Daily Archives: January 23, 2007

Day two in Tunica I awoke at a leisurely hour. Unlike Vegas where it’s imperative to management you spend as little time in your hotel room as possible, this room was equipped with a coffee maker. I’d even come prepared with extra coffee, which ended up a futile gesture because I’d neglected to bring filters.

At any rate, I loaded up the tiny coffee maker and hopped in the shower. Warmed up, steamy and squeaky clean I stepped out of the shower, ready for my cuppa only to discover the pot was near empty. Further investigation revealed that the coffee pot was not the right size for the maker – it was too short to trigger the drip mechanism. This required me, then, to lift it up and hold it while the coffee dripped into the pot below.

While I waited, I wondered how many others had stood there doing the same because, obviously, no-one had brought it to management’s attention otherwise the pot would have been replaced, right? And I, obviously, wasn’t going to report the mismatch. I had other things to do. Important things. Like… drying my hair.

Jason rung up and said he had just enough time for a bite to eat before taking Bluff colleague Nick Geber to the airport. I left my little man Pete in the room with a treat for Gracie upon her arrival. Then Jason and I zipped over to the Grand – this time I valeted the car, I wasn’t going to risk more dents in that parking lot – and settled into the sports bar for lunch.

The area by the poker room was completely dead with just reminiscences of the WSOP Circuit events hanging in the air. The hunched over forms of the few folks in the poker room bespoke of the tried and true, the hungry regulars reclaiming their game in the wake of the tournament tourists.

After lunch I dropped Jason off and drove down the way to the Gold Strike (doing the valet ballet again). The WPT World Poker Open was heading into it’s last week so the poker room and tournament area were lively and full of players.

I opted to head over to the Horseshoe, though, on a tip that its poker room was a soft touch. It was also fairly lively. I put my name on the list for a 4.8 limit game. I wasn’t ready to tackle a no-limit game just yet.

After about a 30 minute wait, I was finally escorted to a table. As I sat down, the fellow on my left started in with “Oooo, a purty lady sittin’ next to me. Mebbe she lemme rubber laig fer luhck…”

He was somewhere on the latter end of his 60s, wiry and sported a gray bush beneath his nostrils. His accent placed him somewhere in southwestern Arkansas – rural southwestern Arkansas… backwoods southwestern Arkansas where the last laig he probably ruuhhbbed had the faint aroma of pork product.

It was his mission, though, to rub my leg for luck so this banter continued for the next couple of hours. Occasionally, he would cop a rub of my back “Yew know I’m just foolin’ wichya….”

Eventually, I’d had about enough of it. He spouted another request to engage in friction with my appendage and I responded with “You try that and you’ll find yourself on the other side of the casino.” The rest of the table broke up and I even think I got an ovation. Apparently they were as weary of his banter as I was.

We kept it friendly, though. While I wanted him to keep his hands to himself, I wasn’t eager to see him leave the table. He’d become a nice source of income for me. It was a typical passive low-limit table. After a slow start, I gained some traction and went on a nice little run.

Badblood and G-Rob arrived and went to work at a 1.2 no-limit table. I played the limit table a couple more hours, cashed out up about $150 and headed to the buffet for dinner.

Tepid pasta, tasteless marinara, greasy garlic bread and $14.99 later I joined the 1.2 NL game with G-Rob and Badblood. I don’t know what I was thinking. The G-Vegas boys have a well-earned wicked reputation. But I wanted my “quality” time with the boys so I sat down. After a couple of hands, G-Rob was able to move over a seat – so there I was, sandwiched between two of the Greenville poker underworld’s Most Notorious.

The cocktails were frequent and potent. A couple of tequilas came my way and someone at the table pressed the dealers for info on the nearest Asian massage AKA a “tug-n-rub” for a friend in need. What is it about Mississippi and the need for rubs, huh???

I kept my focus as sharp as possible. I was in survival mode. I remembered my last encounter at a table with G-Rob. He is dangerous and will take all your money in the most painful way possible if you let him.

I got a little sassy, so when a hand was folded around to me in the small blind, I responded to G-Rob’s “Chop?” with “Hell, no!” and raised it up. Of course he called and we were off to the races. The flop came out – K-J-4 (or thereabouts)… if I recall (and I have zero confidence in my recollection) I checked to G-Rob who may have bet. I called?? Turn was small. I checked, he bet, I raised???

G-Rob looked at what I had left which was a $100 bill sitting on the table and said “You want to put that in, too?” I said nothing. He said, “I have two pair.” I said, “So do I.”

I don’t remember the river. Did I push and G-Rob call?? I just remember turning over my K-J for top two pair and G-Rob, with a pinch-lipped scowl, showing a King. I scooped the pot and said, “That’s for the J-9 suck-out at Bradoween….” Badblood said “See? They remember! They do remember!” A little of G-Vegas wickedness had seeped in…. I felt a little Okie-Vegas guilty, but only a little.

I cashed out not long after Gracie and the remainder of G-Vegas arrived. Gracie and I returned to the Veranda and I eventually put my head to pillow satisfied I’d ended a day of poker in the black. In the black after a NL table with a couple of tough opponents, no less…

…miracles do happen.

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