball a few times, run some time off the clock, and kick a field goal to go up by 6 and cover the spread. The main risk to holders of "New Orleans - 5" is that the Saints are too successful with their drive and manage to make a few first downs and run the clock out without needing the field goal. There is simply no way the Saints are going to put themselves in position to turn the ball over though...

UNLESS SEAN FUCKING PAYTON CALLS A PITCH TO REGGIE BUSH INSTEAD OF SIMPLY HANDING THE BALL TO HIM, OR GIVING IT TO DEUCE MCALLISTER WHO HAD BEEN MAULING THE PHILLY DEFENSE ALL GAME LONG!!!

Umm... Sean - did you watch this game? Remember on the second play of the game when Reggie Bush caught a quick out pass and almost got decapitated by Sheldon Brown??? Bush tried to stand up, but ended up crawling to the sidelines, looking like he may roll over and die. I made the immediate injury line:

ruptured spleen: 3-1

broken back: 15-1

dislocated shoulder: 2-1

collapsed lung: 5-1

crapped pants: even money

So, the point is, Bush was right to be keeping an eye on the hard hitting Philly defenders - which means he doesn't have both eyes on the ball - which means that when you pitch the ball to him, and he's worried about getting hit so hard that he craps his pants again, it becomes a high risk play.

Bush fumbled the pitch, and Philly took over with a chance to tie the game. Unfortunately, the NFL Saints conspiracy kicked in, and Philly's miracle 4th down conversion was called back on some bullshit offensive penalty, which resulted in Philly facing a 4th and 15 from their own 35 yard line with about 1:45 on the clock. Philly Coach Andy Reid decides to kick the ball away!

Andy Reid: WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!?!??!?

Didn't you notice that New Orleans was pretty much running all over you, and that all they'd need was one first down to clinch the game? Did you really think that the combined chances of a) a fumble on the punt return or b) your defense putting together a 3 play defensive stand while allowing only 40 seconds to run off the clock (because you only had two timeouts), forcing a Saints punt, and driving down the field for a game tying field goal in under a minute were better than the chances of going for it on 4th and 15?

Didn't you realize that even if you don't convert on 4th and 15, the Saints are barely on the edge of field goal range, so you can STILL play the "three and out" defense plan!??!?

Anyway, the Eagles punted, the Saints garnered a first down, ran out the clock and won the game. Nice hand Andy Reid.

I really cannot understand why the Seattle Seahawks, the defending NFC champs, are 9.5 point underdogs against a Chicago team who's biggest problem is their own quarterback. Anything could happen in this game. Chicago could win by 21, or Seattle could come out on top - and that means I'm taking the points. It's odd that this seems like a total trap game, but everyone likes Chicago! Maybe Chi-town IS the trap!

until next time,

KD

Poker Lessons - FREE! Today!

I know, I know - you don't want to read about poker, so I'll throw some other tidbits in to reward you. For example, today's winners of "best searches that Kid Dynamite's World came up in"

1) IROC Revere, MA

I mean seriously - If I get to the point where people associate EITHER IROCs, or Revere with this site, I'll know I've finally made it.

2) Annie Duke smelly

Who knew?!?!

Here's a bit of table talk you can use if you ever want to simply make your tilting, trash talking opponent shut the fuck up: Last night in the Big Game, Z was tilting severely after steaming off stacks of black chips by repeatedly bluffing into Money, who held big hands each time, and simply smooth called all the way.

Z raged at Money, and Money, stacking towers of chips, simply replied: "Z, you give me the book, I'll read it, and then we'll come back and play again." ZING! Game. Set. Match.

Now on to the lessons: The game I'm playing in is crazy. 5-5 NL, with deep stacks ($2k average, I have about $1k). This is a game where it's common to limp for $5, and then cold call a raise to $200. It completely defies logic. Most of the players in this game will take top pair to the felt (for 400 big blinds!), and two pair is basically the nuts. I was lucky enough to see a flop in a 7 way unraised pot holding 3-3 in the cutoff. The flop came 4-4-3.

Three players checked to Vin, to my immediate right, who made a suspiciously small $15 bet. Normally he'd bet $50 here. I elected to smooth call, and Billy, a true old school grinder on the button, raised to $60. Everyone folded back to me, including Vin. I elected to smooth call again. When the turn brought an Ace (and a 2 flush), I checked, and Billy glared at me before checking. The river was an offsuit nine, and I overbet the pot: $200. Billy sighed, acknowledged "this is a big laydown," and mucked. I cringed. He said "Do you like crabs?" I nodded subtly. He admitted that he did indeed have a 4. Now - Billy is a top notch player, but let's look real quick at what went wrong in this hand:

1) If I read Vin as strong, instead of smooth calling to trap him in position, I should have raised his flop bet, as I'd do with any overpair to see where I stood, and as I'd do in almost any normal game. After all, there's no way he's folding a 4 anyway. I let the aggression of the game cloud my judgement into thinking that my opponents would always be doing my betting for me. This is definitely not true out of position against Billy, who I was ignoring.

2) Once I smooth called the flop raise from Billy, I was essentially fucked. Even if I re-raised Billy when it got back to me, my play is so suspicious to him. Unfortunately, he's the only player at the table who is capable of putting together the pieces: There's no way I smooth call with an overpair. I'm guessing he had 4-5 suited, and while it's conceivable that I could smooth call with A-4 or 4-3, both of those hands have him crushed once the ace comes off on the turn.

So the moral of the story is: think before you slowplay. I'm trying to allow someone to "catch up" or bluff at me, but I'm likely to get action from a four or an overpair anyway if I let my hand play itself and raise. My "double slowplay" was transparent to a good player like Billy.

Vin and I later clashed on the following hand, where I again made mistakes:

5 handed, Vin makes it $30 to go blind from the button. I call with JsTs in the SB.

flop: A-7-5 with one spade. I check, Vin thinks about betting, but gives me a wry grin, and checks. He knows I'll check to him with the intention of checkraising.

turn: Q of spades, giving me a gutshot draw and a flush draw. I bet out $60 (relevant stack sizes are around $675), and Vin pauses to look at his cards for the first time. He takes 30 seconds, and announces a raise to $200. I can clearly raise, fold or call here, and I elect to just call. Vin is perfectly capable of calling me with just a 5 if I move in here, and I have no idea what he has. I basically think that I have 12 outs to the nuts (any king or spade) and 6 outs to pair my J or T which will also likely make me good.

River: Q of clubs. This is actually a pretty good card for me. Was Vin really representing a queen when he raised the turn? I don't think so - I think he was representing "You play rock tight in this game, and I'm going to use my position to take this pot from you."

I consider betting, but I decide I have the best hand, and I will check and see what happens - ready to snap off a bluff from Vin. Vin thinks for a full minute - looks like he's about to check (I get the vibe he's about to surrender a busted draw) - and then he comes out firing: $300.

Now, I immediately realize my mistake. Jack high is not a hand to snap of bluffs with. (Cue Ellix Powers: HE CALLED ME WITH JACK HIGH!) Based on my read here, I have a strong feeling that my hand is best - but if that's the case I should simply bet the river. The problem is that part of my read came from the way Vin acted AFTER I checked, so it's new info. I know Vin thinks I'm weak, and is likely to use his position to bully me, but I decide that I'll have a better opportunity, and eventually muck, telling him "you have NO idea how close to calling you I was - with jack high." He claimed that he was "open ended" and missed, and that all I had to do was bet the river. I gave him this pot. Regardless of whether Vin is telling the truth or not, I think a river bet is correct. Checking to induce a bluff with my hand is asinine, and also allowed me to get cold feet and abandon the pot.

Fortunately, I did find a good opportunity later, when we clashed in a $2100 pot which I scooped with two pair.

I'm looking forward to this weekend's stellar lineup of NFL action. I like all the underdogs, except New Orleans - if you want to use the Kid Dynamite Contrary Indicator.

until next time,

KD

Place Your Bets

In my quest to improve on my freakish symmetry, I've been working out. Core work - not pumping iron, but it's serious shit. So, a few weeks after my last session with the trainer, he approaches me in the gym:

"When do you want to do another session?" He wants to admire my freakish symmetry, clearly.

"Umm, what did you have in mind?" I fear him

"POWER LIFTING," He's not joking.

Fuck. I did deadlifts - ONCE. About 15 years ago. Torqued my hamstrings so bad that I never did them again. Nowadays, I'm 30, with creaking body parts all over: neck kinks, shoulder problems, knee problems, back problems, and perpetual various muscle malodies. So I was working with Big Show to try to set the proper lines on odds of injuring various body parts:

Hammy: 1-5

Knee: 2-1

Back: 1-1

Groin: 2-1

Neck/Shoulder: 3-1

Calf: 6-1

Quad: 4-1

Lat: 6-1

Field (Earlobe, toe, finger, O-ring, scrotum, hammer): 8-1

Now I know what you're thinking: "Kid Dynamite, how can anyone injure their hammer while they are working out?" Well, let me tell you. Back in the day, which was about 1996, Me and Big Show were lifting, doing lateral dumbell raises with old school hexagonal dumbells. Go ahead, click on that link right now, enjoy the avatar, and try to anticipate what is coming next...

Yes - on the down motion, I accidentally (talk about fucking REDUNDANT) clapped the tip of my hammer between the two dumbells. Believe me: this is a mistake you only make once in your life.

I distinctly remember trying to maintain my composure as I froze, calmly put the weights back on the rack, and slowly limped to the bathroom to assess the damage: an immediate purple bruise. Thankfully, it still worked and there was no lasting damage.

Someday, Chops and I are going to write a top notch screenplay based on the lives of Kid Dynamite and the Wicked Chops Crew. With adventures like these, who needs fiction.

until next time,

KD