Microfolks in Vegas

[MrWookie]

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We need a picture of Beauty and the Beast. Also, where is Eeegah on the ATo ruling.

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At least a title change from veteran to Well Groomed.

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I think that one might be taken, but I can look into it. Also, all this talk about being so well groomed is news to me. You only dress up for the chump in tevas and socks and not for me? I'm glad I know where our relationship stands.

[Ignignokt]

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I think that one might be taken, but I can look into it. Also, all this talk about being so well groomed is news to me. You only dress up for the chump in tevas and socks and not for me? I'm glad I know where our relationship stands.

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I dress up for Vegas, baby!

And if I tried to wear anything but jeans with those vinyl chairs at Muckleshoot, I think I'd end up with a pit-stain on my bum.

[tyler_cracker]

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Also, all this talk about being so well groomed is news to me. You only dress up for the chump in tevas and socks and not for me? I'm glad I know where our relationship stands.

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He talked about you the whole time; i'm sure i meant nothing to him.

[Ignignokt]

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He talked about you the whole time; i'm sure i meant nothing to him.

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You are all special in your own way.

[Buzz-cp]

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He talked about you the whole time; i'm sure i meant nothing to him.

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You are all special in your own way.

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remind me to leave the room when you all start making out

[Ignignokt]

The final day of the trip the same way as every trip I've taken to Vegas: awaken at the very latest moment possible, then frantically shower, dress and pack before check-out time. I do, then store my bags with the desk-bound bell staff. At least I know they'll be well-guarded.

The agenda: breakfast and poker. That's it. Okay, and coffee drinking. And maybe some booze. I'll start again. Amongst my agenda are such diverse elements as breakfast, poker, blah blah blah.

And I'm not leaving the MGM. Unless I want to.

One eggs benedict later, I Starbucks up and get me to the poker room, where I'm immediately seated to the left of a guy with a thick accent who seems to know very little about poker other than he likes to play it. Good, good. The woman to my left looks really intent on playing good poker, and carefully considers each move, which 90% of the time is "call." Good, good. Everyone's in good spirits, and being Friday they haven't had their bankrolls crushed yet.

I'm having a little trouble hitting a groove, though, and the guy to my right, who turns out to be Israeli, actually seems to be picking up knowledge as he goes. He's raising, and, yes, even folding. My phone vibrates. I don't recognize the number. I don't recognize the voice, or even the words (they're playing a crappy mash-up for the 300th time in five days at the bar next door).

"Huh?"

"IT'S FUJI THE FISH!!"

He should have felt free to add "ya bastard" at the end of that sentence, but I digress...

He starts to tell me he probably isn't going to be making it out before I leave, but at that moment, I'm dealt my first decent hand in ages, and I'm in BB, and damned if I let either the cards or the BB go to waste. I put the phone down and Fuji gets to hear my wacky poker chat stylings vs. the Israeli guy, who as it turned out was trying to push me off the hand because he figured I was distracted by the phone call (told ya he was learning). No such luck, dude. I win.

I finish up with Fuji (maybe in September - Wookie, get the ball rolling!) and get back to the task at hand. Before long I get a call from Tyler, who will be showing up shortly. In the meantime, I'm slowly grabbing a bunch of the Israeli guy's money, and the brother of the woman on my left sits in to her left. Bad play seems to be genetic, although his is of the "bluffing when someone else obviously has a hand" variety.

Israeli Guy busts out, and an obvious SoCal chick named Emily sits in. She's a kick, she knows most of the dealers and floor, and has a few poker skillz too. Then a loud, drunk Minnesota guy gets moved from another table to ours. "I'm drunk!" he declares as he sits in (or more precisely, stands in - he's standing most of the time he's there). I note the pink beverage he's holding and declare, "it looks like you're Girl Drink Drunk." For the rest of the night he feels he has to defend this assault on his manhood by...um, smelling a Maker's Mark, which Emily and I are shooting.

"He called me a [censored] pussy!" he declared repeatedly, after which the dealer would warn him each time, and I would repeat, "no, I called you a Girl Drink Drunk." As he spoke, he rained spittle on a local named Donna sitting to his left. Good times.

During this time, Tyler arrived, played 1/2 while waiting for a seat, then took the place of Calling Sister when she busted out. The fun continues as a board pairs jacks on the turn and drunkern Minnesotan bets and displays his jack to his opponent. The opponent calls anyway, but when the river offers no flush, he folds and DM is happy. In the meantime, Emily has been joking with me and touching my arm. Being a man with needs and desires, I know exactly how to parlay this: I have her buy me a sandwich.

I leave on a bathroom break, and when I return, DM is away from the table, talking to a floorman. Tyler has adequately related the tale of DM's departure from the table, and he is replaced by the two attractive luckbox Asian chicks. The table is seriously EV+, and even if I'm down about a rack, I'm having a great time, and it's almost time to leave. Egged on by Tyler, I decide to change my flight, and I'm now officially pulling an all-nighter.

Of course, no sooner do I sit back in than the Asian chicks decide to take their ill-gotten booty and go dancing, as if that's more important than playing more poker. I'm thinking venue change. Tyler suggests the Bellagio. What the heck.

After experiencing the Friday night crawl of weekender traffic, we find the Bellagio is packed to the gills and the list is long, so we grab some chili at "Snacks," which oddly has the ambience of the snack bar of the local Target, except without the rotating hot dogs under the heat lamp.

We return to find a new 4/8 table was started and we missed out, so we re-list and go to check out the high-stakes area. In "Bobby's Room" I don't recognize anyone. Tyler thinks he sees Chau Giang; I comment that he looks younger in real life. In another area Men the Master is playing heads-up triple-draw, apparently sans Corona.

We get seated at a table with yet another drunk (on a Friday night? In Las Vegas? Get OUT!) who's raising pretty much any two cards, but not before first asking, "can I raise?"

I pick up ace-something and 3-bet his raise, and one guy coldcalls between us. I whiff but bet the 9-high flop, both villains call. I whiff but bet the turn, two calls. Strike three on the turn, I check, it's checked around and coldcalling guy shows down 98 for a pair of 9s and the pot. He then proceeds to tell me how I would have won if I had bet the river. Over and over. "I would believe you!" Yeah, right.

As it happens, this is a harbinger of the session to come.

Shortly after the drunk leaves, Tyler racks up, wishes me well and does the same. I should have followed his lead. A new drunk guy (scotch rocks, heavy on the rocks) sits in the first drunk's seat and picks right up raising. In one hand he's HU against a guy to my right. On a paired board with a flush and straight possible, drunk guy goes all the way to the felt, at least eight bets. I'm trying to guess who's got the boat and who's got the flush. Drunk guy turns over: second pair. Not-so-drunk-guy turns over: top and bottom pair. Please please pleeeeease God, give me a hand so I can get me some of that.

Drunk guy rebuys, and the table begins to turn over, filling in with some friendly young Vietnamese guys who obviously knew each other and had to continuously be told to speak English while in a hand, and an extremely large, sweaty Eastern European guy in a Hooters t-shirt who would call any number of bets with a flush draw or middle pair.

A typical hand featured two or three of the Vietnamese guys raising and 3-betting, Hooters Guy calling, and a vicious Hooters Guy suckout on the river while he tries to flirt with a practically silent Japanese woman sitting to his left. I eventually pegged the Vietnamese guys as ultra-preflop LAGs but fairly shrewd postflop (kinda like many 2+2 tables). To top it off, I was getting exactly zero playable hands. I should have quit, but I only had a couple of hours to play, so I hung in...and folded...and folded...and got sucked out on by Hooters guy when he hit trip 5s on the river...and got pushed off second pair by two of the Vietnamese guys bluffing each other...and folded.

Finally, I was down to about half a rack, and it was time to rebuy or leave. I chose to leave. My luckbox was empty. I did the walk of shame, deflecting desperate one-last-trick hooker come-ons as I went (since when is "will you marry me" an acceptable solicitation?).

For the first time ever, I slept on a plane.

All in all, it was a great time, thanks in large part to Tyler, who also manages to not drink liquor in a city that gives it to you (practically) free. A stand-up guy.

And I ended up ahead about $300 for the trip, and with the joy of live poker coursing through my veins (although once I'm facing the various degenerates of the Seattle-area cardrooms, it may harden and clot once again).