Vegas -- Hunting Cowboys
-My mantra to anyone who calls poker gambling.
LAS VEGAS -- I round the corner to Table 24 at the Wynn on Thursday morning and I see ... cowboy hats.
All of a sudden I feel giddy -- the rodeo is in town. I'd feel just as giddy if all of Las Vegas' conventioneers were required to wear shirts that proclaimed they are conventioneers.
Why? Well, it's a matter of practice. Just as I would be dead money trying to make a lasso or ride a bull, no way these guys in hats have as many hands in and plain poker experience as I. They're all fantastically fit doing their jobs; I'm working on my poker belly, doing my job of fish hunting. They have to train, train, train in the ring or else put themselves in danger of being hurt badly. I do the same at the tables.
I'd much rather play poker with guys in hats looking to have a good time than with Internet kids who talk to me about rakeback and $2/4 NL. No, no, no, no, no. That won't do. If I'm going to make money, I'm going to do it the easy way.
"Know why I'm so calm?" I told this guy at the office named Johnny about the Emory Game holdup. "It's all the same to me. Except I don't use a gun."
Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to be giddy at the $4/8 game. Not too long after I sat down, the three cowboys got up.
"Was it a good game?" I asked someone at the table.
"No, they'd call you down with anything. If you had a good hand, they'd pay you off, but they'd see every flop."
Sounds pretty damn good to me.
Give me my KK or give me (real) cowboys.
I've been just a table away most times -- the NL game at the Excalibur. Hopefully this weekend, I'll get a chance to play against some at Binion's downtown. Or I'll have to seek out the Orleans, like I did last year.
On another topic, I think I've found a car that I want to buy. My rental is this sleek, gray Pontiac Grand Am. It is so fucking fast, it's like Clonie kitty. You can be going 75 down Interstate 15 here and punch it and it will practically leap over cars. The acceleration is so smooth.
I'm used to fast cars -- I drove this 6.6-litre Pontiac Trans Am in high school. Sure it was redneck as all get-out, but there wasn't another car in town that was as fast. Big-block cars like that just aren't made like that anymore.
In addition, I have super-quick reflexes and great hand-eye coordination and I've often wondered in another life whether I could have been a race car driver. In the years before the improvised explosive device, I also thought my dream job would be as an embassy driver.
There is nothing better than to be driving at night down The Strip, all the neon lights and casinos whizzing by.