The Mule Orthodoxy

“Heresy is the eternal dawn, the morning star, the glittering herald of the day. Heresy is the last and best thought. It is the perpetual New World, the unknown sea, toward which the brave all sail. It is the eternal horizon of progress.

Heresy extends the hospitalities of the brain to a new thought.

Heresy is a cradle; orthodoxy, a coffin.”

~Robert Green Ingersoll, Heretics and Heresies (1874)

I happen to enjoy quaffing the occasional refreshing, medicinal beverage known as the Moscow Mule. In fact, I'm something of a Mule evangelist, spreading the good news of the Mule from South Carolina to Denver, and from Vegas to Canada. But I am also a Mule traditionalist, hewing strictly to the time-honored Mule recipe: good vodka, ginger beer, fresh-squeezed lime juice, and ice cubes, served in a copper mug. No mint, no bottled lime juice, no sugar or simple syrup, no crushed ice, no garnish other than a lime wedge, no highball glass. An orthodox Mule, if you will.

Part of my Christmas gift to my brother and sister-in-law,

so they can fight scurvy in Denver. Using cubed ice, of course.

Unfortunately, the more I evangelize for the cult of the Mule, the more Mule heresies I encounter. Some are minor, like flavored vodkas offered in a number of Des Moines establishments. Many of these "Mule Ranchers"—sort of a cross between a Mule and a Jolly Rancher—are actually quite tasty, particularly those that stick to fruit flavors which complement the ginger flavor of the Mule—pear, black cherry, apple, and peach seem to work well. Other heresies are more fundamental. "Drug Mules" swap out the vodka for silver tequila, while "Kentucky Mules" get their kick from good bourbon. Perhaps the most esoteric Mule heresy I've encountered was a "Tokyo Mule", based on dry saké and yuzu juice. All were highly unorthodox, yet all were very refreshing.

Maybe "heresy" is too strong a word for these mutant Mules. In a way, these Mule variants are more like a cover song or tribute album, putting a new spin on an old classic. Sometimes, the cover song introduces the listener to the original performer, like Metallica did for me with their cover of Diamond Head's "Am I Evil?". Sometimes, the cover version puts a whole new spin on the classic, rendering the original song accessible to a new generation (e.g., the Moulin Rouge remake of LaBelle's "Lady Marmalade" by Missy Elliott, Christina Aguilera, P!nk, Mya, and Lil' Kim) or a different audience (e.g., Travis Tritt's excellent countrified cover of the Eagles' classic "Take It Easy", or in the other direction, Carrie Underwood's great pop cover of the already amazing Martina McBride country classic "Independence Day"). For some songs, numerous wildly divergent renditions of the same song may be equally inspiring; witness the variety of approaches to Leonard Cohen's classic "Hallelujah" taken by artists like Jeff Buckley, John Cale, Rufus Wainwright, and k.d. lang (my personal favorite). In rare cases, a cover version may actually elevate a good song to something transcendent—Johnny Cash covering the Nine Inch Nails' hit "Hurt", or Whitney Houston's iconic rendition of the Dolly Parton hit "I Will Always Love You" (Entertainment Weekly recently published an intriguing behind-the-scenes story about how Houston came to perform the song for The Bodyguard).

Of course, not every cover song is an artistic success. In fact, most cover songs probably hover somewhere between William Hung's American Idol rendition of "She Bangs" and Billy Joe Jim Bob and Ellie Mae belting out a tequila-aided "Friends In Low Places" duet during karaoke night at Finnegan's Corner Tap. When it comes to Mules, often the heretical variations from the Platonic Mule more closely resemble "playing Kenny G on a kazoo" than "Kenny G covering Charlie Parker" (an abomination in its own right).

The most common unforgivable Mule sins are adding sugar or simple syrup to the mix, or garnishing with mint. Look, mojitos have earned their place in the scurvy-fighting refreshment pharmacopoeia. But sugar and spice do not make everything else nice, at least not in my copper mug. Speaking of which, a Mule served in anything other than a copper mug may well be refreshing, but it's like serving a fine red wine in jelly glasses—it will do in a pinch, but the ambience is lost (you'll have to trust me on this).

Which brings us to the ultimate Mule heresy—crushed ice. When sharing the Mule recipe with Otis, I felt confident I had conveyed the central importance of cubed ice. In fact, I said, "Ice cubes—must be 2 cm per side, made from water drawn during a new moon from the Ogallala aquifer (PRO TIP: Any ice from the closest freezer will work fine)." That's right: "Ice cubes". Good lord, could it be any clearer?!?

My WPBT bounty could not have been clearer:

Ice CUBES and NO MINT!

Nonetheless, Otis fancied himself the equal of Daniel Webster and proceeded to orate for his Mule soul, throwing down the gauntlet and claiming a mixology loophole rendered crushed ice superior to ice cubes. As Exhibit A in his impassioned defense, Otis demanded a jury viewing—and tasting—of the crushed ice Mule at Herbs & Rye in Las Vegas. Otis described the Herbs & Rye experience as pure rapture:

A giant man with a Thor-like hammer stood on the other side of the bar. He stuffed ice into a canvas sack (I’d learn later it’s called a “Lewis Bag”), put it on the edge of his bar, and beat it with his giant wooden mallet. It was simultaneously violent, artful, and erotic. I’d never been so turned on by a sweating 300-pound man in a black vest.

Thor went to work in a way I had never seen. It was at once robotic and fluid, like a wax museum bartender animated into a performance artist. By the time Thor finished, I had in front of me what amounted to a Moscow Mule sno-cone made with Fever Tree Ginger Beer and garnished with a paper-thin piece of lime peel.

A Moscow Mule sno-cone? Blasphemy!

Nonetheless, I am nothing if not a fair man. I determined that Otis and his crushed ice theorem should be given a fair trial, then shot like Old Yeller. So, during WPBT, I prevailed upon Lori to take me to Herbs & Rye, accompanied by a security force / jury of Astin and Travis. The scene was much as described by Otis, except for the two young, hipster Asian DJs spinning "Best of the 80s/90s Hip Hop Videos" in the lounge while we dined. Now that was an awesome trip down musical memory lanes!

The waitress brought drink menus, but there was no reason to open them. Three Mules were ordered. Three crushed ice Mule sno-cones arrived. I was duly skeptical. I sipped. The drink was tasty. It was ... very refreshing.

A second round of Mules were ordered by Lori and me, while Astin switched to a "Blood and Sand", a drink requiring an elaborate tableside orange bonfire. Apparently our order required more ice to be crushed, leading to our observing a 250+ pound man beating a block of ice into pulp with a massive mallet. Let's just say, if you own a massive mallet, you can crush all the ice you want for your bar and you will not hear a word of protest from me.

Perfect scene for a "Name that 80s/90s Hip Hop Video" contest.

Travis, Lori, and Astin, with a round of refreshments at Herbs & Rye.

All side dishes are better with bacon.

How to make artisan crushed ice.

Now THAT's a mallet!

An Herbs & Rye ice sculpture. Very refreshing.

I left Herbs & Rye very refreshed. Sure, much like Jabez Stone, I "got tricked and trapped and bamboozled, but it was a great journey." Still, although Herbs & Rye was a compelling opening gambit, the jury was still very much out on the crushed ice Mule.

Fast forward to late December when I stopped off in Vegas for a few days on the tail end of my holiday travels. During my stay, I sampled Mules in several spots. Nobhill Tavern in the MGM Grand served a decent Mule made with Smirnoff and Gosling's ginger beer, but it was served in a highball glass with crushed ice. It was good, but not great. Later, I had a Mule at Todd English's P.U.B. in Aria. This was the second time I dined at P.U.B., and the second time I was sorely disappointed by mediocre food. This time, I was also disappointed by a Mule served in a lowball glass with crushed ice and what seemed to be merely a splash of ginger beer. P.U.B. certainly took the mediocre Mule to an entirely new level.

But the greatest disappointment was saved for last. After a tasty dinner at Rick Mooney's RM Seafood at Mandalay Bay with Lori, Scott, Julie, and Poker Grump, we adjourned to Red Square to sample their Moscow Mules. When they were served, the Mules were not only sno-cones on steroids, but garnished with mint and served in pseudo-copper mugs (copper exteriors lined with non-copperish interiors). Mint sprigs were duly discarded, and Mules were sipped. Thankfully the straws enabled us to reach the beverage, but the mugs were barely 2/3 full at best. And thus were the two fundamental flaws of the crushed ice Mule laid bare—crushed ice waters down the drink while concomitantly squeezing out space for the beverage itself. Presto! Diluted Mule, and not much of it. Even the use of the uber-ginger beer Fever Tree could not save these Mules from mediocrity, and a second round was actually less satisfying (or more dissatisfying) than the first. The Mules even saved a final kick for when the waitress presented the tab—$17 per Mule. Sacrilege!

Red Square mint garnish gets the proper reception.

Poker Grump, Pkdlr, DiceGrll, & PokerVixen search for

pricey refreshment at Red Square.

Frankly, I have seen enough. Mene Mule Tekel u-Pharsin. The Crushed Ice Mule has been judged and found wanting. No more will I permit crushed ice to pollute the sacred Mule. No more will I tolerate watered-down Mules that require a bendy straw to sip. By grand edict of the High Priest of the Mules: Give me cubes or give me death!

Or a Templeton Rye. On the rocks.

“I myself have read the writings and teachings of the heretics, polluting my soul for a while with their abominable notions, though deriving this benefit: I was able to refute them for myself and loathe them even more.”

~Eusebius, The Church History

k.d. lang performs "Hallelujah" at the 2005 Juno Awards in Winnipeg.
(Yes, she's Canadian. Deal with it.)



Johnny Cash covers "Hurt".

Whitney Houston's ultimate rendition of "I Will Always Love You".

The WPBT Presents Food Porn

"We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink."

~ Epicurus

One of the great things about Vegas is that there are dozens of great places to eat crammed in a small area. On the Strip alone one can find excellent dining experiences at every price point and in every style of cuisine. Every trip I take to Vegas, I make it a point to treat myself to at least one meal each day that I can't experience in Des Moines. Sometimes it's as simple as a gourmet burger or top notch Mexican or Asian cuisine with a fun vibe, while at least once each trip I venture into a higher end steakhouse or TV chef food joint. There's no shame in having a cheap sandwich or chowing down at a mediocre buffet to accommodate time and travel budgets. But it's a damn shame to spend more than a day within an easy walk of so many interesting dining experiences and never veer off the fast food and buffet path.

During the recent WPBT, I got to enjoy several excellent meals. The culinary trip got off to a fast start Thursday night as I went straight from the airport to dinner at Jaleo in the Cosmopolitan. I met up with a hilarious group including Astin, April, Heather, Ryan, Dan, and Stephane, with an after dinner appearance by the lovely Miss Chako. Jaleo is a Spanish tapas restaurant with some intriguing options. We took turns ordering dishes to share with the table, and I can't think of a single dud. Some of my favorites were the lobster paella, the asparagus, the grilled mushrooms, and the Iberico ham fritters. My favorite dishes, however, were the salad of grilled Brussels sprouts and Serrano ham, the endive with goat cheese, and the veal cheeks. Even with wine and cocktails thrown in, the total bill still came in well under $100 per head. Not too shabby a start to the weekend's festivities!

Stephane, Miss Chako, & April at Jaleo.

Astin tries Jaleo's amazing gin & tonic.

A close up of the world's greatest gin & tonic.

Friday was my birthday, but because I stayed up until 9:00 a.m. playing poker, I slept in until mid-afternoon. Since I was staying at Paris and had a Total Rewards coupon for a free burger, I treated myself to a burger at Le Burger Brasserie, one of my favorite solo Vegas dining locations. I went with my standard—the Saveur, a lamb burger on a wheat bun with mushrooms, mozzarella, and herbs. Tasty! For some reason, I forgot to use my coupon, so my last meal of the trip—lunch on Monday—was a repeat trip for another lamb burger, this time built from scratch with pancetta, chevre, and roasted red peppers, with a side of sweet potato fries. A perfect end to a great culinary weekend!

My personalized lamb burger at Le Burger Brasserie.

Even though I was stuffed from my birthday burger, a small part of my stomach was jealous of the Friday night dinner antics of a group that included FTrain, MrChako, and culinary genius Astin. I know those three were enjoying a great meal at Raku because they tweeted a course by course rundown of the delectable dishes they were served, often with pictures. Just check out Astin's photos of the meal (here, here, here, and here) and tell me you aren't drooling just a little.

Saturday saw me waking up bright and early by 9:30 a.m., anticipating the noon WPBT tourney at Aria. My worries about pre-tourney sustenance were assuaged by a Twitter invite from Heather to join a motley crew for the brunch buffet at Wicked Spoon in the Cosmopolitan. I think it was most of the Jaleo crew, plus Chilly, Gus, Marty, and OhCaptain. This was easily the best buffet I have ever sampled (though in the interest of full disclosure, I have never tried the buffets at Wynn, Bellagio, or Aria). There was a great spread of food, including a salad bar I breezed past on the way to a meat carving station loaded with ham, linguica sausage, leg of lamb, turkey, slab bacon, and prime rib. I also grabbed single serve pots of short rib eggs Benedict, asiago gnocchi, and bacon mac 'n cheese, along with some awesome mushroom polenta and a variety of desserts. As is the case with most buffets, there were some hits and some misses, but overall the buffet offered great variety and good value for the money (~$30, $39 with the all you can drink mimosas and bloody marys). My personal favorites were the short rib eggs Benedict, leg of lamb, and bacon mac 'n cheese. Definitely worth another visit for dinner, where rumor has it there is a made to order mac 'n cheese station.

Plate 1: From bottom right, leg of lamb with chimichurri 

sauce, egg scramble, bacon mac 'n cheese, short rib 

eggs Benedict, bacon, apple turkey sausage, mushroom 

polenta, linguica sausage, and carved slab bacon.

Plate 2:  From bottom left, mini pecan pie, 

chocolate dessert cup, asiago gnocchi, prime rib,

and mixed berry shot glass dessert.

Plate 3:  From bottom center, passion fruit fudge,

chocolate passion fruit dessert shot, raspberry chocolate

dessert shot with gold flake, and molten chocolate

brownie in caramel sauce.

Pastry and dessert case.

Gelato bar.

Gay man's heaven—the hot meat station.

Saturday night rolled around, and I found myself headed to CarneVino, super chef Mario Batali's restaurant at Palazzo, with friends Caity, Carol (a/k/a the Black Widow of Poker), and Astin (living up to his reputation as a culinary slut). CarneVino is one of my favorite Vegas restaurants (as an aside, if you're in Vegas solo, eating at the bar in a fancy restaurant is a great dining option; no need to feel bashful!). Carol happens to be connected to the manager, so we were given a little hook-up for our meal. We began with pastrami with duck egg, another appetizer I've forgotten, and a tuna tartare compliments of the chef (thank you Carol!). The tartare was amazing! For the pasta course, we sampled the duck cannelloni, the duck liver and pork ravioli, and the gnocchi bolognese (again, compliments of the chef). For this course, the ravioli stole the show. For the entree course, Astin picked a solid barolo that paired well with our grilled veal sweetbreads, grilled venison with huckleberry demiglace, grilled lamb chops, and grilled bison. Despite my solid credentials as a former farm kid who showed livestock and judged meat, I was a sweetbreads virgin, and the ones here were underwhelming—not  bad, just not as amazing as the red meat dishes. My personal favorite had to be the venison—just a bit gamey like a good lamb dish, but melt in your mouth tender and exploding with flavor. However, what truly made the dinner a major highlight of my trip was getting to know my companions better, where they came from, how they tick, some of their quirks, and what makes them laugh. Dinner took almost three hours, but seemed to fly by in a wink. Truly a wonderful experience that made the whole WPBT trip worthwhile.

Caity, Carol, & Astin at CarneVino.

Sunday marked the winding down of the WPBT festivities, but my culinary adventures were not quite concluded. After cheering on some of our WPBT compatriots in the Rock 'N Roll Marathon, I found myself starving and headed to Lemongrass at Aria for a late dinner with Allen, Steve, and Dave. This dinner was a real treat, as I had really not had much interaction with these three gents beyond a cursory howdy and an hour or two at the poker tables. Despite reading their blogs and following them on Twitter, this dinner was the first chance I had to get to know them a little bit as regular folks. Well, perhaps irregular folks. In any event, dinner was an hour or two of laughs, and a truly memorable evening. One of the highlights was when Steve articulated my motto for fine dining and fine living—when you get the chance, you might as well try something new. For Steve and me, that meant diving into an appetizer of—cold jellyfish. The dish was actually quite tasty, with a surprisingly firm crunchy-chewy texture, seasoned with a little vinegar, sesame oil, and chili flake. Certainly not anything like what I expected, but something I would gladly order again. For my entree, I went with my standard Drunken Noodle, but this time, a "6" on the heat scale went to an unexpected inferno level, causing me to break out in a sweat quite noticeable on my fuzzy bald head. And yes, my companions might have noticed. But a little ribbing fit right into the light-hearted banter that made dinner a fun way to wrap up the WPBT weekend.

Jellyfish appetizer at Lemongrass.

As much as I love poker and degenerate gambling, what makes WPBT special is the people. And this trip, food gave me the opportunity to truly enjoy those people as people, not as poker players. Poker might bring us together, but all of us are much more than poker players. I'm grateful something as basic as food gave me the opportunity to glimpse the human sides of so many WPBT folks.

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”

~ Thorin Oakenshield in The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien

A Pirate's Bargain from TI (#WPBT)

Recently, April (a/k/a @thisisnotapril) announced the official dates for the Winter Poker Blogger Tournament (#WPBT). Since I was able to endure both the presence of @realdawnsummers and having @drizztdj suck out from ahead with Kings in my rookie #WPBT appearance, I was excited to sign up for this year's shenanigans. Now, Aria is not only hosting the #WPBT tourney, but has also offered a great poker room rate with no minimum play requirements ($99/$139 weekday/weekend). I love Aria's rooms and poker rooms, so I have already made reservations. But, my internal cheapskate likes to at least check out the competition, so I was intrigued by this generous offer from Treasure Island ... errr, TI:

Wow! A full 40% discount and two buffets?!?!  Sign me up!!

Oh wait. Not so fast, my friends. Apparently Phil Ruffin has me slotted in at least three tax brackets above my pay grade. Here's my official TI room rate for #WPBT weekend:

Yikes! Apparently TI has gone seriously upscale since I last stayed there in March for under $90/night. Guess I'll have to slum it at Aria .... *Sigh*

It's a tough life, but I manage somehow.

Adventures In Pot Limit Gamboool!—Katkin & the Crazy Canucks

During my recent Festivus/WPBT trip to Vegas, I played a fun session of Pot Limit Gamboool!(TM) at the Venetian.  I've played in this game during several recent trips, and it has been uniformly entertaining and generally profitable.

Although I generally don't post hand strategy posts here (reserving those mostly for the VPN or AVP discussion forums), I do want to cross-post one PLG hand for comment from my readers, partially because I'm hoping there are some PLG savants who follow crAAKKer, and mostly because the hand involved the infamous Katkin. 

The game plays 9-handed, $200-$500 buy-in. The blinds are $1/$2, but count as $5 total for purposes of the pot (i.e., the first "pot" raise with no limpers can be to $15 total--$5 blinds, $5 "call" + $10 pot raise). The game was pretty sane by PLG standards. Most pots were limped preflop or one raise with 1-3 callers; preflop 3-bets almost always meant suited Aces or Kings, or suited Broadway wrap type hands. Stacks were mostly in the $300-$800 range.

On this hand, I was in the BB.  Katkin was UTG and limped, as did a Canadian player in LP, and another Canadian in the SB.   I was in the BB and completed.  My hand was AdKh9h7d; not too shabby for a blind hand.

Flop ($20):  QdTd7s

SB checked to me.  I bet $15.  Katkin raised pot, to $65 total.  Canadian LP raised all-in, for $120 total.  Canadian BB insta-raises pot to $340 total.

Katkin had about $400 more behind.  He had been playing solid PLG, showing down reasonable starting hands for position and preflop betting.  He had picked off one bluff with two pair against an aggressive player's missed draws, but otherwise was not putting money into a pot without a good hand or good draw.

Canadian LP had been a little more loose, was playing with a hyper-aggressive buddy (they were a couple of college age kids on vacation, FWIW), but had not been nearly as wild as his friend.  His stack had dwindled after paying off with a couple of non-nut draws that hit, but hit someone else harder.  He liked to see flops with suited middle / low cards ("rundown" hands).

Canadian SB was a moderately aggressive guy, seemed to be a mid-30s guy on vacation.  He had maybe $200 more behind.  He had played a lot of hands, but when he made a big bet, he had a real hand or real draw.

Action is on me, I have about $750 more behind (covering everyone in the hand).  Obviously I have nut draws, but with the multiway action with a player left to act behind, is this a raise all-in, a flat call, or a fold?

*** Note: Results are posted after the jump. ***

Katkin really made this a tough decision for me.  Against the other two guys, I was pretty sure Canadian SB had a set of Qs or Tens; if he had a big draw he would likely have flatted.  I had one blocker to his boat redraw, in the event I would call and hit one of my draws.  There were three problems I had, in order of increasing importance:

1. My draws, although to the nuts, weren't as wide as a monster wrap with flush draw.  Someone with KJ98dd has better straight draws with diamond blockers.
2. Canadian LP likely had either a set of Tens or Sevens, or a two-way draw of some sort.  So, he likely had some of somebody's outs, but it wasn't clear whose.
3. Katkin.  Freakin' Katkin.  He had shown the initial real aggression on the flop, and was yet to act.  The hand felt like he had a big draw, but there was a possibility he held the set of Qs and Canadian SB had the monster draw.  But assuming he held the monster draw, I was drawing thinner than usual in a hand where I must improve to win.

If the action were three-way without Katkin, this seems to be an easy auto-shove.  But with Freakin' Katkin gumming up the works, I was stymied.  Finally, I folded very reluctantly.  Freakin' Katkin pushed, Canadian SB called.  The players showed:

Katkin:  AhKdJh4d

Canadian SB:  QcQsXX  (set of queens, no redraw; frankly, this hand is functionally equivalent to a set of Tens in terms of stealing boat outs from Canadian SB.

Canadian LP:  QT98 (top two pair plus a wrap, but no diamond draw)

The turn put the 6d on the board, and the river was a blank that did not give Canadian SB his boat redraw.  Freakin' Katkin raked the monsterpotten.
 
In hindsight, I think the correct play here was for me to push, knowing Katkin can't call with a lesser, non-nut draw.  If Katkin has a set, so be it, hope to hit the draw and miss the boat.  But most of the time I think this action means Canadian SB has the big set, and Katkin the draw.

What do you PLG experts think?  Inquiring minds want to know!

Bob Loblaw on the WPBT

"There's more to life than strippers and booze and buckets of blood.  Why do you guys have buckets of blood?" 

—Michael Bluth (Jason Bateman), on Arrested Development

One of my favorite all-time TV comedies was the hilarious, and underappreciated, Arrested Development.  The show was filled with offbeat, zany characters* finding themselves in absurd situations, while cracking snappy one-liners.  Sounds a lot like the recent WPBT Winter Classic!

I arranged my annual Festivus solo trip to Vegas to coincide with the WPBT this year.  I figured I followed many of these folks' blogs, why not meet a few of them?  Not to mention their trip reports always seemed to involve a high degree of hilarity ...

So I departed Des Moines Thursday morning, landing in Vegas before noon.  My room at Planet Hollywood was not yet available, so I moseyed over to Aria to play some poker.  I ran into "Missing Flops", a Vegas lawyer who blogs on Vegas Poker Now, who was playing the 1:00 p.m. tournament. My poker session was pretty meh, but I did entertain myself by tormenting a hoodie.  This young kid would glare at me from under his hoodie anytime I raised or called his bet.  I had a decent read on his style, which was a basic uber-aggressive approach that might've been profitable three or four years ago.  So, I played a few pots with him, winning almost all of them.  One interesting hand I had some sort of suited gapper and limped UTG.  Hoodie raised to $15, got a couple of callers, so I repopped it to $75 straight; big glare and a muck.  The pièce de résistance was when I called him down in position with Q6 soooted for bottom pair after he three-barreled an unimproved Ace-King.  The glare after I rolled over that hand probably means I shouldn't expect a holiday card this year.  As I was walking back to Planet Hollywood to check into my room (themed around the forgettable—and for me, forgotten—movie Mimic), the Aria poker room tweeted:

@Grange95 thanks for coming out!

Unintentional comedy at its finest.

After checking into Planet Hollywood, I wandered down the Strip to play "flop a Royal" at Mirage.  I failed.  Then it was on to dinner with Poker Grump and Missing Flops at Dos Caminos in the Palazzo.  There was a great deal of merriment and some serious debate over poker and politics.  Then it was off to the Imperial Palace to check up on the WPBT crew at the Geisha Bar.

At this point, I was confronted with a horde of poker bloggers.  Lots of names and faces were learned and promptly forgotten.  Hey, I'm old now, it happens.  I do remember meeting Otis (resplendent in a white polyester sportcoat with faux suede trim), BuddyDank (central casting for any middle-aged slacker), Ian (central Iowa resident I had inexplicably never seen at a poker table before, and whose blogger name I forget; EDIT: It's NumbBono!), and Falstaff (a big ol' teddy bear who was carrying a pitcher of beer, but no glass.  Epic!).  The irrepressible F-Train made an appearance, and I also saw the famed Pauly at the nearby pai gow table, with a rowdy group of compatriots.

Although I'm a fairly outgoing person, being the newbie among a herd of old friends can be a little awkward.  So I wandered over to the IP's poker room.  I had to play some 2/4 LHE while waiting for a 1/2 NLHE seat to open, but that worked out just fine as Alaska Gal dealt me pocket Kings, flopped me a set, and I managed to get an old guy with KJ to think I was bullying him, resulting in a pot over $75.  Excellent!  I don't remember much of the 1/2 NLHE game, except that CaityCaity, CK, skidoo, Katkin, and Falstaff all put in appearances at various points in time.

I then wandered back to P-Ho, intending to go to bed, but instead being seduced by the siren song of a juicy NLHE game.  There were a couple of young guys I would see several times over the next few days, as well as a crazy Asian guy fresh off a baccarat session.  This guy would buy in for $300, leave it in the rack, and then go all-in preflop.  After a few rounds of this, with most folks folding, I screwed up the courage to call him with 44 and a $100ish stack.  I doubled up.  A few hands later, I call again, with 66, and held up.  A few hands later, I call again with 44, and again doubled up.  The other guys, however, were not doing as well, finding hands like AK, AJ, and QQ getting shot down by the crazy guy's trash hands.  It was the most insane poker I've seen, outside several sessions at Bally's after midnight (crazy Gremlin poker there!).  The weirdest moment came when the crazy guy mentioned that he was waiting for his suite to be set up.  Apparently, he was a high roller, and was hosting a party that afternoon, so he was having a stripper pole and shower installed in the living room.  Clearly I don't do Vegas properly.

Friday morning rolled around ... well, Friday noon rolled around, and I headed out to find some poker.  I decided to see what Bally's was like in the daylight hours.  Apparently, just as crazy.  I was seated next to a weird dude who seemed wired.  In between jitters, he would run off at the mouth, sharing that he preferred heroin to booze "because it doesn't affect my poker game as much", and bragging he not only once starred in porn (maybe back in the early 80s), he also "once was on TV and used to date strippers".  He hit on a nice Swedish lady at the table, including using this gem of a pickup line: "You're from Sweden?  I love IKEA and Swedish porn."  Unfortunately, he also was a bad poker player.  When I flopped a set and had trapped a kid overplaying Aces, PornStar calls my massive check-raise saying, "I need to gamble here."  Yes, the poker gods do reward donkeys, letting him flush my set for a monsterpotten.  Le sigh.

I met up with my Brooklyn gals, Mary and "Dawn Summers" (too many blogs to link), for dinner at the Grand Wok at MGM.  Joining us were several of their NYC crew, including Ross, F-Train, and VinNay.  Dawn and I took competing pictures of each other at the table:

After dinner, it was off to the MGM poker room for some cards and hilarity.  Instead, there were 2,000 drunk cowboys dancing at Centrifuge Bar, creating quite the ruckus.  I did play for a short time, including a hand where Josie dropped by to say hello, and saw me crack Aces with 9h4h; what a hot and fiery good luck charm she is!  I stayed long enough to see some smoking woman-on-woman action between CK and The Wife, then bailed for the quieter tables at Mirage.

Error.  Turns out, the Mirage was hosting the official National Finals Rodeo party in its sportsbook.  The entire sportsbook and surrounding casino floor space was crammed with cowboys and cowgirls dancing the night away.

 

In case you were wondering, why yes, that is a giant cactus in the middle of the Mirage sportsbook!  Now, lest you think I'm poking fun, let me be clear.  I grew up on a farm in western Nebraska, was in 4-H and FFA, did my share of showing and judging livestock at the county and state fairs, and had an uncle with a big cattle ranch in the Nebraska Sand Hills.  So, although I'm not a big rodeo fan, folks that are rodeo fans—complete with cowboy hats, cowboy boots, western cut jeans, western style shirts, and big shiny belt buckles—are part of my original tribe.  The band was actually quite good, and ripped through a ton of old school country hits (my favorite that night was a version of "Louisiana Saturday Night" that pretty much had the whole crowd two-steppin').  Regrettably, cowboys also can be donkeys—and lucky donkeys—at the poker tables, and after dodging quad aces then being whacked by two horrendous four-outers (is there any other kind?), I decided to pack it in for the night.

Of course, I had to stop by the P-Ho poker room, since it was conveniently located by the elevators to my room.  First hand I ran second nut flush into the nut flush, but then the tide turned as I started pounding greyhounds (to prevent scurvy, of course).  For my big hand of the night, I had K8 of crubs, flopped trip Kings, rivered quads, and got paid in full on my river shove (a 2x pot bet) by a young kid trying to impress his girlfriend with his Ace-rag bluff.  Now that's a hero call!  Thank you, come again!  I also had the pleasure of sitting next to a young Hungarian guy who recited lines from Rounders.  Nothing quite like a Hungarian doing an imitation of John Malkovich ("Teddy KBG") doing a bad Russian accent.

Saturday started off with the awesome WPBT tournament at Aria.  Since this didn't make it into my prior writeup of the tourney, I did want to mention I got to play for a bit with Chilly (who I knew from back in the day when I went to college with he and his wife), and also got to briefly meet the legendary Al Can't Hang (who is much smaller, quieter, and saner in real life than one might imagine).  EDIT:  I failed to mention a really interesting fellow I met during the tournament and later played some cash games with:  Travis, a/k/a "OnAFoldDraw".  Funny guy, good player, looking forward to hanging with him more next year.

After the tournament, I found myself walking over to MGM with Katkin, Dr. Chako, and The Wife to play mixed games.  The Doc and the Wife are awesome folks, very friendly and entertaining.  The Wife grew up in small town Wisconsin, so we found plenty to chat about.  For example, she had 50 or so people in her high school graduating class, while I had 7.  The mixed games were more donking than playing.  I did flop quad 9s in hold 'em against The Wife, and later tilted a fat guy with bad "Flock of Seagulls" hair into leaving the table after I kept calling him down when he tried to bluff (dude, bluffing in 3/6 limit? riiiigghhhttt).

The reindeer games came to a close when CK invited the Chakos and me to a comped dinner at Lemongrass in Aria.  This was a fantastic dinner, as we shared a couple of appetizers and four spicy Asian dishes.  I would highly recommend eating here with your Aria poker room comp dollars.  Even better than the food, however, was the company, as my dinner companions regaled me with amusing stories of prior WPBT hijinks as well as tales of their family lives.  That two hours was easily the highlight of my trip, and made me glad I had moved my Festivus trip to include the WPBT.  Good folks, those three.

After dinner, we cabbed it to Imperial Palace for some poker and to see who might be at the Geisha Bar.  At the bar, we saw Miami Don with his Golden Hammer trophy; a well-deserved win for a guy who had dominated my last table.  Pauly and some of the WPBT old guard were holding court, and I managed sightings of Astin and Katitude, two people I would love to chat with briefly next year.  Funny thing, I had pictured Astin as a brawny, outdoorsy guy, and in reality he's a sharp-dressing young professional type.  Katitude, though, fit my image of her.  Both seem to be pretty easy-going and entertaining.

I wandered over to the IP poker tables, where I lost a big pot to Grubette (at least, I think it was her), when my AcTc flopped top pair and a flush draw, and the turn card gave me altos dos pairs.  Regrettably, it also gave Grubette her gutterball Broadway, and I failed to improve.  My own fault though, for not raising enough on the flop.  However, I could hardly be gloomy because The Wife mentioned she was straddling at her table, which somehow led to her straddling me and giving me a lap dance during a Dealertainer rendition of "Achy Breaky Heart".  There were dozens of guys jealous of me at that point!

The evening progressed with other friends joining the action at various points, including Dawn, Mary, and CaityCaity.  There was one weird guy at the table, who dressed like he was touring with some bad 80s band.  The only other memorable hand of the session was when, for only the second time in my life, I folded Kings preflop.  A older, nitty guy had raised big, I reraised, and he proceeded to shove without hesitation.  I assumed he had Aces, and I also wanted to protect my ~$450 stack.  He rolled over ... A8 soooted.  Wow.  I play so bad.  (For what it's worth, the only other time I folded Kings preflop was under similar circumstances, but with far deeper stacks; I was wrong that time, too).

I headed back to P-Ho, where the late night game was in full crazy mode.  Two young guys at the table were trying to prop bet on all manner of stupid stuff, like whether the next person to walk past a certain spot would be male or female.  Thankfully, the louder one was a bad player, and donated ~$1,500 to the table.  Strangely, when the song "Danger Zone" came on, it turned out he not only had no idea the song was in the movie Top Gun, he had never even heard of Top Gun!  Kids these days ... However, this did lead to a hilarious remainder of the session, as we nicknamed the three young guys at the table wearing sunglasses "Goose", "Maverick", and "Iceman".

Sunday was much more sedate.  I skipped the WPBT festivities at Lagasse's Stadium in favor of sleeping in followed by a fun lunch at Hash House A Go Go with "Local Rock", a frequent poster on AVP.  I then tracked down Dr. Chako and The Wife at the Venetian/Palazzo compound in order to say goodbye.  This was followed by a rapid shopping trip for something to pay the spouse pass; I ended up getting the sig other a watch, since it was from a trendy designer he likes, it travels easily, and I about threw up in my mouth at the idea of spending $150-$200 for a shirt he wanted.

Shopping done, I returned to the Venetian to play some $1/$2 PLG (pot limit gambooool).  Also at the table were entertaining WPBT degenerates Drizz, Falstaff, and Katkin, along with a rotating assortment of crazy Canadians, a scary Scandi, and an alliterative Asian.  The game was great fun, and I even cashed out a nice profit.  One cooler hand I tweeted, where I flopped Kings-up with a flush draw and turned Kings-full:

Falstaff and I get it in on the turn, my Ks full of 8s vs. his KQ76. He calls for the Queen. I cry. #PLG #wpbt

There was another big hand, this time where I folded on the flop to monster three-way action.  I folded a monster draw that I think should have been a call, but I'll post the hand later for comments.  Anyway, a little before midnight, Katkin and I cashed out and went to Noodle Asia for some food and interesting poker and politics chat.  If you ever have a chance to sit down with Katkin, do it.  Fascinating fellow.

I headed back to P-Ho, popping into Imperial Palace briefly to say goodbye to Dawn and Mary.  The P-Ho late night game was in full crazy swing, yet I couldn't get much traction.  My final hand of the trip involved me getting it all-in three ways on the flop with Ac2c vs. CaityCaity's 99 and some young ET's 88.  Final board: Qc56c79.  Yup, not only did crubs not get there (thanks so much, CK), but Caity's set gave ET his miracle straight.  Yup, I run awesome.

During this trip, I had experienced every kind of negative variance.  I lost to 2-outers, 3-outers, and 4-outers.  I was outflopped, turned, and rivered.  I was outdrawn, but couldn't hit my monster draws.  I ran into set over set, straight over straight, flush over flush, boat over boat, and yes, even ran into quads.  Still, Vegas did have one last bad beat waiting for me, even after I put away the remnants of my Vegas bankroll.**  I got into a cab Monday morning to head to the airport.  Upon learning that I play poker, my cabbie proceeded to suck five minutes out of my soul by regaling me with his brother's bad beat story.  For those who care, his brother was supposedly playing $5/$10 NLHE at the Venetian, flopped quad Kings, and lost to a rivered royal flush (the other guy had QJ soooted and flopped the open-ended straight flush draw).  The cabbie was outraged the Venetian didn't have a badbeat jackpot, "like the Orleans, or other good poker rooms".  Please, join me in lighting a candle to the poker gods tonight in memory of this guy who now is apparently also driving cabs, trying to rebuild his poker bankroll.

I returned to Iowa to find single-figure temperatures, sub-zero windchills, and snow.  But, a happy Berkeley was there to snuggle up and keep me warm, and it was nice to actually get home.  Still, my Festivus/WPBT adventures were a ton of fun, and I look forward to next year when I can see my all my friends old and new, and hopefully meet more of the WPBT folks.  Notables on the "to meet" list:  Bayne, BadBlood, Iggy, StB, and April, though I quite likely met at least some of these folks and had no idea who they were.  

And next year, my 85 offsuit will hold up.

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* My favorite character name on the show was "Bob Loblaw", an attorney who also wrote a blog, "The Bob Loblaw Law Blog".  Say his name out loud and you'll get why his character always made me crack up.

** Actually, I ran well enough that, although it was a losing trip, most of the big pots I lost cut into my profits for that session, rather than into my initial buy-in.  Still, a small losing trip could've been a monster winning trip had the poker gods been just a bit more kind on a few key hands.

Wine & Whine O' the Week (v. 1.15)—Cowboys Riding Ostriches on the Isle of Misfit Poker Bloggers (WPBT Tournament Report)

[Note:  This is the first of two posts about my recent Festivus / WPBT trip to Degenerate Mecca (a/k/a Vegas).  This post will cover the WPBT poker tournament held Saturday at Aria.  A later post will hopefully encompass all the hilarity and hijinks of the remainder of my sojourn.]

Who doesn't love the classic children's Christmas show, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? One of my favorite parts of the show is the Isle of Misfit Toys, which has among its residents this Cowboy who is inexplicably riding an ostrich:

Now, it's pretty obvious the Cowboy is a degenerate poker player who lost a prop bet and wound up straddling an ostrich on a glacier.  But really, who of us hasn't been on the wrong end of a similar bet?  Anyway, the WPBT Winter Classic tournament for poker (and quasi-poker) bloggers this weekend had me thinking about the Isle of Misfit Toys, not because most poker bloggers are social misfits ... well, yeah, actually that's pretty much it.  But they are misfits in a hilariously fun way!

Anyway, the tournament was hosted by the Aria poker room, using its excellent daily tournament structure, with 8K in starting chips, and 30 minute levels.  The Ironmen played this tourney last spring, highlighted by my trapping of buddy Sahara for most of his stack with my skillfully disguised almost-trips (Sahara:  "Five-deuce? What are you doing? Seriously, five-deuce? That's terrible!").  It's a great room with a great tourney—clearly doing some holiday charity by accommodating a bunch of poker degenerates!

The poker tournament was made even sweeter by the good folks at PokerStars and Full Tilt, who combined chipped in 15 player bounties, 10 "Hammer" bounties, bonuses for the final table luckboxes, a bubble-boy save, and a partridge in a pear tree (later deep-fried into beignets and served with a Southern Comfort-roasted chili dip at the Lagasse's Stadium football party).  Also, in keeping with WPBT tradition, most of the players brought along personal bounties to award to the player lucky enough to knock them out of the tourney.

With 97 runners and a nice Tilt/Stars overlay, the tourney was a veritable poker treasure chest.  Of course, I suck at tournaments, but I'm an SVB, so I had a fighting chance.  Now the tourney started at high noon, which is the equivalent of a 7:00 a.m. breakfast meeting. In other words, I might have been a wee bit sleepy.  Bring on the unlimited free hot green tea with honey (without tequila)! Thankfully I had the uber-organized Poker Grump as one of my teammates (along with the delightful card assassin, CaityCaity), so he had handled getting the "Knights Who Say 'Nit'!" registered for the last longer challenge. So, my only real responsibility was to arrive prior to noon, jump into the mass picture, and head to my table.

Where I was promptly confronted with one of my nemeses, the sneaky Katkin.  Katkin is a fascinating guy who has traveled an interesting path from the media industry to the poker industry.  I first met him a year or so ago after being introduced to him by poker socialite CK-BWoP.  He's one of those "quiet but witty" types who enjoys a little verbal jousting at the tables.  So, we promptly agreed to a heads up last longer bet for a round of drinks.

I played rather tight at the first table, just getting into proper tournament rhythm—open-fold, check-fold, limp-fold, order drink, joke with table, lather, rinse, repeat.  There were two hands of note.  In the first, I was on the button with A9 soooted.  There was a limper to me, so I decided to put in a small raise, hoping to take down a small pot.  Unfortunately, the guy in the big blind (whose name, like many others I met this weekend, escapes me) put in a decent raise.  Now, this guy handled himself like a solid player, and had been in a few skirmishes already.  I thought it entirely likely he was making a move of some sort, testing me (let's face it, I'm not exactly the most intimidating tourney player).  So, I called and decided to see how he acted postflop, maybe looking to steal on a scary board.

Instead, the flop came out T-9-9.  Donkey Kong!  Suddenly, I'm hoping he has a real hand, well, other than pocket Tens, natch.  He bets, I call.  Turn is a small card, nothing much changes.  He bets again, I call again. Now in hindsight, I really should've put in a value raise on the flop and/or turn, in order to play for stacks if he had an overpair.  The line I took looks too strong without many draws out there, plus not building the pot earlier makes it tougher to get him to feel pot-committed to a big river bet.  Like I said, I suck at tourneys.  Anyway, the river gave me a German Virgin fourgy.  Galaga!  My opponent thought and checked; about time he showed me some respect!  I thought a bit, then value bet T3000, about half of my opponent's remaining stack, and a little over half the pot.  He thought a while, then mucked his pocket Queens.  Of course, despite having a good full house, about all he could beat was a hand like JT, JJ, or maybe 88/77.  Dammit, I hate it when good players make disciplined laydowns! 

The second noteworthy hand at my first table involved Katkin, who limp-reraised me from under the gun, with me on the button or in the cutoff.  I called with AQ soooted (I think), and we saw a flop of 6-6-4.  Katkin bet, and I thought for a moment of making a steal attempt, but then folded like a CyClown in a meaningful conference football game.  Katkin started giggling like Allen Kessler at a hot video poker machine, then rolled over ... the Spanish Inquisition!  Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, including me!  Thankfully my cat-like poker reflexes saved me from certain disaster, not to mention keeping our last longer bet alive.

With Hammer bounties being awarded like Hannukkah gifts—early and often—it was no surprise when our table broke and I was moved to a mostly new table.  One tough player from my first table—who I learned later was Dominic, a/k/a "No Limit Doc"—moved with me, and continued to own my poker soul on the rare hands I played, typically 3 or 4-betting me off hands preflop, or forcing me to make laydowns on the flop.  Since I respected his play a ton, I decided running away was the better part of valor.*  Call it the "Sir Robin" strategy:

Brave Sir Robin ran away.
Bravely ran away, away!
When danger reared its ugly head,
He bravely turned his tail and fled.
Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about
And gallantly he chickened out.
Bravely taking to his feet
He beat a very brave retreat,
Bravest of the brave, Sir Robin!

My second table was full of celebrities, including CJ, a/k/a "The Luckbox", a WPBT founder and hilarious poker taunter, and Jessica Wellman, new managing editor of Bluff Magazine, and the lone voice of reason on the Poker Beat radio show (the one must-listen poker podcast on my Stitcher favorites).  Jessica is a very attractive young woman, who came across as pleasant, down to earth, and intelligent during my time at her table, and during a brief chat during a break.  Also during my time at the table, Dan Michalski, the big cheese at Pokerati.com, dropped by to chat poker legislation with me for a few minutes. I kept up my strong play by hitting quad Aces with my Ace-Yak, as well as bringing home a small pot with Yaks.  I also managed to pick off one gal's attempted Hammer steal, and I later knocked out a short-stacked player (CaApril, I believe), who kindly gave me her bounty—a neat mechanical toy named "Cranky", which she claimed described herself, though she had been nothing but sunny and funny at the table.  Cranky is now proudly displayed in my office window 37 floors up in the tallest building in Des Moines, with a wistful westward view toward Vegas ...

After break, I was moved to my third table, and finally shook free of the pitbull Dominic. Unfortunately, I found myself back at a table with archnemesis Katkin.  Of course, the poker gods have a sick sense of humor, and my only hand of note at this table was heads up against Katkin.  Katkin was in early position and limped, I raised in the cutoff or on the button with KhQh, and Katkin smooth-called.  The flop was pretty good for me—Ace, Yak, Rag with two hearts—giving me the nut flush draw and a gutshot Broadway draw.  Katkin checked, and I decided to bet as as semi-bluff.  Katkin surprisingly pushed all-in.  Hmmm, that's awkward.  I finally decided I had enough outs to call, plus Katkin could be on a bluff. Or, he could be on Ace-Yak for altos dos pairs.  Awkward!  But a heart on the river gave me the win as well as a very close elimination of Katkin.  I won our last longer wager, a $100 Full Tilt bounty, and Katkin's other bounty—a stylish Fremantle Australian Football scarf which he had won in a previous WPBT, and which is required to be passed along each year to a new bounty winner.  Nothing like making myself a huge target for next year's WPBT!

Now on a near freeroll and with a large stack, I was moved yet again, this time to a table in the elevated area of the Aria poker room.  Most of the table were players unknown to me, but I spotted one suspiciously familiar player—"Dawn Summers", author of a dozen blogs, at least a few of which touch on poker.  Dawn's style of play would make "Action Dan" Harrington look like a Scandinavian maniac, basically consisting of folding every hand for three orbits, then randomly pushing her short stack all-in to either steal blinds and antes or double up.  Laugh all you want, but the turtle strategy got her safely to the final table.

I managed to take down another Full Tilt bounty by eliminating a short-stacked Alex Outhred, a dang good player who is certifiably smarter than a 5th grader.  I had Yaks against his AK or AQ, pretty standard race for the stacks at stake.  If he hadn't been crippled before my arrival, I doubt I would've fared so well.  My Fremantle scarf drew murmurs of respect, particularly from the scarf's original owner, Garth, a displaced Australian with a wicked sense of humor and a fellow Top Chef lover.  I also later lost a race with Yaks which took me from a comfortable stack well-above average to a stack barely twice the starting chips, with an "M" of ... well, who knows.  Blinds and antes were something like 800/1600/200, and my stack was under  T20K, so do your own math (and show your work).  Which brings us to the wine and whine portion of our show.

I had been card dead a couple of orbits, and with players dropping like drunks at the Geisha Bar, I was looking for places to steal—the blinds and antes alone were roughly 20%-25% of my stack.  So when it folded to me on the button, I looked down and saw the beautiful 85 offsuit, a strong hand not easily dominated by the traditional "power" hands like AK, with two flush draws and two quad draws as backup if a "big" hand like King-Jack outflopped me. So, I pushed.

Action was then on the small blind, "Drizz", an accountant and a Vikings fan, so pretty much the scum of the earth.  Now Drizz is a rather hilarious guy, as proven by what might be my favorite WPBT Tweet:

Reason #19 why Drizz needs to wear his hearing aids: Waitress "Hot Cakes?" Drizz "Bacon??" Waitress "Hot Cakes?" repeat 20x.

Drizz glanced at his cards, then pushed all-in.  As far as omens go, this was not a good one. The big blind scowled at Drizz's evil play, then reluctantly folded. Time to see what Drizz had—pocket Kings?  Seriously dude??!?  I've shown down Aces three times, Yaks twice, and quads-top kicker twice.  What part of that range is remotely touchable by Das Cowboys?? But, no worries at all!  I can crAAKK Kings!  I may even be a prohibitive favorite.  I flopped the gutshot straight draw, but imagine my shock when the turn and river each failed to bring my straight card.  Live poker is so rigged!

Despite the horrific suckout, Drizz deserved his bounty from me.  So, I presented him with an inscribed bottle of 2001 Penfold's Grange.  Now I chose this bounty for my first WPBT because my blogger nickname originated in the mists of internet antiquity when I first joined some random discussion board for something non-poker related, and needed a nickname.  Grange is not only the premier Australian wine, but a tasting of Grange is what converted me to a hardcore wine snob.  So, I went with Grange95 as my online nickname, as someone else had picked Grange (1995 being the year of the most dominant Husker football team ever).  It seemed only fitting that my first WPBT bounty be a bottle of my all-time favorite wine.

Drizz with his Grange bounty.  Bastard.

Grange tends to be a big, bold wine, which ages well and stands up to most grilled red meat.  The flavor profile in the vintages I have tasted tends toward blueberries or blackberries, dark chocolate, and sweet spices.  This is not a wine for casual drinking, but should be saved for special occasions.  I will be raising a glass of something less special in Drizz's honor whenever he pulls this bottle out for some unsuspecting guests.  I only hope he appreciates how lucky he got to avoid getting crAAKKed ....

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* As I was doing some final editing of this post, I noticed that Dominic had posted his own report on the tournament.  He also noted how he owned me at the table, but was kind enough to suggest that it was solely due to his having position on me most of the time. Although position may have played a small role in our clashes, I have no shame in honestly admitting Dominic simply outplayed me 98% of the time.  There was one hand where Dom 3-bet me preflop, and I decided I needed to make a stand, and put in a stiff 4-bet with something like 87 soooted.  Dom looked like he smelled a rat, but eventually made a very reluctant fold.  After that, I steered clear of him like a nun offered a slot tourney junket.