Running Bad

Much to the delight of you cole-slaw freaks out there, this website is about to become a lot less poker-centric starting very soon.

Since my last tournament cash at Planet Hollywood two weeks ago, I'm 0-for-5, and my small tournament bankroll I had set aside has dwindled down to shrapnel. I played two tournaments this weekend, and bricked both of them. One was more successful than the other, but I'm officially on poker sabbatical until sometime in August.

Adding to my displeasure is the fact that those lean times at work that I knew were gonna come, well, they're already here. I made a whopping $370 in tokes this past week, and this coming week looks even worse--I'm only scheduled for three days, and all of them are those awful morning shifts. I thought I would get a nice payday on Saturday, and they even called me in early since it was so busy, but they sent me home after just four hours. We still had five tables going, so I was absolutely livid, ready to beat the piss out of anyone who had the bad timing to say a cross word to me.

I managed to make $116 bucks before getting sent home, and the shift manager didn't get tipped a dime. Sorry, if I'm not making money, I'll be damned if I give him one red cent for cutting me loose. Money is gonna be very tight for awhile.

On the other hand, just before I moved, I managed to retire the $1400 worth of old high-interest credit card debt, so I don't have that hanging over me any more. Now I'm down to truck payments, insurance, phone bill, rent, and utilities. Things are much simpler now, but damn, it's still gonna be a bad month--probably a bad summer.

So I left work on Saturday night in an absolutely foul mood. Adding insult to injury was the fact that I didn't even catch a glimpse of Kimmy the entire time I was there, which I was looking forward to, so all-around it was just a bad day.

I came home and took a shower, trying to mellow out, thinking a nice rum drink would do the trick, but I decided against it. I decided that if I couldn't make my money working, I'd make my money playing poker. I noticed that the Stratosphere had a pretty good midnight tournament offered, so that was my objective in trying to salvage the evening.

I got down there with a half hour to spare, and I swear, I hadn't set foot in that place in over eight years--it was back in March Madness of 2000 (you old-timers would remember that as when the 'teef' story took place). Back then Bob Stupak's fingerprints were all over the place and it was a total dump. I mean, up to that point, the shiattiest place I'd ever stayed. That's why I never went back.

But I guess the current owners have spruced it up a bit, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I remembered. The poker room is a country mile from the valet, however.

The tournament structure seemed pretty good--a $60 buy-in, $4000 in chips, and 20 minute levels. Of course they allowed re-buys during the first hour, but just like having 6:5 blackjack in the pit, that particular 'feature' ain't never going away.

Once we kicked off the tourney, I could tell that that the make-up was about 60% drunk tourists, 25% sunglass-wearing wannabes, and 15% decent players. I had a good player on my right, a complete moron on my left, another good player across from me, and one complete douchebag next to him. I didn't have to worry about anyone else at that point.

There was only one problem--I couldn't get any cards. Seriously--I sat there folding every hand like I was getting paid a hundred bucks per card I tossed in the muck. It was an endless parade of junk! I finally caught pocket eights, raised it up, and scared everyone off except two players. I had to go all-in on the river when a scare-card Ace hit, and I was sweating bullets hoping I wouldn't get a call. Luckily, both players mucked and I took down a fair-sized pot. Of course all the 'hand-readers' at the table kept telling me what I had, but they were so wrong that it was comical. They begged me to 'show them the bluff', but I mucked the hand as soon as the other players folded.

I finally tilted one guy when he just wouldn't shut up about my hand by telling him Dude, don't make assumptions about my cards based on your donkey style of play--It just makes you look like a dumbass...

That got a laugh from the rest of the table and I could see that he decided right then and there that he was comin' after me. It's tough to bust me when all I do is fold for an hour, but he kept raising my blinds and getting snapped off by other players. He ended up buying in twice, and I still outlasted him.

Anyhow, once they posted the breakdown, I was a little put off by their payoff structure. There were 45 players in the tournament, and they only paid four places--the winner got $1000 even, and fourth place got like $145. Seemed a little top-heavy to me. I figured they'd pay at least five, or even six, but I was pretty far off on that assumption.

In the first two-and-a-half hours of play, I only played five hands total, winning all five hands. I got pocket tens three times, Ace-Queen once, and that early pair of eights. The rest of the time I was folding junk cards. The only problem was, those blinds started going up, and I had nothing to go in with.

I made it to the final table around 3:00 am, and somebody suggested they take $60 off the top prize and give fifth place his buy-in back. That met with unanimous approval, so I figured my chances of getting into the money just increased by 25%.

By that time, however, there was no more standard 3x-the-blind raising. The blinds were up to $2000/$4000 with a $500 ante, and by the time it got down to seven people, I was second lowest stack at the table. Somebody was going all-in preflop every hand. Folding my way to fourth place was not an option. On my big blind, I looked down to see Ace-Five of Clubs, so I went all-in, hoping to pick up another five-grand in chips plus a limper or two. One guy called me, and of course he had me covered. We turned 'em up and I saw the bad news--He had me dominated with an Ace-Ten. The flop was all rags, but I got my five on the turn, so I was doing the happy-naked-muppet dance in my seat for all of about fifteen seconds, when a ten came on the river, knocking me out. Talk about going from ecstasy to agony. Man, that sucked.

I missed the money by two spots, so I can't even claim that I was Bubble Boy.

So that added to my already shiatty day I was having, so I came straight on home, thinking I'd fix me a nice tall cocktail. But it was about four in the morning at that point, and all my booze is still out in the garage. And if I were to go rooting around out there, it would send the dogs into an absolute barking frenzy, and my roommate was still asleep. So that wasn't an option. I just came upstairs, read until the sunlight started creeping in from behind the blinds, and then slept until noon.

I woke up with my phone ringing, and for a second I thought it might be work calling (still haven't gotten around to programming ringtones yet). But no, it was Lars Vargas, inviting me to join him down at Caesars for a cigar and martini tasting party. Normally, I'd be all over that like a bluehair on an early-bird special, but I was still tired and groggy and in a foul mood, so I politely declined. And then I went back to bed. He called me a couple hours later to let me know that there was still time to get there and enjoy all the freebies, but by then I just was not feeling social at all. I wanted to just be a hermit and hide in my room all day, knowing that any human interaction would probably be ill-advised.

I finally showered and cleaned up late last night, having not left my room the entire day. I was hungry, and all I'd eaten all day was a small bag of trail mix. I also had enough left in my tournament bankroll to play in another one of those 2:00 am tourneys down at Planet Hollywood.

But I got an early start and headed down to the Strip around midnight. Figuring I needed a little bit of good Vegas-vibe to get me back on track, I put some Rat Pack tunes in the CD player, rolled down the windows, and drove the entire length of the Strip soaking in the neon experience. It was pretty cool and I managed to finally crack a smile.

Since I was pretty hungry, and my tokes last week were on par with what I was making at the Golden Gate when I first moved here three years ago, I decided to 'go back to the beginning' and revive that old tradition of Monday morning breakfast at the Peppermill. At 12:15 am, it was technically Monday morning, so I grabbed a booth and ordered some Chicken Fried Steak & Eggs, with sourdough toast and a glass of milk, just like old times.

Oh man, talk about hitting the spot. It was excellent. And I'm sorry, but people who say that the Peppermill is just a glorified Denny's have truly got their head up their ass. Either that, or they just haven't been to either place in years and prefer to sound informed without really being so. The food is good, the service is good, and you just can't beat the atmosphere. Denny's just plain sucks all around--there is no valid comparison.

Anyhow, I didn't linger, because I had to make my way back up to Planet Ho by 1:30 or so. That, and eating by yourself isn't really conducive to lingering, anyways.

But I made my way back south, parked the truck, and registered for the tournament. There were 30-something players signed up when the cards went in the air, so I figured the prize pool would be decent.

Unlike the night before when I could get no cards, in this tourney, every hand except for one during the first two orbits had an Ace in it--I swear! Unfortunately, the best I could muster was one chopped pot--I couldn't make the hands hold up at all. Twice around the table with an Ace in damn near every hand, and all I had to show for it was $200 more than my initial buy-in.

We weren't twenty minutes into the tournament when I looked down and saw Doyle Brunson's least favorite hand, Ace-Queen. It's also Sticky's nemesis and has knocked me out of more tourneys than I can count.

We were still at the first level, so the blinds were just 25/50. So I popped it up to $200, and the guy who already had the big stack at the table raised it to $600. I called, the flop came 10-3-2 rainbow. I bet a thousand, he called.

The turn was a harmless four, and I acted like I was reaching for my chips to go all-in, but checking instead, putting in an Oscar-worthy performance as Best Supporting Check Raiser. My opponent fell for it and checked also, giving me a free card on the river.

I was hoping a Queen or an Ace would come on the river, and then I'd be golden, but the next best card made an appearance--it was a King, and I knew my opponent had a smaller pair, and I *hoped* he'd put me on Ace/King. So I went all-in, then sat as still and silent as a stone Buddha, hoping he'd fold. He must've thought about it for a good minute and a half, which seems like an eternity at the poker table, and he almost mucked 'em twice, but since he had such a big stack already, his curiosity got the better of him and he called the last $2600.

Shiat.

Caught with my hand in the cookie jar, all I had was Ace-high, and he had pocket Jacks. Like a donkey, I was the first one out of the tournament, my aggression getting the best of me. Of course I'd forgotten that he'd raised me up pre-flop, and he had position on me, not to mention having me covered, and for whatever reason, all that information just couldn't get through my thick skull, and I all-in'd myself into a last-place finish. It's against my code to re-buy into a tournament, so I headed for the door.

Perhaps a little poker sabbatical is a good thing. I guess if I need my fix, I can still play in those 360-player ten-cent donkfests on RiverStars, but for now my 'part-time job' just doesn't seem to be working out.

A few parting thoughts, however. I really like the tourney at Stratosphere, except for the payout structure. Once I get a little bit better, I'll go back and try again. But their poker room is actually top notch--nice tables, good dealers, and their tournament chips are the highest-quality chips I've ever seen. That makes a surprising difference versus the plain earth-tone blanks that most rooms use in tourneys.

I think the Planet Hollywood tourneys are the best ones going in all of Vegas as far as I'm concerned. I like the room, the structure, the times (they offer tourneys four times a day, seven days a week). There's a great mixture of good players, drunks, beginners, and just random schmoes in each tournament to make it interesting, too. Not too many sharks (hell, I think I'm the biggest shark in the room whenever I go down there--that's how good it is!).

My only gripes are that I think the house takes a bit too much off the top--I'll have to look at the breakdown to be sure, and there are two dealers there that are just complete assholes to everyone--like dealing a tournament is beneath them. I don't know what their payout structure is or what kind of cut they get, but man, I *love* dealing tourneys at my poker room--I can count on anywhere from $35-$50 per hour when I do it. But a couple of their graveyard dealers are just complete jackasses with very little going for them in the interpersonal skillz department.

Anyhow, that's the news from this weekend. I'm not sure if I'm on call or not today, and frankly I just don't give a damn. My next scheduled day is Wednesday, so if I'm home for the next two days, so be it. It'll give me time to finally finish all the little projects I've got on my list.

Mikey

PS. When I got home, I learned that the Mother of All Poker Asshats, Phil Helmuth, got knocked out of the Main Event with Ace-Queen last night, too. I'm sure my post-elimination tirade paled in comparison to his.