Budapest Part II: No One Can Eat Fifty Apples

By Pauly
New York City

Somewhere late on Day 1A of the PokerStars.com EPT Hungarian Open at the Las Vegas Casino in Budapest, Annette15 surged to the chiplead. While the Norwegian wunderkind was out in the tournament area schooling online qualifiers and other Eurodonks, an interesting prop bet germinated in the media room.

"I can eat fifty apples in ninety minutes," blurted out Rod in his very distinct English accent.

Like most Brits, Rod is a reserved guy. He's a veteran journalist with several years of experience at Blonde Poker and PokerListings. I saw him everyday at the 2008 WSOP in Las Vegas but it wasn't until the Main Event when I discovered that he was British and not Canadian. I just assumed he was Canadian since he worked for PokerListings. It's just that Rod is not a man of many words. He doesn't say much so everyone dropped what they were doing to listen after he uttered, "I can eat fifty apples in ninety minutes."

Over the next few days, the terms of the fifty apples prop bet were eventually worked out between Matt and Rodd. Matt didn't think he could do it. Neither could I. Rod was determined and over the course of a week, a philosophical discussion broke out about competitive eating. It was always on the back burner because we all had a tournament to cover.

The Hungarian team from PokerNews helped me figure out which local players to cover on Day 1A and Day 1B. Peter and I walked around the room and gave me a crash course on the locals. Europeans don't like to physically point at someone so he would whisper seat numbers to me. At one table, a gentleman who could have been an Elvis Costello impersonator quietly sat behind a stack of red chips. His name was Attila Foris and one of the best cash game players in Eastern Europe. Peter told me about Richard Toth sat. Among his peers, Toth was considered the best tournament player in all of Hungary. He's third on the all time Hungarian money list and almost won a bracelet in 2006, but finished in second place in a $1,500 donkament. Peter also showed me where Kwaysser Valdemar Akos was sitting. Otherwise known as Luigi at the virtual tables, Kwaysser won the first ever PokerStars.com Latin American Poker Tour in Costa Rica last May.

I only recognized one Hungarian pro... Denes Kalo who took second place at the EPT Grand Finale in Monte Carlo earlier in the year, a similar feat that Brandon Schaefer did back in 2005. Kalo was the number one money winner in the history of Hungarian poker with almost $2.5 million in career earnings.

There was also one guy that everyone seemed to know. However, I had never seen him before because he was a Hungarian reality TV star. Peter 'Majka' Majoros was one of the most lively players in the room. Known around town as Majka, he was considered a huge celebrity in Hungary because of his appearance on the reality show called Való Világ. Majka came in second place but won the hearts and minds of all Hungarians. He parlayed his celebrity status into a music career and became an even more famous Hungarian rapper. I wish I was making this stuff up. Majka caught the poker bug and he was considered one of the noteworthy celebrities playing in the EPT Budapest.

One extremely loud Hungarian that stood out that Peter never mentioned to me. His name was Joseph Rutkai and he wore clothing that was as loud as his booming voice. One media rep described him as "looking like a total tool." He could be considered the Hungarian Mike Matusow but that's an insult to Matusow since Rutkai is no where near the level of skill as the real Mouth.

Dana and Matt witnessed one hand before the first break on Day 1A. It was a battle of the blinds between Rutkai and a young Scandi. Rutki's A-J beat out his opponents A-K. Rutkai four-flushed his opponent and busted the Scandi but not without a display of poor sportsmanship. Dana wrote...

"Not content with the outdraw, Rutkai went for the rubdown too -- he shouted something that sounded rather like, 'Hasta la vista, baby,' before getting out his car keys and offering them to his hapless and now busted opponent, saying, 'Here, take the keys to my Hummer, go see Budapest.' Extraordinary."

Dana is from the UK and I love how the Brits drench their posts in utter sarcasm. I was told the poor Scandi kid was devastated at the bad beat and then stormed away after being humiliated by Rutkai.

"What a dick," described one member of the media.

From that point on we described him as Joseph "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai. He even parked his Hummer out front in an illegal spot. I told one of the Swedish reporters that the kid should get revenge on Rutkai and key his beloved Hummer.

Rutkai showed up on Day 2 wearing all yellow. Bright canary yellow pants and a matching shirt. I needed sunglasses to protect me from the glare. Change100 would have taken this guy behind the shed in one of her infamous fashion update posts. Garish clothing on a foul-mouthed man. Just another day on the tournament trail.

Here's a hand Joseph "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai had on Day 2 with Johnny Lodden...


The guy has tons of class as you could see in the above video. When he won the hand, he screamed, "I beat the pro!"

Overall, there were 71 Hungarians in the field. That was the second highest number of players from a single country according to PokerStars. The Huns were outnumbered by the Italians. There were 86 of them in total. EPT Player of the Year Luca Pagano bought into the event along with his dad. Two Italian bracelet winners were in the field including Max Pescatori and Dario Minieri. I didn't know Dario was playing until I saw him show up very late.

"I think Dario has officially lost his virginity," mentioned on member of the international press. "Look at that shirt he's wearing. Influenced by Isabelle of course."

It wasn't so much as Dario's shirt as it was the fact that he didn't have it buttoned all the way to the top. Gus Hansen and Patrik Antonius can get away by showing off their chests. Dario? Not so much. An expensive and rather large silver crucifix dangled around his neck as he exposed his bare chest. It looked smooth, like a seal. I couldn't stop from giggling every time I walked past his table.

There are no racks in Hungary. At least, I did not see any. When a table broke, players were given a bucket. Similar to the one your grandma used to use at the slot machines to haul around quarters rotating from slot machine to slot machine. Yeah, you would frequently see players carting away their chips in massive cups and dumping them onto the table. It slowed down the game because players had to restack every time they got moved instead of sliding their chips out of racks.

This was an unconfirmed rumor.... but supposedly there was a local player who won a satellite to the EPT Hungarian Open from a different casino or maybe it was online. Anyway, the tournament was hosted at the Las Vegas Casino in Budapest which is a part of the Sofitel complex. Well according to the rumor, the idiot flew to Las Vegas, Nevada because he thought the tournament was there. Even if it's not true... it's still a funny story.

On Day 1B, the Hungarian press was buzzing because Andy Vajna was in the building. Vajna was the owner of the Las Vegas Casino in Budapest and also a major player in Hollywood. He produced several mega-hits and was a integral part of the "Rambo" and "Terminator" series. His current project is The Sarah Connor Chronicles, a popular TV program which is pulling in tons of dough. Vajna also produced art house films such an influential Hungarian film called Children of Glory, which detailed the aftermath of the Hungarian Revolution and push for independence that was squashed by the Soviets in 1956.

Vajna's filmography as a producer is massive and includes such films as Basic Instinct 2 (2006), Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (2003), The 13th Warrior (1999), Evita (1996), Nixon (1995), The Scarlet Letter (1995), Judge Dredd (1995), Die Hard: With a Vengeance (1995), Color of Night (1994), Renaissance Man (1994), Tombstone (1993), Jacob's Ladder (1990), Air America (1990), Total Recall (1990), Red Heat (1988), Rambo III (1988), Angel Heart (1987), Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985), First Blood (1982), and Victory (1981).

I told him that Victory was one of my favorite Stallone flicks of all time. I wussed out and didn't tell him that I dropped acid the first time I saw Jacob's Ladder and it made perfect sense. I think it was a good idea that I held back that bit of personal information. The last thing he needs is a known acid freak running around his casino.

Change100 used to work in Hollyweird and mentioned that Vajna is an elite category. He's richer than rich. Vajna has what Hollyweird insiders call, "Fuck you money." When you have that much money, you can tell anyone to fuck off.

I briefly met Vajna and he was a polite and warm guy, nothing like the slithery snakes you'd find holed up in the hills of Hollywood. Vajna looked a bit like old Ernest Hemingway. The crew at Hungarian PokerNews conducted a brief interview with the legend, which they helped translate into English. Vajna was happy with the turnout since he heard it was not going to be a sell out. The EPT Budapest was actually oversold. He also said that he'd like to play but his skill level is nowhere near the superior levels of the European pros.

The EPT Budapest had plenty of members from Team PokerStars, but the event did not attract as many big names as other EPT events. The main reason was that although the EPT expanded into Hungary for the first time, they made a decision to not televise the event. It wouldn't be a part of the TV package. That kept a few named pros away.

Johnny Lodden from Norway used to play under Betsson, but he got sponsored by PokerStars for Budapest and Prague. Like his fellow Norwegian, Annette15, Lodden is a master at amassing a massive stack early on in a tournament. His hyper-aggressive style is tough to keep up with. Lodden's problem has always been his inability to switch gears and slow down. Selective aggression is the key to a winning formula. Guys like Lodden can only play one speed.... fast.

Perhaps he wants a full time sponsorship with PokerStars, or maybe he's evolving his game. Whatever the reason, Lodden played a lot different that normal. He picked his spots more carefully instead of trying to steamroll the table on every single hand.

As the field thinned on Day 2 and eased into Day 3, Lodden was still hanging around. He always had a ton of media around and as the action approached the bubble, more and more reps circled his table. He was one of the biggest names remaining along with Kara Scott. She's the EPT hostess and was able to play since they were not taping the Budapest event. She's been a fixture on the EPT and finally had a breakthrough in the US during this summer at the WSOP. Kara went deep in the Main Event and cashed. Norm Chad couldn't stop drooling over he and kept referring to her to "Kara Scott Chad." It was funny the first time, but got old after a while.


Kara Scott
(Photo courtesy of Adam Steiner)
Anyway, Kara never had much to work with stackwise for most of the tournament but she's a true grinder. She was one of the notable who made the money which also included Sorel Mizzi, Ludovic Lacay, and bracelets winners Alex KGB Kravchenko and Ivo Donev.

Ludovic Lacay was involved in a wacky pro bet with one of his fellow Frenchman. Lacay lost the bet so he had to hold a toothbrush in his mouth for the entire duration of Day 3. Lacay busted out late in the night and finally removed the toothbrush.

Ivo Donev is a Hungarian who lives in Austria. He's known as the "Chess Master" and bubbled off the final table in ninth place. He loved to complain about the play of Zoltan Toth, the longest lasting Hungarian who made the final table as the chipleader. Donev repeatedly chastised Zoltan for being a calling station.

"He thinks he's playing bingo!" bitched Donev who got beat out in a few pots with Zoltan.

Alas, that's poker. The best player usually doesn't win. Zoltan advanced to the final table with the chiplead and properly imploded. He finished in 7th place.

Johnny Lodden was probably the best player at the final table. He was definitely the most popular. The 24-year old played in 15 EPT events and cashed in 7 of them. We were seeing the new and improved Johnny Lodden. Although he was in the middle of the pack in chips, almost everyone picked him to win it all. Sadly, Lodden was the first player to bust from the final table. It was a nasty beat too.

Here's what I wrote for PokerNews...

Hand #16. Johnny Lodden raised 55,000 from under the gun. Zoltan Toth called. Ciprian Hrisca made a few jokes with Johnny Lodden and folded. Martin Jacobson called.

The flop was Jd-8s-2d. Lodden bet 125,000. Zoltan called. Jacobson moved all in. Lodden called. Zoltan called and had everyone covered.

Lodden: Kd-Kh
Jacobson: 10d-7d
Zoltan: Ad-Kd

Massive pot. Lodden was ahead with pocket Kings against Zoltan's nut flush draw and Jacobson's gutshot and smaller flush draw.

The turn was the 7h. And the river was the 9c. Jacobson won the pot with a straight. He doubled through Zoltan. Lodden was eliminated in 8th place. Jacobson took over the chiplead and has almost 2 million in chips. Zoltan was crippled and left with around 40,000.

Lodden was a slight favorite after the flop. We expected he might get flushed out. No one saw the gutshot coming. Alas, Lodden was out and he quickly headed to the bar. Because when I saw him several hours later, he was three sheets to the wind or what the Norwegians say "beruset som skunk" or drunk as a skunk.

The EPT Budapest final table went faster than usual final tables. 76 hands. 4.5 hours. As a tournament reporter, you couldn't ask for a better final table. Once action was three-handed, the remaining players took a break and cut a deal. They took almost 35 minutes to hash out the details. So out of a 4.5 hour tournament over 1/9th of that time included the deal discussion. Once the players agreed to a fair deal, the tournament was over shortly after.

Will Fry from Nottingham, UK won the EPT Budapest and a seat into the EPT Grand Finale next spring in Monte Carlo. Fry was involved in a controversial hand early on Day 2 with "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai. The floor made a sketchy decision against Fry. He was furious but he managed to stay calm and cruise to victory, while "Take the keys to my Hummer" Rutkai busted out soon after.

Fry is one of the good guys in poker and a modern day Robin Hood. He said he was going to donate a percentage of his winnings to charity. He wants to help raise awareness to third world hunger. He's going to be researching various groups over the next few weeks to figure out which one he'll support.

Since the event ended early, my friends in the media had time to finish up their assignments and eat a proper dinner. Dana and I feasted at a local Hungarian restaurant before we joined the party. A group of 30+ took over a bar around the corner from the casino. Lucky for us poor journalists, a couple of the players who cashed showed up and help picked up all of the tab. Johnny Lodden, Kara Scott, and Will Fry all made cameos. A drunken Johnny Lodden sat next to me and chatted up a storm. Most Scandis are very reserved, but they finally loosen up when you get a few drinks in them. Lodden was telling me about playing a couple of hands blind and or raising a couple of times with the Hammer when he knew his opponents were weak.

The bar closed early since it was a public holiday. All Saints Day. Most of the locals went to cemeteries to pay honor to their loved ones who passed away. We still wanted to party, but options were limited. I offered up my apartment to host the afterparty. 20+ people showed up and we partied until sunrise including Will Fry and his entourage. They brought tons of beer.

At some point, the discussion came back around to Rod's 50 apples bet. Benjo and I wondered if we could get him to do it that night. The difficult part was finding 50 Granny Smith apples since that was the specific ones Rod said he'd eat. I snuck out and headed to the 24 hour store on the corner. Luckily they had apples, although most of them were bruised and shitty looking. I picked out five of the best they had and ran back to the party.

I offered Rod €50 to eat all five in 15 minutes, but he backed down. He had never eaten more than three apples in one sitting and needed tons of practice. He tried to eat one as fast as he could, but decided against taking the bet. I offered Matt Showell €50 to eat three apples in ten minutes. He quickly said yes. I got smoked. He ate three of them in roughly 8.5 minutes. He admitted that it was not an easy task and that Rod would have a tough time eating 25, let alone 50.

Rod is confident that he can train over the next few months and achieve his feat. I set the over under at 36.5 apples in 90 minutes. Despite pleas from various media reps to have the prop bet settled in Monte Carlo after the EPT Grand Finale ends, Matt wants a showdown at the 2009 WSOP in Las Vegas.

As the line in Cool Hand Luke goes, "No one can eat fifty eggs."

Yeah, no way Rod can eat fifty apples. No one can eat fifty apples.

* * * * *
I uploaded pics from my trip to Budapest. Check out the Budapest gallery.

I also have dozens of other galleries from various other trips and music festivals and different collections of food galleries and Pauly paintings. Click here to view all of my photo galleries.


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.

Budapest Part I: Danube Waltz

By Pauly
Budapest, Hungary

I party frequently. I'm a multi-bracelet winner when it comes to throwing down and having a good time. However, there are a couple of times a year that I think I'm 18 years old again and can drink anyone under the table. I've come a long way the mid-1990s when I had Jim Beam pumping through my veins and I ran through the streets of Atlanta like a lunatic. Boys will be boys and former frat boys are a dangerous pestilence upon this land. I know because I am one.

Alas, my thirtysomething body takes a pounding whenever I found myself caught up in a whirlwind bender. I've been wiser and more self-aware about those epic moments of celebration and do my best to avoid a hellacious hangover of the Category 5 variety. Pace myself and drink lots of water. Don't mix and all will be well. Ah, of course I forgot all of those basic rules to drinking. I have those mental lapses about twice a year. It's the my former teenaged soul trying to escape from my body. Everyone once in a while, he takes over the bus and I just go along for the savage ride as I embark on a bender of all benders. A bender of Barbaric proportions.

The last mishap was in Melbourne during the Aussie Millions. I has a momentary black out and made a run to McDonalds in the Crown Casino and totally forgot about the 4am munchies until I woke up the next morning and discovered a grease-stained McDs bag on the floor next to the bed.

Hmmm, what else did I do last night that I don't remember? That's one of the most humiliating conversations to have with yourself, usually done in the middle of a wave of dry heaves as you clutch the porcelain god. Check your pockets for clues. Inspect your bodies for UDIs or unidentified drunken injuries. Look at your cell phone for traces of drunken texts or phone calls and get those apologies ready for the next day.

The culprits were Palinka, Unicum, and two salacious Hungarian women that I was convinced would make out on camera for me if I got them shitfaced enough. The locals drink the local liquors such as fruit-flavored Palinka with ease. Me? Well, I foolishly attempted to run a marathon in flip flops. And my innards were spewed across the tiles of my bathroom floor. There's a reason why it's called Black Death. And my Hungarian landlady is gonna be wicked pissed when she has to clean last week's goulash off of her walls.

Dana saw the shoddy condition of my soused self during my first night in Budapest. 'Peaks Too Early' should be my Native American name. It was not flattering. I fell down. Hard. I couldn't get up as a seizure of laughter fell over my entire body. I fell down again. Otis would have shook his head. I was more than Bad Iggy drunk, hell, I flew past that truck stop on the edge of the Nevada desert miles down the road. I found myself at a destination where no one ever intends to wind up.

I couldn't believe that I puked on that naked chick and got tossed from a strip club. In the same night. Bad bad, Pauly.

There's always a price to pay for your actions. I didn't have to wait until karma swung its sledgehammer down upon my cranium. Splintered into thousands of shards piercing my brain. I woke up on the first day of an assignment on the verge of death. No,wait... death would have been a plausible alternative to the living hell I had to endure over the next horrid day. The longest day of the year is always the day after you get flagged for multiple excessive celebration penalties. Alas, I chose a path and had to endure the pain. The throbbing. The waves of nausea. Ghastly pains from the spots where I fell. And not to mention the utter torture of being locked inside the sweltering basement of a casino for 12 hours to watch the opening flight of a poker tournament where I only knew a dozen or so players. Pure fuckin' joy.

I rented a flat with my work colleague Dana from London. She is also known as Snoopy's girlfriend and best friends with Jen from Blonde Boker. She's an amazing musician by trade and does a few freelance writing assignments on the side to pay the bills. We were teamed up together by PokerNews for the PokerStars.com EPT Budapest. We decided to stay off the casino property at an apartment. It was cheaper than staying in a hotel near the Las Vegas Casino adjacent to the Sofitel. And the Sofitel is fuckin' pricey. A baller, I am not. I'd rather save my money on less wasteful things. I didn't want to have to take taxis everyday so staying in a fleabag on the other side of town was not an option either. Schecky suggested an available apartment to rent near by. I contacted the owner. He was German and owned a two bedroom flat which he would rent to me for next to nothing.

The swanky place was a block from the Danube and about a twenty minute walk to the casino. It ended up a clutch move. The best in a very long time. Staying in hotels has worn thin on me and I've been opting for short-term apartment rentals like Change100 and I did in Barcelona, Amsterdam, and London over the last year or so. The alternative to a hotel is cheaper and puts me in a better mindset. Makes me feel normal while I'm on the road following the circus. Yes, the circus came to town. This stop was Budapest and I was about to begin the show with a sadistic hangover. Clown music drives me me to thr brink of utter insanity.

Dana and I slowly walked from our rented flat in Budapest to the Las Vegas Casino through the winding shopping streets that catered to tourists such as plenty of crappy Hungarian folk art souvenir shops with overpriced scarves and chess sets. Those were too many to count and were sprinkled in between the collection of old buildings, department stores, tourist trap restaurants, and dozens and dozens of money exchange booths that offered up shitty rates to convert Greenbacks to Forints.

Dana and I stopped at Subway for a meal to go. I did not want to eat it in the media room for fear of embarrassing myself and yakking it up on my new British laptop while chatting with Bartley or Howard from PokerStars. I struggled to eat a bland and rubbery my six inch Subway as I sat outside and groggily gazed at the Danube. The last time I ate Subway in Europe, I watched in amazement as a lewd sex act was performed in front of me.

Hungover in Hungary. A stranger in a strange land trying to drink strange drinks with strange women. I knew if I could keep down the sandwich then I could make it. I had to rally for work. I get paid a lot of money to travel the world and cover poker tournaments. The G doesn't care what I do in my spare time but when cards go in the air, I'm on his dime. I glanced back at the grey waters of the river that split the sections of Buda and Pest. I didn't want to become a floater in the Danube. Time to suck it up and rise to the challenge.

I struggled on Day 1A of the PokerStars.com EPT Hungarian Open. I had a new photographer to break in for a second event in a row. He was a local who spoke great English and played some poker which helped immensely. I also had to quickly get to know the Hungarian crew of PokerNews. Peter and Monika gave me the rundown on the local players that I should keep an eye out. 71 Hungarians played in the first ever EPT stop in Hungary and represented 1/8 of the field. I only knew about one or two Hungarian players and got an intense crash course in the history of Hungarian poker.

The free drinks in the media room saved me especially the Hungarian version of ginger ale. For the first time at the EPT, the media room had assigned seating I was in the first row out of five. I noticed that they also grouped us by languages, or maybe it was just a coincidence? The front row had all English speaking media which included folks from Canada (Matt), UK (Dana & Rod), Ireland (Brenden & Rebbecca), Scotland (The SikTilt gang), and of course myself... the lone American in the room full of Europeans. The members of the Italian and Hungarian press were behind me along with Caco from Portugal. The Germans were huddled together, while Benjo sat in the back with his fellow Frenchman nearby along with the Scandis and reps from Poland and Serbia. The air was cluttered with a mixture of poker slang and foreign words. I enjoyed covering tournaments in Europe. It's a totally different vibe than the hackneyed scene overrun by nimrods in America.


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.

London Leftovers

By Pauly
New York City

I'm in one of those phases were I'm constantly on the move. The next three weeks will find me in New York City, Providence, Budapest, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas. It's been two weeks since I left London and a week since I departed Amsterdam. And somewhere along the way, I let this post slip on by. It's really a collection of my notes from the PokerStars.com EPT London assignment which I used to piece together a column for Bluff. I used some of the tidbits and cut the others.

Here's a glimpse of some of the things I took note of during my time in London covering the EPT London at the Vic...

A couple of celebs were in the field on Day 1A including actor Michael Greco who was most famous for his work on East Enders. Although I didn't see famous skier Alberto Tomba in the mix, Max Pescatori told me that he played and busted early.

French Actress Alexia Portal was also playing despite being seven months pregnant. Even with a bun in the oven, she's still hot. She was seated at the same table as Vanessa Rousso.

John 'The Razor' Phan showed up as an alternate. The EPT London was originally capped at 500, so each flight would be 250 max. However, they allowed approximately 40 or so alternates. One of them was the Razor. He stood at the bar and sipped coffee while he wondered when he would take his seat. When his name was called he sat down at Frenchman's Nicolas Levi's table.

Phan might know my real name but he's been calling me "Poker News" for the last two years. When I'd pass him in the hallway at the Rio he'd nod and say, "What up, Poker News?"

As I wandered by his table at the Vic, Phan called me over. He stood up and handed me his iPod mini. "Hey Poker News, I'm out of juice." When I returned to the media room, I powered up his iPod on my laptop. I checked out some of his music library. Tons of Vietnamese pop, but not one track from Thao and The Get Down.

Patrik Antonius was seated at the same table as Erica Schoenberg. Her guy, David Benyamine, was seated nearby and would wander over to check on her progress. At one point, Benyamine walked up to Patrik Antonius and kissed him on top of his recently shaved bald head, which was immediately followed up by a huge smile from both players. Those two guys, like most Europeans pros, rarely show emotion at the table. Yet those two were all shits and giggles. A rarity indeed on the tournament trail.

Katja Thater was milling around Day 1A despite the fact she was playing on Day 1B. She told me that her horses back in Germany were not doing well. A few were sick and one needed an operation. "I need to make some money in London to help pay for my animals' medical bills," she said. "If anyone tries to steal my blinds I will tell them that is cruelty to animals."

The staff at the Vic fed the players during action. They brought over bowls of curry or salmon. A waitress also wandered through the cramped aisles with bottles of wine. Red in the left hand and white in the right hand. One local member of the media joked that the wine was a special touch added by management to loosen up the action.

"Get a couple of more bottles of wine flowing and we can go home early," he said.

It didn't matter. The action was super fast with one hour levels and the field flooded with 'Eurodonks' which was a term dubbed by many of my colleagues to describe the play of newbie poker players scattered all over Europe with more money than they knew what to do with.

A gaggle of Eurodonks were seated at former EPT London champion Vicky Coren's starting table. She had a great read on them and was slowly adding to her stack when a floor person came over with bad news. Her table was next on the list to break. She vehemently protested. She wanted to stay with her batch of Eurodonks. She was eventually moved to Beth Shak's table.

If you have not been to the Vic, well there's a dining room adjacent to the poker room. The staff added several tournament tables to the dinning room to accommodate the overflow. I didn't focus on those tables for the first couple of hours of Day 1a. I finally wandered over and sweated a table that included Chad Brown and Sorel Mizzi. Former world champion Joe Hachem (scheduled to play in Day 1b) stopped by the table to chat with Chad Brown, a fellow member of Team PokerStars. Several photographers from various European outlets cluttered the sparse space in between tables to snap photos. The dining area immediately became illuminated with flashes as they rushed to shoot Joe and Chad shooting the breeze.

While the media seized an opportunity for a quick photo op, there was an ongoing hand. I caught the action a little late. An unknown player raised from the button. Sorel Mizzi reraised from the small blind for 6,000 more. His opponent went into the tank for several minutes while photographers continued to snap photos of Hachem and Brown. Eventually the player from the button called.

The flop was 6h-5s-3c. Mizzi fired out 3,500. His opponent moved all in and Mizzi called for the remainder of his chips, or 7,450 in total.

Mizzi: 9h-9d
Opponent: 10d-10s

The turn was the 7d and Mizzi picked up a gutshot draw. The river was the 8c. Mizzi spiked his straight and avoided elimination. He doubled up and increased his stack to over 33,000.

"I love this game," declared Hachem as the dealer pushed the pot towards Mizzi.

The Vic is so classy that they have a small plate of mints at the end of the Roulette tables. That shit would never fly at the Bellagio.

On Day 1b, a confused Ylon Schwartz wandered around the crowded poker room at the Vic unable to find his seat. He stopped and asked me, "Do you know where I'm supposed to be?" I pointed him to the list that was projected on a big screen on the wall of the poker room. He thanked me and looked up his assignment. A couple of other November Nine players were in the mix including Chino, but it was fellow Nov Niner Ivan Demidov who was making waves across town as he advanced to the final table of the WSOPE.

Boris Becker and Joe Hachem were seated at the same table. Lots of ginger jokes in the media room about Boris. The former German tennis pro loves to compete.

My colleague Snoopy ate some of the bowls of fish that were going around the poker room. He had a knack for knowing the exact moment of food service particularly dessert time when the Vic served ice cream. Snoopy also wore purple socks one day.

Benjo looks a little bit like Antonio Esfiandari. He's been mistaken for the pro on a few occasions, especially at the Bellagio where a bunch of frantic poker fans once stopped Benjo and asked, "Can we have an autograph, Antonio?"

"Benjo has an alluring French accent. Antonio can't compare with that," added Homer.

One local photographer was crouched low trying to get a good shot of a semi-famous player. A waitress did not see him as she scooted by the very narrow areas in between the tables. He stood up as she tried to pass with a tray of drinks. The result? He accidentally hip-checked her and the tray of beverages fell onto a cash game table.... PLO to be exact.

I also watched Devilfish felt a guy at that same table shortly before the accident. Devilfish flopped a set of Queens without any redraws. It held up against his opponent who managed to miss a ton of outs.

Conrad suggested a good book for me to read about cricket by E.T. Smith. Sadly, he did not give me any tips on fixed cricket matches to bet on. I have been curtailing my sports betting these days and only bet on games/matches/fights when I hear that the fix is in. I did hang out out at a couple of the betting shops. Billy Hill and Ladbrokes are all over the place. I put in a couple of small bets on NFL parlays or what the Brits call accumalaters.

As I walked into the Vic one day and made my way upstairs to the tournament area, a sizzling hot blonde walked by. I mentioned something to Benjo and he said, "Ah, so you met Devilfish's jailbait girlfriend?" A couple of the young Scandis had their hottie girlfriends hanging around on the rail. That's what I lovea bout the EPT... an influx of hot Swedish ass.

On the start of Day 3, Rich from Full Tilt, Dan Shak and I stood on the rail together. Dan was sweating his wife Beth and I was trying to get descriptions down of the few players that I did not know left in the field. One superpokerfan held out a copy of UK Poker News magazine and asked Scotty Nguyen for an autograph. Scotty flashed his big smile and accommodated the fan's request. The fan turned to Dan Shak and asked him for his autograph. Rich joked, "Why do you want Dan's autograph? Pauly is more famous than him!" Shak let out a hearty chuckle and the fan handed me the magazine and asked me to sign it. Just below Scotty's signature, I scribbled down "Avoid the clap!" and then added my John Hancock.

The final table coincided with Day 1 of the High Rollers event which was a who's who of not just British poker (Neil Channing and Devilfish) but the field included the big dogs like Phil Ivey, Jesus, and Gus Hansen. WPT Borgata winner Vivek Rajkumar decided to throw down with the big boys.

Philippe D'Auteuil from Canada is a prankster. He made the final table of the EPT London and he's buddies with American Eric Lui. They supposedly play big cash games online together. D'Auteuil's bustout interview was super short after he got cut off by the production crew. He was trying to be funny, but the folks in charge didn't know and took his offcolor remarks at face value.

Moments after his departure in 5th place, hostess Kara Scott asked D'Auteuil about the EPT London which appeared on the live internet feed. He said, "This tournament structure sucks." She quickly followed up with a slightly different topic and asked him who he thought was going to win.

"The Chinaman, you know that Japanese guy," D'Auteuil joked alluding to his buddy Eric Liu.

The producers gave him the quick hook and ended the interview. Were were sort of baffled in the media room and hoped that the kid was just trying to be a funny guy. British poker writer Homer turned to the Canadian writers (Owen and Martin from Poker Listings) and remarked, "You see? This is why we don't let Canadians speak on the telly..."

I love British sarcasm. They are truly the kings and queens of the backhanded compliment.

* * * * *
And here's some orphaned quotes that I scribbled down in my notebook but never got to use...

"Look at the hot German girl smoking a cigar," said Benjo as we stood in the smoker's lounge.

"Don't shove stuff up your nose in the bathroom of speakeasy in Soho that you just scored from a dodgey looking guy," said one wise anonymous media rep.

That same night another anonymous member of the media whiffed on a chance to hook up with a certain promiscuous female who frequents the tournament circuit. We gave him a ton of shit for actually using the line, "Can I go up to your room to use your internet?"

* * * * *
Saving the best for last. This risque bit appeared on Tao of Pauly but it was cut from the final draft of the version of my column that I sent to Bluff.

I had a couple of drinks one night after work at the bar with some of my fellow writers from Canada, Sweden, and the UK. Pinky and Mrs. Pinky joined me for a couple of shitty French beers and we chatted a lot about different London neighborhoods, the media, and British TV shows. I had a nice buzz when I left the casino. I missed the last tube and took a night bus back to my flat in Soho that I shared with Gloria and Change100.

The night bus let me off in front of McDonalds. It was Friday night in London. The binge drinkers were out in full force. The lines at McDs were out onto Oxford Street. There was a 24-hour Subway next door. I had the munchies and ordered a six inch meatball sub for £3.50 or almost $7.

I ate the sub as I sprinted past Charing Cross Road towards my flat. There's a club in the ground floor of our apartment complex. The music pumped out into the street as party people stood outside smoking cigarettes. Two old immigrant women attempted to sell everyone roses and other assorted flowers. One stopped me as I passed by eating my meatball sub.

"£3 for one," she said.

I counter offered £1. She refused to budge. I walked away and she grabbed my arm.

"£2. I have five children to feed."

I repeated my counter offer. She refused to let me go. I took another bite of the meatball sub and asked her where she was from.

"Romania," she said.

"Ah, Romania.... Chauchescu?"

"Chauchescu is dead!" she screamed and then angrily spit on the ground.

I tried to walk away and she finally caved in. She handed me a rose (which I would give to Change100) and I gave the old woman one quid.

I walked about forty feet when I saw two people. One guy leaned up against the wall while another figure pulled down the guy's pants. It was another guy and he began blowing him in full view of the smokers and the Romanian flower women. They were engaging in a lewd sex act only few steps from the entrance to my flat. I had a couple of bites left in my meatball sandwich and finished it off as I stood in amazement as I watched one guy blow another guy. Ah, just another glimpse into the streets of Soho at 3am on a Friday night.


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.

Live Politics Is Rigged or Fuck the Doomed

By Pauly
New York City


I'm not a political person. Everyone knows that I firmly believe that politics is rigged on an national and international scale, and that you only really have a say in local politics. What's going on in your hometown or county? Because in the end that's what matters the most.

At heart, I'm a Jeffersonian Anarchist. I firmly believe there needs to be a revolution every seven years and that men should govern themselves instead of a corrupt central institution. You can imagine how disappointed I was when I returned from a trip abroad and saw the streets of America empty. Not one single protest over the economic crisis or the oil wars or the dozens of other shit piles that our leaders have steered us through. Kids today are more interested in updating their MySpace or Facebook pages than taking the the streets like the youths of the 1960s. Post-modern America is the place where more people vote for the next American Idol winner than vote in the national elections.

I have a degree in political science which means jack shit these days. But I have worked on multiple congressional campaigns in Georgia during college in the 1990s. One of them was for Ben Jones, the actor who played Cooter on Dukes of Hazard. He left the sketchy backlots of Hollyweird for the sketchy backrooms of Washington.

I also worked on a Presidential campaign. I'm a registered Independent and used to pimp out for the Green Party when I stumped for Ralph Nader in 2000. My main job was smoking as much pot as possible then standing out in front of a subway station in New York City handing out pamphlets while subversively trying to pick up hippie chicks.

I eventually lost interest in politics and said goodbye to hope after several friends of mine died on 9.11.

When I lived in Seattle at the end of the 1990s, I met plenty of community activists and that's when I started to believe in the grassroots movement. I also had some faith restored in government and politics. I saw that there was a need for strong leaders on a local level. Several of my friends to this day are still very active in their neighborhoods and communities. They have been fighting the Man on a daily basis. They are not looking for glory or fame, rather, they want to have a say in how they live their lives and help form the kind of community that their children will grow up in.

I always encourage my friends to stop wasting their time watching the idiots on the alphabet news networks and to stop arguing about the actors and snake oil salesmen that were propped up by the Bilderbergs for this upcoming election. You cannot stop the machine, but you can affect what happens in your local community. Do the research and find out who the local politicians are and if the decisions they make will affect your livelihood as an individual, as a parent, or as a poker player.

There was an incident that happened when I was a kid growing up in the Bronx. We lived in a predominately Irish neighborhood and there was an older guy (We'll call him Irish Kevin) who wasn't a politician in the formal sense. My old man called Irish Kevin a "backroom politician" which means he would sit in the smoky backroom of the local pub and make deals. Irish Kevin was the guy who was really in charge as he mapped out our futures.

Irish Kevin had brothers and cousins in the Catholic church and in both the NYPD and the NYFD. Even the local Italian mafia-types had to work with Irish Kevin. You couldn't run for any office without his approval. Irish Kevin had a tight grip on my neighborhood but seemed like a normal guy. He drank with my old man at the pub. He attended church every Sunday and even coached little league baseball. But his own hubris was his downfall. He eventually got busted for rigging an election.

We had tons of nursing and retirement homes in my neighborhood. Those voters were huge commodities. Irish Kevin had come up with a valuable service where the local college kids would shuttle the elderly from their homes to the polls. It seemed like an amazing idea to help get everyone in the community (both young and old) involved with politics. However, his reasons were not altruistic. Instead, he had some of the kids drive the old folks to more than one voting area. He also managed to use some of the elderly women in our neighborhood to pretend to be someone who passed away earlier in the year. Yep, Irish Kevin was the king of getting people to crawl out of their graves and cast a vote. This was still in the late 1970s and early 1980s where you could get away with that blatant form of voter fraud. That's the first time I heard the expression... "Voter early and vote often!"

That little bit of corruption went on for over a decade. It was Irish Kevin's safety net to guarantee that his guys would win their various elections ranging from fixing the head of the local school board to propping up a state senator.

Irish Kevin eventually got busted and his grip on local politics was lost forever. There was an ensuing massive vacuum of control and the political vultures swooped in to try to pick up the pieces and seize power. Local politics in my old neighborhood really hasn't been the same since. I cannot condone what Irish Kevin did over the years, but at least you knew who was in charge. If you had a problem with potholes or garbage issues, you went down to the pub where he would be drinking every night. Good luck today trying to wrangle those used car salesmen into a one-on-one conversation. They pretend to be there for the people when they are only looking out for their political futures. I know this because one of my uncles is firmly entrenched in the new local machine as President of the American Legion. He's as crooked as they come.

The presidential election is rigged and has been too many times to count. We have the illusion of democracy in America. Been like that since inception. But as I stated earlier, you can make an impact on a local level. Find out who your local politicians are. Figure out who the Irish Kevin is in your neck of the woods. Talk to him. Get him drunk. Show him pictures of your kids. Tell him your problems and fears and concerns. If that doesn't work, then talk to your neighbors. Band together. Organize yourselves. The Man has been trying to divide you and keep you isolated. But when people get together and focus on a unified goal... I firmly believe that they have a shot at changing things. Gather. Discuss. Mobilize. Make a difference. Because the suits in Washington don't give a rat's ass about you and your family.

That's my only politically themed post this year. Maybe forever. I have said my piece. Stop worrying about what you cannot change and focus on the local scene where you have a chance of making a bigger impact. And if that issue is poker-related, then seek out your local politicians and try to talk to them about your issues. Don't trust any elected officials in Washington since their number one priority is to cater to the needs of the corporations who got them elected in the first place.

I have avoided all the 2008 election hype as much as possible. I tuned it out. Being overseas helped and oxycontin in small doses makes it easier for you to become very apolitical. I stopped following the news or reading some blogs and friends' Twitter feeds until after the election is over. I'm not missing anything.

This scene from Where the Buffalo Roam sums everything up the best....

[Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, posing as a reporter for The Washington Post, is alone in an airport restroom when the "Candidate" aka Richard Nixon enters and starts using the urinal.]

Thompson: Hi sir, it's Harris from the Post. Can I get you anything sir?

Nixon: How's the family Harris?

Thompson: Oh the family, well that's bad news. The screwheads finally came and took my daughter away. Let me ask you a question sir, what is this country doing for the doomed? There are two kinds of people in this country, the doomed and the screwheads. Savage tribal thugs who live off their legal incomes, brow deep out there; no respect for human dignity. They don't know what you and I understand, you know what I mean.

Nixon: You ever play football, Harris?

Thompson: Yes sir, thank you sir. I played in college, and they're gonna get your daughter too sir. I've heard their rallies, they like Julie but Tricia... and they really hate you sir. You know that one and a half of the State Senate of Utah are screwheads. You know I was never really frightened by the bopheads and the potheads with their silliness never really frightened me either, but these goddam screwheads, they terrify me. And the poor doomed, the young, and the silly, the honest, the weak, the Italians ... they're doomed, they're lost, they're helpless, they're somebody else's meal, they're like pigs in the wilderness.

Nixon: Come here Harris, come here. Fuck the doomed!

Indeed. Fuck the doomed.


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.

Borgata Tales, Part I

By Pauly
Atlantic City, NJ

I began my journey in New York City. I found myself wandering the down trodden complex otherwise known as the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Bus travelers are a distinct breed of people. And the souls on the buses to Atlantic City are sometimes even more sketchier.

I sat across from a pregnant white girl with hoop earrings. She had the word "HOOD" tattooed on her forearm. A teenaged Puerto Rican girl and her portly grandmother took the adjacent row of seats. Within seconds of sitting down, the old woman spilled juice all over the floor. That pissed the bus driver off. He screamed and wouldn't leave until the girl cleaned it up, as she muttered curse words in Spanish underneath her breath.

A disheveled middle-aged guy with a copy of the NY Post sat in front of me. He could have used s splash of cologne to mask that foul odor which reminded me of a cross between a wet dog and a sour tuna fish sandwich. The degenerate looked like he was a step away from being homeless, yet he was headed down to Atlantic City... where the sand turns to gold.

I read a book on the bus and prayed that we wouldn't have any psychopaths traveling with us. Getting shanked on a Greyhound was not my ideal way to start a 16 day work assignment.

The bus dropped me off at Trump Plaza and I caught a cab over to the Borgata. Part of what makes the Borgata the most exclusive casino on the East Coast is their location... away from the Boardwalk and all the riff raff.

The Borgata put me up in a room on a top floor. 40+ stories up. It's technically an ocean view because I can see out to the Atlantic. I can't see the actual Boardwalk because the cluster of casinos are blocking it. However, I can see the plight peppered below me in the void between the Borgata and the Boardwalk. Somewhere out there, the infamous Atlantic City hookers were strolling the streets that have the same names from the Monopoly game.

My assignment was simple... cover the 2008 Borgata Poker Open for the Borgata Poker Blog. I worked with a great crew that included Friedman and Tropical Steve. The hours were long but the Borgata is a laid back environment.

Day 1.

Wednesday. I had not covered a tournament since the WSOP. I was rusty and still in vacation mode. I had to shake off the rust. Luckily, a familiar face stopped by media row. It was Action Bob. He handed Friedman a small rock.

"You gave me this as a good luck charm in Vegas during the WSOP. It didn't work. Now I'm giving it back," he said.

Friedman's card capper gave Action Bob some bad juju. Poker players are a superstitious bunch.

Jason Young won a bracelet this summer and stopped by to say hello. He was proudly wearing his WSOP bling. For the Borgata Poker Open, event winners won a watch instead of a bracelet. That's a much better winner's gift especially because more players would be inclined to wear a watch than a bracelet.

Dale Pinchot was hanging around. He told me that he was the first player to directly buy-into the $10,000 main event (also a WPT event).

I also spotted the first of many Brett Favre #4 NY Jets jerseys.

The first event was a $300 NL. Davidson Matthew and Robert Varkonyi were the notables in the field that day. One was a former WSOP champion and the other was a Canadian who sported an "Obama for President" hat. If only 50% of eligible voters in America actually exercise their right to vote, I say we let Canucks go to the polls.

A met a couple of readers. One guy looked like an extra straight off the set of The Sopranos with pinky bling and a Nike track suit. "Yo, Pauly. I hear you wanna get out of poker. Do you wanna job? You can come work for me. Whaddya know about pools and spas?"

Day 2.

Thursday morning I ate Fatburger for breakfast.

When I arrived at press row, I ran into another reader. His nickname was Ricky Bobby and he happened to have a poker blog called At Least They Were Suited. He wore a hat with a Superman logo on the front. (The next day he did not wear that hat after his subpar performance that day... in fact I have yet to see him wear it since. As I stated earlier poker players are a superstitious bunch.)

I love to eavesdrop on conversations. One guy was rattling off plenty of arcane football statistics like he was a cross between Rain Man and Beano Cook. The line that made me chuckle was... "You never pick a divisional game and you never ever pick an away game."

Gentleman John Gale from the UK made an appearance in the $500 NL event. The last time I saw him, he was in a wheelchair and hobbling around the WSOP after back surgery. He looked much better this time around.

Evy had made it to day two of Event #1. She had car trouble and arrived 45 minutes late. We finally met and I covered her progress as she advanced to the final table and eventually busted out in 5th place.

I met a local. We'll call him Coop. Anyway, Coop told me a hilarious story (dunno if it's true or not) that happened several years ago when he had a Party Poker account. He had not played on it in a while. He logged on to play but his account was emptied. He discovered that his 8-year old son was the culprit. What happened? The kid logged onto a 15/30 LHE table and lost the entire bankroll on one hand. The kid had his Aces cracked. Start 'em young.

And yeah, the kid who came in third in Event #1 was 21 and playing in his first ever live tournament. He said that third place prize money was more than what he made as a yearly salary in the insurance industry. He was thinking about quitting his job to play full time.

The quote of the day occurred after a guy sucked out on the river to bust an opponent who flopped a set... "This is so easy. Just like PokerStars."

Day 3.

"Fuck the economy," said Tab the TD. The numbers were up for his tournament series and unlike a lot of other casinos... he wasn't going to take a hit in this recession.

Derek arrived around Midnight on Thursday. We woke up early for breakfast when the Rooster called us. He had just arrived in AC and wanted to join us. Later on AlCantHang showed up with Riggs. Derek, Al, and the Rooster specifically showed up to see me. I was struggling a bit with some stuff... but their appearance definitely cheered me up.

I went to work and Derek and the Rooster wandered around the Borgata. I got a text from Derek saying that he saw Eskimo Clark by the gelato bar. I kinda ignored it because there's a guy who is a regular at the Borgata that is a dead ringer for Eskimo. I assumed that it was him and went back to work. That's when Ricky Bobby stopped by to tell me that he had just seen Eskimo. Two sightings inside a half hour. I had to investigate. I headed out to the floor of the casino and sure enough, Eskimo was there. He sat at a slot machine and chain smoked as he looked off into nowhere.

Robert Varkonyi made Day 2 of the $500 event. As soon as he sat down, he ordered a massage. It's good to be the champ. During one of the breaks, a fan wandered over and asked him for an autograph. Varkonyi obliged and went back to his massage.

Varkonyi made the final table and went on an impressive run. The deck also hit him in the face as he amassed a monster stack. By the time action was four-handed, Varkonyi had almost 70% of the chips in play. I went on a dinner break to meet Derek. Upon my return less than an hour later, Tropical Steve told me that Varkonyi busted out in 4th place. Wow.

Derek and AlCantHang were camped out a B Bar. Drinking. Heavily. For about four hours. When I walked inside, AlCantHang looked normal. Derek? Completely shitfaced. Derek attempted to go heads up and shot-for-shot with AlCantHang. Derek said that he drank 8 double SoCos. Al later told me that he thought that number was much higher. Good grief. Derek stumbled out of B Bar and we went to grab dinner. It wasn't even 6pm.

Before AlCantHang left, he told me that when he returned, he'd bring me a gift.

"So what's your favorite bottle of booze?" he asked.

"Vicodin."

And the quote of the day? One player lectured his table about moderation. "Everything in moderation," he said. "That's what's important in life. I don't drink anymore. I don't smoke anymore. I don't have sex anymore. All I do is play poker."

"That's not really moderation," chimed in one of his opponents.


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.

2008 WSOP Day 45: Main Event Day 6 - The Battle for Tiffany Michelle's Breasts

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

I would not want to be Tiffany Michelle right now. The entire fate of poker and all of Western Civilization has been thrust upon her supple shoulders. Should a 24-year old have that much pressure on her?

Tiffany Michelle is poker's most marketable asset right now. Michalksi said that out of the last 27 players, she has the potential for the biggest "Moneymaker Effect." In three years, will I be writing about another poker renaissance in America and citing the "Tiffany Michelle Effect?" Come to think of it, that wouldn't be a bad thing. The poker world could use an influx of young women.

Tiffany Michelle, an actress/musician from Los Angeles and a Poker News employee, is among the final 27 players in the WSOP main event. With the Final Table Delay on the horizon, the WSOP Hype Machine ready to whore out Tiffany to boost ratings. She's the last female standing. She's a heavy fan favorite. She's also a controversial figure and the quality of her play is getting questioned by pros and pundits alike, while her ethics and morals are being examined for her decision to wear Ultimate Bet logos over the last two days.

The 2+2 forums and other knitting circles have been blowing up over the last 48 hours with various 'Tiffany Michelle... Hot or Not?' threads while other threads are havens for Tiffany Michelle and UB haters who have been referring to her as a sellout for wearing UB stuff, not to mention the latest bombs being dropped on the UB scandal since former WSOP champion Russ Hamilton was fingered by Nat Arem as one of the superusers who cheated players out of millions.

There's a circus within the circus. An enigma wrapped up inside a riddle. I'll do my best to connect the dots that I have discovered. Because what's really going on right now is a battle for prime real estate. Whoever holds the center of the chess board will gain an edge. And the center of the board? It's Tiffany's breasts. OK, not just her chest area, but also the spot on her trucker's hat.

YOUR AD HERE and show me the money.

Let's start from the beginning. Tony G and Jeff Lisandro backed Tiffany Michelle into the Main Event. I believe it was a even 1/3 chop. I cannot verify the exact amount, but out of her 33%, she may have sold or swapped percentages with other players and friends such as Greg Mueller. I'm gonna estimate that she has about 30% of herself.

The Main Event is a super long shot. I'm sure when all three parties (The G, Lisandro, and Tiffany) agreed on a staking arrangement, none of them expected that Tiffany would get this far. Otherwise, their contract would have been worded differently and some ambiguous situations that arose during the last 48 hours would have been clarified. For the first few days of the Main Event, Tiffany wore a PokerNews patch. But on Day 5, things changed and The G got angry.

Tiffany is a hot chick who can get some face time on ESPN cameras and she was a perfect target for product placement, specifically around her boobular area. Since she only had a small percentage of herself, she welcomed the opportunity to get some extra endorsement dollars. I can't blame her there, especially since her staking contract did not say she was exclusive to Poker News. Tiffany's agent Katie arranged a deal with Ultimate Bet. Tiffany has previous connections to UB since her boyfriend/ex-boyfriend Hollywood Dave was a member of the UB Black Jack team and Tiffany is also tight with Annie Duke. I dunno how much her personal relationships came into play or it was a simple matter that they offered more than Full Tilt. I also cannot verify how much she was paid to wear UB. It could have been just a contingency deal (if she finishes in X place, she gets Y dollars) or it could have been some sort of deal that included a bonus as well.

On Saturday before cards were in the air, Tiffany added two logos in addition to her PokerNews logo. One UB patch on a hat and another on a hoodie type jacket that she wore. The problem was that her jacket covered up her PokerNews patch. All you could see was UB and no PokerNews. That's where the G had an issue; it was his money (and his buddy Lisandro's) so he was entitled to have Poker News on her breasts. They eventually cleared up that issue and Tiffany proudly displayed a triumvirate of patches... Poker News on one boob, UB on the other, and a "Suited Connections" patch in the middle which happened to be the name of her agent's management agency.

I don't know what exactly went down, but between Day 5 and Day 6, the G and UB got into some sort of spat. Tiffany was still their horse and all parties involved knew it was essential for them to work something out themselves and not be a distraction to Tiffany. After all, the deeper she went, the more money everyone stood to make. Tiffany. Her backers. Her agent. Poker News. UB. Harrahs. ESPN.

While all of that went down, Tiffany took a few punches to the gut on 2+2 for shilling for UB. To make things worse, more fuel was added to the UB cheating scandal inferno. And Tiffany was a byproduct of that fiasco. Do you really want to be be wearing a logo of a company that is in deep shit?

The G is pissed. The masses are pissed. It would definitely be in Tiffany's best interest to pull a Rizen and walk away from UB. Yet, on Sunday once cards were in the air, her boobs had a UB patch and a PokerNews patch. Nothing had changed. She eventually sat at the featured TV table and ended the day among the Top 5 in chips as she closed in on 10 million. Hot Chips with chips. With Hellmuth's and Matusow's eliminations, she was the most popular player left in the mix.


Photos by flipchip • lasvegasvegas.com
While everyone flocked to Tiffany's table, I watched the spectacle unfold outside the ropes on what was previously the killing fields. Early on Day 6, I spotted several Poker Royalty (PR) agents talking to Jeff Lisandro. If you have no idea who they are, but they are like the NY Yankees or JP Morgan of poker agents. They were the top dogs in the industry and represented the biggest stars in poker such as Daniel Negreanu, Phil Hellmuth, and Greg Raymer. There were many small time agents (like Katie and Oliver Tse and others) with a handful of clients, trolling the hallways at the Rio, but combined they couldn't even compare to the dominating influence that PR had on the poker scene.

After his happy chat with PR, Lisandro found Tiffany's agent Katie and he put his arm around her just like Tony Soprano as they both walked to the other side of the room to engage in a private conversation. I have no idea what exactly went down but I knew something was up. Throughout most of the day, different PR agents and Katie were talking shop. One of my sources confirmed that a deal was being discussed between Tiffany's people and PokerStars.

As soon as I found that out, I started booking action on what site will be on Tiffany's boobs at the start of Day 7 (provided she made the last 27). I'm betting it's PokerStars. Tiffany would be a perfect match for PokerStars instead of UB, especially if she become the next Moneymaker. As of 3am Vegas time, nothing has been finalized. This is all speculation. I might be completely full of shit and Tiffany might waltz into the Amazon Room with a UB patch. Or how about a Full Tilt hat?

Tiffany Michelle is the hottest commodity in poker right now. Word is out on the streets of Las Vegas that she might drop UB due to massive backlash that both Tiffany and UB had been getting. If that's the case, then it boils down to the two biggest online dogs on the block... PokerStars and Full Tilt. Never underestimate FT, they have often swooped and snatched players up at the last possible second.

The breasts of Tiffany Michelle have become a battle ground on the eve of Day 7. If it's this bad right now, what will it be like in the weeks leading up to the final table in November?

I haven't talked to Tiffany about any of this drama. She's getting pulled and tugged in hundreds of different directions from her friends, from her fake friends, from the Man, from everyone in the media, and everyone else who wants a piece of Tiffany. I'm letting her play poker. Unlike the hordes of other media, I have been leaving her alone and focusing on the behind the scenes drama that unfolded when she was playing on Day 6.

Tiffany occasionally winked at me or smiled when I stood on the rail sweating her table on Sunday, which is enough interaction for me. I'm the last person she wants to have to deal with right now as the vultures are circling and ready to peck apart her eyeballs. The pimps are brawling outside the ropes trying to figure out who they're gonna sell her off to and for how much? A hot actress from Hollyweird like Tiffany who is extremely media savvy can go a long way in poker.

I've known Tiffany for almost two years and we've shared assignments for Poker News in several different countries. She gives the best massages in the business and saved my ass in Monte Carlo in 2007 when I had a bum arm and kept me loose enough so I could keep writing. I'm really excited for her in the same way that I was rooting for Jeremiah Smith during his run earlier in the Main Event. However, with all the bullshit that has been going down, I hope she's able to settle down and focus on the next goal... make the final nine.

With Matusow and Hellmuth gone, the onus is on Tiffany Michelle. As much as she never asked for that responsibility, it has fallen into her lap. You would think that this was all about poker. Um, it's not. Behold! The powers of big business. It's probably more important what patch that Tiffany wears on Day 7 than what specific cards that she plays.

The endless war of global domination between online poker sites are being fought out on Tiffany Michelle's breasts. Who will emerge as the victor in this battle? Full Tilt? UB? PokerStars?

We'll find out in a few hours.


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.

2008 WSOP Day 44: Main Event Day 5 - The Wretched Squall of Hellmuth and Matusow

By Pauly
Las Vegas. NV

I waited 44 days for the sure thing. The defining moment of the summer. The one incident that would set the 2008 WSOP apart from the previous four years that have blended into one long blurry flashback of bracelet winners, bad beat stories, excursions to strip clubs, binge drinking at the hooker bar, pot-bellied mulleted children running amuck at the Redneck Riviera, and lime tossing out back with a sad, tilty, and often suicidal Otis.

I stumbled upon a story that could have wrote itself before I even got out of bed in the morning. Phil Hellmuth and Mike Matusow. At the same table. Right next to each other. With Hellmuth having position on Matusow. At the featured TV table in front of hundreds of drooling, blood-thirsty fans. They were starving lunatics. Broke dick swine. Some drunk on cheap swill. Others mentally imbalanced. And those were my friends.

It was almost like the Romans waiting for the Christians to get tossed to the lions. The featured TV table was standing room only. The spectators were spilling out of the Beast Lounge with limbs dangling over metal rails waiting... waiting... for a meltdown. For a blowup. For the bloodshed.

The delirious mob anxiously waited to glimpse at the greatest show on Earth and rooted for their favorite villain and their favorite anti-hero.

Many of the frenzied fans took pictures of the backs of the heads of final table players... with flash... despite the pleas from Robbie that "flash photography was prohibited." I'm shocked that a brawl did not detonate in the stands or in the Beast Lounge between the loyal legion of Matusow fans and the smattering of Hellmuthheads.

At a Rangers hockey game in the early 1990s at Madison Square Garden, I witnessed a soused and irate group of fans pummel a poor sod who wore a Flyers jersey to the game. I mean, the Flyers weren't even playing so he had zero protection. New York's finest let the fans tear the jersey off the guy and get a few cheap shots in before they broke it up, then they ejected the clown for inciting a riot.

We weren't exactly center ice at the Garden, but we were on the biggest stage in all of poker with seven dwarfs who were overshadowed by The Mouth and The Brat. I had a front row seat... a strange invitation to watch the madness unfold before me.

Matusow had been on the featured TV table all day. The Poker Shrink was on site sweating his client. He told me that Matusow had taken his meds and they were working properly. You can listen here to our doctor to doctor interview in the latest episode of Tao of Pokerati called Madderall.

"I think the Matusow blow ups are a thing of the past," said a confident Poker Shrink who could tell when the medications were properly administered.

Matusow had a difficult time adjusting to his medications due to his sudden weight loss which occurred after winning a prop bet with Ted Forrest. It took longer than he wanted, but the slimmer Matusow found the correct dosage of Adderall. Too much? He would be bouncing off the walls. Too little? His mind is stale pudding.

During the dinner break, the Shrink hung out with Matusow and a security guard inside the VIP lounge. Hellmuth was at dinner and by default, Matusow was the only other VIP member left playing in the main event. Matusow paced backed and forth and analyzed his table for the Shrink. Matusow specifically said if the players in seat 2 or 3 raised his blind one more time, that he was going after them. Matusow also took a half of an Adderall to focus and settle down before he returned from dinner.

Well, just after the dinner break, Sean Davis raised his blind like he had been doing all day. Matusow did exactly as he promised to the Shrink. He moved all in for his last 540K. Davis quickly called with Big Slick. Matusow sheepishly tabled 10-5 and he knew that he picked the wrong time to make a move. He muttered a couple of expletives under his breath. I guess it was Matusow's day because he had live cards and flopped a 5. The crowd exploded. Erupted. Bursting with fruit flavors. Matusow went berserk. He jumped up and down as his fans clapped and cheered and stomped their feet for their hero. Matusow's hand held up and he doubled up.

"I shifted gears at the right time!" screamed Matusow. "It's time to go to work. I feel good!"

The rush. The excitement. The adrenaline. The confidence. Matusow fed on all if it. The more the fans cheered, the higher he got. Matusow hammed it up for the cameras. I could see dollar signs multiplying in the eyeballs of the suits at ESPN and Harrahs.

"Lemme tell you. I suck!" said Matusow as he worked the crowd like a crooked preacher ranting to a congregation of sinners on Sunday morning seeking salvation in the last place they'll find it.

Enter Phil Hellmuth. The gates of Hades flew right open. When the smoke cleared the room, Hellmuth sat down with about 1 million in chips.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Matusow repeatedly screamed as he jumped up and down like a little kid on Christmas who just got a brand new bike.

Once word got out that Hellmuth and Matusow were seated right next to each other at the TV table, the vultures flocked. Media row had been empty all day except Tassie Devil covering it for PokerNews. All of a sudden, everyone was interested in the potential fireworks.


Photos by flipchip • lasvegasvegas.com
I wondered how the dynamic of Hellmuth would change the chemistry of the table? Hellmuth was rather quiet when he sat down. Over the first fifteen minutes, I suspected that Hellmuth was studying his opponents and letting Matusow run the show. The Mouth had been the table captain since he sat down at noon and continued to do so.

"I came out to hang out with my buddy Phil. I He just got here and he told me how great he is. Now I gotta sit here and hear for ninety more minutes!" Matusow yelled out to the crowd as the ate up every single morsel and sound bite like it was the last scraps of food on Earth.

When Hellmuth and Matusow talked, they whispered things to each other with Matusow hiding his face with his hand sort of like when a pitcher and catcher has a mound conference.

Matusow and Hellmuth were the two biggest sharks left in the Main Event. They were obviously avoiding each other. Like a rigged election or a fixed boxing fight when two big names are matched up but both completely dog it and throw half-assed punches and dance around all night because they don't want to get hurt and just want to collect the paycheck. The hardest thing in the entertainment business is giving the voracious fans what they want. At least something... anything... otherwise they'd be a mutiny and hurl empty Beast cans, small coins, car batteries, bar stools, and Everest seat cushions at the stage.

Yeah, it was very obvious after the first twenty minutes that Hellmuth and Matusow were going to avoid each other. They focused on trying to pick off the weaker players. But as Matusow had told the Shrink at the dinner break, "Everyone is a solid player." A few were aggressive that Matusow would try to set up. He took chips off of one of those guys in that fortunate hand when he outflopped Big Slick with 10-rag.

Chino Rheem shifted gears and picked up the most chips in the first hour of the Hellmuth/Matusow dynamics. Greg Mueller had two horses at the featured table. One of them was Rheem and he got happier and happier the more chips that he won.

"Chino? He was on tilt. Full blown fuckin' tilt. His chips were going everywhere. But look at him now," said Matusow.

The featured table players had been playing with Matusow all afternoon and night. They were sort of conditioned to Matusow's bizzaro world. They didn't seem intimidated by Hellmuth at all. In fact, they were gunning for him. In their eyes, Hellmuth swam into their territory. Hellmuth was fresh fish. The hunted. The target.

Hellmuth got pushed off a pot by Aaron Keay and he mumbled something as he folded his hand.

"I object to all of you picking on my friend Phil. Leave him alone!" pleaded Matusow trying to egg on Hellmuth and work the crowd at the same time.

After about seventy-five minutes of the lackluster Hellmuth and Matusow match up, I was disappointed. Let down. Hyped. Much ado about nothing. Like that last Hollyweird flick with your two favorite stars that went nowhere. I wanted a refund. I could have been roaming the hallways trying to figure out who Oliver or other agents were going to rumble over once the day was complete. Watching agents trying to secure clients at the end of the day is sort of like watching a trio of monkeys fuck a football. It's kinda funny but utterly pointless.

And on the last hand of the night... it finally happened. An implosion of Hellmuthian proportions.

Here's what Tassie Devil wrote for PokerNews titled Hellmuth Ends the Day With a Blow-up...

Cristian Dragomir opened with a raise to 80,000 before Hellmuth made it 255,000 to go from the small blind.

"I hope he doesn't have aces," said Hellmuth as Dragomir asked for a count. After a few moments, Dragomir made the call.

They saw a flop of 9c-10c-7s and Hellmuth checked to Dragomir, who thought for a moment before firing a healthy bet of 300,000. Hellmuth sighed in disgust before folding As-Kh face-up on the table.

Matusow laughed and said to Dragomir to show the bluff, and Dragomir flipped 10d-4d! Matusow and the crowd roared in hysterics as Hellmuth jumped out of his seat and stormed around the room berating his opponent for calling his reraise with ten high.

"Listen buddy, you're an idiot!" screamed Hellmuth. "This is the Main Event and you are the worst player in history!" he continued as the crowd was loving every moment of the blow-up.

Dragomir's entourage continued to cheer as Hellmuth continued the barrage. The TD stepped in and issued a warning to Hellmuth to settle down before Dragomir stood up out of his chair to put Hellmuth back in his place with a cry of, "Enough is enough!"

Fortunately for both players the clock ticked over to the end of the level, and the end of the day's play to settle both players down. They eventually shook hands and began to bag up their chips as Mike Matusow summed up the situation best as he shouted, "Thank God for Phil Hellmuth! Thank God for Chris Moneymaker!"

Who would have thought? 10-rag once again outflops Big Slick.

10-2 was cool in the 1970s when The Hustle and platform shoes were in style. The Hammer was soooooo 2004. As we approach the end of the decade, 10-rag is the new bullshit hand. Michalski the opportunist has already started printing up shirts in his garage.

Hellmuth lost control. He berated Dragomir so much so that tournament director Steve Frezer gave Hellmuth a one orbit penalty. Frezer yellow carded Hellmuth for his outlandishly gauche behavior. Finally. Someone stood up to the bully and bitched slapped Hellmuth like a red-headed step-child at a family picnic. Since time expired for Day 5, Hellmuth must sit out the first orbit on Day 6. He wasn't pleased with the ruling.

Lucky for Hellmuth, play was over for the night. He could have steamed off all of his chips if play continued. As is, he ended Day 5 as one of the shortstacks with 79 players to go. Hellmuth got a new table draw for Day 6 and is no where near Mile Matusow.

Warning... tin foil hat time. During the last two hours of Day 5, the winds of the whispers of the 'conspiracy to fix the featured table' swirled around the Amazon Room. Hellmuth's table broke and he headed to the featured TV table with Mike Matsuow. Coincidence?

New World Order. Illuminati. Roswell. ESPN.

I wrote this in the live blog when Hellmuth sat down... I think everyone at ESPN wet themselves with the possibility of a an insane blow up. Then again, I think they were also cringing, because the thought of one of them bust(ing) the other would not be good for ratings. In a perfect world, the two would avoid each other and meet at the final table.

Jimmy Sommerfeld once rigged the final three tables of an event in Reno so the action would go quicker. He was up front with the players and explained what he did so it wasn't really any controversy. But on Day 5 of the WSOP main event? Several people called shenanigans when Hellmuth strolled up to the featured table.

It was a one in nine shot that Hellmuth got the empty seat card that would send him to the TV table. Did someone plant that card? Or was it totally random? It all depends on how you view the world.

Some of my friends have a serious distrust for corrupt institutions and corporations especially when there's millions of dollars and jobs and reputations on the line. All though the poker conspiracy theorists don't have proof, they firmly believe that they know a fix when they see it.

The existentialist in me believes that life is a godless and chaotic universe full of random coincidences. Ergo... that Hellmuth final table draw was totally random. Sorry to crumble your tin foil hats into a little ball. The fix was not in. Or maybe it was? And I'm part of the vast conspiracy trying to help the cover it up. The truth is out there. Trust no one.

Two men entered. Two men left. One rode a tidal wave of confidence. The other? Slid deep into the depths of mega-tilt.

Hellmuth and Matusow both return at noon on Sunday to battle it out to the final 27. They are two of the most recognizable characters in poker and aside from a few Matusow and Hellmuth haters, everyone involved in poker is hoping that both players advance one more day.

Can Hellmuth regroup, peak into the souls of his opponents, and remain bulletproof for one more day? Can Matusow stay focused on his meds and continue his run and make Flipchip look like a genius for picking Matusow to win the Main Event on the night before it began?

The wretched squall of Hellmuth and Matusow continues...


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.

2008 WSOP Day 38: The Kitten Fields

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

Over the last four days, a massive PokerStars shuttle bus carted troops from basecamp at the Palms to the front lines at the Rio. At nights, the bus left the parking lot of the Rio with battled tested and wounded qualifiers in PokerStars hats and shirts, the few survivors who advanced to Day 2 after a gruesome rumble.

A jihad. A brawl. A melee. Seat open, table 28.

A couple of invincible ones walked away without a scratch on them. Not one blemish as they heroically blazed through a minefield and avoided any missteps, while unfortunate others hobbled out of the Amazon Room mangled and battered and some where wheeled out on life support. They were the lucky ones.

The majority of their brethren never made it out alive and perished in the existentialist meatgrinder of the world series of sadism. That's why every PokerStars 'premium' schwag bag can be converted into a makeshift body bag.

Poor Otis and Howard and Bartley scrambled across the killing floor every hour to retrieve the leftover carcasses from the plethora of online qualifiers. The bottom of the PokerStars shuttle bus was a makeshift morgue which Otis and his crew constantly filled up every inch with the leftovers.

You could see the malnourishment in Otis' eyes. The sorrow. The misery. The agony. And you wonder why Otis writes such sad posts. He can't shake the post-traumatic stress syndrome of being the first on the scene after the initial slaughter. If you have to slosh around knee deep in the fish guts and animal intestines for 15 hours a day, you'd be in a somber mood as well.

When the online qualifiers won their seats they thought they won a ticket to the big dance. What they really won was a one way trip to nothingness.

After the third day you get numb to the smell of donkey blood and you ignore the bottoms of your jeans stained with oodles and oodles of spilled blood so much so that a steady stream bisects the Amazon into two parts. The French media have been calling it "Une riviere remplie du sang des anes." That loosely translated into Donkey Blood River.

You can try to repress those horrific memories of the anguish in the killing fields and stash them next to your suicidal thoughts, but they always bubble up to the surface and ambush you when you least expect it. I have a few flashbacks everyday. I can't escape the faces of the ones we left behind. Like the young kid from that small farming town in Kansas. He barely shaved. Had a girl back home. They were fixin' to get married. He texted her every break until... it was his time to go. He exploded into a thousand little pieces. Never saw it coming. Sucked out on the river. One moment he was smiling and excited to be at the same table as Jesus. The next moment, he was a statistic. Seat open, table 23.

Every night, I am unable to sleep, haunted by the screams of the tortured souls as they were blindly led to the killing fields. The main event is sort of like a quagmire of a war. You can see it on TV but you have no idea what the butchery is like unless you have been there and swatted away the malaria-ridden mosquitos and dodged the shrapnel from exploding donkeys. I am haunted by the deafening screeches of innocents boys and girls getting their hearts ripped out of their chest while the media vultures do nothing to stop the atrocities and live blog every single moment of the maulings.

Donkeys make a distinct yelp when their throats are slashed. Whenever I am reminded of that shrill sound, I hear Wagner's Die Walküre in the background as my world fades to black and a I pass out only to be woken up in a thick pool of the losers' blood. I get dirty looks from my fellow media reps when I track blood up into the press box. We have a "Welcome" mat at the foot of the stairs and I always forget to wipe my feet.

It was a dull moment at the WSOP until Mike Matusow livened things up for ESPN's cameras and bit the head off of a kitten that had wandered up on stage. One of those third rate energy drinks got a brilliant guerrilla marketing idea and decided to slap a patch on a kitten and let it loose at the featured TV table. It would get face time and free advertising. After all, everyone loves kittens, right?

Matusow' meds weren't working properly. One of the side affects gave him intense munchies and hallucinations. He thought the kitten was a meatball sub, so he ripped the patch off the kitten and then bit the head off. That's was shocking move that horrified and excited ESPN execs. They finally found a way to make poker interesting for middle America.

Animal sacrifice and poker.

Once you get the politically correct Peta freaks out of the way, the dollars start rolling in. Next year, there will be there new events added. The one I'm waiting for is the Mixed Hold'em/Kitten Eating event. One round of Hold'em followed by a round of kitten consumption.

Editor's Note: Not one kitten was actually harmed in the writing of this post. But just to remind you, that every time a Full Tilt pro gets sucked out on, a kitten dies.

* * * * * *
Happy pill time. Has yours kicked in yet?

The world is a happy place of joy and jubilation. I'm not always dark and coldblooded and miserable wandering around pondering the complexities of life. I can see the good in things. The light amidst the darkness. The world can be a happy place where dogs and cats and PokerStars and Full Tilt pros live in harmony. And guys like Tony G and Barry Shulman join a bowling team and raise puppies together.

The WSOP is my own personal utopia. This is the happiest place on earth where 72 virgins dressed like Britney Spears roam the hallways singing Kum Ba Yah and Give Peace a Chance. Fairies like Anna Wroblewski run up to Eskimo and sprinkle fairy dust on his head and he magically transforms into Patrik Antonius. And according to Shronk, when Patrik Antonius folds his cards they turn into doves and fly away.

The Amazon Room at the Rio Casino is the place where dreams are fulfilled. Close your eyes. Make a wish. Leave all of your friends, family, jobs, responsibilities, and fly to Las Vegas and all of your problems, fears, phobias, and character flaws will disappear into thin air.

Remember that first time you drove to Las Vegas from Los Angeles? And you saw the lights magically appear as you headed over the pass. You were less than an hour away and the Luxor light shot up into the darkened sky and that was the beacon of hope. Hope. Promise. Faith. You used to be so filled with hope and anticipation. Willing to leave your old life behind and immerse yourself into Candyland and Disenyland and whatever fairytale land you want to escape into.

Purple flickering lights. Pink cocktails. Gingers with red hair. Wads of greenbacks. Hookers in baby blue dresses with orange purses filled with yellow condoms. Buy a ticket and take the ride. Hump a stripper. Hug a porn slapper. Double down on a 14. Make a Jack-high Pai Gow.

Jesus turned water into wine. But Las Vegas is the only place where you can magically turn $10,000 into $9 million. One lucky mortal will become a god if they can become the last one standing in the killing fields.


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.

2008 WSOP Day 37: Main Event Day 1C and the Tao of Five with Flipchip

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

It felt like Ground Hog's Day. The third Day 1. 38th day in a row. My brain is/was/is/was fried. Anyway, the biggest field showed up so far at the WSOP world championship and when action ended on Day 1c, Harrahs dodged a bullet and got more entrants signed up than last year with one more flight to go.

I could do a recap but just read the blog from Day 1c. It's better than anything I can whip up.

Iggy survived the 1,928 person field and advanced to Day 2. Plenty of hot chicas that I know all played... such as Liz Lieu, Lacey Jones, Michele Lewis, Tiffany Michelle, Isabelle Mercier, and Kara Scott.


Liz... (courtesy of PokerNews.com)

* * * * *
On Day 1c, I spent a lot of time with Flipchip talking about a variety of topics. I recorded some of our conversation and decided to use excerpts for a new installment of Tao of Five.

Flipchip has been photographing the WSOP for over three decades. I have been working with him since 2005 and he's known around town as the best in the business.

How did you get into photography?

Flipchip: I liked it when I was a kid. I hauled around my grandmother's Browning and took pictures of things other than relatives which labeled me as weird. When I served in Vietnam, the military is when I saw my first real camera. A Nikon OM1. I hardly knew which way to point it. They gave it to me. They needed photos of dead people and I just happened to be standing there. I ended up with the camera and the film. I went out and took the pictures. If there wasn't any dead people, we'd fake it. We'd have people act dead. It was like being in a movie. I was like a movie director. 'OK, you guys lie down.'

I took photos of dead people. On both sides. I figured those (photos) were used for propaganda. We were so confused we really had no idea anything what was going on. We knew that the country hated us. When I came home I was told not to wear my uniform and not to go to a civilian church. When we got to the airport, people would spit on us. We got to fight in one of the big mistakes. America doesn't like losers. That's the sad part. Nobody likes losers.


Can you capture the essence of humanity with your camera?

Flipchip: Anyone who has played in any poker tournament knows that feeling the moment you find out you're out. You're empty. The world is over. You don't want to walk out, you want to run out. You want to disappear. We see all that heartbreak. That's what I try to do with the camera. I try to capture that look of the moment that they know it's over for this year. The dream is gone. The life has gone from the eyes. I do that every time I hear an "All in and a call!" I can get one of those photos of the light going out. I do about a thousand photos a day or more during the WSOP. We get 54 winners photos and 30,000 loser photos.


From up here in the press box, as you look out into the sea of players on Day 1c, what are you thinking?

Flipchip: You see all these thousands of people in the Amazon room, pick out a face and ask them where hey got an extra $10,000 in this economy to come over here to play cards. I look at these average joes and wonder where the hell they got the money to play in the WSOP? Anyone who knows anything about stats and fall out rates and dead money knows that you have slighter better odds than buying a lottery ticket. Here, there are some people would couldn't win it if you gave them a seat at the final table.


What's one of the biggest differences of the WSOP from twenty and thirty years ago?

Flipchip: Back in the 1980s every table was a killer table. You knew everybody there. There would be a few rich guys, mostly Texans, that would come and tell you right up front, 'I know that I can't win it. But I can go home and say that I sat next to Doyle Brunson and TJ and I won a pot from them...' They paid to have that memory and have those bragging rights.

In the 1970s and the 1980s it was about poker. Now today, it's about sponsorship money and a hundred million dollars to the corporations. They turned the WSOP into a huge profit center. It's no longer about poker or the player. It's about the corporate branding of the WSOP. That's kinda sad to see it happen. I guess in today's world it had to happen in order to survive. Well it's also good for us, because without that we would not have a job. It's blood money, very much so.


What was the difference between the mob that used to run Vegas or the suits in corporations who run it now?

Flipchip: When the mob ran the joint, and the joint means 'the town', we had a lot less potholes. It was really easy to get a comped meal. You didn't need to have players cards or prove you've done whatever. You just had to have juice. Jucie meaning that you knew someone named Dominic. We all know a Dominic around here. I know two or three. That was like your golden ticket. It would get you free food, it would get you free rooms, it would get you whatever you wanted.

They had a very direct way of dealing with things around here. They're business methods are very successful and they're very blunt and direct. If you screw up with those guys they break your arms or kill you. I thought it was better then. Las Vegas was a better place.

The downfall of Las Vegas, and there are lots of reason, but Howard Hughes was one. He came to town with the idea of cleaning it up. He ran out the guys that we knew were crooks and bad guys and they were part of the landscape. He brought in his set of crooks. The only different was that they were suits and you didn't know they were crooks. I prefer the guys with the baseball bats. They got more things done and were more fun to be around. They had lots of great stories of the old days.

But the new Vegas is a world spectacle. It's worth coming here to see this marvelous thing that people have built in the dessert.

Don't forget to check out Flipchip's photos.


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.