Category: Zachary Elwood

Objects in the Mirror, part two

They call it the World Series of Poker, but I’m thinking that might just be a misnomer.

To reach baseball’s World Series, players must slog their way through an interminable, yawn-inducing regular season (162 games) plus a couple of weeks of playoffs before they get a crack at the so-called World Championship.

To reach the World Series of Poker, simply buy a ticket to McCarran International Airport, catch a ride to the Rio, plunk down your cash, and you’re in.

And unlike MLB’s World Series, which is a best-of-seven contest, the WSOP is actually 65 separate events played over the course of seven weeks, with various games and buy-ins culminating in the ten-day No-Limit Hold’em Main Event, the one that costs $10,000 for a seat at the table, the one that will pay out $10 million to the winner when the final nine players reconvene in November.

By Gage Skidmore [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Aaron Paul was among the entrants in the 2014 Main Event.
At the WSOP, gender is not an issue. Neither is age, as long as you’re at least 21. Neither is nationality or skill. So essentially it’s more like the WCOP, the World Convention of Poker. You could be Stanford scholar or a paranoid, hygienically challenged old coot. You could be a celebrity: Aaron Paul, James Woods, Justin Henry and Ray Romano played this year. You could hail from Minsk, Athens, Tel-Aviv, or Matuyama City, Japan; a total of 87 countries were represented in the pool of 6,683 players who ponied up $10Gs for this year’s Main Event.

By the time I arrived at the Rio for my shot at a WSOP Side Event (which I’m capitalizing to make it seem more important that it actually was), 90% of those players had been bounced. Smarts and celebrityhood simply cannot protect you from those ever-escalating blinds.

The delegate from the fair state of Oregon will please step forward and be seated.

So while the 690-something remaining Main Event participants duked it out in the Amazon room, at 2:45pm I presented my entry slip and photo ID to the dealer at my assigned table, number 57, and took my place at seat four.

Psyched. Ready to compete against the other 538 entrants. “The Mental Game of Poker” had prepped me psychologically, and the Power Bar Triple Protein Threat that I’d consumed in my room at Bally’s and the Chocolate Caramel Fusion Bar in my pocket were going to keep me buzzing for awhile.

It’s 3pm: Let the game begin!

The contest progressed like this: 30-minute levels beginning at 25/50 blinds, with antes being added at level four. A 20-minute break every two hours.

At every poker table, there’s always a designated chatterbox and at table 57 those duties fell to the loudmouthed, Bronx-born general manager of a Houston car dealership. He wouldn’t shut up, perhaps because he was lubricating himself with tumbler after tumbler of vodka and pineapple juice. His playing style: Loosey-goosey, any two cards will do.

Then there was this lanky kid, an omnivore from Berlin, a terrible player with a charming German accent. While the Bronx guy was inhaling vodka, this kid was inhaling food. First there was the plate of salad and cheese that he forked into his mouth during and between hands. Then he disappeared and returned from the Poker Kitchen with a plastic tray bearing a large chunk of beef and a side of potatoes, which he proceeded to shovel down his gullet. Unfortunately for him, this fuel did nothing to improve the quality of his game. Soon he was hanging by a thread, prompting the sardonic old codger to my right to lean into me and whisper, “I bet he goes all in once he finishes that slab of meat.”

The final morsel was consumed, a final bet was made and he was gone.

Two hours later, it’s time for break number two, and I’m the one hanging by a thread. My chip stack has drastically shrunk. I have 20 minutes to figure this out. Out on the patio, in the hundred-degree heat, I take a shot at visualization: What’s the best possible situation for me at this point?

I picture pocket aces. I picture making a big raise. I picture everyone folding, except two players. I picture my aces holding up.

What the hell: If you’re going to dream the impossible dream, why not go all the way?

Inside, three hands later, I look down at my hole cards: Pocket aces. I make a big raise. Everyone folds except two players. I go all-in. My pocket aces win it and I triple up.

Tip of the hat to Shakti Gawain.

Finally, though, the clock wears down my stack to next-to-nada and I go all-in with ace-five off-suit and I’m trounced by a bigger ace. Six and a half hours into the tourney, I say “Good luck, everybody,” and take my Walk of Shame, not comforted by the fact that the vodka/pineapple-drunk car dealer from the Bronx has somehow managed to keep his seat longer than I.

Note to self: Next time get sloshed on pineapple-and-vodka. Maybe that’s the key to success in this game.

Casino buffet

WSOP’s Old Guy

By Sunday—day six of the Main Event—a quiet, church-like atmosphere prevailed; the Amazon Room had been transformed into the Cathedral of Poker. Pockets of light illuminated the remaining eight tables while spectators watched from the surrounding dimness.

There was some commotion, however, at the featured table where the oldest remaining player, Bill Cole, 72, of Murrieta, CA, was on a run of good luck. When his ace-king took down a huge pot against a youngster holding ace-queen, he leapt from his chair and shouted “Livin’ the dream!” and exchanged hugs with his small but vocal entourage.

You couldn’t help but root for the guy, but it wasn’t long before he shipped all his chips with ace-king of clubs (a reasonable move at that point) and lost to a pair of queens. It wasn’t a bad payday for the oldster: Finishing in 58th place, he took home $124,447.

Worst Bad Beat Ever?

This YouTube clip has been the buzz of the poker world, and for good reason. It occurred at WSOP’s Big One for One Drop, in which the buy-in was $1 million. Two players went E20Ci [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commonsall-in. Each held pocket aces. Statistically, this should have resulted in a chopped pot. But then there was that nasty heart on the river…

And you found me how?

The wonderful world of WordPress allows blog-keepers such as yours truly to monitor traffic. It also displays search terms, phrases that have led readers to Stone-Cold Nuts. Here are two recent examples, phrases that people typed into their search engines which, one click later, deposited them right here.

There’s this:

man won poker tournament of Adderall

And even better:

human nuts being cold

Speaking of nuts…

Overheard by my friend Zach Elwood at a Portland poker room: “I’m not impugning your manhood. I’m merely questioning your hand selection.”

Guest Post Numero Uno

I recently penned a guest post for YourPokerDealer.com in which I drew an analogy between the nuns of my youth and poker dealers. You can read it here: The Nun at the Table.

Business as (un)usual in the poker room

The 3 Commandments

Life in the poker room is a pretty placid affair. Low-level chatter punctuated by laughs or the occasional cheer. The shuffle of cards. Pop music—Led Zeppelin, Nirvana, The Eagles, The Beatles—on low volume.

“Raise.”
“Call.”
“Fold.”

Occasionally you’ll also hear “Shit,” “Dammit,” and the stray “Fuck,” but the unspoken ethos and the printed rules that hang on the wall discourage profanity.

A sense of calm celebration prevails. And when it doesn’t, when the calm is shattered, alcoholic beverages or controlled substances are usually involved. Outbursts or fisticuffs are extremely infrequent, so that when they do occur, the effect is jolting.

Recently at an area poker room, for instance, a guy juiced up on booze and Adderall loudly and profanely questioned his bar tab. The bartender—a professional and cool-headed young lady—sought to placate him by refunding, out of her tip jar, the amount in question. No dice. His rant continued unabated and before long, security ejected him.

But the show was just beginning. Out on the street he started throwing punches and soon the security guy and two poker players were—with great difficulty—wrestling this bantamweight drunkard to the ground, not before he smashed a window and started yelling for his mom. Police arrived. Next stop: the drunk tank.

To be clear: These things rarely happen, but when they do, they live on for days in poker room discussions, providing a nice break from the run-of-the-mill, that-guy-called-my-pocket-kings-with-ace-three-off-and-sucked-out-on-the-river conversations.

The saphead has been banned from the club and condemned for breaking a cardinal rule of the poker room: Thou shalt not abuse the female bartender.

Also, thou shalt not imbibe Adderall and Hennessy then attempt to play Texas Hold’em.

Also, thou shalt not be a jackass.

I’ll drink to that

We enjoy drinking for a variety of reasons: to loosen up, to commiserate, to take a little vacation from the here-and-now. Sometimes, of course, the alcohol will prompt philosophizing.

Here’s an actual conversation that took place in the bar at the Encore Club in Portland some months ago.

The characters: A 40-ish player who, while not given to moping or self pity, has just busted out of a Texas Hold’em tournament and is not feeling too good about it; and Encore’s off-duty cook, a bald-headed, tattooed guy also in his 40s, with horn-rimmed glasses and a sour, studious demeanor—in a prison film, he’d be the lifer hitting the law books in hopes of winning exoneration.

They’ve both had a few drinks…
Player (re: poker): Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth the time and effort.
Cook: Isn’t that the big question?
Player: I guess…
Cook: I ask myself, is it all futile? Aeschylus talks about that in “The Libation Bearers.” Have you read it?
Customer: Well, I’ve read my Aeschylus, but I’m unfamiliar with that one.

(https://www.flickr.com/photos/telemax/5710524254) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Aeschylus is probably wondering how the hell he got dragged into a gambling blog…
Hold on: “The Libation Bearers”?? And at least three people in a bar in a poker room who’d actually read Aeschylus?? Had I slipped into an alternate universe where the denizens of poker rooms read Greek playwrights in their spare moments? Or is the moral of the story that you’ve got to give credit to people for being a lot smarter than you might think?

In a matter of weeks, the cook had moved on to a different job, no doubt spreading his joyful message of futility and Aeschylus to the unsuspecting clientele of another barroom.

Casino Buffet #1

At the casino buffet, you plunk down a modest amount of cash, in exchange for which you can sample a smorgasbord of dishes from near and far. Hey, that guy in the white hat is carving a hot turkey! The other guy in the other white hat is making crepes and omelets! And that other guy… shouldn’t he be wearing a hairnet or something?

In the spirit of the casino buffet, here are some tasty news tidbits from casinos near and far. And don’t worry, I’m wearing a hairnet.

There’s an acronym for that

I recently discussed that awful blackjack rule in Britain wherein the dealer takes his second card after all the players have acted. In a few short yet brilliant paragraphs, I illustrated how lousy this rule is and just how it might play out using as an example a hand in which you’re dealt two eights.

Turns out that there’s an actual acronym for this rule: ENHC, which stands for (drum roll, please…) European No Hole Card. You can find out more about this rule as well as a basic strategy chart that’s been adjusted for ENHC at Golden Touch Craps. Interestingly, the author, Dan Pronovost, uses virtually the same situation as I did to demonstrate the considerable downside of ENHC.

Eldorado killing

Awhile ago I wrote about an incident at the Eldorado in Reno in which a patron reportedly met his death during a scuffle with the hotel-casino’s security detail. Thankfully, justice is being served: one of the security guards has been charged with murder. Here’s a news article about it: “Security guard charged in man’s death.”

Whitehead’s WSOP

Colson Whitehead is a writer who’s earned a reputation as a “serious” novelist. Apparently he’s loosened up a bit. A novice poker player, Colson has written a new book, The Noble Hustle: Poker, Beef Jerky, and Death. It’s a first-person account of his experiences training for the World Series of Poker, then playing in it. Reviews have been mixed, but the New York Times seemed to like it. (Read the review here.)

By David Shankbone (Own work) [CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Colson Whitehead, author of “The Noble Hustle,” a reviewer’s copy of which is on its way to my mailbox… right, Doubleday?
This kind of book has been done before, somewhat recently—and very successfully—by James McManus. His Positively Fifth Street is brilliant and became an instant classic when it was published in 2003. Don’t know if Whitehead’s book reaches the stratospheric heights of “Fifth Street,” but I’d sure like to read it and judge for myself. (Ahem, Doubleday: Where’s my reviewer’s copy? Huh?)

A tale for the telling

Speaking of classics, Zach Elwood’s Reading Poker Tells has pretty much become required reading for those interested in this topic.

Now the Zelwood Empire has expanded with the publication of his new book, Verbal Poker Tells, and a series of seminars he’s giving in Las Vegas during this year’s WSOP. Recently I was Zach’s guinea pig in a test run-through of this seminar and was impressed with his mastery of this complicated topic. You’ll find out more about his books and his seminars at ReadingPokerTells.com.