Vegas, January 2011 Part III - The Victory Lap

Part I and Part II are readily available, if you've missed them.

By the time Dov and I woke up on Monday morning, the other 60% of our group in the adjoining room was gone - back to reality.  We rallied, packed up, and checked out, heading north to meet up with Big Show before our 3pm flights.

We banged out brunch at BLT Burger at Mirage, complete with milkshakes, and then hauled our bags across the street to the Venetian for a few hours of serious double deck blackjack.  The 65 degree sun was a refreshing change from the frigid weather I'd faced at home, and would soon face again.

I feel at home at the Venetian, as Big Show and I have given them most of our blackjack business over the past several years, on account of their face down double deck with player friendly rules (ie, double after split).  I mean, hey - you can't give away that 12 bps of edge!

Big Show, his wife, Dov and I monopolized a table and got down to business, grinding away.  Big Show ended up stuck quickly, and took out a marker for another buy in, as Dov tilted both of us by being super slow and deliberate with his "decisions."   I tilted the dealer by showing him an ace and offering him insurance, which he of course declined, adding "I never take insurance."  I shrugged, and tucked a blackjack facedown.  I was playing two hands, and found another blackjack in my second hand. I again offered him insurance, and again tucked the blackjack facedown.  I signaled to Big Show that I had a few winners, and sat back to await Chang's reaction after the hand as he turned up my blackjacks, which of course the player is supposed to turn faceup instantly.   I feigned a shocked look, while shouting BOOM and fist bumping Dov and Big Show, who was laughing hysterically.

Dov had an epic hand where he was stuck and steaming, holding 7-7 against a dealer 3, with a big bet out.  Dov split the 7's, stacking off another bet, poker style.  He was of course rewarded with another 7, and stacked out another bet.  He proceeded to double one of the hands after receiving a 3, and then split again to 4 hands after receiving another 7 on one of the initial hands.  He ended up with 4 hands, one of which was doubled, but which amounted to only an 18 and 3 pure bluffs - hands that could only win if the dealer busted. 

The dealer, who was Dov's doppleganger, rolled over his hole card: 3.  "YES!" I howled, and started hooting like an ape, "MONKEY MONKEY MONKEY"  The dealer slapped a deuce down, making 8.  "NOOOO!" We all shrieked, and stopped the monkey whooping.  Next card:  Three, for a total of eleven.  Dov sounded like he'd been shanked in the liver, as he let out a miserable wail, but the dealer quickly painted an ace on his 11, making 12. 

Dov screamed "ONE TIME!" and the dealer slow rolled the next card.... FOUR, for a total of 16.  I banged out the gorilla whoop at the top of my lungs,.  It sounded exactly like the gorilla at the 16 second mark (and 36 second mark) of this video, only much louder:

In slow motion, the dealer turned over a king for a miraculous 7 card 26. Dov erupted from his seat, flipping it backwards, and proceeded to take a victory lap around the double deck blackjack pit (right outside the Salon high rollers area), high stepping it in slow motion with his arms raised like Rocky at the top of the Philly Museum of Art steps.

Dov's victory lap was so awesome that a pit boss from an adjacent pit came over to check things out.  "When I see a victory lap, I have to find out what's going on," he told our pit boss.  Dov stacked up his winnings, and our time was up - we had to cash out and grab a cab to the airport.  Our cabbie was a wealth of information, including the details of the odd kitchenettes in the Cosmopolitan rooms.  As he put it, from the perspective of visitors:  "I'm on vacation - I don't want to fucking cook." 

Dov and I said goodbye at the airport and headed to our respective gates.  I had a better Southwest boarding number this time: B10, but again was on the wrong side of the trade.  Instead of locking up the "known," an aisle seat next to a couple who fit comfortably into their seats, I exhibited what I think is probably normal (yet flawed) psychology in terms of seat selection - I went further back in the plane and took an aisle seat in an empty row.  This makes perfect sense if you know that the flight isn't full, but we'd already been told that this was a full flight.  Doesn't it make more sense to take the known - a seat that looks like the middle-seatmate won't be a problem - instead of gambling for the unknown, where I'd basically be allowing someone else the option of choosing to sit next to me?  Come on smallll person! Anyway, I definitely lost the gamble when the largest guy on the plane, boarding near the end,  sheepishly sat down next to me, apologizing, "sorry, no choices left."  This dude passed out quickly, and we were a lot closer than what's normally comfortable, but the jetstream had our backs and the flight home was closer to 4 1/4 hours than the 5 1/2 hour flight out.

As we landed around 11:30pm, the captain announced: "Welcome to Manchester, New Hampshire, where the current weather is three degrees."  Three?  Oy vey - I groaned - not knowing that the next few weeks would see temps dip into the negative twenties.  I layered up, pulling my hat and fleece out of the outer pocket of my carry-on, and double timed it to the parking lot shuttle, which took me to my car without incident.  

Next trip - who knows when... 

-KD

Vegas, January 2011 Part II: Living In The Sports Book

Part I is here, in case you're behind.

The crew rallied Saturday morning and we headed down to breakfast at Aria's 24 hour cafe - the same place I'd eaten less than 8 hours earlier.  The breakfast burrito was perfectly adequate, but Dov and JR put me on uber-Bajungi tilt by heading off to the spa for massages and steams and other absolutely ridiculous stuff that positively should not be done while you're in Vegas with your friends and the NFL games are starting. 

The California Kid, Blazer and I headed to the sports book and used our expertise to secure seats, including seats for our spa-going compatriots who would be arriving late.  Do my readers see what I'm up against?  Big Show had ditched me, stuck all the way on the other end of the strip with his wife, and I was hanging out with some Brobos (Brooklyn Bohemians! It's like a hipster, only gayer - not that there's anything wrong with that) who ditched Sportsbook Saturday in favor of the mother f'n SPA!  Fortunately, the Cali Kid (CK) was bringing it hard, and Blazer was testing his new sports betting service that he and a friend were developing.  Blazer's boy had a "model" for sports, and we christened him The Guru. Despite my warnings that it was impossible to beat sports betting, Guru's picks went something like 18-4 on Saturday - across NFL, NBA, and college hoops.  And I"m not exaggerating.

CK and I were down on the Ravens getting 3 1/2 points, and we had the game in the bag at halftime.   Dov arrived and treated the sports book to an extended version of the Ray Lewis signature dance, but that seemed to put the Kaibash on us.   Even after Joey Flacco came out in the second half and gave the game away, our bet was still looking like a couldn't lose, even after Baltimore had a punt return TD called back on what may have been the worst holding call in the history of professional football.  But still, even after that, we still couldn't lose, as the game was tied and the Steelers were driving for a game winning field goal, which would mean we'd win our bet.  Alternatively, the game would go to overtime and we'd be sitting pretty.  All we needed was for Baltimore no NOT give up a 60 yard bomb on third and 19.  But that's exactly what happened.  Bajungi tilt couldn't begin to describe the situation.

In the late game we all pounded the Green Bay - Atlanta OVER, which started off slow but then turned into a total layup.  Unfortunately, I also got down on the Falcons, and again on the Falcons in the second half, nullifying my winnings from the TOTAL bet.  The Aria sports book is beautiful, but they really run it like a profit center.  While most casinos give you a drink ticket for roughly every $50 in bets, and the waitresses also cut you some slack after a while, Aria wanted $150 in bets (actually, they wanted minimum $150 single bets!) per free drink ticket, and the waitresses had no leeway - I think they had to pay for the drinks as the picked them up, as they required drink tickets before hand, and returned with a printed out receipt for each drink.  Beers were about $7, and mixed drinks were in the neighborhood of $10.    I took it very slow, paying $10 for a liter of Fiji, while the California Kid made up for my slack by pounding a wide array of cocktails. 

After the games, we sought out some negative EV in the Aria pits, finding a double deck blackjack game to dominate.  Most poker players are familiar with the concept of table-side massage in the poker room, but Aria brought this concept to the casino pit!  Even at $2 a minute, when you're betting $50 a hand, how can you not get a 20 minute massage?  The masseuse was actually really good, too, lulling me into a coma as I dropped 6 units in the game before heading up to the room to change for dinner.

The Brobos had booked a foodie French dinner at Andre's in the Monte Carlo, which is adjacent to Aria, yet still a 25 minute walk.  I've written many times about the signature smell at the Venetian, which drives me crazy in a bad way, but Monte Carlo's signature smell was miles worse. It was like a heavily perfumed diaper powder or hand lotion.  It made my eyes sting.  Andre's was good food, highlighted by the waiter, who described every dish in a thick Spanish accent, "eeees AMAZING."  "Is there anything that's not amazing?"  I cracked, but withdrew the question quickly upon seeing his confusion.  After dinner we rejoined upstairs to a nice little cigar/whiskey bar for an aperitif, before making our way back out to the jungle that is the Aria casino floor.

I wandered by the poker room and saw a 1-2 half NL hold'em, half pot limit omaha game.  How could that be a bad idea at 3am?  I sat down and was sad to watch the two fish immediately get up, which left me, a not-so-fearsome player on my left, a rocky pro on my right and a Finnish PLO assassin two to my right.

"Do you guys want to just make it PLO?"  One of them suggested.  "Suuuuuure."  Why not?  I have never booked a winning session in this game (0 for 2), but it provides action at least.  "How about a mandatory $5 straddle?"  the other suggested.

I laughed. Sure. No problem. I managed to get stacked within 40 minutes, after I got all in on the flop with a flush draw and a straight wrap - and was drawing DEAD!  That's actually somewhat tough to do in 4 handed PLO, probably, and it went like this:  I had 2-3-4-6 double suited (spades/hearts) on a flop of 5-7-9 with two spades.  I had the 6-2 of spades, led out, and called a pot-sized reraise that put me all in, explaining "Maybe I"ll get lucky."  My opponent had 6-8 with bigger spades.  Nice hand sir!  I headed up to bed to regroup.

SUNDAY

Sunday morning me and Dov woke up to find that the crew in the adjoining room had ordered room service breakfast.  We were way late for the 10am PST Bears-Seahawks game, so Dov and I hit the buffet at Aria, which looked better than it tasted.  We then executed a perfect "Operation Seats" in the sportsbook, securing ample space for the big Pats-Jets showdown.  I was repping the Steve Grogan throwback jersey, and held down a few seats with a nice angle for the big screen.  Dov made eye contact with me from another side of the room, and I summonsed him, but he shook his head and made a bird motion, implying that there were a bunch of Seahawks fans who were getting ready to leave and we could take their seats too.

Cali Kid, JR and Blazer joined us.  Blazer had the Jets as a Guru pick, while Dov and I bet the over.  I didn't want to lay the 9 points, and I was trying to find a bet that I couldn't lose in the unlikely scenario that my Patriots managed to lose the game.  I decided that there was no way that the Jets would win if there weren't a lot of points scored, so I bet the over (I just couldn't bring myself to bet the Jets).   We were drawing dead the entire game yet somehow got there in a miracle 4th quarter scoring spree.  Erik the Nit (who is not actually a nit, he would like me to clarify) needed to get some action on the second half over, and asked us for the halftime total. "21 1/2" we each told him via text.  He called Dov with an order to get $300 on the over ASAP.  We had a problem though, as the line was moving like lightening.  22.  23.  Everyone was hammering the over, and Dov was still 3rd in line.  I called Erik and said "dude - the numbers are flickering on the screen - it's going crazy - 23 now - WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?"  "MARKET ORDER! BUY IT!" He replied, and I gave Dov the signal.  Erik ended up with a winning ticket at 2nd half over 23.  Oh, that reminds me - the Aria was not sticklers about people using cell phones in the sports book.  One guy even had an Ipad in there.  Usually that's a big no-no.

As the Patriots drove for a late touchdown that was meaningless to everyone in the world who hadn't bet on the game's total, I muttered "this place is going to EXPLODE if the Pats score."  The guy next to me groaned "not me, I have the under."   I was wrong though, as Brady's touchdown pass was greeted with utter silence except for me getting up and jumping into the air while screaming, as Dov came flying in from 15 yards behind me an did a superfly over the chairs in celebration.  We spent 5 minutes watching people bite it on the Aria sports book's camouflaged step before we left.

We had planned to head downtown to kick it old school on Sunday night, and after ditching the Grogan throwback, we cabbed it to the Venetian to dominate some double deck blackjack and pick up Big Show.  The Cali Kid put the dealer on bajungi tilt by tucking a blackjack facedown, but he got away with it by feigning ignorance, which he set up nicely by demonstrating novice tendencies earlier.  "The customer is always right!" CK fake-yelled at the dealer.  After dominating the game for 2 hours we headed downtown to the Golden Nugget - Steve Wynn's original baby.  

We ended up at some steakhouse which I believe was in the California.  To get there, we had to walk around the corner, off Fremont street, which isn't the best neighborhood.  We were so out of place that a stretch limo hummer pulled up and asked us if we needed a ride.  That wasn't the unusual part.  When we declined, he urged "are you SURE?"  Fortunately, the Brobos all had Iphones with navigation, and we followed the little red dots to the California.  We implemented the Buddy System - only travel in pairs down here - including restroom trips out in the casino's general population, away from the confines of the steakhouse.  Amazingly, even here, the steakhouse had center strip prices - $45 or so for steaks - but we all indulged in their secret special - 22 ounce porterhouse, salad, desert, sides, for $22!

It was probably around 10:30pm by now, and there was only one other occupied table in the restaurant.  When the waitstaff brought out desert for them while singing Happy Birthday, we joined in for a raucous rendition.  The peach melba birthday desert looked pretty good, and the guy explained to me "When I was in high school, peach melba meant something dirty."  I eyed him quizzically, and he told me "look it up," which I did, to no avail.

Big Show and his wife headed back to the Venetian, while the Brobos crew went to Brobos heaven, aka, the Cosmopolitan.  "How do you say "hooker bar" in Russian?" I asked out loud, and Dov replied "BAR," making everyone laugh.  We had a round of drinks at one of the many bars, and Dov actually argued with the waitress when she brought our bill, insisting that it couldn't be ours because it was too cheap!  "The beers are only $5," the waitress replied, and we were only too happy to comply.

Dov continued to pound out jokes about the Euro-hipster ambiance at the Cosmo, explaining that at their sports book you could only bet on soccer and tennis.   "No cricket?" I inquired, "of course - seasonal," he replied.  "You should see it up there - they have a bronze statue of Novan Djokavic,"  and we laughed at our own jokes.  Nearing 4am, we tired of the scene, and exited the way we had arrived, into the underground Cosmo cab staging area, which I knew wasn't right.  We were staring right into our room at Aria - literally, all  we needed was a grappling hook - but there was no way to get there. We wandered around the multi-lane side highway for 20 minutes before I bailed and walked back through Cosmo, up the stairs, and through the maze that is the Crystals shops.  Crystals is Aria's super high end retail stores, and the vacancies are staggering.  I would love to see the financials for these stores - the rents and revenues - and for the mall real estate too.

I plopped down in bed and prepared for the final 1/2 day in Vegas.

-KD

Vegas: January, 2011: Alone in the Desert

As usual, when I planned this trip to Vegas I put a lot of thought into analyzing my flight options.  I'm an easy 30 minute drive from Manchester (NH) airport, which offers one direct flight (Southwest) daily.  The problem with this direct flight is that it leaves NH at 7am, arriving in Vegas at 10am Left Coast time.  The alternative was to take a circa-5pm flight out of Logan, but that would require driving to Boston in Friday rush hour, which was something I didn't even want to mess around with.  

Thus, I found myself getting up at 4:30am on Friday, after having tossed and turned since 2am, paranoid about sleeping through the two alarms I had set (which would have been impossible, as my dogs go nuts when the alarm goes off).  Zombified, I cleared security, choosing not to offer a wise-assed retort when the TSA Frisker asked "Anything tender or sore?"  And headed to grab a bagel breakfast sandwich.  "You look like you're still asleep," the cashier told me, and I explained, "Yeah, I'm kinda trying not to wake up - MUST sleep on the plane."

My friends derided Southwest's "Communist" tendencies, and I blundered as I entered with my B45 boarding pass, panicking and snagging an aisle seat in row 5 next to an elderly couple.  I should have continued toward the back of the plane where there were still aisle seats available, but instead dove into this seat next to the husband who was in the middle seat, and who turned out to be far too large for his seat.  The flight was uninteresting, aside from the old lady pulling out a Nintendo DS about 90 minutes from landing, where she proceeded to give Mario Brothers a severe cursing out.  I thought she was going to smash the system on the tray table.

Landing in Vegas, I quickly arranged lunch with The Chairman, and headed over to Aria to check in.  After dropping my bags in the room, I sat for an hour in the 1-3NL hold'em game, (played with normal $1 and $5 chips, not the $3 peach chips the Wynn uses) as I waited for The Chairman to pick me up for lunch.   I played one hand of note, when an old European man stepped into the path of the KD Express.   He'd somehow managed to avoid going broke on the prior hand when his 66 flopped bottom set against an 8-9 flopped straight (6-7-T), and both players slowed down when the turn brought a potential flush.

This hand, I raised it to $10 with QcJc in early position.  The OE (Old European) called me, as did one other.  When the flop came 9c-8s-2c, I bet my overcards, gutshot and flush draw:  $15.  The OE made it $60 to go, and I paused to count his chips.  "He's got about $95 total?" I asked out loud, and the dealer countered "more like $135."  Jeez - bad counting - I'm out of practice.  I took 35 seconds, shoved out a few stacks of red chips, enough to put the OE all in, and he called.  The Qd peeled off on the turn, which was good enough for me to drag the pot.  A nit in the 2 seat piped in "So that's the kind of game it's gonna be?"  Huh?  What did you expect me to do - fold?  Please. DYKWTFIA?

I spent a few minutes chatting with one of the Floor managers in the poker room, who I knew from The Mirage.  "You're here full time now?"  I asked, and she replied "Yeah - that place is a sinking ship."  Oy - so sad - the Mirage used to be one of the centers of the Vegas poker universe.  Now they struggle with $3-$6 limit games and 1-5 Stud.   I spotted David Oppenheim in Ivey's room playing in what I believe is a 200-400 limit mixed game.  I didn't recognize any of the other players in the shorthanded game.

The Chairman arrived in short order and we headed 150 yards around the corner to Todd English's PUB - Public Urban Bar - an upscale bar with 35 beers on tap.  Our waiter asked "Have you guys been here before?" And when I replied "No," he proceeded to spend 5 full minutes explaining the menu.  This put the Chairman on BAJUNGI tilt, and he explained, "Jeezus - I haven't eaten HERE, but I've been to a RESTAURANT before! I know what a MENU is!"   My burger was incredibly disappointing - a small patty on a large bun - with undercooked streak fries to boot.  I didn't return to give the PUB a chance at redemption.

After lunch, I said goodbye to The Chairman, and had a problem.  You know that feeling that you have on Sunday morning of a standard trip to Vegas, after two nights of fitful sleep and excessive partying?  Well I felt like that at 2pm on my first day.  Major issue.  I returned to the room to regroup and wait for reinforcements to arrive.  Dov, who I was sharing a room with, had smartly noted the Fallacy of "Saving It," and explained that we would be hitting it hard that night.  The Fallacy of Saving It is as follows:  When everyone arrives at 9pm on Friday night, the tendency might be to say "Let's just hang out tonight, gamble, drink, but save the big club night for tomorrow."   No. That doesn't work at our age.  You have to hit it hard the first night, right off the bat.

So I napped, poorly, until around 6pm where I rallied and returned to the Aria poker room for a little 2-5 NLHE action.  I sat in the 2 seat next to a young gun in the 1 seat who was fully "local poker pro'd" up:  hoodie over trucker hat, sunglasses, etc.  He wasn't a douche though, and the table dynamic was pretty decent.   I later described the game to Big Show as "sneaky good" - it was a game that appeared horrible at first, until you realized that guys would call you down with second pair, and you just had to make thinner value bets.   Of course, I didn't realize this until I had a multi-barrel bluff called down, which made me nod, shrug, and alter my game plan.  The young gun (YG) had shown a propensity to make a big button raise after multiple players limped: he did this at least 3 times, once showing 8-9 offsuit after continuation betting the flop and taking the pot down.  So as I sat in the small blind with pocket tens and about $330 in my stack, I decided to pop him back after 4 people limped and he made it $35 to go.  I 3-bet to $135 and everyone folded back to the YG who went into the tank.  I shuffled my chips for a few minutes, then stopped and waited.  He finally called.  I had less than a pot sized bet left and pretty much planned on shoving any flop.  When the flop came K-T-9, my plan didn't change, and I was INSTA-called.  I turned my hand faceup as the dealer quickly peeled off the 4c and the Jd.   The player two to my left started to say something, and I quickly put up a finger to hush him, mouthing "shut. up."  He paused, and then couldn't contain himself, blurting that he had queen-ten and would have called if I hadn't reraised preflop.  The YG wasn't the kind of player who would overlook the 4 card straight on board, but everyone is capable of making mistakes, and I tried to politely explain to Mr. QT that he should keep his mouth shut until the pot is pushed.

YG held his cards, shook his head, and mucked.  "I had you crushed," he muttered, and I was temporarily confused: KK-QQ-JJ all still beat me.  "You really had AA?"  "I've played like 4 hands all night," he replied.  "Hey, you set me up," I explained, "all those button raises, and you showed the 8-9 earlier!"   He smiled and shook his head, explaining "that wasn't by design!"    He proceeded to pester me for about 20 minutes - would I have called a preflop shove?" (yes) and lament about the beat.   

After another hour, I picked up from the game and cashed out, needing to get changed for our pending night out at Marquee, the club next door at The Cosmopolitan.  First, I stopped by the sportsbook to check the NFL lines, and marveled at the camouflaged step that Aria installed in the entrance to their sportsbook.  I am willing to bet that within 6 months you will either read about lawsuits regarding trip and fall accidents about this step, or you will see it turned into a 8 inch ramp.  If you're bored at Aria, just stop by the sportsbook and count how many people almost eat it when they miss the step - you won't have to wait more than 5 minutes.  Steve Wynn would never let that happen!

I returned to the room and changed, as The California Kid, JR, and Blazer arrived in the adjoining room in short order.  Dov was stuck at McCarran, awaiting his checked bag, and Big Show was on his way over, with his wife in tow.  The team finally fully assembled, and I had to shepherd Dov to make sure he didn't primp and preen too much, finally managing to get him out of the room and on towards Marquee, which was next door, yet a 25 minute walk away.   The scene outside was a total zoo, of course, and even with our table reservation we had to wait for a half hour.  The Cosmopolitan is a hipster hell, trying WAY too hard to be the hot new place.  Of course, that's how Vegas works - there's always a hot new hip place (Hard Rock and The Palms have previously held that title) - the key will be to see if Cosmo can maintain the image.  I have some history with this place, as I had a refundable deposit down for a condo-hotel room there at the peak of the bubble in 2006.  Fortunately, I bailed, and the project proceeded to get foreclosed on, and is now owned by Deutsche Bank.   Although they had sold a full tower and part of a second tower, I think that the condo-hotel concept is now gone, and that they're all hotel rooms now - (yep - confirmed) 

Thankfully, our table was in The Library at Marquee, which turned out to be much better than being in the main room, which offered up colon shaking house music spun by DJ Chucky - as if I know who that is.  All I know is that it was "untz untz untz" hell, and louder than anything I've ever experienced.  Being in the "side" room Library was a blessing, even though we were out of the thick of it.  We polished off our bottles of booze, and Blazer and I went to wander around the club.  When I returned, Big Show had ditched me, so I decided it was time for food.  I wandered out alone, and ended up at the Cafe at Aria at 4am, where I enjoyed a perfectly acceptable steak and cheese sub as I listened to the drunk girl in the booth behind me blubber to her boyfriend about how she totally liked him, but like she was worried about what would happen if she got pregnant and then he was mean to her, and like what would she do then, and like she'd lose all her friends, and like then the alcohol took over and she was just bawling.   Ahhh.  Vegas.

I trodded back up to the room, where I found an early-Saturday-morning-East-coast-time text from Erik the Nit, begging for status updates.  "Got it it in bad, sucked out, bottles, noise. Standard."  I replied, before dozing off to prepare for Saturday.

-KD

Vegas Martin Luther King Day 2011 - PREtrip Report

We have a first here at Kid Dynamite's World.  After I sent this story to my most loyal reader, Bones, he replied "PRETRIP REPORT!!!"  And so it is...

So I'm going to Vegas NEXT weekend, MLK weekend (Jan 14th).  Dirty Dave and three of his friends are coming, along with Big Show and his wife.

Sitting around at home last Friday evening (Jan 7th), I suddenly got the idea to screw with Dirty Dave.  I sent him a text "I'm here. Aria poker room. Text me when you land."

Then I sat back and giggled and waited.  As we all arrive in Vegas, there are always a barrage of texts sent back and forth to establish where everyone is.  45 minutes later, I sent him another: "Just got stacked via a sick cold deck. gonna take a walk. maybe i'll make it to In'n'out burger.  Call me when you get to the cab line."

30 minutes later, my phone rings.  It's Dave.

dave: "Hey - where are you?"
me (music on my computer playing in the background). "Huh? I'm in Vegas.  Where are you?"
dave: "What?  When was the last time you talked to Big Show?"
me: "This afternoon.  Why?"
dave, mumbling: "what did he say?  when does his flight land?"
me: "he said he's retired. his flight lands at 8pm."
dave, knowing it's NEXT week that Big Show lands: "TONIGHT?"
me: "I mean, I ASSUMED it was tonight! What are you talking about?"
dave: silence.. then "oh man - my heart is SINKING right now. I can't believe this."

Sadly, I'm a horrendous bluffer, and while I should have taken it another three minutes, let him explain that it was NEXT week that they were all coming, and then lament how I was going to have to sleep in the IP parking garage, I let him off the hook and told him I was just messing with him...

He said "I mean, I looked back at all the emails after I got your texts, and everyone said "I'm in, Friday to Monday," but no one put the dates! I figured if anyone didn't know the holiday wrap weekend, it would be the guy who's out of the system!  I was wondering how you were going to explain to your wife that you were doing a NINE DAY Vegas wrap once you figured it out"

I said "I was going to tell you that I was going to Wal-mart to buy a sleeping bag and a box of cereal bars and sleep in the IP parking garage."

anyway, it could have been an all time legendary one, but I am a bad bluffer so it was just GOOD.

Stay tuned next week for the post-trip report!

-KD

Vegas Summer 2010 - Part III - Angle Shooting and Bajungi Tilt

If you missed Part I or Part II, you'd be well advised to go read them now...

I woke up Thursday morning, turned on my cell phone, and retrieved a text from Ted that said he'd finished 4th in the WSOP $5k PLO event -  good for $165k.    He later sent me the PokerNews link to the reporting of his elimination, which includes a picture of him in all his Ginger glory.  Big Show and I got cleaned up and packed up our stuff, while we made plans to meet Ted at Lagasse's Stadium for some food.   We dropped our bags at the valet, and went to print out our boarding passes while we waited for Ted to drive up from the Golden Nugget.

Last month I wrote about the new Vegas scam - resort fees - which basically allow hotels to advertise a lower room rate and then hit you with mandatory fees on top.   At least, I figured, I was damn sure to make use of the free boarding pass printing that I thought was included in my resort fee.  We walked down to the business center, where I explained to the gentleman behind the counter that I wanted to simply print a boarding pass. 

"No problem sir, the machines are right over here:  $1 per minute, plus $1 per page."

"There must be some confusion, I am a hotel guest, I would just like to print my boarding pass," I calmly explained.

"Yes sir - right over there. $1 per minute plus $1 per page."

Now I was beginning to steam.  "Wait - isn't the boarding pass printing included in the resort fee that I'm charged?"

"No sir, the resort fee covers in room internet access."

I flew into the highest state of bajungi tilt I think I've ever experienced at the Venetian/Palazzo.  Never mind the non-comped cigar bullshit from the night before - I am willing to come patronize your casino, and even lose money at it, but when you dick around with me like this, it will incite me into a state of frenzied rage the likes of which are impossible to describe.  I WILL WRITE ABOUT THIS ON MY BLOG!!! I wanted to scream at the guy, but he was just doing his job, so I steamed upstairs - with smoke coming out of my ears, as Big Show egged me on and tried to get me to go over the edge.  I calmly marched up to the concierge, and put on my nice guy voice:

"Hello, sir, could you please provide me with a list of the amenities included in the resort fee?"  I posed the question, politely.

"Actually, I don't have a printout, but I can just tell them to you."  The concierge responded.

"That would be lovely," I replied, in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"Access to the fitness center, free local calls and in-room internet, and a daily newspaper which you can pick up at this cafe over here."

"So, no boarding pass printing?  Why isn't boarding pass printing included - it really should be."  I voiced my complaint.

"We print those here free of charge anyway, sir,"  the concierge explained, and immediately soothed 1/2 of my bajungi tilt.  On the other hand, I was now even more tilted that the doucheball in the business center hadn't told me that I could get it done trouble free up at the concierge!  Steve Wynn would never let that happen!

I printed my boarding pass, and Big Show and I sauntered over to Casino Credit to try to get the meals we'd charged to the room removed from the bill.  The clerk quickly said, "no problem at all," after evaluating our donkish play, and offered, "We'll remove the resort fees as well for you."  WINNNNNNNER!  Score one for KD and the Big Show.  Again, though, this brought back more tilt from the night before - how come we could get a $70 meal comped, but not a $10 cigar?  How come we could get two $17 resort fees comped, but not two cigars?  Come on Venetian! Treat your players right!

We were the first people seated in an empty Lagasse's Stadium - only a few baseball games were going on - which inspired Big Show to place a bet on the Cubs run total which would turn out to be a loser.  Ted arrived a few minutes later, and regaled us with the story of his PLO tourney, which included him playing with a variety of poker superstars, including Annette Obrestad, Tom Dwan, Howard Lederer, Bruno Fitoussi, Nam Le, and Matt Glantz.  He said that Annette and Matt Glantz were really helpful, and that Dwan was a nice guy, especially after Ted corrected him on some misinformation he had about BP stock.  Ted ended up busting Lederer and Dwan, and told us a great story that Howard Lederer had told him about a prop bet with Phil Ivey:

"The event started with 460 people.  When there were about 200 people left (and the average stack size was ~$35k), Phil Ivey had ~$25k in chips.  Ivey asked Howard Lederer what he thought his odds were of winning the tournament.  Howard said 100-1.  Ivey flipped him a real money $10k chip.  Lederer threw it back and said that was what he thought the odds were, not where he would lay money.  Ivey asked for an offer.  Lederer then offered 50-1.  Ivey countered 90-1.  Lederer repeated at 50-1. Ivey  conceded 80-1. Lederer held firm at 50-1.  Ivey  came down to 70-1.  Lederer again repeated 50-1.  Ivey: 60-1.  Lederer 50-1.  Ivey accepted.  I believe Ivey busted early on day 2."

Great stuff.  We finished up a nice brunch - bloody marys and sandwiches (I had a Reuben) - and Big Show lost the credit card roulette so he had to pick up the modest tab.  WINNNNNNER!  We found a vacant double deck BJ table upstairs at Palazzo, and monopolized the whole thing, each of us playing two hands.  I'd never played blackjack with Ted before, and his antics amused me - constant hooting, and sarcastic cheering for the wrong cards.  He also demonstrate and exceptionally dramatic "fist-bump-blow-it-up" move after desirable outcomes.  Big Show and I were nearly felted, while Ted somehow was winning, before we made a big comeback, and then another big decline.   At one point I executed the greatest blackjack angle shoot of all time, when I pulled off the patented "double down for MORE" maneuver, and got paid for even more!

I had been playing two hands of $50, but this time only had $25 on each bet.  I was dealt an Ace-4 vs a dealer 5, and Ted claims he urged me to "triple down."  I didn't hear him, but had the same idea, so I placed two green chips next to my bet, expecting the dealer to see it and push one of them back.  She didn't, and dealt out the hand, where she busted, and then proceeded to drop a black $100 chip as the payoff for my bet.  $25+$50 --> $100!!!  Ted later noted that she clearly thought I had bet $50 and doubled for $50 more, and the really interesting thing is what would have happened had I lost the hand - but anyway - Big Show and Ted both caught it as it happened, and there was a fraction of a second of a pause in the action before we high fived and Ted dramatically blew up the fist bump.  Ted and Big Show made some sarcastic veiled comments, and I just exploded with laughter that I was trying to quash - turning bright red and sweating - as Big Show muttered "that was the greatest move of all time."  Ted stole a green chip from my stack, claiming that it was his idea to "triple down."

Big Show put the dealer and the pit boss on severe tilt by repeatedly tucking his blackjacks instead of turning them face up.  Since the dealer had laughed the first time he did it, he kept doing it.  Now, the pit boss warned him not to do it anymore.  "If you do that, some places will pay you even money,"  she chided. I immediately jumped on that one, obstinately countering, "no way - NO PLACE will pay you even money - three to two bayyyyy beeee!!"  And Ted then tried to formulate a prop bet with me regarding if Big Show would get paid even money or get kicked out if he did it 5 more times.  We eventually abandoned the bet, but ended up booking a bet on the proper play of a pair of deuces vs a dealer 7.  I said it was just a hit, but Ted said it was a split. "I have a card!" he said, and went to pull it out of his pocket - the basic strategy card.  I was sure that I knew in my head that you split 2s. 3s and 6s against a dealer 6 or less, and 7s against a 7 or less, so we booked the bet, and Ted pulled out HIS card, which confirmed that I was right.  But wait - Big Show intervened that in double deck the rule was different (which was true!), and we were playing double deck.  We eventually called the bet a push - but Ted kept the quarter he'd stolen from me earlier.

After Big Show had to leave for his flight, Ted and I went to dominate the pai gow game at the Venetian.  Ted was playing two hands, and wanted to play another.  They said that two was the limit, so he tried to give me money to bet for him.  The pit boss squashed that attempt, so I said, "ok ok - relax - no problem,"  and formed a partnership with Ted where I was betting a second hand on his behalf out of my chips.  He wanted to play the fortune bonus too, so I was trying to keep track of the money he was losing by keeping my chips in separate stacks right next to each other - one for my bets, and one for The Partnership.   You would have thought I was selling nuclear secrets to the Chinese, or filming the spin of a roulette wheel - there was a CONFERENCE of pit personnel behind the table, pointing, looking, and whispering at my slightly separated stacks.  "I can't take the heat! I need to dissolve the partnership!" I whispered to Ted, but he peer pressured me into continuing, which by the looks of the pit team's reaction will earn me a lifetime ban from the Venetian and probably bar me from ever setting foot in Las Vegas again.  We witnessed a truly six sigma scenario when a woman next to me won a hand with the 4-2 up top! in Pai Gow, you make a 5 card hand and a 2 card hand, with the 5 card hand having to be better than the 2 card hand.  The woman had a straight, but her remaining two cards were 4-2, so in this situation you just put the 4-2 up top in the 2 card hand, knowing it can't win, and expecting to push your bet (winning the 5 card hand, losing the 2 card hand = push).  The dealer, miraculously, also made a (smaller) straight, and had a 3-2 left over up top, so the woman won with 4-2.  At least 6 sigmas. 

We picked up and wandered over to the Wynn (which seemed to be populated almost entirely by Europeans), where I found they guys from my NYC poker game dominating a 5-10NLHE game.  Ted preferred to attack the Wynn's blackjack switch game, which he thought was free money, until he played it for a little while.  He was playing with a walking corpse, the corpse's wife, and two crazy Asians who seemed to be hitting/staying at random.  Ted quickly joined me at the pai gow table, where I was drinking a glass of watermelon juice and a glass of carrot juice.  Totally bizarre - I know - and it was even worse when the waitress erred and brought me another round of the same two juices.   I couldn't bully Ted into driving me to the airport, so I said goodbye, retrieved my bag from the Palazzo valet, and cabbed it to the airport - being careful to explain that I did not want to go on the highway (I'd been long-hauled on the cab ride in!). 

I sat down in my first class window seat, and a recognizable Asian guy got on the plane a few minutes later.  I looked at him, and thought, "Holy crap - it's Big Head Todd" - from BHTM, whom I love.  When I saw the Blue Ginger tag on his luggage, I realized that I'd made another classic Kid Dynamite ignorant American mistake - and this was not Todd Park Mohr, but rather, Ming Tsai!  This is incredibly funny, to me, by the way - that I would confuse those two.    Anyway, Ming was *hammered*.  His eyes were narrowed to slits - not because he's Asian, but because he was bombed, and his face was bright red. He looked like he was about to pass out, and eagerly settled in his seat.  Ten minutes later a woman getting on the plane recognized him, and put her hand gently on his shoulder, saying, "Ming."  He looked up at her with pleading eyes - a look that said "lady, PLEASE - I am dying here," and she must have interpreted it correctly, because she just said, "I'm from Boston," patted his shoulder, and quickly walked away.    I caught a lot of sleep on the flight home, and I'm not sure if I missed the food service or what, but I awoke an hour before landing and desperately signaled to the flight attendant for something to eat.  He brought me a bag of potato chips, which led Ming, now awake, to request his own bag - and that's how I came to be eating potato chips with Ming Tsai at 5:30 am at 35,000 feet.

We landed and I retrieved my car without incident, surviving the 75 minute drive home where I collapsed in my bed and dreamt of black chips and bad beats...

-KD

Vegas - Summer 2010 - Part II: The WSOP and The Abyss

If you missed Part I of the trip report, go read it now.

(warning - this post contains some ACTUAL POKER CONTENT! but not too much)

Wednesday morning we woke up around 9:45 and went in search of cheeseburgers.  I have an insatiable appetite for cheeseburgers anytime I'm in a "drinking" or "was drinking the night before scenario," and although I didn't hit it too hard on Tuesday night, my cheeseburger thirst needed to be quenched on Wednesday morning.

We walked across the street to hit BLT Burger at Mirage, but we arrived at 10:20 and they didn't open until 11am.  Deciding to kill some time in the Pai Gow pit, the dealer was aroused from his stupor, explaining "You guys are probably the third customer I've had all day."  I looked at my watch - "Wait - you've been here since 4am right?"  "Yep."  "And you only had TWO players all shift?"  He nodded again.  Big Show and I just looked at each other and shook our heads.  Talk about channel checks.  After taking enough out of the Pai Gow game to pay for breakfast, we gorged at BLT Burger; feasting on bbq brisket nachos, and "backyard burgers," which contained bacon, cheese, bbq sauce and an onion ring.  We caught a cab out front and headed over to the Rio, in search of some WSOP cash game side action.

Big Show and I were quickly seated next to each other in a 2-5NLHE game that was just starting - I took the 8 seat and let him have position on me in the 9 seat.  They deal the game 9 handed at the Rio, by the way.  I hadn't played a hand of poker since October of last year, and I was quickly confronted with a decision.  On the very first hand, it was folded to an older guy on the button who opened for a raise to $20 and then won the pot with a continuation bet on the flop.  The next hand, I was in the big blind and looked down at QQ.  It was folded to the old man, who was now in the cutoff seat (one to the right of the button).  He open limped, and the SB called.  I made it $20 to go and they both called (we started with $500 stacks).  The flop came J-8-5 rainbow, and the small blind checked to me.  I bet $45, and the old man made it $125.  The sb folded and it was back to me.  Now, I have realized that almost all of my poker edge comes from the fact that I make good decisions based upon what I know about my opponents' behaviors.  I had a constantly increasing catalog of knowledge when I was playing in NYC with the same group of people, but in Vegas it was (and usually is) an entirely new group of people whom I knew nothing about.

Was this guy raising me just because he thought I was making an automatic continuation bet?  Was he raising me with an open ended straight draw?  Did he slowplay aces or kings (seems highly unlikely given the action)?  Did he flop a set?  Did he have a big jack?  I decided that his limp-call action preflop made a hand like JJ/88/55 unlikely, as he'd already shown aggression in the previous hand, and was likely to open-raise rather than open-limp with those hands in late position.  Once I made the decision that I wasn't folding, I had two choices:  raise (perhaps a bad idea, as I risk getting all worse hands to fold, and I only get called by better hands?) or call?  Out of position, and with basically one pot sized bet left in my stack if I called, I took about a minute and announced "all-in."    My opponent took 10 seconds and called. I winced, but I was slightly confused - a set should have been an insta-call for him here.  The board bricked off - deuce then trey - and he said "if you have a set you've got me."  I shrugged and tabled my queens, and he turned over jack-five, for flopped two pair.  I nodded, said "I didn't put you on that," and shipped him my chips, then pulled out another buy in and bought them back from him.

In the next orbit, I opened for $20 with KQ in middle position, and was called by the small blind.  The flop came Q-J-x with two clubs, and the SB checked to me.  I led for $25, and he checkraised to $125.  Again, I was in a spot against an opponent I knew nothing about.  I thought I liked this flop.  This guy looked like a very tight local grinder, and although there were three handfuls of draws on this board, I took a while and decided that I would be hoping to chop at best - I gave him credit for KQ/AQ/QJ or better, and I mucked my hand.

Not two orbits later, I looked down at QQ again under the gun. I made it $20, and Big Show smooth called to my immediate left.  Action folded around to the small blind, who shoved for $240.  Big Show only had $420 left, so I re-shoved in an attempt to isolate the SB.  Big Show snap called, and his AA held up (the SB had AK).  I toppled Big Shows stack after he stacked up my chips, and I continued to battle in a pretty poor game.  

A Southerner who said he recognized me from past trips sat down to my right, and was on uber-tilt since he'd flown up here from Florida to play some WSOP tourneys, but they wouldn't let him play because he had an expired ID!  This guy was 50-something years old, and was a pit player at Harrah's properties as well - he was comped based on his casino play already.  I suggested he talk to his host, and others suggested he demand to speak with the tourney supervisor, who had earlier refused the request to speak, but the Southerner was annoyed and simply decided to change his flight and go home.  Steve Wynn would never let that happen!  Nice work Harrahs...

After 3 hours, Chops finally found me, and we picked up our chips (Big Show up small, me down 7 hunge) from the game to wander around the room, checking out the action in the $25k 6 handed WSOP event, where we spotted a plethora of big name pros.  My buddy Ted was also still alive and in the money on day three of the $5k PLO event, which saw a who's who of poker make the top fifty spots.  He was about 15th in chips with 30 people left, and I said hi to him before heading off to record a podcast with Chops. 

Chops, Big Show and I went to the Poker Royalty hospitality suite, where I grabbed a Diet Mountain Dew and a cheesecake square and sat down to talk poker, finance, and pop culture with Chops on the podcast.  He was impressed that I knew Ted, a Ginger, who was still alive in the PLO event, and that Ted hadn't used his Ginger skills to steal my soul.  As we were finishing up, Mike the Mouth barged through the door, desperately seeking a shower.  There was one in the bathroom, and Mike closed the door, but then realized after 30 seconds, "I'm drawing dead - there's no soap and no towel."

"Rod Tidwell it, Mike," I suggested, thinking of course of Cuba Gooding Junior's character in Jerry Maguire, who refuses to use a towel, preferring instead to "air dry."  This elicited an outburst of laughter from the people in the other room, but Mike declined, and ventured back out onto the poker floor. 

We said goodbye to Chops and cabbed it back to the Palazzo, where Big Show and I monopolized a double deck blackjack table, playing two hands each.  After grinding for several hours, we were each down a little, and Big Show asked the pit boss, Danny, for a cigar comp.  We'd each been playing two hands of $50 or more for several hours, and had always been comped cigars previously with no questions asked.  Danny gave us some pushback, explaining that they'd changed the rules, and that we could only get cigarettes, not cigars, which now required a $500 average bet!  This was, obviously, absurd.  Big Show explained, "I don't want a $100 cigar, I just want a $20 cigar,"  but Danny kept claiming his hands were tied. The dealer, noticing we were tilted, urged us to just go buy a cigar, but we explained that it was all about the principal.  I steamed into a state of crazy bajungi tilt, as Big Show continued to negotiate, asking the cigar girl,

"how much are the cigarettes?"  he inquired

"$10,"  she explained

"ok, and how much is this cigar?" 

"$19."

"How about if I take the cigarette comp and apply it to the cigar and pay you the difference?" He offered.

"Of course, no problem," and Big Show had his cigar.

Meanwhile, I'd gotten felted, and asked for a marker.  The pit boss twisted the knife by telling me that my line of credit had to be re-activated over at Casino Credit, which put me into full-on Bajungi Tilt, as I'd asked the pit boss the night before to confirm that the credit line was active, which she had done.  "Fuck it," I said, and pulled another buy-in out of my pocket.  I was getting blown up, and felt like I was looking into the abyss - not the first time this had happened at Palazzo.  I steamed away from the table, up to my room, to grab my own cigars, which I had brought with me.  I stopped by the Palazzo's dueling piano players on the way back to the table, but they sucked.  I love dueling pianos, but I stopped to check these guys out three times and was vastly disappointed.

I stopped by Casino Credit, and they said "oh yeah - you're all set," which tilted me even further - WTF?  Why would you tell me it's active the night before, then tell me it's not active when I want to use it, then, when I go to activate it, tell me it was all set all along?  Steve Wynn would never let that happen - eff you Shelly!  The boss at Casino Credit politely explained that there must have been some sort of miscommunication, so I walked back into the BJ pit, scoured at Danny the Pit Boss, and sat down at a different table across the pit, alone.  I took out a marker, played two hands at once, and pounded out a big win - getting back all the cheddar that I'd lost an hour before under Danny's evil eye. 

Nearing 11pm, I got a call from the Chairman, who I'd "grown up" with in the NYC poker scene roughly ten years earlier.  He now lived in Vegas, and he came to meet Big Show and I at Dos Caminos at Palazzo.  As the hostess seated us in the empty restaurant, she pointed to the steps, "please watch your step," as she led us down.  "Do people fall down these stairs every day?"  I wondered aloud, and she answered mysteriously, "not EVERY day."  I went to use the bathroom and discovered a ramp near the stairs - if people fall down the stairs, why don't they take them down the ramp instead? I wondered, but would get my answer in a mere twenty minutes.  The Chairman and his wife joined us to catch up on all that is Vegas, NYC and NH, and we were soon interrupted by hysterical screaming coming from the other side of the Godfather-esque round booth we had.

"OH MY GOD!  I can't handle this - she's BLEEEEEEDING"  came a shriek, and I looked over to see a helpless Penguin looking over her fallen pack-mate.  There was another Penguin CRUMPLED in a heap on the ground - apparently she'd taken a head first (drunken, presumably) dive down the ramp (not the stairs!) and was now lying with her face against the intersection of the floor and wall, on the shiny marble.  I mean - WIPEOUT!  Big Show glanced over the side of the booth, and I wondered "dude, is there a puddle of blood on the floor, NHL '94 style?" (and here's the classic video that goes along with that)  Paramedics and EMTs were summonsed, and the wounded Penguin was swabbed and blotted with a variety of gauze pads and antibacterial sprays. 

After saying goodbye to The Chairman, who had to work in the morning, Big Show and I sought out more blackjack action at the Venetian, where Big Show almost got into it with a classic complainer.  This doucheball was ranting about how he always lost, after making suboptimal non-by-the-book plays, and made some comment about how Big Show kept getting blackjacks.  Big Show was absolutely hammered at this point, and said, "hey man, don't hate on me - it's not my fault."

"I know I know, I just can't win," The Complainer whined.

"Play better!" Big Show suggested, but I was in the seat between them and quickly mediated the situation, which didn't last long because The Complainer soon busted out.

We picked up soon after and headed up to the room.  I'd been sweating Ted's $5k PLO progress all night, and hadn't heard from him for 5 hours, when he had said he was at the final table.   I managed to get an update on Big Show's Iphone from the WSOP site that Ted was still alive with 4 people left!  I went to bed wondering if he was going to take down the gold bracelet and $530k first prize...

-KD

Vegas - Summer 2010 - Part I

Big Show and I decided to plan a very advanced Vegas trip - the summer midweek assault.  This type of trip is not for amateurs - aside from sitting poolside (which we do not do), there is little else to do in the 110 degree heat but gamble.  Which was the goal, of course.   In typically obsessive fashion, I agonized over the details of my trip:  Southwest flies direct from Manchester to Vegas, but for some inexplicable reason, they've eliminated their nice flight times - around 5pm on each side - and instead now offer only a 7am departure to Vegas, and a 9am departure from Vegas.  I do like flying out of Manchester because it's closer than Logan, and it's very easy to deal with in terms of parking and security.  However, if I went with the Manchester flights I'd have to stay an extra night in Vegas, which isn't the worst thing in the world either.   There were additional considerations:  the Boston based flights were on US Airways, where there is always the possibility of a first class upgrade, but I was really gambling there since I could already see that the only seats available in coach were middle seats - which offered a high price to pay for the first class upgrade gambit.  There was only one thing to do, consult with the Master, Dirty Dave, who advised:

"This one is clear cut:  ditch the cozy confines of Manchestah, and get your butt back to Logan!

Those SW flight time are really bad- on both sides!!  

In general, one now wants to err on the "get me the fahk out of here" side and less on the "I scheduled one extra 'chill' day to do some shopping and see the Hoover Dam" side.

Use the extra $150 to blast thru a magazine on the grease gun and 20 footlong meatballs from The 'Way (about one every three hours).

One last thing- middle seats actually trade over aisle seats on redeyes.  Less risk of being awoken by a bathroom tripper and moreover, u put yourself in a position to catch some "soft shoulder" if you pass out on a hot seatmate."

Although I wasn't in the market for "soft shoulder," I couldn't ignore my Sensei, and promptly booked the US Airways flights via Logan.  Being a stickler for details, I freaked out a little when I later saw that there was massive construction going on at the Logan Terminal B access road, which I'd need to use, but my fears turned out to be unfounded as the trip to Logan, including the parking at the terminal-side lot, turned out to be a piece of cake.

I'd lifted the offer to upgrade to first class - paying the premium for comfort on the nearly 6 hour flight.  After 2 23oz Sam Adams in the airport, I hit the bathroom twice, and boarded the plane.  I was in the window seat, with a guy around my age wielding a full assault arsenal of Apple products (Macbook Pro, Ipad, Iphone)  in the aisle seat.  We pushed back to taxi for takeoff, and despite having already relieved myself twice, the two Sam's tall boys were straining my squirrel sized bladder.  I figured we'd be in the air in 5 minutes, but my hopes were dashed as we continued to taxi, and the pressure in my loins grew (that sounds like a cheesy romance novel!).  I was on the verge of making a leap/run for the bathroom - if I'd been in the aisle seat I probably would have done it - but I didn't want to cause a commotion and get Tased, so I thought of dry fauna and formulated an emergency backup plan - could I pee in the barf bag?  I was sure that the moment I threw in the towel and made a dash for the bathroom we'd take off.  Finally, 20 minutes later, we took off and climbed rapidly.  I made pleading eye contact with the flight attendant, making charades to him that I had to use the bathroom.  He told me to wait 2 more minutes, and I lept out of my seat, hurdling Apple Boy, as soon as the first "ding" went off signaling the end of the initial ascent.  This prompted the flight attendant in the back of the plane to get on the p.a. system and remind everyone (aka: ME) that the fasten seatbelt sign was still illuminated and that we should remain seated.

Disaster averted, I returned to my seat and tried to get a nap in, as I listened to live Phish on my Ipod.  Dinner time came, and the flight attendant came by to explain the choices: chicken with pasta, or "blackened cod."  I actually thought he was joking, and quickly confirmed "chicken, please," but Apple Boy shocked my, blurting out, "I'll have the fish."  Whattttt?  Fish on a plane?  Didn't you see Airplane?

Blackened cod?  Come on - is this your first time on a plane?   

We arrived in Vegas without incident, and I stepped off the plane (it was 9:30 at night, keep in mind) into 106 degree heat.  "It's a dry heat,"  I always joked.  "Yeah, so is an oven,"  the Big Show responded by phone, as I headed to the Palazzo to meet up with him.  I'd canceled my Mirage comp, as Big Show had secured a Palazzo comp.  I had some EV math to do with the Mirage - they were offering me $75 in free play, but would charge me daily resort fees of $15. Now, two resort fees = $30 (plus tax), but the $75 match play had an EV of $37.50... so it was REALLY thin to keep the Mirage reservation and not use the room.  I passed on that, and canceled the room.

A few guys from my old NYC poker game were out in Vegas, playing cash games and WSOP tournies, and Big Show and I met up with them, catching up on all the NYC poker gossip - who owes who big money, how much so and so is raking per year out of his game, and the general state of the game.  After the recap, over a beer in Bill's Wynn hotel room, Big Show and I were desperately seeking negative EV at the tables, while Bill returned to the Wynn poker room to dominate the 5-10NLHE game.  First, though, he sat with us as we crushed the Wynn Pai Gow table, all the while wondering out loud, "Why does the casino even spread this game?  And how on earth can you guys sit here and play it?"  When he finally figured out the 5% commission we paid on winning bets, Bill understood the casino's interest, but couldn't grasp our desire to play Pai Gow over real poker, and retreated to his hold'em game.

The waitress sauntered over, and I gave some deep thought to my first drink order, before deciding on "margarita, rocks, salt."  She pursed her lips and explained apologetically, "I can't bring you salt at the table."  I tried to charm her, "I don't want salt at the table, I just want it on my glass,"  but she explained that she was not allowed.  "Really, why not?" I probed.  "People were using it to mark the cards,"  she admitted.  "Yeah, that's what I want it for," I countered, instantly, before conceding to a saltless margarita.  Still, I had to admire Steve Wynn - again - for the littlest details.  Salt?  Really?  What is the negative EV for Wynn by serving salt rimmed glasses?  The beauty of it is that I bet Steve Wynn could tell me precisely what the negative EV was.  I also respect Wynn's table design - which has a lampshade light fixture only a few feet above each table, allowing the casino to put the cameras that much closer to the action.  More ingenious design (note:  I currently have no positions in any Vegas related stocks).  

The Tuesday Night Whore Factor at Wynn was shocking - a seemingly endless procession of working girls parading back and forth along the back corridor on the casino floor.  Last trip, I opined about the theory of the March of the Penguins - but these girls were not Penguins - they were pro's.  "Where are they coming from?"  I wondered.  "Where are they going?" Big Show countered - as they seemed to be on a dead end to nowhere - near the Ferrari museum at the end of the casino floor.  "Self park?"  I offered, flummoxed by the mystery.

We took a few handfulls of units out of the Wynn Pai Gow game, before returning to the Palazzo to crush their double deck blackjack game for a few hours.  

Our favorite pit outside the Salon area was vacant, and Big Show promptly managed to get the table minimum rolled back from $50 to $25, so we had greater optionality if things went bad.  We  fired up cigars, and chatted up the pit boss about the state of business (slow) and her favorite TV shows, which led me to declare that Dexter (Showtime) may be the best show on TV right now.  After dominating the game, Big Show and I decided to take a walk through the Venetian before retiring for the night.  The poker room was like I'd never seen it before - and it was 2am on a Tuesday.  They had every table in the room filled, and 20 tournament tables that spilled outside onto the casino floor also full - all running cash games.  Incredible.  This was partly a result of the WSOP, and partly a result of the Venetian's Deep Stack tourney that was going on - but the poker attendance was quite impressive.  We grabbed a slice of $5 pizza and headed up to the room, where we encountered one obstacle to sleep:  we could not figure out how to turn off the light between the beds.

There was even a master switch for all the lights in the room - which basically killed power to the room with a resounding "THUD," yet it did nothing to quash the bedside lights.  After a full 5 minutes of inept struggling with the situation, I called the front desk and admitted, "hi, I have a stupid question - can you please tell me how to turn off the light between the beds?"  "Yes sir - is it the light with three sconces and a mirrored backing?"  "That's the one," I confirmed.  "There is a switch at the bottom right corner,"  she instructed, and I thanked her as I found the illusive switch. "Do you get that question a lot?"  I asked.  "Several times a night, sir."   THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD F'ING FIX IT! I wanted to shout, but instead I thanked her again, hung up the phone, and said "Steve Wynn would have it fixed."  Look - I know you Vegas locals hate Wynn - I don't know anything about him as a person, all I'm saying is that I think he's the best in the business at running a casino, and that he'd fix these little annoyances that Venetian allows to bother their guests and waste their employees' time several times a night.

I dozed off for some fitful sleep in preparation for a sizzling hot Wednesday.

stay tuned for Part II, which contains actual poker content.

-KD

Vegas MLK 2K10 Part IV - Downtown

In case you need to get caught up, read Parts I, II, and III.

Sunday we woke up early to place our bets for the Dallas - Minnesota NFC Divisional Game.  Big Show was down in the sports book checking the lines, as the rest of us stirred and rallied.  The line was DAL + 3, and Dirty Dave and I wanted to get down on Dallas. Matty piped in from the adjacent room "I like Minny- cross it upstairs - cancel off the floor!"    Dirty Dave quickly told Big Show that we had a natural cross, and he placed no bet for us in the sports book.  Five minutes later, Big Show called back to say that the line had moved to DAL + 3.5 -120:  Dallas bettors were getting another 1/2 point, but had to lay extra vig.  We quickly tried to renegotiate with Matty to strike this new deal with him - which was actually probably a good deal for him, since we weren't paying him vig on the DAL+3 bet, but were willing to lay 120 for the extra half point.  Matty emphatically refused, and I'd spend the rest of the day taunting him mercilessly about how he negotiated himself out of an extra 20% when Minnesota blew the Cowboys out.  That's how you turn a losing bet into a win - remind your buddy who has the other side that you tried to make an even WORSE bet but he refused to take it!

We made it down to the Grand Luxe at the Palazzo - the less crowded version compared to the Venetian's branch - where we spotted the uber-rare pack of White Tigers.  I'd spent the weekend formulating the theory to explain why the only women remaining in Vegas were barely legal first time visitors skanked to the max, but here we encountered a large group of mid-thirties women with babies in tow!  It's extremely rare to see a pack of White Tigers, but to see them with their young is akin to seeing Haley's Comet.  I was in awe.

Sigmas would continue to abound, however, as we hit the craps table.  Mrs. Big Show had a big roll and got us headed the right way, and then Big Show took the dice.  Everyone placed their "pass line" bets, rooting for Big Show to make his number, and I triumphantly and loudly placed a "don't pass" bet.  Craps isn't as hard a game as it sounds like.  On the initial roll, if you roll a 2,3, or 12 you (the pass line)  lose. If you roll a 7 or 11 you win.  Any other number becomes the "point," and if you roll that number again before you roll a 7, the pass line wins.  The rest is just more internal iterations of the same cycle, with opportunities to bet all sorts of different numbers at slightly worse than true-odds payouts.   Normally, everyone bets the pass line - and is cheering for the shooter.  Every once in a while, someone bets the "don't" - which means they lose when everyone else wins, and vice versa.  The Don't bettor is never popular, but I relished the chance to emphatically place a "don't" bet against the Big Show to induce bajungi tilt, and when he sevened out promptly after a handful of rolls, wiping out everyone at the table but me, I loudly fist pumped and shouted "YEAH!  THAT'S what you get for wakin' up in Vegas!"  Which of course prompted him to slug me in the shoulder, and made the box men (the casino guys running the table)  roll their eyes and shake their heads as they chuckled.

Dirty Dave, connoisseur of the unusual and massively negative EV special craps props bets, threw out a red chip and announced "snake eyes high horn!"  The stick man was puzzled for a moment, before realizing, "you meant Horn High Aces,"  correcting Dave - the horn bet is a one roll bet that either 2,3,11 or 12 will come on the next roll.  Horn High Aces just meant that the extra dollar was supposed to double up on the A-A, 1-1, aka "2", "aces" or "snake eyes."  Dirty Dave lost the bet, as expected, but Junior was curious.  "What's that?" He inquired.  "It's bad," I intervened, as I was standing between him and Dirty Dave.  "no no - it's very good - just do it," Dave countered, joking, yet prescient, and Junior threw out his own Horn High Aces bet, with The Professor controlling the dice.  The Professor promptly rolled snake eyes, earning Junior a 30-1 payout.  Junior didn't even realize that his bet had been pressed and was still live until the next roll - when The Professor repeated the snake eyes, earning Junior a nice return, and eliciting an eruption of high fives from our end of the table.  Professor's roll ended with a large profit for all of us, and we decided to bail.

We retreated from the craps table to get situated for the Jets-Chargers game, snagging seats in the Venetian sports book.  I'd had the realization (which turned out to be wrong, of course) that this game looked a lot like the Indy-Baltimore game from the previous day - the Ravens and Jets were both big defense running teams who had QB's tasked with not losing the game for them.  The Colts and Chargers were highly tuned offensive machines, both heavily favored at home.  I was prepared to make a large wager on Chargers - 7, where the line had closed the previous night, but by the time I got there, it had moved to Chargers -8.5.   This actually ended up saving me, because I made a little bet instead, which went down in flames.  Fortunately, I had resisted the urge to bet my bankroll on the Chargers money line, laying 4-1, which would have been an unmitigated disaster when the Jets won outright.

After the game, Dirty Dave, Junior, Matty and the Professor prepared to head home, while Big Show, his wife and I hit the food court.    I abandoned my standby - Panda Express, in favor of the Panda knockoff - Wasabi Jane's, but that didn't stop us from debating if Panda Express was taking a bit too liberal definition of the term "gourmet" when they made the claim "gourmet Chinese food"  on their signage.  At the minimum, it's a vast stretch.

In all my Vegas trips, I'd never been downtown, and the three of us decided to make the pilgrimage.  Our cab dropped us off in front of the legendary Binions, and I sauntered inside to look at the poker wall of fame.  I laughed at the fact that Binions still has an inscription below Johnny Chan's picture that reads "Oriental Express,"  when the knickname is now "Orient Express," as the term "oriental" is reserved for rugs, not people.  Of course, I'm guessing Binions doesn't give two craps about political correctness, and the "oriental express" label was probably more authentic in a joint like this.   I collected a one dollar chip from each of the Fremont Street casinos, with the exception of the LV Club and Golden Gate - who both refused to sell me one, on the grounds that  under gaming regulations,  they need to keep cash on hand to cover all outstanding chips. (why it's harder for them to hold my dollar bill in the safe instead of a chip, I don't understand, but anyway...)  I could have gone to buy chips at the table, pocket one, and then redeem them, but I really didn't care that much.  Two German tourists in front of me were trying to do the same thing though, and were on BAJUNGI tilt, yelling at the cashier at the Golden Gate.   "Fuckin' Germans," he said, as I stepped up and politely asked to buy a chip, even though I had an inkling that this was what caused the strife in front of me.  He laughed and explained that he couldn't sell me one, and I nodded and walked away, as the Germans bought chips at the table, and slammed them down in front of the cashier after pocketing one of them. 

After collecting 6 different chips, I pulled them from my pocket, and taunted Big Show - "six dollars... MY WAY!"  He instantly corrected me: "THEIR WAY!" and I was left frowning and nodding.

Downtown was crowded - we were looking for a juicy double deck BJ game or Pai Gow seat, but couldn't find 3 open anywhere.  After watching the "Fremont Street Experience" light show,  we were mezmerized by the Glitter Gulch "Gentlemen's Club" marquee sign. It's a true classic:

As you can see, the sign features a rotating parade of women whose tops come off and are edited with exclamations such as WHAT?  SHAZAM!  YIKES!  INDEED!  HUMPH!  ADZOOKS!  ZOUNDS! and REALLY??

Big Show adopted "ADZOOKS!" as his exclamation, while I chose "HUMPH!" to repeatedly shout at the blackjack table whenever something bad happened.  We found a nice table at the Golden Nugget - Steve Wynn's original project - and sat down for several hours.

We were hanging out, having a good time, when the relief dealer, Lucy, on her second time around seemed a little on edge.  I took advantage of the opportunity and tucked a blackjack on her instead of turning it face up.   As she turned it over, I yelled "ZOUNDS!" and Lucy got pissed and started telling me that she could pay me even money if she wanted to.  "HUMPH!  you canNOT!" I replied, as Big Show choked on his beer.  Lucy was muttering under her breath about how I didn't even seem to care that I got a blackjack - oh man - BIG mistake.  I had been just chilling out, playing $10 blackjack, but after that each time I got a blackjack or she busted, the Golden Nugget casino floor was treated to a very loud "THAT'S what I get for waking up in Vegas!"  At one point, Big Show and I turned to each other on opposite sides of the table, and made a simultaneous fist pump while yelling "BOOM!"  totally spontaneously.  The young kid between us was absolutely dying laughing in his chair, as were we, and even Lucy had to laugh.  Before leaving, she painted one of those vicious 6 card 21's for herself, sweeping the table of bets, and eliciting a Scooby Doo-esque "ZOINKS!"  from me.

We picked up and headed to the Four Queens to play some Pai Gow, where I proceeded to get pounded on by the cards, in a bad way.  I did manage to tilt the whole table by mostly refusing to play the horrendous side bet "Fortune Bonus," except for on occasion when I'd confuse them greatly by betting it for the dealer instead of for myself.    A dude came running by our table and up into the restaurant, with a barrage of security and police following him.  He was promptly tackled and dragged out. Oh man - you don't do that stuff downtown!  They will take you in the back and beat you with a ball peen hammer!!!

We retreated to the safety of the strip, and headed off to bed, preparing for one final assault on the Palazzo's gaming tables on Monday morning.

Monday, I woke up and beat the Big Show down to the blackjack pit.  I was drinking the patented deconstructed-Mimosa:  a glass of orange juice and a glass of champagne, separately.  A southern guy from Florida at my table was gently ribbing the Asian dealer - asking her how long she'd been dealing there.  When she said "one week,"  he followed up with "Where were you before that - the Stratosphere?"  And I nearly spit my drink on the table.   Big Show and his wife made it downstairs, and we had brunch at First in the Palazzo shops - decent if overpriced food, before returning to the blackjack tables to burn a few more bets before I had to head out to the airport.  I told the cabbie "do NOT take the highway," and settled back to anticipate the shitstorm waiting for me at Manchester Airport on the other end of my journey.

Mrs. Dynamite had texted me the day before "expecting 5-8 inches tonight - oh - and it's gonna snow too!"  BOOM!   But I had an issue with the foot of snow we ended up getting.  See, in my never ending quest for EV, I'd carefully monitored the weather before making the decision to park my car in the outdoor lot at Manchester Aiport on my way to Vegas, thus saving 50% off the cost of parking in the indoor garage. Since it wasn't going to snow, it wouldn't matter. Except it did snow.  Twelve inches. And I had no jacket, no gloves, no boots, and only a little teeny ice scraper in my car.    My flight was delayed, and when I finally made it to my car at 1:30am, all I could do was laugh, as I wiped the heavy slush from my windshield.  

When I paid the parking attendant on the way out, saving $30, I made a sarcastic "whoop" out loud in my car, shouting to no-one in particular:   "Thirty dollars... MY WAY!"

Until next time...

-KD