Donkeys Alwasy Draw

We caught the first cab back to The Plaza, the one reserved for WSOP particpants and their honored guests. Sorry guys, another should be along shortly. No, I don't see any either, but that is not my concern.

Ah, The Plaza. What can be said that already hasn't? Well, for one, walking into that tomb after the revelry of La Salsa was a serious buzzkill. The Poker Room? Anybody got a straight razor? Some Prozac? Dead. Solid. Depressing.

They didn't have enough dealers to spread a HORSE game for us, so we headed out to Fremont looking for the hook up. We barged into the Golden Nugget where John, the floorman, welcomed us with open arms.

"What can I do for you guys?"

Can ya set us up a HORSE game?

"Sure."

How about a leggy blonde waitress in black hot pants?

"Absolutely."

Simple. It was almost like we were "known." Whales. On a slightly smaller--2/4--scale. So some of the dealers were new and didn't exactly have a handle on all the games. They did just fine.

The lineup:

Seat 1: Empty (later Pablo)
Seat 2: Yours Very Truly. Stud Fish Extraordinnaire.
Seat 3: Alan, who broke the laws of The Straddle and paid dearly
Seat 4: The Always Excitable Matthew Lillard, who claims he's not really Matthew Lillard though his name is Matt and can belt out a similar high-pitched maniacal squeal as the "Scream" actor
Seat 5: StB, fresh off a Final Table appearance in the Aladdin Classic
Seat 6: Nate, Michigan Ringer
Seat 7: Bobby Bracelet. This Fucker is Always. At. My. Table.
Seat 8: Chad, another with a paycheck from the Aladdin Classic. Yeah, this is gonna go well. Because there's another in...
Seat 9: BG, giving me a run for the "Who Can Lose the Most at a 2/4 Table" Award.

This was the most fun I've ever had losing $100. Except for maybe 3 minutes there at the end when I missed my 700th draw of the evening. Otherwise, a laugh fucking riot.

Stayed right around even for a while. Right up until Razz, in fact. I have no earthly idea how to play that game. I knew I had to keep an eye out for dead cards and I actually tried. So, here it is, The Infamous Razz Hand, and after all this buildup and the fact the hand's been re-played for most bloggers several times already, I'll caution you to be prepared for the letdown:

My first four cards were 6432. That's pretty good, right? There was raising. I bricked on 5th, pairing my three, while Bob and BG both caught nice-looking cards. There was raising. I bricked again on 6th with a Jack while Bob and BG both caught nice cards. Memory seems to insist that Bob caught a three. WELL WHAT THE FUCK?!?! I'VE GOT TWO OF 'EM RIGHT HERE! That's roughly what went through my mind, if I've got that right. Perhaps I don't. Whatever. There was raising. In fact, there was capping. Me? I just kept calling as the Michigan Mafia raised each other, with me in the wash cycle between 'em.

It was my read that BG had already made his hand, seven-high. And that Bob was still drawing. Me? I know I'm drawing slim, but the pot...she eeeez so beeeg. I kept muttering this every time I called a raise.

I actually caught a card on the river. An 8. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but if they were BOTH drawing, I may yet pull it out. BG actually checks, as do I. But Bob has never met a bet he wanted to pass up and fires. BG responds,

"Just once, I gotta check-raise Bobby Bracelet."

I hate you both. I hate me, too, because I call, Bob 3-bets and thankfully, BG just calls. My 8 makes me third-best. Bob and BG had close to the exact hands, seven-high, except Bob went to the ace and BG only to the duece. I think Bob sucked out on 7th. I don't really know. Best estimate of pot size is around $130. I'd just dumped half my stack in a game I don't know how to play correctly.

Good strategy.

I made my way through the HORPSE lineup (yes, it was now HORPSE with the introduction of Pineapple). Alan made a sweet play when he discarded a 9 in Pineapple and took the pot with a strong flop bet. With The Hammer. He discarded to play The Hammer. Fuckin' Sweet.

He then made a moumental mistake in Hold 'Em, much to my benefit. He stradled my BB, Austin Matt threw in a Dead 6. I called the bets blind and Alan capped. Except HE LOOKED. At only one card, but he looked.

The flop was A9x and I bet, still blind. Alan raised. You !#@%!%@*&. I called, still blind. I think we were now heads up. Turn was a rag and I finally looked at my cards. A9o. Heh.

I checked, quickly and deceptively, causing Alan to bet his ace (what I loudly assumed to be his ace). I raised. Forget poker face. I was cackling loudly, reminding him again that he ruined his straddle by looking. River was a 6 and he called my bet. It's a good thing for him he didn't look at his OTHER card: A six. Mighta got into a raising war there. So, I did get to take down a nice pot, one of very few. The fact I played it mostly blind tells you what kind of skill level I had on display this night.

I stayed about the same until Stud came around and dumped all of it in two hands. The first one, I have no regrets about. First four cards were AQJT of Spades. Paired the queen on 6th street, but that was the only improvement and I fell to Nate's two pair. No Kings and only two spades were dead. Can't catch a friggin' draw.

Then, frustration set in. with only about $25 remaining from my buy-in, I chased an OESD on 6th and 7th, failing to catch, dropping the last of my stack and pounding the table in frustration. Er...sorry about that, fellas. A quick walk and smoke and I was over it. Though I did expose my donkey side for all to see. Look Ma! No brains!

I wanted to publicly thank John and the Nugget for treating us so well. I made a point to let him know how appreciative we were for the service and I promised to pimp his room for my dozens of readers. Get thee to the Nugget. Nice room with plenty of TVs, pleasant dealers and a nearby snack bar. Our two waitresses over the course of the evening were excellent. Yeah, and...uh...smokin'. I'll definitely donk there in the future. Though I inexplicably keep wanting to call it the Golden Nugent. Musta been the Michigan influence at my table.

Gracie, Heather, April, Scott and others were also at a nearby table and seemed to be doing quite well. Maybe ask them to gauge the level of competition.

I had quit drinking a little earlier, having reached maximum capacity. The decadence was catching up with me. I squeezed in a quick final craps session that ended with me down $90, but did roll a few points. A substantial chunk of bloggers were milling about and I announced my intention to hit the sack. At midnight. I caught far less shit than I expected.

In fact, as I made my way around the room, I was struck by the easy comraderie, the heartfelt words from both sides and, dare I say it, simple affection. Words truly do fail. Just an impressive group of people, in every way imaginable.

Driving through the desert the next morning, Vegas became more and more distant in the rearview. My thoughts, however, stayed behind. Still do.

One last tidbit. Before I hit the road on Sunday morning, I took a quick tour of the casino floor in hopes of spotting any bloggers to whom I'd not bade farewell. I won't mention his name, but I did see one, walking toward me from about 20 yards away. I began to raise my hand in greeting when I saw him more clearly. He was, as my friends like to say, "looking, but not seeing." So I passed silently, him never making me. It was then I realized he had on the same clothes as 24 hours previous at the Aladdin Classic.

Vegas, baby. Vegas.