Born 30 something years ago into a card-playing clan in the North of England: the low-roller's poker odyssey has taken him from the school common-room via down-trodden Midlands' casinos, smoky Cotswolds pubs, celebrity Soho drinking spots and of course the ubiquitous world of cyberspace to the home of poker itself, Las Vegas. Join his search for juicy take-downs, great pot odds and the occasional back-door straight as he goes for glory.
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Monday, June 23, 2008
The Villa of Joy
I've made it to Vegas after a trip and a half - thanks to Bobby W for quite a party, thanks to John, Vivi and Papoula Petit for the lift and the one to the airport too. Thank you to all you 7 a.m party-goers who pledged your support - I trust your Sunday didn't involve 5000 miles, but if you smiled half as much as I did then the world must surely be a better place. After heads down at Heathrow, I arrived at LAX expecting some heads-up with Bobby Tran. Arriving on flight 007 feeling like Bond, license renewed, aided by some insta-sleep and the special meal (you always get served first - and the Asian Vegetarian option is the closest you'll come to food at 30,000 feet). A beautiful blond asleep on my shoulder (I made that up, she was smiling across the aisle) and some movie magic on the plane..... I read "Into The Wild" some years ago and the film too was sheer perfection, impeccably timed, as this adventurer heads in search of his American dream - I smiled again when I saw the name of the plane - "Sweet Dreamer". Smiling became laughing when another road-movie, Dave Gorman's "America Unchained" put the icing on the cake, with mine wearing thin - the road less travelled has always had its place in my heart. This road began randomly on Friday as I started my day showering in Bath, via banks in Bristol with Feng Stuey and family - thanks for the cap my friend. After collecting more cash in the Cotswolds, I headed to Stonehenge for a spontaneous solstice, along with 30,000 others for a night of pagan power. Amid stoney white-wine wetness and camper-van carnage with my new buddie Nick, I was soon back in the megalithic zone all of which soon left me in a state in the car-park in my own estate my metal tent, my beloved Renault (having failed to put the seats down) - a diagonal disaster with me left holding the nuts as my crotch made friends with the hand-brake.
A word about Bobby Wad and his role in the Vegas experience - three years ago Big Al was flying to Las Vegas (his favourite trick is flying high over the Luxor light as it pierces the heavens and his cock-pit eight miles up). Knowing my desires he took me as his companion, which coincided with the start of the World Series.... so a plan was hatched to play in it, but I couldn't get the money out in time. Never one to let such trifles get in my way, I approached 'Wodge' (named for his belly not his bank-roll) and twenty minutes later Rob's account was 10K lighter as were my spirits and any sense of financial responsibility. I arrived in Vegas on 7/7 to bombs in blighty, just in time in one sense given the security crack-down, just out of time in that entries for the Main Event had closed....probably just as well. I ended up playing not one hand of poker in my three-day trip, barring the dollar on the way out in the Video slots (I won one dollar back for the record which left me feeling good Billy Ray - who she you may well ask? More Mortimer and Montague than Mistress Quickly) The trip was most memorable until the vodka at Pure - my round of drinks cost me $180 and my sanity. Al had started the day by taking me along with thirteen virgin air-hostesses to Lake Mead for some water-sports. He hand-picked the four finest for my speed-boat, bare-breasted beauties, virgins no more. He ended the day by getting us all into Vegas's most exclusive nightclub on the pretext that we were actors from Hollyoaks, that and the statutory bank-note. Sunday with sunstroke saw us at the Hard-Rock pool-party with some fun-loving criminals from Miami - more grievous bodily harm. So my first trip to the World-Series, my third to Vegas left me feeling distinctly second-best, but I'm back for the fourth year running and my sixth sense tells me I'm in the right place, even if only it is to tell you why. So thank you Rob - you sent me off in style, then and now.
So from Bobby W to Bobby T, my buddy from LA (a fellow-poker player, who has a great habit of standing up and saying "Bobby Tran" when he takes down a big pot.) We had agreed to meet up Sunday night, and in need of a gentle touch down, I tried his phone for many an hour as I cruised Sunset Boulevard via Mulholland drive and some freeway frenzy. It was not to be as Bobby had got involved in a $3 rebuy on Full-Tilt - poker priorities are refreshingly simple. Still, after eleven hours in the Branson strait-jacket, what better antidote than to spend the next nine behind the wheel of a car - although I did manage to dip my toes in the Pacific, my tribute to Dave Gorman - his film captures everything that is glorious about America, the warm-hearted people, the stunning backdrops, the wonder of the road ahead..... so I hit the freeway with twenty camels for my sprint across the desert to arrive in this oasis, the villa of joy in Eldorado avenue situated by Rainbow and Sahara. So what lies ahead you may ask, somwhere under that rainbow lies a pot of gold, somewhere over it lies a dream and in between the two there will be a return to the mountains, a return to Sedona and a return to the tables. Twice bitten, once shy.....this is my third attempt and I promise you nothing, except that I will write and play my heart out. I am bank-rolling half of it myself with the other half from a variety of vicarious gamblers. Many, many thanks to you - Ricky the Roofer you set this year's dream alive: when you pledged your support the low-roller started to gather some moss. Nick and Rupert, well what can I say - I hope to do you proud, and I've not even met you yet Rupert, although I have met your four-figure envelope. My dad, Peter, amazing man that you are has ponied up - eight ponies to be precise as well as agreeing to teach my final bridge class to the ladies of Gloucester. Thanks to you and Mum for looking after Max in my absence - it will relieve the pressure on Grace - last year's 10K loss was one of many nails in our coffin and this year's foray ain't mending any bridges I can tell you. Still I have sweetened the pill with the assurance of my backers, but the reality could once again resemble the rake's progress - "If the cards don't get you, the rake will". So thank you to my backers, not forgetting my aged Aunt Alice, a great Aunt in fact, fighting fit at 89, still teaching bridge to the burghers of Tavistock, still solving the world's most complex crossword puzzle every week, and still prepared to be sweet-talked out of £20. Thanks to Paul for the villa of joy, and Martin and Matt whose shirts I will be donning - the man-in-black will be walking that fine line in your name. So enough for now, early indications are positive. Arriving last night, I met Jake, a quiet American (If he isn't he wakes up light-sleeping Stu) with a penchant for poker. Jake was playing online and so out came the laptop, in went the cups of tea, in and out of the shower came I.... only to lose an early $400. Undaunted by fifty-seven hours in transit I doubled the number of match-sticks keeping those wild-eyes wide and played four more hours to finish $500 in profit, nailing some suckers. So there's $3360 in the online account, $6700 under the mattress, and another $4300 bulging in my pockets - not a gun but I am pleased to see you, which brings me to Miss Emily, the live-in help....no,no,no, stay focused dude. I will leave that one to Evil Dennis, my other new-found friend....more on him later. For now my camels are on their last legs, my health kick is one day away from procrastination, and the swimming pool looks very inviting. Evil Dennis is thinking of inviting Emily in but I must go shopping - a camera for your entertainment, a visit to Whole foods for my sustainment (I'm in America, I'm obliged to make words up) and then some live-action, not the rhino, not Miss Emily, but green felt, pocket rockets and some suckers. Here's hoping, here's to Vegas, here's to glorious unashamed gambling.
8:34 PM | Permalink 
Jason | June 24, 2008 2:55 AM
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