Gary Wise from Las Vegas

A Small Misunderstanding

Posted by admin on Aug 26, 2008

So, in my last post, I mentioned that I’d aquired a new nickname; Voltaire. A couple of the regulars, two brothers, started calling me that last two Sundays ago after I’d aquired a big stack and sat on it for a bit.

When I went to emergency poker Tuesday night, the talk was flying left and right and my new nickname was brought up to our regular host, who wasn’t present when the new tag was applied. He asked about it and I explained it had something to do with the fact that I make my living through the written word. Hell, I can’t say i know Voltaire’s work, but the fact i even know his name makes him someone I’m happy to be affiliated with. Thing is, I’m not.

A player named Dan, who knows both of the guys who gave me the name was forced to step in and explain. “They didn’t call you that because you’re a writer. They called you that because once you get chips, you tighten up and qon’t give them away. It’s like putting chips in a vault.” Then, as the whole room laughed, he added “Those guys don’t know who the fuck Voltaire is.” So there it is; the name is Vaultaire. It’s a sad turn of events, considering I can’t stop laughing at it.

Just another example of how poker brings together vastly different people to do something they commonly love to do.

Ask and ye shall recieve…

Posted by admin on Aug 24, 2008

One of the funny things about telling people you write about poker is variety of people who come up with the same response; “You should write about me!” Everyone has a story and everyone finds theirs to be the most riveting of all. Sometimes, they’re not entirely off base.

As I’ve reported here, I’ve been doing a lot more playing in recent weeks, going out 2-3 times a week for home games or the occasional back-of-the-store excursion. One thing I’ve promised people who have asked is that everything’s off the record, and since some of their names are high-profile, it seems to be appreciated but that promise leaves those parties without the fulfillment of glory. At what’s quickly become my regular home game, it took all of three weeks to go from “Thanks for not writing about this” to “Why aren’t you writing about this?” I almost sense my new nickname (Voltaire) is an ironic one commenting on the lack of text.

This past Tuesday, the home game in question convened for “Emergency poker”, which translates to “Our usual host was visiting his in-laws in the godforsaken wasteland that is Edmonton and needs a fix badly” I showed up around 11PM, a little tired on the tail end of a blue Jays game, expecting to stay for around 3-4 hours. I got home at 7AM.

That night, amongst the thousand plot twists that naturally occur in the context of a poker game (especially one where the players are mostly tight friends) there was the repeated request to see commentary on this particular game in this here blog. I complained that I couldn’t come through because the best chunks of drama are always intertwined with the involved character relationships, and the inability to name names would leave any recounting hollow. By the end of the night though, I’d been proven wrong.

It was around 1AM, with the plan to wrap up at 2AM, when a regular we’ll call ‘Pat’ showed up on the front door camera. Pat is a businessman –seemingly an affluent one–and he plays that way; the money has no value, and he has no qualms about getting his entire stack involved with a pot on his soberest days. This wasn’t one of them.

When Pat got to the table, it was pretty obvious he’d tipped back a few and he continued the trend once in his seat. Monstrous cans of Coors Light disappeared like Kaiser Soze and the language was a little more loose and colorful than normal with betting to match. Thing is, Pat found himself on a hot run of cards; everything he touched turned into a straight or a flush or better, and his $2,000 buy-in turned to $5,000 quickly.

Glances were exchanged around the table as this was going on, the recognition that Pat might be ripe for picking registering on every face. Home game or not, if they decide to sit down, its your goal to take their money. No one was as anxious to get a piece as our dealer, Justin. I’ve written about Justin here before; he’s the lone Asian regular in the game, but differentiates himself far more with his style of play and table captaincy. ‘Aggressive’ doesn’t encapsulate Justin’s game; he’s the ultimate LAG, seemingly calling any-sized bet with any two cards on the pre-flop for the distinct privilege of playing less-talented players in a post-flop game. His LAGiness is only matched by his mouth.

Justin’s probably been the most successful player in this game over its history (At least, that’s the sense I get. I’m a late addition and I’m dealing with very incomplete information), and that kind of accomplishment often inspires a sense of entitlement; Justin would never say it like this, but when he wins, there’s a sense of order to it; there’s no need to boast, because the best player won. Thing is, nothing is absolute in poker.

Justin and Pat have a history. They’ve only known one another for a few months, but theirs has become a fast friendship, moving away from the poker table. When they sit together though, two things inevitably result: 1) They play massive pots 2) Pat wins.

It’s inexplicable. Not to take anything from Pat; he plays with guts and glory. In the end though, in those last two rounds of play that seem to define a night’s play in the minds of those present, the two of them always mix it up in mid0four-figure pots, and Pat wins. Period. If he has one out going to the river, he’s hitting that out.

Tuesday night, there was a sense of desperation to Justin’s play that I was unaccustomed to seeing. With his style of play being what it is, he can have some pretty massive swings and this was a night where he was suffering from that reality. Normally, his strategy in this situation would be to raise the price of poker with stacks of black chips, the idea being that one big hand can make up for a lot of small ones. On this night though, things kept on getting worse as Justin kept going back on ‘the sheet’, with each buy-in a little bigger than the previous one.

The night wore on, Justin practically salivating as Pat’s stack grew and his eyelids lowered. Every time a player would announce they were heading out, it was met by Justin pleading them to stick around. Eventually though, it was down to four of us; our host Rob, me (I’d tried to leave a couple of times, but needed a ride home, was up and didn’t want to break the game up), Justin and Pat. Pat had taken multiple chunks out of Justin early, but now Justin was staging a mid-morning comeback. With sunlight seeping through the windows, he was eyeing a break even night with 4-5,000 in front of him and 9,000 in buy-ins.

Our host Rob was the first of the four to lose the war of attrition. Rob had taken some harsh beats all night, including a couple of massive suck outs by Pat (who else) and a finishing blow in which he got me to move in on the turn with four clubs and a gutshot only to have me hit the gutshot once the stacks had been measured. Rightfully pissed off, he flung his hand at the table and bellowed “I’m done” and made his way first over to his laptop and then out the door to get some early-morning bagels while we finished things off.

It was during our third ‘last round’ (a ritual in this game) that Justin got what he’d been asking for. Justin talks a lot at the table, telling people he’s coming for their chips. Pat is a favored target for the barbs. Pat’s no shrinking violet and does a good job of warding off the words, thanks in large part to his inevitably winning the biggest hand of each night at Justin’s expense. This time though, I thought Justin might be getting through. Pat was drunker than when he’d arrived, he’d started getting a little too loose with his calls and it was obvious in his demeanor that Justin’s stream of complaints regarding bad beats and the unfair turn of events were having an effect. He’d snapped back more times than could be counted.

I can’t say I remember all of the specifics, but Iknow that after some action on the preflop, the board came 6-7-Q. There was a round of betting, with Justin setting a trap and the turn was a king. Again Pat bet, again Justin –holding 66–made the call and the river came a 10. Now, Justin was ready to lower the boom; he bet out for $500 and hoped for a call. Instead, he got a surprising raise to $1,500.

Now, at this point, we go back to the title of this blog installment. Justin wanted a shot at that massive stack and got his wish and now was faced with the possibility of winning $1,000 more than he’d expected. Thing was, with Pat in his state, with Justin’s bankroll looking at some serious damage and with Justin ’s feeling of entitlement, he got greedy. Was he likely winning? Yes. Should he re-re-raise with the potential fifth set? Doesn’t seem like a good idea.

Thing is, it’s hard to recognize that when your brain is flooded by steam and images of high society. Justin thought for two long minutes before declaring a raise of his own. $2,000, serious money even to serious entrepreneurs. Pat sat looking miserable, wondering what he’d walked into, but finally, begrudgingly, made the call.

“Got a straight?” Justin asked, a hint of smile to his voice as if he knew that wasn’t the case. That was why the shock was so brutal when the answer came back “Yeah”. Pat turned over J-9 for the second nuts. Justin died in his chair.

The aftermath was brutal. Disbelief from all four of us, pierced only by Justin moaning as if afflicted by a sudden gunshot to the stomach. When the night was tallied up, he’d suffered one of the biggest losses in the game’s history. Pat wasn’t as jubilant as one might expect (the combination of fatigue and watching a friend suffer might have had something to do with that), more relieved that the onslaught was over than anything. Me, Iwas happy to finally have a lift (and leave up for my troubles). I did take a few things away from the experience though;

- No one deserves to win. It’s a tough lesson to heed sometimes, considering the hands, study and concentration some have put into poker while other haven’t. Still, when multiple people put up their cash, multiple people have the right to a chance at victory ,and no matter how strongly you believe ‘right and wrong’ should be involved, they aren’t. Every dog’s going to have his day. That’s the nature of the game.

- It’s dangerous to want something a little too much. Justin’s $2,000 bet at the end of that last hand was just greedy. When Pat put in that $1,500, was i putting him on a straight? No, but I recognized that there was enough out there (4 higher sets, three potential straights) that a raise was reckless. . This was a case of Justin seeing his Moby Dick and refusing to acknowledge the beast could win the fight. Lapses in judgment like that one, at that time of night, with those kinds of players, are going to be costly.

- Never forget that poker and friendship never mix. OK, I knew this one, and it shouldn’t be taken too literally because I value the friendships I’m forming at the table, but its never personal when you play a hand. I think Justin let it get that way.

- There’s a right way to lose. In the aftermath of each beat Justin took, there was an adjoining diatribe. When you go to a tournament, the kid gloves are off. Antagonize your opponents all you want, they knew what they were getting into when they put up their money.

A home game is a different monster. This is a situation where friends are getting together to enjoy a mutual interest, and while it’s still poker and it’s still money and it’s serious, that can’t be entirely discarded. Pat didn’t have a good time winning. He was annoyed during play and then subjected to the grim reality of what he’d done in a monologue afterwards, and that was unfair to him. If it were me in Justin’s shoes, it would have been a brutal turn of events. Frankly, I take a hit like the one he took that night and I’m in a world of hurt, which is part of the reason I don’t employ that style of play. Even still though, there’s a time to bitch and a time to hold in your fury, knock on the table and leave the room. A home game where you yourself made the decision to raise the stakes and paid the price for that is one of those times.

Justin got what he asked for; a chance to get even, a shot at redemption for his past late-night losses to Pat and big stack poker in a short handed, fatigue-riddled game.  Unfortunately, he asked on the same night at I was asked to write a little more about the home game of all home games. Sometimes, getting what you ask for isn’t getting what you want.

Freezing My Ass Off at the Bottom of the World

Posted by admin on Aug 8, 2008

If you’d told me on any day this year except this one that on the 7th of August, I’d be wearing a toque and a sweater, drinking my coffee black and still be freezing my ass off, I’d have laughed in your face. I’m a proud Canadian. As such, I should be impervious to the rigors of cold, especially at a time of year where over-ambitious air conditioning should be the only means through which frigid temperatures might be applied, am I right?

Incorrect.

Funny things happen to those pre-formed notions when you’re sitting at the bottom of the world. I’m a ten minute drive from Punta del Este, a small Ocean-side city in Uruguay. That’s Uruguay, as in ‘Uruguay is south of the equator’, covering a Latin American Poker Tour for PokerStars and ESPN. If it didn’t occur to you that it’s wintertime south of the equator, I wouldn’t be too ashamed. I forgot myself until I received an e-mail a few hours before departure advising ‘bring a sweater.’ It’s apparent now that long johns, scarf, mittens, snow shoes, electric blanket, turtlenecks and marshmallows for the open flame that I’m aspiring to find now would have been in order.

That’s right. You just read two paragraphs dedicated to my freezing my ass off. If Reinaldo Venegas –editor of Bluff en Espanol– hadn’t given me a hat to maintain some kind of body heat, I might not have managed even that much.

This is an unusual situation I’m in here. Punta del Este is one of South America’s most popular vacation spots from December to March, those months in which you couldn’t freeze magma here. In the off months, the city is more or less deserted, just one of the reasons Uruguay was so pleased to have Stars contribute to their August travel and tourism industry. Aside from the 400 poker players, ‘Stars staff and assembled media, the place is more or less deserted. We’re running amuck.

With the locals abandoning the area for warmer climes, there isn’t too much to do here. There’s a small casino, but playing poker there isn’t much of an option. The rake is 5% with no maximum, a fact that really hits you between the eyes when you see $120 raked from a single pot. The caliber of play in those games is low enough that it’s almost worth the fight against the house, except that the folks dealing the cards don’t know the game and watching them pass pots to the wrong player or take ten minutes to take that three-figure rake or deal 15 hands an hour is entirely tilt-inducing. I figured that out while getting rivered on a $2,500 pot last night*. For the players, the state of the cash games are extra incentive to dominate in the tournament.

* OK, let me say here that I’m very good at taking my beats. In this particular hand, I got all-in on the turn with the board A-5-10 Q while holding A-5 to my opponent’s A-K (and an all-in player’s K-10) only to get rivered by a king. I’m pretty sure I’d have been fine if the dealer didn’t literally take seven minutes to deal that river card, then try to pass me the pot after doing so. Throw in the ironic habit they have of yelling “professionalis!” after every tip. Even I have my limits…I got up.**

 ** Special thanks to uber-blogger Joe Posnanski, whose work inspired my use of the asterisk here. 

The LAPT itself is proving a great success. The room was filled to capacity and then some to start the day. All manner of Latin American celebrities are here along with Humberto Brenes, Barry Greenstein, Greg Raymer, Brandon Cantu and a host of others. These folks are friends of mine, or at least friendlies (write enoug nice things about someone and they’re bound to like you on some level), but it’s nice to get a chance to see them outside the chaos of a WSOP or WPT. For them, a little $2,500 tournament is a nice excuse for a getaway and good times. It has a humanizing effect. Many good meals are bound to come.

The correlation between the pot size and the tournament entry definitely got me thinking. It’s been a good few weeks, with my poker profits somewhere in the $7,000 range, enough to show me that I’ve been learning through watching admidst my absence from the tables. I felt like a superior player in that game last night, yet here i sit on the sidelines while the faces from around that table play poker with the pros. Of course, in a couple of weeks, I’ll have hit a cold streak and will realize it was a ridiculous notion in the first place. Right?