Date: Sun, 27 Aug 2006 14:49:21 -0700 From: david@heldar.com Subject: [BARGE] Best. BARGE. Ever. Longest. Trip Report. Ever. "Wolf Creek Pass way up on the Great Divide, Truckin' on down the other side." -- CW McCall Despite the horrific warnings, as in "get to the airport 5 hours early or have no chance of getting on a flight", SeaTac actually has NO wait at security Tuesday afternoon. As in, NONE. I step aside and let others go through as I re-arrange my metal into my carryons. Usually I have a lot of time to do that while I creep through the line, but not today. I don't check luggage, like ever. In the past several years, I have gone all through Italy, and all through Hungary, and all through Israel, each time with a carry-on. Hotels routinely provide shampoo, so all I need to do nowadays is buy some toothpaste at my destination. Having breezed through security, I get some pizza and read a book and then head to my gate. I have forgotten that Southwest uses "festival seating" so I am nowhere near the head of the already-formed line, but I learned that I am an "A" because I had printed out my boarding pass 23.99 hours before the flight left. One advantage to TSA's new "just say no" policy is that there is lots of room in the overhead bins, so it's really a non-issue anyway. I do get a window seat. "Tuesday afternoon" -- Moody Blues I get to Vegas as the sun is setting. I realize I've never flown into the city before dark. The desert, Lake Meade, and the city itself actually are quite beautiful from the air. Then, as the plane turns and makes its final approach, the sun fades and the lights come on. A fine omen. Then the city makes its nightly transition from beautiful to gaudy. Well, that's Vegas. "A Fistful of Dollars" -- Sergio Leone I am a Dollar Rentacar Express Member, so I rented from Dollar. $108 for a car for 5 days, including tax, tip, & dealer prep. As I exit the terminal building with my carryon in hand, the Dollar bus is approaching. I get on and give the driver my name. Driver: The good news is, you're on my list. The bad news is, my list has the dreaded "See Counter". So I go to the counter. No line for me because I am Express. It seems the credit card they have for me has expired. Easily fixed, and I am on my way. I walk to The Tent, hand the man my slip, and get to pick a car. I choose a silver Dodge Stratus. As I am walking around it looking for dings, I realize the temperature < < 110 degrees. A good omen, indeed, for I am one of those brave souls who goes for walks in Las Vegas. I confess that I am not one of those insane souls who walks from downtown to the strip in August. "Fighting soldiers from the sky." -- Barry Sadler I know what I am doing tonight before ever I land in Vegas. I am an elite Army of 1, parachuting into downtown Vegas to perform a surgical strike and escape undetected before the dawn. With complete disregard for the traffic, I drive north along the strip, for I am reconnoitering in preparation for tomorrow's transition to Casino Royale and the Venetian. But as I pass the Stratosphere, I begin mentally preparing for the battle ahead. I drive North by Northwest, approaching my objective - The Plaza. Then I turn into the wrong parking lot. Hey! It says "Plaza Parking" but it is (a) $2 without validation and (b) on the south side of that sight for sore eyes, the Greyhound Bus station. And now it's 9:30 pm. So I park my car in the least crime-infested spot I can find, under a bright lamp post, take my backpack, and leave my suitcase in the trunk. I ain't hauling that thing two blocks outdoors in Vegas in August, even if it is << 110 degrees. Objects in desert are farther than they appear. Into the Plaza I go. The Front Desk is now on the 3rd floor. And so my assault begins. Step 1: I score the $20 room. Step 2: "Plans have changed and I may be leaving tomorrow." The desk clerk says, "Just let us know before noon so you aren't charged for another day." "No problem," says my mouth. "I intend to be at the Venetian long before noon" say my eyes. I suppress all maniacal laughter until I am well away from the desk. Phase 1 of Operation Plaza* is complete. [If you don't know what that * means, you probably didn't attend the Math Geek meeting]. I go up to the room, which is your basic Plaza room. Very noisy air conditioner and The World's Smallest Bathroom [tm]. I put down my backpack and head downstairs to commence Phase 2 of Operation Plaza* I already have the cheap room on which they can't be making a buck, and now I am going to pay for my room and my dinner by kicking their butts at blackjack. 55 minutes later, Phase 2 is accomplished. I have $100 of the Plaza's money in my pocket, *and* my parking has been validated. I walk back past the Greyhound station and drive my car out of the wrong lot and onto the Plaza valet's turf. From there, it is a short walk up to my room to drop my suitcase. Phase 3 then begins: a walk along Fremont Street to Binion's [don't bother telling me it's now technically "The Horseshoe". DILLIGARB?] coffee shop for a celebratory late dinner of General Tso's Chicken, thereby denying the Plaza a dime of my dinner money. I know that true conosewers of Chinese food on this list already are typing e-mails to tell me what crap Tso in general is [so to speak] and what utter crap Binion's Tso in particular is. Those true conosewers can bite me. They are the people who can argue over what is good or bad sake and at what temperature said good or bad sake should be served. To paraphrase Roger Zelazny, all this is like the 5th dimension to me - I just can't see it. But I like the General Tso's chicken at Binion's. When I dine alone I usually bring a book. For those who think it is rude to read at the table, see my advice in the previous paragraph. The book is about poker, naturally, and after a while a woman across the aisle from me strikes up a conversation. She is from Carolina, she admits it is very hot and humid in Carolina, and she is here in Vegas with her son the doctor and her daughter in law. She asks why I am here and I tell her I am here to play in a poker tournament. She is duly impressed. The waiter is not. Waiter: I'm a card player, I play a lot of cards, all the time. What tournament are you playing in? Me: BARGE. Waiter: I never heard of that one. Me: Really? It used to be held at Binion's every year. Now it's at the Venetian. Waiter [still unimpressed]: What's the buy-in? Me: $100. Waiter [elevating nose and sniffing] Me: It's the toughest $100 tournament in the world. Phil Hellmuth has played in it, Chris Ferguson has played in it, Howard Lederer has played in it. Bill Chen always plays in it. Waiter: Chen? You mean Johnny Chan? Me: No, Bill Chen. You know. The guy who won two bracelets at the WSOP this year? Waiter: Oh, CHEN! The MATH GUY! Me: Yeah, "the math guy". Bill and I go waaaay back. {Note to reader - Bill and I were original BARGE virgins together.} {Note to self - How the HELL has Bill gotten to be so much better than you at poker since then??? Sigh. Of course Spencer Sun started posting to RGP about the same time I did; then he went and won that TOC thing a few years later. Face it, pal. Some people are just smarter than you.} Then the waiter wants to know what I'm reading, so I show him. Waiter: [elevating nose and sniffing, aGAIN] *I* like the books by Skulansky [sic]. They're very mathematical. I really like math. Me: [Practicing my poker face to keep from laughing because Bill Chen, "the math guy", had just posted to BARGE that he told Phil Gordon in an interview that his mathematical approach was "sort of the opposite of Sklansky."] Hmmm. {Note to reader - how the heck do you pronounce "Sklansky"? Is it 2 syllables or 3? I sent him an e-mail once, asking, but he never responded. So I use 2 because it takes less energy. AND HOW COME HIS LATEST BOOK DOESN'T HAVE PISTOLS ON THE COVER? WHAT IS UP WITH THAT??} So I eat my chicken and I leave a tip, though I suspect Mr. Card Playing Waiter Who Reads Skulansky doesn't need it. He probably just waits tables at Binion's between tournament wins 'cause he loves the hours. And off to bed I go. "Tomorrow's another day, And I'm thirsty anyway." -- Jo Dee [sic] Messina Up early and very dehydrated. I get dehydrated when I sleep, even in Seattle. In Vegas, it's a serious problem. I actually drink some of the tap water, that's how bad it is. I brush my teeth without toothpaste (thanks TSA) and use Plaza shampoo on my few remaining hairs. Then I check out (Buh bye now, Plaza. Buh bye) and I'm on my way to The Egg & I for breakfast with Ice and the Gang (not in any way to be confused with Kool and the Gang). I hit a drugstore and buy some toothpaste and a 6-pack of ..... bottled water. Each morning thereafter I suck down one of these bottles upon awakening. Breakfast was great. Good food, good company, lots of catching up with lots of people. Gave Sabyl a congratulatory hug for her great showing at the WSOP. Thanks, Ice, for arranging it and for the other thing you did. You rock, my friend. Having reconnoitered Tuesday night, I now drive straight to Casino Royale. Their "parking" consists of a parking lot with zero shade, inhabited by characters who look like they should be panhandling outside the El Cortez. I try to check in but I can't. My roomate, Murray Logan, has not yet arrived, and he holds the keys to the kingdom. So I give them my bags to hold and proceed to the Venetian. I get a Player's Card (which I have never done before, but this one seems mandatory) and I get into the noon tournament. Eventually Murray shows up and gives me a room key. There is a moderately cute but somewhat attitudinal young woman at the other end of the table asking a lot of questions about BARGE: who we are, what we're doing here, etc. She is pretending to be a tourist, but eventually a portion of her identity is revealed when a poker room worker drops a BARGE badge onto her - all I can read from my end of the table is that her nom de guerre is "Tigger". I promptly ask her whether her top is made out of rubber and her bottom is made out of springs. This seems to temporarily put her off her feed, so to speak, by which I deduce that she has no children, but she recovers her composure after a while. She never does answer the question, though. {A few days later I see her again, standing next to Perry Friedman. Engaging the Sherlock Holmes portion of my brain, I quickly deduce that this is the Kim I have heard so much about. I verify this with Perry and remind him of the major suckout his marrying Kim undoubtedly represented. He concurs. But I still don't know whether her top.... never mind.}. I mostly play OK in the noon tournament, but then I get crippled when I make a good hand that runs into a hoser with a full house. I know he's a hoser because he doesn't know he has a full house. I know this because when I bet on the end he thinks a looooong time before calling, and he doesn't re-raise with his last 2 chips. Anyway, soon after that IGHN. I then wander into a 3-6 HORE game with a bunch of BARGERs and some very weird woman who does not have any sense of humor of which she is aware. I do OK until I misread my Omaha hand, thinking I have a good low when in fact I have no low at all. Did I mention HOW MUCH I HATE OMAHA???? Anyway, I get annoyed, and I tilt and I get short stacked, and I go all in, and I lose, and I get up minus 1 rack of whites and I go for a walk. Then I have some food and await the lowball tournament. "Poirot does not like what he does not understand". -- Agatha Christie in One, Two, Buckle My Shoe "I have to understand the world, you see." -- Richard Feynman, writing about a trip to Las Vegas I'll tell you what I don't know about lowball: I don't know jack squat. So naturally I get to play with Andy Bloch and Sabyl and Nolan and a bunch of other people who do indeed seem to know about lowball. As I've often said, if table selection is the zeroth law of poker, all BARGErs basically suck. But I do OK for a while. Then I do stupid things, then I bust out. But I am surprised at how serene I feel throughout the tournament and I wonder if I have in fact crossed some new threshhold in the world of poker, where I can think clearly and calmly when the chips are on the line. Maybe the s00per seekrit advice I got from Greg "Liquid Nitrogen in His Veins" Raymer is finally paying off? The only lowball hand I will talk about is one I totally blew because I don't understand lowball. I am dealt a 9-7. It is folded to Nolan who is on my right. I'm not sure of the betting but I think we limp in and are heads up. Anyway, when it comes time to draw or not, he thinks, he counts something (outs?) and he stands pat. I put him on a rough 8, so I draw 1, replacing my 9 with a J. Great. Nolan bets and I call because I'm stupid and I want to see what he has. He has a 10. Crap. I bust out soon after that, and I go in search of St. Bling Bling+. I find him sitting next to The Gavin [tm]. I describe the hand and when I get to the part about Nolan thinking, The Gavin says "He probably had a 10". St. Bling Bling+ nods. When I get to the part about how I played it, The Gavin and The Saint both say "shouldn't have broken the 9". Thanks guys, I know that now. Nice hand, Nolan, well played. I later sit down between The Gavin and Andrew Prock, who are playing Chinese Poker. I have a long philosophical conversation with each of them. Andrew is not just a math geek, which you probably knew. But for those of you who think Gavin is a profane, drunken Canadian lout - well, yeah, but actually there is a lot of thoughtful depth to him that is not at all apparent in his public persona. Gavin has grown up a lot the past couple of years and I am quite proud of him. He is going to be a great ambassador for the game. I think this is a specific example of a broader concept - most BARGErs are somewhere between "pretty cool" and "amazing" when you get to know them a bit. I hang around the various Chinese Poker games, trying to understand what is happening. (See title to this section). Bill Chen is playing in 2 different games, scurrying back and forth between one "regular" Chinese poker game and one where the hands are supposed to include a padugi/badugi/padooki/badougi. I can't even spell it, let alone understand it. Anyway, Bill can do this because he sets his hands really quickly compared to most. I get to score his hand a few times and collect or pay out his chips, but he is wise enough not to ask me to actually play for him. Eventually my eyeballs begin to drop out, so I take my leave and return to the Casino Royale. No roommate. I watch some trashy TV [there's a redundancy - when I am at home I don't watch TV at all except for maybe the Mariners and the Seahawks] and then I go to sleep. "What began with an apple must end with a CHORSE." -- Homer, sort of. {Note to reader. I don't mean Simpson.} {Second note to reader. I pronounce this seahorse, not chorse, except in the title to this section} I wake up and think what a great roommate Murray Logan is, because he's been in Vegas for 36 hours and he hasn't been in the room yet. I am free-rolling at the Casino Royale! Alas, it will not continue. When I get to the Venetian poker room, Murray is there, loudly drunk as only a Canadian can be. (Sorry about that, American ADBers, but it's true). Yesterday they told me that my comp meter isn't running while I'm in a tournament, UNLESS I get into a ring game and log in first. So today I get into a ring game and get logged in, then leave when CHORSE begins. Free-roll! Murray basically drops out of the CHORSE and goes back to the room. When I arrive there much later tonight, he is still there, asleep. Apparently he is not as young as he used to be, but then who among us is? Casino Royale freeroll ends. In CHORSE I play the razz leg. I don't think I win a single pot at the showdown, but I do make money by taking down blinds and antes and getting folds from people when they are beaten by my board. I'll never tell what was underneath... The deck runs over Ploink throughout the tournament and at one point I warn him that this bodes ill - "lucky at love, unlucky at cards." He ignores me while stacking my chips and those of everybody else at the razz table. I decide that if he can do it, I can do it - an omen of things to come. Team MPN takes 3rd place, netting about $45 apiece. Well done, my friends, well done! After CHORSE, I drive over to the Gambler's General Store and buy a book that was recommended to me. Then I go to the Panda Express near the Casino Royale and eat orange chicken and read. Conosewers once again can...well, anyway, I find their orange chicken addictive. I suspect they put cocaine in it to ensure repeat customers. Then it's off to the math meeting. Jerrod does most of the talking, with occasional interpolations by Bill and some comments/questions from the Croson Gang. I understand the discussion, at least superficially, though I realize there are implications I haven't worked out yet. The meeting is really great and I am glad I attended. As always, I have a lot to learn. I keep reminding myself that poker is this enormous mountain. You climb up this ridge, and you reach the top, and look over, expecting to see the other side, and you see .... another, higher ridge. It just goes on forever. The only problem with the math meeting is that the accoustics are bad, the room is noisy, the meeting speakers don't pause when "PAGING JOE SCHMOE TO 3-6 HOLD'EM" blares over the intercom system. I am practically lip-reading for much of the session. Next year, maybe we should have it in someone's room, just so we all can hear. Or maybe we could use the .net suite? Which reminds me of a suggestion I made to both The Gavin and Some Guy From Pokerstars - have shirts made that say "Full Tilt. FU" or "Pokerstars.FU" [possibly spelled out in each case] and, when they tell you to take your "dot com" shirt off, you put on the FU shirt. Anyway, I get into a variety of 3-6 games and don't do too well. I don't know if it's bad luck/variance or if I just suck at 3-6 hold'em. But that was Thursday night. Friday I play more poker. I wander around. I run my meter. I get some comped food from Venetian. I don't play in the TOC. I organize our little syndicate and we all go off to the Symposium. Mad Mary and I are paired this year and we have agreed to buy ourselves back. Jerrod buys us for like $80. He thinks this is a bargain, and he is mildly offended that anyone who HE bought would fail to buy themselves back - if JERROD thinks the buy is +EV, then THE BUY IS +EV, DAMMIT. Anyway, in this case, Jerrod turns out to be right. After the Symposium, I go up to the Head Table because I am curious as to the size of the total Symposium prize pool. I stand near the table and wait, not wanting to interrupt as Patti B and Fich are talking about and counting piles of money. Fich gets that deadpan, psychopathic serial killer look and tone that only he can use and intones in the flattest possible way "You are near the money." {Note to readers familiar with Terry Prachett: I am sure that Death sounds exactly like Fich}. For once I am quick on the draw and, gesturing at the approximately $13,000, reply, "If I have a price, it's a lot higher than this." Then I give some guys (Oz, QB, Prock and a player to be named later) a ride down to Mainstreet Station. We discuss some poker hands, I hear the other side of a story Tanya told (about flopping a straight flush) and we have a nice dinner with some others who we meet at Mainstreet. The others at the table decide to play credit card roulette for the check and "invite" us to join. We decline. They call us pussies. But Andrew Prock and I had split a cheese pizza, I drank a diet coke, and Andrew may have had an ice tea, or maybe just water. Meanwhile, the r00lers down at the other end of the table were eating like, filet mignon and lobster and drinking single malt scotch, or so it seemed, and then they wanted us to play them headsup for the table's check. I think I like the house edge at Keno better than I like that deal. Or maybe I am a pussy. Whatever. A nice young woman comes by and asks us if we want balloon animals. Everyone is like "go away" but I say "Hold it. What do you have for a man who's about to be married?" She asks which one of us it is, and we tell her he's not here. "How about a ball and chain?" she asks. "PERFECT!!!" we all shout. She uses grey balloons for the chain and a black balloon for the ball, and by golly she does it. It looks good. We toke her and she wanders off. I carefully shepherd the ball and chain throughout the craps crawl, waiting to find Ploink so I can give it to him. I find him standing near the table at Fitzgeralds at the end of the crawl and I tell him the story and then present it to him, with the wish that Amy will be like this ball and chain - not really a burden at all. He says "thank you". He seems a little dazed. I don't blame him. I remember very little about my own wedding day. "Crap. Crap. Megacrap!!!" -- J. J. Jameson in "Spiderman" My goal for the craps crawl is to finish the night up at craps. First location, up $5. Second location, down $5. At Binion's we do a drive-by toke of the poker room, and proceed to the craps tables. Where they promptly raise the minimum from $5 to $10. Marlin Cohen loudly informs them that, if he wanted to shoot $10 craps, he would do it at Caesar's, and he stomps off to play Wheel----Of----Fortune, which he r00ls. I really was expecting him to say "HCYRTL? DYKWWA??" {Note to readers: Emphasis is left as an exercise for you.} We head over to Fitzgeralds, where The Wedding is to be. I am betting with the shooters there and am up $35 overall and seriously considering backing away from the table, when QB starts shooting. I shoulda took the reds, man. A few minutes later, I am down $5 on the night, and I abandon craps for the crapper. I gotta pee before the wedding. You don't buy Diet Coke, you only rent it. The wedding is very, very nice. It is sweet, it is solemn, it is moving. I see something I never expected to see in this world - Patti B moderately choked up. She does a wonderful job. And Amy promises to listen to Ploink's bad beat stories, in front of a room full of witnesses! I am delighted to discover that karaoke with BARGErs actually is fun. Nut-Z plays the harmonica like Little Walter. Who knew? And some BARGErs can really sing. Others really can't, but it's all OK. A good time is had by all. Eventually I fade away around 2 am. Then I have to find Main Street Station, which is harder than it sounds at that hour, and I have to get my car from the valet, which takes a loooong time. But I make it back to the Venetian, park, and walk back to Casino Royale. Murray is there, and now he has a cold, so he snores. Loudly. I put the pillow over my head and try to sleep. "What if I told you it was all meant to be? Would you believe me, would you agree?... Some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this." -- Kelly Clarkson Saturday morning, I can't get into a ring game before the tournament starts, so I spend the day without my meter running. I can't get breakfast. I can't get anything. The poker room seems incredibly short-staffed. Didn't they know this was the day of The Big One? I get one tough bleepin' table. Fructer, Nut-Z, who came in like 15th in the WSOP once, didn't he? Jester shows up fairly early. Jim Kittock is there for a while. And so it goes. I get some good cards at some good times. Guy on my right raises, I find AA, I re-raise, everyone else folds, he jams, I call. He has KK, HGHN. Steve something, sorry I didn't catch his last name. He gives me a keychain bustout gift. As I examine it between hands I discover it has a seam in it. Eventually I figure out how to open it and find inside -- a bright green condom. I have no Earthly use for this, so I decide to re-gift the keychain. A while later, a guy down near the end who's getting short stacked goes all in. I have AA. I re-raise to isolate him, which works. He turns over 66, which actually is a slightly closer race than is KK versus AA. But he gets no help, and HGHN. I think he's the one who gave me an itty bitty teenie weenie bottle of Irish Mist. Unfortunately, I also have no Earthly use for this. I would take it home, except now I can't (thank you TSA) so I decide to regift it as well. I am developing a do-it-yourself vice kit here. Mordecai, if you are wondering, that's where these items came from. I did have a bustout gift for you but I forgot to give it to you. Sorry. Anyway, at this point, I have the biggest stack at the table, with Fructer and Jester 2nd and 3rd. Now there are good beats, and there are bad beats, and then there is Fructer. First, a few words about him. We talk about financial planning, and I learn that he is a man of integrity. I learn that "the lovely Leslie" actually is lovely, and is quite sunny and nice. And I learn that his new tattoo is the inscription from the One Ring, written in the original Black Speech. Ewwwww. Other than that, he's better in person than on the list serve. I know that some of you who have played 1.3 stomptillion hands online have seen everything by now, but I don't play online and I've never seen this: Fructer and Jester raise preflop, the flop contains an A and a Q, and they get all in. Each has flopped a set: Jester has AA, Fructer has QQ. Fructer is standing up to leave (though in fact he had Jester slightly covered) when on the river comes the case Q. Fructer makes quads. JGHN. UNbelievable! Jester then goes all over the room telling and re-telling the story of the Greatest Suckout That Ever Lived. I don't have the heart to charge him a dollar. Then comes The Hand. The short answer as to why I played it the way I played it is, if my read was right, I had pot odds to call the all-in bet. And my read was right. You have to understand the background. I have the big stack at the table. Fructer is second. No one else is even close. My raises are getting respect. Mostly they are getting folded to. Sometimes I am raising with a hand and sometimes I am not. I am changing up my play in a certain random way. But I can't really dominate the table with Fructer there because he is on my left with a stack that is large enough to hurt me. I raise under the gun with JTo. I know that's out of line but my randomizer says "do it". I don't think I make a mistake by periodically trying to steal. I don't expect anyone to call me here, because they mostly haven't been, and if any of the little stacks re-raises, maybe I do fold *this time* because maybe they have something. (Of course, if a very small stack jams, maybe I have pot odds to call - we'll see). Anyway, Fructer jams. He is the one person at this table who I think would try to re-steal from me in this spot. And that is what I think he is doing. It's a combination of the situation, the history of how I've been playing, the history of how he's been playing, the history of how the table has been playing, and the "vibes" he is giving off. You had to be there. I don't know how I know, but I know. In that moment which has no place in time, I know that he REALLY does NOT want me to call him. I think about and rule out certain hands that he might have. I conclude that his most likely holding here is a medium to small ace. For him, for me, for this moment at this table in this tournament, nothing else truly makes sense here. I think it is possible he has a pair like 99-77, maybe even down to presto, but I doubt it. Besides, it wouldn't change my decision if he did - he actually is less of a favorite with those pairs than he is with Ax. Nobody criticizes you if you get all in with AK against QQ, but in fact JT versus Ax where x<10, or JT versus a pair less than 10, is very much the same: ~55:45 or ~1.2:1. With the blinds and the antes and my previous raise, my pot odds are about 1.3:1 and my hand is about a 1.2:1 dog to the spectrum of hands I put him on. Furthermore, I have what I think of as "implied tournament odds". If I get rid of him, I can r00l this table, which will get me more chips as play continues (and in fact this is what happened after he busted out). If I win this hand, I will significantly increase my stack, and it will be a major step toward making the final table with enough chips to do something once I get there. If I've read him wrong, or if his hand holds up, I'm still in the game; I definitely become a small stack but I'm not crippled. If I'm Phil Hellmuth and I think I can outplay everyone in the room, I fold here. But there are many BARGErs who are at least as good as I am, and there are more than several who clearly are better than I am. I'm not sure as I make this decision how many of Those Who R00l Me are still in, but surely it is some. So I decide this is my opportunity to bust this thing wide open, if ever I'm going to do so. It is a good day to die, and in order to live you must be willing to die. I trust my read, I follow the pot odds, and I call. He looks very unhappy when I call, and he turns over: Ax where x<10. My read was dead on. Now I just have to win the hand. I get a J on the board and FGHN. I am tall hog at the trough at my table, and I continue to grow my stack with OPC [other people's chips] and when there's only 20 people left, I'm in the money. {Note to Patti B - I don't watch TV, so that wasn't the reason I did this.} {Note to reader: Consider this quote: "He asked how I could have Implied Tilt Odds when the person would be out of the tournament. Well, just the fact that they would be on tilt is reward enough." -- Perry Friedman Its relevance to the play of this hand is left as an exercise to the reader.} We play on. People are dropping like flies. Eventually we're down to 2 tables and everyone is in the money. I have a big stack, and I use it. I'm finding it a hell of a lot easier to play a big stack than a small one. I am relaxed, I am serene. I'm having the most fun I've ever had in a tournament. I have 3 memorable confrontations with Andrew Prock, all of which I win. One, I river a full house (presto g00t!) to defeat his rivered flush. One, I call his big blind with utter crap and we check all the way to the river, where I collect a small pot - no idea what he had but it couldn't have been much. The last one, the hand that took him out, was a horrible suckout on my part. We are all in preflop, him with A9 and me with A3, and the flop is AA3. HGHN. But he gave me a bustout gift which I am calling "Prock's Revenge" for reasons I will explain later. Andrew, you are indeed a cunning, cunning fiend. We get down to 5 and we break for dinner. I have the biggest stack at the table. I am trying not to get my hopes up because I know what a crapshoot the tournament is becoming. But I do have a wonderful idea for next year's chip designs... I get to the dinner, wander around a little, and find a seat. I am mildly surprised that Jerrod, who owns 1/2 my sorry ass from the Symposium, actually asks me if I "have any chips left". "Yeah, a few". I say. Pause. "Actually, about half of them." He is very happy until I tell him my "effective M" is about 5, and I am the big stack - the others are even less. He says "So essentially, you're high-carding for it." "Yep," I say. "Any advice?" He says, "Your strategy here is to get lucky and to win hands." Thanks, Jerrod. "I'm talking about the horseshoe that was up his ass." -- Phil Gordon's mother talking about Phil, according to "Tales from the Tiltboys". I see someone with a piece of paper and I realize I haven't filled out the survey yet. I find Rachel Croson and rapidly fill it out. I think the "game" she describes is crocked because you have to understand the iterated nature of the game [tm - St. Bill Bling Bling+ Chen] and I think the correct answer is 1 and the amount to bet is zero. I put that down. I'm not sure if I misunderstood the game or if I over-estimated my fellow BARGErs, but the winning result comes out in the low 20's. I also tell Rachel I think that some of the questions are crocked. For example, I won't have an extramarital affair, whether it is "risky" or not, because it's wrong for me to do that. I won't skydive or bungie jump because I would hate it, not because these things are extremely risky. I mean, they *feel* risky, but I don't think they truly are. I just wouldn't jump off a bridge or out of a working airplane if I had any alternatives. Anyway, I'm glad I filled out the survey, because the drawing comes, and I win the $100 prize. Me. Oh My God. Or am I glad? With that last bit of fortune, I apparently have exhausted my good karma for the rest of BARGE. "It was like coming this close to your dreams...and then watching them brush past you, like a stranger in a crowd." -- Moonlight Graham in "Field of Dreams" After the break, we return to the table. Around the table from my left Mordecai has about 30K, then Dr. Hack, Bingo, and Nut-Z each have 60-80K. The blinds are huge, plus antes. I have about 220K. I fold utter trash until it is my small blind. Everyone folds to me. I find 5d4d. I'm not sure I did the right thing here. My thinking was this: the blinds and antes are so large that Mordecai is pot-committed just sitting there in the big blind. I think he should wind up all in before the end of the hand, almost no matter what he's holding. If so, he probably jams now regardless of his cards, and I probably would be making a mistake to "complete" the blind, and then fold to his jam. Therefore, my only chance to help him make a mistake is to help him fold now. Maybe he won't but possibly he will. Is 54s good enough heads up to do this, or should I have just called and seen what happened? Maybe I get to see the flop cheaper. I'm still not sure. I raised enough that his call would put him all in. He did call and flipped over AsQs. Obviously with that hand he's going all in, but he didn't have that hand at the time I made my decision, i.e., he hadn't looked at his cards yet. He won and doubled up. The luck I had before dinner, the luck I apparently used up winning that bleepin' $100, continues to desert me. I get Frank Brabec all-in when I have 99 and he has A5o, but he hits one of his 3 outs and doubles up. Frank gets all in with KTs against my A3 and flops a flush. Meanwhile Mordecai is taking out Edmond Hack and Bingo. By the time I am headsup with Mordecai, he has me outchipped ~3:1. It doesn't last long. With the blinds and antes so high, I can't survive very long. My first hand in the small blind, I have 23o, the worst possible heads up hand, so I fold. Now I have to call with almost anything. I get K9 and figure this will have to do. If I double up here, I'll be close to even, and we will battle it out. He has A4 and IGHN. I stood there in shock, then remembered to give Mordecai my regifted bustouts. I forgot to give him MY bustout gift, a squeezy thing that said "Law Cash" on it - seemed appropriate for whoever took me out. Mordecai, I have no criticism whatsoever of you or of your play. You were a gentleman throughout and I apologize if I was not gracious enough in defeat. I was not angry at anyone, but I was very upset. I almost felt like crying - to have come so close, so close, and then at the last moment, to lose. I so wanted that trophy and I so wanted to design those chips and I so wanted to be the champion. I didn't realize how much it all meant to me until it was taken away. I know it is irrational, but that is how I felt. And I know that everything has to go so right to get where I was, and the odds are I'll never get there again. I realize this is a lesser disapointment by orders of magnitude, but I think I got a glimpse of what Andy Bloch and Jerrod must have felt coming in second in their WSOP events. As Andy says, poker is a godless game, full of random pain. Bill Chen understood. He came up and quietly said, "Congratulations and condolences". Thanks, Bill. I went for a long walk on the strip. I went up to my room for a while and tried to call my wife, who can always cheer me up, but she was out walking the dog. I packed my things because I was leaving early next morning. Then I called back and did talk to her, and then I walked back to the Venetian, and hung out. I played a few hands of Chowaha for people who were walking. I helped Bill and Scottro do the accounting for our Symposium Syndicate. I talked Perry into heading over to get some cheese pizza and ran into Asya doing exactly that. Thanks Asya! I think I needed some fat and carbs just then. But life goes on. I track Peter down and make appropriate toking arrangements for the tournament. I hang around some more, just talking to some of my friends, and finally I go to bed around 4 am. Probably a mistake because I get up 2 hours later to leave for the airport. "And that will fly away!" -- Dave Niehaus I have to get to the Venetian business center to print my boarding pass. They open at 7 am. (I would have done it Saturday night except I was in some poker tournament until after they closed...). Then I hike back through the Venetian to my rental car and head south. When I get to security, they keep asking "are you at the right gate"? Apparently most Southwest flights leave from C and I was at B, but that's what their TV monitor says. Suddenly they route a bunch of us into some claustrophobic corridor and through some damned ion scanner, which blows nasty air into my very tired eyes. The line moves slower than molasses in January, and when I finally get through it and on to the x-ray part of my day, they take me aside to search my backpack. "Do you have a lighter?" "No, I don't smoke." Search. Search. Search. Finds BARGE plaque. "Congratulations on your poker." "Thanks." Search. Search. Search. Back through the machine. Search. Search. AHA! It's Prock's revenge! A Las Vegas "snow globe". "You can't bring this on board." "It's all sealed up." "You still can't bring this on board." I am pissed, but when you make me mad, you make me stubborn. I will not yield. I go back OUT of security, and I find the place with the plastic bags where you can mail stuff. Then I have to go into the souvenir shop and buy an outRAGEOUSly priced $3 pen to fill out the mailing form, and pay $14 to ship my snowglobe home. We'll see whether it ever arrives. But I WILL NOT YIELD! I get it done, I go back through security, I avoid the ions this time, and I have an uneventful trip home. Final thoughts: Chris and Amy - True love is a very rare commodity indeed, and once found, it must be treasured above all things. I hope that you will live together happily until the end of time. I meant what I said before my off-key rendition of "Desperado". Frank Brabec - I think you may have played the best of all of us - you barely crawled into the money with an itty bitty stack and then you manuevered your way to 4th. A harmonica salute to you, my friend. Chuck and Peter - While I was making my toking arrangements, Peter asked me to write a trip report, saying "That's how I get paid." Peter, you and Chuck went above and beyond the call of duty this year, and I myself did get paid, so I figured the least I could do is write this massive tome. Here's to you both. The standing ovation you were given doesn't begin to cover it, but it's the best we could do. To the rest of you, friends from the past, friends from the present, friends of the future - I hope to see all you next year. It was at the Venetian - who'da thunk it? Best. BARGE. Ever. P.S. Thanks to Kevin Un for some notes on hands at the final table. Everything else is from my memory. All errors are mine.