Trip Report - Whiffleboy in Vegas Part II
Whiffleboy
It’s 9:30am and I wake up to the sound of snickering. Marcus and Mikey
are laughing at a situation that came up the night before at the poker
table. Evidently, there was a pissy little gentleman sitting at their
table whose left hand had an obvious deformity. He put a bad beat on
Mikey, but Mikey, being the nice guy that he is, said nothing. Marcus was
questioning him this morning about it and says “I was waiting for you to
say something to that guy last night when he put that beat on you.” Mikey
replies, “What am I gonna say, *nice hand*?” We bust out laughing. We
spent the next 10 minutes coming up with more responses like, “What are
you doing in the pot with that hand?”, “You’re calling me with that hand?”
and so on. Poor taste, I know. But, deep down, I think everyone thinks
that sh*t.
We all grab some breakfast poolside again. I think it’s cool that you can
actually buck the “no shirt, no shoes, no service” thing here at the
Paradise Café (or whatever the hell it’s called). I chose the flapjack de
jour. My syrup steward recommended a light maple – dry, yet finishing
with a pleasant bouquet. After an hour or so, everyone heads up to the
room to get dressed for some more poker. I opt to soak up the sun a bit
more. After last night, I really needed to chill out. I surf a lot and
man, let me tell you, it’s soooo good for your mental health. I’m 320
miles from the beach today so I have to settle for the oasis the Mirage
has gloriously spread before me. I spend a couple of hours centering
myself, doing a few laps and cat-napping. I squeezed in a Mimosa too (no,
I'm not gay).
After a dismal finish at the poker table last night, I’m low rolled again
and only being 50% through my weekend, I’m a little concerned about how to
make the most of what money I have left. I really don’t want to sit at
6/12 with one or two buy-ins left and I certainly don’t want to play 3/6
again. I decided to hit up my blackjack table to attempt a quick score.
I sit at third base and win a nice little double-down on my first hand. I
throw a $5 chip out to the dealer and ask her for silvers. She
immediately tosses the red chip down in the tip box. I paused to digest
what just happened and said nicely “Oh, I asked for silvers.” She said she
didn’t hear me say that and continued dealing. No apology, no nothing.
It was a $10 bet and a $20 win. What did she think? This irks me. She
kept looking at me while she dealt the next few hands. She must’ve have
noticed the look on my face. Still she said nothing. It really got me
steaming after I dropped $150 over the next 15 minutes till her push.
Crap! This is sucking in a major way. I get up and decide to chill at
the Sports Bar over a couple of beers and some video poker.
As stated before in Part I, drinking does funny things. One thing it does
well is make you feel better in your head. That comes at a cost, though.
And that cost is your judgement. You see where this is going, don’t you?
I’m a bit tipsy, feeling better, but get the brilliant idea to head over
to the ATM and yank another $300 out. “This is great!” I say, “Now I can
comfortably get back in the 6/12 and commence the winning. This win will
be a nice addition to my Maui fund.” Right, dumbass. You’ve left a
blackjack table tilting and now you’re drinking. Nice combo, pinhead.
“It’s OK,” I think to myself, “well, we’re renting a condo in Maui so I’ll
save money on food by just cooking more!” I’m a friggin’ genius.
I take the 2 seat at a new 6/12 game. My roommate, Cass, is in seat 7.
It’s a great loose game. However, it becomes readily apparent that my cold
streak is continuing. Great starting hands that have to be let go on the
turn or river. The few times I stick with them, I’m 2nd place. I’m
beginning to wear down again. My cold streak and my tilt potential are
forming a symbiotic relationship and, if I’m not careful, they both could
develop into one monster with the chip-sucking power of an army of
Hoovers. I move to the 9 seat and reload $100. “This is a great game,” I
say to Cass, “I’m stuck, but I can’t leave it.” All the while, that
little voice is telling me “you better get up RIGHT NOW.” I feel myself
lowering my card selection. Almost setting myself up for situations where
I know I’ll be beat, just so I can blame it on a “losing streak”. Grant
it, I really was getting beat up on my big hands. Matter of fact, this
whole trip so far has netted me two post-flop pots and I’m batting 0 for 7
on flush draws. However, I’m smarter than to allow a cold streak to
combine with tilting. Actually, no I’m not - I gracefully reload another
$100. “I’m bound to turn this around,” I think to myself. What a jackass.
Tony, our high rolling friend, decides to sit down with us in the 5 seat.
Evidently, he’s taken a bad hit at the blackjack tables this trip and
needs to chill. Welcome to the slums, buddy. Shortly after, Mikey joins
us in the 10 seat. I continue my decline while Tony remarkably builds his
stacks of red up. Cass hovers around the even mark while Mikey takes me
out at the knees on a crippling runner-runner flush spike heads-up
(f*cker). :-) Shortly after, I raise all-in with AJo heads-up against the
BB. I hit top two by the turn and he predictably rivers a gutshot. I
have the wherewithal to get up after that one and IGHN. I’m getting beat
up, yet, I'm throwing half the punches. Don’t play on tilt folks. Of
course, hindsight is 20/20…
Part III pending…
Whiffleboy
_________________________________________________________________
Posted using RecPoker.com - http://www.recpoker.com
Fustanella
Can't wait to read it. You've got a fine style of writing there. Thank you.
jw
"Whiffleboy" <anon...@weho.org> wrote in message
news:3edd5ae0$0$36755$9a6e...@news.newshosting.com...
> SATURDAY
> It's 9:30am and I wake up to the sound of snickering. Marcus and Mikey
> are laughing at a situation that came up the night before at the poker
> table. Evidently, there was a pissy little gentleman sitting at their
> table whose left hand had an obvious deformity. He put a bad beat on
> Mikey, but Mikey, being the nice guy that he is, said nothing. Marcus was
> questioning him this morning about it and says "I was waiting for you to
> say something to that guy last night when he put that beat on you." Mikey
> replies, "What am I gonna say, *nice hand*?" We bust out laughing. We
> spent the next 10 minutes coming up with more responses like, "What are
> you doing in the pot with that hand?", "You're calling me with that hand?"
> and so on. Poor taste, I know. But, deep down, I think everyone thinks
> that sh*t.
>
> We all grab some breakfast poolside again. I think it's cool that you can
> actually buck the "no shirt, no shoes, no service" thing here at the
> Paradise Café (or whatever the hell it's called). I chose the flapjack de
> jour. My syrup steward recommended a light maple - dry, yet finishing
> course, hindsight is 20/20.
>
> Part III pending.