IMOP VII: The Honey Badger Craps Out

"Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly."

~Edgar, in King Lear, by William Shakespeare

As "Winter Storm Q" sweeps across the Midwest, the thoughts of the Ironmen of Poker turn to the bright lights of Vegas, with dreams of poker tables, casino pits, sports books, and alcoholic beverages dancing in their graying and balding heads. Next weekend will bring the Ironmen back to Poker Mecca to celebrate the high holy days of IMOP VIII—Revenge of the Nerds. D-bags beware! Hijinks will ensue!

"But wait!" cry the loyal followers of the Ironmen. "Whatever happened on IMOP VII—There Will Be Blood? Who won the Jacket Dinner? Who tilted Euro D-Bags while stacking mountains of chips? Who pulled the best "Ta Da"? Did the Honey Badger give a sh*t? Where's the freakin' trip report?"

You know that "What Happens Here, Stays Here" ad campaign for Vegas? Well, here's the dark truth behind all those wild tales of Vegas fun. The Vegas Strip is the high altar for the Gods of Degeneracy. Most who worship there leave happy, if hungover and poorer. But the dark gods demand the occasional sacrifice to maintain cosmic balance. For six IMOP expeditions, the Ironmen left Vegas as winners. Last March, instead of celebrating IMOP-VII, the entire Ironman crew sevened out.

Frankly, the Vegas admen have it all wrong. The happy stories of cashing sports investments, tossing back beverages, and tilting d-bags at the poker table are meant to be remembered and shared. It's the trips where the only stories are of parlays getting hooked, dealers drawing 5s on 16s against double downs, and monsterpottens getting shipped to d-bags hitting perfect-perfect that should be shrouded in a cone of silence. So it is, and so it shall be for IMOP-VII, henceforth known as the Dark Age.

Consequently, there will be no official trip report filed for IMOP-VII, no official record made of the hijinks and hilarity, the pranks and putdowns, the booze and bonding, that mark a successful Ironman outing. However, for the benefit of future poker archaeologists, here are some unfinished notes found on scraps of napkins buried deep in my iPhone notes app.

Returning Vets (Rookie Year):  Santa (I), Lucky (I), JebeDIA (II), Grange (II), Barbie (III), Bonnie (III), Colt (V), River Joe (V), Fat Jesus (V), Mr. Chow (V)

Rookies:  Fun Bobby, Texas Ollie, Beavis (IMOP-TX chapter), Butthead (IMOP-TX chapter)

Tournament I:  Stratosphere. In hindsight, having the official kickoff toast in the bar at the top of the Stratosphere while watching people intentionally jump over the side "for fun" may not have set the right tone for the trip.

Tournament II:  Tropicana, with "Silly Shades" contest. Apparently the Honey Badger JuJu jinxed the poker room, causing it to close shortly thereafter.

Colt rocks the crazy shades at Tropicana.

Tournament III:  Mirage, with "White Trash (wife beaters and tattoos)" contest. Not sure why, but the Mirage poker room has yet to call security on the Ironmen. Maybe this year. It's good to have goals.

The white trash crew at Mirage.

River Joe says, "Ta Da!"

Lucky. Duh.

The Debil.

Third World Poker Tour:  Rooms on the Tour included Mandalay Bay, Luxor, Excalibur, Monte Carlo and ... Flamingo? Imperial Palace? Bellagio? Sure. Why not? If they weren't the actual sites, they should have been. Plus, good luck proving otherwise.

Jebedia gets some culture.

Tournament IV:  Aria. Awesome room. Awesome tourney. Too awesome for the Ironmen who left steaming piles of poker dookie all over the room. Which may be why we can't have nice things.


Jacket Dinner:  Stack at Mirage. Where do you think all the dookie came from? For lack of memory of actual results, and because history is an artificial construct created by the victors to establish a credible social narrative supporting their usurpation of power, the official Jacket Champion was Santa, with Lucky as First Loser.

Lucky looking suave.

Santa makes a statement:

"Even hookers won't hit on me tonight."

Champion:  None. Had any Ironman so much as walked away from Vegas up a solitary credit on penny slots, he would have won the IMOP-VII Championship in a rout. For those of you keeping score at home, rumor has it that the ironically named rookie Fun Bobby won as Leastest Loser.

As two-time defending IMOP Champ Barbie might 

have said if he wasn't busy 4-balling blackjack on credit

with a homeless guy by the Bally's pedestrian bridge:

"Sometimes, the only answer is another drink."

IMOP-VII: Official Preview

"You're making a huge misstep."

~Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis), There Will Be Blood (2007)

The holidays have come and gone. Football is over for another season. Winter lingers. Our attention returns to college basketball. The old itch returns.

Tilted tourists. Five team parlays. Insane prop bets. Goosing and juicing. Fourball rampages. Ugly suckouts. Uglier jackets.

Yes, it's time for the Ironman of Poker. Consider this your ten-day warning.

Our fearless leader, Santa Claus, returns in his role as Cruise Director and Chief Cat Herder. Santa has just released the official invite for this year's festivities.  Here are some of the highlights.

Official Theme:  "There Will Be Blood"

"I drink your Caipirinha. I drink it all up."

Seems a rather fitting theme. Considering the number of folks who have been tilted by the IMOP crew's hijinks, it's rather astonishing that we've made it six years without a physical altercation (other than a certain dunk Brit tackling me at Bally's). Frankly, it's a miracle that one of the "Killer Bs" (Barbie, Bonnie, and Mr. Chow) hasn't been taken for a one-way desert joyride. Perhaps that will be one of the official prop bets this year ...

Bonnie fosters some international goodwill

with a random Canadian on IMOP-V.

Official Signature Hand:  "The Honey Badger"

Each year, the Ironmen are required to play a particular "signature hand" that has been generally overlooked or even disparaged by most poker "experts". Last year, in honor of the sixth IMOP, the signature hand was "the Grump" (deuce-four). This year, Santa has cleverly extrapolated and come up with the signature hand of ...

Deuce-Five. Henceforth known as "The Honey Badger".

In a new twist, to score points, not only must the signature hand be shown, but the player must give a "Honey Badger" quote.

Official Catchphrase:  "Ta Da!"

This year, Santa has added a twist on a classic category, the official tilt-inducing catchphrase. This particular catchphrase originated in the IMOP home game this winter. Barbie, as he is wont to do, made two preposterous calls with air against River Joe, then rivered a gutterball straight for a monsterpotten. When Barbie rolled over his hand, River Joe was livid and the rest of the Ironmen were stunned. Figuring he needed to break the tension, Barbie spread his hands palms up like a magician and cheerfully said,

"Ta da!"

River Joe was not amused. The rest of the Ironmen were. A classic tilt-inducing catchphrase was born.

Official Miscellanea & Etceteria: 

Many traditional events return, including daily tournaments which cannot be revealed publicly, as one of the tasks for the new pledges will be to find the Ironmen for each tournament (private message me on Twitter if you want to join us for a tourney*; or follow the IMOP Twitter list to avoid our crew entirely). Also returning are the Ugly Jacket Dinner (wherein the Ironmen descend on a fine eating establishment and class up the joint with vintage-for-a-reason sports coats), the Third World Poker Tour (wherein the Ironmen do charity work in some of the less fortunate Vegas poker rooms), and the FuKaaw! Golf Classic (wherein some of the Ironmen play a round of nighttime combat golf).

*Caution:  Some Tebowing required.


Let the hijinks begin, and may hilarity ensue!

"Why are you acting insane and threatening to cut my throat?"

~H.M. Tilford (David Warshofsky), There Will Be Blood (2007)

Good Riddance, Sahara

During IMOP-VI in March, our intrepid crew heard some disturbing news—the venerable "old school" Sahara casino was closing its doors. Now the Sahara has long played a minor supporting role in my Vegas experience. During my first Vegas trip—only 2006, though it feels like it was two decades ago—I stayed two nights at a friend's timeshare at the Hilton (when it still had a poker room), and two nights at the MGM Grand in a then-new and swanky West Wing room (conveniently a minute's walk from the poker room). On that trip, I pretty much walked through every casino from MGM to the Wynn, and Sahara to Stratosphere (cutting out the wasteland between Wynn and Sahara was an easy call). The first meal I ate in Vegas was at some seedy cafe in Sahara, where we chewed third-rate steak and egg specials while playing cheap keno. Let's just say I was thrilled with my move out of the junkie-hooker-thug war zone of the Sahara-Stratosphere corridor to the relatively posh casinos on the main portion of the Strip. To put things in historical perspective, the Wynn was barely a year old, and the Venetian poker room was big, fancy, and mostly empty, still trying to find its niche after less than two months of operations. Strange how time flies.

During our IMOP outings, the Sahara late night tournament was a standard group outing for our crew. This tournament had a hideous structure, used chips whose denominations were worn off from use, and attracted every nit over the age of 50 within a 20 mile radius. The room would serve a six-foot (or more) long sub sandwich during a break, but I always passed, assuming the sandwich tasted as sketchy as it looked. Other than one cash game session where several regulars—how bad must your life suck to make the Sahara your home poker base?—donated over a grand to me as I waited for the other Ironmen to bust out, the Sahara poker room offered nothing of value or interest to me.

The rest of the Sahara was equally pointless. In a town where new, modern, and glitzy rules the day, the Sahara was a dirty, smelly, smoky dump filled with ancient slot junkies riding their rascals and sucking on oxygen tanks. While some "dive" casinos on the Strip revel in a certain "everyman slumming it up party" atmosphere—think Imperial Palace, O'Shea's, Bill's Gamblin' Hall, Casino Royale—the Sahara never seemed to embrace a sense of irony and refused to imbue a sense of fun into its squalor. Even the Sahara's restaurants found ways to pass along the corporate message of despair; on one IMOP pre-tournament dinner at "Paco's", our waiter morosely informed us that the Mexican restaurant was out of tortillas.

The only redeeming trait of the Sahara was how its repulsive character gave birth to the best nickname of all time. One of our IMOP crew happens to be a big shot attorney from Milwaukee who enjoys the finer things in life. After IMOP-II, this gentleman begged our crew to ditch the Sahara tournament with the first of many of his famed emails that all began, "I have only two requests ..." The first request was invariably a plea to ditch the Sahara as an official IMOP poker tournament venue. Of course, this whining only made the Sahara a required stop in future IMOP outings, and also led to us nicknaming this gent "Sahara". One of my favorite moments of IMOP history was when I walked into the Venetian poker room on IMOP-III, spotted our resident elitist, yelled out, "Yo, Sahara!" and actually had him turn around and shake his head like a good puppy.

Ah yes, good times, Sahara.

IMOP VI: Santa's 12ish—Section IV (The Denouement)

Note: The official IMOP trip report will be posted in randomly intermittent installments. Prior entries are: Part I and Part 2, Section 3(A), and Section 3-D (The Jacket Dinner). The author of the report is our cruise director, Santa Claus, with occasional editing by yours truly. Enjoy!

Saturday:

The Ironmen begin to slowly shake off the fog of the Ugly Jacket night and assemble in the Venetian poker room for some Euro-tilting cash game action. Santa gets seated at a table where Barbie and Fat Jesus are already holding court. At one point during their verbal jousting, this hand breaks out: Preflop raise and both are in the hand. Barbie has 64s and flop comes 224. Fat Jesus bets, Barbie calls as Fat Jesus says, “You’re behind”. Barbie’s reply is, “Yes, until I hit my four right here, “and sure enough a four turns. They get it all in and Fat Jesus turns over pocket ducks for quads and takes a big bite out of Barbie. Nothing better than drawing dead and getting there. No mercy!

Grange and River Joe pick up Santa and they get breakfast after standing in the longest line in the world at Bally’s café. As they walk over to Aria to register for the last tournament of the trip, they are passing through Cosmopolitan and they hear giggling. Santa turns and sees Fat Jesus, Colt and Barbie laughing their asses off, drinking cosmopolitans and playing Sex In the City slots. Their waitress is shaking her head as she watches them guzzle the fruity drinks out of martini glasses while shouting, “I hit the shoe shopping jackpot for $300 on pink pumps!” They should definitely have their Man Cards revoked.

Colt and Barbie sip Blood Orange Cosmos and hit up the

Sex & the City slots at the Cosmopolitan.

Everyone makes it to Aria alive. Fat Jesus (who has an uber-generic real name) breaks the computer in the Aria cashier cage when they have to look up his players' club card by name; the computer freezes up and has to be rebooted. This leads to Grange and Fat Jesus prop betting on the over/under for other Ironmen names in the system; Grange is tilted when he takes the under on his and two other uncommon Ironman names and discovers they all have a lot of dopplegangers (perhaps some of whom can actually play poker and/or get better comps). While registering for the tourney, a near fight breaks out in Ivey’s room when Shawn “Sheiky” Sheikhan goes bananas on some guy and Todd Brunson calls security. Great, our closest brush with fame is a world famous douche bag. *sigh*

After nearly bubbling for the third time in four tourneys, Lucky not only cashes but takes home the cash in the largest tourney we entered (over 100 degens). He becomes friends with Yaks as they help him with a timely double up, then his Yaks take out the table bully that refused to chop. The players (including Barbie) finally decide to chop when it is down to four. Lucky has the chip lead, and gets the largest share and is declared the winner of that event.

River Joe had busted earlier and jumped into a cash game. In one hand, he gets heads up with an old short stacked Asian (OSSA) where he flops top two, on an OESD board. OSSA sits there and ponders on what to do. Joe asks, “You have straight draw don’t you.” Finally OSSA answers yes. Joe then says, “You should go all-in, you’re getting the right value.” OSSA tanks, and eventually gets it all-in which Joe calls. You guessed it, OSSA gets there on river. Thank you, lessons are FREE, don’t forget to tip your dealer … rack please.

After having busted out earlier, Bonnie and Fat Jesus headed over to the sports book at the V. At one point Fat Jesus had placed a sports bet along with Bonnie, and had left the VSB to take a nap. Thinking the team he bet on had to win by 3, he watched the end of the game alone in his room rooting for the overtime and cheering when it happened. Then he decided to watch the end of the game at the VSB with the others, still thinking he needed to win by three. Fat Jesus was disappointed when his team and he both “lost” but Bonnie sees his disappointment and says “you know we won, don't you?” laughing at his ignorance.

On their way out of Aria, Mr. Chow, Barbie and Colt decide to see if the blackjack tables are still hot for them. While Colt is sticking to a range of $20-$40 wagers the other two proceed to randomly toss out $100+ while splitting 3’s or 5’s against a dealer 8-10. Gentleman stops by with his wife/girlfriend and asks them to take good care of her while he goes to play poker. (“Dear Penthouse Forum….”). Anyway, they welcome their new friend to the table with a series of “Ca-Caw’s” and random exclamations. After witnessing Barbie go through a series of Benjamins, he stumbles across a pair of 3s against a dealer 9. Colt leans over to their new friend and whispers, “Watch this. You’re about to witness a complete train wreck” as Barbie reaches for more money to split those 3’s and drop $150 total on the hand. Total Ironman net after 45 minutes of BJ = down $850’ish. The cure? Walking over to Planet Hollywood. 

As the rest of the crowd arrives from Aria, Bonnie, Grange and Santa are already grinding away at a 1/2 NLHE game with a crazy drunk Belgian guy, claiming to be the head chef for some restaurant on the Strip. He would frequently overbet, shove in or just plain play blind on nearly every hand. Grange and Santa had taken big bites out of him when he decided he wanted to play 2/5 NLHE. That was the fastest list I have ever seen come together, and half the table followed him. At the new table Grange, Barbie, and River Joe were able to get seats. All three got fat off the guy as he methodically worked his way through the bustout/ATM/$1000 buy-in cycle five or six times, but the funniest hand wasn’t a part of the winning. Barbie and the Belgian get it all in preflop for about $500 apiece. Belgian guy has not looked at his cards yet. Barbie has AQ and feels good after seeing AQ7 rainbow flop. Problem was that when the Belgian finally looks at his cards after the river comes out, turns out he’s got pocket 7’s for a set to blindly felt Barbie! Fukkaw!

Yo dawg! Chico from Planet Hollywood, winner

of the IMOP Most Entertaining Poker Dealer award.

Sunday:

Santa awakens from a short nap to get an early start on tallying up all of the points, sheets and contests to try and figure out who won. He texts Grange from Mirage to see if anyone is playing. Grange’s response from the Venetian is: "Pot Limit Gamboool!!!!"  Santa rounds up the scoresheets and is looking forward to playing a little Omaha to wind down the trip. However, based on the series of tweets and texts he gets on the walk over, he decides to sit this one out and avoid disaster; every other pot seemed to have multi-way all-ins for over a grand each time…

Grange, Mr. Chow and Barbie are in the 1/2 PLO game with a few sketchy locals and one nasty old lady. She was probably 65+, bearing a strong resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West, and wearing a jacket that would've walked away with Ugly Jacket honors. She was also sweated by her--sister? mother? lover?--who had her own combo chair/walker. Crabby would buy in for the minimum ($200), wait for Aces, then bitch like a sailor when she was inevitably cracked. One hand, she called Mr. Chow and Barbie all-in on the flop of 9-9-4 with AAxx double-suited, but of course both our boys held a 9, and their hands held up to chop the old lady’s money. Crabby bitched to her partner with a ton of profanity about the suckout. Barbie said something innocuous about a tough beat, and she hissed at him, “Don’t you f-ing talk to me!” Crabby also refused to let any player offer her chips for her bills; she made a point of only letting the dealer make change.

This was the scene of Grange’s best run good of a trip already filled with running good. He won a monsterpotten with QcJcJdTd, flopping the OESFD on a board of 9d-8d-x. He got it all in against one of the local "pros" who was trying to run the game. They agreed to run it twice. First card off: 7d! Yahtzee! Grange is now pissed that he agreed to run it twice. No worries. Second board runs out: Blank, Qd! Donkey Kong! Luckbox hits both ends of the straight flush and makes the dealer hold off raking the muck while asking Fat Jesus (also spectating with Santa) to take a photo of it. His competitors were not pleased. Within the next half hour, he also hit middle set with 6s (666, baby!) on a board of Q-6-5, and hit two full houses running it twice, for another monsterpotten and a bonus of sending Crabby off on mega-tilt to rip the heads off bunnies (sorry, bunnies). That little bit of run good was also run bad, however, as the straight flushes and monsterpotten occurred a couple of hours after the official cutoff for IMOP points (which includes points for high hands and large pots). Grange would up with what he calls his  "Tag Heuer PLG Watch" after converting some of the profits from his best Vegas outing in 2-3 years (Fat Jesus—a Tag Heuer aficianado—should really get a commission for his superb sales work at the City Center Tag Heuer shop).

The board from Grange's double straight flush hand at the Venetian.

Note Grange's Patron-rocks-lime anti-scurvy beverage (left), as well as 

Crabby and her Amazing Technicolor Eyesore (right).

As the guys walked from the poker room over to the Grand Luxe for the traditional IMOP wrap up, they come across Barbie, Fat Jesus and River Joe searching for one last fourball opportunity. They somehow managed to win yet again. Ca-caw!

After the usual voodoo scorekeeping, Barbie and his miracle table game run managed to squeeze out a repeat victory and rare back-to-back IMOP championship. Hopefully he saves some of his winnings to pay for all of breakfast next year…

Bonnie engages in international drinking

diplomacy in this retrospective pic from IMOP-V.

IMOP VI: Santa's 12ish—Section 3-D (The Jacket Dinner)

Note: The official IMOP trip report will be posted in randomly intermittent installments. Prior entries are: Part I and Part 2, and Section 3(A). The author of the report is our cruise director, Santa Claus, with occasional editing by yours truly. Enjoy!

The IMOP Jacket Dinner has had great influence in Hollywood.

Friday Night:

The highlight of the trip had arrived the annual—the Ugly Jacket Dinner. Grange and River Joe meet up for a pre-Ugly Jacket Dinner martini at Japonais in Mirage. They are standing at the crowded bar talking and River Joe gets tapped by a guy behind him who proceeds to rather brusquely ask if Joe would move, "because I'm trying to eat." In the very next sentence, the yahoo proceeds to say "Don’t get me wrong, I’m not that guy, I just don't like having someone so close"… fukkaw! Honestly, it might have been the smell of the jacket that offended him.

Samba was the venue for this year’s dinner, and we obnoxious our way into the place in full-on ugly regalia. We attract so much attention that we actually had a woman from another table ask us what we were doing, and then insist on being our judge for the worst three jackets. Despite strong entries from Barbie, River Joe (complete with light up glasses and electronic belt buckle) and Baby Los with his “Grandma’s Couch” entry, it is Sahara who pulls the longshot upset and walks away with the Ugly Jacket title. Rumor has it the judge felt sorry for him because he is so short, but this hasn’t been confirmed (actually overheard from the judge's table: "How about the short guy in the red jacket?").

Sahara models his championship Ugly Jacket entry,

with the aid of a pitcher of caipirinhas.

During the course of our outstanding meal of meat on swords and a cornucopia of caipirinhas by the pitcher, Barbie decides he needs a smoke and gets up to have one and play some blackjack. Immediately the prop bets start flying about how much he will win/lose during one cigarette. Sahara, River Joe and Bonnie get their wagers down and Barbie blows away the +$150 line with a $475 win in just under four minutes! At the conclusion of the meal, we attempt to get a redux of the infamous “meat tank” prop from a couple years prior by getting Bonnie to put a gigantic ball of fat in his jacket to bring out to eat during an all-in at a poker table. Sadly, Bonnie was either too drunk or not drunk enough to try to ingest a tennis ball-sized blob of fat, so no hilarity ensued.

The "fat ball" prop bet went unclaimed.

The dinner also was the scene of the single largest wagering sweat of the trip. Thanks to a false sense of confidence in Bonnie’s hot basketball betting streak, everyone was heavy on Notre Dame to beat Louisville. We toasted each other when they were up 12 at one point (and getting points), only to start swearing at our phones as watched the lead dwindle to nothing. The Golden Domers eventually choke, costing the Ironmen somewhere in the neighborhood of $4,000 combined. As they watch it come to a painful end at the Mirage sports book with several hundred other angry losers, Santa laments, “I haven’t seen this many people pissed off at Catholics since the last Mel Gibson outburst.” Time for a change of venue and a mojo-jumpstart, and we begin the walk to PHo for loose action. Fukkaw!

On the way, we make a refreshment pit stop at Grange’s favorite mojito/caipirinha stand outside Caesars, and Grange springs for a round of drinks to ward off scurvy. Baby Carlos decides he is going to sacrifice his jacket to Caesar. He drops it off, but it must have angered fair Caesar, because he makes Los step off a curb into a pothole, where he damn near breaks his ankle. The pain is searing, so he detours to the room to ice it. By Saturday night, it is bruised from heel to toe. Vegas is emotionally, and now physically dominating Baby Los.

We arrive at PHo and get seated at various tables. After losing $225 in the first hand, JeBeDIA gets in a groove with Bonnie at his table and makes a nice comeback. After a day where Bonnie drank 20 Goose & Juices, he starts the night on a Corona binge and never stops rolling. At one point, two drunk clubbers that they nicknamed Garth Brooks (cowboy hat and clothes) and Spiderwoman (fake boobs and a spiderweb tatoo on her shoulder) sit down and promptly begin textbook collusion (showing each other their hands, betting and raising others off hands, then checking it down, etc.) The dealer inexplicably lets this happen, but fortunately they are so bad, even collusion couldn't help them. Bonny felts Garth in one hand and gets verbally berated by Spiderwoman which sets of a table argument—you're awesome, dude, when your girlfriend has to do your trash talking.

Barbie had been playing for a while and decides it’s time to hit the rest of the Strip with Mr. Chow and Lucky. On his way by Santa’s table, a guy pipes up that he wants to buy Barbie’s ugly jacket. A short negotiation occurs and the guy pays Barbie $30 for the thing. However, in true Caribbean flea market style pushiness, Barbie insists on making it $35 and throwing in the tie he’s wearing. Guy does not want the tie but by then Barbie has removed both items and handed them over, now expecting the $35. The guy sheepishly hands over the money and Barbie gets an extra $5 for a tie which was wastebasket bound anyway.

Barbie scams a tourist at Planet Hollywood.

The three Ironmen hit the strip and use Lucky as their canary in a coalmine to find “hot” carnival tables and go on a massive run over the next couple hours. Between yells of “Ca-Caw!” and “ship it, bitch!”, the group won over $3,000 and tipped Lucky $130 for finding the hot tables. They even got so degenerate they pushed their luck and played baccarat at Harrah’s, despite having no idea how to play. "Ca-Caw!" for the profit!

Back at PHo, the last combatants were racking up their profits and heading out. Both groups seemingly walked around the casino twice trying to find the escalator to the taxi stand. Once Bonnie arrived back at the Venetian, he avoided a drunken repeat of last year where he couldn’t get his hotel room door open. He did, however, manage to wake his roommates again by flipping on every light in the room and jabbering away incoherently about his $1400+ victory, causing Colt to tweet: “Drunk Bonnie arrives to room @ 5:30am, says many words”.

Barbie (runner-up) and Sahara (champion) display

some sartorial splendor at Samba.

Grange (left) was shut out of the Ugly Jacket competition for

the first time ever, despite his classic pink Miami Vice brand jacket.

Colt (right) classed up his jacket with a baseball cap.

Baby Los (left) yucks it up prior to having his leg broken 

(well, ankle twisted). River Joe (center) with his glittery green felted 

tuxedo eyesore takes a competition bad beat with a distant third.

Lucky (right), just wanted meat on swords.

Stayed tuned, true believers! We still have Saturday and Sunday to cover!

IMOP VI: Santa's 12ish—Section 3(A)

Note: The official IMOP trip report will be posted in randomly intermittent installments. Parts I & II of the report can be found here and here. The author of the report is our cruise director, Santa Claus, with occasional editing by yours truly. Enjoy!

Friday:

Santa wakes up from his nap and catches up with Fat Jesus and JeBeDIA at the Venetian for an early morning session, the highlight of which was Fat Jesus coining the phrase "Poker Porn"—when you fold a hand either preflop (or worse, postflop) only to see your cards play out to be the nuts for a huge pot. Poker Porn—all the visual but no satisfaction.

Barbie came stumbling into the V a little while later loudly announcing “Good morning, bitches!” still not having slept but managing to roll a poker table pretty well at PHo. This was also about the time Barbie started his “Epic” table game streak. He started the “fourball” blackjack strategy at the Venetian, turning $50 into $870 in three minutes by essentially just letting his first bet ride four times before pulling back the entire stack.  It would prove to be a good thing he came up with this strategy because it made up for some seriously bad poker losses early on. After what amounted to being awake for about two and half days, Barbie finally decides to take a short nap before the 11:00 a.m. Mirage tourney.

River Joe gets to the Mirage early (since he had accidentally checked in and all) and actually plays 3/6 limit of all games; he ends up hitting a few sets and inside straights on his way to a tournament free roll as the rest of the Ironmen make their way in. Early on, River Joe lives up to his nickname and gets it all in with QQ against AA and hits his one-outer on the river for nice double up. Another fun moment occurs on the last hand before the 2nd break. Barbie is put to the decision of calling an all-in bet for roughly 40% of his chips. Foreigner is playing over sound system. A large man in wife beater and straw hat sitting at Barbie's table begins “bouncing” (jiggling?) to the music. Either way, the only part of him moving is his gut. As Barbie is contemplating the call, he sees the guy out of the corner of his eye. Barbie looks up and says to Colt, “I’m distracted” and nods towards the guy. Colt bust out with laughter and has to leave the table as guy continues his belly-dance oblivious to the distraction it is causing. Mirage again turns out to be good to the Ironmen, with three at the final table and Barbie and River Joe both cashing.

Mr. Chow had busted out early on and hopped in a cash game to bide the time. He is doing usual "a-hole maniac with a smile on his face" routine when Sahara joins him. A prime example of why it is best to avoid the Ironmen happens next. Chow straddles and 8 players call the $4. Chow bumps it up another $10 w AsJh and predictably gets five callers. Flop is Js Xs Xh and a nice Canadian who Chow had been chatting up bets $40. Sahara and Chow both call. Turn card is a third spade. Canadian bets $200, leaving $250 behind. Chow pops it to $400 and gets Sahara out. Canadian squirms, thinks, closes eyes, squirms some more, stands up, sits down, rolls over 6s4s and asks Chow, “Do you have the Ace of spades”. After the initial answer of “$200 more will tell you for sure," Mr. Chow rolls over the Ace of spades. Canadian then does the whole routine again before mucking the winner. Sahara tweets, “Mr. Chow has wrecked poker”. Very true.

Post-tourney, it was finally time for another new IMOP event we’ve been trying to pull off for a few years: The Third World Poker Tour. Our gang pretends like we are degenerate, but we always seem to wind up in the cushy confines of the high end poker rooms. Well, we put a temporary halt to the snobbery with this event. If you recall, we all gathered ‘round the Binion’s roulette wheel to let fate both pick our heads up (of sorts) IMOP opponent and the venue where each duo had to play. Rules were simple. Both participants go to the venue together, sit in a 1/2 NHEL game with $200, and play for 90 minutes. First one to bust out loses, otherwise the player with more money at the end of 90 minutes wins. IMOP points are awarded to the winner, with negative IMOP points for the loser. A few in the group were not excited about heading to such exotic locales as Riviera or Sahara, but the tweets were well worth it.

In the first match, Baby Los heads to Luxor with Bonnie but it doesn’t last long as Los plays nearly every hand and busts out in short order as they try to spend the absolute minimum time slumming it away from the Venetian. Bonnie gets in the cab line as Los trams back over toward Monte Carlo. Bonnie hears people yelling "taxicab confessions" as he gets in and he asks Rita-the-cabbie what that was and she proceeds to tell him she has worked for HBO for 14 years and he’s being filmed! Pansy that he is, he discloses nothing interesting, but does tell her his name is Barbie from Cedar Rapids. After the interview, she informs him that he has no shot at all at making it on TV. Kind of sad when our craziest competitor can't make the big time.

In another match, Lucky and Fat Jesus wind up heading to Excalibur, describing the competition as similar to “blowing goats”. After walking half way across Camelot they finally made it to the poker room and after 90 minutes and no seats nearly went medieval on the poker room staff. They finally get seated and see the table bully alternating between going all in or making huge over-bets pre-flop, so Lucky limps from under the gun with AK. Bully pushes all in for about 120 and it folds back around to Lucky who insta-callsl. Bully flips over 34o and manages to turn a 3. Lucky decides that AK stands for "A Kick in nards". However, he works his way up to about even and finds a way to outlast Fat Jesus in the painful heads up match.

Colt and Grange end up next door at Monte Carlo with nothing of note happening, except perhaps applying for their AARP cards and being accepted into the coffee klatch of the 90-somethings who thought they were “cute”. Colt does win the match, but gets disapproving glares from the regulars whenever he bets over $15.

Sahara and River Joe proceed to slum it to the north end for their Third World Poker Tour options of Circus Circus or Riviera. So, after a flyby at CC where they have one limit game going, they proceed over to the purgatory of Riviera. With no air conditioning and no money on the table, Joe took one for the team so they could get out of there, pushing with top pair, weak kicker into three other callers, and loses to top pair. better kicker. The whiny tweets from our resident blue blood, Sahara, were priceless. We may have to declare the Riviera the official venue for next year just to see if his head literally explodes. Highlight of the event was on the return trip, before making their way into the Venetian, the oppressed duo stops to gawk at the Express Runway Models who are having some sort of outdoor event. All they seem to remember are legs, legs, and more legs.

Santa and JeBeDIA head to the Stratosphere for their match, despite having the option to play one very last session at the actual Sahara before it shuts down permanently. (Note from Grange: “Raise a glass of Keystone and a stale cigarette to the grand old home of the kickoff tourney, sadly lacking in tortillas even today.”). Upon arriving at the Strat, they are pleasantly surprised at how (comparatively) nice the place turns out to be. A brand new game starts up and they get seated. On the very first hand Santa raises pre-flop to $17, gets a couple callers and bets $30 on a board of Jx 4x 6x. He gets min-raised by a very large meathead at the end of the table and snap calls. Turn is a 4x and he calls a $40 bet. River is another 6x and he then bets $100 on the river. Meathead asks, “Will you show if I fold” and Santa replies, “The rules of our competition require me to show my hand," and JeBeDIA audibly groans knowing that Santa has luckboxed the Grump into a full house. The guy eventually folds, and after tabling the Grump, Santa successfully tilts not only the muscle head, but also his buddy who was still waiting for chips. JeBeDIA is now significantly behind after one hand, but catches up on the second. He calls a button straddle from early position with Ace-Deuce (that crazy nit!), flops two pair, and check raises to $40, getting three callers. He bets $100 on the turn to chase draws and scoop the pot, so after two hands Santa and JeBeDIA are both up over $100 and have the two buddies at the end of the table gunning for the two "loose aggressive" guys. They end up felting muscle head's buddy at least three times between them, before he leaves the table down $800. Despite posting his best session of the trip, JeBeDIA still loses to Santa and they head back to the Strip.

Hard to believe, but there's still more to come!  Check back soon for the Jacket Dinner report (with pictures), as well as the Saturday and Sunday hijinks.

IMOP VI: Santa's 12ish—Part Deux, Duh

Note: The official IMOP trip report will be posted in randomly intermittent installments. Part I of the report can be found here. The author of the report is our cruise director, Santa Claus, with occasional editing by yours truly. Enjoy!

Thursday:

Eventually the early bust outs from the Nugget midnight tournament cab it back to the Strip, followed by the rest of the crew around 6:00 a.m.. Baby Los finds an Omaha HL game going at the Venetian. The big stack is the drunkest 90 year old he’s ever seen. The old guy is unable to speak or stand and finally security has to remove this "alive-coma" guy, and the game breaks. But this would not be the last IMOP run in with Omaha insanity…

Perhaps the odd ball story of the first night goes to River Joe. We’ll let him tell it:

Mr. Chow and I cab it back in record time with this crazy black lady behind the wheel of Dodge Charger. I do think I got taken as the trip from TI to Bally’s took me back down the expressway resulting in a toll about the same as the ride from downtown to TI. Finally arriving at the hotel about 4:15 a.m. completely spent, I get on the elevator and was joined by an Asian woman that I’d just passed who was talking to guy in hallway. I didn’t think much of it at first, however she proceeds to put out her cigarette on the elevator floor and then pick up the $100 poker chip that falls out of her blouse. She casually starts to make her way across the elevator and on her way across she makes the comment, "So I see you're married," and eventually positions herself between me and the button panel. She proceeds to start groping my upper body and eventually I get what would be my biggest FELTING of IMOP-VI. Fortunately the door opens to my floor and I quickly exit, repeatedly saying, "No, Thank you!”

The gang gets back together at 8:00 a.m. for the annual “Breakfast O' Champions”. Grange started this tradition where the prior year’s IMOP champion takes anyone who is still awake the first morning to breakfast. Being the class guy he is, Grange’s choice of venue was the St. Louis Cafe in Paris. Santa’s choice was Denny’s. So, this year was Barbie’s turn as reigning champion. He made an excellent choice of the Peppermill. One small problem though—he didn’t realize he was on the hook for buying. So, as the group all orders more food than they could eat and multiple cocktails, Barbie gets slightly panicked as he had been getting killed at the tables to that point and wasn’t excited about shelling out for this breakfast. However, the gang decided to pitch in for cocktails and before we knew it, we were enjoying a walk back to the Venetian to figure out what to do next.

After struggling with his various cash game grinding, Bonnie puts together an EPIC streak of basketball wagering wins, at one point hitting 10 in a row on the conference tournament games. A few others climbed on his bandwagon and the money was rolling in (for the time being). Among them were Colt and Fat Jesus, who hung around the Venetian sportsbook (Bonnie's headquarters) for a few cold ones and some hoop-watching—and Colt got more than he bargained for:

Fat Jesus & I are hanging in the Venetian sportsbook. All within 5 minutes of each other, I get up for a drink and witness a chick-fight with punches thrown and chairs tossed. Apparently “Kim” is a bitch and treats crazy woman like sh*t (she repeated it 4-5 times). While the catfight was going on, a guy playing video poker a few feet away hits four aces for $2000. I love Vegas.

At 2:00 p.m., we entered the TI tournament, which doubled as the IMOP “Mad Hatter” event where the best hats would get IMOP points. The winner this year was self-effacing Lucky the Leprechaun, who in addition to his green shirt which read “Feeling Lucky?” had a tiny little bowler hat to go with (complete with elastic band to keep it on his not quite-as-tiny head). JeBeDIA and Bonnie manage to cash, keeping intact their six year streak of cashing in an IMOP tournament. Sadly, Fat Jesus might have joined them as well, had he not gotten caught shoving with the Grump just before the bubble!

 Lucky, Colt, and JeBeDIA model their hats at TI.

Baby Los and Barbie crash the hat party.

Hats play at the TI tourney.

Then it was time for the first ever “IMOP Ca-Caw! Golf Classic”. Santa, JeBeDIA, Colt, and Barbie cab it over to Callaway for their 7:00 p.m. tee time under the lights. The format was simple—buy three golf balls each, rent one bag of golf clubs total, auction to get your single club out of the bag (had to putt with it too) and play nine holes. Oh, and if you lose all three balls you’re done. Oh, and short of not physically touching another player—no etiquette or rules.

We get ourselves checked in to play and begin our auction. Santa starts off the auction with a $5 bid, which Colt immediately bumps to $10 to win his pick of the pitching wedge, Barbie wins the 9 iron with a $5 bid, then JeBeDIA bid $1 to win the 8 iron and Santa gets the 7 iron for free (winner then gets the pot). Colt is miffed as he realizes he is already $10 behind Santa in the competition by being overzealous during the auction. At this point, Barbie and Santa still have not been to bed (vying for last to sleep points), and have consumed their weight in cocktails.

The orignal Ca-Caw! crew.

From left: Colt, Barbie, & JeBeDIA.

(Not pictured—Photographer Santa Claus)

The best part of the game turns out to be the heckling during the swings. Since we are playing at night under bright lights, the shadows allowed for some fun. At one point, Barbie stands behind Santa flapping his arms like a bird to make shadows on Santa's tee shot. Colt adds the “Ca-Caw!” sound effect and the catch-phrase of the trip was born, along with name of the event: The Ca-Caw Classic. Unfortunately, Santa and JeBeDIA regret not paying more for their clubs as they finish a distant 3rd and 4th in the event. Amazingly, Barbie shoots 3 over to win the “Classic”. Also of note was that after bringing back the calls of “Ca-CAW” to the poker tables, we modified it to “Fukkaw!” for tweet purposes to clean up Bonnie’s drunken, profane Tweeting (#fuckoff being his favorite hashtag).

Barbie (top) and Colt display their golf skillz. Ca-Caw!

Arriving back at the Strip, Santa decides he finally needs a nap while everyone else heads to a reportedly interesting game at Aria. The Pokerati hold ‘em/Omaha mixed game is going and Mr. Chow, Colt, River Joe, and Grange get seated. An older guy at the table is getting a backrub from an older woman. He says, “She’s my mom, not my wife. Just thought I’d say that because I get that a lot.” After an uncomfortable pause, River Joe replies, “That’s just wrong…” But, the game is wild and lucrative, with Grange and Mr. Chow each cashing out for four-figure profits. Mr. Chow also made several enemies by calling down in Omaha with top pair or two pair hands ... and being correct. Grange was sitting next to the three "pros" who were Mr. Chow's victims, and commiserated with them about Mr. Chow's horrid donkey plays, before felting two of them with flopped sets of Kings and Aces.

After a few orbits, Colt realizes the Pokerati mixer is not the game for him. He switches places with Barbie and gets in a $1/2 NL game. Asian Phil Hellmuth (APH) is to his right when it is folded around to them in the blinds. Colt looks down at A-K and offers to chop. APH looks down at his cards and puts in a $10 raise. Colt instructs him on the etiquette of chopping. APH’s reply: “It depends on what my hole cards are”. After informing him it doesn’t work that way, Colt promptly shoves all-in. Bewildered, APH calls with pocket 10s. The turn is an Ace. Colt smiles. APH goes on tilt. Hilarity ensues.

Meanwhile, back at the Venetian, Lucky proves to be not living up to his nickname. He gets in a four handed pot with Jd5d. Flop comes 10d Qd Kd to give him the flush with the open-ended royal flush draw. He and another guy end up getting it all in on the flop. His opponent turns over the 6d9d. Naturally $350 should be going Lucky's way ... only to instead have the cooling system fall from the ceiling on his head as the turn of 7d and river of 8d gives his opponent the runner-runner straight flush!

After a good run at Aria, River Joe had gotten a text that Santa was heading back to the room he and Grange were sharing to get some sleep, and was going to leave the door cracked open for Joe to get into the room for a key as Joe was switching hotels as his conference was done. River Joe arrives at Mirage and spends 30 minutes trying to find a room that didn’t exist. He comes to find out his error was that Grange had booked the first two nights at TI and was not checking into Mirage until Friday. This explained why River Joe couldn't locate either the 26th floor or room 89. Frustrated, dragging too much luggage, and after walking around for half an hour, River Joe said #fukkaw and just checked into Mirage, then headed to the Venetian for more poker. Yes, this also means that Santa had been dead asleep in Las Vegas with his hotel room door propped open at TI for three hours .... and lived to tell about it.

Stayed tuned, true believers! Two—errr, three—more episodes remain!

IMOP VI: Santa's 12ish—Day I

Note: The official IMOP trip report will be posted in randomly intermittent installments. The author of the report is our cruise director, Santa Claus, with occasional editing by yours truly. Enjoy!

Wednesday:

Hard to believe we’ve been doing this for six years now. It’s fair to say these trips are aging us before our very eyes. Yet, this is the first year we’ve had every person back from the prior year’s trip (though the reason it’s “12-ish” is because of the in and out nature of some of our participants). For those who haven’t followed our saga through the years, we’ll introduce the players via the way they made their way to Vegas:

Car 1 left downtown Cedar Rapids at 9:05am. Santa, the organizer of all the fun, was able to ride over to Des Moines with Mr. Chow, who had coerced some work associates to schedule a meeting there as a way to not have to drive over. The plan was to spend the afternoon playing cards at Prairie Meadows Racetrack, Casino & ATM before figuring out a way to get to the airport for the evening flight.

Car 2 left Cedar Rapids later that morning with Barbie and Bonnie, who had met for a bloody mary breakfast, along with Fat Jesus and Colt. They also meet up at Prairie Meadows and cards were played. In true IMOP fashion, we begin coolering and beating on each other (including a ridiculous slow roll by Mr. Chow against Fat Jesus) before we even get on the plane. But, between tilted locals and snickers at Bonnie for getting down two buy ins, he used tilt to his advantage by some aggressive blackjack to make a nice comeback. Amazingly enough, as the group was preparing to board their flight, Bonnie says, “Crap – my phone!” and takes off in a mad dash back to the restrooms where we finds his phone right where he left it. Apparently he was trying to get his traditional brain-lock lost item out of the way at the start of the trip, rather than at the end.

Grange had already flown out of Des Moines early that morning to get his usual head start on the festivities and had already tilted off a couple of young DB’s and their adoring girlfriends by flopping a wheel and a set of Yaks and being up a grand before anyone even arrived.

Sahara had to blow the snow out of his driveway in Milwaukee one more time before catching his plane. He promised to tweet his bankroll JRB style, but much like his brother Lucky, he failed to live up to his boast of Tweet-frequency. Speaking of Lucky, he was just landing after having flown in from Cedar Rapids, traveling separately because of a work conference again this year which would keep him around for an extra couple of days.

JeBeDIA was also out there early with a bonus participant, his boss and IMOP home game participant FunBobby. They had to meet a client the day before and were going to meet up with us in time for the kick off. Can you spell "junket"?

Last but not least was another of our returning sophomores Baby Carlos. Baby Los would prove to be a part time participant this year as he both had non-Ironman friends along with him as well as being laid up by a nearly broken ankle (and broken sports betting run). Los gets checked into Monte Carlo and cabs it over to the V just as we are ready to leave. Nice timing! River Joe isn’t quite as lucky as his work commitments prevented him from making it to the limo departure and had to cab it down by his lonesome.

The Fremont Street excursion is Santa's way of giving the Ironmen some poker culture. The crew walks through the Nugget and over to Binion’s to scope out the WSOP Hall of Fame pictures (Hellooooo, Russ "Scumbag" Hamilton!), as well as to find a roulette table to set the pairings for the Third World Poker Tour (more to come on that later).

After predictably creating a long wait list at the cash games, a few degenerates decide to see the ballet at the strip bar on Fremont Street. They learned that the pictures/posters on the outside of the building and the person on the street recruiting are not at all indicative of the quality of the “talent” inside. After about 10 minutes and a near fight between a ballerina and an Ironman over how long a dance is supposed to last, they are out of there!

First session of the trip sees the usual start at the Nugget, namely, two or three tables with multiple Ironmen at each and extremely tilted people leaving roughly 15 minutes later. Table 1 sees FunBobby, Sahara, Grange, and JeBeDIA with a few locals. On a board with three aces, a woman bets and is called. She states, “If you have an ace, you’re good.” JeBeDIA can’t resist and says casually, “Really? An ace was good there?” and is met with a venom laced, “Oh, I’m the only girl at the table and everyone thinks they can F@#k with me???” JeBeDIA then quietly states, "Well, Grange won’t F@#k with you…” Speaking of Grange, he’s running well and says, “Now I can afford to be an idiot” to which JeBeDIA retorts, “I didn’t know there was a charge for that.”

At a nearby table, Santa and Mr. Chow are grinding away when a cute Canadian woman who appears to be a little clueless about betting and etiquette suddenly “shoves” into Mr. Chow’s set. Only problem is that she meant to only go all in for her chips and not the $100 bill she also had in front of her after winning the previous pot. After the dealer informs her that it all is now in, Mr. Chow calls and wins the pot. She has gone from happy woman to very sad woman in a few seconds. So being the nice guy that he is, Chow pulls $100 out of his pocket and gives it to her (only to find out later that she is loaded from the family business and was probably angle shooting him in the first place!).

The 2AM Golden Nugget tourney starts (great structure) and odd things start happening. First thing for the readers to understand is that this year’s “signature hand” is the deuce-four (aka “The Grump” after one of our favorite bloggers The Poker Grump). There are a many ways to win points in our IMOP contest, but one of the favorites is winning a hand holding the Grump. The catch is that it MUST be tabled to count for points, which is usually after a fairly large bluff, inducing raging tilt and subsequent wild loose-ness at the table. True to form, about 10 minutes into the proceedings, Santa makes an obscene over-shove against Sahara and one other player. They both groan and fold, and Santa proudly tables a Grump. However, this doesn’t work as well later when the whiskey takes over and he tries it again with only two tables remaining and gets called by kings and is crippled. Oops. Bad beat for the Grump!

Meanwhile, at another table early in the tournament, it only takes five hands for River Joe and Colt to get it all in with aces and kings against each other, and Colt is the first Ironman out. Bonnie soon shoves with kings and is called by Mr. Chow, and the river makes his J9 off good, giving Bonnie the first of many massive tilt-walks. Final table has Lucky, River Joe, Santa and Sahara—with Santa cashing and Sahara finishing runner up to guy we had labeled “The Dancing Queen” thanks to his celebratory gyrations when he would knock someone out. Was this thing televised?

Bonnie's attempt to photograph our sweet ride that took us from

the Venetian, through the paradise near the Sahara, and into

the Shangri-La of the Fremont Street bizarre bazaar.

Mr. Chow and Barbie intoxicated on Vegas, sleep deprivation,

Euro-tilting, and umbrella drinks.

Mr. Chow, Barbie, and Fat Jesus doing who knows what

who knows where. (No kittens or Euros were harmed in 

the staging of this photo.)

Coming soon—maybe—Part B: "Thursday".

The Cuckoo Gambit

Note:  The Ironman of Poker wrapped up last Sunday, and the official trip report is being compiled by cruise director Santa Claus. In the meantime, I'll share a few random posts that I'm certain won't make the final report.

"The hours of folly are measured by the clock; but of wisdom, no clock can measure."

—William Blake

After a tasty lunch at Holsteins in the swanky new Cosmopolitan resort, I headed off to Planet Hollywood for some casual afternoon poker. Over the past year or so, Planet Hollywood has become my new "go to" poker fishing hole, with a fairly reliable offering of drunks and bad players. I've had several big scores in the room, and there is a seemingly infinite supply of strange and entertaining characters to add some fun to the profit.

I was buying chips when a commotion erupted at the game in progress right by the podium. It appeared this middle-aged guy with a decent stack—let's call him "Chunk"—had called the clock on a young player in full internet poker uniform—hoodie, sunglasses, and vodka-Red Bull. From the heated discussion, it sounded as if the clock call had come a bit quickly in the youngster's view, a sentiment shared by several other players at the table. Nonetheless, the countdown began, and after a little more chatter, the youngster made the call. Chunk rolled over AK for a rivered top pair top kicker, and the youngster mucked his pocket Queens face up.

I initially didn't think a lot of the clock-calling folderol. I quickly made a couple hundred during the first orbit, flopping a wheel with 53 sooooted against one of the two college kids who had girlfriends sweating them, then bluffed the other college kid off a nice pot by floating the flop and representing the flopped Ace with a stiff bet when the kid checked the turn. All pretty basic ABC stuff.

Then I ran into Chunk. Chunk loved to call any preflop raise, then float the flop and bet or raise any turn. He was stealing a lot of pots by doing this, and it was clear most of his bets were on the light side. But, nobody would play back at him or even call him down with anything less than a monster, so Chunk was working up a decent stack. But Chunk's favorite move was to make a big raise, then call a quick clock. Based on the cards he showed after the maneuver, he was making the move when he wanted a call, apparently thinking that calling the clock would induce a call by his opponent. In our first big encounter, I laid down KQ on a Queen-high board when Chunk pulled the clock move with a $200 raise on the turn; he tabled QJ for top two pair as he raked the pot.

Now, I'm generally not much of a believer in most supposed physical tells. In my experience, there is too much variance in player personalities and reactions to get a reliable read on a player, particularly a stranger whom you have only observed for a short duration. Sure, there are some helpful rules of thumb—notably a major change in demeanor during a hand, strong means weak, shaking hands, and the quick chipstack glance followed by a check—but for the most part, I find betting patterns to be the best indicator of an opponent's holdings.

In Chunk's case, however, I was fairly certain that the clock-calling maneuver was his pet play, and I figured Chunk, like any mediocre player, would go to his signature pitch once too often. I just had to sit tight, wait for that pitch, and smoke it for a home run.

Sure enough, opportunity knocked in short order. I picked up Yaks in the big blind. There were several limpers, and I popped it to $25 total. Chunk called in middle position, and we saw the flop heads up.

A-J-5. Yahtzee!

The pot was about $65, so I bet out for $50, hoping to look weak with my "overbet". Chunk immediately raised to $100 straight. At this point, I was pretty sure Chunk had an Ace, so I decided to see if Chunk would help me sell him the idea I held a pocket pair under the Ace. Sure enough, as I "pondered" my play, Chunk started chattering, telling me I was beat. I responded, "Queen-Jack again? I can beat Queen-Jack." Chunk immediately called for the clock, less than a minute after his raise. I let the floor start the count, and asked Chunk if he had a flush draw, while I tried to suppress my inner Snoopy dance. Once the floor announced ten seconds, I made the oh-so-reluctant call. The trap snapped close on Chunk, though he could not yet see it. The turn was a blank. I thought, then checked. Chunk insta-pushed while puffing himself up and glaring at me, and I snap-called looking like the Cheshire cat. I rolled over my Yaks, and Chunk looked like someone had stolen his dessert. Chunk showed A9 offsuit, drawing deader than Elvis, netting me a nice double up.

Sometimes, poker is easy.

(Image source).

The Ironman Prop Betteth

As you may recall, Ironman of Poker VI ("IMOP") is less than 50 hours away from its official kickoff. Cruise director Santa Claus has released the official prop betting sheet, which is seriously streamlined, the better to speed his last minute hungover scorekeeping chores. Still, part of me misses the good ol' days of Byzantine scoring sheets that required more recounts than a Florida election, where one Ironman could be declared victor during the final breakfast at the Grand Lux in Venetian, another take the title at the Allegiant Air gate, and yet another be named ultimate champion on the ground in Iowa.

Taking a look at the official prop bets, there are a few obvious sucker bets:

• Sahara at 162/1 for last to go to sleep is akin to a preseason wager that the Lions will win the Super Bowl. Sahara is notorious for his vampiric persona, and has never been awake in five IMOPs to see the first sunrise.
• Any high hand winner or best losing hand "winner" at 2/1 odds is a bad bet. High hands / big hands are essentially random events with little connection to style of play (other than that maniacs who play more hands have slightly better odds of being involved in a big hand). Might as well take 4/1 on any random schmo if you play this prop.

As for value bets, here's my analysis:

• Sahara making a final table is almost guaranteed money, given his online poker skillz (assuming he avoids me, natch). But there's more value in betting on an Ironman winning a high hand jackpot, or being called a donkey, which are both nearly guaranteed.
• Barbie getting felted playing the signature hand ("the Grump" this year) is nearly guaranteed. But there's more value in the nearly guaranteed wager on Bonnie losing something valued over $5 (frankly, this should've been set at over $50 to be sporting).
• Although it's been a few years since the Beatdown at Bally's, given our crew is composed of 12 snarky, drunken idiots with a penchant for taunting Euros and trust fund babies, there would seem to be good value at 20/1 in betting on an Ironman being in a physical confrontation.

In true Ironman fashion, the taunting and prop betting is in full preseason form. Today, Fat Jesus sent out an important reminder to the Ironmen to avoid being arrested prior to arriving in Vegas:

T-Minus 3,346 until wheels up out of Des Moines for IMOP 6...

We pause this countdown for the following public service announcement:

Code of Federal Regulations Sec. 121.575 — Alcoholic beverages.

(a) No person may drink any alcoholic beverage aboard an aircraft unless the certificate holder operating the aircraft has served that beverage to him.

(b) No certificate holder may serve any alcoholic beverage to any person aboard any of its aircraft who—

(1) Appears to be intoxicated;
(2) Is escorting a person or being escorted in accordance with 49 CFR 1544.221; or
(3) Has a deadly or dangerous weapon accessible to him while aboard the aircraft in accordance with 49 CFR 1544.219, 1544.221, or 1544.223.

(c) No certificate holder may allow any person to board any of its aircraft if that person appears to be intoxicated.

(d) Each certificate holder shall, within five days after the incident, report to the Administrator the refusal of any person to comply with paragraph (a) of this section, or of any disturbance caused by a person who appears to be intoxicated aboard any of its aircraft.

Thank you, we now continue with the countdown...3,343 minutes.

Fat Jesus

Perhaps the Ironman most in need of this reminder, Colt, replied:

Here is what I read:

Code of Federal Regulations Sec. 121.575 — Alcoholic beverages.

(a) Don’t show the stewardess your mini bottles of alcohol.

(b) If you do – you’re dumb……in accordance with Man-Law CFR 5554.221.

Here's hoping all the Ironmen avoid any hit to their bankrolls from the bail bond leak.

Finally, today Ironman Barbie and I engaged in a best of seven prop bet matchup in Words With Friends, the iPhone version of Scrabble. The stakes were high—steak dinner at STK, the trendy steakhouse in the swanky new Vegas Cosmopolitan resort. We each won one blowout, but the remaining five games went to the last few tiles. After Barbie and his alligator blood pulled off a miracle finish with a triple score "QI" in Game 6, it all came down to Game 7, as any good rivalry should. With all the tiles out, Barbie played "WANE" to take a slim but seemingly insurmountable 19 point lead. Yet, I had one last trick up my sleeve. Channeling my inner Tarvis Williams, I found a stunning 70 point play for the improbable victory:

I'm thinking a medium rare porterhouse with black truffles and chimichurri sauce, with sides of creamed spinach and mac & cheese. Oh, and break out the wine list, baby! Grange needs a good Shiraz!

I can't wait for Wednesday!

The Ironman Approacheth

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I apologize for the recent lull in posting. It's been a pretty hectic couple of weeks, but I'm pretty well settled into the new corporate gig. I have now completed two of the three four-hour sessions of mandatory orientation. In eight hours, I have learned three important things: a) our company most definitely has a wellness center (let's take another tour!), b) I can have wine shipped to my office, and c) "corporate trainer" might not be an oxymoron, but it attracts them.

Soul-sucking corporate indoctrination aside, the new gig is looking like a good fit. Lots of interesting, friendly folks to work with, and several challenging projects already on my plate. Plus, I get a company car; wonder if I can trade it for a company wine cellar? Along with all of the hoopla over the new job (that's with a soft "J"—"yob"), I've also been helping my good buddy Shiz from the old law firm coach his daughter's high school Mock Trial team, which sucks another eight or so hours out of my free time each week. But, they're a good group of smart kids, so it has been fun. Plus, it gives me an excuse for the occasional Meadows ATM run with Shiz after practice. Shiz is a degenerate dice man, but is a mathematical whiz who I've been teaching some poker. We've played a few sessions recently, but frankly, despite several lucrative outings, there has been a notable lack of hilarity at the tables. Maybe the corporate gig has truly sucked out my remaining soul ...

Thankfully, there is always hilarity when the Ironmen hit Vegas, and those High Holy Days are quickly approaching. The official dates (selected as always by consulting the Mayan lunar calendar to determine when basketball wagering can be can be coordinated so as to avoid Spring Break and/or the Apocalypse) are Wednesday, March 9 through Sunday, March 13. Personally, I will be arriving in Vegas around 9:30 a.m. on Wednesday, and staying through late afternoon on Monday, March 14 (at my age, I need warm-up and cool-down periods to deal with all the hijinks).

For those who aren't familiar with the Ironman of Poker (IMOP) competition, it is essentially a five day escape from Iowa to poker Mecca, with a healthy dose of prop-betting, Euro-tilting, and sports wagering thrown in the mix, all seasoned by a healthy dose of alcohol. Here are a few random events from past IMOPs which I have previously shared:

• The Deuce-Five:  Wherein I felt buddy Sahara during the Aria tournament.
• The Sherminator:  Wherein an annoying trust fund d-bag gets an ironic taste of his own medicine. ("I am the Highlander!").
• The Beatdown at Bally's:  Wherein I am tackled during a poker game by a drunken Englishman who later is ejected with his buddy after exhibiting poor vocabulary choices near the wrong pit boss. ("Mum").

For the first time ever, we have the full IMOP crew returning, with nary a newbie in sight. Our cruise director, Santa Claus, has released the preliminary schedule of events, with a few highlights I can share with my loyal readers:

• The "signature hand"—long a featured event—will return. For those of you wondering what a signature hand is, think of playing "the Hammer" game for five full days (albeit with a different personal junk hand), except your opponents have no idea you're playing. Snap a few Aces after rolling over, say, 6-3, and hilarity ensues. Multiply that by a dozen guys playing their own signature hands, and the anti-Iowa cursing can be heard up and down the Strip. Seriously, it is quite common to have folks at your table see you roll over a signature hand, and groan, "Oh, you're part of that crew?" This year, in honor of the sixth IMOP competition, the official signature hand for all Ironmen will be the mighty Deuce-Four, a/k/a "the Grump".

Santa at the kickoff drinking event for IMOP-V.

• The Ugly Jacket Dinner will return, natch, at a fine establishment to be named later (Delmonico at Venetian is the old standby, but we've been venturing out to other classy joints the past couple of years). After winning it for three straight years, I stumbled to third last year. However, I believe I have found a strong contender for this year, and hope to return to sartorial dominance.

My winning Jacket Dinner entry from IMOP-IV.

Sahara is on the left, enjoying a caipirinha at Samba.

• Last year's cheesy concert t-shirt contest has been discontinued; who wants to see Sahara rocking yet another one of his Michael Bolton outfits? Instead, the Ironmen will be competing in a "Mad Hatter" outrageous headgear contest, most likely coinciding with the TI tournament. This event will require a little planning on my part. On IMOP-II, I wore a red and black Mad Hatter style hat during a cash game session at Venetian, so I really can't plagiarize myself. Perhaps a fez?

Sahara with his prize-winnning t-shirt from IMOP-V.

• The four official tournaments will be:  Thursday, 1:00 a.m. at Golden Nugget; Thursday, 2:00 p.m. at TI; Friday, 9:00 a.m. at Caesars; and Saturday, 1:00 p.m. at Aria. Given my general dislike of the Caesars poker room and the ungodly early hour, I'm trying to convince Santa to switch this to the Mirage late morning / noonish tourney.

Barbie pulls off the "Meat Tank" prop bet—saving a BBQ rib from dinner,

and pulling it out to gnaw on when his opponent tanks on an all-in call.

• Santa has finally implemented a plan he and I have been mulling for a couple of years—The Third World Poker Tour. Ironmen will be randomly assigned—sentenced—to play a two hour session at some of the finer poker rooms in Vegas:  Tropicana, Hooters, Excalibur, Luxor, Stratosphere, Sahara, Circus Circus, Riviera, and Imperial Palace. Santa and I agree that one of the best parts of the Vegas poker experience is playing at some of the less-glamorous rooms. Most of the Ironmen are poker snobs who live at Venetian, Bellagio, Wynn, or Aria, and whine about "slumming it" at Mirage or MGM (don't even suggest Planet Hollywood, TI, or Bally's!). Hopefully hilarity, hijinks, and arrests will ensue.

In past IMOPs, the crew has roomed in suites at Wynn, Bellagio, and Venetian/Palazzo, usually with a discounted poker room rate. This year, many of the guys are continuing to use the Venetian as home base, but I and a couple of others will be using players' club room rates at TI and Mirage. The rooms will be cheaper, the quality is still good (after all, it's not like we need the rooms more than four hours a day), and there is no poker play requirement. Don't get me wrong, I can and likely will rack up 6+ hours a day at Venetian, particularly if they are spreading 1/2 PLG on a regular basis. But I do like the freedom to move around the Strip and hit up some other rooms I love (Bally's, Aria, Planet Hollywood, Bellagio, TI, Mirage, Wynn, and Imperial Palace will almost certainly merit a session or two each).

Anyway, if you happen to be in Vegas in early March, and run into some dunken Midwestern maniacs at the poker tables, you're likely in the presence of one or more of the Ironmen. If you want to confirm, just wait until one of them loses a big pot and see if they utter the magic phrase:

"Damn you, Erik Seidel!"