1 day:18 hours: 25 minutes

I'm excited.

Or maybe that's just gas, I don't know. Whatever it is, it makes my stomach feel funny.

To do list

Cashout:
Last night at midnight was my self-imposed cutoff point in cashing out so that I'd have enough time to get the money from Doyle's, to Neteller, and than ultimately on to my bank account. This morning the dough was in my Neteller account, and I immediately transferred it out. It should land perfectly into my bank account on Thursday at the latest. While I wasn't able to build the bankroll as high as I would've liked, I did sell my 2 year old laptop to my brother yesterday, so that nice little chunk of ching will supplement the meager roll nicely. I probably won't even spend that much this weekend. I'm a thrifty boozehound.

Laundry: Tonight.
I'm a dude. I don't need to bring 15 different "outfits" with me on vacation. All I need is clean underwear, and that can even be debateable depending on how close to the ocean I'm staying. The last time I was in Vegas 3 years ago, I don't recall an ocean nearby, so it looks like I, luckily for all of you, will be packing underwear. What do I need outside of that? A few shirts, one pair of shorts and a pair of pants. I can probably fit all of that into my carry on, no problem-o.

Work: Today and tomorrow
What was I thinking? If I were a smart man, which I don't claim to be, I would've taken this whole damn week off, instead of just Thursday and Friday. Granted, it's only a two day work week, but there's not a whole lot of workin' goin' on here. I have no motivation outside of checking bloglines.com constantly to make sure my notifier is indeed in proper working order. Yes, it's working. Today is going painfully slow, and tomorrow will only get worse.

Skim Small Stakes Hold 'Em again:

Shit, I've spent the last hour with this window open while I've hippity hopped from Vegas site to Vegas site, and I want to be there. NOW. This hangover isn't helping anything, either.

Please disregard this update. If you've gotten this far, I apologize for wasting 5 minutes of your life that you'll never get back. Would it help if I let you bust me out of the WPBT event?

"ok. here's my drunken line to you. i'm worried...."
ALCantHang to Pauly in an IM conversation
This just in: in a move that shocked the drunkard community, my liver has filed a restraining order against Al and any part of his crew. From this point forward, Al is verboten from applying any form of drinking peer pressure on me.

Listen up, folks. I am a drinker. The booze and I, yeah, we get along quite nicely. I occasionally enjoy myself by downing a beer or ten on any given night. Not every night, mind you, but any night I tell myself "Hey, a beer sounds like a good idea", I could very well be waking up the next day groggy with a taste in my mouth akin to cat shit. It happens.

But I do not--and I repeat--do not feel that I'm up to the Vegas Drinking Challenge. All through the blogosphere,(what the fuck kind of word is that, anyhow? Blogsphere. Seriously.), WPBT attendees are writing about getting their livers in drinking shape, which isn't a bad idea if you're not much of a drinker. My liver isn't the problem. My liver has been processing alcohol in an almost continous cycle ever since college, so it should be ready for Vegas.

For the past week, week and a half, I've actually been holding back on the booze a bit. Crazy, I know. While others are drinking themselves stupid, and tossing in a well-timed liver punch or two, I've been takin' 'er easy. I figure that this hiatus will lull my liver into a false sense of security, in hopes that when I arrive in Vegas on Thursday morning, it will be so shocked that it has no choice but to bust it's ass to get me through the weekend alive. That's the plan at least. Ha, the image of my liver with a big ol' ghetto booty is slightly humorous.

Just me? Fuck you people.

My only goal that weekend is to remember my name, so that the arresting officers can correctly book me after I'm picked up for unknowingly peeing on the ear of a Mexican Porn Slapper. The ear you say, Chad? What can I say? When you've got a talent, you might as well use it.

If you see me stumbling on Las Vegas Blvd at 3am, holding my crotch like that 6 year old girl on America's Funniest Home Videos that had to pee really bad, it's because I have to pee really bad. Please, please, please stop what you're doing(because I'm about to ruin, the image and the style that you're used to), steer me away from that nice Mexican lady that's giving me a pamphlet full of wholesome, disease-free woman that I might want to marry, and point me towards a urinal. That's all I ask. Thanks in advance.

As for the bankroll goal set earlier this month, it doesn't look like I'm going to quite make it. And looking back, it was a stupid thing for me to do. The whole month of May, I've playing with the mindset that I have to make x amount of money playing poker so that I can enjoy myself in Vegas, and that did nothing but allow me to play scared for fear of losing money. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I wouldn't say that I've been on a slide, really, just sort of plateaued in the last week. I'll have plenty of money in Vegas, and it's probably better that I don't have the extra money to throw around all willynilly, because I goddamn-guarantee that I'd toss it in the air like confetti. Wooohooo, look at me! I'm a low-roller!

Last night I fired up 2 baby NL 6-max tables, and if anybody has a decent strategy guide for these, please let me know. I have a decent idea as to how to play them, but it's so punch-in-the-groin obvious that most everybody else playing them does not. I moved down to 6-max from full ring games, for one, because I was getting bored with the slow play, which resulted in my attention waning. Also, with bankroll worries, I was becoming less aggressive, thereby giving up pots that I could've won had I not been a pussy. 6- max has helped me regain aggression and ultimately helped me not feel like a chip slinging ManGina.

The night started off poorly as I quickly dropped almost two full buy-ins. One was my fault when it was clear that I was beat like a Hennepin Avenue whooooooore, and the other was just bad, dumb luck. I don't know about you, but I probably wouldn't push in my entire stack with bottom two pair on a coordinated board when the initial bettor has showed signicificant strength. But I guess that's just me. It's good that my tilt mechanism is set to "LOW".

Dear Upside of Variance,

Come back, I miss you. It'll be different this time. I promise. The others, they mean nothing to me. You're the one I want. Meet me for a large iced skim mocha, and I swear on all that is holy that you'll see a changed man.

The guy that wants to suck your face,

Chad


Well, now that we've got that out of the way, I might as well give the answers to the questions I posed the other day, even though only a few answered. Jerkwads.

Favorite beer
Pacifico, no lime. And it's not even close. Sure, I like Miller Lite and High Life, but if I had to choose one beer to drink for the rest of my life, a life that's due to be cut short by liver failure, it would be Pacifico. It's just too bad that it's so expensive in Minnesota.

Tattoos/piercings
Ten.

Band listing
Better Than Ezra
Neil Diamond
Metallica
Jay-Z
AC/DC

I hate-hate-hate AC/DC. Kill me with a spork, please.

Drugs
Pot. Once. I was drunk, and reverse ate all over the bathroom floor. But, my face was numb for about an hour before that, and that was quite neat.

Sports
Soccer and Golf. I still play both, and in fact, just had a soccer game last night. We lost. It rained. Fucking springtime in Minnesota.

Drunk description
Smiley, no doubt. However, there is a fine line between smiley, and palsied. Let's hope that none of us witness the latter.

Don't feed me...
Tequila. Specifically, cheap tequila. I know that the WPBT after party is at a cantina, but please keep me away from the Cuervo. It makes me hate the world, and tries to goad me into acting all Doug Flutie with perfectly good tableware. I won't throw anything, but I'll want to. And that's no bueno for everyone involved.

I downloaded Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith- The Soundtrack just a little bit ago, and for some reason, I feel that I should be trying to run away from something. Or that someone is sneaking up behind me. Anyhow...

What's with all this hubub about Las Vegas? Geez, it's like people are keyed up to go or something. Nobody can shut up about it. What gives?

Great, now the soundtrack is making me feel that I've triumphed, over what, I'm not quite sure.

Vegas, Vegas, Vegas. Man, this week is just going to fly by.

I remember prior to the WPBT Christmas Classic, Maudie posted a quiz to see if other bloggers could correctly guess certain things about her. I went through all of her questions in my head but never answered them online, and when she posted her answers, I had all of them right! Sure, nobody knew that but me, but it counts for something, right? To me, it does.

Uh oh, danger looming!

I've met 3 fellow bloggers over the course of the last year in a half: Al, Chris and Drizz. I've also posted pictures of myself. Granted, not more than one or two, but I think that some people outside of those three that I've met have some idea what I look like. But, I don't think that most of you out there have any idea who I really am, or much about me for that matter.

Lucky for you, I've decided to do a quiz of sorts. Oh happy day.

1.What's my favorite beer?

Miller Lite

The Champagne of Beers

Pacifico

Guinness

Smithwick's

I admit, the only reason this question is here is because when we're in Vegas and someone says "Let me buy you a drink!" they will already know what kind of beer to get me. Ha.

2. Total number of combined piercings and tattoos, both visible and non.

The answer should prove that I am, indeed, dead money and that as Felicia says, I probably suck at poker. I have no problem admitting that.

3. Quick-How many fingers am I holding up?

4. List the following bands/artists from 1-5; 1 being my favorite and 5 is not liking at all

AC/DC

Better Than Ezra

Jay-Z

Metallica

Neil Diamond

5. List the illegal drugs I've ingested/inhaled/injected in my entire lifetime. Use the back of the sheet if necessary.

6. What sports did I play in high school?

7. What description best fits me while drunk?

Frat boy

Drunkzilla

Smiley

Ladies man

Asshole

8. Which alcoholic beverage has the ability to make go batshit crazy?

Whiskey

Bourbon

Tequila

Gin

Beer

Ok, that's all I've got for now. I have my yearly review in 3 minutes, and I'm expecting to be reprimanded for playing poker using company computers. Pfffft, do they actually expect me to work at work?

1. What blogger would you most like to have a drink with?
It seems that everybody and their mother wants to have a drink with Al. I can't say that I blame them. Even my mom wants to have a drink with Al. But, I've been there, done that to my liver, and in light of that, I choose Bobby Bracelet as the person I'd most like to have a drink with. No gay connotations intended, just saying.

2. What blogger, besides Al, would you most like to have a drink with?
Let me reiterate: I'm not gay! See above.

3. What blogger would you most like to talk poker with?
I don't feel that I'm really qualified to "talk poker" with many of the people attending the WPBT, but if I had to choose just one, I think it would have to be Poker Nerd. Actually, he'd be doing all the talking and I'd be nodding like I understood. Either the Nerd, or Felicia. I get the feeling that the talk with her, though, would consist largely of the her versing me on the highly unknown book "You Suck at the Theory of Poker". There's only one chapter in the book, and it's comprised of two words "You" and "Suck".

4. What blogger would you most like to talk to about the written word?
I've jammed Pauly's inbox so full of questions...wait, I take that back because it sounds a little on the homosexual side. Wow, judging by these answers, you'd think I was King Homophobe. That's not it at all, and not to change the subject, but I choose Joe Speaker as the person I'd most like to talk to about the written word. I just like the way the guy writes. And he can give me fashion tips.

5. What single Vegas-trip event has you the most excited?
Just a single event? Seriously? Wow, that's a tough one, said Adrian Curry in response to every question ever asked her. How am I supposed to whittle down all of the impending raucousness into just one event that I'm most looking forward to? Fine, fine, I'll try.

Depending on how Friday goes, I'd like to believe that at least a few of the bloggers in the WSOP event #2 will go deep into the night, and the possiblity of cheering them on while they're at a feature table would be killer. In fact, I might go so far as to say that it might just be mondo. I have no idea what that means, but I heard a surfer say it on Bluetorch a few years back, and I've been meaning to use it ever since.

Oh lucky day.

6. Will Otis fall down? (This, by the way, is the oldest time honored quiz question)
Are we allowed to push him?

7. Who would be able to out arm wrestle Bad Blood?
Oh no, you're not tricking me this time. Everyone will say "He's not that strong", and I'll believe them, because that's what a drunk like me does, and the next thing I know, I wake up in the University Medical Center with one arm less than I remember having. Thanks, but no thanks.

The only one that's going to be able to out-arm wrassled Bad Blood, is Bad Blood. I'd pay to see it.

8. Which blogger most resembles Patrick Swazee?
I have no idea, but his name better be Dalton.

9. Which blogger is the tallest?
I've met Drizz, and he's a big fucker. Not to be confused with a pig fucker, which is so not the same.

Yeah, my money is on Drizz.

10. Which blogger would middle America find the most shocking?
Are you saying that people in Nicaragua are easily shocked? How ethnocentric of you. No, I have idea what that word means. I read it in a National Geographic a few years back, and it hasn't left my brain since. The same thing happened with "defenestration". There's just not enough opportunities in the real world to use either.

11. How many Taco Bell tacos can you eat?
I'm on a diet, so it's not a question of how many I can eat, the real question is "How many can I purge?"

My answer: "a fuckload".

12. How many can I eat?
The only reason I believe you asked this question is because you take each and every answer as a personal dare, and you're hell-bent on beating everyone's guess. By a lot. I'm not contributing to your fucked-up-ed-ness, so I'm going to say "1". Please, just let it be only one!

Mom,

Seeing as how all my friends are jumping off a bridge, I might as well jump, too.

Chad.


I arrive in Vegas at 10 in the morning, Thursday June 2nd. Who knew that there was a 10 am, too? The first thing I plan on accomplishing after dropping off my bags at the Imperial Palace, is to sit at a NL table with a low, capped buy-in. $100 would suit me just fine. The main reason I want to tackle this micro-behemoth right away is because I'd rather not sit in a NL game after I start seriously drinking for the weekend. Things don't always go as planned, so the serious drinking might begin on the plane, all depending on the stink of the person next to me. Heavy stink equals heavy drinking.

So, my question is this: When does everybody else get in? As of right now, my Thursday is wide open. Sit at a NL table with me, because I sure can't play 'em at Canterbury!

Friday is jammed packed with sweating hollering at the bloggers in the WSOP, and storming the castle. Saturday starts with me arriving in a Hellmuthian fashion long after the start of the WPBT tourney at the Alladin--there's that 10am again--followed by a long nap, and immediately followed by the after party. Let's face it, that after party is going all night whether we want it to, or not.

You're right, we all want it to.

Yeah, I need contact numbers for Vegas, because as of right now, I have none. I'd like to be able to hang out with bloggers before Saturday or without having to randomly run into them, and there's this new hip new invention called a "cell phone" that could really use our help in making it more popular. So, drop me a number/email/love note to: chadhoyne [at] hotmail [dot] com.

Gi' me yo digits, foo'! FITTY CENT HOLLA!

Hey look, two posts in one day! Both regarding B&M poker, and not silly-ass Doyle's Room! Please take away my coffee before I hurt myself or break the exclamation point key! MASH!

!

It's likely that you'll never see that sort of long-shot on this blog again, but for today, I rule harder than O'Doyle.

As we all have read, I'm quite new at this live poker thing. I've only been playing online for the past few years, and if it weren't the impending doom of the WPBT, it's quite possible that I wouldn't have taken the plunge and spent one hungover Wednesday at the cardroom back in April. Thank you Alcohol for telling me to call in sick.

Players that have been around the game for years have probably seen, heard and been in almost every situation there is to be at while sitting at a table. Is it possible to be fazed by anything after ten years squeezing cards? After only three mediocre trips to Canterbury, there are certain things that leave me utterly dumbfounded.

I'll never understand the way certain people play the way do. What's even worse is when they try to justify a certain play by saying "It was suited, I had to play it", or "I had reverse-double-implied, second-nature purple monkey retard bus odds to call that all-in with 3 high! Gotta keep ya honest, there, SonnyBoy." As a small aside, "keeping someone honest" is just another way to say "I'm a fucking moron" without actually saying "I'm a fucking moron". Say what you mean what you say.

No, none of that will make sense. That's not what I want to talk about, though.

Friday was the first day that I sat at a table with an automatic shuffler installed in it. The previous two times it was always wash-riffle-hokey-pokey-turn yourself around and deal, which tends to take a little bit of time. I happen to like the auto-shuffler because it keeps the game moving smoothly and gives me more hands/hour. More hands means more potential profit for me. Nah Doi! It also takes the dealer's potential laziness out of the equation. Senor AutoShufflerez can't, on a whim, decide to only riffle 4 times on any given hand, because he's thinking more about getting laid after work, than he is about dealing a fair game. I, for one, welcome our electronic shuffling overlords.

No, I didn't just type that. LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!

Sucker.

7 hours into my session, after a few beers, a redbull-like drink that tasted akin to Robotussin, and 35 trips to the bathroom, a new guy sat down in the 8 seat, replacing a guy that left the table with a stack of 10 $25 chips. He still had two full racks of $1 chips to cash in, too. Immediately the new guy--whom I'll affectionately refer to as "Toolbag"--starts in on a discussion with the only girl at the table about how he'd just got up from a 7-Stud table that completely crushed him. The girl, with her boobs just about hanging out of her low-cut shirt, and a mouth full of rotten teeth, looked away from him with a huge level of disinterest. Nice combo: great cleavage, horrendous teeth. She was a solid player, though, and I'm fine with that as long as she doesn't decided to chew on the cards.

With the table not being able to care less about this man's bad beat life, he started talking about how he hated automatic shufflers. Whoa, hold on, Toolbag. You best stop talking about my friend like that. He said that he hated my low-wage, Mexican compadre because it "always deals out low cards". I didn't care to prod him into elaborating on this hypothesis, but 7 of the other people at the table agreed with him. And they weren't just agreeing with him just to make him feel like less of a shmuck. They all honestly believed that all of the low cards, somehow, in some un-fucking-believable way, migrated their way to the top of the deck while in that little black box in the table.

The next hand I won, I slapped my pocket aces(the hand that wasn't cracked) on the table and exclaimed "Unless you're counting these as lows, you're full of shit." Well, the shit was replaced with "it", but the message was the same. I don't want to be vulgar at a the table now, do I?

Everybody has their own beliefs and conspiracy theories. Online poker is rigged; the Holocaust never happened; the first walk on the moon was really on a sound stage in Hollywood; auto-shufflers have a nasty low-card fetish. I wanted to ask him why he continued to sit a table with a crooked Mexican running the game, but I feared the answer would cause my brain to explode.

Instead, I got up, shook my head, muttered "You might be on to something, Toolbag" and headed for the bathroom.

I am one hungover ass man right now. Wait, hold on. I'm going to shake out my brain and try that again.

I am hungover man and I feel like ass. There, that's better.

I will try my best to recap my Friday 12 hour marathon session at Canterbury. I could've stayed longer, but I didn't feel like falling asleep on my drive home. Also, the table donater left at 2am, and everyone tightened up. There's very little reason to sit at a 3/6 table whilst sober in the first place, but there is absolutely no reason to be sitting at a tight 3/6 table with the only alcohol in my system being the aftermath of the previous night's debauchery.

Painful.

I had my aces cracked by The Donater's lowly two-pair. Ever-powerful 6-4o, oh how you're omnipotence is unknown by most. I will never doubt you again, though. I think that everyone else at the table was more pissed off than I was, really. The 8 and 9 seat couldn't stop muttering a little too loudly about it, even though it wasn't their junked that got kicked.

I just wanted them to shut up, because I was more afraid that they'd scare off a player that I definitely wanted to keep around for a bit longer. First, I felt I deserved to be afforded the opportunity to win my money back. There is only so long a player can hold on to a stack when playing 6-4o cold calling two bets preflop, and cold-calling two bets on the flop, all while holding 6 high. Runner-runner two pair doesn't happen enough to be a consistent winner for anyone, not even Jesus.

And second, well, there is no second point I'm trying to make. I just wanted my money back. The look I got from the dealer was almost worth losing the hand. Almost. He gave me the "I understand his play even less than you do, man" look and I tipped him a blue for making me laugh.

I love live play. When there's a good dealer to keep the game moving, and the players are having a good time, I love playing at Canterbury. But, there is one way that online play is far superior to B&M play: the option to turn chat off.

Unless I bring my MP3 player--which I don't like doing because it makes me look like I'm taking things too seriously--there is just no viable solution for getting people to shut the fuck up. Don't get me wrong, I like table chatter. It makes everyone loosen up a little bit and makes the experience that much more enjoyable. The problem I have, though, is that most people just don't have anything interesting to say. At all. Ever.

I have never heard more jejune, useless, redundant conversation in all my life. There were so many instances that day that made we want to flick chips into gaping yaps, and scream "Shut up, you have no idea what you're talking about! Just sit there, look unpretty, play your shit cards and for the love of all that is holy, shut up."

I shit you not, I overheard one player say "Aces only hold up about 30% of the time. I've stopped playing them." Are you kidding me? Wow. What am I supposed to say to that? I have no idea when he thought that he'd have a better opportunity to win a hand, but I'm sure it had something to do with suited 7 gapper hole cards .

Bless their hearts and tiny brains for not understanding the game because that's how I make money, but you'd think that after so many years of being a supreme idiot, they'd at least be able to recognize when they sound like one. Ah, I digress.

I ended my session -6.5BB, and it would've been more had I not been involved in a hand with the guy in the 5s next to me that earlier admitted he plays all of the $5 MTT's on Poker Room. It was glaringly obvious that he had very little live ring game experience.

You'd think that after being chastised by two seperate dealers on three seperate occasions, he might have some clue that he was string raising, but no, he'd do it at least two more times before he learned to call "raise" before reaching for his stack of chips. Also, I couldn't even count the number of times that he folded out of turn, which made me follow his lead and fold once when the action wasn't on me. I hate looking stupid through other's mistakes.

Anyhow, in this hand, I was the dealt aces on the button. UTG folded, the 1s called and everybody folded to the 5s, who raised. It came around a few more times and we capped it, bringing along the poor 1s for the ride. The flop came out x-2-2 and the one seat opened the betting. If I remember correctly, we capped that round of betting, too, only the 1s dropped out. Another ace fell on the turn, which I'm a little disappointed that it did, because it killed the rest of the betting. He check/called me down, showed pocket kings and I scooped what was easily the largest pot of the night.

I've been to Canterbury 3 times in the last month, but I still have problems with counting the pot. It's not that hard to do when the dealer calls out the number of players in the hand on the flop, but when there's a dealer that fails to do that, I am consistently missing people that are still in the hand. Which, hello, keeping track of the pot size is slightly important to limit poker.

One thing I do realize is that a $1500 bankroll for 4 days in Vegas is huge for me, especially considering the limits I'm comfortable playing right now. If I lose the whole thing, I have serious problems. More serious than worrying about renal failure.

PS-Does anyone have a reliable method for keeping track of B&M stats?

Contest over.

On a board of 5-J-9, even after I'd made a pot sized bet, the villian pushed with pocket 8's. Why? He probably thought I was bluffing. But, what about the other two people left to act behind him, Chad? Good point. Apparently he thought we were all bluffing.

Mourn was the closest when he guessed the right outcome, just the wrong hole cards. Yes, the ass hit runner-runner 8's to beat my jacks full with his quads. Ouch.

Mourn, I don't know if you're going to Vegas in June, but if you are, I owe you a drink of your choice. Well, a cheaper drink of your choice, because isn't anything will Redbull $75 a glass?

Hungover I am. A little, green booger of a Jedi I am not.

I have a few things to spout off about here, so please forgive me on the off chance that I ramble. On the off-off chance that I puke on this entry, I apologize in advance.

Last night I experienced a hand that made me realize just how far I've come in this crazy game of poker. I'm sitting on a .50c-$1 NL table with a full buy-in stack of $100, when I'm dealt JJ in the BB. 4 people limp and I raise it 4x the BB. All 4 call. There is $17 in the pot.

Flop: 5-J-9 rainbow

I've got The Nuts. Big nuts. I couldn't have any more of The Nuts if Jesus was throwing cards at my junk. This is a situation where I could've slow-played it to trap more people, but I felt someone had to have hit something on this board. Either that, or they already had a made hand pre-flop. So, I played it fast and made a $17 bet right off the bat. I was hoping to look like I didn't have already have a set and that I was trying to steal the pot. Well, it worked. Not that any of these low-limit hacks would be able to recognize it, though, but my plan worked.

Immediately UTG pushes all in for another $30, while the other two people folded. Insta-call by me, of course. The cards are turned over, and what does the villian hold and what cards came on the turn and the river?

Please guess. If anyone gets close, I owe them a six pack of Car Bombs in Vegas. If you're spot-on, well, I'll think of another prize, because it warrants a decent reward. Drizz, you're out of the contest because I already bitched to you about it.

I'll admit that this was a bad beat. A beat that I'm not whining about. Had it happened to anyone else, I would've cringed, and possibly felt a little bad for the poor shlub. But it didn't happen to your Average Joe, it happened to me.

I didn't throw anything. I didn't even get pissed. All I could say is "Huh." while I reloaded to a full stack, waiting for the next hand to be dealt. A few months ago I would've walked away from the table, pissed, letting it affect my game. Last night, though, I was calm and the beat didn't even phase me. Is this what enlightenment feels like? At that moment, I finally felt like I "got it". I understood. I didn't let it get to me, and after dropping almost a full buy-in in a few hands, I ended the night only down $10. I worked my stack back up and didn't go all Eddie Cibrian or anything.

I make no sense. I just wanted to name drop Eddie Cibrian. It's the dimples.

The only thing that did annoy me is that the villian pulled a hit-n-run. WITH MY MONEY! Asshole. I tagged him knowing full well that by the time we both sit at the same table again, he'll have none of my money left for me to recover.

EPT Monte Carlo:
I don't know how I stumbled upon it, but I came home from the bar a few nights ago and found the bit torrent of this tournament on my desktop. I watched the first few minutes of the first episode, and I have this to say:HOLY FUCK+italics+underlining. Can anyone tell me the name of the brunette Shana Hiatt wannabe? Jesus-tap-dancin'-Christ, I think I love her. Then what am I so afraid of?

Cold shower commencing...now.

Vegas:
Most of you don't know this, but I've been priveleged enough to encounter the ACHE and even lived to not tell about it. Drizz, Halverson and I spent an afternoon with The Hang at a Minnesota bowling alley on a Saturday afternoon back in January. I think it had something to do with a football game, but my brain chooses not to remember the particular reasons behind our drink-fest. I wonder why that is?

Without a doubt in my head, I know that the afternoon was a little subdued by Al standards. It might've had something to do with the weather being stuck at a miserable negative 30F (Hey, nice job on planning a trip during the coldest day of the year), but whatever the reason, I know that Al's volume goes to 11. He was sitting at around a comfortable 7 in Minnesota. I can handle 7. Hell, I can probably even stretch it to a 10. 11, though, everyone should be afraid of 11. There's not a liver alive that doesn't quiver at the mere thought of a double-one day.

Liver, quiver. Look at me, I'm a fuckin' poet.

One word of advice for those unfamiliar, or unprepared for the shit-storm that is the ACHE: Sip the Soco, don't slug it. I made this critical mistake from the get-go, and ended not only shit-faced by 2am, but bourbon-faced as well. My first double Soco shot didn't go down quite as smooth as I'd hoped, with half of it spilling onto my unshaven face. Not quite the grand first impression one hopes for when meeting a drinking legend.

It was like taking a swing during batting practice in front of Kirby Puckett(the old Kirby, not the present day, one-eyed slob Kirby), and not just whiffing by a mile, but hitting yourself in the back of the head with the bat, twisting an ankle in the process and immediately followed by crying out for your mommy. Embarrassing.

It's been four months since that day. I'm prepared, are you?

Go Chad, Go Chad. OO OO! Cabbage patch.
Tomorrow is my birthday. My 30th birthday. I'm not announcing this in hopes that you'll donate to my bankroll, though that would be a nice gesture. Any donation is a good donation. No, I'm announcing it because on Friday, after I shake off my hangover, I'll be heading to Canterbury Park for a little live poker action. I only know of a few people in the greater Twin Cities area that read this, but each and every one of you should stop down and play some cards with me. Plans? You already have plans? Yeah, plans to stop by Canterbury and toss around blue plastic chips with me!

If there's one complaint I have about the card room, it's the chips. Why is it that only $10 chips are Chipco? I want $1 Chipco chips, damn it! Lucky fucking 30/60 players.

Did I mention that I'm hungover?

With that, I bid you adieu.

"Knees bent! Heelside edge! SLOW DOWN!" I screamed as she haphazardly allowed the fall-line to control the path of her board, rather than digging in with the edges, not abusing the slope like she should've.

"This is not going to be pretty", I thought as I made my way down the the bottom of the bunny hill, expecting the worst. And the worst was pretty bad.

She was crying, frustrated that snowboarding wasn't quite as easy as I made it look. I'd taught her everything I knew, but it just wasn't clicking as quickly as she would've liked. I can't say that I blame her. Any semblence of control would be present for all of a few feet, and then BAM!, toeside edge catches and I'd end up wiping the snow and frozen snot off her face while she screamed at me. Snowboarding is not fun when you spend more time on your chest than you do on your board, nor is it all that pleasant to ride while listening to a red-faced girl's verbal tirade. She had anger issues.

"Fuck you! You're a terrible teacher." she yelled right before deciding that she'd had enough, just two hours after we'd arrived. True to submissive boyfriend form, I tucked my junk between my legs and waddled to the car for the ride home. There was absolutely no way I could continue on the hill that day, even though I really didn't want to leave

I'm sure what she said was true, though--I was a terrible teacher. I had little-to-no patience for someone that had absolutely no patience. You'd think I would've learned my lesson, but that wasn't even the last time that I'd take on the difficult task of teaching a girlfriend to snowboard. Along with being a bad teacher, I am also not very bright. After the 2nd failure, I vowed to never bring up the subject of snowboarding around a girl ever again.

Saturday afternoon I was hanging out at the bar with a girl, on what can only be considered as close to a real "date" as I've been on in a long time. We were small talking, no big deal. Where'd you grow up? What's your family like? What do you do with you free time?

Oh no, I'm going to have to tell her about the amount of poker I play.

I'm always a little wary of telling girls about my dabblings in the poker world, because I usually get one of two reactions. Either they back away in fear, thinking that I'm going to go broke and ultimately have to suckle on their teet just to stay afloat. And then I double kill the deal by telling them I don't need to go broke to do that. Or, they've seen it on the Travel Channel, and even though they say it's interesting, they have no interest in learning the game. This girl was different, and her reaction wasn't quite what I'd expected.

"You should teach me to play poker!" she said before taking a sip from her Newcastle, eyes a-twinkling in a manner that can only be translated as "I'll sleep with you if you do."

The air-conditioning kicked in, the room grew cold, and I instinctively tucked my junk between my legs and said "Ok." not really sure of the implications of my answer.

First off, I don't feel that I'm qualified to teach anyone the game of poker, especially when I'm still learning the game myself. Sure, I can teach basics, but there comes a point when lessons need to get a little more in depth than what I'm able to offer. I suppose that's when it would be time to toss a few books her way and let her out on her own in the poker world. Second, would my ego be able to handle it if she became a better player than me? YES, YES IT WOULD! If you don't realize why, please refer back to the sentence about teet suckling. I'm willing to place pride on the night stand in the unlikely event I gain a sugar-momma. Sex for pretty things is my style.

Since that day, I've thought about this quite a bit. I have a number of girl friends--not girlfriends, mind you, but friends that are girls--and I've come to the conclusion that almost each and every one of them has the potential to be a much better player than I ever will. They have a advantage over me, an advantage that I'll never have over anyone else. That advantage is overwhelming deception.

I am a man-idiot. I only use the label "man" because it's used where women are concerned. That said, I've been known to act a fool all because a women requests it of me. I know I'm doing it, but I have absolutely no control over my actions. I am a man, and I am an idiot. Man-idiot.

Buy you some tampons? Sure, honey, would you like the light flow, heavy flow, or how about the variety pack this time? The variety pack it is. Of course I'll buy you a pint of double-fat chocolate ice cream. Anything for you.

And I didn't even get to have sex with this girl.

Now let's shift the scene of the crime to a poker table. Imagine a table with 8 men playing HE, aggressively battling mano a mano, machosimo hanging above the table thicker than the stink in the bathroom of a second-rate whorehouse. After a particularly crazy hand, the empty 5s is occupied by a non-descript woman. She's not Natalie Imbruglia, but she's not a trailer park skeeze, either. Just a normal, everyday woman, but a woman with a huge advantage, nontheless.

She sits down, she flirts, she feigns ineptitude, when in reality she knows exactly what she's doing. She's playing the "helpless female" role, because there's always a guy at the table that's willing--not to mention dumb--enough to help her out. I'm not saying that every woman employs this method, but I'm saying the option is there should they choose to prey on a man's heterosexual weaknesses. If I flirt at the table, I'm more than likely going to get a fist to the throat. I don't even have the option.

It's not all that far from table talk used to annoy someone. It's a ploy that I'm terrible at as well. But, I hardly think that Greg Raymer thought he had a sure "in" to Mike Matusow's huge plum smuggling underwear, all without even having to buy him a drink first.

Yes, I've decided to teach this girl how to play poker. I hope that we're both patient enough to get her to a point in her game that she's able to buy me pretty things. And if not that, a beer will suffice.

Last night I settled in to watch a little bit of Live at the Bike, and per usual, saw some horrendous play, even though it was a higher limit. 30/60, I think. In fact, the only time I've ever seen anything resembling solid play handful of nights I've watched, it was during the final table of the women's tournament. I'm not trying to insinuate anything--uh, like women tend to be better players than men--just stating a fact.

I subcribe to the Never Show method of card mucking. Unless I've flopped quads, hit a straight or royal flush, or Shoot The Moon, I never show my cards. Even though 99% of my opponents will never use that information against me in the future, I still don't feel comfortable letting them in on how I play. It can be nothing but detrimental for me and my bankroll.

What are these players, especially those playing at the higher limits, more than likely making a living doing so, thinking? They're giving away(well, $14.95 for the archives) information, not just for a few hands, but for every single hand played that night. Pardon my naivete, but this just doesn't seem smart. All any student of the game, someone that's committed, has to do is pay for the archives and study the opponents playing style. Less than one small bet in the 30/60 game! That's ridiculous if you ask me.

True, it's not the same stakes every night, and if you are truly a great mid-high stakes player, you should be able to mix up your game enough that anybody that's studied the archive is still be confused by your play, but I've seen one lady in particular on 3 seperate occasions, and she always played the same exact way--maniacal.

Why would someone continully sit in this game? I'm sorry, but "Internet Celebrity" is not the same thing as real celebrity. It's like buying a Golden Creme when you really want a Twinkie. It's just not the same.

Are you ready for the hottest poker with the hottest players?

No, I'm not. I want play against lazy shlubs wearing BVD t-shirts worn thin from years of overuse and pepperoni stains not only on the front and back, but on the inside, too. I don't want to play with "hot" people. I want to play people like me. The worst thing is that The Crews pokerroom is part of Doyle Bruson Poker Network. And I had respect for Doyle Brunson Poker Network. Now, I'm confused, hurt, lost...why would someone do this to me? WHY?

Oh, and anyone that uses a Splash as a site opening should be shot. Not pretty, worthless. Nobody sticks around to see the Splash page. Just get me to the damn site so I can click around all willynilly. I don't need to see words scroll by, or butterflies morph into anything not a butterfly.

Damn, I need a beer.

Edit:

After posting this, I realized that I might be harshly prejudging Scott Fischman's new pokerroom. So, I downloaded the software, and it was just as I suspected: It's Doyle's Room. Same players, same tables, same exact tournaments, different table graphics.

I, uh, don't know if you can see it clearly in this picture, but those are indeed boxes of pizza, and what looks like cases of Mountain Dew sitting around the outskirts of the table. Wrong, that's just wrong.

T-minus 30 days until the WPBT in Vegas, and like the rest of you, I'm getting antsy. I can almost taste the blinding, paisley carpet, smell the pit boss shaking his head in disgust, and hear the copious amounts of booze jumping down my throat. If I come back with anything less than full-blown bronchitis and a dash of liver failiure, I'll be severely disappointed. There are a few loose-ends that I'd like to tie up before I leave in 30 days, 19 hours, 10 minutes and 34 seconds...31 seconds....25 seconds.

Bloggers:
I've been playing this somewhat demoralizing, sometimes ego-building, parabolic fucking game for about a year and a half. I've been blogging about it close to a year, and I'm already planning on celebrating my Blog Birthday on the 18th, which is almost a week after my real-life 30th birthday. I'm all growned up. Celebrating both by bathing in a pint or three of beer, of course. Then again, I tend to celebrate each morning I wake up without wetting the bed by downing a beer, so it's not like I need a special occasion to drink.

I am an intermittent poker blogger. I tend to make one post a week, possibly two, and if I'm really drunk, I'll stretch it out to three. There's not a lot interesting in my grinding it out. Felicia dubbed me a magical pixie due to the mystery behind my ghost-like comings and going, which is dangerously close to being a called a fairy. If it weren't for the word "suckout" being a mainstay in the poker lexicon, I could handle being called a fairy. At least I'd get to prance, right? Don't answer that. For now, though, I'll stick with Pixie.

There are very few people that I've had contact with in the community outside of blogger comments, but for the last month or so, I've been Bloglining all of the attendees of the WPBT event. I may not comment that much, but I do lurk like a muh-fuh. But, I'd rather not get to the Alladin and have to repeatedly utter the question "What's your URL?". I'm shy upon initial meeting, and if I feel I should be asking that question, I guarantee that it won't be asked for fear of embarrassment. I'd be more apt to sit back and drink hideous amounts of Miller Lite than ask "What's your blog?". Hence the reason for beefin' up the blogroll, which sounds grossly similar to a porno I once watched in college. It wasn't pretty.

On the same token, I'd like people to know who I am, what makes me, well, me, and why I'm wearing an adult diaper at the table. Great, I've pretty much resigned myself to showing up in a box full of Depends, haven't I? Forget I said that. Here's what I'm asking--if you read this, if you're going to Vegas in to attend to Blogger Circus, and we haven't talked or ever commented on our respective blogs, please leave me a comment and let me know that you're stalking me. I already know that I need to start commenting more, and finally involve myself rather than waiting for others to ask for my involvement. One well-timed post about a stripper doesn't make me a charter member of the community.

South Cackalacka vs. Minnesnowta:
There was talk a few months ago about a tourney last longer bet between the South Carolina Contingent--Otis, CJ, and Bad Blood--and the Minnesota Poker Powerhouse that is Chris Dhal, Drizz, and of course, myself. Yes, I am just stupid enough to link my own blog in my own blog.

Though I feel that we midwesterners are at a definite disadvantage in this competition, I'm all for it. One month before the battle, we are Buster Douglas, pre-Tyson fight. I already know that I'm dead-money to win the whole thing, what with never having played in a live tournament before, but at least with this, I might be able to keep what little pride I have left. Who knows, all the SC boys might get sucked out on--there's that word again--on the first hand. We can hope!

Raise your hand if you're Sure!

Bankroll management:
I have my entire online bankroll resting in Texas Dolly's virtual cardroom. I busted out of Stars yesterday, which is really not as bad as it sounds, considering that I had less than $30 in my account and was just trying to win enough to enter the WPBT WSOP satellite last night. Yeah, that didn't happen. I've also cashed out on Party due to the frustration over not being able to win there. Not that I had a large bankroll there, either--right around $150. Iggy's ears are probably burning, and the voices in his head will scream "BLASPHEMY!" when he reads this, but it's so damn tough for me to play there.

I know that the games are soft, and the players are the worst, and that there are so many tools available(like Poker Tracker and Poker Tracker Guide) that I should be pulverizing the games. I wasn't, though. I was getting my ass served to me with a side of humility. So, I pulled out of the Battle of the Fish, bought myself a large, skim, no-whip mocha, cried in my pillow for a bit and vowed to return, only next time with more ammunition.

So, I've got almost 4 digits sitting on Doyle's room, and that was boosted yesterday with an almost $400 day. 3 people betting into you when you're holding the mortal nuts is a good thing. And the thing is, my bankroll would be 3 times what it is now--all by one-tabling, mind you--had I not made withdrawals for stupid things like airfare and hotel in Vegas, and an abnormally large heating and gas bill in early January. If there's one thing that my roommates and I most definitely are not, it's smart with the apartment utilities.

But now I've stabilized and started rebuilding the bankroll for Vegas. A few months ago, I made a mental note as to how much I'd need to comfortably, meaning "drunkenly without going broke", enjoy myself for the 4 days that my buddy and I are there. $1500 was the amount I came up with, and I have no doubt that I'll be able to reach that in a month, but it hardly seems enough. Pauly made a $1000/day suggestion, but, barring a major tournament score, that's impossible for me. Then again--please don't hit me--I don't plan on gambling that much besides at the poker table. I don't like roulette, have no clue how to play any of the table games, and the only machine that ever calls to me are those running video poker.

Just to give you some idea, my last few Vegas vacations were enjoyed with as little as $400 in my bank account. Unless I spend the whole trip inhaling the alcohol fumes coming from the members of the ACHE, there's no way in hell that I'll even be able to get drunk on $400! Sorry, but I'd rather taste my booze than smell it seeping from Al's yap.

How much money am I going to need so that I'm not stuck by the pool, sober and hating all of the fun-having bloggers?

What I plan on spending my bankroll on:

Limit ring games:

This is a given, right? That's the reason I'm going. I'd like to get the most out of my money, and if I'm going to be drunk, I might as well play the games that hurt me the least. I'm not going to win enough to quit my job, just enough to last the whole weekend, and possibly, oh I don't know, have some fun.

No-limit ring games:

Even though I am an online no-limit player by choice, live no-limit scares me a litle bit. That doesn't mean I wouldn't like to dabble a bit in it, though.

Tournaments:

There's the requisite Blogger Tournament that I will, liver willing, be playing in, but I'd also like to play in a few other low-limit tournaments, too. Under $100 buy-ins suit me, and my bankroll right now.

Booze:

I shouldn't even have to mention it, and it really should be first on the list. I will be over-drinking at the tables, with that being all paid for by tips, but I'm sure there will be other times that I won't be trying to ogle the cute table waitress. I have to take a break sometime, right? From the table, not the booze and the ogling. She's flirting with me because I so have a shot of going home with her, and not because I continually tip $5 on a free beer that I'd normally only pay $3 for in Minneapolis.

What I plan on NOT spending my bankroll on:

Strippers, escorts, call-girls, or Ladies of the Night:

Well, ok, maybe. But only because it will make a good story. That's the only reason, and not because I'm single, drunk and stupid.

Table games:

Like I mentioned, I've spent a lifetime leaving them in various toilet bowls, and sometimes in the Upper Deck, but I have no idea how to play the game called Craps. And Blackjack is something I'd call a pirate buddy, not a game that I've ever played before. For me, they're double -EV, and unless I'm cheering someone on, it's best I steer clear of them.

Shows, or anything resembling Cirque de Soleil

I'm not trying to get laid. 'Nuff said.

That's what I've come up with so far? Have I left anything important off?