Title: "My Guardian Angel"
Thurs. 28th:
Preliminaries -- Worked full day at the Embassy. Afternoon was hectic due to
our Prime Minister's arrival the previous day and his scheduled meeting with
President Klinton in the afternoon. The pressue builds. Please! Get me out
of here! 5:30 finally comes. I'm off! Free at last! A.C., here I come!
The journey -- Road conditions....rainy, slippery, foggy, cold....all the
makings of a good accident, which is JUST WHAT HAPPENED at 8:00 pm on I-95,
the Deleware Turnpike. I'm coasting along, got Van Morrson in the cassette
player....WHAM! I hear my self scream an expletive which shall not be
repeated here (can't recall if it was the "F" or the "S" one). A 92-year old
is sitting in the middle of the highway,car with no lights, no blinkers, nada
-- just sitting there. He was driving from -- you guessed it -- Florida,
back to NJ. He just "thought something was wrong," so he stopped. Stopped
cold. Stopped smack in the middle of one of the busiest highways in the
United States. Parts of our cars a strawn all over the pavement. My '90
Caddy SDV (just spent a grand getting the 70K servicing done) is demolished.
Frame bent. I feel like that Kerrigan skater after she got clubbed in the
legs, "Why me? Why me?," I ask. No real reason to complain though. I (and
the old man, too) walk away without a scratch -- and I wasn't even wearing my
seat belt. I look for a guardian angel on my shoulder. A fleeting image
seems to appear. I feel a glow. I must be blessed, maybe today is my day,
that certain moment in time that comes just once in a lifetime. Ah destiny.
I rumble through the legal paperwork and jump on the train in Wilmington.
One way ticket to A.C. Nothing's gonna stop me now.
Arrival -- Destiny? I buy a 2 rolls of quarters and head for the progressive
slots. God please, I hope nobody sees me here. Cling, cling cling.
Silence. Cling cling, cling. Silience. In 3 and a half minutes the twenty
dollars is gone. I guess I wasn't "destined" after all. Stupid superstions,
I should know better.
$10-20 at the Taj: Everyone at the table is a semi-pro or above. Depart an
hour later down a C-note.
$5-10-15 at Resorts: Much friendlier game. Not being a stud player, I don't
know much who the regulars are or are not. It takes me two hours to
recognize I AM NOT. Down another $200. Are we having fun yet?
$20-40 at the Taj: Against my better instincts, I decide to play a few
rounds -- maybe win one pot and I'm back to even. Nothing comes my way but
J-6, 6-3, 7-2....oh I did get a pair of tens once but folded when the board
came A-A-Q. Stay to catch the middle buster in a 20/40 game. Noooooooo way
Jackson. Fold. What a day. What happened to the angel? She must have went
to sleep long before me.
Bedtime for Bonzo (me). Zzzzzzzzzzzz.
Fri. 29th
Three hours of shut eye. Dreams of twisted metal and broken glass. Phone
rings, "Wake up call." Awaken.
AT-LARGE begins! All old nighmares forgotten.
Patch up a few wounds with Eric. Say hello to Brucie. Tiger Alan arrives.
Luncheon -- See some old friends and meet plenty of new ones. Good
conversation. See Peter Secor for the first time, which will become
something of an omen. Hi Don Smolen. Arti mysteriously arrives late.
4:00 Tourney begins -- $115 buy-ins with 72 entrants. Nothing dramatic.
Just poor starting hands. Chips begin to dwindle. I must commit somewhere.
At the $50-100 level, I go all in with J-10 suited. No help comes. Busted
out. I look over in the corner. I think I see the angel laughing.
9:00 -- I haven't had a drink in two months. Such was the power of Nick
Cage's fine performance. I join Art Santella at the Begal Club which turns
out to be an incredibly enlightening experience. The man permeates gambling
theory (and vodka). Not neccesarily in that order. I look into Arti's eyes
and see myself. A scary thought. My soul brother (to be played in movie
version by Al Pacino).
10:00 -- At Resorts. I play poorly. Try to run to many mediocre hands to
victory, that in the end crash in defeat. TableThere's a monster $10-20 game
at Resorts. A preminition. When I sit down, I know I'm going to make $1,000
in this game. Every bet -- and I mean EVERY FRIGGIN BET is capped pre-flop
by two maniacs (one is crazy Charlie, the other a rich tourist). Four hours
later, I'm up a grand. Four hours beyong that, I've lost $800 of it back.
Such is the roller coaster of poker life. I thought I heard the Angel
whisper into my ear, "it's time to leave, Nolan" when I was way ahead. The
ear wax buildup must have distorted her message. I did have Peter Secor
approach me and tell me about his Red Dog experience. I love the guy. His
bourbon breath made Arti's seem like sweet perfume. My God, this guy's
drinking and stammering around without sleep whatsoever. I thought I was
bad. And he's got to play in a tournament in a couple of hours. Poor fool
doesn't stand a chance.
Sat. AM
For me, it's three more hours of sleep. No nighmares tonight, just the
thoughts of flushes and full houses (getting delusional now). I'm dead even
($) for the trip.
10:00 am -- No limit tourney begins. Bam. Bluff. Win $40. Bam. Bluff.
Win $70. Bam...stone-cold bluff called all the way down. Busted out in 38th
place. Crash and burn. I guess I can put the portrait of the poker-playing
dogs back up on my living room wall, where I had intended the "Best All
Around" trophy to go. Surely my wife will be more upset about this than me.
1:00 -- Pink chip hold'em. In 10 minutes I win one good pot and lose half of
it back with a stupid bluff. Still, a win is a win. Lunch with Arti and Old
Al, who's on tilt at the Bengal Club.
4:00 -- Pot limit Texas hold 'em commences. I'd prepared myself for this for
nearly three weeks. Watched 5 WSP events on tape (again). Re-read Bobby
Baldwin's book. Still, my skills were rusty. A little history -- I'd played
pot limit almost exclusively back in Texas after I graduated from college (no
jobs, so poker became a way of life). Really, that's pretty much all I did
from 85-89. Carsinogen-filled backrooms, I discovered however, were not the
places to engratiate one's social skills. The move to DC took me away from
pot limit entirely. So going in, I had a mixed level of confidence. I
didn't like Smolen at my table, so I vowed to stay out of his way. "Crazy
hat" Jonathon sat on my immediate left, who I had/have great respect for.
Others in the game (you know who you are) also looked like a challenge. 10
munites into Pot limit, with $300 in front of me, the drama unfolded.
Late Position -- I'm dealt K - Q Not a great hand, but with no raises yet,
certainly a good value bet and raise here. Jonathon on my left calls.
Flop comes K- Q - 10. Almost perfect for me, unless someone's got trips or
the straight. A mandatory pot bet. I bet the max. Jonathon gets this "sh*t
eating grin on his face. He pushes his entire stack ($300) into the pot.
Now, I've got a really tough decision. Jon and I do go back a little and
are somewhat familiar with each other's tendancies. He knows I bluff
frequently. Is he simply chopping of my presumed bluff? Does he have trip
Kings or trip Jacks (unlikely, as he didn't re-raise pre-flop). I narrowed
it to four possible hands:
A-K (Jon, with top pair best kicker might re-raise in this situation)
K-Q (we have a matching hand, also a re-raise would be called for perhaps)
K-10 (very unlikely, but possible)
A-J (my worst possible nightmare. Jon's already flopped the straight).
Unless you're playing for grocery money, this is a mandatory call. So, I
call. We're both all-in.
"You there already, Jon?" I ask. Jon's sh*t eating grin grows even bigger.
He doesn't need to answer. I already know. He's caught the perfect flop --
a straight. Now, I'm a 20-1 dog. The turn.......A QUEEN. A beautiful sweet
Queen. My angel has returned. Jon shows his true class and departs with a
handshake.
Chuck Weinstock joins the poker party. Gee, the competition sure isn't
getting any easier.
Later I cash out with a nice profit. Forgot to write down the amount.
My buddy Peter Secor is hammering a 2/4 game at the Taj. We hit the Bengal
together and shoot the breeze. Another very intriguing gentleman with alot
of balls and street smarts. We hit the crap table. Buy-in for $200 each. A
preminition comes over me (I swear). I tell Peter he's going to hold the
friggin' dice for 10 minutes. He says, NO, TWENTY. Now I'm usually a wrong
(Dont Pass) better. But I join with Peter, who is on a massive roll after
winning the tourney that morning. 17 minutes later, he's still got the
cubes. That man threw more tens and fours than you would believe. Man, I
wish I'd been betting quarters. Finally after 20 min (peter was right), he
sevened-out to table applause. Now it's my turn. Like I said, I'm a DONT
better. I lay $20 against myself. Bam. Eleven. $20 more. Bam. Seven.
Peter lays $5 on YO....Wham. There it is "ELEVEN" I'm getting buried. I
lay $100 on the Don't. Point comes NINE. $150 odds. Twenty rolls later
(everyone else may big money off the COME), there it is, NINE. I pass the
dice voluntarily. I buy-in again for another $100. Lay it all on DONT COME.
Point for me becomes SIX. I take $120 odds against. Stickman yells "six
the hard way." Super. $500 gone in 5 minutes. And Peter's getting rich. I
laugh it off while my stomach acid churns inside. Time to go. Peter stays.
Meanwhile I paying $75 a night solo for a room at the Taj. I stayed exactly
3 hours in the last two days. I consider calling it a night. AM I CRAZY?
WHILE THERE'S A POT LIMIT GAME IN PROGRESS???? NO "F"ing WAY MAN!!!
Sun. AM
I run across from the Taj and nearly bowl over five grandma's playing quarter
slots (they must have preminitions, too). I pass by the dice table again and
Peter's still there --- and the same guy on my left STILL HAS THE DICE !!!
Good night, I've missed the chance of a lifetime.
Grind it out again. Buy-in the pot limit game for $300. Early in, I catch
bullets in the hole. Max bet. One caller. Flop comes 9-blank-blank. I max
bet. An all-in raise. Maybe he's got Kings or Queens in the pocket. Worse,
he's got trips. Now I'm trapped, but it's only going to cost me my last $100
to see what happens. Another mandatory call. Trip nines. Now only an ace
saves me. The ace comes, on the river. How sweat it is. YES! YES! I do
my best Marv Albert impression.
5:00 in the morning. Eyes start to close themselves. Decision time. Break
for some sleep? The tourney's gonna' start in 5 hours. It's now or never.
I decide to sleep between hands. "Wake me when it's my turn to raise," I
say -- as I slide my head on the rail. Zzzzzzzzzzz.
A couple of hard asses come over from the Taj (good middle limit players),
which doesn't give me a chance to play to casually. Still, I feel refreshed
when 10:00 comes and the tournament begins. I leave my stake on the table.
1:00 -- break time, and I'm still avlive in the tourney. Got $1,000 which
won't last long at the $100-200 level. During break, I go back to play pot
limit. A little bluff here and there takes the money. Time to go back to
tourney. 20 minutes later, I'm busted in 11th place. Damn. I really wanted
this one in the money.
Back at pot limit. On my final hand I get pocket Aces. Bet the max. One
caller. A scary board comes....K-J-blank. I've got to check. Bet is $100.
Trip Kings? No...he didn't bet the max, unless he's trying to reel me in.
It's a must call. At the showdown I look across and see Queens. The aces
hold up.
A good time to leave with New Mexico James (the $30-60 master). The caddy's
gone, so it's James or Amtrack for the ride home. Easy choice. On the trip
we speak for 3 hours about our experiences. I learn more and more from each
player I meet, especially someone like James, who has been around. Arrive
back in DC just in time for 60 minutes and a loving hug from my wife.
"How did you do honey," she asked. "Sit down dear, have I got a story for
you."
-- Nolan Dalla
(Thank you to everyone I met. I wanted to use even more stories and names,
but space doesn't allow, as we don't want "War and Peace" length postings)