Change100 at PokerWorks

I sadly left my own personal palace at Caesar’s at noon on Sunday without playing a lick of live poker during my stay. After the Poker Dome taping finished up, I grabbed some dinner and headed back to my room to write my article and once I finished it, “I’ll just close my eyes for 10 minutes then go downstairs and find a game” led to me waking up completely disoriented at 5 A.M., wondering where the time had gone.

I got on the 15 to head back to L.A., but the trip felt so very incomplete. Soon, I found myself turning the car, almost on auto-pilot onto the 215 east, headed out to the tract-house suburban sprawl of Henderson, where I spent the last four weeks of the 2006 WSOP living with Pauly in Grubby’s old apartment. I parked in the spankin’-new Paseo Verde garage at Green Valey Ranch and headed for the poker room, hoping to find a nice, soft seat in the $4-8 half kill. I knew the NFC championship would be on, and that most of the locals I was about to face at the table would have far more money and emotion wrapped up in Rex Grossman and Drew Brees’ play than their own.

I got seated immediatey and bought in for $200. Everyone else in this game only buys in for $100 at a time, but I like the image a big stack projects, even a fake one. That, and checks in $40 towers just look fuckin’ cool. As I expected, all eyes were on the game. The guy next to me had half a dozen sportsbook tickets stuffed in between his chips and the lip of the table, and attempted to explain to me, in a rapid-fire flurry of words including “over-under,” “first half total,” “plus three and a half,” and “parlay” how he had bet both sides of the game and stood to make some sort of profit if either team won.

Huh? If you say so.

Fortunately for me and the rest of the table of cranky locals, he was also a huge fish. He wouldn’t give me too much action, though. He was one of those guys that believe that if the girl is betting, she has to have the nuts. The guy in the 2s, however, was not. I think he believed that if he stared at me hard enough, he’d eventually see straight through my hole cards. I’d just giggle and mug right back at him and he felt very good about himself when his K-Q took down my K-J on a raggedy king high board. The stares got longer and harder after that.

I picked up 9-9 in early-middleish position and open-raised. Mr. Staredown called from the button. The flop was K-6-4, no suits. I check-raised the flop and he called. The turn was a 10. Not a great card for me, but I’m representing a good hand so I bet again. He called. And the river came a beautiful 9. I checked it to him, feeling there was close to a 100% chance that he would bet. And he did.

“I raise,” I said, counting out $16 in grey checks.

“Reraise” he replied, staring me down, not even looking at his chips as he moved out one of his stacks.

Since the 9 did put a straight possibility out there, I just called. Mr. Staredown turned over K-9.

“Oops, looks like I rivered you” I said with a sweet smile as I flipped over my set. He winged his cards high and hard at the dealer and stormed off to de-tilt. Ship it!

I left after about three hours, just as Bears fans all over the casino erupted in cheers at their victory. If I got sucked into watching the Indy game, I’d never make it back to Los Angeles at a decent hour. I cashed out a modest profit and turned my purple rental Hyundai back onto the highway, headed west into the blinding light of the sunset.

One final tidbit from the trip. While dining with the Poker Dome players at the Palm, I casually asked if any of them read poker blogs. I’m happy to report that at least 50% of them were devoted fans of Pauly and Iggy.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, January 24th, 2007 at 12:58 pm and is filed under Uncategorized.