16 April 2012
California, USA

Dear Ndugu,

I hope you are well. I received all of your letters and read every single one at least a dozen times.

I apologize for not sending you money over the last twelve months. After the events of Black Friday on April 15th of last year, I no longer had the available funds to donate to your orphanage. Before Black Friday, I earned a redonkulous amount of blood money from online poker sites. It was embarrassing that a hack like me should be compensated for writing pedantic trite on Tao of Poker, so in order to feel better about myself, I used a percentage of that windfall to fund humanitarian efforts like feeding organic foodstuffs to hippies, supporting odalisque single mothers twirling on the pole, and of course… sending money to your foster program in Tanzania.

I know it’s been approximately 111 days since my last letter and I have no excuses, expect that I had nothing meaningful to say. Nothing. For the last few years, I’ve felt like a fraud without a sincere message. I hate repeating myself and my schtick is nothing more than a derivative of something I already said much better years before. I’m supposed to be imparting pearls of wisdom to you, but instead I’ve done nothing but brag about what it is like dabbling in the Dionysian lifestyle (smoking too much grass and popping waaaaay too many pills), while promoting the genius of degenerate gambling.

I was a peddler of broken dreams — a postmodern Pusherman — shoving online poker down the throats of whomever wandered into this corner of the web. I should’ve been executed five years ago by a firing squad for crimes against humanity.

There’s something to be said about the Seven Deadly Sins. The Jesuits used Dante’s Divine Comedy to teach them to me in Latin — acedia (sloth), avaritia (greed), gula (gluttony), invidia (envy), ira (anger), luxuria (lust) and superbia (pride). I often indulge in at least four of them at any given time. Sometimes I brazenly juggle all seven and it’s like trying to catch searing fireballs. Even though I release them as quickly as possible, those fireballs of sin still char my flesh.

It’s impossible to wake up every day without being driven by one of those sins, and let’s be honest, living a life of purity isn’t all that much fun. Johnny Hughes once told me, “You need one vice, one drug, and one girl. But never more than one of each, otherwise you have real problems.”

Ndugu, I can’t stress the importance of this: if you realize you’re juggling more than three sins, then it’s time to take a break because each sin is like a vat of acid that corrodes your soul into a bubbling mist of despair.

Life has been good to me. Too much so. In the buffet of life, I overindulged myself. Can you blame me? I’m a curious person, which has often gotten me into trouble, but it’s definitely saved me from living a life of mundane comfort.

I lived in cheap motels in Las Vegas and clients put me up in luxurious hotels all over the world. I spent many hungover mornings sitting in international airports gazing at the beleaguered faces of other harried business travelers. I can’t believe that I’m somewhat sane after jumping more time zones than I can count, acting as a missionary for the Church of PokerStars, blazing trails into uncharted territory and trying to convert the locals by preaching salvation via online poker. When that failed to work, I became an economic hitman resorting to the oldest trick in the Gringo Manual on Latin American Commerce — tempt them with glossy images of the celebrity culture and wave a fistful of cash until they start drooling.

Poker is a game of skill, but greed is a deadly drug. Sometimes it’s not easy to differentiate between the two. Unfortunately, you really can’t become the best at whatever you want to do without being greedy. Conflicts arise when greed spills into other aspects of your life. You want more. You consume more. You covet thy neighbor’s wife. You covet thy neighbor’s oxen. You hate and despise those whom have more. You make fun of those whom have less. It’s just the nature of the game. Once we’re in… we’re in for life. It’s like getting on a superhighway without any off ramps and exits. If you slam on the brakes, then you’re going to be crushed by an 18-wheeler. You have no choice but to keep driving until you reach your final destination… death.

While caught up in the pursuit of material items, humans forget that we’re just a bunch of animals and a single chromosome away from being a chimpanzee. After all, we share something like 98% of the same DNA. Whether it’s God or a bunch of alien geneticists — whoever created us pretty much carved us out of a similar mold.

It’s through greed that they control us. Who is they exactly? The collective cloud of capitalism. The gears of commerce. The massive machine of consumption.

The Ned Beatty character explains it the best in the 1976 film Network, when he rips Howard Beale a new asshole for speaking out against the system….

“It is ebb and flow, tidal gravity. It is ecological balance. You are an old man who thinks in terms of nations and peoples. There are no nations. There are no peoples. There are no Russians. There are no Arabs. There are no Third Worlds. There is no West. There is only one holistic system of systems. One vast, interwoven, interacting, multivariate, multinational dominion of dollars. Petrol dollars, electro dollars, multi dollars. Reichsmarks, Rins, Rubles, Pounds and Shekels. It is the international system of currency which determines the totality of life on this planet. That is the natural order of things today. That is the atomic and subatomic and galactic structure of things today. There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM and ITT and AT&T and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today…

We no longer live in a world of nations and ideologies, Mr. Beale. The world is a college of corporations… inexorably determined by the immutable bylaws of business. The world is a business, Mr. Beale. It has been since man crawled out of the slime.

I don’t have to explain to you how absolute power corrupts all institutions. You’ve seen the heavy hand of colonialism come smashing down on your continent. Your rare minerals are extracted to build mobile phones. Your clean water is stolen and converted to Coca-cola. Your glistening gems eventually are draped around the emaciated bodies of cocaine-eyed starlets posing for the paparazzi on red carpets in Hollyweird.

Bad beats are something you experience every single day and the fact that I’m even complaining about my situation makes me a vapid wanker. I don’t have to tell you about tyranny and inequality through imperialism because I’m preaching to the choir. You’ve seen the daily horrors of predatory capitalism disguised as national hegemony. Corrupt officials worldwide padded their overseas bank accounts after becoming perverse corporate-owned puppets. The nefarious rulers of banana republics take bribes in exchange for allowing their lands to be raped, polluted, looted and destroyed by ruthless multinational conglomerates, meanwhile the same unscrupulous leaders are pimping out its powerless citizens as cheap slave labor.

We live in a use and abuse society. If you aren’t using someone, then you’re being abused.

Those atrocities will never end. And how do I try to change the world? I don’t, so I wallow in Catholic guilt which just makes me even more miserable.

For almost a decade, I easily distracted the masses from the maelstrom of evil that has engulfed the world by churning out misogynist rhetoric about the glamorous rockstar lifestyle of a professional poker player. I don’t mean to rag on pros because I have a sincere respect for what they really do. They are an eclectic breed of rebels and rogues, born with an innate and uncanny knack for cards, and the majority of them work their asses off. The day-to-day life of a pro is nothing close to being swanky and upscale, rather it’s utter terror with nonstop pressure and many of them struggle to avoid drowning in their own self-doubt.

The same can be said for anyone running the rat race. Doesn’t matter if you’re Phil Ivey or Lloyd Blankfein, because most of the time, everyone is emotionally beaten by the daily grind so they insulate themselves from reality by adopting the “balla” persona.

Deep down we all know what we’re doing is complete bullshit anyway… so it’s better to live it up now and relish the present (dare I say, carpe diem?) rather than rue the past or be fearful of the unpredictable future.

From that perspective, the prevailing sense of anomie is what justifies the means. We feel devastatingly empty about how we earn a living, so we surround ourselves with material items that are supposed to symbolize and replace intangible feelings of self-worth and accomplishment. If the material items don’t work, then we indulge in carnal pleasures — drugs, sex, rock and roll. And if that doesn’t work, then we turn to religion and find solace worshiping invisible entities.

You never realize how much you miss the sun, until you’re covered in complete darkness. That reminds me of a Bill Withers lyric, “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone.”

One day I will die. Maybe in 25 years? Maybe tomorrow? The “when” never really matters because we all die. Sometimes I wonder if Neal Cassady was right about life being like driving on the open road… “We are four dimensional beings in three dimensional bodies, looking out two-dimensional windshields.”

I briefly mentioned the car accident in previous letters, but I didn’t want to scare you about the severity of my injuries. In case you were wondering the details… my girlfriend wanted to sleep in, so I drove myself to breakfast. I was completely sober, which is ironic, because had I been a little buzzed, I would have been driving a little more cautious. But then again, almost everything in life is out of our control. All it takes is one jerkoff to run a red light and then you’re done. Fade to black.

The good news is that I’m almost fully recovered, which is a miracle. I still walk with a slight limp, but I thank the universe every day for having the chance to see the sun rise and then set. I’m living on borrowed time. I’m not afraid of dying. Death is inevitable. I’m more afraid of barely being alive. The fact I’m not crippled baffles me. The paramedic took photos of the crushed car and he often shows it to his colleagues. When he was driving my battered body to the ER, he told my girlfriend that I luckiest guy in Vegas because walked away from what should have been a fatal accident. A monster-sized SUV spearing the driver’s side of a mid-size car at a high rate of acceleration usually results in 85% mortality rate. I sucked out big time. I’ll never complain about losing money in Las Vegas again, because last July, I won a priceless jackpot — a second chance at life.

I should’ve perished underneath the blazing Nevada sun and inside a twisted heap of metal and granulated glass. I would’ve been a ghost wandering the Las Vegas valley for eternity, yet for some cosmic reason, it wasn’t my time to go. But, I can’t let an hour pass without thinking… “Why am here?” I’m struggling right now because I’m ashamed that my existence is and was utterly meaningless.

What difference did I really make in this world? What have I contributed to this society?

Nothing. I failed. There’s no way to spice up that glaring and disappointing fact that I lived a shallow life. Warren Schmidt said, “Once I’m dead and everyone who knew me dies too, it’ll be as though I never existed.”

That’s how I feel right now.

Hey, but don’t worry about me. I won’t beat myself up too much, after all, I had an absolute blast. This was one wild ride and one I never expected to take. I fell ass backwards into this nebulous world and for many years, I called it my home. This long, strange trip was fun… while it lasted. I’ve been waiting for a time when I can finally say, “This has all been wonderful, but now I’m on my way.” Alas, I won’t fret too much and I’ll fondly look back at the halcyon moments and allow the infectious smiling faces of friends to become permanent memory burns on my brain. And all the bad beats and petty stuff, like the surplus of assholes who caused me turmoil? They’ll get deleted from my memory banks. Every one of them. You’d be surprised how quick a few rum cocktails helps you forget the sullen times.

I wish you the best, Ndugu. Always remember that you have your whole life ahead of you. I hope you can learn from my mistakes and actually do something constructive and meaningful with your life. Don’t be a selfish tosser like myself. Live a life of integrity. Try to make a positive impact in this world.

Be good. Do good. But most importantly… be yourself, Ndugu.

Death is the eventual end point of life. One day we miraculously show up. Then one day we depart and return to the void of nothingness. So while we’re here, right now, we have to make it count. Life is all about small, simple pleasures. Never forget that. Cherish every single moment. Every. Single. Moment.

I don’t want to say that this is my last letter to you, because I cannot predict the future, but let’s be honest, Ndugu… this will probably be my last letter because I’ve said everything I wanted to say and I can’t keep going on forever. Ken Kesey, the great writer and ringleader of the Merry Pranksters, summed it up the best: “Impermanence is impermanence…. nothing lasts.”

Your friend,
Pauly

Tags: 2011 november nine | black-friday | classic tao | dear ndugu | deg | hollyweird | las vegas | Music | phamily poker classic | philosophy | politics | universe

For Matt Wakeman, winning a PokerStars online satellite into the APPT Seoul Main Event was about more than just winning another poker tournament. He’s done that many times before. This is about exploring himself, his family and his culture, in a way that he’s never seen before.

Wakeman is well known in the Australian poker community. Playing under the online handle of “mjw006″, Wakeman has been the number one ranked online player in the country and previously sat inside the top ten in the world. He’s a popular blogger for a number of different websites, regularly tweets to a large following and even hosts his own podcast.

With online earnings approaching US$1 million, Wakeman has yet to make his mark on the live poker scene, so qualifying for the APPT Seoul Main Event and making a deep run is hugely important to him. But this event in Seoul is about more than just poker.

Wakeman was born in Busan, on the Southeastern tip of the Korean Peninsula, but was adopted by Australian parents when he was just three months old, spending his early days growing up in Sydney. He always appreciated the quality lifestyle that was given to him and is Australian through and through. However the idea of returning to his roots in South Korea was something that he always wanted to achieve and now poker has afforded him that very opportunity.

“I was going to come to Seoul regardless of whether I won a package or not,” said Wakeman to us in between hands in the Main Event. “Being a professional poker player, it was a great opportunity to come here for the first time.”

As he grew a little older, Wakeman found a willingness to learn more about his background and understand the Korean culture.

“The question that everyone asks me is if I have met my birth parents, but meeting them has never really crossed my mind. I just want to learn more about the culture here,” he added.

Following the APPT Seoul event, Wakeman will be spending an extra five days exploring the country and visiting the town where he was born. He’ll be travelling solo, doesn’t know a word of the Korean language and will be loving every minute of it.

Tags: 2011 | delicious | estrellas poker tour | european | france | korea | news | russian

By Pauly
New York City

Time flies, eh? Hard to believe that 2012 is around the corner, but I’m kinda glad that 2011 is over. This year was one of the roughest, saddest, and most excruciating that I experienced since I ventured into the poker world. I can only be optimistic about the future, because it can’t get any worse… right?

Without further ado, here’s the best of the Tao of Poker…

* * *

January 2010

God’s Cell Phone Number – Things got a little crazy while betting on the NFL playoffs and I successfully pulled off a Band of Brothers reference…

Sometimes I refer to God as Gretzky. At least, that’s what I have him labeled on my cell phone. I’d hate for someone to steal my phone and than have a direct number to God. Hence, why He’s coded as GRETZKY. He doesn’t gives those out to anyone. It’s one of the perks of attending a Jesuit high school. You learn Latin, Greek, and get God’s cell phone number… MORE

Dispatches from the PCA: You Enjoy Myself – My lovely girlfriend won a satellite to the Ladies Event, so I flew down to Paradise Island in the Bahamas to attend the PCA as a civilian and professional railbird. I also drunk a shit-ton of rum and gambled at the sports book.

The cabbie pulled into Atlantis and I tipped him fairly decent, enough that he tried to sell me a bag of blow. I politely declined. Do you know the six words that aptly describes cocaine from the Caribbean? Clumps together, but only cut once… MORE

Dispatches from the PCA: Divided Sky – I spent a lot of time watching the Dead People Channel and then hung out on the rail to sweat Change100 during her victorious run in the Ladies Event.

It’s no secret that I feel uncomfortable and unwelcomed at any Ladies Only events because I’m getting thousands of daggers shot at me from evil glances from the players, many of whom on principle hate men, not to mention a slew of female players who think I’m an asshole because my writing glorifies misogyny and the poor treatment of women by condoning prostitution and promoting stripping… MORE

Tao of Pokerati Podcast: Bahama Mama – Change100 Scores Ladies PCA Title – Listen to a super quick podcast that I recorded with Change100 after she beat Lauren Kling heads-up to win the PCA Ladies event.

Looming Municipal Debt Crisis the Key to Online Poker Legislation? – The majority of the states in the union were faced with severe budgetary problems at the start of 2011. I hypothesized that some states will look to legalize online poker in order to make a dent into their ginormous debt obligations.

The future is grim no matter how you look at it. That’s why there’s very little chatter in the media about the looming municipal debt crisis. It’s sort of like an asteroid ready to crash into Earth — it’s much easier to be the ostrich with its head buried in the ground, and let everyone go about their daily lives, rather than clue them in on the reality of the situation and that the end of the world could be right around the corner…MORE

Dan Shak’s Hedge Fund Nearly Blows Up the Gold Market – Speaking of finance… did you hear the one about Dan Shak nearly causing a financial tsunami?

Talk about a trader who has a set of titanium balls! That’s what I love about Dan Shak — he made a ballsy trade, it went south, he cut his losses, shrugged it off, and wants to get back in the game… MORE

Eight Voices and a Sea of Trouble – I broke down the eight different voices inside my head that often get me into gambling trouble.

Accessing the future for my own financial gain is an unattainable pipe dream. I meet people all the time in Vegas and in poker circles who claim that have foolproof systems for blackjack, roulette, the horses, stock options, etc. I’ve met lots of shit-talkers, but I’ve never crossed paths with a legitimate psychic who can accurately predict the future. Believe me, I scoured the world for a seer and found lots of charlatans, but came up empty…MORE

* * *
February 2010

Your Hands and Feet Are Mangos, Part 1 – For one week, I conducted an experiment — do nothing except drink rum and bet on sports.

In the last few years, what used to be a ravenous love affair with sports betting had become a coarse, listless, co-dependent relationship. Each bet used to be like riding a rollercoaster for two hours while jacked up on cocaine. But not anymore because watching each game was more like being prisoner on a cruise ship adrift in stormy seas that’s inducing you to puke your nads out….MORE

Your Hands and Feet Are Mangos, Part 2 – Here’s the second and final installment of my rum-inspired sports betting diaries, which started out as a social experiment but over a long weekend, I nearly lost my shirt on college hoops and had an accident that left our kitchen floor all… sticky.

“Good news and bad news,” I barked and then inspected my soaked jeans. “Bad news is that the kitchen floor is pink and sticky. Good news is that thanks to the supreme technological advances in developing plastics, the shatter-proof bottle prevented the rum from exploding.”…MORE

Syracuse Point-Shaving Rumors Debunked; Major College Basketball Betting Scandal Averted? – The Syracuse point-shaving rumors blew up overnight and what would have just been whispers among paranoid bettors, until it became a national scandal.

College athletes have become pawns for corporate entities. All of those annoying redundant commercials during March Madness made you nauseous, but it’s a clear indication at the significant money that is thrown around by major advertisers. Someone is making a buck on college athletes, everyone except the athletes themselves….MORE

Tao of Pokerati Podcast: Exotic Betting on the Super Bowl with Change100 – I recorded a quick podcast with my girlfriend, who was excited to bet on how long it was going to take Christina Aguilera to sing the National Anthem.

Live Sumo Is Rigged – If you didn’t know, the national sport of Japan has a shady past of rigging matches.

Taking a dive was a dishonor yourself, let alone a sincere dishonor to the entire Sumo community of wrestlers, trainers, promoters, fans, and even the guy who gets paid to wipe the arses of ginormous wrestlers…. MORE

The Bluff Power 20; Howard Lederer Has the Juice – Howard Lederer was named the most powerful person in poker.

Deadhead. Former bookie. Poker pro. Online poker visionary. Top dog. Top gun. King of the Hill. The Godfather… MORE

* * *
March 2011

Closing the Sahara – I took a walk down memory lane when I found out that the Sahara Casino in Las Vegas was closing its doors.

Las Vegas rose up out of the nothingness of the sand. A former Mormon missionary outpost had transformed into a gambling Mecca by gangsters, real estate developers, and bankers. Mecca is actually an inappropriate word to describe Las Vegas because there’s nothing religious about a pilgrimage to modern day Sodom and Gomorrah — the epicenter for the orgy of consumption… MORE

Orphaned Cards – I cannot explain why, but sometimes I find random cards in the middle of the street.

Rolling Out the Magic – If I was a TV exec and I could rig a final table, I’d pick nine specific personality types.

Television executives in poker are faced with two rigorous obstacles: 1) inaction at the tables, and 2) lack of stimulating dialogue. Both are detrimental to ratings. Lackadaisical ratings gave poker a blemish, which is why the suits in charge of programming banished poker to uncoveted late night slots, where stoners and insomniacs alike watched with an indifferent glaze. The few remaining programs were lost in the shuffle at the farthest ends of the satellite spectrum, embroiled in fierce competition against 1,000 other stations…. MORE

Sweating Sachin Tendulkar – New low as a degen gambler… I bet on cricket.

Despite being plagued with a short attention span, an 8-hour sporting event like cricket is a definite commitment, both physically and mentally, but due to medical breakthrough and advances in technology, 8-hour long cricket matches are conductive if you have proclivities to specific time-released pharmaceuticals…. MORE

* * *
April 2011

Down With Diseased Monkeys – I began the month betting on baseball and went on a horrid losing streak.

Sports betting is a huge life leak, but it’s also a life sweetener, or a bottle of hot sauce that spruces up mundane aspects of daily life, which is why it’s inherently dangerous. Finding the perfect balance between entertainment, merriment, stroking the ego is essential to healthy lifestyle. It’s when you cross over the proverbial demarcation line in the murky, cloudy grey area that you takes strides away from the light and rush toward the dark…. MORE

Black Friday, Vampire Squids, and 1,000 Masturbating Monkeys – I was in Lima, Peru when Black Friday hit and waited until after I finished climbing Machu Picchu before I wrote about my take on the worst day in the history of online poker.

What was the point of even sending the PPA to Washington? Instead, we should have sent a hundred masturbating chimpanzees to lobby for online poker — they would have accomplished the same fucking thing as the PPA, but at least we’d have some cool YouTube videos of monkeys jerking off on the steps of the Capitol…. MORE

* * *
May 2011

Aunt Emma – Another installment of the infamous Pai Gow Diaries.

A disheveled woman sat down next to me. She wore a green terry cloth jacket. For a second I thought she walked into the casino wearing her bath robe. But she smelled like she had slept in her car, woke up, blew a snot rocket, smoked the ends of three week-old cigarette butts, then walked over to the Pai Gow table…. MORE

PokerStars Offices Raided in Costa Rica – I just happened to know a few friends in Costa Rica who were around when the federales raided the San Jose offices of online poker rooms.

Black Friday Fallout: Offshore Sportsbooks Fleeing U.S. Soil – The sportsbetting industry also took a hit when they experienced residual fallout from Black Friday.

14 Fun Moments from the 2010 WSOP and 14 More Fun Moments at the 2010 WSOP – I was reminiscing about some fun times I had in the summer of 2010.

Fading the Rapture – I love betting against Jesus Freaks, especially those predicting specific dates for Armageddon.

Glow in the Dark Dragons – And what’s the WSOP without kicking it off by going on dealer tilt at a Pai Gow table?

The new line of Pai Gow bots will not arrive until late in 2011, which means I only have to deal with older version, which are prone to glitches and the occasional error. I guess that’s the only good thing to come out of the Japan quake. Sure, Japan is drowning in radiation soup while traces of radioactive material flutter its way toward North American airspace, but at least I won’t have to worry about an upgraded version of the Pai Gow bots…. MORE

* * *
June 2011 and August 2011

Thanks to Alexander, I got to be on the cover of The Circuit. here’s my interview…

I covered my 7th World Series of Poker on Tao of Poker. Here’s the index of coverage…

Let’s start with a couple of posts that were published before cards went in the air on Day 1. Among those were a few tidbits about the Ivey/Full Tilt lawsuit.

2011 WSOP: Before the Madness Begins – A prelude to the seven-week fiesta of poker.

WTF? Phil Ivey Suing Full Tilt Poker – In one of the most peculiar news stories since Black Friday, Phil Ivey announced he was leaving Full Tilt, suing Tiltware, and sitting out of the WSOP. All of these important announcements were made on his Facebook fan page. Whaaaaa?

Full Tilt’s Angry Response to Phil Ivey’s Lawsuit – The drama-filled start to the WSOP continued with an angry response from Full Tilt’s HQs. That’s the fastest they ever responded to anything in the wake of Black Friday.

Finding Pil Ivey and the Doctor Is In – The video crew at Bluff Magazine did an awesome job with their videos this summer, especially the bit Finding Ivey. I got tapped to tape an interview and you can see a teaser in this video.

The Circuit Cover and Interview – I was fortunate that Alexander asked me to be a part of his amazing photo project — The Circuit. Check out what went down behind the scenes during the photo shoot, including a candid interview about what life is really like on the road following around the tournament circuit.

Okay, and now here are the daily recaps from the 2011 WSOP…

Day 1: Welcome to the Jungle and Phil Ivey’s Titanium Balls – The 2011 WSOP kicked off with lots of questions swirling around about which pros would toe the company line and support Full Tilt Poker, and which red pros would ditch the patches and other FT branding. Phil Ivey fired the first shot with his lawsuit (announced via Facebook), but did he incite a mutiny with other red pros following his lead?

Day 2: Ivey’s Hippodrome and Bare-Chested Scandis – Gus Hansen wandering around with his shirt undone and the ongoing saga between Phil Ivey and Full Tilt were among the more dramatic topics on the second day of action.

Day 3: Moneymaker and Johnny Fucking Chan Win Grudge Matches and Men the Master Cheating Accusations – A Made-for-TV event occupied the Mothership with Chris Moneymaker and Johnny Fucking Chan winning their Main Event “grudge matches”. Meanwhile, in the real WSOP, Men the Master was the center of hurricane of shadiness when he hypocritically accused Hollywood Dave of shorting a pot. A shouting match ensued and both were on the verge of being disqualified.

Day 4: Jake Cody’s Emos, Hooligans, and Hat Tricks – Jack Cody, the latest British wunderkind made history when he became only the third member of the Triple Crown club. His victory did not come without a little rail rowdiness along the way.

Day 5: Apocalypse Now (Guest Post by Change100) – Yes, I had the day off and Change100 stepped up to pen an atmospheric piece on the tension in the air at the start of the 2011 WSOP — the first series in the wake of Black Friday and “money getting stuck on Full Tilt” fiasco.

Day 6: Ho-most for Maria Ho – The lovely Maria Ho went deep in the 5K NL event and came within one spot of winning her first bracelet.

Day 7: British Invasion, Vampire Squids, and the Devil – After the first week of nonstop poker, the first zombie begin to appear at the Rio. The zombies in turn attract the Devil along with treacherous vampire squids.

Day 8: The Marked Cards Conspiracy and the Last 5 Pros I Pissed Next To – It’s not the WSOP unless there’s a controversy involving the cards. There’s always something wrong with the decks. At the 2011 WSOP, a couple of the decks had a printing error that was only visible underneath the groovy purple grow-lights inside the Mothership.

Day 9: Cocking Blocking the Brits – The Brits launched an all-out assault on Las Vegas once again as they threatened to win another bracelet but the bloody 10-level rule was the only thing that prevented them from shipping another bracelet.

Day 10: Banning Booze, World Series of Mormons, and Sweating the Mavs – Despite the financial woes bringing America to the brink of ruin, the WSOP continued to thrive in the face of external adversity on both the political and financial fronts. The influx of players always brought with it a wave of fervor on the rail during final tables. The powers to be did not anticipate a Mardi Gras-like atmosphere inside the Mothership that is a fragile TV set and not a country-western bar. As a result, booze was officially banned at the final table.

Day 11: Social Media in Poker and Tex Dolly Blows Chunks – The poker world has changed for the better (or worst) because of the heavy influence of social media. Oh, and we found out through Twitter that Texas Dolly got ill during the middle of a tournament because of something he ate.

Day 12: Hellmuth Chokes and Prohibition Ends at the Mothership – Phil Hellmuth was on a mission to win his 12h bracelet, yet his attempt was thwarted. Meanwhile, much to the delight of the alkies in Vegas, booze was permitted to be consumed inside the Mothership. Yes, the short-lived prohibition was over.

Day 13: Tweaker City, USA – I experienced a rather sketchy encounter in the parking lot at the Gold Coast while hanging out with Benjo.

Day 14: Subterranean Homesick Alien and Brits Snag Third Bracelet – By the end of the second week of the WSOP, everyone is ridden with homesickness. Despite the malaise, another Brit won a bracelet, meanwhile, we decided to pay homage to old school Vegas with a trip downtown to where it all began — Binion’s.

Day 15: Triple ElkY and The Mark is the 22nd Best PLO Player in the World – The French surged during the beginning of the third week of the series. They won three bracelets in a short period of time and ElkY became only the fourth player to win the Triple Crown. Meanwhile, a close friend of the Tao of Poker went deep in a PLO event. Yeah, The Mark fell short of his first WSOP final table.

Day 16: Le Deux; French Snag 2 Bracelets in 24 Hours – The French surge continued with their second bracelet within a 24-hour period.

Day 17: Mike Sexton Heads-Up for Bracelet and Liquidating the Sahara – The Ambassador of Poker, Mike Sexton, went deep in the Stud 8 event, only to have it suspended due to the 10-level rule. Sexton was heads-up when his tournament was halted. Meanwhile, the big liquidation sale at the Sahara kicked off. Jerome and Camille shot a stunning video of that dreary sale day.

Day 18: No Country For Old Men; Barry Greenstein and Mike Sexton Denied Bracelets – Two poker greats came very close to winning bracelets, yet they fell short of the mark. In addition, the Senior’s Event kicked off with everyone standing to attention when the Stars and Stripes were played.

Day 19: The Donkenator and Eating Death – Dominating a donkaments are never an easy task. Woever wins that bracelet damn well deserves it. I delve a bit into Milton’s Paradise Lost in this recap. Enter at your own risk.

Day 20: The Egregious Case of the $9 Pizza and Stein Shines – It was a matter of time before I went off on an old-fashioned anti-food rant because of the horrendous $9 pizza that the Poker Kitchen tries to pass off as a culinary delight.

Day 21: A Day in the Life; Hellmuth Denied 12th Bracelet (Again) – This is my favorite piece of the summer, mainly because most of the hijinks happened outside the Amazon Ballroom that eventually morphed into my first Memento moment of the WSOP. Anyway, I went on a classic bender at the Gold Coast while Phil Hellmuth went deep once again and tried to win bracelet #12.

Day 22: Slowdown, Rocky Mountain High, and Chau Giang Confirmed Alien – The WSOP caught its breath at the start of the fourth week of play, while I determined that Chau Giang is really an alien.

Day 23: Timex Flashback, Jason Mercier Wins PLO Bracelet, and More Sordid Tales About Chasing the Dragon – I squeezed in a little personal Pai Gow degeneracy in between a recap about Jason Mercier’s victory in the PLO event along with a flashback about the origins of Timex.

Day 24: Dwan Song, Revelry, and Hooligans – Whenever Tom “durrrr” Dwan makes a final table, the entire poker world stops to watch. With a few million in prop bets on the line, Dwan’s final tables always have an added element of excitement. Alas, it was the Brits who sucked up all of the attention in the Amazon Ballroom as they railed their boy Middy and even drank Jager bombs out of their shoes.

Day 25: Rubber Soul, Electric Daisies, and Two-Tabling Pai Gow – The Electric Daisy Carnival swept through Vegas and a quarter million ravers invaded Sin City. Fabrice Soulier shipped a bracelet and became the third Frenchie to win one in 2011. Ah, and I also engaged in a live session of Pai Gow again and two-tabled it. I’m lucky I didn’t get 86′d.

Day 26: The Sickness – If you’ve spent a significant amount of time in Las Vegas, then you’ve seen those afflicted with The Sickness. I spoke about some of my experiences with the dreaded disease.

Day 27: Shaking Down Ravers; November Niner Snags Bracelet – I had a situation when I should’ve rolled a couple of schwasted ravers in the elevator, but I couldn’t cross over to the dark side and take advantage of the party people on the last day of the Electric Daisy Carnival.

Day 28: The Glass Onion; Lamb Leads POY – Donkey slayers, Brazilians, and Ben Lamb seizing the top spot in Player of the Year race.

Day 29: Carnival at the Mothership; Akkari Wins Bracelet – I went to cover a final table and a Brazilian soccer match broke out. The Mothership was transformed into a World Cup final when Brazil’s native son Andre Akkari advanced to the final table and was heads-up for a bracelet.

“Vamooooooooooooooo!”
Days 30-33: OFF

Day 34: Happy Birthday, America – On the Fourth of July, America celebrated with its annual Hot Dog Eating Contest at Coney Island. Only in America can we boast about binge eating to celebrate our creation and independence from British tyranny.

Day 35: Catching Up - After a brief holiday away from the Vegas grind, it was time to catch up on everything I missed.

Day 36: Don’t Stop Believen‘ – Hellmuth and the 50K hit a hard stop. Grumbles ensued.

Day 37: Another Runner-Up Finish for Hellmuth; Whiffs on Three Flush Draws to Lose Bracelet#12 – Hellmuth had another disappointing evening after he whiffed on three big flush draws only to lose to Brian Rast, who won his second bracelet in 2011.

* * *

2011 Main Event Coverage

Prelude to the Killing Fields – The 2011 Main Event
With a Little Help From My Friends: The Michael Stevens Story by Change100
Day 38- Main Event Day 1A: Dolly’s Abyss
Day 39 – Main Event Day 1B: Luck Rack of Lamb
Prope Bets with Remkos and Micros WSOP Episode
Day 40 – Main Event Day 1C: One More Saturday Nite
Day 41 – Main Event Day 1D: Spiderman Big Records, Perma-Bans, and 6,865
Day 42 – Main Event Day 2A: Torturing the One-Eyed Clown, Hellmuth Awakes, and the Euro Surge
Day 43 – Main Event Day 2B: Lamb Lies Down on Broadway
Day 44 – Main Event Day Off; Annie Duke Wins Media Tournament
Day 45 – Main Event Day 3: Poirier and Jace Are Million Men and Tilt-A-Scandi
Day 46 – Main Event Day 4: Soft Bubbles, Zombie Apocalypse, and the Reincarnation of JRB
Day 47 – Main Event Day 5: There Must Be Some Way Out of Here
The Skinny: Day 6
Day 48 – Main Event Day 6: House of the Rising Sun; NOLA’s Ryan Lenaghan Leads with 57 Remaining
The Skinny: Day 7
Day 49 – Main Event Day 7: Buy the Ticket, Survive the Ride
2011 November Nine Set

* * *

And here’s the Best of Tao of Pokerati… which are some of my favorite episodes of the Tao of Pokerati podcast that Michalski and I recorded from the 2011 WSOP featuring special guests Benjo, Snoopy, KevMath, Remko, and AlCantHang.

Episode 6: Ivey’s Lawyer (4:17) – Dan and Pauly chat about the Ivey drama that transformed the opening days of the WSOP into the “World Series of Phil Ivey.” Dan also shares some inside info on Ivey’s lawyer, renown criminal attorney David Chesnoff.

Episode 7: Sahara Liquidation with Remko and Benjo (6:12) – Benjo and Pauly discussed the Sahara Casino liquidation sale/auction with one of the members of the Dutch press, Remko. Both Remko and Benjo expressed a keen interest in acquiring a slot machine for super cheap, while Pauly has his eyes set on a Pai Gow table. Meanwhile, Benjo and Remko try to figure out how to ship a slot machine from Vegas to France and Holland.

Episode 12: The Tweaker Edition with Benjo (4:02) – Benjo and Pauly hang out at the Gold Coast and watched a tweaker get 86d by security. They later encounter the tweaker in the parking lot, and Benjo asks Pauly for a quick tutorial about the seedy Las Vegas meth scene.

Episode 14: Old School Cheats with Johnny Hughes (6:02) – Pauly sat down and chatted with a special guest — the legendary Johnny Hughes — who has been in poker circles for 50+ years. Pauly asks Johnny to share some stories about old school poker cheats and the “fear” of getting caught, which kept a lot of shady characters in line.

Episode 16: Brickless Cash Games Reprise (3:22) – Dan and Pauly recorded a quick follow-up to their previous episode while they hang out on the rail of the high-stakes cash games. They spot Eskimo Clark, “Cowboy”, and other broke dicks lingering around seeking handouts from the high rollers.

Episode 17: WSOP Fashion Report with KevMath (5:10) – Pauly chats with KevMath, who is a self-described “fashion expert.” The two compare and contrast the different styles of clothing worn by members of the media. KevMath also reveals why he won’t wear shorts.

Episode 19: KevMath Keno System with KevMath (6:01) – Pauly and KevMath hang out at the dive bar in a bowling alley at the Gold Coast. KevMath was in the middle of crushing a video Keno game, when Pauly asked him to share a couple of his big secrets to beating the game.

Episode 20: Adieu, Benjo (8:40) with Benjo – After almost a week of speculation and rumors, Benjo confirms that he’s leaving Las Vegas and heading home to France. His brief stint at the WSOP is officially over. One chapter ends, and a new one begins. Dr. Pauly, Dan and Benjo hang out in the dive bar inside the bowling alley at Gold Coast to listen to Benjo bid his farewells.

Episode 21: New Dynamic Duo with Snoopy (5:59) – Pauly holds auditions for a new sidekick with only one requirement — a outrageous accent. Snoopy, a writer from London, nails the audition. In this episode, they discuss modeling their new dynamic duo on the Batman & Robin television series, in addition to re-locating the Bat Cave to England and installing bat poles in the press box.

Episode 23: Brazil’s Mothership Invasion with AlCantHang (2:50) – Pauly and AlCantHang are on the rail inside the Mothership watching the heads-up battle between American Nachman “The Landlord” Berlin and Brazil’s native son Andre Akkari. Al and Pauly record a quick episode moments after Akkari won a decisive pot to cripple Berlin, and the Brazilians went berserk.

Episode 26: Main Event Begins! (6:34) – The Main Event is upon us and before the cards went in the air, Pauly is hanging out and listening to TD Jack Effel’s long-winded introduction and a quick rundown of the rules to all Main Event players. Jack then introduces Texas Dolly to utter the famous phrase, “Shuffle up and deal!”

Episode 27: Almost Famous with Snoopy (3:32) – While players return to their seats after the dinner break, Pauly and Snoopy notice Jason Alexander posing for pictures with fans. Snoopy explains why Seinfeld wasn’t a big hit in England and Pauly discovers someone dressed as Snow White in the crowd. Pauly also wonders if Snoopy would ever dress up in a costume for the Main Event.

Episode 29: Media Mania and Golden Toilets with Change100 and AlCantHang (3:08) – Pauly is still in the media event, so Change100 takes the opportunity to chat with AlCantHang. They both busted rather early, especially AlCantHang, who won a dubious honor of being the first player to bust out. His reward? A Golden Toiler trophy for last place.

Episode 33: Two Brits, One Irishman with Snoopy (5:09) – Snoopy gives Pauly the latest British report with three tables remaining in the Main Event. Snoopy clues us in on the two Brits (Sam Holden and JP Kelly) still alive along with Eoghan O’Dea from Ireland. Even though O’Dea is Irish, Snoopy and Brits are still keeping an eye on their “adopted” player.

Episode 36: KevMath WSOP Exit Interview with KevMath (8:50) – Kevin “KevMath” Mathers is officially done with his WSOP assignment, but he stopped by the Rio to watch the action on Day 8. He bumped into Pauly, who sat him down to discuss his favorite moments (and least favorite) during his first ever WSOP. Pauly also quizzes him on any strange “fan” encounters along the way.

Episode 37: Pseudo-Final Table (6:02) – Dan and Pauly are on the rail of the Mothership as action resumes for the pseudo-final table of ten, otherwise known as the November Nine bubble. Plenty of tension in the air because the final table will be set with just one more elimination.

Episode 39: Bruno’s New Toy (4:20) – Fun Warren brought a batch of dolls to the WSOP. The dolls, resembling famous poker pros, were custom made in London . He left a couple behind for Pauly and Dan. Pauly got Phil Hellmuth, while Dan seems a little disappointed with Daniel Negreanu. Dan suggests that he’ll probably give the Negreanu’s doll to his dog Bruno, so Bruno will now have a new play toy.

If you want to listen to more episodes from the 2011 WSOP, visit Tao of Pokerati podcast archives.

* * *
August, September, and October 2011

I took three months off and moved to San Francisco. I only posted 19 times in that stretch. Less is more, eh? Here’s a few gems from the hiatus months…

Hot Sauce
A Brief Letter to Full Tilt Poker: Fuck You, Pay Me
Full tilt Ponzi Poker
Rocketman and Welcome to the Ice Palace
The Degen Market
I Didn’t Know I Was That Far Gone
Superstitions, Jinxes, and River Rats

* * *
November 2011

I returned to semi-regular poker writing with the November Nine on the agenda and the conclusion of the 2011 WSOP Main Event Championship.

Betting guide to the 2011 November Nine
2011 November Nine – Sunday LIVE Blog
November Nine Down to Three; Germany’s Pius Heinz = Chip Leader
2011 WSOP November Nine – Tuesday Live Blog
Pius Heinz Wins 2011 WSOP Main Event

Michalski and I also recorded a few special Tao of Pokerati podcasts….

Tao of Pokerati Podcast – 2011 November Nine Edition
Episode 1: Evolution
Episode 2: Naming Names
Episode 3: Betting on Belize
Episode 4: Non-Silence of the Lambs
Episode 5: Giannetti Lives
Episode 6: Quad Lambs
Episode 7: Poker Hall of Fame Ceremony
Episode 8: First Hand Fireworks
Episode 9: Heads-Up Outfits
Episode 10: The Final Hand
Episode 11: Hooker Bar Farewell

* * *
December 2011

The year ended with the annual blogger gathering to Vegas, which inspired a three-part trip report and as the year ended and I began to reflect on 2011, I sounded off on a few topics.

Four Haikus – Lost Vegas
Ocho – WPBT, Part 1
Ocho – WPBT, Part 2
Ocho – WPBT, Part 3
Zombie Poker Apocalypse
Puppeteers of America

* * *
That’s it. The highlights from 2011. I hope you have a happy new year.

And if you like what you read, I encourage you to vote Tao of Poker for Best Poker Blog in Bluff’s Readers Choice Awards. Thanks for your support.

Tags: 2011 wsop | armageddon | deg | elky | gambling | gold | las vegas | On the Road | pius heinz | politics | rise poker | twitter

By Pauly
New York City

Merry Christmas everyone!

Were you a good boy/girl this year? Did Santa Claus hook you up with a new Kindle Fire? If so, you’re in luck because the e-book version of Lost Vegas is only a few clicks away!

Click here to buy Lost Vegas for Kindle and iPads.

Click here to buy Lost Vegas for the Nook.

Click here to buy a print copy of Lost Vegas on Amazon.com.

* * * *

And if you’re interest in my novel, you can also pick up an e-book Kindle version of Jack Tripper Stole My Dog.

Here’s the trailer…

Thanks for your support.

Tags: lists | Music | november-nine | pca | phamily poker classic | Poker News | rise poker | sports

By Pauly
San Francisco, CA

One of my favorite political writers is Matt Taibbi, columnist at Rolling Stone magazine, who also penned a few books such as The Great Derangement, which included an astute observation about politics and Big Business…

“You don’t elect politicians to commit crimes; you elect politicians to make your crimes legal.” – Matt Taibbi

Black Friday more than put a wrinkle into the lives of American poker players, it decimated the entire online poker landscape. On April 15th, we all discovered that we could no longer play on our favorite online poker sites. Just the day before on April 14th, Americans went about their lives with the ease and comfort knowing their bankrolls were safe in a virtual bank somewhere overseas. We were under the impression that we could exercise our right to gamble… or choose not to gamble… because after all, we’re adults protected under the Constitution of the United States. We have the unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Online poker could be one of those, or it could be all three. I know I spent too many hours logged onto a different online poker site bogged down in the pursuit of happiness, only to get sucked out by a one-outer, which sent me on mega-LAGtard-Scandi-tilt.

Online poker was a short-term escape from the harsh reality that we live in corporatocracy. Our nefarious politicians are pwned by oligarchs and plutocrats, all of whom don’t give a rat’s ass about your personal liberty to engage in any sort of activity (gambling or otherwise) on the internet. If you haven’t been paying attention to SOPA or the NDAA, then you should get off your ass and do some research. Uncle Sam and Big Brother are now one in the same while a shadowy cabal of international banksters are pulling the strings.

Remember that scene from The Godfather, after the ailing Don handed over the reigns of the Family to his son, Michael Corleone?

“You are like me,” mumbled Don Corleone. “We refuse to be fools, to be puppets dancing on a string pulled by other men.”

I’m still trying to figure out why some activities in America are considered a crime and why other things are permitted, but then again most laws these days defy all logic. We’re living in a rigged political system that is rotten to the core. Corruption is the grease that keeps the wheels of Big Business churning. Corruption is what re-balances the manipulated scales of justice.

Who were the real culprits behind online poker prohibition in America? After doing some research and “following the money” trail, I pointed fingers in a post titled Black Friday, Vampire Squids, and 1,000 Masturbating Monkeys. Almost eight months later, I continue to search for more concise answers. Sure, we have the names of the unscrupulous politicians leading the witch hunt, but like Don Corleone explained, someone else is tugging at those puppet strings.

Who are the puppeteers?

Why did they cock block us?

What is so terrifying about online poker?

What kind of crimes against humanity did we commit by sitting around in our underwear and playing cards?

How did the simple act of playing online poker become threatening to the Establishment?

I guess the answer to my last question is this: poker players are rebellious in nature and free thinkers. Many of us would not have taken the courageous leap into the virtual waters at online poker sites unless we were strong-willed, determined, and seeking an alternative way to live our lives. Online poker provided income, happiness, purpose and validation instead of following the herd and the Master Plan (college > job > marriage > mortgage > kids > college fund > retirement) that had been beaten into our heads since birth. We were conditioned to conform from the moment we popped out of our mother’s womb. We’ve been corralled into institutions like cattle, stripped of any semblance of individuality, brainwashed into living a life that we think is what we’re supposed to do — obey, consume, reproduce — all of this without questioning authority and expressing an independent thought. The moment any of us stray from the path, we’re ostracized and marginalized, and if that doesn’t deter us, then agents of the state (paid by our tax dollars) will beat the shit out of us until we get back in line. And those whom stay on the path and do not upset the herd are thrust into a fabricated world in which the entire point of existence is to…

1. Become obedient cubicle slaves exploited by corporate overlords.

2. Generate tax income for the bloated state.

3. Create profits for the banking cartel in form of debt creation — credit cards, car loans, school loans, small business loans, mortgages and second mortgages.

4. Buy cheap stuff (Made in China) that we don’t need, which proliferates ginormous profits for Big Business.

5. Breed children so a new generation of consumers and debt slaves will continue this maddening cycle.

I was drawn to poker because of its anarchist nature, but since then it’s been bastardized both economically and politically. Do you want me to scare the shit out of you? Many pundits vehemently against online poker are convinced online poker sites (and other online gambling sites) launder money for terrorist networks. The National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA) was passed the other day, which gives the military the green light to scoop up American citizens and detain us indefinitely as an enemy of the state if we’re suspected of having ties to al-Qaeda or any other terrorist groups and anti-American organizations. Say goodbye to “innocent until proven guilty.”

“Theory of Poker” translated into Farsi
Under the NDAA, our totalitarian government can demonize anyone, including online poker players, by simply labeling them enemy combatants. Many of you thought not being able to play in the Sunday Million sucked, just wait until the military shows up at your front door, bags a black hood over your head, then whisks you away to Gitmo or some other secret prison, where you’re forced to do the naked pyramid with other freshly-detained Jihadists.

What the hell has this country come to? It’s poker, for fuck’s sake! It’s just a card game. A game. An all-American game. Texas Hold’em. The Cadillac of Poker. “It takes seconds to learn and a lifetime to master,” according to Mike Sexton, the ubiquitous ambassador to poker, whose name will now pop up on the FBI’s Watch List in between Ramadan Abdullah Mohammad Shallah and Husayn Muhammad al-Umari.

Any way you look at it, unsuspecting Americans were squeezed by the government and we all got caught up in this shakedown when the UIGEA passed in 2006. Our last hope is to sway politicians to alter the laws, just like Matt Taibbi said in his famous quote… “You don’t elect politicians to commit crimes; you elect politicians to make your crimes legal.”

The sobering reality is that all the letters and emails in the world won’t change the mind of our licentious elected officials. The poker industry dusted off hundreds of millions in a concentrated effort to lobby Congress, yet those we trusted to get the job done dropped the ball time and time again. We must think outside the box to solve the problem, and resort to drastic measures in order to re-install the freedom to fire up online poker sites once again. It will take a shitload of cash and gold to persuade the immoral muppets in DC to end online poker prohibition. If bribes don’t work, then we’ll have to call in a favor with the wiseguys. Because all it takes is just one severed, bloody horse’s head in the right politician’s bed to shape policy in our favor. Then, and only then, will we be able to play online poker again.

While we wait for the proverbial horse’s head, the time has come to say farewell to a couple of dear friends. RIP online poker. RIP America.

Tags: 2010 WSOP | 2011 main event | atom | november-nine | phamily poker classic | SCOOP | TOC | Vegas | wcoop

By Pauly
San Francisco, CA

“Hey guys, I got this great stock tip… ever hear of Zynga?”
It’s time to pimp my latest column for Wicked Chops Insider. I’m writing about sportsbetting and shared my picks for Week 15 of the NFL season. Just a heads-up, Insider is a paywall site, but gosh darn it… I’m worth it.

Here’s the link: Dr. Pauly’s Picks – NFL Week 15.

I almost had a perfect Week 14 going 4-1 with my selections. I’m sure I’m gonna jinx myself by saying this, but the “Step into the Teaser” picks have been 3-0 so far this year.

Also, I have to commend F Train on his stellar piece on Insider capturing The Rise and Fall of Ray Bitar. If I were to pick a Top 10 piece for poker writing in 2011, F Train’s article would definitely make my list.

Tags: black-friday | copyright | ept | facebook | nfl | philosophy | rise poker | tao of fear | turkey cup | twitter | wcoop | writing

By Pauly
San Francisco, CA

The public’s fascination with zombies is rooted in an underlying irony. Hollywood recycles genres every couple of decades or so, including zombie-themed films. In the 1950s and 1960s, movie houses across America featured a plethora of B-flicks including zombie films by Edward Cahn. In the late 1970s, a slew of low budget zombie flicks entered the consciousness, many of which found a second life as home rentals in the 1980s courtesy of the VCR. And now as 2012 approaches, all-things zombie are kitschy again.

Zombieland. World War Z. Walking Dead. 28 Days Later. Zombies. Zombies. Zombies.

Zombies are everywhere and I’m not talking about the lifeless zombies you’ll see in Las Vegas hunched over a slot machine, nor am I talking about the Aussie zombies sitting in the dark in Oz grinding away at online pokies. Nope. I’m talking about those rancid, flesh-devouring cannibalistic monsters who hunt down and devour the few remaining humans in a post-apocalyptic world.

Although the zombie genre features the un-dead feasting upon the living, there’s a deeper socio-political message embedded in each film — the real world is cluttered with dead souls corrupted by materialism, sucking out the life force and destroying every iota of individuality. In the parlance of our snarky times, the sheeple are the zombies. For those among us that are enlightened, we must fear the herd because the herd of zombies will eventually trample us, eat us, or infect us with their affliction.

What do zombies love to eat? Brains. Human brains. Highly symbolic if you ask me, because zombies eat brains to eradicate intelligence. The zombies don’t think. They just consume. More. And more. And more.

So where’s the irony? The sheeple love zombie movies. Zombie movies are subversive movies about sheeple. Therefore, the sheeple are really in love with movies about themselves becoming brainless monsters, yet their collective reality is too distorted to realize what is really happening.

Zombie flicks are hot today, but all of this will change in a couple of years, when the public loses interest in brooding teenage vampires and zombie-strewn dystopia. Eventually the suits in Hollywood will recycle another genre. In the meantime, I shall tolerate zombie flicks and snicker at the absurdity of their popularity, yet I eagerly await the return of erotic, campy women-in-prison flicks and Blaxsploitation films. Seriously, when the hell are they gonna re-make Superfly?

I often wonder if the American public will ever become interested in poker-themed entertainment again? Will poker ever get recycled? Can poker, during online poker prohibition, become a centerpiece of popular culture?

Unless one of the Kardashians starts banging Phil Ivey, I doubt the sheeple will give a damn about poker.

During the gravy years of the glorious poker boom, it was hard to keep up with the over-saturation of poker programming on the boob tube. Even with a thousand cable stations, there still isn’t 24-hour poker channel in America. That omission is stunning, but the bean counters in Hollywood only care about the bottom line. And the current bottom line is this… only hardcore poker enthusiasts and degenerate gamblers will watch anything poker-related. Sure, the WSOP on ESPN might attract a small stream of curious non-poker people, but until Americans develop an appetite for more poker programming, we won’t see any new shows — especially since Poker Stars and Full Tilt aren’t around to fund new poker-themed entertainment projects.

But, I have a brilliant idea that I revealed to a studio exec during a recent meeting in Burbank. Here’s my three second pitch: washed-up celebrities playing poker.

Think about it. Who wouldn’t want to see a bloated David Lee Roth check-raise a strung-out Dustin Diamond (aka Screech from Saved By the Bell)? Wouldn’t you want to see an angry Vanilla Ice go on mega-tilt after getting sucked out by Gary Coleman?

Here’s another mind-blowing pitch… it’s a Vegas-based reality show comprised of bankrupt former child stars who live at Panorama Towers and receive daily tutorial sessions by Matt Stout and Tony Dunst. The former child stars compete in a weekly tournament in which the winner gains “immunity” and a free comp to the Bellagio buffet, while the rest of the child stars argue incessantly over which one of them gets kicked out of the Towers. Former Hollyweird child stars in Vegas is 100% pure comedy gold. Think about all the juicy B-roll you can obtain while following them around Sin City… hustling paid appearances on the Strip to take photos with tourists from the Midwest, then blowing their paychecks on an over-priced 8-ball that they scored in the parking lot of Olympic Gardens from a one-eyed pimp named Rummy.

Or better yet, here’s one more high-concept pitch… lock up any eight D-list celebs in a penthouse at the Palms, feed them booze, pills, and enough speed to keep the entire state of Wisconsin up for a month… then film the ensuing surreal trainwreck as the schwilly D-listers attempt to play low-stakes PLO. We’ll hire Gabe Kaplan and Gary Busey to do the color commentary and have Shana Hiatt conduct side-line interviews with hysterical celebs after they get bitch-slapped by the chick who played Six on Blossom.

Ah, just call me cynical. We’re waiting on a ghost train. Poker’s gravy train arrived at the turn of the century, then abruptly departed the night before the UIGEA was tacked onto the Port Security Bill. The gravy train, fueled by online poker rooms quest for domination, might never return in my generation, which is why I spend many of my waking hours writing up half-baked pitches so I can justify scoring a free lunch at Mo’s with desperate development execs seeking the next big reality show.

Okay, I have one last brilliant pitch… strip poker featuring coked-up 20-something starlets and botox-riddled cougars. Meg Ryan has not cashed a big paycheck in a while and we know Lindsay Lohan is looking for work.

Tags: black-friday | color | hollywood | news | Podcast | tao of fear | turkey cup

By Pauly
San Francisco, CA

Several hours after the marathon, I found myself in a late-night jam session at the Monte Carlo poker room. The session musicians included Dr. Chako, Iggy, G-Rob, Otis, Marty, Poker Peaker, Bad Blood, and Drizz.

Here’s the setlist…

12/4/11 – Monte Carlo Poker Room, Las Vegas, NV

Set 1: Possum, Nougat Farm > Extra Large Aspirin > Pillow Talk, Danny England Ain’t from England, Madras > Marty Ain’t Russian > Madras “It’s a drink, it’s a rug, it’s a shirt” Jam > Marty Borrows*, Ziggy Stardust > Iggy’s Toothache > Pusherman, Otis Tries to Stand Up^ > Otis Sticks to Beer**, Aces High, Antelope

Encore: Suzy Greenberg > Madras Reprise

* Last time played 12/5/2008
^ Otis solo acoustic
** First time played

I dropped two buy-ins… one each to Otis and G-Rob. Fucking G-Rob would open by sliding a stack of redbirds over the betting line. $100 bet in a 1/3 game? Yep. It was one of those nights when the dealers loved us or hated us. Whenever a new dealer sat down in the box, everyone pre-toked the dealer at least $1, sometimes more. Whenever Otis dragged a pot, he showered the dealer with every white $1 in his newly acquired stack — which usually amounted to a tip anywhere from $8 to $10. G-Rob convinced another dealer that he not only owned a nougat farm, but that Iggy was actually former NHL stars Zigmund Palffy. To which I said, “Ziggy? He’s no Guy LaFleur.”

Oh, and we played some poker too. Biggest pot of the night? Three-way all-in on the flop. Set over set against a flush draw. Iggy’s set of Aces held up. Drizz doubled him up and Bad Blood was felted. Drizz said that if he had won that monsterpotten, then he would have had enough money for his own private lap dance for a month. I was confused on the math, then again, strippers in Minnesota must be dirt cheap. As my brother aptly said, “Strippers without teeth cost a lot less.”

* * *
Las Vegas is a city built on cliches. The biggest cliche of the weekend? Four New Yorkers eating faux-NYC-style pizza in the bowels of City Center.

I knew it was too good to be true, but a leggy model was fixated on me as she walked through Cosmo. As a rule of thumb, any woman that makes eye contact with me after Midnight in Vegas is almost always a working girl or a Mossad agent. She kept starring at me in an extremely uncomfortable manner as she got closer and closer. She passed us, stopped on a dime, and whirled around.

“Where did you get the pizza?” she asked.

My brother pointed at the unidentified hallway across from the pool table. She mumbled “thanks” and sprinted (in high heels) to the secret pizza joint that sold over-priced slices, yet was the closest attempt at NY-style pizza that I devoured in all of Las Vegas. I had heard about the secret pizza place for a few months, but had never visited it mainly because I usually do everything possible to avoid the Strip. April and Mo discovered it earlier in the trip and gave us perfect directions on how to find it. The pizza place with no name. Open til 5am. What more could you ask for?

My brother noted that four New Yorkers were chowing down on slices — the both of us, FTrain and Timtern. We had become a cliche of cliches. The pizza wasn’t even that good, but I was schwilly after a long day and night of gambling and consumption that I was thrilled to find any sort of food substance at City Center that cost under $10.

The worst part of the secret pizza excursion was the art vending machine debacle. I heard about the different vending machines in Cosmo that offered up pieces of artwork for as little as $5. I was a little schwasted when I saw F Train walk up to an old-school cigarette machine that had been refurbished to house the special art. I thought the machine was selling decks of cards with different themes. I saw “abstract oil painting” and thought a fancy deck of cards would make a nice stocking stuffer for the holidays. I pulled a $5 bill out of my pocket and jammed it into the slot. I tugged on the handle, but to my dismay, that style was sold out. I grabbed an adjacent handle — also of the “abstract” genre — and I heard a large thud. I reached into the bowels of the machine and pulled out a block of painted wood.

“What the fuck? I just got hustled by a fucking vending machine.”

The group did nothing to hide their laughter. I was the consummate Vegas veteran yet I got my ass handed to me. The machines won. Vegas won. Me? I was humiliated beyond belief. I survived seven WSOPs which amounted to seven summers of sheer torture. I wrote a book about the surviving the murky world of the poker industry, yet I could not evade the classic “Las Vegas hustle.” So, I stood in the Cosmo with a painted piece of wood as I could hear the entire choir of angels in heaven jeering me. The gambling gods have a unique sense of humor, so much so, that I owe someone a swift kick in the junk.

Hustled again by Vegas. When will I ever learn? Next year, we should move the WPBT to Reno. At least that way if I get hustled again, I could just jump in Lake Tahoe and drown myself.

* * *
Iggy told me about the drunk in the Mickey Mouse costume panhandling on the Strip while drinking liquor from a bottle. The only street people I came across was a busker on the pedestrian bridge connecting Crystals to the Cosmo. I heard a raspy, young female voice singing along to an acoustic guitar. She looked more like a neo-punk rocker than a earthy-crunchy hippie chick, and she wasn’t what you’d call… good. But, she sang out of tune and played anyway. After I ate pizza and got hustled by the old “piece-of-painted-wood-in-a-vending-machine” trick, I wanted to return to Aria and drown my sorrows at the sports book bar. I still had a few drink tickets left over. On our way back to the Aria, the same punk girl was sitting on the bridge and butchering a Tom Waits song.

“You should tip her a nug,” whispered my girlfriend.

I had some Lemon Kush in my pocket and decided to do the right thing. Pay it forward. I slowly walked in front of her. She had her eyes closed but opened them as soon as she smelled the Lemon Kush.

“Here,” I said.

She stopped playing. “Really?”

I nodded, handed her the nug, and continued along my way.

“Ohhhh. Myyyy. Gawd! So fucking awesome! Awesome!”

I heard her saw “awesome” at least four more times as we walked away. She was so stunned by the heady tip that she stopped playing, and thereby, stopped butchering the horrendous cover. Tom Waits would be proud.

* * *
Not everything in life can be summed up in a nifty narrative or setlist. So many inside jokes happened during my time in Vegas that I could write 15,000 words and yet, the situation would be funny for only a few of you. Sometimes some things are just left unsaid. We came. We saw. We conquered. But most of those things aren’t fodder for social media and arcane trip reports. My friends would lose their spouses, their houses, their jobs. Dignity? We all checked that at the door as soon as we arrived in Sin City.

With that said, here’s a random list of orphaned lines/sentences that missed the cut from the other parts of Ocho – WPBT….

- I spent a good hour talking about refs fixing basketball games with Pokah Dave and Grange95. Grange used to ref high school hoops and shared some perspective on the mentality of the game from the zebra’s eyes. It also made me sick to my stomach to think about how many more NBA games were “manipulated” over the years. If you believe that crooked ref Tim Donaghy was an “isolated incident” then there’s a bridge in Brooklyn I’d like to sell you. Oh, and Dick Bavetta? I’m looking at you pal!

- So if Texas April now lives in California, and California April now lives in Maine, then who lives in Texas?

- Derek hustled G-Rob, Change100, and I at a video version of Greyhound racing. The Monte Carlo had a silly video game in which you could place bets on different virtual dogs. We realized that you didn’t have to play the game for a race to go off — so we decided to bet on each individual race that was comprised of six different dogs. You basically picked a number and shouted it for about thirty seconds before a winning greyhound was determined. That kept us entertained for about thirty minutes before we realized that Derek was winning all of our money. That inspired one of my favorite quotes from the entire weekend: “It’s hard to handicap fake dogs.”

- My second favorite quote? I don’t know who said originally said it (so please let me know, so I can give you proper attribution), but FTrain referenced the gem one late night: “If it’s after Midnight in Vegas and you’re smoking a cigarette while carrying a baby… then you’re definitely white trash.”

- This is not a WPBT note, rather a general Vegas observation, but I fucking hate it when I’m trying to grab a cab in front of a casino and a doorman asks me where I’m going. I know he’s doing it to trying to hustle a few bucks just in case I’m going to a strip club, but to hell with their intrusive antics. I once pissed off a doorman at the Rio over the summer when he asked me where I was headed. “I’m going to a new club,” I said. “It’s called None of Your Fucking Business.” In the last year or so, I have been lying to the doormen, then correcting the destination to the driver as soon as the door closes. Most Vegas cabbies actually like me more when I tell them what I did. Mr. Funk (@LVCabbieChronicles) would be pleased at how I’ve been treating nosey doormen. Hey, my destination is an intimate exchange between me and my cabbie. Everyone else can bugger off. And if growing up in NYC taught me anything, you NEVER give the driver your exact destination especially when it’s going to a residence. It’s always wise to ask to get dropped off a block away or give them an address somewhere nearby. Vegas is so large that it’s hard to get them to drop you off a block from a casino or the airport. But even then, I try to give a fake airline. “I’m flying on Blue Star airline. It’s near the JetBlue counter.”

* * *
My brother published his quarterly post, which happens to be a recap of his WPBT adventures. Derek rarely writes, but his trip report are among my favorites to read. Check out… Holiday Classic Recap: Words With Friends.

And you can also read Part 1 and Part 2 of my series titled Ocho – WPBT. Until next year, I bid you farewell…

Tags: 2011 | business | deg | ept | food | november-nine | online-poker | philosophy | twitter

By Pauly
San Francisco, CA

Saturday morning. I sidestepped a German couple at the Aria and felt like the Joe Walsh song Life Is Good. On top of the world. Rested. Catching the first buzz of the day. Itching to gamble. In the previous years, I stayed up way too late raging hard on Friday night and staggered into the tournament on little to no sleep on Saturday at noon. This year I booked a room in the same casino where we played, so all I had to do was walk downstairs. Perfect scenario, especially if/when I busted early I could drop stuff off in my room, check the scores on a few games, then head back downstairs and sweat friends at the final table.

* * *
“I live in hotels, tear out the walls.”

I woke up with college basketball on my mind. I placed a few bets on the UK-UNC game, schedule to tip off at Noon EST or at the horrendous 9am hour in Vegas, so I set my alarm in order to get a bet in. The first business of the day featured a quick meeting in front of the sports book. I felt confident with a hot tip from G-Rob.

“I watched every minute of every Kentucky game,” explained G-Rob. “I watched every North Carolina game too. Seen every game both teams played. I’m telling you… Kentucky wins, covers, and the score will be low. Bet the under.”

G-Rob spoke with the sincerity of a Sunday preacher, yet his assessment on the game seemed like a well-crafted pitch from slick boiler room stockbroker. It’s hard to resist G-Rob because of his secret weapon — perfectly coiffed hair. My brother Derek always suspected he was a member of a CIA black-op mind control project to keep the sheeple under constant hypnosis. With disdainful ignorance, I heeded G-Rob’s advice and without hesitation I marched up to the window at the Aria’s sports book.

I also tailed a college football pick from the legendary Johnny Detroit and bet Southern Mississippi +13.5 against the Houston Cougars. All of the so-called experts on the boob tube were all over the #6 ranked Cougars. The public was also betting Houston heavily, but the “Wiseguys” syndicate were all over Southern Miss. I trusted their intel and tailed their pick, rather than bet on the same side as the schwill-drinking, booger-eating, “Jersey Shore”-loving dickwads bumping chests in the sports book. Sometimes,you gotta fade the public.

* * *
“They say I’m crazy, but I’m having a good time.”

The 8th Annual Winter Classic was hosted at the Aria’s poker room for a second year in a row. The staff liked the gang at the WPBT so much (and tolerated all of our peculiar quirks) that they invited us back. Phil Ivey’s high-roller’s room was idle while we played and he was nowhere to be seen. Otis spotted him in Maccau earlier in the week, but if Ivey is the Ivey I know, he’s been holed up in a nosebleed cash game with Chinese oligarchs. For the meantime, the only celebrity in the room was former L.A. Dodger pitcher Orel Hershiser. Ironically, he wouldn’t be the only former big leaguer that bloggers would play cash games with someone in our crew.

Jordan pulled a few strings at Pokerist.com and secured a fistful of cash to sweeten the team last longer side bet. Teams were comprised of three players and the best team finish wins the motherload of cash. Change100 and Derek were my teammates on Tao of Fear. I had special hats made for the occasion which incorporated Tao of Fear’s grey alien logo. The ETs live among us and have been assimilated for decades. They infiltrated the casino business as robotic-like Pai Gow dealers, surly doormen, and chefs manning omelet stations in the breakfast buffets.

WPBT OCHO – My Starting Table:
Seat 1. (EMPTY)
Seat 2. BrainMC
Seat 3. Lightning36
Seat 4. AGSweep
Seat 5. Mrs. Chako
Seat 6. Falstaff
Seat 7. Kat
Seat 8. Yestbay
Seat 9. YOUR HERO
Seat 10. Jess Welman

The first thing I noticed… the majority of the field was relatively sober. AlCantHang didn’t show up at the crack of dawn to force-feed Southern Comfort down the throats of a forty bloggers. In previous years, at least half the field was juiced up from pre-game cocktails or still drunk from a hell-raising bender from the night before trying to keep up with the AlCantHang Experience. Only one or two people had the zombie-like stare that you get when you stayed up all night gambling and lost all of your soul. One of them was Grubby. I was getting ready to crash around 4:30am when Grubby sent me a text wanting to degen it up. I politely declined in order to finish reading A Treatise on Money by John Maynard Keynes. In order to write a report for Tao of Fear, I plotted to crash a hedgefund mangers convention at the Venetian later that week, so I had to brush up on Keynesian economic theory in order to bullshit my way into the door.

Sorry for the tangent. Moving on…

Action progressed slowly for a blogger tournament. Aside from the lack of serious binge drinking, I suspected the field (save the few Cannucks who had access to online poker) was rusty in the wake of Black Friday. It had been almost 8 months since many of us played online poker on a regular basis. Fucking federales.

I had a copy of Gigli with me. I handed out the DVD as a joke during the first WPBT tournament at Sam’s Town in 2004. The “Bennifer” movie is so appalling that it’s a fitting departing gift for the first one out of the WPBT Winter Classic. Bill Rini took down the first Gigli, and it’s become a tradition ever since. Unlike the posh “Hammer” trophy that Iggy spends big bucks to present to the winner, I paid next to nothing for the Gigli DVD. It cost $0.01 on Amazon. Serious. A fucking penny. It cost $3 to ship, though. Therein lies the hustle.

No one busted out in the first two levels. Yestbay came close in the first orbit when his Aces were snapped off by Mrs. Chako’s set. He somehow managed not to go broke, but he found himself on life support. Mrs. Chako embarked on a heater and jumped out to an early lead in the opening level. She was a set monster and vacuumed up chips from everyone at my table. I evaded one of her traps when she flopped a set of 7s against my pocket 10s.

Once the third level began, I wondered when someone would bust. We had eight tables with only a couple of “shorties” including Shane Nickerson. That’s when PokerVixen wandered over to collect her boobie prize. Even though she was wearing a Micros’ “run good” t-shirt, she was jinxed because she had just given up her citizenship to that weird land to the north of us… “Canadia”… where its citizens interject the letter “u” into random words and also attempts to pass off “ham” as bacon.

I took out Yestbay and collected one of my favorite bounties to date — a YES greatest hits CD. I was always above average, but I misplayed a couple of hands. I blame Jess Welman’s radiance for my live “misclicks.” I exposed my hand twice when action was still going. One time it cost me a chance to double up against Jess. And the other? It didn’t matter because I ran into a cooler.

OhCaptain moved to my table after Yestbay busted. I only sat with him for a few hands before I got involved in a hand that marked my demise. Kat open-shoved. OhCaptain raised all-in. I had both him and Kat covered and I called with Kings. I think Kat held A-Q, but OhCaptain tabled Aces. Fuck me. Kings into Aces. Crippled. Two hands later I moved all in with 8d-7d. Jess Welman busted me and won my bounty — an autographed copy of Jack Tripper Stole My Dog.

The funniest moment of the tournament occurred after a Grubby moved to our table. He had pounded Kettle and cranberry drinks for a few levels and was a little tipsy when he got to our table. On his elimination hand, he got it all-in against Jess. She busted him and Grubby stumbled over to shake her hand.

“Where’s my bounty?” he blurted out.

A perplexed Jess smirked. “Wait, a second,” she hollered, “where the heck is MY bounty?”

It took a few seconds before Grubby noticed his error. He apologized and said he had forgotten his bounty in his hotel room that he hadn’t seen in days because he had been up for a couple of days chasing the progressive jackpot on Rockin’ Olives slots at the Bellagio.

I was the first member of Tao of Fear to bust, but Derek and Change100 were knocked out in the next level. Our team was dunzo. At that point, I went to the bar and grabbed some grub before returning to the final table to sweat the action. I had just missed AlCantHang and Otis’ elimination hands. With three to go, it was down to Timtern, Melissa Hayden, and quiet random guy that we later found out was Chilly’s friend from St. Louis who had never played a live poker tournament before. Figures. Murphy’s Law, right?

Timtern busted in third place and Melissa was heads-up against the random guy. She took him down to win the WPBT Winter Classic, and more importantly the trophy. She didn’t really care about the money; rather, she really really wanted the trophy. Congrats!

* * *
“I’m just looking for clues at the scene of the crime.”

After eight hours in the poker room followed up by an hour or so at the bar drinking overpriced beers, the time hath come to go slumming at the Imperial Palace. The IP used to be home base, but we opted to spend a few extra bucks and stay at the Aria this year and not worry about contracting Legionnaires Disease.

“It smells like socks and hairspray in there,” said Joe Speaker as he took a long drag off a cigarette. He stood outside getting some fresh air because the IP was its usual zoo for a Saturday night. Dealertainers that were bad dopplegangers for Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift belted out popular songs. Bloggers milled around the pits and rubbed elbows with Budweiser slurping cowboys, hipsters dressed like cowboys, and meth-addled hookers dressed like David Bowie. AlCantHang held court at the Geisha Bar and kept the tab running. I stood around for about an hour saying nothing but just watching people, mostly of the Whiskey Tang variety. You learn a lot about humanity on a Saturday night in Vegas. You don’t wander inside the IP unless you’re looking for a cheap thrill. Hunter said it… buy a ticket, take the ride.

The IP was as low-brow as you can go for the Strip. The simplicity of the cheap thrill irked me. Maybe it was the putrid odor? JoeSpeaker was right. The IP reeked of sweaty socks and hairspray.

I bailed as soon as came to my senses. Playing heads-up middle-stakes Pai Gow at the swanky Aria seemed a thousand times more appealing. I didn’t care if they the pit boss sent out a dealer who was a bot or alien. I just wanted to flee the IP before the rash on my forearm spread to other parts of my body.

“It’s hard to leave when you can’t find the door.”

I gazed out the window of our 34th floor hotel room. The Palms was visible in the near distance.

“That’s where Otis and Jose Canseco are,” muttered Derek. He referenced the insane cash game that a few of the G-Vegas boys found themselves playing against Jose Canseco. The word “worst player” was a popular phrase used to describe the former baseball player. I only wished I jumped in a cab to the Palms instead of trying to go slumming with cowboys and hookers at the IP. I missed my opportunity at free money and lost a shot at padding my bankroll with steroid-induced Canseco bucks.

Sunday morning. A new day. I had finally gotten back on track at the sports book after a profitable Saturday. Kentucky only won by one and failed to cover 6, but I won the rest of my bets, including So. Miss upsetting Houston to win outright and cover. After a dismal start to the trip, I finish Saturday with a decent profit. I was pumped to make some more bets and hit up the sports book first thing on Sunday morning. The lines were already wrapped around the wall. I got word that the Wiseguys were betting Carolina big all over town. Carolina, led by Cam Newtown, was originally a 2.5-point underdog but once word got out that Tampa Bay’s QB Josh Freeman was sitting out, the line jumped to Carolina -1.5. I bet Carolina along with New Orleans, the Jets, the Pats, and Atlanta. I had a few other teasers, but those were not as important as my monstrous bet on the Pats laying 20.5 against the winless Indianapolis Colts. When I showed F Train the ticket, he shook his head then pointed at his crotch and uttered, “Huevos.”

“Si. Mucho grande huevos.”

The rest of my friends thought I was crazy. Crazy? Maybe. Stupid? Definitely. Last year, I told Dawn Summers to bet her final table winnings on the Pats. She didn’t listen to me and missed a chance to turn $1,500 into $3,000. This year, I was riding the Pats again. My blind faith in Tom Brady and Bill Bellichek became my downfall. I’ll spare you the bad beat story, but New England had the game covered going into the 4th quarter before all hell broke loose and they blew a three touchdown lead. I lost my big bet and was scrambling the rest of the day to try to get unstuck. I whiffed on Atlanta and lost an impulse bet on the Cowboys. The Jets won and when I cashed that ticket, I let it ride on the Saints. I doubled down on the Sunday Night Football game hoping it would help cover the day’s losses.

We watched the game inside the Skybox sports bar adjacent to the sports book. The staff had no clue what to expect from our group which bum rushed them as soon as the doors opened. I greased the staff and the found us a nice spot in the corner. Jordan secured $1,000 from Pokerist to fund the Sunday debauchery. $1,000 lasted just under an hour before we had to start paying for stuff by ourselves.

The highlight of the day was the intricate cake that Pokerist surprised us with. The cake cost $500 and took up the entire table. Classy. The cake tasted good and it was the only thing I actually enjoyed on Sunday while sweating the games. Losing the big Pats bet put me in a bad mood and nearly killed my spirit. The cake helped me rally and I was ready for the next item on our agenda… the half-marathon.

* * *
“Lucky I’m sane after all I’ve been through.”

The plan was simple… sweat the first half of the SNF game at Mandalay Bay, then cheer on our friends at the finish line of the half-marathon. It didn’t occur to me the logistical nightmare of hosting a 44,000 person race. Mandalay Bay was packed but sort of looked like a refugee center. Friends and family of the runners were scattered throughout the casino as they tried to stay warm.

Heather and April found a spot in the middle of Las Vegas Blvd near the front of Mandalay Bay. About 15-20 of us stood and watched random runners jog by us. Derek hung over the rail and smoked a cigarette, while StB pounded a beer. It would have been a perfect spot to burn down a doobie, but there was an undercover police car nearby.

In order to keep warm, I blurted out random things to runners as they passed us. I can’t recall most of what I said, but all I know was that by that point of the night, I was roasted, faded, and drunk. Grange95 had a few pops in him and he kept the chatter lighthearted. The guy in the Borat costume passed us and all he wore was a green thong. Many other runners took the opportunity to don superhero costumes, wear pink tutus, and dress up like Elvis (or is it Elvi?).

Mrs. Otis posted Otis’ split times on facebook. We got word he was a couple of miles away. I told everyone it was a perfect time to practice our chant, so we belted out “O-tis! O-tis! O-tis!” We were loud and in tune. All we had to do was wait.

I spotted Poker Peaker whizzing by. At first I didn’t think it was him until I recognized the Colorado flag symbol on his running shirt. He posted the fastest time out of the group. Bad Blood flew by us not much longer and barely looked like he had broken a sweat. We wondered about Chako, Mattazuma, G-Rob, Curtis, and of course Otis.

We almost missed Otis. I knew he was wearing a green fluorescent shirt and we had an approximate time he’d be near us, but that was it. Luckily, he came to us when he spotted Grange or Drizz’s head on the rail. He snuck up on us with a flyby and we hesitated a few seconds before everyone belted out the chant.

“O-tis! O-tis! O-tis! Oooo-tis!”

He ran for a few seconds than thrust his arms in the air forming a fluorescent green V. It’s something I’ll never forget. The V. Otis had been through hell the previous week, yet that did not deter him from completing a task he set out to do. After 13 exhausting miles, he neared the finish line — something both tangible and personal. His resplendent V piercing through the dark, freezing night is one of the most inspiring symbols I had ever seen in Las Vegas.

“Life’s been good to me so far.”

To be continued…

Tags: 2010 main event | 2011 main event | action | black-friday | indianapolis | jack tripper | news | Podcast | Tao All Stars | TOC | venetian

By Pauly
San Francisco, CA

Eight?

It’s hard to believe we’ve been emissaries for eight years. The WPBT’s annual Winter Gathering thrives even in the wake of online poker prohibition. Black Friday did not deter an eclectic group of a hundred or so people from descending upon Las Vegas for a weekend of lurid debauchery.

The WPBT began as a bad inside joke like a half-baked Saturday Night Live sketch that morphed into a global phenomena and yearly pilgrimage. In his next book, Malcolm Gladwell should write about the compelling story of how an innocuous weekend in Las Vegas became a sanctuary for an unusual group of people, which originated from a couple of potheads from the Bronx and two cynical brothers from Michigan. For as long as I can remember, I flew from NYC to Las Vegas twice a year with my brother to occupy the sportsbook for a couple of days (March Madness in the Spring and another sojourn at the end of the year to bet on football). Our trip in 2004 was enticing to our friends, BG and Bobby Bracelet (back before he was even given the “Bracelet” moniker by my brother), and they instantly joined in the fun. Once the peanut gallery found out, the trip ballooned to over 30 poker enthusiasts.

When I (loosely) organized the first Winter Classic with the Poker Prof, we thought it was going to be just a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet virtual friends, many of whom we had never met before. The first trip was a whim for many of the participants involved, yet the first gathering spawned a yearly pilgrimage. The group grew. Fast. Infectious. Huge. Then things got out of control as it became a flash mob of several hundred, inebriated degenerates clashing with cowboys on the Strip.

Eight years later, the weekend still exists which is a testament to the people involved. The original weekend in 2004 was never about online poker, gambling or a pissing match — rather it was a whimsical leap of faith in an attempt to nurture a sincere, yet genuine connection that we all made through the virtual world with online poker as our portal. Many of us originally booked their flights because we were seeking out a shared visceral experience in Sin City. The rest is history.

The inaugural WPBT gathering occurred right smack in the middle of the glorious poker boom during the halcyon days of “blogs” before Facebook and Twitter hijacked the social media cloud. From the outset, we were a rag-tag bunch of geeky writers and online poker addicts, which is why the Big Business vultures were circling around our gatherings. They dispatched savvy marketing agents and seized the weekend as an opportunity to bribe the poker blogging community. Any publicity is publicity. Simply put, the slithery tentacles of the poker industry octopus would hand out free shit with hopes that we’d write about it (and link it up) on our blogs. Fair enough.

Everyone loves two things: kittens and free shit. Alas, handing out furry adorable felines inside a poker room seems a little weird, even by Vegas standards, but the rest of the free stuff was welcomed. Over the last eight years, major online poker rooms competed with each other to get the attention of the WPBT. Some marketing ploys succeeded. Some definitely missed. Some of the online rooms outright exploited us. Maybe it wasn’t a fair deal for everyone involved, but in the end we all had a good time and acquired some free shit. Let’s not forget the last-longer pots were sweetened and the liquored flowed, while the industry unloaded tons of free trinkets (made in China, of course) like decks of playing cards, card cappers, t-shirts, and hats.

The annual weekend had become an orgy of consumption, yet this year took a slightly healthier bent when a small group of friends decided they wanted to run the Las Vegas half-marathon. If you haven’t heard, the race was plagued with logistical issues and it’s remarkable that everyone finished despite the clusterfuck. Regardless, the race was the perfect example of the quirkiness of our group — from the runners in the half-marathon to the bunch of us screaming like banshees near the finish line.

Ocho.

We’ve done this eight times. Nothing can top the first one, but the eighth one will always stand out.

* * *
I arrived Friday and was already stuck. I asked StB to put a bet down on a college basketball game on Thursday. It lost. Even though the game was not on TV (nor could I find it online), I was sweating the score via my CrackBerry while seeing the film J. Edgar with Change100 at a theatre around the corner from our apartment in San Francisco. The movie was so boring that I refreshed the score every few minutes. I didn’t even get to the airport and I was already down. That was an ominous sign that the gambling gods were going to fuck with me all weekend.

I departed San Francisco on Friday morning and ran into Katitude at the airport, which was odd because she’s Canadian and supposed to be flying from Toronto to Vegas, yet she had a random layover in SFO. Even more weird? She was on my same flight. SFO > LAS.

I checked into Aria and had a Jerry Seinfeld moment at the front desk because of the reservation snafu. I found paid StB slamming Widmer at the bar in front of the sportsbook and I paid my debt. We went inside and studied the lines for upcoming games. I scanned the different screens back and forth when my brother piped up, “What the fuck is Lingerie Football?”

StB checked his iPhone and discovered the Lingerie League was a legit league with 12 teams of women playing football in pads and… lingerie. It’s the kind of sports entertainment that strikes an angry nerve with feminists and even makes sport purists squirm. Even with a competitive angle, Lingerie Football is classic Americana Whiskey Tango Entertainment. Heck, it’s nearly soft core porn which is why it only appeared on PPV. Even if we bet on the game, we couldn’t watch it. What’s the point to betting on something you can’t watch? You have no sweat equity.

Fantasy versus the Crush. The Fantasy were the favorite and laying 8.5 points. I had no clue if that was good, or not. I couldn’t even tell you the cities the teams were from. In case you were wondering — Cleveland and Orlando. But which one was the Fantasy?

We bet on it anyway. Our first impulsive degen moment of the weekend. Five minutes before kickoff, we stood in front of the sportsbook and pooled our money — Derek, Chilly, Iggy, StB, Maudie and myself. StB walked up to the window. My only regret was that we didn’t bet more.

StB sprinted to the window and tried to joke around with a humorless woman in a Jim Kelly Buffalo Bill’s jersey. She took our bet on the Limgerie Football game, but didn’t care for our shtick. Too bad she wasn’t working when we cashed our winning ticket, because StB would’ve rubbed it in. Bad.

Our career as a Lingerie Football betting syndicate was short-lived. No other games were scheduled while we were in town, so we’d have to disband the group indefinitely. At least we turned a profit. In fact, Lingerie Football was the only bet I’d win on Thursday or Friday. I was mired in a slump after whiffing on a college hoops game (I tried to fade the Ivy League and took Loyola Marymount -9 against Columbia) and a college football game. In a Six Degrees of Separation moment, Chilly randomly mentioned that he knew the head coach of the team I had bet on.

“What the fuck, Chilly? Why didn’t you tell me? Send him a text and tell him he better score lots of points.”

Around Midnight, Chilly hustled me in a prop bet — how many of his toes were painted with nail polish? He gave me 7-1 odds and I instantly bombarded him with questions. After I extracted some answers, I barked out: three. I was wrong as he took off his shoes and socks to settle the bet, much to the delight of the eye in the sky. Chilly revealed his toes, which normally would horrify most sane people, yet the Friday night crowd was distracted with the edifice of Elvis — a bust near the entrance to Viva Elvis, his new Cirque du Soleil show. A steady flow of tourists stopped in front of the bust all night and snapped photos with the bronzed statue of Elvis’ head. A pack of soused cougars took turns molesting and making out with the head, but that all that sexual frisson overshadowed a semi-circle of shit-faced degens standing around Chilly as he wiggled his toes.

Whenever someone new showed up at the bar, Chilly attempted to run the same hustle. We didn’t get busted so I suspect whoever was watching the eye in the sky was a foot fetishist and/or had a thing for portly bald guys.

To be continued…

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