Trip Report
by Nolan Dalla (a.k.a. Darkside)
Title:"My Guardian Angel"
Thurs. 28th:
Preliminaries -- Worked full day at the Embassy. Afternoon was hectic due
to 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!
Atlantic City --- 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 man is sitting in his car in the middle of the highway, no
lights, no blinkers -- 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. What
credibility I do have would be shot.. 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 regular stud
player, I don't know much who the pros 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 (tired, still shaken up a
bit), 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 "Chinese Poker" 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 Bengal 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. There's a monster $10-20
game at the other table. 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 $800 of it back. Such is the roller coaster of poker life. I
thought I heard the Angel whisper into my ear, "it's time to leave,
Nolan," when I was way ahead. The ear wax buildup must have distorted her
message. I did have Peter Secor approach me and tell me about his Red Dog
experience. I love the guy. His bourbon breath made Arti's seem like
sweet perfume. My God, this guy's drinking and stammering around without
sleep whatsoever. I thought I was bad. And he's got to play in a
tournament in a couple of hours. Poor fool doesn't stand a chance (the
next day he wins the tournament, naturally -- see future Card Player
article on this subject).
For me, it's three more hours of sleep. No nighmares tonight, just the
thoughts of flushes and full houses (getting delusional now). I'm dead
even ($) for the trip.
Saturday
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 now put the portrait of the
poker-playing dogs back up on my living room wall, where I had intended
the "Best All Around" poker 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 gambling became a way of life). Really, that's
pretty much all I did from 85-89. Carsinigen-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. Sitting down, I didn't like Don 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 "Congelco Publishing" 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 low-limit game at the Taj. We hit the
Bengal together and shoot the breeze. Another very intriguing gentleman
with alot of b*lls 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!!! 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.
Sunday
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 in the middle of the tournament, and I'm still avive in
middle position. 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 again to tourney. 20 minutes later, I'm
busted out in 11th place. Damn. I really wanted this one in the money.
I guess the second potrait of poker playing dogs has to be put up again,
too. Back at pot limit. On my final hand of the trip 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 pre-flop,
unless he's now trying to reel me in. It's a must call. At the showdown
I look across and see pocket 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 Rankin or Amtrak 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 and played almost everywhere.
Arrive back in DC just in time for "60 minutes" and a loving hug from my
wife. Ain't life grand?
"How did you do honey," she asked. "Sit down dear, have I got a story for
you."
("Oh, and by the way, did you remember to mail-in that auto insurance bill
last month?")
-- 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)
