Bond18 Tony 'Bond18' Dunst – Spewing With Bond18

2010 meets 2011

Seems like the fashionable thing to do at the start of the new year is discuss how you intend to kick ass/not suck so much in the coming year and look back in the previous in review. Let's begin in review:

Overall I fell quite good about the degree of productivity, accomplishment, and experiences throughout 2010. For a few months at the beginning of the year I was pretty close to having everything I could ever ask for. After January I spent a few months in an intensive work period where I was playing five or six days a week, working out twice a day six days a week, dieting to cut weight, and maintaining a very active social life plus a relationship I was really excited about. Around February or March I went off to New Zealand to work on the book, and while it has yet to be released I'm told it's highly probable we see it this year. In April I found out my ability to live in Australia had ended and would have to make travel plans to return to the United States. I moved away in late April to a house in Las Vegas owned by Luckychewy and filled with phenomenal online poker playing friends. I felt somewhat exasperated watching the life I'd spent five years building down under get ripped away, but I did what I could to hit the ground running in Vegas, keep up my work ethic, and attempt to create a new social circle. The results were mixed; I reconnected with a lot of people in the industry I knew from my years spent at the WSOP and made some new friends around town, but Vegas has a sort of disconnected and transient vibe to it. I had a couple parties this summer that were a great time and I'm sure we'll do more in the future, but I've discovered I don't really care for the full blown "party scene" of Las Vegas. When I tell people I've moved there they always react with something like "What?! You live in Vegas? You can't live there, there's too much crazy going on!" or "Oh man, you must have the sickest party life style living there!" Nope, not really. From what I can tell the people who move to Vegas and become enamored with the never ending party that is the strip wind up wasting a great deal of their time being consumed by it. Most locals seem to despise the place, and in a surprising amount of cases, most other people around them. Everyone has a certain suspicion about each other, a concern that their motives are more than just friendly or sociable. Instead, Vegas has turned into the one place where I truly get work done. My office is upstairs, my gym/grocery store are across the street, my tennis courts are a five minute walk away, and every here and there I leave my Bermuda triangle of productivity to have dinner or meet a few friends for whatever on the strip. I believe that I have been out drinking and partying in Vegas just three or four times since the end of the WSOP.

Career opportunities seemingly came out of nowhere. I was scouted by Matt Palmer's agency in June after they'd asked around about sociable, presentable up and coming pros and kept coming up with my name. I'd long assumed that the business side of the poker world had no interest in me and whatever opportunities there had been I'd personally imploded, but Matt saw a different kind of potential in my outside the box thinking and blunt blogging. The assumption was it would take a while to build up towards anything and the onus was really on me to take my shit to the next level and get him the kind of results he could market. Things took an unexpected acceleration at the WSOP, where I cashed six times and ran deep in the main event. A few weeks later I was in my first job interview in nearly eight years and wound up walking with a position that put me on TV once a week in the 9th season of the WPT. A few weeks after that the WSOP episodes aired. It's a strange thing to spend so long in the industry then get a lot of exposure all at once, in the minds of people that don't spend their life in the industry they see it as far more establishing and credibility-lending than it is. All of a sudden those previous eight years you spent throwing your life away on a game weren't a throw away at all, why, we saw you on TV! Things must be great! Not that I'm complaining at all, the whole experience was a thrill and Norman Chad was most complimentary of my demeanor and antics.

On an every day level, nothing has changed. But every now and then, I get one of those surreal little experiences that wouldn't be possible without the exposure. Perhaps my favorite two happened within just a few days of each other and are on the opposite side of the people-reacting-to-your-image spectrum. When I arrived home from a trip to Asia and Los Angeles I was waiting for my luggage at the Las Vegas airport baggage claim wearing a suit and listening to my Ipod loud enough that I was serenely oblivious to the world around me. On the other side of the claim I noticed that a well dressed middle aged man was making eye contact with me and apparently trying to say something. I removed my headphones, excused myself, and asked him what he'd said.

"I was just saying that I wanted to tell you that I thought you brought a lot of class to the world series this year."

"Oh thanks man, I appreciate that…" I took a closer look at the man, noticed his familiarity, and continued with "Hey wait a minute, aren't you Bruce Buffer?"

"Yes, yes I am."

We chatted about poker, the upcoming Five Diamond WPT event, and his hosting a MMA awards show that weekend that would prevent him from playing the tournament at the Bellagio. He was quite flattering and charming, and once we'd grabbed our bags we wished each other luck with your respective responsibilities and went about our separate ways.

A few days later I was at the Bellagio for the Five Diamond series. We were on break from a tournament and I needed the bathroom, but never bother with the one right outside the Fontana room because it's always packed and there's one down by the shops that there's never any wait for, plus I enjoy a few minutes of getting away from the constant poker banter. While strolling through the hallway I was about to walk past an unknown short man of perhaps 35 when he made direct eye contact at me, stopped, pointed as I walked by and stated "You're a toolbag" then kept moving. I stood there for a few seconds soaking the moment in, then deliberated whether I should double back and politely explain to the man that Bruce Buffer had assured me of quite the opposite, but then decided to continue on to the bathroom and take a well needed crap.

I like to think I am well prepared for being hated on. I've hung out on internet forums for six years posting on all matters of my thought process both in poker plus many other topics and have been all varying degrees of criticized, insulted, and trolled. It seems especially inevitable in our industry of choice as well as quite prevalent in a number of others, particularly hip-hop if I'm to believe what all these rappers are telling me. Seems to me if you're going to make a name of yourself for being an out-spoken eccentric, you'd better be prepared to know that not everyone is going to see shit your way and some are going to express it less politely than others. I think a lot of people are just generally much too reactive to this kind of thing and often exacerbate their problems by making some immediately tempered remark or forum post and wind up looking a bit foolish in the end. I know because I've been there. I think if people want to take the piss out of you best to just sit back and let them and not bother to get involved in all of it unless someone is spreading flat out lies that could really damage your reputation. If people are just shooting off their opinion your chances of convincing them of otherwise with anything you retort is pretty low, so just chill and go about your business. Don't worry, they'll get bored and go back to hating Doug Lee soon.

From a strictly poker perspective, 2010 was pretty excellent. It was the second most profitable year of my career behind 2008. It was especially relieving knowing that 2009 had been the first losing year of my career, which I predominately attribute to a lack of focus on the game. I closed out the year running hot on a Sunday and winning the Tilt 100r turbo for about $50,000 after having spent the months of September and October studying and working hard but steadily losing. I'm starting to feel like the work is paying off in my game but I can tell I still have a long way to go. Although the WSOP was good and I final tabled an Aussie Millions event, I didn't do much else in the way of live poker but I suppose that I also didn't play a ton of it. I think my live poker volume over the course of the year was about 40-50 tournaments but I'm certainly too lazy to actually figure out what it is until I have to do taxes or something.

Naturally, I'm looking forward to 2011. My travel schedule is pretty made up for the first six months: I'm currently in Australia and staying here until the 17th of February, then going to the LAPC from the 17th through early March, then I'm back in Vegas from all of March through July. I'll be at the WPT Shooting Star in San Jose in mid March, then the WPT Hollywood Poker Open in Indiana in early April, with it all finishing at the WPT Championship in late May. Not long after the WSOP begins and lasts for six weeks. After that things are a bit unknown, but that's half a year pretty much sorted.

I've decided between the time I get back from LA in early March and the beginning of the WSOP I'm putting myself through another multi-month period of massive poker grinding/study plus an attempt at getting down to 6-8% body fat area. I feel like both my poker game and my fitness need a few more months of intense work to really get them to that next level and I don't think I'll have an opportunity to pull something like that off for a while after. I've only got two mandatory travel destinations in that period but they aren't long trips that would ruin my routine. Although I never had troubles getting myself to put in the work during these periods I've hired a trainer at the gym and set him in charge of making sure I execute every last detail of diet and exercise in order to realize the end goal. I apologize if I decline your social invitations during that period or accept only to join you out "for drinks" then sit there and slowly sip a water while I droll on about how much I fucking hate you for being able to eat carbohydrates. I'll be normal again in June.

I don't have any formal poker goals for 2011. I have arbitrary ones that are generally outside my control like winning a Sunday major or a large live tournament but I know that much of whether those things happen is decided by variance. Principally I set my goals on the things I can control: I want to make increasingly excellent and thoughtful decisions, I want to continue putting an emphasis at sitting and watching live poker when I play in major tournaments, I want to keep working from home on staying current on poker logic and theory, I want to be responsible the night before a tournament and not show up recovering from a big night of drinking and carousing, I want to put in high volume during the periods I have designated to poker. If being ambitious and thorough about the things I can control winds up turning up roses then awesome, if not then I guess I'll just have to go back and keep working at it.

Of course, my final and clearly most important goal is to repeat as champions with Leo Murphy at the Doyle Brunson Beer Pong Classic. It is my only genuine and validating accomplishment within the industry, and if it is taken away from me they will find me in a dungy hotel room the next morning with the gun that painted my brains all over the wall still smoking in my hand.

Thoughts on variance and closing

Prior to my recent travels, I had returned to playing substantial volume and studying the game. As i've mentioned in previous entries, I put a larger emphasis on watching poker and being more attentive to the flow of the game. One aspect that really stuck out to me was that there was not only a flow to play, but a flow to stacks, a flow to variance if you will. I'm not talking about some kind of predictable flow, simply the way stacks fluctuate, particularly towards the end game of tournaments.

I think that most of us as tournament players allow a large stack or a stack worth a large amount of equity to feed into our sense of entitlement. A basic example being "I am one of X in the tournament, therefore I should likely win the tournament/place high/win a lot of money." Strictly looking at the chip equity value of your tournament, you are correct. The thing is, I believe that there is a great deal of disparity between the sense of security we have in a large stack, and the actual security of it.

By the time your down to the final two or three tables in many tournaments, the average stack is usually hanging right around the 30 BB area. What is 30 BB? It's one or two coin flips, coolers, 3 outers, or standard hands. Everyone experienced enough at tournaments is aware of this, and many major professionals have commented along these lines before (lol donkaments!). Even if you're one of the leaders with double average at 60 BB, you can rather easily be two unfortunate hands from busted.

If you open up a tournament lobby with a couple tables left and watch the flow of stacks, you'll witness that the majority of the time the people on bottom don't just quickly bust and the people on top don't have a smooth ride to the top three places. Do these things happen sometime? Well sure. But most of the time there's a great deal of fluctuation, and given that one to two large confrontations are all it takes to change things dramatically it's not uncommon to watch a leader crumble in just a few minutes or watch one of the short stacks take a meteoric ride to the top of the heap.

I've come to the conclusion that as a tournament professional, a great deal of our job is just getting ourselves into a position where we can run good in high equity, low average BB stack situations, that is, just getting ourselves to those final few tables. After that, I think many of us would benefit from letting go of the idea of anything we're entitled to for having made it that far with X amount of chips. I'm not saying there's no point in developing your short handed or end game-which considering that the equity on the decisions you make is higher there than at any other point of the tournament and obviously pertinent- but what I am saying is there's no point in feeling like having a huge stack deep in a/several tournaments get destroyed as the result of a few unfortunate hands is anything we should give a shit about. It's just part of the process, a complete inevitability to playing tournament poker. By the time we reach the final two tables the effective stacks are so short that in many cases, the people who get all the money aren't the ones that played the best at the end, but the ones that had the most high equity situations fall their way from a variance stand point. The people who won all their flips and got the coolers in their favor. This is especially true when your deep with many other competent to excellent players.

The only problem with my conclusion is there appear to be the occasional outliers. There's a very small group of tournament professionals that seem to win a disproportional amount of the times that they go deep, 30 BB variance be damned. So how do we explain them? I've come up with a few thoughts:

A. They're the most focused: Most tournament grinders have difficulty resisting having a slur of distractions going during the course of their sessions. I can't blame them, in fact I often participate. Over the course of a 5-12 hour session who could resist occasionally checking things on the internet, turning a game or movie on, having music going, updating your facebook/twitter, posting on your favorite forum, etc etc. Most know that by the time you get deep it's time to turn these things down or off and zero in on the table, but can we all say we really do it 100% of the time to the fullest of our ability? Even if we do, can we say that we watch every hand, think about the dynamic and history between each players, take as many notes as possible, check each players OPR and HUD stats in detail, aim to keep our emotions cold and detached no matter the swings we're enduring, and push every edge we can find while incorporating ICM considerations? Do you really go far enough to be on their level?

B. They're practiced in end game and highly technically proficient: How many of you can really say you don't have holes in your strategy and thought process? I know I've got plenty left; I find them every time I talk poker with my roommates. Are you obsessed enough to check and recheck your thought process on everything you do from a strategy level that isn't blatantly standard? Do you think outside the box about how to manipulate other's perceptions of what's standard? Do you know the motivation of your action against the range of your opponent and precisely what you're trying to accomplish against that range every time you click a button? Put simply, do you always know exactly why you do what you do?

C. They're trigger pullers: Knowledge does not equal execution. Even if you have everything about A and B covered how many of you can say that you have the balls to pull the trigger every time you see a spot, even knowing when it's higher variance and there's a possibility that you're going to have to learn from your mistakes or wind up looking foolish? What if your'e susceptible to your emotions, and don't want yet another traumatizing 11th just because you took a slightly profitable coin flip when you could sit on your big stack and likely move up without major gambles? What about the excitement and anticipation of something major happening filling you with adrenaline and clouding your thought process? The saying goes that in order to vastly increase your chances of going home with a girl you need to stop caring about whether she goes home with you. Can you grit your teeth and stop caring about winning so much that it long term increases your chances of winning? Can you pull the trigger when the game is high equity Russian-roulette with five bullets in the chamber every time the opportunity presents itself?

D. They're often higher volume than you think: I think that in the case of many guys who seem to constantly hit home runs and crush things play more tournaments than a lot of people realize. Mix a bit of upswinging in and all of a sudden it seems like a few players can't stop winning tournaments to save their lives. The thing is, when guys string together a few major results and everyone's talking about it their feat seems to take on an impossible level of achievement in our collective social consciousness. This is because we don't see the grinding that it took to make those scores and we certainly don't hear about it outside of the rare cases of guys that are known for their high volume. Even then things can get tricky within our own perception, take the retirement and un-retirement of Shaundeeb, who returned to a string of enormous success. I think Shaun is truly in the elite group of online tournament players, and as impressive as his results upon coming back are, the retirement created a sort of vacuum in people's minds where they forgot just how much volume and practice had proceeded those scores.

And this is just what I can come up with. I should really take the time to speak to some of these outliers and pose the question "Why do you think you close better than everyone else? What do you feel that you do that everyone doesn't takes you to that next level? WHY DO YOU WIN SO MUCH AND I SUCK YOU BASTARD!?" I'd imagine some of them would explain their theories, some would refuse for fear of that information being better known, and some wouldn't know why they know how to do the things they do.

For all my long-windedness and theorizing in this entry just know this: Don't sweat it when your large to chip-lead stack seems to implode every time deep in a tournament. If you're the kind of guy that's clever and skillful enough to constantly put yourself in the position to run good, I promise that one day you will. Do yourself a favor and let go of the rest.

Two weeks in Macau (Part 2)

The next day was 1b of the tournament and I killed it in some manner I can't remember. I imagine I sat around reading or writing. The day after was day-2 of the Macau Poker cup, and I was coming in somewhere around 10th in chips after the previous larger day-1 created a number of big stacks. My starting table was not exactly what I hoped for in a Chinese tournament, full of almost entirely Australians and Europeans who were experienced players. Things began slow until I played a big pot against Korean player Steve Yea:

Steve Yea: ~150k

My stack: ~90k

Blinds 600/1200 with a 100 ante. I held A7o in the SB.

Preflop: Folds around to Steve on the CO, Steve opens to 2800, folds to me in the SB, I raise to 8600, BB folds, Steve calls.

Flop: As 5d 3s

I check, Steve checks.

Turn: 6s

I bet 9200, Steve raised to 20200, I called. I don't have a ton of experience playing with Steve, but Koreans are notoriously tricky and aggressive, plus I don't think he's representing many hands outside of a strong ace he checked back on the flop or a set.

River: 8c

I checked, Steve thought for some time and checked. I was told to show first and tabled my hand, leading Steve to muck.

After that one big hand I began to steadily bleed off chips. I'd either get 3-bet in spots where fold seemed clearly correct, or get flat called and have things go poorly post flop. I got fortunate when I was moved to a much softer table that contained players I was almost entirely unfamiliar with. There was one aggressive German guy I'd played with in the 6-max sitting with a mountain of chips a few seats on my right, and it became clear he had control of the table. For quite some time I just folded, played small pots, and didn't do anything out of line. After building a nice tight image, I felt an urge to get spewy against the German who had been open raising a noticeably high percentage of hands:

My stack: ~85,000

German: ~200,000

Blinds 1000/2000 with a 200 ante. I held KTo on the CO.

Preflop: Folds to the German in MP1, he raises to 4400, folds to me on CO, I raise to 11800, it folds back to the German who makes a near min-raise to like 20100 or something and I sat for a moment in confusion. I never know what to do when someone who has been real aggressive with opens and 3-bets suddenly does something real hood like click-it-back 4-betting and I'm not quite sure where the line is for fold/peel. On this particular day I decided to peel given the price, but upon reflection I don't really like it considering it can get me in a lot of trouble and stacks just aren't that deep in relation to the size of the pot.

Flop: Kc Jc 5h

The German bet 10800, I called.

Turn: 8d

The German thought for a moment and checked, I checked.

River: Qc

The German announced all in and I thought about whether I was missing any reason why I shouldn't fold, decided that there wasn't, and dropped my hand in the muck.

I played a few small pots after that with not much going either way. A middle aged guy on the other side of the table with the second largest stack on the table was opening often for an unusually large amount, and 3-betting pretty regularly too. I found a good spot to get it in vs him near the end of the level:

My stack: ~45,000

MP1: ~120,000

Blinds 1000/2000 with a 200 ante. I held AdKs in the SB.

Preflop: Folds to UTG+1, UTG+1 opens to 5000, MP1 reraises to 14400, folds to me in the SB, I quickly announce all in, folds back to the player in MP1, he asks for a count. The dealer counted it down, seemed to become confused, and announced the raise to be a few thousand less than it actually was. I attempted to correct her and reach her for the chips myself, but then there was the type of babel induced befuddlement that everyone experiences when talking to someone who doesn't speak their language. Then the guy in seat one joins in with her and they start loudly bantering back and forth in Mandarin while I tried to recount down my bet and talk over them to the player in MP1 and inform him of the actual amount. After he agreed that the amount I gave him was correct he said that he was going to call and tabled 9c9h.

Flop: Kc 4c 5c

Turn: 8c

River: 9d

I waved goodbye to the table and wished them all luck. I went downstairs and found a taxi to return to our hotel on the other side of Macau.

Both Truck Dan and Mad Dog busted the tournament on day two. We organized a several day trip to Hong-Kong and Shenzhen which will make for separate writing. We returned to Macau the day before day 1c of the APT Macau main event. I've been coming to the APT Macau event since it's inception back in 2007, and it's a tour that always knows how to have a great time and isn't afraid to play up the sex appeal angle of poker. The owners and operators are Chris Parker and Tom Hall, two English gentleman that would go on to greatly raise their exposure by playing in the ultra high stakes games that went on in Macau during the events. The games were so appealing that on day 2 of the tournament Durrrr came downstairs, open shoved blind the first hand, doubled up, asked the staff to call him when he was back down to 20 big blinds, and then stepped away to return to the big game upstairs.

I arrived at my table on day 1c of the APT main event to find Truck Dan waiting for me. Again I had been seated with Matt Pearson, plus a few unknown Asian players. One was a young guy who arrived late in seat 1 and had been up playing without sleep. He and Truck did not get along, and Truck took great pleasure in razzing him through the course of the day, much to my amusement.

Unfortunately, since the day of the tournament I lost the piece of paper I took notes on. I've since changed over to taking notes in my iphone as it's roughly just as quick and leaves no chance of misplacement, unless of course I destroy yet another iphone. I know that the first couple levels were pretty straight forward and boring for me, and the only real highlight was returning from break with some food to set on a table occupied by the APT models and performing the same back and forth to the table flirting I ran about doing during the WSOP. I was moved mid way through the day and won a decent sized flip with 66 in a pot odds call spot to get me up to the 15,000 area after we'd started with 10. After that it was just another  day of losing all the small pots, getting 3-bet at all the wrong times, and whiffing the flop every time I made it to one. I lost the majority of my stack when at the end of the day it was 300/600 and the HJ opened for the minimum to 1200. The CO was a loose Chinese guy with around 7500 that flat called. He'd been loose to the point that I believed he was capable of call/folding that spot (which I think very few people are these days) so I decided to shove my 9000 with the KQs I'd been dealt on the button. It folded back to the CO who asked how much the bet was, realized he was covered, called, and tabled aces. Oh yea, I fell for the oldest trick in the book, or as they say in Australia "Stevo-d". I failed to suck out on rockets and was crippled after that. I got the remains of my chips in with a small pair vs AQ, lost, and was eliminated without much drama.

I had a decision to make. I had time to make it to Cebu to play in the APPT event, which was an approximately $2,100 buy in. Or, I could stay in Macau, hang out with Bella, and attend the always epic APT player party where I could continue flirting with their models. After brief deliberation, the possibility of venturing to Cebu was thrown out. I met up with some Australian friends for dinner and we decided to get a few quiet drinks at a nice place I knew after finishing. One of the best quiet drink spots I know in Macau is the 38th floor at the Altira hotel, which used to be the Crown hotel of Macau until it was moved to the City of Dreams complex. It's right on the shore over-looking the bridge, bay, and downtown Macau which is full of brightly colored sky-scrapers. They have a great selection of drinks, live music in the indoor area, and the option of silence in the outdoor area that also has some bed like couches with one of the best views in the city. You can see it here in the rotating pictures on the banner: http://www.altiramacau.com/eng/restaurantsbars_3_1.php

I invited Bella who brought an attractive young co-worker with her that the boys quickly started fighting for the attention of. We sat around drinking and catching up about what had been happening in Australia since I left, how the job with the WPT was, what it's like to live in the Luckychewy house, and how much money they'd all crushed the Crown high stakes cash games for. During a lull Bella and I stepped away towards the window, behind one of the plantations that can be seen in the picture. While gazing out upon the encompassing view of the glittering city below Bella announced she thought it'd be an appropriate time to blow me. Seeing as that I am of the opinion that all times are an appropriate time to blow me, I did not protest (I'm going to trial for tax fraud you say? Do you terribly mind if I'm fellated throughout the course of proceedings? After all, It'd do wonders to elevate my mood given the circumstances). My view switched from out the window to a suspicious stare towards the door and the bar area to make sure a waitress didn't come out and see us, as there wasn't much in the way of cover. This went on for some time and I stood there in a rotation of pleasure and self-conscious curiosity as to whether the friends we were 20 feet from were entirely aware of what was going on. This continued for a while, and somewhere right around the moment I was actually relaxing I saw a waitress push open the door and I told Bella she had to stop. I quickly attempted to zip up my fly but it naturally jammed so I turned in the opposite direction of the waitress and frantically attempted to reassemble my pants. I reminded myself to stay calm and do it slow, because I can still remember There's Something About Mary.

Our last few days in Macau passed at a lethargic pace. I'd sleep until the early afternoon, get a work out in, then stop in to visit Bella at work and bring her coffee. The evenings were usually slow paced, mostly because the night life of Macau is the worst of any major city I've ever been in. On our last Friday night in town we attempted to go out but found the club at the Venetian so loud and deserted that we left almost instantly. We attempted to find a nice quiet place to sit down for a drink all over the property and came up with nothing. We returned to City of Dreams in the 1am area and I was startled that even on a Friday night, the entire complex was practically abandoned save for the actual pit tables themselves, which appeared no more or less full of table-slapping junkies than they usually are.

Saturday night brought the APT party, which is perennially an awesome time. It was held around the outdoor pool at the Hard Rock hotel, with the large open bar in the middle pumping a constant stream of liquor into the party goers. It seems to be the one player party of the year that everyone makes the time to show up for, and it was full of players, tournament staff, models, industry types, and working girls clad in silver hanging out around the party's edge. The models walked around the party in bikinis carrying martini shakers demanding that boys lean over backward so they could pour whatever blue liquid was in there directly down their (our) throats. Half way through the evening the boys brought up the idea of pushing Matt Pearson in the pool, and when seven or eight of them told me they'd each give me $100 to make it happen I was way on board.

Pushing someone into the pool is not the straight forward enterprise that it sounds like. Unless it is a very cramped pool party, most people do not loiter perilously close to the waters edge tempting fate or their drunken friends to make something happen. Matt was standing far enough away that any attempt to shove him over would result in simply cracking his skull on the cement and I had a feeling that turning a harmless prank into hospital worthy assault would probably break up the festive mood at the party. I needed bait to get him closer, so I asked a couple of the models to play along with my scheme and positioned them only a foot or two from the pool. I found Matt, informed him that the girls I was talking to were droning on about how much they loved Australian accents, and insisted that they wanted to meet him. It is a well known fact that the moment you mention that hot girls want to meet a man, his ability to function logically is totally impaired. Place a gorgeous woman in the furthest depths of hell, tell your buddy that she was asking about him, and he'll merrily walk through the flames while the devil kicks him in the balls the whole way down. By the time he reaches her he'll still have a look of hopeful enthusiasm on his face that few puppies could match.

I escorted Matt to the girls by the corner of the pool. He gave me a look of confusion and said "Hey wait, I already met these girls". By the time he got his last word out I leapt at him and began pushing him towards the water. The commotion knocked in one of the models first, but Matt was soon to follow and I ran off from the scene of the crime yelling "HA HA HA HA HA HA!!" at the top of my lungs.  After returning to dry land Matt found me by the bar with the boys, informed me I owed him a new iphone (sorry about that dude, I know how much that one sucks) and gave me a hug that soaked half my suit.

I spent Sunday in recovery at the Grand Waldo spa with Bella and Truck Dan. At some point in the afternoon I sprawled out on one of the big recliners next to her, closed my eyes for a moment, and found it was well past 9pm when I finally reopened them.

Monday was our last night in Macau. I took Bella to dinner with a couple friends at a nice quiet place in Crown. When I returned to the room I found a note waiting for me from the front desk. It said that two girls had stopped by the desk and left something for me. When I inquired whether Bella had anything to do with it and she looked at me with a confused look on her face. When I arrived downstairs they handed me a package that contained a thin box and a card. The box contained a nice tie and the card a note from Bella saying she appreciated our time together. For all her outer toughness and confidence, at the end of the day she is an enormously sweet and compassionate woman. I removed my jacket, flipped up my collar, spent a moment adjusting the tie around my neck until the knot felt perfect, set everything back in its appropriate place, and then returned to the room.

Two weeks in Macau (Part 1)

Getting to Macau was an adventure in it of itself. We began our journey late at night in Hawaii and first took a nearly 10 hour flight to Seoul, Korea. I was sat in the aisle with Mad Dog in the middle and Truck on the window, so when needing to sleep I simply leaned over then set my pillow and head against Mad Dog. He was not pleased with my cuddling, but at least I didn't try to give him what would normally proceed it. Upon arriving in Seoul we had a couple hour lay-over then took one more few hour flight to Hong-Kong and disembarked the plane to find that we were not allowed into the main area of the airport with all the restaurants, as we were transferring to a ferry and not another flight. I almost never eat on planes so I was famished at that point and scoured around the small area we were allotted presence in for something consumable.

A couple more hours in an airport and a 45 minute boat ride later we had arrived in Macau. For those that have never been I usually sum up Macau with this description: It's just like Vegas if you took out all the entertainment, party scene, and cool stuff then made it entirely about baccarat and whoring. It's a fucking hole of a place really, but it provides enough good times with the right crowd and a few poker tournaments to pass the days and it's close to other fun places.

I rarely play baccarat-perhaps once a trip- and never go whoring (no judgment boys), so the classic distractions of Macau were out for me. Fortunately, we had poker tournaments to play almost immediately upon arrival. On our first day there the Macau Poker Cup at the Grand Lisboa held what was approximately $500 six-max event, and after securing some Hong-Kong dollars off my always lovely and accommodating ex-girlfriend Celina I was right in the action. The tournament got 90 entrants, which made for a nice prize pool so long as I didn't try to convert the over 100,000 first prize from it's Hong-Kong dollar amount to a US one. Necessary cognitive dissonance firmly in place, I set about the task of winning a poker tournament.

Things went smoothly for a time, and I played a number of small pots that slowly increased my stack. It was a pretty fast structure that tournament director Danny McDonnough created in order to get things done in one night without forcing everyone to play forever, so it wasn't long until we were down to four tables. I'd turned my 5000 starting stack into about 12,000 at 400/800 with a 75 when I shoved K8o in the SB into a BB that covered me. The BB called with AQ and I slammed out a king like it ain't no thing.

The next few orbits went poorly, resulting in a lot of the kind of pattern where you open raise a clearly playable hand and someone either shoves on you, or calls and crushes you on a flop that you miss. The blinds had been raised to 600-1200 with a 100 ante when I played what was most of the absurd coolers I've seen in live poker for a while now:

UTG: ~30,000

Button: ~28,000

My stack: ~17,000

BB: ~14,000

Blinds 600/1200 with a 100 ante. I held QdQc in the SB.

Preflop: UTG opened to 2800, it folded to the button, the button thought a little and made it 7000, I sat calmly for a moment and announced all in, then the BB instantly announced and pushed all-in with more enthusiasm than a dude after winning an MMA fight. To make matters even more confusing, the UTG player then went into the tank, started asking everyone what they had, and began staring us all down. After thorough deliberation the UTG player folded, and the button sighed then asked "Ok, so how much more is that?... Yea I guess I call." I quickly turned over my QQ, the button turned over his QQ, and the BB slammed down KK and started yelling a bunch of stuff to his friends in Mandarin. The UTG player informed us that he had folded AK. An enormous crowd gathered for such a small tournament, and everyone was curious to see what would happen in our wild four way cooler of a hand.

Flop: Kd 5d 3s

The BB excitedly slammed the table the way Chinese people so often do when gambling on table games around Macau, unaware that the flop was about as good as I could realistically ask for considering how entirely dead I was pre-flop.

Turn: 8d

"OOOOoooooawwwwhh! Diamond diamond!" cooed many of the railbirds. Even though the money at stake wasn't major and I'm never that fussed with what happens during the course of the tournament, I really, really wanted to hit a diamond just because I knew it would cause absolute mayhem with such a magnitude of high energy rail birds hanging on the edge of their seat, and that the BB would probably break his hand on the table if it came (of which he would not be the first, as Emad Tahtou pulled that one off when punching a table out of anger at an APPT Sydney event a few years ago).

River: Th

The card brought a more mathematically predictable conclusion, and everyone settled back into their seats to try and figure out who got how much of each persons chips. I was left with somewhere around two and a half thousand, which I actually managed to run back up to over 10,000 before busting.

Although poker had come to a close for the night, my evening was by no means over. I'd run into my friend Terry Fan around the poker room and used his cell phone to contact a woman I'd met during my trip to Asia in the previous year that was working at one of the casinos in Macau, Bella (name changed). She said that she'd come meet Terry and I with a friend of hers in the poker room and that we'd all find a place to eat together. Although we'd hit it off on a number levels in our time together the previous year we'd never full blown slept together despite spending a number of nights in the same bed, and she always appreciated that I never pressured her. Above all we clicked on a personality level, so we'd spend our days lounging about some restaurant or bar stroking each other while I regaled her with the stories of my previous nights debauchery and she'd playfully rip into me in response, then lean over and kiss me before she got too mean about it. I like the girls that can handle the reality of a man like me, and she was as good about it as any. She was damn confident in general, and it was cool to be around.

When they arrived the four of us found a restaurant in the Grand Lisboa then made plans to head over to Lions Bar in the Macau version of the MGM. Bella invited a number of her female co-worker friends leaving me with the rare problem of a too-heavy ratio in favor of girls, something like five to two, and the girls were pressuring me to find them boys. Although I knew Truck and Mad Dog were exhausted from their day of travel and recuperating in their rooms I decided to place a call for some wing-men. Mad Dog picked up, and when I suggested the idea of coming out he said the two of them were sound asleep and not interested. He would later scold me for not having explained the situation more thoroughly, but he sounded like death on the phone so I kept it brief and hung up. I returned to the girls, and talked quite a while with one of Bella's friends Jade (name changed) who was leaving in a few days to move away for work. The two of them seemed to have a vibe of flirtation, and Jade had a vibe of flirtation in general. My wheels began turning.

I had Bella leave fairly early with me as I needed to be up for the tournament at a reasonable hour. Spending all night attempting to stay out drinking right after getting off a plane is exhausting anyway. We'd been hitting it off all night, and she seemed rather comfortable about it all, more so than in the previous year. She sent me off to the tournament with a cleared head the next morning.

The tournament began in the early afternoon at the Grand Lisboa. I got lunch with friends in a Chinese restaurant a floor below the poker room, then made my way upstairs right around the start time of the tournament. I found a table of predominately unknown Asian players but a room with plenty of familiar faces as many had come up from Australia. It was the first time I'd seen everyone since my exodus in late April, and it was good to do so. The only guys on the table I was really familiar with were Matt Pearson and Raymond Wu, both of which I've moderate playing experience with. It was a main event run by Danny McDonnough, so it had a nice, slow structure considering the buy in: 20,000 start bank with hour levels and all the levels there ought to be. There was a tiny brightly dressed Japanese girl in seat 1 who had a box of mints out in front of her. Having recently eaten and being without my usual stock-pile of gum and mints I asked her whether I might have one and pointed at them. She looked up confused, then immediately set them away in her purse. "Rejected!" I called out to the table. She looked on unknowingly. It seemed she did not understand me, that or desperately wished to refuse me a mint.

Play got underway on time. I took a small dip in the early stages, but after a couple levels everything started to click. I found playable hand after playable hand, and tons of them connected. I found a few spots to get out of line that all seemed pretty believable with my image and it worked every time. I called one dude down light because I'd observed how spewy he was and got it right. But above all, I ran hot as the fucking sun about flopping two pair or top pair and getting paid. I brought a pen and piece of paper that day, but I only wound up writing down two hands and neither were that interesting. In one I'd simply floated the flop with over-card and a gut shot and bet the turn and I can't even remember the other. I can essentially credit the entire day to card racking and having nothing go wrong.

I caught Matt Pearson shoving on a short stack and won what was essentially a flip preflop that I had the slight better of and in doing so cleared one of the tougher players off the table. He'd been card dead all day and sucked out during his largest pot, getting stuck short-stacked with me aware of his ball-park shoving range on his left. The Japanese girl played surprisingly aggressively, though certainly on the tight side in big pot situations, but she was more than happy to mess people up preflop and get out of line a little post. She'd also colored someone in a pretty big pot and got paid, so we were the two largest stacks on the table for the majority of the day and she wasn't shy about firing some 3-bets at me being a few seats on my left. After she'd made one of her numerous 3-bets at me out of the SB I 4-bet J4hh and she laid it down. "Show the bluff!" someone called out, so I said "Fair enough" and gently turned my hand over. I looked over with a smile, and she returned it with a toothless smile that said "Ah, so you've realized I'm a tiny Asian girl that can 3-bet light." It was all very cordial, and when play finished later on she came over to talk to me in broken English about the hands we played together and said I was very good. It turned out her boyfriend was a professional who had been teaching her, and it was showing.

Things continued straight up all day, as I hit hand after hand with enough showdown value to win me pots. I finished the day with a little over 80,000 and second in chips for day 1A.  I'd run around the poker room all day near the end of the tournament organizing a bunch of people I know to meet up at Lions Bar and go out again. I just did a classic invite-everyone-and-assume-it-works-out type thing and said to be there at 11:30.

When 11:30 rolled around Terry and I were sitting alone at the Lions Bar waiting with two sectioned off areas. Although being the guy who organizes a social event has it's obvious perks, the less glamorous side is the waiting around nearly by yourself because everyone is aware that nothing starts "the time it starts". It took a solid 45 minutes for people to trickle in, but not long after the trickle turned into a downpour and enough people showed up that we needed to acquire another section of couches and chairs. Bella had brought Jade and when the two of them pulled me out to the dance floor for some grinding I started getting my hopes up.

Several rounds and a few hours later we decided to move the party to notorious Macau club D2. Like any club in Macau, a large percent of the patrons are either working girls or the type of men that go looking for them, an inevitability of spending time in that city. At first we milled around the bar as I flirted with both girls and was fairly oblivious to the goings on of the rest of my group. A moment later the two girls were making out, and next thing I knew Bella was quite literally pushing my face into Jade's.

D2 is often a very crowded club. Luckily, we were hanging out with all around boss of a man David Steike, and he elected to buy the upstairs table and couches for our party and throw down for some champagne and tray after tray of shots. Mad Dog was having no difficulties adjusting to the Asian party scene, but Truck was more hesitant. He was concerned that any girl he talked to would be a working girl, but I told him that it would all work out fine so long as he kept his wits about him and made sure not to chat up the girls wearing a number, which the girls that work at the club are assigned to help keep track of everyone.

I spent the majority of my time on the couch making out with either Bella, Jade, both, or just watching the two of them crawl all over each other. Although I usually drink pretty slowly when I go out to prevent from getting wasted to the point of being useless, I had a number of the shots put in my face and saying no to champagne in festive circumstances is rarely advisable. Bella stepped away to the bathroom leaving Jade and I a moment to tear into each other. A bit of making out rapidly escalated to my groping her entire body while we dry humped each other and she stroked my dick through my pants. I don't really have a sense of time when these type of things are going on, but I was later made to understand that it continued for quite a spell. Apparently Bella stepped out of the bathroom looking to return to the fun, but found the two of us so enraptured in each other and unaware of her presence for so long that she felt rather betrayed.

While it pains me to admit it, I have never successfully had a threesome. I've had a number of near misses, numerous involving Bella where the third party we attempted to pull into things was not quite game or, in one of her friends words "Not drunk enough for this", prompting a response of "There's booze on the counter, drink bitch!!" out of Bella. I've spoken to many guys in the pick-up industry about their experiences with them, as well as read about what kind of things tend to lead to threesomes (hint: alcohol) Chiefly, it is important to understand that threesome's are almost always about the two girls, and not about the guy in the equation. In many cases the man lucks into the situation, showing up in the right place at the right time and conveniently happening to be in possession of the one thing necessary for a great time that the two girls don't have. Most other threesomes occur when there is a pre-established relationship between a guy and girl with the girl having a keen interest in experimentation or is simply a flat out bi-sexual. That was the situation I found myself that evening, and in a spot like that your singular crucial job is to make sure you don't upset the woman with which you have the existing relationship and simply let the girls do their thing until you're all home alone together. Too bad I'm a fucking idiot.

Bella's sentiments of betrayal manifested themselves in the form of tears. I don't even remember how I was made aware of it, and I'm fairly confident one of my friends was like "Dude what are you doing? Bella is over there crying" but I could be wrong. Either way, once we realized what had happened both Jade and I rushed over to her in an attempt to smooth out the situation. She said she wanted to just leave the two of us to ourselves and go home. First the two girls talked it out for a while in Tagalog, then I went over to apologize and reassure Bella that my interest was in her and not her friend. She settled down, but the party was drawing to a close and the threesome vibe had been firmly killed. We all stepped outside, and set Jade in a cab to head off home. Bella and I were both rather drunk and tired, and she apologized to me for over-reacting and becoming so upset. I told her I didn't mind at all, and could understand how Jade and I went too far. Bella is the degree of cool-as-hell woman that we would later discuss the story in detail and she'd elaborate on my mistakes in conduct that prevented the threesome from coming to fruition. "Just let the girls talk" she reprimanded me. Note to self: Next time, don't botch it. We took a cab back to the hotel together.

The Manila after party

We arrived in Manila on a Tuesday, tired from a day of travel that began in Macau and routed through Hong Kong via a ferry boat ride. Mad Dog had been sick with a cold (which I have now caught and feel awful with) for a few days at the time, and we all relaxed on our first evening in Manila. The next day Truck and I decided to go out, and had received a recommendation that if we were going out on a Wednesday night we should check out either Republiq, or Icon. I was told Republiq was now the hot spot of the city and reserved a table there for both Friday and Saturday, so we decided that we'd try Icon once instead. Mad Dog was to stay home, still feeling too ill for a big night out and aiming to feel better by Friday.

The two of us began the evening by heading over to the club lounge in our hotel around 7pm. There was happy hour going on and we were treated to free drinks until 8pm. Liquor before beer has always kept me in the clear, so I made us a couple vodka heavy screwdrivers. Truck said he wanted to try his with the creamy looking mango juice instead of the traditional orange, and after settling into our seats and taking a taste he regretted his decision immediately. He made it two sips before he gave up and made himself something else. A few drinks and perhaps a half hour later we exited the hotel to walk over to the Greenbelt mall. We were meeting a couple girls that were friends with a young woman I'd been seeing in Macau and had met around Manila in the previous year. The four of us spent a couple hours catching up at dinner while we went through a couple pitchers or margaritas and a beer or two for myself, since I hate drinking hard liquor when trying to eat a meal.

Our party arrived at the club around 10:45 and found no party waiting for us at all. It seems that Manila is one of those towns where everyone goes out late, and Icon in particular was apparently a late night venue. Even though the club was abandoned the people at the door somehow still didn't have my table reservation, which I'd called about only a few hours prior. We were escorted in and shown the premises, then told a number of tables were available. We asked how much they were, and when told the double couch tables were 10,000 pesos and the private room next to it was 15,000 we elected for for the room, especially since all that amount goes towards the use of alcohol and the rough conversion is approximately $350. Something like that in Vegas would cost you in the mid four figures, quite possibly substantially more depending on where you're going, what night it is, and how much your group intends to drink. My friend Carlos from Taipei was in town for business and joined us not long after we arrived. The usual type of bottles you get at clubs were all in the 2,500-4,000 pesos range, so we ordered a few plus mixers and beer then got down to the business of binge drinking.

People trickled in slowly over the next couple hours, but when 1am hit the pace of arrivals noticeably accelerated. Unfortunately, the majority of the clientele were working girls, the kind of tourist men who go out looking for them, and an assortment of what I call "club people"; the type of people who design their lifestyle around clubbing and consider going out to get slammed and/or do drugs all night on a Wednesday to be the norm. I've known plenty of club people in my day, and although I'm the kind of guy who generally respects peoples lifestyle preferences it's one I really don't understand. Sure it's fun to every here and there have a weekend long binger where you stay out all night, wake up in the late afternoon or early evening, then grab some food and do it all over again, but who the fuck wants to do that all the time and why? Additionally, you'll find that club people often have underdeveloped personalities because the bulk of their time is spent in an atmosphere that's all darkness, noise, and substance abuse, preventing any possibility of genuine conversation or relevant, memorable interactions. Vegas is full of club people and I've yet to decide which are worse, the men or women. Club men are all a bunch of arrogant, loud, thoughtless morons who spend their lives consumed with a desire to, in their words, "Get fucked up" and "Fuck bitches". Club women are shallow, materialistic, status hungry judgmental types that have almost nothing to say outside of which clubs they like and why. I've hooked up with a few club women in my day, and what I've found amazingly consistent is that the next day, when things are actually quiet, they barely talk and seem to do little but stare off into space when conversation is going on around them (unless of course they've yet to come down off their cocaine, in which case they won't shut up). When I tell people I live in Vegas they always think I must have a wild party lifestyle but instead I mostly hide away behind my computer or in my gym, made paranoid by the sea of parasites and club people I'm surrounded by.

While hanging out at the table the room was entered by a small and eccentrically dressed young gay man I'd met the previous year when out in Manila. It turns out he was in clubs all the time not only because he was a club person, but also a promoter for them. He was working with his brother to try and turn Icon into one of the premier party spots in town, and I told them they were welcome to kick it at the table. I told most anyone I met that night who seemed nice that they might as well come hang out at the table considering we had far too much alcohol for the five of us, and it wasn't long before the promoter and his brother began bringing girls over to introduce us to. The table became a stream of people in and out while the night blurred into a cacophony of loud music, flashing lights, drinking, and stupid ass dancing. Next thing I knew it was around 5:30am and everyone I'd arrived with had left. Our hotel was right around the corner and Truck had gone home about 10 minutes prior. I stuck around to see if any of the girls I was chatting to see seemed especially keen, and when I evaluated that none of them were I decided I was going to bail as well.

I made the two minute walk back to the hotel and went up to the suite. We'd rented one large room for party purposes and one separate normal room so we had enough beds for everyone. Since Mad Dog had been ill we gave him the separate room, knowing we may come home with a pack of drunken Filipino girls and cause all kinds of noise. Instead I'd come home alone, fairly drunk, and frustrated. Dan was still up and sitting in his underwear while reading on his computer. Only a moment after arriving I got a text from the gay promoter asking where I'd gone and whether we were going to have an after party at the hotel. "Truck, put some clothes on." I told him.

I made my way back to the club and found the promoter waiting for me with a group of about 15 people. It included his brother, a pack of random girls we'd been chatting to, a couple of Argentinean dudes, and some random ass annoying gay guy in a blue shirt that had been coming on to me all night and making this motion where he directed both hands to his crotch and looked up at me hopefully. I told him I wasn't about that shit but he wouldn't quit with it, and I was wondering who the hell in the group had invited him. I would later find out that he hadn't been; he simply saw the group leaving and slipped into it assuming nobody would question his presence given how wasted everyone was. I walked them all over to the hotel, got everyone in the elevator, and brought them up to the floor.

Things were calm at first, far too calm for an after party. I called down to room service "Hi, I'm going to need a large bottle of vodka, a bunch of glasses, and a dozen beers. Thank you!" Ten minutes later it all arrived and I began pouring everyone drinks. Someone set up their computer to play loud music, and then shit just spiraled out of control. By an hour later everyone in the room was completely tanked, the music was blasting, and the promoters were handing out ecstasy like it was candy on Halloween. One of them tried to get me to take some and I refused. The gay guy in the blue shirt was being extremely annoying, but I mostly dodged him by flirting with the various girls in the group. Everyone seemed to be fooling around with everyone. I made out with three girls that I can recall, Truck two. The first girl I messed around with was the girl Truck wound up sleeping next to. Somewhere around 9am the promoter somehow convinced all the men in the group to take their shirts off and got the girls to start doing shots and licking fruit off our chests. Luckily none of the dudes tried to get in on it. While this was going on the phone rang. I went to pick it up in my underwear, crawling over someone sprawled out on the couch. It was reception at the hotel:

"Hello yes sir. We are so terribly sorry for the inconvenience but there has been a noise complaint about your room, could you turn it down just a little?"

Despite the Dusit Thani being one of the nicer hotels in Manila, it for some reason has paper thin walls. Earlier that afternoon the boys had to listen to our neighbors having sex in great detail, and throughout the evening we could hear all of their conversation crystal clear. That it took three hours for there to be a noise complaint about the blaring music and screaming fucked up pack of degenerates in our suite was amazing. That reception was apologizing to me for it and asking for only a slight reduce in volume was even more mind blowing. I mean we really couldn't have been more out of line. I apologized to reception, reception again apologized to me, and I went to turn it down. Just a little.

Things were fine and continued for another 90 minutes or so. Then reception called again having received another complaint, but were still apologizing to me for requesting a reduction in the noise level! I told them that I'd turn the music off, get everyone settled down, and break up the party. I hung up then went to switch off the music on the computer. The guy who was DJ'ing was pleading with me to just turn it down a bit and keep it going. I'm two for two in my life of telling a DJ that we need to turn the music off or there will be serious consequences, and having them look at me confused and be like "Wait wait? We have to turn the music off? Can't we just keep it on a bit longer?" like their drugged out asses never heard a word I said. I told people they could still party, we just had to chill things out a bit and turn the music off. The gay dude in the blue shirt went downstairs to let in a friend or something, and when reception called asking if they should let him up I told them that we were going to break up the party soon and that he was not to be let back up. He wasn't going to quit that easily though, and again reception called up about the possibility of letting him up. Again I refused. A few minutes later the phone rang for a third time and instead of reception it was him:

"Hey! How come you're not letting me and my friend up."

"We're about to close the party up here dude, reception has called twice telling us turn it down and it's almost 11am, this is done."

"FUCK YOU! DON'T YOU EVER COME BACK TO ICON! I'LL FUCK YOU UP!!"

"Yah-huh."

I hung up the phone and returned to the party. The promoters tried to order breakfast and I told them if they really wanted it they should take it downstairs. They placed the order anyway. I called downstairs and told them not to bring the breakfast up here. I was so ridiculously tired and horny that I just wanted to try and pull the girl I'd most recently been fooling around with to bed, have sex, and finally crash. Truck and I took an aside to discuss the situation. We both had a girl into us, but there was only one separate bedroom and then a cot out in the living room, which was still full of people. We made a gentleman's agreement that the first to get his girl into the bedroom gets to keep it.

The result was a disaster. I pulled my girl into the bedroom and she pretty much passed out instantly. The party still hadn't fully died down outside but I was so exhausted and frustrated I decided to go to bed myself. Around 11:30 Truck came in and stirred me from my daze:

"Dude, people are still milling around outside and causing tons of noise. Aren't you going to go yell at them to get out?"

"Wait, what? You want me to be the bad guy?"

"Well…yea."

"But I'm not the bad guy dude, I'm the friendly guy who invites everyone over and lets them trash his suite."

"Ok."

Truck stepped outside and took control of the situation. "LISTEN! We're being cool and letting you all stay here, but I'm tired and going to bed so you all need to shut the fuck up and turn the music off!" (apparently they'd turned it back on)

"I don't know how to turn it off" said the DJ.

"Well if you want me to mess with it I'm sure I can figure it out."

"Oh wait…here it is" he said, then flipped the music off. Fucking DJ's.

A pack of the party-goers wound up sleeping on the couches, chairs, and floor of the hotel. Truck took the cot with the girl he'd been fooling around with and later told me that had he gotten to the bed first, he was a lock to get laid, but couldn't given that there were people all around him. I felt real bad for cock-blocking him, especially since it didn't turn out any good for me anyway. I woke up some time in the early evening the next day. Truck and two of the girls from the previous night were still lying around outside. The room was completely destroyed. I took a glance around and announced to the room "Damn…that got out of hand."

Festa Al Lago 2010 and The Raw Deal (Part 2)

While I'm usually not a morning person, I didn't feel so bad that particular one considering how crazy early it was. I took a shower, got dressed, and brought the necessary things down to the room the WPT had rented in the deep tunnels and convention rooms of the Bellagio. I was told to avoid the Beloch if possible. Halley was already there, as were aids Tina, Summer, and make up artist Song.

"Get a decent night's rest Halley?"

"Not really, I always have so much trouble sleeping on those Bellagio beds."

"Pea under the mattress huh?"

Song applied the small amount of necessary make up then I was led into the next room in front of a white screen. The photographer had me use a number of different positions, props, and types of body language for about an hour before Mike and Vince joined us. I'd been formally introduced to them right before the event, and both were very welcoming. It was fun to watch them fuck with each other during the shoot, and Mike particularly enjoyed needling Vince for going to check how he'd turned out in the picture. "It's called being professional" retorted Vince. After we finished I returned to the room and took an hour long nap before I had to get ready to play.

When I woke up I packed my things, took the bag down to the concierge, and walked to the Fontana room to find my new seat. Again my table was filled with familiar faces, most notably that of Daniel Negreanu, who was more than happy to chat as soon as he arrived. After a moment he pulled out his phone, typed away into it, and then set it back into his pocket. He looked up at me "I twitted that I just met the new WPT host and he's making me feel under dressed!"

"Gotta play in what makes ya comfortable man."

"For sure, I feel great like this." He was dressed very casually, with baseball hat. "I dressed up once for a WPT final table…"

"Ah yea I remember that one, like 2004 or 2005 or something. You looked sharp."

"Yea but it just didn't feel right ya know? So now I go like this, it's what works for me."

We went on about a number of things as they made the announcement to shuffle up and deal. I told him that I liked his blog, and that printing some entries before traveling to my first trip to Australia six years ago had been a large influence in my decision to start blogging. Even though I don't always agree with everything Negreanu writes, I think he's done a great job of making himself approachable and accessible over his career, and he's always a nice and fun guy on the table. My time at the table was short lived, and I wound up playing only three hands with exactly the same hand each time: 44. The first time I raised and got called by Negreanu. I c-bet and wound up giving up to a bet on a future street. I later won a small pot with the little pair when I got a call by worse from my C-bet then had the turn and river go check-check. Lastly, I was holding 44 on the button with 19,000 when the very aggressive chip leader on my immediate right opened the CO to 1500. I moved in next to act and when it folded back to him he called with QQ.

"Nothing you can do there, I'd never do anything but move in against me either" he said.

The flop brought a Q and I was pretty much dead. I hit a 4 on the turn, but the river didn't contain a one outer and I was sent packing. The camera guys came over and asked what I thought about the hand after busting and I gave a couple quick thoughts and said I thought it was pretty standard. I'm not super thrilled to be shipping 32 BB in with 44 over an open, but considering his raising frequency I think it was definitely +EV. I took a cab home and spent my evening in the gym. After that I was pretty much exhausted, and had an easy night in before playing a big Sunday.

Sunday was my 26th birthday. I decided I'd rather play a full day of tournaments than anything else, particularly since that's what everyone else was doing. I was still on a very strict diet at the time so I wasn't going to get drunk, and instead I just played tournaments and smoked all day like any other Sunday. Considering I drunkenly set myself on fire on video in a New Zealand bar for my 25th birthday, I was able to accept I probably wasn't going to top that (this year) and might as well just get back to work. I wound up making a few deep runs but not turning anything into a real score, and essentially blanked out. I went for a decent Japanese meal with a friend late at night. I even had a beer.

On Monday I was to record my first segments for The Raw Deal. I set aside my afternoon so I could watch the video content they provided me and do my writing and brain storming. We were set to tape three tournaments and I was going to record a couple segments for each show. I got to comment on hands involving guys like Phil Ivey, Dwyte Pilgrim, Andy Frankenberger, "TitanTom", and more. I naturally can't write what kind of statements and comments I made, but everyone at the WPT seemed quite happy with what we came up with and they gave me an incredible degree of flexibility on being esoteric, silly, and glib. The hard part was saying everything correctly and fluidly into the camera, as it's something I hadn't practiced in about five or six years. We did a number of takes on each segment, and naturally there were a fair few slip ups that I had to re-shoot. Still, I feel quite happy with how everything went as do my bosses and coworkers, so that's a good result and start to our work together.

Meanwhile Randall continued to pummel the main event and by the end of play had accumulated one of the larger stacks going into day five. I told him I'd make sure he got into the Bellagio on Tuesday for the restart on time since I had to go in and meet Vince Van Patten for a tennis match I had challenged him to via text on Sunday. I dropped Randall off then found Vince in the Bellagio lobby standing with his brothers Jimmy and Nelson, Mike Sexton, Matt Palmer and our producer Adam Stohl. We were soon joined by Royal Flush girls Sunisa and Jennifer as the WPT had decided to turn our little match into an off the felt segment. We exited the Bellagio and jumped into two cabs that took us to the tennis court center at the back of Bally's, which I had no idea existed. It was the first time I'd gotten to spend time with my coworkers in less formal and busy environment, and I was relieved to find everyone was very friendly and down to earth.

As we walked through Bally's I quizzed Vince on his tennis career. He'd been ranked as high as the 25th mens singles player in the world at one point, and had spent about a decade playing professionally. Both of his brothers had toured as well, predominately playing doubles. He'd maintained his shape quite well after retiring, and was looking trim and flexible at the age of 53, which he had turned on Sunday. I changed out of my suit at the pro shop then walked over to the courts to meet everyone. I stretched down and warmed up with Vince. I'd been practicing about five days a week since the start of the WCOOP, with most days just being a series of serves and backhands while I sprinted up and down the court to retrieve the balls. They brought the cameras out, set a Royal Flush girl on each side of us, and put Mike in the middle while everyone haggled over the terms. Vince had a shoulder injury and wasn't able to serve, so we decided to start the point with a baseline stroke. We were to play to seven and on the first match Vince and Mike wound up setting the line at five. Mike bet $200 on me and before I ran off to my side I turned to him and said "I'm sorry about your money Mike."

Early in the first match I drilled a winner that Vince couldn't quite get to and needed only one more to win. Unfortunately, Vince pretty much turned it on after that and although I was able to keep rallies going vastly better than I'd anticipated, he always had control of the point and his placement was phenomenal. My athletic and youth advantage was useless against his fine tuned skill, and he didn't drop a point until it was game over: 7-6 Vince. We returned to the middle and terms were adjusted. I was now to be spotted 6 points, and needed to win only one rally to get Mike's money back. We returned to play, and on the first point I drilled a shot into the top of the net which softly dropped over on Vince's side, ending things immediately. "YES!" yelled Mike, and I ran over to him and gave him a ridiculous jumping high five. My only disappointment is that my winning shot didn't cause him to naturally blurt "BINGO BANGO BONGO!!"

Once we'd finished the singles match they sent the girls onto the court and we all hit around before Jimmy and Nelson got geared up and ready for a proper doubles match. I was teamed with Vince, and although I served decent in most games and didn't blow too many shots, I still wasn't anywhere near their level and my being the weakest link caused us to lose 5-2. Either way, it was a great time playing all of them plus Vince and I wound up hitting it off very well and discussing future tennis and work out plans on the tour.

I had dinner with my agent Matt that night over at the Aria, then returned to the Bellagio to find my friends Randall, "JKoon", and "Benvo" all at the final table of seven that was to play down to six. At one point Randall had gotten his KTo in against the KK of Benvo, but rivered a gunshot straight to stay in the tournament and find a crucial double up. He was now one of the larger stacks left, and as I hung out and watched them play it down he continued to accumulate. When the dust settled late at night Randall had found himself with about 3.2 million in chips and a bit over 40 BB for his chip-lead stack going into the final table. The structure had really gotten fast at the end and many of the players left were rather short. Naturally, we were both very excited, and went over to Noodles to have what would be Randall's first meal of the day, in the vicinity of 2am. We discussed his method of attack, reads, and antics for the following day. He's a huge talent at impressions, and after developing a respectable Mike Sexton impression we decided it'd be hilarious for him to start narrating a hand that he played in the voice. I drove him home and hung out with the boys as we all excitedly discussed the prospect of Randall winning the next day. I had spent $515 on my 5% that now gave me a shot at approximately $40,000, but better yet Truck Dan had bought himself 20%.

The next day was the final table. I spent my morning working out then drove Randall into the Bellagio since we both had to be there early for make up. I also had a coffee meeting with WPT CEO Steve Heller lined up, and as we walked and talked we discussed what kind of ideas I had going forward and where I and they saw my position in the broadcast going. He told me that if ever I had things I wanted to discuss with him, he was always available. I told him one major roll I want to fill for them is as an ambassador to the online community. I've been creating social get togethers for online poker players at the various stops we go to for years, be it the Drunken Kickball Classic in Melbourne every year, the WSOP parties during summer, and things like mini golf outings in Macau and whatever else I can find going in random cities. I think a lot of poker tours have done a great job creating a cohesion between the professional aspect on the felt and the social/recreational one off it through things like their player parties and I'd like to see the WPT become more fun and accessible to the online community. Basically, I want the people around me to have as much fun with this shit as I do.

Once we finished our walk I proceeded to the Fontana lounge to take some photos on the set before things kicked off. Our entire house and group of Vegas based friends showed up and were planning on getting wasted while railing Randall, so I told Joe Grimm that if they got out of hand make sure I'm the one who goes over and talks to them instead of one of the producers, will be perceived as nagging and likely instigate even more severe drunken antics.  Kristen informed me that because during my segment I show up in my "command center" I could not be seen in the audience during the footage and would need to hide on the steps in the corner. I was disappointed until it turned out that the corner was to be also occupied by a rotating cast of Royal Flush girls and a witty graphics designer named Kevin. I got a chance to talk to all the girls and they're all much more sweet and down to earth than most people would likely assume models are, but I'd guess a major casting point during the auditions for their position was having a welcoming personality since they're to serve as ambassadors to the players.

Play got underway somewhere around 4:30pm and after the quick eliminations of Skip Wilson and Andy Frankenberger the table was four handed with what I believe was four players under the age of 25. It was a perfect example of why the WPT is self aware that they should extend the olive branch to online players and that their faces will be the ones we increasingly see at major final tables. Randall's cheering section got more and more drunk as play went by, and during one break I got all the boys a round of vodka-Redbull to keep enthusiasm high. Everyone got pretty wasted and belligerent, and Truck took particular glee in shouting insulting things at Noah Schwartz, who apparently has some form of outstanding debt and/or feud with our roommate Ashton Griffen that has been going for some time now. Eventually it reached a point that Joe Grimm asked me to calm them down since the noise was interfering with all the shots, and when I went over to tell them I was immediately berated and called a "sell-out" Fair's fair. Lord knows I wanted to be in the crowd as drunk and unruly as the rest of them.

The evening of play progressed very fast with the shallow structure, resulting in Randall and Benvo making quick work of the other four and finding themselves heads up for the title and $830,000. Randall had him out chipped somewhere in the 2 1/2 to 1 area going into heads up, and both of them were ready to play an aggressive, higher variance match, particularly since the stacks weren't that deep. It didn't take long before they got it all in with Randall's top pair against a big combo draw from Benvo, and when both the turn and river bricked out Randall threw up his arms while the crowd exploded into applause. He rushed into the audience so all our friends could hug him and I could hear Dan yelling "WOOOOOP WOOOP WOOOP WOOOOOOOOOP!!" I wanted to run over and join in all the high-fiving and revelry, but I had stay in the corner and simply fist-pumped to myself instead. After they took a bunch of celebratory pictures I was allowed into a few group shots, and Randall slapped me in the face with one of the bunched up wads of cash. We all started discussing the possibility of going out, and it was decided we'd do go have some drinks, do dinner, then head out to a club. I contacted my friend Jane to organize things for us, and she said on a Wednesday our best bet for a packed club was Lavo. I invited all our friends from the audience, Benvo and his friends, Bellagio floor staff, the WPT producers, the Royal Flush girls, and probably whoever else I bumped into running around in such an ecstatic mood. We took a group of a dozen guys over to the bar where "CrazyMarco" bought us all a bunch of jagerbombs to get the night started, then moved the party to Fix where he again insisted on picking up the tab, elated after scoring big by buying a piece of Randall.

We arrived outside Lavo around midnight. It's always hard to be the one organizing a group of disconnected people to go out to a club together, but it's especially problematic when you're attempting to coordinate for the two flakiest types of people on earth: poker players and models. Naturally, at least half our group at dinner had wanted to go back to Panorama to blaze before going out to the club, so I took in those who came with me from dinner plus WPT producers Adam, Patrick, and Mandy plus a few other friends we'd encountered over the course of the evening. I tipped one of the doorman and told him to make sure the rest of my party gets in without issue, but I always question whether that's just lighting money on fire since once you're inside you have no idea how long they dick around and keep your group outside or fail to even ever find them given how many people are out there. Once inside we were taken to our table on the dance floor and asked what we wanted to order. I gave the list to someone else and set my mind to the more important issue of trying to even out the ratio at our table. Bellagio floor-man Craig was more than happy to wing for me, so we exited the table and went looking for some girls to bring back to it. He told me he prefers blondes, so I kept my eye open around the club and when we found a couple blonde girls hanging out not far from our table we went over to say hi.

An interesting recent discovery in the field of psychology was that of what have been titled "mirror neurons". You know when people say that a smile, frown, or mood is contagious? Turns out they're more correct than they likely know. The human brain contains a type of neuron called the mirror neuron that is essentially used for empathy. It picks up other peoples feelings, emotions, moods, and body language then naturally wants to replicate it back to them. Misery loves company because misery creates company, and people love being around other happy and optimistic types because they wind up infected with a similar mentality. That means the nights you're apt to do best at meeting girls are the nights you're already in a great mood and having tons of fun, instead of trying to create it synthetically or force it. The older I get, the more selective I get about nights out. If a group of dudes want to throw something together on short notice with no particular reason and no girls in the group I'll decline nearly every time. If a group is for some reason in especially great spirits or has a bunch of people visiting who are dying to party, then you get a sense that the evening could go places and start making calls to get the ball rolling. After that I trust my natural enthusiasm will do the work for me.

I no longer have any idea what I say to women to start a conversation at night. I don't do a lot of bar/club type stuff, but when I do I've found that what you say is pretty much irrelevant next to how you say it. Nobody can hear a fucking word in the club anyway, so what's really important is eye contact, body language, and the confidence you sub-communicate when speaking. I've found the easiest way to come off really confident is just shoot straight from the id, so I usually just walk up and say something very obvious and true; basically whatever I come up with in the couple seconds between when I see a girl and when I open my mouth to her. This time I think I said something like "Hi, there's not enough girls with our group at our table, so I guess you two will have to come over."  The shorter blonde leaned in, stroked my face seductively and said "Or maybe you just take me and my friend home right now and fuck us two all night…unless you don't think you could handle it?" That might sound like a pretty good response to my first words, but it's actually a trap in the form of a shit-test. I've heard about, written about, and experienced things like this enough times now to know that when a girl says something hyper-sexual to you surprisingly early in the interaction she's not trying to fuck you, she's running a conversational bluff. If you think you're in and go "Sweet! Let's go fuck!" she'll laugh in your face and roll her eyes. Instead I said calmly "Nah, I definitely couldn't handle that and besides, we haven't even got to know each other yet" then held out my hand for her. She was satisfied with my answer, took my hand, and let me lead the two of them back to our table. Craig went to work on the friend and I started talking to the one I'd approached. Turns out she was here for her own bachlorette party and was by no means "DTF", as the boys from Jersey would say. She did however, point out her cute brunette maid of honor, who we also brought over and I began flirting with.

The brunette wound up getting sat right between myself and some older bald dude at the next table over. She'd sort of go back and forth paying attention to both of us, and at some point the bald dude was standing over her and trying to pull her hair around like they were having sex. It was real fucking weird. Still, she would kind of roll with it then turn back to me and be like "Why is this guy pulling my hair?" and I'd just shrug and say "I don't know…odd" like it was something entirely ordinary. I remember getting sick of baldy and his fetish, so I brought her over by our drinks and started doing shots with her. She was very flirty and would lean in close and set her face near mine, but not let me make out with her. Again, girls love running silly tests like this in clubs all the time, and whenever I get one like this I think there's really only one appropriate option: non-react then hit on other girls as blatantly as possible in front of her. I know to some that sounds like a strange choice of M.O. but when chasing girls in crowded bars/clubs, coming off like a player will help you as opposed to hurt you almost always. Besides, it's not like any interaction you have in those places has any actual substance or relevance to it, and I've never gotten a strongly negative reaction to that kind of behavior. For the most part, that kind of thing will usually spike a girls interest and make her realize she has some competition and can't dick around. Every now and then it slightly backfires and the girl looks elsewhere or loses interest, but generally it's surprisingly and amazingly effective (at least, surprising for people who haven't attempted it or seen it happen a lot).

I got up and went back out into the crowd in search of more girls. I found a few Asian girls who seemed keen to keep close proximity during my walk and said something silly like accusing them of following me. One of them said she thought I was cute so I brought them back to the table, sat them down, offered some drinks, and pulled the one keen on me into the corner. She had a look in her eye like she wanted to make out, so I was happy to oblige and we started going at it within a minute or two. This went on for a while, though how long is hard to determine because it was one of those loud, drunken, crowded nights where everything seems to blur together. I don't even know when it happened, but at some point later the Asian girls had exited the table and I was talking to the brunette again. Now she was much more receptive to the idea of making out and next thing I knew we were rolling around the booth eating each others face. Eventually one of us bit the other, which rapidly escalated into the two of us viciously biting each other all over while my producers and friends looked on wide-eyed. I remember she told me to bite her chest so I just went nuts with that, and that at one point she bit my shoulder so hard there was a large mark there the next day. I don't really know how long that all continued; it felt like ten minutes but I think it was like an hour or something. Mad Dog texted me "Get a room already" after a while, but unfortunately when I get drunk I lose my sense of time/purpose and sometimes forget I should pull my face out of the cleavage and think about trying to get the girl home before something goes wrong. Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened, and eventually the bride-to-be said she was taking her maid of honor to the bathroom and they'd be back in a moment. I was pretty confident I was fucked and not getting fucked. I was right, and they never came back. Such are clubs.

By the time full consciousness caught up with me it was around 3 or 4am and the club was starting to clear out. Randall and a few other of the boys were long gone, likely out to an all night excursion to the Rhino. I found the Mad Dog and the two of us caught a taxi back to the house. Chewy and Dan were sitting around the house smoking and I joined in while going on a drunken rant about the various antics of the evening. They eventually got tired and found their ways to their respective beds. I sat outside with a smoke and reflected on the last week and how things would change from here on out. Who knew having a real job was so damn fun?

Festa Al Lago 2010 and The Raw Deal (Part 1)

I never thought I'd have a real job again. It had occurred to me that perhaps something more legitimate would find a use for me, but I had always assumed I'd probably decline due to my obsession with poker. When my agent suggested that I try out for the new WPT job as the host of "The Raw Deal" I was intrigued. The idea was that a new member was being added to the cast, popping up once or twice an episode in a cut away segment in an attempt to provide humor, content, and potentially controversy. I'd always wanted to be on the WPT since the days of watching it every week when I was 18 and 19, particularly since it would mean actually final tabling a large live tournament, but this provided an unexpected route. It could also open a lot of future doors if I proved capable and professional despite my outlandish written about behavior and general reckless tendencies. Besides, as far as I could tell they were looking for someone a little reckless. I told Matt to get me the interview.

I wasn't available to try out at the Legends of Poker in LA where they held the majority of the auditions, but the WPT was kind enough to accommodate my obligations and gave me an interview the next week at their office in Los Angeles. I had been instructed to watch a clip from a famous hand at Bay 101 that wound up generating huge discussion on the 2+2 forum I moderate. In the hand, Phil Hellmuth limps in the SB 40 BB effective against Andy "BKice" Seth. Seth raises, Hellmuth limp-reraises, and Seth winds up shoving. Hellmuth quickly calls with QQ and Seth tables AJ, leaving Phil anxiously waiting for the huge double up if he can hold. The board runs out safe until Seth slams out an ace on the river. Hellmuth walks off stage, then crumples over and puts his hands on his head and stays there awkwardly clutching himself for some time, supposedly devastated. "So he won't be signing my shirt?" commented Seth, regarding the T-shirt your given at the event when you knock out a bounty player.

I figured that what the WPT was looking for was a combination of being able to comment on the strategy of the hand sensibly while still making light of the entire situation in a playful yet possibly insulting manner. Hellmuth is clearly the perfect scapegoat; a man that has made a career by being unafraid to take unlimited criticism, jabs, and insults so long as he has the spotlight. In a way, my opinion on Hellmuth has softened over the years and I admit that on the guilty pleasure level, he's damn entertaining and good at what he does. Of course bursting out of a bus filled with Lady Gaga clones dancing in the London streets so you can make an eye catching entrance to World Series Europe is absurd, rude, and egotistical, but hell if it's something you get to see every day and can't look away from. My lingering complaint with Hellmuth though, is that he either:

A. Believes that in order for his persona to be effective and complete as the "the brat" or "the villain"  of poker he must insult and degrade people with an intensity that those unaware of his theatrics believe is genuine. He could be equally entertaining and get just as much attention with all his silly antics if he simply chilled the fuck out about the whole berating people thing. In fact, I'm sure there are plenty of people out there that would like-to-like Hellmuth given his accomplishments and the attention he brings to the game, but simply can't get over what a prick he is to people on camera all the time.

or

B. That he actually is a prick, and after a nearly three decade career can't take a three outer like a man and keep his god damn mouth shut about the other guy if he's playing bad.

Naturally, the interview involves the soft ball they lob at you with this particular hand to measure what your commentary would be like on the personality aspect of the game. When it came time to do the mock commentary into the camera during the actual first interview I remarked "You know a lot of my friends and peers think that Phil Hellmuth is a clown in the sense that he's bad at poker. I actually think he's better than many of them give him credit for, but I do believe he's a clown in the literal sense in that he is a man who behaves without dignity in exchange for money or equity. Of course, one could also call that kind of behavior whorish, and given that Phil is on his knees by the end of the segment I'll let you come to your own conclusions on that one." I hadn't had a job interview in seven years, and that's what I decided was the go to line for the first one I had. I found out later I had made it to the final interview of six and needed to come back the next week.

The second audition had me back in a room with a camera and Joe Grimm again, but this time it included CEO Steve Heller and president Adam Pliska. On top of presenting the stuff I had written in front of the camera for the hands they had me watch, there was also had a period where we sat and they asked me questions in more traditional interview form. I felt pretty relaxed with the whole situation; the years in theatre and working with film majors made me comfortable in front of a camera and practiced at improv, and meeting girls through cold approach is a much tougher interview than something you've had a week to prepare for and seven years job experience at. I basically sat there and answered their questions as directly and eloquently as I could while aiming to not be redundant and trying to be witty here and there. Everyone seemed rather pleased when I left and then I waited for their response. It was Joe Grimm who wound up calling me down the line, and he asked whether I wanted a job. I said that I did.

They made the announcement a little before Festa Al Lago in October. I did a few interviews about it, met more good people in the poker media, and continued to grind and study leading up to the event. I spent the six weeks between the start of the WCOOP and the beginning of Festa spending almost all my time grinding, working out, playing tennis, and practicing anything else that struck my interest. I was watching videos again, discussing hands with friends regularly, doing joint videos with guys like Andrew Brokos and Matt Lagarde, and posting more on 2+2 than I had in a while. I'm quite happy with the level of my productivity in that period, and I felt ready going into the preliminary events at the Festa.

The house decided to play the first event one sunny Saturday afternoon in Vegas, a $540 NL event that got a surprisingly large turn out. I was more or less card dead throughout, and never got much in the way of chips going. I next played a $1,000 no limit event, and again went about half days worth of play without anything major happening. I played the $1,000 rebuys event and wound up in an interesting spot against Annette15 that I posted about, and while I had at one point accumulated quite a few chips I lost a flip and then dwindled down to later bust moving in on the short stack. The last preliminary event I played was the $5,000 before the main. Late in day one I captured the chip lead and was a flip away from having an even larger lead, but I lost that as well as a decent sized pot to the friendly and talkative Gavin Smith across the table. We'd played together before two years ago in the 2008 WSOP $5,000 event when he'd been out partying all night with Theo Tran, and both wound up on my table, very hungover. Still, I came away with a real good impression of Gavin, and for all his advertised silly behavior he is surprisingly thoughtful in person and just as talkative as expected. He was equally chatty that evening in the $5,000 and we tangled a few times with him coming away on the better side of it. I made it to day two with a decent sized stack, as had Luckychewy.

We returned to the same tables the next day. I was right next to Joe Cheong and I picked his brain a bit about what it's like to be in the November 9. We'd met and played together this summer, and I'm definitely rooting for him at the final table (as well as a few other guys, but I'd be happy to see Joe win). Still, in a way I'm not sure Joe himself wants to win, and he's clearly not interested in any of the potential attention or media that could come with it. He told me that he has pretty much stopped responding to emails and texts as a result of finding it all way too overwhelming, and he's not looking to turn into some superstar of poker. Still, if he wins we'll have a polite and affable champion.

Joe wound up getting all my chips. First I flatted a raise on what I believe was the HJ with AQ about 35-40 BB effective with Joe and one other stack behind having good squeeze stacks. Joe moved in next to act for what I think was about 21 BB and after things folded back to me I called. He tabled KQ but flopped a K and I passed off the bulk of my stack to him. I then went card dead a little while and had to do nothing but fold, then found 55 on the CO with 15 BB's. When it folded around to me I moved in and Joe re-shoved next to act, this time covering me. He tabled 88 which held up, so we shook hands and I wished him luck. He wound up going on to win the tournament, perhaps a sign of things to come.

By the time of the $5,000 event our house had filled up with online players. Also staying over were Mad Dog, "Randallin", "Holdplz", and "FranktheTank". After busting we'd sit around and have a smoke in the afternoons outside. During one such pow-wow Randall was discussing that while his intention for the trip had been to visit a girl, things hadn't turned out well with her and instead he was likely going to play the main. His backer elected not to put him in it, so he was going to have to sell of pieces. A few of our friends had already committed to a chunk and given that last time I bought 5% of Randall he turned $500 into $16,000 or so, I thought It'd be smart to do it again. "Randall" I said, then held my five fingers up. "Five?" he asked. "Definitely" I responded, confident in the Midas touch that is my percent swapping and buying history.

The main event was to begin Friday. The WPT needed me there 10am that day, and then at 7am the next day for a photo shoot. They were kind enough to to get me a room at the Bellagio for Thursday and Friday since I would be needing as much sleep as possible to both work and play all day (thank you Kristen!). I also needed space to bring clothes since the shoot required a number of different looks, so I packed up a bag and checked in to the hotel Thursday evening. I took a sleeping pill to put myself out early, and made it up in time to arrive a few minutes early to my meeting with Justin Simon. We'd been corresponding about the details of my job, interviews, and responsibilities since I'd gotten the position but had yet to meet. Coworkers; what a novel concept.

I spent most of the morning with Justin and one of my other major correspondents at the WPT, Halley. They did a lot of the organizational and contact work for the people I was to interact with for the job, and both come off very confident and savvy. They kept me pointed in the right direction for the couple hours before play, and many of the people I ran into leading up to it congratulated me on the new job and WSOP success/coverage. I got asked for a few pictures (new experience) and one guy snapped one in my face while he was walking by, which was really weird. I'd get recognized here and there, usually by middle aged dudes, who all wanted to ask one thing: "So what happened with those girls after you got knocked out, you take them back to yours or something?"

"Oh no sir, I went home to my girlfriend" I'd respond politely, then wait for a moment as they stared at me in confusion, unsure whether I was messing with them or not.

As it neared noon the Fontana lounge filled with players ready for the start of the main event. I milled around catching up with people, and before things began Mike Sexton, Vince Van Patten, and Kimberly Lansing got on stage with the Royal Flush girls. I was at a table by the stage hanging out with Chad Batista, likely talking about our respective taste in shoes. I heard Mike announce my name and say "Wait, where is he?" and I realized I should probably get on stage. I jumped up the steps and went over to shake hands with Mike, and wound up awkwardly positioned standing right in front of Kimberly, which I later apologized to her for. They put the mic in my face for a quick statement and I said something about how flattered I was to get the job then wished everyone luck. I returned to my table and not long after things got underway. I wasn't thrilled with the starting line up at my table, as it contained all young pros I was familiar with except for an older gentleman in seat 9 I'd never seen before. In seat five was Maria Ho and on her immediate left online player "Stammdog". Seat four was empty and someone at the table inquired to the floor who it was. They informed us that the seat was to be filled by the best possible outcome: Luckychewy. The boys had been late as a result of going for a nice breakfast, and none of them had taken their seats yet. Across the table was a young dude with a beard named Justin that I'd played with in a prelim, and we got to talking about the possibility of getting Luckychewy drunk. I bet $100 on the over at Chewy having 5 1/2 drinks on the day, with the condition that I was allowed to instigate. Then I realized the perfect way to get the ball rolling: I'd ice the bastard. The table excitedly discussed the possibility of icing Chewy, though Maria had a certain gleam in her eye that made me concerned that she might text Chewy and get my ass ice-blocked on my first day at work.

I rarely text my agent Matt to ask for anything, so one of the very first requests he ever got from me was "I need a bottle of Smirnoff Ice so I can ice Chewy during the event." Matt went out to search the Bellagio and found that there are no Smirnoff Ice's on the entire Bellagio property. He had a meeting so he wouldn't be able to get one before the break and I had to be resourceful. Chewy arrived at the table about an hour into play and I started making jokes about how he ought to get drunk today. He said that he probably would and I gave a knowing smirk to Justin. Play at the table early was tight aggressive, with only the unknown older guy in seat 9 seeming to be a non-professional player. It didn't take long until he stacked off with QQ on something like an 8 high dry board against the set of Maria Ho for an absolute ton of BBs. The chair was filled with Men "The Master" not long after and we had ourselves a table full of professionals.

I played an early pot against StamDogg where I continuation bet 800 holding 77 on a KK9 flop and he checkraised me to 2000. I called and the brick turn went check/check as did the river. The hand was good and Chewy later remarked that I should likely bet the turn as well since we're almost always ahead and there are potentially a number of bad river cards.

The moment we arrived at the first break I briskly walked out of the Fontana lounge and towards the front of the Bellagio. I proceeded out the lobby door then walked down along the famous fountains and across the street to Planet Hollywood. There's a sort of convenience store near the back of their mall and I was pretty confident they'd have what I was looking for. I walked down the hall, went in, and found a six pack of Ice. I bought just a singular bottle and checked how able my pant pocket was of hiding it. It appeared that it would fit without issue, at least for walking through the Fontana room without appearing suspicious.

We'd had a 15 minute break, but when I returned they'd already been playing for two or three minutes. Chewy was in his seat, meaning my plan to hide it under his chair during break had been foiled. I decided to improvise, and I slid the bottle out of my hand as I walked up from behind, then kneeled down next to him and gently set the bottle under his chair while I started to talk to him in a hushed tone

"Hey dude…did I miss anything while I was away?"

He looked at my strangely, unsure why I was acting so odd.

"Um, not really man, we've only been playing for a few minutes."

"You guys wound up going for a sick breakfast eh?"

"Yea it was real legit. Real legit."

"Sounds like it, guess I should play some poker huh?"

"Uh…yea."

I got up and went around to my seat. Chewy would later tell me he figured I was being weird because I had gone up to someone's hotel room and blazed. He had no clue his inevitable icy doom now lurked beneath him, lying in wait.

I didn't do anything for about 15 minutes. I wanted to make sure enough play and conversation had gone by that his mind was entirely off how weird I was being, and when I provided some strange reasoning for looking under his chair he wouldn't question me. After what felt like an appropriate amount of time to not detect the inception I brought it up

"By the way Chewy, the floor was looking for you during the break about something. I had to go, but they said they'd set it under your chair."

"Ok?" He leaned down and looked under the chair "Oh….OH NO!! CRAP!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeea kid that's right! You've been iced! Down on one knee!"

The entire table started demanding he get down on one knee and chug the sugary alcoholic beverage between fits of laughing at him. He knew he'd been proper iced, and agreed to go through with his end. He got up from his chair, then got down on one knee and started chugging while the WPT cameras filmed my taunting him "You think you can just put an Ice in my shower before day two of a World Series event and there won't be any consequences!? I've been waiting months for this!" Chewy would go on to complain that the carbonated sugar rush meeting his earlier sugar heavy breakfast made for an unsettling duo in his stomach. He had no further interest in drinking, and I was going to lose $100 to Justin.

Play continued and I mostly avoided big pots both because I was surrounded by capable players, and because I didn't have many hands. I limped behind a few limpers with mid gapper spades (I don't remember which) and called a raise after the button isolated and everyone else called. The button was an aggressive Canadian guy who was real friendly and talked to us about his mid to high stakes cash grinding online and occasional tournament experience. The flop came K high with two rag spades, and everyone checked to him. He bet a moderate amount and it folded back to me. I figured this was a spot where checkraise was likely better than check call + do something on later streets, since all his light isolation range will continuation bet this flop, I'd been rather passive in putting in big raises, if I check call and he checks back turn and I bet a blank river he may likely call with most of his showdown value, and it balanced my range for spots where I'd be checkraising with big hands. I went about 3X on his C-bet, and after thinking it over a little he let his hand go.

Still, although my larger pots were going well, my smaller ones weren't and I wasn't winning very many hands. I attempted a light cold 4 bet against Men the Master when he 3 bet the button in a really sick squeeze spot, which led first flat caller "StamDogg" to then make a four bet for about 1/3rd effective stacks, and Men quickly sticking in a  5-ball for the rest of his stack. I meekly folded my J3o or whatever the hell it was and watched "Stamdog" agonize over his decision. Eventually he slid in the necessary chips and tabled KK. Men showed his AA and after the board ran out safe Stamdogg was crippled and Men was the chip leader on the table.

As the day went on Luckychewy paid me back for my icing, seemingly picking every perfect spot against me with his light 3-bets and 4-bets. I don't know if I got the better of him in a single pot. The player on my immediate left continued to play well and aggressive, and we wound up playing a big pot where I raised pre on the CO with 43dd and he called on the button. The came Kd2x8x and he called my C-bet. The turn was the gin Ad, and again I fired out. Again he slid the necessary chips into the pot, and when a useless off-suit jack landed on the river I lined up a bet about three times the size of my turn bet and tossed it into the pot, then started praying for a fold. He gave me a thorough stare down, then after thinking things over a while slid his hand into the muck. A few hands later the same player raised UTG and after a couple players called I called as well with TT in the BB. The flop came T45 with two spades and I checkraised his continuation bet after the other two players folded. The turn was an A putting two flush draws out, and when I bet again he quickly folded. Unfortunately, those were my last seriously successful pots of the day, and after that I got beat or had to give up in the majority of hands I played.

When things finished for the day I was still in with about two thirds of my starting stack but wasn't exactly very comfortable considering I'd be coming back to a stack of just over 30 BB the next day. I caught a ride home with the boys so I could go work out and then relax around the house. My roommate Aaron Jones was kind enough to drive me back to the strip later that night so I could crash at the Bellagio and be up at 6:50am. When I reached my room I popped a sleeping pill, ordered a wake up call, and organized what I would need for the next morning.

Emotional impression meets logical progression

When discussing the game of poker, there will always be a disparity between what we say that we'd do when recalling the hand or reading it on paper, and what we're capable of doing in real time. Our at the table decision making process is more complicated in the moment than it is when we have a more vacuum like scenario-lacking in finer detail and some short term memory-plus we may have a rush of emotion through the duration of the hand that we do not experience during recollection and reconsideration. When learning and practicing our game, we must not only refine our thought process, but refine our decision making. Coming to the correct conclusion is rather useless if you can't pull the trigger in a live scenario, but having a thorough and complexly developed thought process is all for naught if you knee-jerk reaction your decisions in real time.

Our decision making process has two sides, a half that is emotional, impulsive, and instinctual, and a half that is rational, logical, and contemplative. To quote Jonah Lehrer from his book How We Decide: "The most popular theory frames decision-making in epic terms, as a pitched battle between reason and emotion, with reason often triumphing. According to this classic script, what separates us from animals is the godly gift of rationality. When we are deciding what to do, we are able to ignore our feelings and carefully think through the problem." These halves of the process are obvious within poker but I'm not sure there's been a label to them before. As far as I can see, our decision process goes in a consistent sequence. We first take an emotional impression of what's going on, what we see, what we feel, how the flow and history affect the dynamic, what our instinct is telling us, what our immediate gut reaction is. It is instant, and subconscious, and exactly what people mean when they say "Don't think, blink". Then, we go through a logical progression wherein we run down the hand trying to figure out whether everything in the decision we're supposed to make adds up on a logical level. At least, we go through this process when we're playing well, and not on some form of tilt.

It seems clear to me that when it comes to making decisions in poker, the two prevalent halves of the poker world, live and online, generally have a separate opinion of which is more important to develop. Live players are often heavily reliant on their emotional impression of the hand, trusting their years of experience watching people, reading situations, and listening to their instinct to lead them to the right conclusion. Conversely, online players are more reliant on their logical progression, trusting that hundreds of thousands of hands analyzed in poker tracker, hold'em manager, and pokerstove will produce patterns leading to profitable and exploitable situations that are backed by sound math and strong logic. Emotional impression is the G.W. Bush angel on your right shoulder, telling you to shoot first and ask questions/search for WMD later, and logical progression is the Obama on your left, looking to deliberate and theorize until you get shot. Not surprisingly, the two trains of thought are often portrayed at odds with each other, and one group snickers at the other for failing to realize something that they feel is obvious. A few years ago I was snickering myself, and in an industry that often breeds jealousy for others success it can be easy to scoff when someone plays a vastly different style from yourself. What I've come to learn since that time is that the two should not be at odds, but that we should strive for a conflation and synergy that optimizes our decision making capabilities in whatever form of poker we might be playing (and really, in decision making in general).

First we must develop, calibrate, and fine tune each process, and then we need to find a way to give the appropriate consideration to both sides. This is of course done the way everything worth doing gets developed: through practice. But how does one practice a thought process? Depends which one it is.

Practicing your emotional impression seems like an odd idea if it's in theory supposed to be "instinctual". But instinct in a skill set isn't something you're born with, it's something you develop over time through repeated experience and learn to trust as you get better and grow with it. The kind of emotional impression factors we look for during a hand of poker are things like what we see from our opponent, what our "gut" is telling us, and what the flow at the table has felt like up to that moment. These are variables that are hard to quantify in traditional terms and hard to relate on paper when describing the history of a hand. It's easy to mock live players who have clear fundamental and technical leaks, but it's much harder to measure the degree their development in emotional impression negates the lost edges and in some extremely talented cases, can be used in the creation of unexpected ones. To practice the accuracy of your emotional impression, watch hands when outside the action and ask yourself questions such as:

1. What is the strength or weakness read on the body language of the other players? To discern the accuracy of behavior patterns you need to have a sample size of observation to draw upon, otherwise you're just making guesses about the body language of a person based on the generalizations and preexisting assumptions you have about tells. The observation you engage in leading up to the hands you play against certain opponents will provide context to your future decisions against them.

2. Are my opponents being congruent? Are they being consistent with the things I've seen them do before in similar situations, or is something different? Does what's different seem natural, or in some way fabricated? When people lie their body language changes involuntarily, and some are better at controlling and hiding it than others. A surprising amount aren't even conscious of hiding it or anything they’re doing with their body.

3. What is my gut and/or instinct telling me? What do I feel compelled to do before reason and logic even enter my mind? If I were to "follow my heart", where would it take me? (Likely spew-town in my case). Take note of what your immediate reaction is telling you, and look to see how accurate it is over a number of hands.

Practicing your logical progression and general analytical break down process of poker thinking is a more broadly accepted and encouraged idea. All of us that undergo this process do so by a number of methods, be it coaching, watching videos,  posting/reading on forums, reading books/articles, talking poker with friends, and using computer programs to study patterns, leaks, and potential edges. Building up this talent is more a pattern of study, play, and review/revision that will often go in cycles over the course of a career as one or the other becomes more pertinent. Practicing your logical progression during play is another thing. What I have found to be chiefly important in maximizing your analytical potential during play is to slow the fuck down and think it all over. Once poker hands reach a certain level of thinking there's an awful lot of variables going into every decision, and you need to spend some time to eliminate possibilities from opponent’s lines and holdings as a result of their patterns, sizing, history, metagame, and style of play. Take a moment and consider every option. Is the situation really just call or fold, or is there a surprising reason that raise could be better? Have you thought over all the relevant details, and made an effort to remove your emotion and desire from the situation so you can accurately gauge the relevancy of those details and how they should affect your actions? Are you perhaps seeing the patterns or making the rationalization you want to make, and not the one that would be most logical? Are the kinds of things you're seeing from your opponent consistent with what you've seen in the pattern of his play so far, or is something altered and suspect? Are there external factors that would sharply change the thought process of your opponent as opposed to normal circumstances? Take every sliver of information you can then boil it down to the most important pieces and come to your conclusion on what's happening, and then do that over and over again until it becomes pure habit when you're at the table. Let's be realistic here though, nobody is focused 100% of the time on the table, watches all the action, and makes a constant conscious effort to record mental notes. What's important is that you try, and strive to increase the astuteness with which you do this.

Finally, when it comes to making the decision in game time, make sure to use both. First, listen to that emotional impression and what's trying to tell you. Make a mental note of it and save it for later. Then, aim to shut that line of thinking off, slow things down, and start thinking over all the relevant details. Run through your logical progression of the things you think are crucial to the hand and see what conclusion you come to. If your emotional impression and logical progression are in unison then you can feel very confident about your decision. If they're not, then deliberate about whether one is making a stronger or more compelling argument than the other. Think about which one you have more practice listening to and feel comfortable basing a close decision off of, and have the confidence to not second guess yourself on that. For most online players it will likely be their logical progression, for most live their emotional impression, but I'd encourage everyone to start thinking about practicing the side they're less comfortable with instead of viewing it as some kind of intellectual heresy. And if you find yourself in a situation where you just can't decide between the two well then shit, I guess it's time to flip a coin and pray.

WSOP 2010 Main Event Day 7

I awoke after perhaps the best nights sleep I'd had throughout the main event. I was in no rush, and took my time showering and getting dressed. I pulled open my laptop as I settled into the kitchen counter with a boal of oatmeal, and discovered that I and Jean-Robert Bellande had been seated on the feature table. I've been playing with Bobby for years and he's always a riot to talk to on the table, so I knew we were about to have some fun that day. I can't remember the last time I was in such a good mood and excited at the prospect of just going to play poker, and I'm a guy who generally enjoys his job. Day 7 of the main event on the feature table all just seemed so surreal, especially after the roller coaster of days that had proceeded it.

I was chipper and talkative the whole ride to the Rio with Malia. During the drive I got a text from former roommate Ashton, who told me that a friend of his was going to give me some money for him today while I was at the Rio. I assumed some dude would find me and hand over a few big chips and it would be no big deal. Assume nothing when dealing with Ashton Griffen. Throughout our ride together Malia was very excited for me, and gave me a big "GOOD LUCK!!" as I left. I walked through the hallways to the back of the Amazon room. In one corner is the darkened TV table with the stage surrounding it. I made my way over and started speaking with everyone at ESPN and the technical crew about how their cameras work, how the microphones work, where they need to be attached, etc.

If you spend enough time in the poker industry playing major tournaments odds are you've thought about what's going to happen if you wind up on TV. I told myself that if that happened I'd above all just have a great time doing what I was doing. It seems strange to me that a lot of guys who establish themselves as the more out going and big personalities of poker often do so by being abusive, disrespectful, or just plain loud. From what I can tell, outside some rare exceptions, very few guys give off a vibe like they're just having an ass load of fun playing poker on the table, which is odd, because it's exactly what it looks like all the people in those poker commercials are doing. I started playing this game almost a decade ago dicking around with friends in our garages sitting up all night talking, smoking cigars, and having a laugh. I've tried to always remember that's where I started and keep just enjoying my occupation, and with the exception of the most miserable or exhausting days that's usually true. I always told myself if I got on TV I'd be nice to everybody and as goofy as I felt like being. Besides, it's pretty obvious that it's clearly +EV to be talkative and eccentric in the main when on camera, and both come pretty naturally to me.

As soon as Bellande and I were both on the table it was full of chatter. I've always liked Bobby on a personal level, even if he is a totally absurd person that strangely glamorizes being broke. He'd be a perfect time on the table if he could keep from having his heart so broken by the beats and complaining his ass off. However, he's a pretty nice guy if you speak to him and a generally funny and entertaining dude that doesn't pretend to be otherwise. I can't remember everything we got going about, but I know we recalled his most famous WSOP moment where he gets it in against Dragomir and thinks he's got him drawing dead but Dragomir back doors a straight on him. I told Bellande the way Dragomir psychically called out "Bye bye!" was totally hilarious (which it was). It was a pretty tough table that also had online player "Mr. Rain" on it, who was on my direct right, and highly successful but near silent professional John Racener, a couple more on my right. Additionally, a tough Russian I played before was on my left, and nobody on the table I didn't know appeared to be a clown. Not long into my stay at the table a young European guy approached me with a large yellow envelope.
"Tony?"
"Yes?"
"Hi, I'm Ash's friend with the money."
"Oh right, sure no worries."
"Yep, here ya go, how's it going so far?" He handed me the packet. It was full of stacks of 100 dollar bills and while I'm not sure how much was there I'd take a shot at the 50 to 100 thousand area. Who knows with Ash, it could be first prize in the main event with him. I looked at the packet stunned for a moment then collected myself. "Uh.. yea, I mean nothing much has happened so far." Lucky for me, Ash's PA Heather wound up arriving in the audience not long after I was given the envelope and I handed it off to her with a "Hi Heather, would you like an evelope full of money from Ash!?" so I didn't have to sweat it. I don't think the antics or stories of anyone in the house were more amusing or generated better material throughout the summer than Ashton, and he's an incredibly bright guy and nice kid whose mixture of discretionary liquid capitol and general thoughtlessness consistently provides hilarious results.

Unfortunately, for all the verbal action I was engaged in, I was involved in almost none at the table. I'd started the day with nearly 40 big blinds, but they drained slowly as I continued to be card dead as the aggressive players on my right either shoved or opened into my garbage hands. To make matters even worse, Bellande busted early and the table became far less talkative. I often stand up when I play poker and while being up from the table I glanced into the audience and saw a couple of the girls who worked around the UB booth as promotional models. I'd wound up going out to an industry party with one of them as well as Bryon Devonshire and a date of his a week or two prior, and while she was happy to flirt and joke around, she wasn't interested in anything I was selling. Still, she was a cool chick that's quick in conversation and it occurred to me that she just might let me get away with saying a few wild things to her throughout the course of the day. I can't exactly remember how our conversation started, but I remember one of the first things I said to test the water was something like "You know if you sweat me today I'm just gonna come over here and try to get a kiss for good luck when I get all in."
"From Megan?" she asked while motioning towards her friend.
"Well yea, she can get involved if she likes, it'd make for my best double up of the tournament." They had a laugh at my ridiculous line and went with it, so I figured I had the green light to say any preposterous thing that might occur to me and it'd probably be cool.

I returned to the table and continued to be card dead. I didn't win a pot until the blinds had been raised to 25,000/50,000 and I shoved over a John Racener open for about 950,000 and took it down when he folded. I have no idea what I had, I forgot to write my hands down that day. I went through a card dead stretch so I went back to the girls. She'd mentioned at the party that being a promotional girl at the Rio often means having to listen to an endless string of bad beat stories from the players.
"So had to listen to many bad beat stories this week?"
"Nah not too many, I think they all find me intimidating."
"Yea? What's intimidating about you?" (She's about six feet tall and comes across very confident)
"My bitch face."
"Your bitch face?"
"Yea, I've got a really good one."
"Ok... show me."
She playfully scrunched up her face at me and made a sour look.
"It's not as good as your O face" I said dryly after contemplating her visage. Her mouth was momentarily agape then she replied sternly "Oh yea, like you would know!"
"Well we'll work on that then."

I hung out a bit longer then returned to the table and a consistent stream of hands that were obvious folds. It's likely I should have picked some random spot to just jam on John Racener, but he was also aware of his image and seemed pretty willing to raise/call light. Additionally, he had an absolute ton of chips, so it's not like he had to make any stack preservation issues when a light call could potentially get an aggressive player off his left. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting I found a hand to go with when I had 930,000 in chips. It folded to Hasan Habib in mid position who opened to 155,000 and I jammed with Qs Qd next to act. It folded back to Hasan who thought briefly then said he had to call, and moved his chips into the middle and flipped up AsKd. I got up and walked over to the girls.
"I'm gonna be needing that good luck kiss now."
"I just ate a bunch of cashews" she told me (shot down!)
"Fine, cheek it then."
She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and I returned to the table. "Good luck Hasan" I said to him and we shook hands. "You too buddy."
"Well, if I bust this way at least I won't have to explain it to the backer."
Flop: Ks 4s 5d
I did and said nothing. I just watched patiently. The rail gasped and celebrated behind me.
Turn: 3c
River: Qh
The rail erupted with cheers and I cracked a smile. "Well that's just kind of ridiculous" I muttered. I collected the two million chip pot and suddenly found myself back in the game with 40 big blinds. When I returned to my seat in the audience a third girl had joined them and she made some crack about asking the girl who I'd been chatting up whether she needed a condom. "If a kiss on the cheek will win him the hand, then sleep with him and he'll win the tournament" she said to her. I made sure to make a Norman Chad reference for him at one point, and when I came back later told her "I'm only chatting you up so Norman Chad has an easy joke to make about your becoming my next ex-wife." I also made sure to chill out a moment and thank them for the sweat, and told them they were really making it fun for me.

A couple hands later I raised 99 and got called by a tighter player in what I believe was the SB. The flop came ace high with a couple of rags and he check called my bet. The turn was a brick and we botch checked. The river was a low card (and might have completed a flush draw, I can't exactly remember) and when he bet out for sizable amount I let it go. I just don't think that dude was every randomly floating my early position raise after the way he had been playing, but who knows.

Play continued and I mostly folded. The table got rearranged and we added Will Thorson and Matt Affleck to the feature table. I've been friendly with both guys for a long time, Will ever since we wound up on the same day two table in the main event way back in 2006. He's also willing to talk it up pretty frequently and Matt is pretty fun on the table, so things got interesting again. Matt and Will wound up playing a huge pot together that I imagine will get shown on the broadcast where I believe Matt bet/called the river with K high!

We were sent on break before the 30,000/60,000 level. Most of us hung out around the table and I started talking to the whole table, and especially Matt, about our "One mirrion game."
"I've only got a little over a million here left Matt, this might be my last chance. If I put these chips in the middle, they're going in with the mirrion."
"Do it dude, it'll be hilarious."
"Don't you worry."

Things continued miserably for me. With Thorson, Affleck, and Racener at the table we now had three highly loose-aggressive types battling it out for control and my useless hands were no match for the bets and raises fired across the camera wired felt in front of me. After doing nothing but folding for the level I finally found a spot against Will Thorson:
My stack: 1,075,000
Will: ~12,000,000
Blinds 40,000/80,000 with 10,000 ante. I held AcQh in the BB.
Preflop: Will opens UTG, it folds around to me. I draw my chips back then announce "Raise, make it...oooooooooone mirrrrrion!" and put my pinky to my mouth all Dr. Evil style. I heard several people in the audience and on the table crack up, and looked right and Matt as he busted into laughter.
"I'm all in" replied Will.
"Yea, I call."
Thorson flipped up his AsKh and I was in bad shape. We both stood up and started joking around. I said something like "I went out this way but with the AK back in 2006 when we last played, maybe I'm due?"
"Maybe you're due next year" he quickly quipped. I was cracking up.
Flop: 7d 2h 9h
Turn: 9c
River: Ks
I shook his hand with a smile and wished him good luck. I walked around the table doing the same for everyone else then added to Matt "Good luck dude, you're the last piece I got left." I stepped off the stage, did a quick exit interview, and my main event was over. I felt great at the moment honestly, which sounds strange but makes sense considering I was overall happy with the way everything had gone. I'd worked hard leading up to the series, cashed six times, then ran very deep in the main and put myself in a position to final table it. I got an opportunity to clown it up on TV, got my foot in the door of the business side of poker, and throughout the entire summer I just had a shit load of fun on a daily level playing and living with my house of friends. How could I possibly complain?

I wound up hanging out the Rio for a while chatting to people and doing a few quick interviews. I went to find fellow blogger Dr. Pauly and just hung out with him for a moment, collecting his calm and all seeing wisdom from his bleacher perch in the Amazon room where they put the media. We caught up on a whole mess of things and discussed the main event as a whole, and he's a guy who always brings an interesting perspective. When I finished I walked down to the UB booth and found the girls who had been sweating me earlier hanging out eating fruit. I grabbed a little food, hung out for a few minutes, thanked them for sweating me, and stepped out. I don't believe I've run into any of them since.

I took a taxi home and talked to the cab driver the whole way home. I can't remember what about anymore. When I arrived at the house I walked in with a big smile on my face, and upon seeing it spread across my face while walking through the living room Dan yelled at me "STOP SMILING!!"
"Hey dude! I am busto."
"I know, I'm so sad brah. I really thought you were gonna win the main event."
"Yea, that woulda been sick. Ah well. Where's Heika?"
"Outside reading her book."
"No worries, thanks. Smoke later?"
"NUB TO CONFIRM!"
"CONFIRMED!!" I yelled while slamming my elbow into his.

I found Heika outside lying in a chair reading her Jackie Collins novel.
"Hi dear. I'm out of the tournament."
"You're finished? You're out?"
"I am indeed. That's okay though, we can finally hang out now, I'll actually have real live spare time."
"Aw, I didn't want you to go out though."
I crawled into the lawn chair with her and kissed her on the forehead. "That's okay, it's just finishing work for the day. So, what's happening in your novel?"

I spent the remainder of my afternoon listening to Heika explain the convoluted plot of her novel, telling her all about my antics over the course of the day (she just laughed and called me a "dickhead"), screwed around with the guys, smoked as much as I desired, then went to dinner and an evening showing of Inception. It was awesome, and everything I needed out of the night I busted. I felt a huge amount of weight off my shoulders, like all the tension I had been carrying over the week was suddenly and instantly released, and I was finally back to normal. Perhaps I would finally get a good nights rest.

Afterword: I finished in the 50th place in the main event for $168,000 and change. It was well more than enough to get me out of make up, though I'm not exactly sure how much because Mad Dog and I haven't run the numbers in too long.

The six weeks of the WSOP at the Luckychewy house proved to be some of the best in memory. It was a pleasure living with all of my roommates throughout the summer, and the house had surprisingly good cohesion. However, even if there were tension I'd likely never know about it because I was hardly there for a moment all six weeks. I've stayed on living there while most of them moved back home, but luckily the house has a consistent stream of people in and out.

Things have continued to be interesting since the finish. It's no secret now that I landed the position as the host for the new WPT segment "The Raw Deal" and will be present as an employee for a number of upcoming WPT tournaments, as well as playing in them. I'll post more on this at a later date. At the point of this writing, ESPN has aired all the way through day six in the main event and I seem to have been edited and commentated on quite favorably. It's no surprise that Norman Chad likes suits, and I'm grateful for the compliments. Who knows though, he might find the day seven stuff too silly and go 180 on me, but knowing that Norman likes the ladies I'd be surprised. I've wound up doing more poker media stuff in the last few months than I ever thought likely, and have a trip to play some tournaments in Asia coming up in about three weeks with Truck Dan and Mad Dog.

For the few days after the event I was in a state of exhaustion. I spent nearly all my time with Heika, who returned to Australia about a week after the event finished. I won't see her again until January when I go down to play the Aussie Millions, and there's no easy answer for the relationship situation we've found ourselves in. I spent two weeks in a near useless mental coma after the event doing little but playing sports, lifting weights, and eating whatever the hell I wanted. I got back to hard work on poker at the start of the WCOOP but blanked out the events.

These days my eyes are on the game. I run like this doesn't make someone like me depressed, it further lights the fire of my ambition. It makes me wonder what's possible. I doubt I'll ever be happy with the point I get my poker game to, but I know for sure that it's not as good as it needs to be. I have no specific goal in sight, no particular aspiration, I'm just going to keep grinding and studying the game I love to play and see where it takes me.

WSOP 2010 Main Event Day 6

I'm not sure precisely at what moment I became conscious, but somewhere in the 5:30am vicinity I was awoke by the sound of my roommates yelling in the house. Nobody was saying anything of any particular relevance, just a lot of "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEA!!" from Chewy, "WOOOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP" from Dan, and a great deal of clatter and laughter surrounding it. They began playing beer pong while I lay there debating what I should do. My body felt paralyzed, exhausted by the lack of sleep and mental duress of the tournament. I don't know if it was the overall lethargy, or the fact that I realized had I busted the main I would no doubt be raging drunk and yelling in the house on day 6, but I decided to just stay in bed and not do anything about it. Going to shout at them would just be hypocritical.

After some time of noise Heika entered the pool house. My eyes shot open and I looked at her and said very blankly "Heika, they're making too much noise and I've got to play tomorrow. Can you tell them to keep it down?" Though my choice in vocabulary and phrasing was polite enough, my eyes apparently communicated something my words did not, and Heika decided to sleep on the couch in the house that night. She went back in and asked everyone if they could please keep it down, but they were too drunk to listen and kept it up for another hour or so. At the time it was intensely annoying, but in retrospect it's pretty hilarious. I found a long, drawn out apology letter from her in the trash of my bathroom the next day. It said she was sorry for all the noise and really tried to have everyone keep it down and was so sorry that she felt she was causing trouble while I was trying to play. I think she threw it out because she realized it just wouldn't be necessary with someone like me, knowing that I'd settle it by playfully insulting Chewy and Dan a few times then having a smoke and shrugging it off as a hazard of living with my favorite brahs, and that I was really never mad at her over anything. I never told her I found the letter.

I found out what had happened to them all when I returned home from play after making it through to day seven (ending ruined!) Apparently they'd gone out to the Wynn and got raging drunk at dinner and on the casino floor. They then got a cabana at the new club Surrender, and invited friends in the form of 2+2 posters "WCGRider" (Doug) and "Jungleman" (Dan), the most recent taker of the Durrrr challenge. They too were quite intoxicated, and at some point stepped out into the balcony at the back of the cabana and urinated off of it. Security came over not long after and informed everyone they were being kicked out because a couple dudes had pissed off the balcony. I'm told Doug quickly fessed up to his mistake, but Jungleman held out on it for some time. Either way, the security personal had video footage or some such business, and everyone was escorted out. People started giving Jungleman shit for having done it and he told them he'd pay for the cabana in an annoyed tone. This set off 2+2 poster and guest at the house "nycballer" (Ben) who started intensely shouting directly in the face of Jungleman for a while. Heika gave him a few jabs too. Everyone was displeased. By the time they arrived home they were all completely smashed and cranked up from having such a fucked up night. To my knowledge they've all gotten over it and Jungleman came over not long before he accepted the challenge and was strongly urged by Chewy and Dan (of the truck variety) to take it up. Again, I find myself in a position of being unable to judge, because it wasn't so long ago I got it in my head that I was going to try and have sex on one of those same balconies. Glad someone made that fuck up for me.

I'd set an alarm the previous night, but apparently set it incorrectly or something because it didn't go off. Malia woke me up in the vicinity of 9:40 (I can't remember if by knocking or calling anymore) and I jumped out of bed at a frantic pace trying to get showered, dressed, and out the door in time to make it to the interview. I texted the people at ESPN to let them know I'd likely be late, and got on the phone with Matt to see if I would be wearing a patch during play today. Despite my stacks collapse on day 5 interest apparently remained high and it was likely I would be patched up. Matt told me that Tilt had made the most favorable and interesting offer and that I would be meeting their representative in the hallway. Malia took me to the Rio as quickly as possible and I jogged to the doors after being let out. I'd made it only a couple minutes late, and found him in the hallway only a moment later. We shook hands and he grabbed a patch from his coworker to place on my right shoulder, sort of opposite the pocket square on the left. While we were getting it attached firmly I told him what I was thinking:
"I'm surprised you pushed for me, I was kind of a dickhead to you guys back a couple years ago."
"That's ok, you're Bond18, you're a character! You get away with it!"

I was referring to my former employment with Full Tilt as one of their bloggers back in 2008. Long story short; they were having an FTOPS series and the first event crashed the server for something like 20% of people playing, many of which deep in tournaments, myself included. I posted about it on 2+2 in full blown outraged and smart ass form, and while I was right that there were indeed issues at the time my posting lacked any professionalism or tact. I could have said the same things in a way that would have been useful to both the 2+2 community and Full Tilt and not compromised myself as their employee. I told Apestyles the other day that one of the pleasures of getting older has been realizing what a dumbass I was when I was younger. I wonder how big a dumbass I'll think I was now when I'm 35? 45? While I'm paranoid about the physical consequences of aging, I'm looking forward to the perspective and knowledge it brings.

Once my patch was thoroughly attached I walked over to ESPN producer Sari, said hello, and apologized for the small delay. She ran me down what they'd be doing during the interview, then brought me into a side room where they do the taping. There is a camera, a leather chair, a rug, and some dark drapes at the back of the room. The seat is brightly lit by the camera, and I was directed over to it. I got comfortable, and after a moment of chit-chat we got down to the formal interview. I can't really remember what I said but I remember that I naturally just answered her questions as directly yet playfully as possible and gave a little on my back-story, my development in the game, and why I wear the suits all the time. When we finished I hung out talking to the ESPN staff and got to know what their side of the industry, which is something I like to do when I meet people from the different sides of it. We players are mostly purists and we forget sometimes that there is something much bigger surrounding us than just the cards and chips in front of us.

After finishing speaking to everyone I headed straight for Starbucks. I felt better than I thought I would for having been woken up again and being generally drained from play, but I was still going to need the caffine. My stomach felt absolutely awful from gut rot so I made sure to get one of the sissy ass iced beverages. It was probably delicious though, so fuck it. I took a walk over to the table and found they'd seated us on one of the outside raised tables. Seated on my direct left for the day was online player Josh "Thenorfman" Norris, a friend of mine I've seen around for every WSOP since 2008. We got to talking immediately and discussed how we were both having the same sleep problems and gut rot. Some of the guys on the table were unknowns to me, others I'd played with before, but Josh was the guy I knew the best. With blinds at 10k/20k and a stack of 327,000 I was going to need something to happen for me fast.

In one of the first few orbits I shoved something like 14 or 15 big blinds over a button open with 44 in the SB. After the BB folded he tanked for a bit then folded AJ face up. Eyes widened and mouths were agape around the table; I said nothing. I moved in at least one more time before I finally found an opportunity to get some chips back from aggressive player Ryan Eriquezzo. Ryan opened it UTG with a stack of about 2,000,000 to 48,000. I was in MP1 with about 450,000 and aces, and when it folded to me I moved in after a little thought. It folded back to Ryan who instantly called and tabled his QQ, though I didn't hear him announce it. He tabled his hand so fast I was confused and asked "Wait, is that a call?" and when he said it was I flipped over the aces and felt bad for the slowroll. He could tell I didn't mean anything by it thought. The board ran out 2 3 7 9 K rainbow and I was back to almost a million in chips and very healthy again.

Not long into the day Scandi bad ass Johnny Lodden got moved to the table with a ton of chips. Lodden is infamous for accumulating gigantic amounts of chips in major tournaments and then having some kind of implosion hand for a huge amount of blinds. Still, that's not something I was counting on because 99% of the time Lodden is one of the nastiest, most aggressive guys you could get on your table, and I wasn't happy to see him there. He began opening quite often, which lead the highly preflop aggressive Ryan Eriquezzo to both flat and 3-bet him with some regularity. After watching this go on for some time I found a great spot preflop:
My stack: ~760,000
Lodden: ~3,000,000
Ryan: ~1,100,000
Blinds 10,000/20,000 with 3000 ante. I held AdTd on the button.
Preflop: Folded to Lodden to in MP2, Lodden raised to 51,000, Ryan reraised to 139,000 next to act, the CO folded, and after a brief amount of thought I moved all in. It folded back to Lodden who folded without much regret, but then Ryan went into the tank for a very long time. The cameras huddled around and had been doing so every time I moved in, adding a heightened sense of drama. He started talking to me, asking a number of questions and whether I'd show if he folded. I never say a word during a hand when I've put someone to a decision, only when they've done it to me in case they feel like giving something away for free. I was pretty sure once he didn't call immediately he was likely going to fold, but after agonizing for some time he finally passed his hand. "Did you want to see?" I asked him. "Yes please" he replied. I casually turned my hand over and raked the pot. He hung is head in a moment of frustration then tapped the table and said "Nice spot."
"Oh man that was sweet, you found the spot and you pulled the trigger in the main" said Josh next to me. Throughout the course of the day we became each others "pound it" guy, giving each other a quick pound whenever one of us got it in preflop. Still, despite the camaraderie we had to play each other hard, and at one point I raised then 4 bet shoved on him with AJo on the CO after he 3-bet me on the button and he folded. But I told him what I had at the end of the day.

The table contained another aggressive young player in the form of 2+2 poster and moderator "Iggymcfly". I'd never met him before, but someone had sent me a PM the previous night informing me that's who the name a couple chairs on my left was. I didn't know much about his game but knew that was a smart dude, and he'd already shown a willingness to 3-bet pretty frequently. Near the start of the second level we wound up getting involved in a major pot:
My stack: ~860,000
Iggy: ~1,500,000
Button: ~400,000
Blinds 12,000/24,000 with 3,000 ante. I held AKo on the button.
Preflop: It folded around to the CO, the CO moved all in, I thought a little, I moved all in, the SB folded, Iggy thought for a moment in the BB and made the call. Everyone tabled their hands: Iggy held QQ, the CO AT.
"You'll slam out a king" said Josh next to me.
"Well if I bust out with AK to QQ that's no worries, at least I didn't spew it off, it's an honorable way to go out" I said with a smile.
Flop: K 3 6 rainbow
I started on at the flop, saying and doing nothing but intensely hoping on the inside that for the love of God there weren't any queens in those last two cards.
Turn: T
River: 6
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Very cool" I said dryly. My head was swimming; I'd started the day only a few hours ago were a mere 327,000 and now had shot up to the area of 2,100,000. I had nearly 100 BB, and almost anything was possible.

They put a new player on the table when Ryan busted out, and I took a liking to 3-betting him because he just didn't look or seem like the kind of guy who was going to suddenly 4-bet me light. Iggy took notice and responded to my aggression, creating a huge pot:
My stack: ~2,000,000
Iggy: ~1,035,000
Blinds 12,000/24,000 with 3,000 ante. I held AhAd on the button.
Preflop: It folded to MP1, MP1 raised to 59,000, MP2 folded, I raised to 180,000, CO folded, Iggy on the button shoved for 1,035,000, it folded back to me, I called instantly. Iggy turned over AQo and I was in amazing shape to have a ton of chips. I stood up and Josh gave me a small pound and a good luck. "How much is that Iggy?" I asked him before any cards came down. "A bit over a million" he replied.
Flop: Q Q 5
Though I was shocked on the inside, at the time I think I just blankly said "Well, I guess that's why I ask for the count." I would later quip in a bust out interview that my only regret for the tournament was not immediately remarking after the flop came down something along the lines of "Well, it seems my penchant for being seen with as many women as possible is biting me in the ass here." It reads cheesy, but if you could pull it off in real time all super nonchalant like you didn't give a fuck about no two queens on the flop it'd be hilarious. Instead I just stood there numbly staring at the board. I think some guy on the other side of the table said he had the last ace.
Turn: 2
River: 2
I counted out the necessary chips and slid them over to him. I did my best to think that despite not having over three million in chips, the million I still had left was three times what I'd started the day with only a few hours ago. Say for example, you'd told me that morning that after 3 hours play into the day I'd have a million chips, I'd be a happy man wouldn't I? Of course I would. And so I continued playing calmly with my million, and told Josh we had to play the "One Mirrion!!" game. He was way down. Damn it man somebody had to pull off the mirrion!

I fought for what chips I could over the rest of the level and went away to dinner with something like 900,000 to my name. Josh and I went to the Indian place and discussed everything that had gone down over the course of the day on the table. We were both better off than we started, but not where we had hoped to be. Josh is your normal super nice Canadian guy, and a dude who has been grinding and beating online tournaments for years now. Although I ran good throughout the main event in a lot of ways, I most certainly ran good for sitting directly next to me company. On day three it was Dwyte Pilgrim, four "Sloppyklod", five Matt Affleck, and on six I'd gotten Josh. We laughed it up almost all day on the table, and I found myself more emotionally involved in his all ins than my own if only because I make such a point of being disconnected to mine.

When we returned from dinner the blinds had gone up to 15,000/30,000 with a 4,000 ante. I played a few small pots in the early goings of the level and not long into it played a larger pot:
My stack: ~1,000,000
BB: ~3,000,000
Blinds 15,000/30,000 with a 4,000 ante. I held As8s in MP2.
Preflop: It folded to me, I raised to 70,000, it folded around to the BB, the BB called.
Flop: 4s 8d Qs
The BB checked, I bet 100,000, the BB called.
Turn: Qd
The BB checked, and I figured I'm never happy if he check-raises and there's probably not a ton of hands in his range that call down three barrels, so I might as well check back and give him a chance to fall in love with a weaker 8 or 4 on the river, or catch up on a worse flush draw and get a ton of chips on. Hopefully he'd bluff a worse flush draw on the river as well, but I couldn't say for sure.
River: 2c
He bet 225,000, I called immediately, and he tabled 4d3d for some kind of strange value bet bluff, a merge if you will. My stack climbed back in the right direction.

I hung tight with my new chips for a while and got a feeling of the flow of the table. I was fairly card dead and didn't do very much for some time, but tried to stay in a pot here and there without doing anything especially spewy. Mid way through the level I found myself in another big pot against IggyMcfly:
My stack: ~1,500,000
Iggy: ~2,000,000
Blinds 15,000/30,000 with a 4,000 ante. I held AJo in MP1.
Preflop: It folded around to me, I raised to 70,000, MP2 folded, Iggy called on the HJ, everyone else folded.
Flop: 4 4 3 rainbow
I bet 100,000, Iggy called.
Turn: 2
I bet 230,000, Iggy called. This seems like a questionable spot. I'm not really sure how wide Iggy is peeling both the flop and turn bets against me. Unknown factors include how often he's floating the flop (at least some I would think), how often he's calling the flop and turn with ace high (which makes me think that my sizing is too small on the turn because plenty of guys might not fold a big ace on that card getting good odds), and how often he's willing to hero fold some kind of mid pair to me on the turn. Still, I think betting is clearly better than check/calling to most bet sizes from him, it's just questionable whether it's better than check/folding to most bet sizes from him.
River: 3
I checked, Iggy bet 300,000, and I gave up.

My stack sank to 1,100,000 and things didn't get any better from there. After that almost every open raise I made that couldn't call a shove got shoved on and I lost all the small straight forward spots that I played. It wasn't until my stack had been nearly halved that I played another big pot:
My stack: ~680,000
BB: ~6,000,000
Blinds 15,000/30,000 with a 4,000 ante. I held 9d9h UTG+1 eight handed.
Preflop: UTG folded, I raised to 70,000, it folded around to the BB, the BB called.
Flop: 7d 2c 3d
The BB checked, I bet 100,000, he shoved pretty quick and I called even quicker. He table Jh7h and I stood up to wait and see if I could fade his five outs.
Turn: Ac
River: 4h
I shot back up to almost 50 big blinds and finally felt safe for a moment again. I wound up getting moved tables not long after, and on the very first hand upon my arrival at the new table I got into a huge pot with a young Spanish player that had gotten AA against my KK deep in the $5,000 6 max event for the remains of my stack:
My stack: ~1,500,000
BB: ~3,000,000
Blinds 15,000/30,000 with 4,000 ante. I held 7s7c on the CO.
Preflop: It folded around to me on the CO, I raised to 70,000 while unstacking my chips, it folded to the BB, the BB called.
Flop: Kh 8s 6c
The BB checked, I bet 100,000, he called.
Turn: 7h
After considering his options for a moment the BB led out for 200,000. I considered my own, then announced a raise and made it 500,000 (I think this needs to be a little bigger). He stared me down for a little bit then called.
River: 9s
He checked. I decided there were very few tens in his range and I wanted to give him a chance to hero call me with a strong king because he may think that the board becoming a four straight is scary enough to bluff. I moved in on him for about 900,000 and after thinking for a while he folded.

I wound up being seated directly next to Theo Jorgensen, but unfortunately for me he didn't start dancing at any point in our playing together. I was mostly card dead, but attempted to 3-bet that German basketball guy light and he promptly shipped it right back in my face. I gave it a quick fake think then let my hand go. I wound up getting moved again and was seated directly to the right of Eric "Basebaldy" Baldwin, fellow Wisconsinite and all around tournament hero over the last couple years. I played a few small pots near the end of the day and wound up shoving nines over an open once in one of the last hands of the night, but nothing of any serious relevance wound up happening. When the dust settled I had about one and a half million again, and was still alive on day seven of the main.

I still felt tired at the end of play like the other days but in some other ways elated. I thought the collapse might continue right on through the day, but instead I'd run hot early, collected a ton of chips, then survived a savage beat to end with enough chips to keep me in it. I made my way home and came back to a much warmer reception. I gave Chewy and Dan a thorough glaring, then hung outside with everyone and told them about my day with a smirk on my face. It was certainly getting interesting now...