Voy Por Ustedes

It's fairly traditional for anyone writing a postcard from their holiday destination to arrive back before it does, so why break with tradition. I'm back now you see and I think it's time we discussed what the hell I've been up to. The names, dates and locations may be changed, possibly, but not to protect identities, just cause I can't fucking remember anything really.

It had been twelve years since my last trip to Vegas and after three drinks at the airport, a two hour delay and one squirty poo, the countdown was over and we were finally hurtling towards Vegas at 600mph.

After possibly the most tedious ten hours of my life, we were taxiing parallel to the strip, towards McCarren airport's arrivals lounge. The Strip, although totally redeveloped since my last visit, looked very familiar - all the same, only the names had changed as the saying goes. Lego land for adults. Block after block of temptation. Splendid.

Vegas hit me right in the face as we left the airport. The hottest day of the year they said. Over the course of the week it worked my kidneys and liver too. By the seventh day the only thing keeping me on my feet was having such sore knee joints I couldn't bend my legs. Note to self, on my next trip to Vegas, sleep at least twice, eat and drink more than four times.

It was immediately apparent I'd packed too much stuff. My suitcase was so heavy, whenever I tried to pick it up my testicles rose into my throat and a tiny bit of poo stained my boxers. I'll bring less stuff time.

More though than the waitresses at the Rio, (our first destination) are obliged to wear..if you've never been there, you'll have to trust me when I say the "clean shaven employees" policy they have over there applies only to the women.

After a few hours of cash and a measly $30 profit a stroll around the place was called for. Paul headed back for an early night however, but as I would discover as the week progressed, when Paul says he needs an early night, he's generally speaking euphemistically. What he means is, "I'm off to pay good money to be handcuffed to my bed, have a bin liner placed on my head and an apple shoe horned up my arse."

I suspected so, but my suspicions were only confirmed one morning when Alan and I returned to the hotel from whichever tournament we had been playing, to find a truck from the fire department and a private practice Proctologist's Lexus parked haphazardly in the hotel main entrance car park.

If I've learnt anything on this trip it's not to be within four square miles of Paul when he needs an early night. After busting out of a tournament at Binions I was encouraged to have a quiet beer next door with him at a Gentlemans club. There was nothing gentle about it. Within 5 minutes of seating myself in a booth, two creatures emerged from the darkness, creatures I have since nicknamed "Die Nachthexe" - the Night Witches.

They were in no mood for negotiation. My belt was removed and I was taken by the throat into the shadows for 45 minutes and $200 of sexual violence, the degree of which would have had Geoffrey Archer howling in submission. I've slept with the lights on ever since and have received email support from Elizabeth Fritzl.

I still see them at night though when I close my eyes and the demons come. If you're ever downtown with Paul and he suggests a quiet beer somewhere nice, I suggest you decline politely and head for the nearest taxi - ask for the airport and don't look back.

Despite this one ordeal, I did enjoy downtown Vegas. I saw a lot of cowboy hats and listened to a lot of country music and I'll have "Love me if you can" by Toby Keith in my head every time I see the big neon cowboy outside the Pioneer Club on TV.

Somewhere I had not visited on my previous visit, Fremont Street was my kind of place. Many a cash session was played at Binions - while the Strip was tack and unapologetic deception, Binions had character and was as honest as a gambling hall could ever be.

The collective sense of humour of the dealers were drier than the weather. They were old school, with names like Buck and Gregory. The average player in there was old enough to call Doyle Brunson "son" and all the waitresses were called Betty.

Generally I was able to find something to talk about with most players. My one faux pas after a couple of drinks was asking a Jewish guy if his mother had circumcised him with a rusty pair of scissors. I forget the context of this remark or what I was implying, but he didn't hang around too long after that. I too made my excuses and left.

Binions saved my holiday. I made no money, but the experiences were worth it. My plan was to play tournaments, but I stunk the place up in almost all of them. I was playing too recreational and too drunk for the most part. The cash games were generally profitable.

The standard of play varied from very strong to "did yo momma have any kids that lived" - that's a direct quote from a dealer called Chris at Binions aimed at a little farm boy from Indiana who made a rather loose call in a cash game with Doyle Brunson's uncle.

My one experience of going deep in a tournament came at the Venetian in their daily $150 game on the last day. My exit hand (*see at bottom of post) is subject to debate and although I maintain I did the right thing, it stung as much as twenty minutes at the Glitter Gulch to go out 24th of 112 after five and half hours of play and being chip leader for most of it.

Everything else is just a drunken hazy blur. Vegas is what it is. I didn't win any money, but by turns vivid, stark, funny, frustrating, sad and hilarious, a whirlwind of a trip paid for itself in memories.

If things don't go well in Vegas you can't hate it. It's not like leaving other casino's. You know it's as unforgiving as the heat as soon as you arrive. The road sign when you leave says come back soon, it should say hate me if you want to, love me if you can. Take it away Toby ....



* * *

At this point I had 52,000 chips, mateyboy had 48,000. The average was 35,000. My rational for shoving on him was that I was essentially at 52% to guarantee a final table place. Every final table place was getting paid.

I would have just over 100,000, with the next player on my table at somewhere around the average. Had I folded I would have to continue to grind it out with some very good players, giving me no where near a 50-50 shot to finally cash.

As it turned out, I was right. I shoved with my 8's, he called showed Ace-Queen and hit an Ace and a Queen. I lost, but I'd still do the same thing in the same situation again. Had I folded I would no longer have been chip leader at my table and the blinds were increasing to 1,000/2,000 shortly.