Showing posts with label 2007 WSOP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2007 WSOP. Show all posts

Thursday, July 19, 2007

2007 WSOP Epilogue: A Leap of Faith

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV


Courtesy of Flipchip

When I visited Australia earlier in the year, for the first time since the UIGEA rippled through the American poker scene, I saw a glimmer of hope for the future of poker. The entire poker room (aptly called the Las Vegas Room) at the Crown Casino in Melbourne was packed with players. They were not just Australians and Kiwis but plenty of players from surrounding Asian-Pacific countries. That's when I knew that poker took a big hit in America, but overseas they were on a cusp of a poker gold rush.

When I flew out to Monte Carlo to cover the European Poker Tour Grand Finale I was more than impressed with the set up. Their media room was five times the size of the one at the Rio for less media reps. The participation numbers had been way up across the board during the third season of the EPT. And even when France cock-blocked one of their events, two other countries stepped up and wanted to add stops on the EPT.

Poker had also been popular in the UK, Ireland, and France for a few decades and over the last few years it has been rapidly sweeping through parts of Europe such as Germany, Italy, Russia, and the various Scandinavian countries like a viral phenomena. Depending on who you talk to, the Swedes will boast that per capita, they are the best poker players in the world. The Fins, Danes, and Norwegians will tell you otherwise. Right now in Norway, there are 16-year olds with bankrolls approaching seven figures. Not only are they're routinely crushing the competition, but after they felt you a couple of times in ring games, they cash out. They're not hitting and running or ratholing your money. They simply have to go to sleep and wake up to go to school the next day. What happens when they turn 21 and come to Las Vegas for the first time?

When it came to betting on main event players, I leaned towards the Scandis. Over the last few years, a Swedish player went deep at the WSOP. I expected unknown Scandi wearing capri pants and $600 designer sunglasses would amass a monster stack late in the tournament. That ended up being Philip Hilm from Denmark. I wasn't the only one thought Hilm had a great shot at winning the WSOP main event. Oddsmakers had him the favorite on their board. He had all the chips at the time and his playing style was difficult to adjust to. The reputations that Scandis have are that they are wild, erratic, constantly switching gears, and unable to read. They love playing big pots and will shove all in on any street and at any moment. However, what makes Hilm such a tough competitor also ended up being his down fall. He's the type of player would would see a flop with 8d-5d out of position after a player raised in front of him. And he's also the type of player who would try to semi-bluff his opponent off a pot with bottom pair and a weak flush draw.

Hilm did just that on the 15th hand of the final table. Instead of persuading Jerry Yang to lay down TPTK with A-K, Yang called. And just like that, the young gun from Denmark was standing off to the side and conducting an interview with ESPN, while Yang slowly stacked up all of his chips. The Hilm elimination would end up being an indication of things to come. Hilm would be one of seven players that Yang would knock out on his way towards the 2007 WSOP championship.

The first 60 hands went by faster than anyone imagined. A wave of giddiness swept everyone in media row. They wanted to go home. Badly. The space in front of the media room became a refuge for luggage. The European press was set to catch cabs to the airport and fly home as soon as the last hand was dealt. Plenty of other friends were dying to escape the Rio after seven weeks of insanity. Otis had that look in his eye that he was wrought with anguish. His hearts and mind was with his family back in G-Vegas, but his physical being was shuffling around the Rio, like a dead man walking back and forth from the ESPN stage back to the media room.

Everyone secretly wished for a fast final table. I also do in whatever event that I cover. I accept the fact that it will go late and often will take the over when anyone sets a line on ending time. It's win-win for me. If the table ends early, I win and get to go home. If the event runs late, at least I get monetary compensation for my troubles. Unlike a football game or timed sporting event, poker can be over super quick or become a marathon session like Chip Reese and Andy Bloch's heads up battle at the $50K HORSE event in 2006.

However, I knew history was a good indicator that I should not get my hopes up too high. The last two main events last anywhere from 13 to 14 hours. When BJ set the line at 3am, I quickly took the over. I figured it would go to about 3 or 4am. Phil Gordon had set the line at 5:32am (or something like that). Nolan Dalla wanted action. I heard that the amount of the wager was anywhere from $500 to $5,000. Gordon knew the event would go late, but he set his line a couple of hours too long. The final hand was actually completed around 3:46am.

With just four players remaining it appeared that everyone might get done by Midnight. My veteran experiences knew better. It's not the how fast the first five go... it's how fast that the last five go which matters.

Yang busted the most well-known pro at the table in Lee Watkinson on Hand #21. Yang was ahead on that hand and his better Ace held up. On Hand #28, Yang sent Lee Childs to the rail. Yang was trailing on that hand, but got caught up in the battle of the blinds with Childs. Alas, Childs was ahead until the turn when Yang spiked an 8. Childs could not improve and he was the third player to be busted by Yang.

Rain Khan was very quiet at the final table. I'll have to check the broadcast to see if he was playing passive or just card dead. He made a move with A-Q and unfortunately Yang woke up to pocket Jacks. Khan went out in 6th place and aside from Hilm, he was my pick to take it down.

On Hand #60, South Africa's Raymond Rahme picked up Jacks and won a race against England's Jon Kalmar's Big Slick. At that point, four players remained. Alex Kravchenko was shortstacked for the last three days and he managed to squeeze into the final four players. He survived all of his all in attempts and doubled up during the right spots. Players with much bigger stacks busted out before him. When it got down to 11 players, everyone expected Alex KGB to bust out next.

Unfortunate for Scotty Nguyen, he imploded and bluffed off his chips when he should have probably left the table and hung out in the hallway posing for autographs, smoking ciggies, and downing Coronas. But Nguyen made a few moves which cost him his third final table at the 2007 WSOP and a shot at $8.25 million while finally trying to quell his inner demons surrounding his previous world championship and the death of his brother.

When four-handed play began on Hand #61, Jerry Yang had over 70M and over 55% of the total chips in play. Alex Kravchenko was the super short stack with around 8M. But the Russian showed everyone why he's one of the toughest and baddest motherfuckers on the block. Once it got five-handed, Kravchenko was guaranteed to become #1 on the All Time Russian Money List surpassing Kirill Gerasimov. He had won a bracelet earlier in the WSOP and had stuck around to play a slew of events. You couldn't miss him wandering around the Amazon Ballroom during preliminary events. He carried a cold and blank expression on his face and glanced at you with the eyes of a sniper. Usually clad in an Adidas jumpsuit, I expected to see the old Soviet regimes' CCCP stamped on the back.

We started developing wild theories that Kravchenko was a hitman for the Russian mafia and came out to Las Vegas to whack Vinnie Vinh or collect a monster debt from Eskimo Clark, but he liked playing poker much more than extinguishing deadbeats, so he gave up his day job and settled on poker instead.

Joking aside, Kravchenko played the best poker at the final table when compared to the other eight players. How he survived with a short-stack is beyond me, but he managed to help slow down the action. It would take 107 hands before he would bust out. It another classic race, Yang ended up winning a coinflip. Kravchenko raised with Big Slick. Yang shoved with 8-8 and Kravchenko quickly called. Yang flopped a set and Kravchenko could not improve.

Two hands later, Raymond Rahme busted out on Hand #169 courtesy of Yang who outflopped his pocket Kings. The heads up match between Tuan Lam and Yang lasted 36 hands. That was much longer than Greg Raymer-David Williams; Joe Hachem-Steve Dannenmann; and Jamie Gold-Paul Wasicka's battles.

Lam played extremely passive at the final table. He gave Yang a walk at least four times (I'm too lazy to read my notes to confirm) in the big blind. Lam only won 12 out of 36 hands they played and aside from one double up, they were small pots. Yang won the one hand that counted the most. On Hand #205, Jerry Yang took out Lam. Yang would end up winning 91 out of 205 dealt hands at the final table. I wondered how many hands he was actually involved in? Again, I'm too lazy to check, but I'm guessing he was involved in more than 50% of the total hands at the final table. Talk about forcing the action.

The final table definitely had an international flavor to it as an Asian-born player eventually won this year's WSOP. The railbirds for the other final table players where showing their nationalistic pride. You could see flags from Canada, Russia, and South Africa proudly displayed. Lee Watksinon's fiancee busted out an American flag but she had it upside down, which is a symbol of distress. Perhaps she was foreshadowing Watkinson's early exit?

The final table was boring at times and filled with excitment during the other moments. When the audience was awake usually during big hands, the scene resembled a soccer match. There was plenty of singing, chanting, and rowdy railbirding going on in the crowd. The South African contingency was the most visible wearing green shirts that read "Everybody Loves Raymond" in support of their local hero Raymond Rahme. Several of the guys in the crowd had South African capes drapped over their shoulders. They had a cool chant which they would sing after Rahme won a hand. They also would scream, "Ship it to Africa!" as the dealer pushed him pots.

Tuan Lam's friends and family had miniature Canadian flags and one big one. They constantly waved those during the few hands he was in. At one point, Lam was draped in the Canadian flag after he doubled up against Yang during heads up play. He had some of the loudest railbirds and would break into a chorus of "O, Canada" whenever he won a pot.

Alex Kravchenko had a substantially smaller cheering section, but they brought along the Russian flag. They too would chant something. My Russian is bad and I couldn't make out what they were saying.

As I described, the stands surrounding the final table was devoted railbirds of the final table players. Jon Kalmar had to give his drinking buddies a talking to before the final table started. They showed up in a much behaved manner than on Day 6 when one of his mates was yanked out of the No Limit lounge for too much consumption of shitty beer which made him act belligerent.

Jerry Yang had his family and friend sweating him as well. Jen Creason pointed out one of his crew who sat on the floor and constantly prayed. Yang is a very religious person and he could also be spotted praying during big hands.

During his post-victory interview with ESPN, Yang constantly spoke about how he could not have achieved what he did without the help of God.

"I had a feeling inside," said Yang as he fought back tears. "I kept praying. If God could help me, I knew I could win. I had a funny feeling inside that I could do it. I thank the Lord. The glory goes to him. Thanks to the heavenly Father, I am here today and victorious. With this money, I can do a lot of good for people out there who need the help."

When Norman Chad asked him if he was having the best day of his life, Yang mentioned that when he came to America for the first time, "It was the first day I found freedom. My family tried to escape Laos and we failed. They (communist regime) hunted us down. Then we escaped to Thailand. When I found out that we were going to America was the happiest day of my life."

"Do you think this is the most poker that the Lord has ever watched over?" joked Chad.

"The Lord was watching over me," replied Yang. "When I had 4-4 and I was all in I prayed, 'Lord, give me a set.' Then the flop had a 4 and I survived that hand. I have seen the miracles of God at the World Series of Poker."

Yang also mentioned about his strategy. He knew that the only way he could win was to play aggressive.

"I did a lot of bluffing, trust me," he joked. "I played a lot of bad hands. 7-2o even."

You gotta love Yang for dropping the Hammer. He never showed it, but I hope the ESPN hole cams caught at least one of those hands.

When he was asked about his future, Yang joked, "When I made the final table, I called my boss and told him I needed a few extra days off. I plan to go back to work... to give my two weeks notice."

I think Yang was also holed up at the Redneck Riviera for a while because he said that he did not move to the Rio until he made the final table.

"I was staying at a local motel. I won't say its name. It's bad. Trust me. You don't want to go there."

Then he got serious when he said, "My wife works the night shift. I told her that she doesn't have to work anymore. We have six small children and we want to make sure they get the best life and education."

Yang will be donating 10% of his winnings to various charity including the Make a Wish Foundation, Ronald McDonald House, and Feed the Children. I suspect that he's going to use some more of that to help other people in his community. I'm glad that Yang won on that account. Instead of donking it off at the tables and pissing it away on high stakes games, he's going to use it to help ease the burden in people's lives that need it the most. Before the final table started, I wrote that Yang has all the karma points on his side because of his social consciousness. Maybe the poker gods were paying attention after all.

Yang's victory is good for poker because he will be an amazing goodwill ambassador. Check out the interview that Jerry Yang did with Tiffany Michelle. He's an honorable, articulate, and humble man. I really hope he does some good over the next year, not just for poker but for the people in his life.

Poker is dominated by the dark side of humanity. It doesn't help when the WSOP is held in the middle of flashiest blackest hole in the universe... Las Vegas. But sometimes, there are rays of hope. Guys like Barry Greenstein (Children Inc.) and Phil Gordon (Bad Beat on Cancer) are working hard to help charitable causes. Plenty of Asian players like Kenny Tran, Scotty Nguyen, and Liz Lieu donate their winnings to help their family and communities back home in Vietnam. The guys over at PokerStars teamed up with the cast from Ocean's Thirteen and helped raise money and awareness for the humanitarian crisis in Darfur.

We live in a time in America when the religious right has infiltrated our government and backed certain politicians who stiff-armed online poker. A devout Christian and religious man like Jerry Yang can help draw positive attention to the poker community. Poker can be a conduit for goodwill. Sure it's a form of gambling, but so is beating the stock market. Heck, praying for an imaginary being (aka God) is the ultimate gamble. What's the difference between shoving all in with a Big Slick vs. a middle pair and believing in God? There is none. Both are coinflip situations. God either exists or doesn't. That's a race situation that church goers gamble with every single Sunday.

I've long given up the quest to determine if our original creator is Allah, Buddha, Jesus' dad, or some alien scientists cross breeding themselves with apes. There is a more powerful force out there. Or maybe there isn't. The existentialist in me believes that this is a darkened, random, and godless universe. Spending too much time in Las Vegas makes you abandon hope and the entire notion of God.

The most important conversation I had the entire summer was with a French journalist named Benjo. And we talked about lobsters. He got me off of work and life tilt. Here's what I wrote at the end of June:
During one of the breaks of the HORSE event, I went outside for a few minutes for a smoke break. It was around 3am and Benjo told me a weird story regarding John-Paul Sartre. I actually started the conversation by asking him something about Sartre. I think it was about him banging Simone de Beauvoir. Anyway, Benjo told me how Simone de Beauvoir made him take a holiday in Southern France because he was too burnt out after experiencing hallucinations, specifically one about a lobster following him around. He had been doing too much mescaline and was feeling the residual effects of that drug. For years the lobster would follow him around and he made the decision that he was not going to see the lobster any more... and the lobster vanished and ceased to exist.

I had a moment of clarity and finally figured it out. Everything. Especially what Sartre was trying to teach us... that we have to make a choice in life. And not just about what we do, but what we believe, and the values we hold. Those choices are not going to be made for us or nor should they be dictated by those around us. He decided to stop seeing the lobsters and they were gone.
If Jerry Yang thinks that he won the WSOP because of God's help, then so be it. Was it God or luck that brought him the 6 on the river to beat Tuan Lam? I'm not going to debate him on that fact. After all, it's great publicity and PR work for all of poker. You see, according to the new WSOP champion, the Lord loves poker. God is helping the good guys take away money from the bad guys to be distributed among the poor and needy. Maybe the Jesus freaks out there will see that there is some good to be made with poker and they will ease up on pressuring the government to keep online poker on the sidelines.

Just when I was ready to give up on humanity, I got a lesson in faith... in the middle of a casino in Las Vegas of all places.

Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

WSOP Day 29: Sartre's Lobster

By Pauly

Freddy Deeb mentioned that Chip Reese was the greatest poker player of all time and that they had swapped 5% of each other for the HORSE tournament. Moments after Deeb won the event, he said that he felt it was an honor that last year's winner thought confident enough in his game that he's take a piece of the action.

HORSE is a players players game. It's nod a fad. It's not great for TV. It's not the most popular game of poker on the internet. It is what it is... rotation poker. Sort of a throw back to the kitchen games with plastic chips or those beer-soaked fraternity house days when you played dealer's choice and knew that certain players didn't like specific games so when they were on tilt or having an insane rush, you called that game to either cool down the hot player or push your buddy further into tiltdom.

At the final table of HORSE, you could figure out what game was stronger for the players than others. Some went into lockdown mode the moment a round began. The better final table players switched gears within their rounds. If they were known to be a tight Stud 8 player, they'd jam pots and keep their opponents guessing.

What I respect most about the $50K HORSE is that consistent play over a variety of limit games is rewarded. The buy-in is also sizable enough investment that it weeds out the bottom feeders. I always felt that they should raise the buy-in of the WSOP main event to $25K if only for inflation reasons. When I was a kid (when the WSOP started), $10K was a lot of money. I don't know how much money my father earned in 1977, but I assume that $10K was at least 1/3 of his salary at that crappy desk job he humped in Midtown Manhattan. I'm too lazy to figure out inflation figures, but $25K seems about right.

At any rate, 148 players bought into HORSE and that represented some of the Top 75 or so of the premiere players in the world. Then there were a few players whom I couldn't figure out why they were in the event. I simply assumed someone staked them. Some of the players who I respected the most skipped out on HORSE. They said it was too expensive and the field was too strong. I also wondered how many horses that Lindgren and Patrik Antonius had the HORSE event. I betcha between two of them combined, they backed 75% of the field. An anonymous friend in the media room thought that number was higher and more like 90%. Sure, we knew that Chip Reese had 5% of Deeb, but who had the rest?

Moving on...

I returned to the Rio only seven hours after the HORSE final table ended I left it to cover Day 2 of the $5K NL Hold'em Short-handed event. Dutch Boyd started out as the chipleader, with Phil Hellmuth not too far behind. Tony G was also left along with Allen Cunningham, Jamie Gold, and Spiderman himself... Tobey Maguire. With all those stars, the spectators were tightly packed six or seven deep on the rail. Flashes were going off every few minutes despite the stern warnings from the TD that flash photography was not permitted.

We got the whole Hollywerid-ish PR bullshit before the event started regarding coverage of Tobey Maguire. I got instructions like, "Um... we're not going to be taking photos of Tobey today at his request. He doesn't want any attention until he goes deep."

He didn't want to be covered. Cool with me. I had Logan, Dave, and Drew covering the event with me and I told them specifically, "Fuck that Spiderman clown in the ear. We're not covering him."

I made sure that none of our guys sweated his table and left him alone. Maguire busted out early and we didn't get the specifics about the hand. One of the guys asked the players at the table what happened, and they were quick to let us know who busted Spidey.

Besides, we had bigger fish to fry with Jamie Gold cashing in an event (his first significant money win since he won the Main Event last year) and Phil Hellmuth being vintage Phil Hellmuth. That meant plenty of side drama and tons and tons of railbirds. His nemesis quckly became Raj Sawant after he sucked out on the Poker Brat. Hellmuth flopped a set and lost to a two outer. He lost most of his stack and his sanity. The verbal tirade began. Hellmuth even showed one of ours guys his hole cards before he folded to a raise from Sawant. A few hands earlier Sawant raised big with 10-4o and busted a player.

Hellmuth felt he was getting set up as he peeled off Ah-Qd. He called Drew over and showed him his cards.

"I'm the greatest player in the world and that is what the best players do," he said as he threw his cards into the muck.

Hellmuth ended up busting out under a tirade of donkey-f-bombs and Tony G took the spotlight. He doubled up on one hand against Erik Friberg when The G made a boat to beat Boyd's Broadway straight. That's when the old school Tony G jumped up and started yelling.

"Try making a move with J-10 again and you'll go broke!" he said.

When Dutch Boyd was moved to his table, The G tried to tilt him. His 4d-4s held up against Boyd's Ac-Qs. Tony G flopped a set and he jumped up and started trash talking with Dutch Boyd.

"I'm gonna take everything you have," said Tony G. "I'm gonna rip your stack apart! Keep calling and I'll keep taking all your chips."

The G had chips then Friberg and Boyd started making moves on him. Whenever The G would raise, they moved all in. He folded on two instances and lost about 40% of his stack.

Tony G eventually busted out in 10th place on a wicked bad beat. He got it all in with A-J against Emil Patel's A-8s. Patel turned an 8 and The G stormed away from the table in silence. I think he was also playing in the Triple Draw event.

Speaking of Triple Draw, Chris Fargis was back in town trying to win his first bracelet. And Garth was also playing in the event. He had both Sheiky and Jesus at his table at one point. Just like my buddy Coach playing the day before or Drizz last week, I barely had enough time to say hello and sweat them for a bit. That's been my biggest regret about the WSOP this year... is that with multiple events (some days as many as 6 at once) I don't get to follow the action outside of the event that I'm covering. I feel like I'm missing 80% of the WSOP since there are too many events.

Two years ago, I covered every single final table except two - I left the Razz marathon early and another one so I could go to one of the parties. That also doesn't include the bracelet events that went on during the main event. This year, I have only seen a handful of final tables... the ones that I covered. My main assignments are Day 2. What I have been seeing is how those players got to the final table, but what I am also seeing is who's been running good at the WSOP and who hasn't there are a few players who I've seen regularly this year. And there are some pros that I haven't covered yet... which means that they haven't been going deep. Ergo, bad series for them. Of course, all of that could change with one final table.

Anyway, Justin Shronk and Oliver Tse cashed in the events they were playing on Day 29. Congrats to both. Garth survived a Day 1 which is a feat considering the field he was up against. Nice work, kangadonkey!

Here's a random thought...

Over the last month I've been having several Sandy Bates moments. For the six of you who picked up on that reference, you can understand the existentialist and artistic dilemma that I have been experiencing over the last couple of weeks. For those of you who haven't, go rent Stardust Memories on Netflix.
Random Guy: Can I have your autograph?
Sandy Bates: Oh, jeez.
Random Guy: Could you just write: "To Phyllis Weinstein, you unfaithful, lying bitch."
During one of the breaks of the HORSE event, I went outside for a few minutes for a smoke break. It was around 3am and Benjo told me a weird story regarding John-Paul Sartre. I actually started the conversation by asking him something about Sartre. I think it was about him banging Simone de Beauvoir. Anyway, Benjo told me how Simone de Beauvoir made him take a holiday in Southern France because he was too burnt out after experiencing hallucinations, specifically one about a lobster following him around. He had been doing too much mescaline and was feeling the residual effects of that drug. For years the lobster would follow him around and he made the decision that he was not going to see the lobster any more... and the lobster vanished and ceased to exist anymore.

I had a moment of clarity and finally figured it out. Everything. Especially what Sartre was trying to teach us... that we have to make a choice in life. And not just about what we do, but what we believe, and the values we hold. Those choices are not going to be made for us or nor should they be dictated by those around us. He decided to stop seeing the lobsters and they were gone.

* * * * *

Don't forget to check out LasVegasVegas for Flipchip's WSOP photos and there's the Poker Prof's cool 2007 WSOP Info page.

And come back at the Tao of Poker for daily recaps and head over at PokerNews for live coverage and updates including chipcounts.

For all you fantasy sports junkies, check out our new site... Fantasy Sports Live.

Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

The Ghost of Stuey Ungar and Katja Thater Wins Razz Bracelet

By Pauly

Just before sunrise, you can find the ghost of Stuey Ungar wandering the hallways of the convention center at the Rio. Somedays he's cleaning out the trash. Other days he's bartending in front of the poker kitchen. Sometimes he's dealing a satellite or standing guard near the cage. Most of the time, he's standing on the rail checking out the action in the biggest cash game in the room.

Stuey Ungar is the greatest NL Hold'em player of all time. And that's not a half-baked comment coming from a hack of a poker writer. The men that knew him and played with him are the ones responsible for bestowing that accolade. If you don't believe me go ask Doyle Brunson or Mike Sexton. They'll sit you down and tell you some stories about Stuey that will blow your mind.

These days, the legend of Stuey Ungar grows, thanks to plenty of colorful stories about the kid from New York City with a voracious appetite for action who took Las Vegas by storm. The gin rummy prodigy could not get a decent gin game and turned to poker instead. You've heard the ensuing stories. You've seen the awful movie about his life. You've read the amazing book by Peter Alson and Nolan Dalla. There are plenty of heroic gambling tales to go around and even several sad and pathetic ones. Those somber stories are told with a semblance of disappointment as the storyteller usually paints a desperate picture of Stuey in the years leading up to his death.

Did Stuey Ungar's self-destructive behavior kill him or was Las Vegas an accomplice?

Another player turned Stuey onto cocaine in the early 1980s. Players and gamblers used to do it because it allowed you to stay up all night to gamble. (That was before Red Bull aka cocaine in a can was introduced.) But a drug like cocaine in the hands of a monster like Stuey was what helped steer him to his downfall. It was bad enough that he limped through life with a serious gambling problem (sports betting, horses, prop bets, you name it) but when you add the affects of rampant drug abuse, you basically have a recipe for disaster. Instead of snorting a few lines in a bathroom stall late at night to stay awake, he was doing it more frequently. Before he knew it, he was a raging cokehead in a 24 hour city that profits on your every weakness. It's no wonder that several of his friends bet on whether or not he would survive his 40th birthday.

At the 1990 WSOP, Stuey amassed a monster chiplead and went back to his hotel room to party. His backer Billy Baxter frantically showed up the next day when Ungar was a no show at Binion's Horseshoe. Ungar suffered an overdose and could not make it to the rest of the tournament. He had a big enough lead that his idle stack advanced to the final table before he was blinded off in 9th place.

Sound familiar?

Flash forward 17 years later to the Amazon Ballroom in the Rio. For second time inside of two weeks, Vinnie Vinh's stack sat at his table without him behind it. He failed to show up for another Day 2. When he disappeared last week, rumors swirled around the poker community of his whereabouts and many of us pontificated about his current state. My gut told me he was strung out somewhere, probably close by, but millions of miles away from home.


Vinnie Vinh with the Ghost of Stuey in the background
(Photo courtesy of Ed from Gutshot)

I had seen it happen dozens of times before in my own journey through life. Some folks slip and when they slip, they dive head first into the deep end of insanity. Usually they are hopeless souls and no one can save them except themselves. The lucky ones stumble out of their alcho-narco stupor barely alive. And the weak ones? You show up at their funeral a few weeks later with a knot in your stomach the size of a basketball as you look this person's mother or wife or daughter in the eye and say, "I'm sorry for your loss."

I covered Day 2 of Event #30 $2,500 NL Shorthanded. Everyone showed up at 2pm for the restart except Vinnie Vinh. The field had plenty of big names left like Erik Seidel, Erick Lindgren, Mimi Tran, Hoyt Corkins, and of course Vinnie Vinh who was noticeably absent. The floor supervisor walked over to his table and opened up his sealed bag of chips. He quickly stacked them up before he left the table. Ten minutes later, I wandered over to see if Vinh had arrived. His chair was empty and as my eyes focused on a figure standing at the rail. I saw the ghost of Stuey Ungar.

The dealers began the process of blinding Vinnie Vinh's stack off. Since the tournament was short-handed NL Hold'em, his stack decreased at a faster rate.

"He's the tightest player left in the tournament," Mimi Tran joked as she sat at his table. "He hasn't played one hand yet."

He still outlasted twenty players and finished in 22nd place out of the 42 players who survived Day 1 and advanced to Day 2. He won $12,468 and did not play a single hand on Day 2.

Every ninety seconds or so, another person would come up to the media desk and ask, "Where's Vinnie Vinh?"

Players, media reps, and spectators bombarded me with the same question and that put me on tilt.

"How the fuck should I know?" I snapped a dozen times.

The constant interruptions were slowing down my work and then I'd get distracted again when someone asked the same question. The anger was slightly misdirected. The media reps were trying to get to the bottom of the story and besides Hellmuth trying to win bracelet #12, the Vinnie Vinh saga had become one of the biggest stories of the 2007 WSOP right up there with Eskimo Clark's waning health (which I'll discuss shortly).

I was pissed off because my biggest fear about Vinh became a harsh reality. Vinh was not pulling off a Hellmuthian psyche-out and arriving a few minutes late. He wasn't going to be coming in at all. I accepted that fact ten minutes into the tournament. He was a goner. But everyone else was brainwashed and honestly thought that good would triumph over evil and there would be a warm and tender Hollyweird moment where Vinh would swear off loose women and drugs for the rest of life and race into the room with his NA sponsor and his family cheering him on from the rail as he won a bracelet. That only happens on Lifetime's Movies of the Week.

Under the gritty lights of Las Vegas, evil always squashes good. Vinh was long gone, somewhere deep into the thirteenth hour of a serious bender. Crystal meth? Crack? Cheese? Cocaine? Pills? Booze? All of the above?

The last place Vinh was going to be found was at Table #72 in the Amazon Ballroom. You had better luck finding him passed out in the bathroom of the Oasis Motel. That's were Stuey Ungar's dead body was found in November of 1998 with $800 in his pockets. They say he died of a heart attack, but Stuey's friends would tell you that he died years before.

David "The Dragon" Pham walked up to me around 6pm. He normally wears sunglasses and slid them down as he looked me in the eye and said, "Vinnie didn't show up today?"

The gloomy look in The Dragon's eye told me that he already knew the answer yet he asked anyway.

"Nope. He got blinded off in 22nd place."

"What the fuck?" he said before he muttered something in Vietnamese and walked away.

* * * * *

Otis walked over to me and shook his head.

"Eskimo just pissed himself at the table. He can't feel his left side," before he disappeared.

I had never seen Otis that upset before. He felt like everyone else in the room felt. Eskimo Clark should be in a hospital and not playing poker.

America loves underdogs. That's why sports movies like Rocky and The Bad News Bears and Hooisers send tingles down your spine when you watch them. Some of us were hoping that Eskimo Clark would win a bracelet a week after he collapsed in the Poker Sauna and the day after he passed out twice and held up Day 2 of the Razz event. The reality was a sad one. He was stuck. Big time. Most of his ralibirds were people that he owed money too. The man was moments away from the Angel of Death sucking out his last few breaths and the vultures circled his dying mass ready to get paid moments after he busted out in 4th place.

When I first watched the WPT first season and they panned the audience and focused on shots of pros, I thought that it was cool to have your peers sweating you and cheering you on. Little did I know, that those pros weren't there out of camaraderie. Rather, they were there to collect a debt or had they own piece at someone at the final table. It happens all the time. So when I see Johnny Chan wandering around a WPT final table set, my immediate thought is, "Who does Chan have a piece of?"

Jeffrey Pollack tried to talk Eskimo out of playing in the Razz event on two different instances. The first time was on Day 2 of the Razz event after he refused to be taken away by Clark County paramedics. Eskimo wanted to play though the pain. He had debts to pay. Before the final table started on Day 19, Pollack asked him to seek medical attention instead of playing. Eskimo declined again and said he was going to play through the pain. I heard a rumor that Harrah's made him sign a waiver which would not make them liable if something happened... like if he had a stroke or heart attack or died at the table.

Once again, the ghost of Stuey Ungar was on the rail of Eskimo's final table. I don't know why he owes money to others. I assume it's more gambling related than anything else. But borrowing money to chase a loss is probably the worst vice to have in Las Vegas. And when you're running bad in Las Vegas, you should probably get out of town. But a guy like Eskimo who is almost 60 years old is in a bad spot. What kind of job is he going to get that will pay him enough money to pay off his debts? He'd be lucky if he was able to find a crappy job that will help him pay the weekly juice on any of his debts.

He had to play. That was the only way that he saw he could climb out of debt. Even if it was going to kill him, he was not going to leave the tables. Bravado or pure stupidity?

Las Vegas is a place where desperate souls make desperate decisions all the time. If there was anyone who should have skipped a day and let his stack get blinded off, it was Eskimo. I hope that I don't see him for the rest of the summer and he gets the necessary rest and medical attention his weary body craves before he does any more damage.

* * * * *

It's kind of disappointing that I'm writing about the Eskimo drama when Katja Thater should be the focus. She won her first WSOP bracelet in Event #29 and not only did a European win another bracelet, she was a female. Not too many European women have taken down bracelets at the WSOP and Katja Thater is one of them. She's also made a final table during the Ladies NL event and final tabled an event on the EPT.

"She's an excellent Stud player," her husband Jan Von Halle said. "She joked that she always got bad cards in Stud so she decided to play Razz instead."

Of course when I play Razz, I always get rolled up Kings or Queens. Katja Thater outlasted a tough field of 330+ players and endured the side drama of Eskimo at her table. Katja Thater was named to Team PokerStars last summer to help promote them in the German market. And now she's their latest bracelet winner.


2007 WSOP Razz Champion - Katja Thater
(Photo courtesy of Flipchip)

Congrats to Katja for winning a bracelet in one of the most sadistic forms of poker around.

* * * * *

Don't forget to check out LasVegasVegas for Flipchip's WSOP photos. And come back at the Tao of Poker for daily recaps and head over at PokerNews for live coverage and updates including chipcounts.

Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

WSOP Day 16: Congestion Mutation and the Ghost of Vinnie Vinh

By Pauly

There were not too many open spots left in the Rio parking lot so we parked all the way in the back corner. A security guard rolled up in the Rio mini-van and asked us if we wanted a ride since it was 106 degrees. Of course, we said yes. He drove us up to the main entrance of the convention center. Thanks again to Joseph who spared me from sweating my ass off just to cross the sizzling pavement on my way to work.

Saturdays are the most congested day at the Rio. The weekend warriors fly into Las Vegas with grandiose dreams in pursuit of poker glory and a bracelet in the $1,500 donkfests that attract close to 2,000 players. Since it's also the weekend, plenty of slow-moving tourists flock to the Rio to check out the spectacle of the World Series of Poker. Most of them are newbies and are overwhelmed by the experience. They don't know about the no flash photography rule as every few minutes a rapid flash of white light illuminates a table with Phil Ivey or Doyle Brunson sitting at it.

And if you get caught roaming the hallways on a break, it resembles Mardi Gras minus the tits and stench of spilled beer and urine. Notions of claustrophobia attack the senses as the hallways are flooded with poker players and spectators trying to get outside for a smoke break, grab a snack at the Poker Kitchen, seeking out the shortest line to the bathroom, and recanting a bad beat story via their cell phones.

Then there's the amateur paparazzi who seek out photos of Jen Harman or pester Eli Elezra for an autograph while he's on break for his final table.

"Eli, remember that hand on High Stakes Poker, season 1 when you had 5-3s and Negreanu flopped a set but you rivered a flush on him and he went on tilt? Remember that?" a woman wearing a WSOP visor and a PokerStars t-shirt said to Elezra as he walked out of the bathroom.

He shrugged his shoulders and stopped to take a photo with the woman. And as soon as the pros stop, the rest of the cockroaches scurry out and bombard him with more photo requests as a symposium on High Stakes Poker hands break out in front of the Poker Kitchen. Elezra had his mind on beating Scotty Nguyen heads up, but he handled the massed with class and dignity.

Not every pro does that. I've seen a few scoff at the autograph seekers. I've witnessed WPT champions act surly towards photograph requests. Some pros are truly shy and cherish their privacy. Some are simply on a break and are more concerned with examining their play than chatting up with fans on the rail.

As one pro mentioned to me, "The spectators often forget that we're at work. I get one 15 minute break every two hours. The last thing I want to do is stand there like a cardboard cut out and pose for photos."

I sat in the Sao Paolo cafe and ate breakfast (at 1:30pm) with Change100 as we watched hundreds and hundreds of players doing the walk of shame after they busted out of the $1,500 event. A few of them were on their phones moaning about the bad beat while others seemed pleased to have played in a WSOP event. They spent the $1,500 on the overall experience and can now die peacefully because they played in at least one WSOP event. You can't criticize those players since they help swell up the prize pool.

With a 3,000 starting stack and one hour levels with swift escalating blinds in addition to playing in a field of "3,000 monkeys" as Minneapolis Jim Meehan described those events, the action goes super fast. Half the field busts before dinner break. Three hundred or so players are left by Midnight and by 2am, the money bubble bursts at 200. 90% of the field is decimated by the end of Day 1. And every time I see that happen, I'm in awe.

Michalski was one of the early casualties. He had Barry Greenstein seated to his right. He got crippled early and fought back before he busted out when he lost a coinflip.

Moving on...

My assignment for Day 16 was to cover the Day 2 Event #25 $2,000 NL. 130 players survived Day 1. Liz Lieu and Brandon Schaefer had cashed in the event and were trying to make it to the final table. Since the money bubble burst just as play ended on Day 1, the beginning of Day 2 featured a blizzard of eliminations. Twenty players headed to the rail in the first fifteen minutes of play. Liz Lieu survived the initial onslaught and doubled up with her shortstack, but she busted out in 89th place.

Steve Dannenmann played in Day 1 of the $1,500 donkfest. He said he played super fast and super loose and tried to build up a stack. When he realized that was not happening and it got close to the starting time for Day 2 of Event #25, he moved all in blind. He had to talk his opponent into calling him and finally busted so he could head over to play in Day 2. Sadly, Dannenmann didn't go deep and he busted out in 90th place just before Liz.

Brand Schaefer struggled early on. He had several short stacks at his table to his left that would jam the pot if Brandon opened up for a raise. He patiently waited for his spots as he slipped out of the Top 10 in chips. With four tables remaining, he was in the middle of the pack and got crippled when his A-10 lost to A-Q. He busted out on the next hand in 31st place. Despite not making the final table, Brandon has a 20th place and a 31st place finish at the 2007 WSOP. That's not too shabby.


Kazuki Ikeuchi playing in Event #25
(Photo courtesy of Flipchip via PokerNews)

I had a great crew working with me for that event including Dave, Zeke, and Slippers one of our Aussie guys. And I also got to work with Jen Creason for a bit. If you haven't heard, PokerNews drew some criticism over the chipcounts over the first two weeks. In order to address that issue, our big wigs went out and hired the best possible person in the universe to do that... Jen Creason otherwise known as PokerWire Jen. A couple of years ago, Jen started PokerWire. The neice of Howard Lederer and fiancee to Andy Bloch left the business at the end of the summer last year to finish up her degree at Duke. Now, we have her working part-time with PokerNews. Obviously she can't work everyday but I'm confident that the overall quality of chipsounts will improve thanks to her joining our ranks. No one can count a table faster than Jen and I'm super pumped to have her on the team. Hopefully this recent hire will bolster one of the weaker aspects of our coverage. In baseball terms, it's like signing a left-handed power-hitter a few months into the season.

There are 12 players left in the $5K HORSE event including Phil Ivey and Bill Gazes. Phil Ivey supposedly bet $2 million that he'd win a bracelet in 2007. I'm not clear on who exactly bet him if it was Doyle Brunson, Chip Reese, Bobby Baldwin, or Lyle Berman. It could have been all four pooling their money. I don't know. I'm on the case and trying to find out. But here's the coolest part... Ivey is getting 5-1 odds. If he wins a bracelet on Day 17, he cashes in for $10 million in a prop bet. By the way, first place pays $275K in that event. That's pocket change compared to the possibility of a $10 million pay day. I'd keep an eye on that event to see of Ivey can make a final table and win a bracelet. He came close already this year with a second place finish in the $5K Stud event when he lost to Chris Reslock. Click here to follow the action in Event #26 $5,000 HORSE.

I'll be covering Day 2 of the $1,500 donkfest. There are 135 players remaining. Click here to follow the action in Event #27 $1,500 NL Hold'em.

* * * * *

Bouncin' Round the Room on Day 16

I spotted David Sklansky walking down the hallway of the convention center with a hot woman who had her hand in his back pocket. Was she a pro? At this point... we don't know.

Vinnie Vinh is alive. I saw him playing in the $1,500 event. We even got a photo of him at Poker News. He didn't seem too thrilled about getting his photo snapped, but he's not dead like many of us thought after he failed to show up on Day 2 of an event.


Vinnie Vinh
(Photo courtesy of PokerNews)

Gavin Smith told me about a hand he misplayed during the Event #26 $5,000 HORSE event. I prefer hearing pros talk about hands in that manner instead of hearing bad beats stories. I usually can't learn too much from a bad beat, but listening to pros examine every detail of a hand with remarkable clarity is both fascinating and educational. Smith is an exceptional player and he broke down the action in the most simplest turns and was able to objectively look at the situation. All of this went down during one of his breaks as he sipped a rum and coke and kept saying, "Pauly, I really played that bad." Gavin Smith busted out a few minutes later in 21st place in between Doyle Brunson and Australia's Billy the Croc.
Last 5 Pros I Pissed Next to...
1. Thor Hansen
2. Brandon Schaefer
3. E-Fro
4. Ben Roberts
5. Alex Jacob
* * * * *
Don't forget to check out LasVegasVegas for Flipchip's WSOP photos. And come back at the Tao of Poker for daily recaps and head over at PokerNews for live coverage and updates including chipcounts.

Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Friday, June 15, 2007

WSOP Day 14: Lost Paradise

By Pauly

"Bags of money," I said to Change100 as I pointed up at the glowing Nevada sky. "All of those planes are flying in bags and bags of money."

As we drove back from Blue Diamond to the Del Bocca Vista, 13 planes lined up on approach to McCarran airport.

"St. Louis, New York City, San Francisco, Dallas, Denver, Phoenix, Minneapolis, Portland, Toronto, London, and Miami," I mumbled aloud as I counted each one.

Each plane bubbled over with exuberance as thoughts of wads of dollars danced around the heads of the newest batch of cherry gamblers that carried with them legendary dreams of big scores under the flashing lights during four day alcho-narco binges that would make John Belushi's worst bender look like a circle of girl scouts roasting marshmallows over a warm fire. Those epic orgies are fueled by gallons of Red Bull, fistfuls of Adderal, enough cheap blow to choke a giraffe, constant casino oxygen and the ecstatic possibility of becoming the biggest and baddest ass muthafuckin' baller that you know with the next hand of blackjack, at the next toss of the dice, at the next turn of the roulette wheel, as the next card that spikes on the river, and as that next Keno number illuminates so too does that spark which ignites your soul as it jumps right out of your intestines and knocks back eight consecutive glasses of Champagne while you sit next to a big time pimp with bling the size of bowling balls and a stable of girls matching the elasticity of Romanian gymnasts. They habitually carried around a bottle of KY, a nasty case of the clap, along with a scornful attitudes that accompanied $2,000 a night working girls at the Hooker Bar at the Rio. Those disease-infested tramps drenched in poorly cloned perfume to hide the smell of cock on their breaths, hope to lure in the sexually depraved internet pros who have not seen daylight let alone the inside of a vagina since 2004 as they shuffle past the geriatric zombies glued to the Wheel of Fortune slot machines as their orange eyeballs radiate sloth, greed, wrath, pride, gluttony, lust, and pride and suck the life out of anyone who walks within five feet radius of their tortured karmas.

The planes land every few minutes and drop off walking ATMs with distracted minds that are flooded with fleeting thoughts of sordid guilty pleasures, multiple trips to strip clubs pissing away two or three paychecks on artifical-breasted life size blow up dolls named Amber, Cinnamon, Raven, Summer, Mercedes, Angel, Crystal, Sierra, Lavender, and Sable who grind their asses into beerguts for $20 every three minutes as deafening hip hop blasts on the speakers while you get served over-priced and water-downed drinks.

The planes drop off weekend warriors hoping to get a hummer from their wife after an expensive dinner followed up by a show at the latest Cirque de Soleil... Ka, Love, Zumanity, Mystere, O, or listening to outdated comics like Louie Anderson or Carrot Top who were funny in 1989 and now play semi-packed rooms from tourists from flyover states who wish they were getting lapdances at the Rhino instead of hearing recycled jokes from hacks who make fun of unruly Vegas cab drivers that clutch their steering wheel and secretly wish they could mow down a herd of pedestrians stumbling across the Strip amidst the sparkling and glimmering lights that magically reflect a kaleidoscope of colors onto the sizzling payment and for a brief moment your Aunt Edna from Des Moines looks like she's walking on glistening gems, but those bright lights blind the populous and hide the opposite end of the Las Vegas spectrum where the vampires and tweakers lurk in the shadows of dimly lit alleyways and parking lots and carjack conventioneers from Houston and steal their wallets jammed packed with $100 bills as the flustered victims try to explain to the trigger happy cops that a pimply faced guy with no teeth shanked him with a dull steak knife before he sped off with the overpriced rental car which the junkie will sell to a chop shop in North Las Vegas for enough crystal meth to get him through the end of the week when he'll have to beat the shit out of a retiree in Henderson and steal her Caddy and month supply of Ensure as that vicious cycle of addictions continues every second of everyday in the city of sinners where the ten commandments are brazenly broken and frowned upon as the lunatics run rampant down the Strip, fucking anything that moves like Vikings pillaging towns, as the guilt-ridden sinners hide from the sneers from God and become the lost souls that perfect little pious Mormons children pray for every night as hundreds and thousands of citizens with good reputations, solid marriages, an impeccable criminal records become shattered casualties in a cloudy weekend of execs debauchery and Dionysian decadence while locking themselves into a suite at the Stratosphere and shooting pharmaceutical cocaine into the veins in their feet with a 21-year old stripper from Boise that moved to Vegas to become a blackjack dealer that ended up on the pole who ordered $500 in room service while clogging up the toilet with a nasty case of diarrhea.

IRAs, college savings, housing payments, credit card advances... they all get fleeced to support the lowest forms of habitual self-inflicted terror of endless craps out, dealer's Blackjack, no sightings of Mr. Cashman, too many cold decks at Pai Gow, or too many bad beats by sunburnt donkeys with wrap-around sunglasses that are secretly Celine Dion fans who fly in thrice a year to pay homage to the greatest French Canadian singer in the entire world, as sprinting valets dodge speeding cabs and drunk drivers and pothead limo drivers shuttling drunken frat boys from Scores and to massage parlors where they can get a rub and a tug before hitting the Midnight tourney at Binion's where it sometimes smells like a nursing home and a Tobacco farm while the faint aroma of stale urine wafts it's way in from Freemont Street where corruption and corporate scumbags ruined what used to be the jewel of gambling Mecca, and now Downtown Las Vegas reminds me of an old French whore who has done one too many tricks and fucks not for the money but because she needs a good rodgering to remind herself that she is still alive and the last thirty-five years were not a distant dream or a fading memory, because once upon a time, Las Vegas used to be a small jewel in the Nevada desert where high rollers drove through town in convertibles and now you can't drive anywhere near downtown in an open-aired vehicle without worrying about the hoodlums sieging your car like an angry mob of cockroaches swarming on the kitchen floor of my old apartment in the Redneck Riviera.

All you can eat buffets is on everyone's To Do list while they stuff their faces with lukewarm fried chicken and ignore the simple fact that millions of others in our world are dying of starvation with flies crash landing on their swollen protruding bellies as the vultures of death circle around ready to tear apart the thin layer of muscle and skin that wrap around our fellow humans and with every extra plate of pasta or every scoop of ice cream we step closer and closer towards Hell's front door where hustlers named Zed hang out and try to steal every single dollar out of your pocket and rob you of every ounce of dignity in your brainwashed body because you firmly believe that anything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas but those credit card bills don't stay in Vegas and come to your mailbox, just like how that itchy case of the crabs you picked up from the cocktail waitress at the Nascar Cafe in the Sahara follows you back home to Philly where you have to explain to your six-month pregnant wife why you have to shave your pubic hair and apply ointment to your hair-less balls three times a day because you got drank too much tequila and knocked boots with a Las Vegas cocktail server who stole your cellphone, two credit cards, and all of your black Bellagio chips as she quickly donked off your money at the Money Wheel and sold the numbers to your American Express card to an Al-Qaeda operative scouting out the best possible method to blow up the Hoover Dam to a million pieces while he lives high off the hog, ignoring all of Allah's special rules regarding women and pork and he forgot about 72 virgins because even deep cover Al-Qaeda cells can't ignoring all those hot chippies standing in line waiting to get into Tao, instead of planting IED on highways outside of Baghdad and trying to blow limbs off of 19 year old kids who wish they were back home playing online poker and trying to win satellite on PokerStars and snagging a WSOP bracelet in a 3,000 person event playing donkey poker and winning forty-seven coinflips in a row which means more money to buy more lapdances and until they are so broke that hey have to sneak onto the Monorail to get back to their hotel, if management hasn't thrown them out yet and rented their room a couple of German honeymooners named Karl and Freda.

The absurd is the norm. Take my apartment in the Del Bocca Vista for example. Upstairs an Asian family of ten live in a two bed room apartment while a stripper and part-time call girl lives downstairs and drives a convertible with a vanity plate. While I'm not worried about a crystal meth lab exploding don the street, I am worried that Bush's Anti-Immigration thugs will tear gas my flat and purposely kick down my door and drag me out of the apartment with plastic ties tearing into my wrists cutting off the circulation to my fingers because they think I'm running an immigrant smuggling ring. I'm always one to look for a solid investment but human trafficking ain't my bag... yet.

Sometimes I wish that I didn't have to live in Las Vegas and the WSOP was held in a cooler place like New York City or in the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington State or in the Casino Holland in Amsterdam where I could hit up the local hash bar on my dinner breaks and cover more Pot-Limit Omaha events instead of trying to figure out who the next unknown will be to win a bracelet. That's the allure of the WSOP these days... to win a bracelet and brag to your friends and family that you won more WSOP bracelets than Erick Lindgren or Phil Gordon or Patrik Antonius or Gus Hansen or Marcel Luske or Gavin Smith or The Grinder or Andy Bloch or The Unabomber or Isabelle Mercier. None of them have won a bracelet and everyday Jeffrey Pollack is handing out one, two, or three bracelets. They cost as little as $1,500 if you can survive "a field of 3,000 monkeys" as Minneapolis Jim Meehan referred to the massive fields during some of the smaller buy-in NL events. Everyday Phil Gordon cringes because in his mind another donkeyfish picked up something he's had his eyes on for almost a decade.

Why do some of us live and why do some of us die? Why do some of us leave Las Vegas a winner why others of us leave utterly hungover, dehydrated, and completely broke? That's an existentialist question that I have been trying to seek out the answer ever since I first arrived in Las Vegas back during the Clinton administration in 1995 when Action Dan Harrington won the WSOP along with a paltry $1 million after he dominated what was essentially a 28 table SNG with 273 total players and a final table that featured Barbara Enright, the only chick to make it to a main event final. Also at that final table was Capt. Tom's Penis. Yes, it's true. In 1995, Brandi Hawbaker was just 12 years old and little did she know that some guy who'd make the final table of the WSOP would someday put his penis in her back.

All flights eventually land in Las Vegas to drop off more wretches who foolishly think they can tame the lost paradise. I'm one of them.

* * * * *
Don't forget to check out LasVegasVegas for Flipchip's WSOP photos. And come back at the Tao of Poker for daily recaps and head over at PokerNews for live coverage and updates including chipcounts.

Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.