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48 Hours - A Las Vegas Trip Report (Part 1)
By Terrance Chan

Disclaimer: This report was not written until this (Tuesday) morning. Details may have been forgotten; names and descriptions may have been changed to protect the innocent.

Wednesday Night, January 3

Pre-poker - Waiting is the hardest part

I've often heard people - sports psychologists and such as an example - state that if you mentally imagine a success in a big event of your life, the suggestion has enough power to become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Well, I can't say that I totally believe in that, but I can tell you that all I've been thinking about this week is how many towers of checks I'm gonna earn in that Strat 1-2 NLHE game. Trapping plays, railroading the opponent, making great calls with ace-high - these were the imaginary games being played in my head. So it was with tremendous anticipation that I counted the minutes to arrival on the plane, and converting the "miles to…" signs into time by guessing the shuttle's average mph.

When I arrived at the Strat, I had a decision to make: check-in, or poker room? C'mon, you know the answer. Unfortunately, the live game wasn't going yet, as all the players were in the tournament, so I checked in.

At check-in, I was informed that I'd been upgraded into a Tower Suite, or something like that. Great! I've been here five minutes and I've taken a good beat already. Now, I have to say that I don't even care in the slightest what kind of room I have. It's not like I'll ever be in the place. Anything beyond a big pile of straw is good by me. But this room was damn nice for the $33 I paid. But, I'm not here to marvel at some beds and tables.

The Local and the "Big Game"

After dumping all those unnecessary bags. What do I need all these clean clothes for? How will they help me win? I go down to the poker room and see if the game's going. It's not. Well, one guy was sitting at the table. He asks me if I want to play heads-up until some people bust out of the tournament.

Now, I'm no coward, but this guy's just screaming "local who plays for food money." Besides, I don't remember anything in Cloutier and McEvoy dealing with heads-up play, although I know how it works in limit. So I decline, and eat at the Italian restaurant there, to return shortly after.

On the way back to the poker room (the third time for those keeping score), I chastised myself for not playing Mr. Local Guy heads-up. What was I afraid of?

Anyway, the game started 3-handed. Me, and two locals. I could see them salivating at the sight of this clueless kid. Damn, I was wearing a camera around my neck. How tourist is that?

On to the game. Basically, I played like a pussy for a half hour. Sure, I wasn't getting cards, but this game isn't about cards, right? It's about people.

So let me tell you about the people. As it would turn out, the local I was so concerned with was probably the weakest one of them all, a very passive player.

There was one young player in the game from Boston. Within 5 minutes, I knew I liked his game. He had a quiet, studious aura and exuded confidence pushing those chips around. He bought in for $400 and turned it into at least $1200 very quickly.

There was a lady who would play very few hands, but came in for a big raise pre-flop or a big bet on the flop, rarely getting called. Take it, lady Doyle. She won for a bit, then left after an all-in encounter she took the worst of.

Seat 6 was the table's bigmouth - he was constantly trashtalking the table (except me, you know, don't tap on the glass). Every time he won or lost a hand he'd tell his foe how he was going to break him. But strong means weak - he was actually quite the pussycat and folded many flops. But I still figure he had game. IIRC (and I may not), he was one of the players who had negotiated a 2-way chop in the tournament.

The other player from that chop joined the table shortly after. He was a young, aggressive player in his early 20s who was another big talker, but was the probable favourite at the table since the Boston guy had left. Between this guy's, "I'm the man. You know I'm the man," and the other guy's "Yeah, I'm gonna bust you" as he pulled out more hundreds, I was starting to wonder whether every no-limit game sounded like seven Gary Payton clones at a poker table.

Bruce from Minnesota, a retired local, was my final opponent. Bruce played a cautious game, and usually had a hand when he made a move. I busted him once, and a little while after rebuying for $80 or so, he doubled through me, moving his last $50 in on a J-8-4 flop. I raised to $150 with KK to shut out the other players, only to see Bruce's 44.

And, of course, rounding out this table was your struly. I had some trouble applying Cloutier and McEvoy's strategy for a full-handed tournament NL game to a mostly shorthanded, live NL game. If you were playing me, it would have been a good idea just to overbet the pot to chase me out of it in the early going. But later on, I got myself on a real comfort zone and it wasn't long before I was on cold resteals and making good laydowns.

However, I quickly learned the Doyle Brunson bulldozer philosophy wasn't going to be my best style. A deceptive, trapping game was more up my alley. I quickly learned that in no-limit, the average-to-weak player is simply interested in extracting the maximum amount of their opponent when the hold a good hand. That's why trapping would work so well. Rope, noose, hang. Besides, if they don't make a hand, they might just bluff at it anyway.

The most interesting hand of mine came when I raised a J8o to steal the blinds 5-handed. Bruce called me out of the SB, and the flop came Jh-Js-8c. Check-check. Turn was a Qh. Check-check. River was a baby heart, and Bruce sent $15 into the pot. I wanted him to think I was contemplating a call, but all I was really thinking about was Vegas and the Bellagio.

I continued this mini-Hollywood, playing with my chips, counting them down and moving them back and forth, stared into his eyes and made it "fifty." Without any hesitation, Bruce says, "Move it all in", and with the same lack of hesitation completely ignoring the possibility I myself had been trapped with QQ, I said, "call".

He showed me the Ah3h, just before I rolled the sweetest full house I'd ever hit. As oohs and aahs were heard from the three other players, I get told about four times in the next hour that "you played that hand great." Yeah, I'm the king, baby. What does RGP think of this hand?

For good measure, here's Trap #2: I open-limp on the button 6-handed with 33. Why I did this, I couldn't tell you now. The SB folds his $1 blind, and me and the bigmouth in Seat 6 saw an A-T-9 rainbow flop. Check-check.

The turn was a lovely 3c, the second club on board. Check-check. I figure if he's got 2 clubs he's gonna bet on the come anyway. The free card is only gonna hurt me if he's also got a pocket pair, and if he does, I'll take my chances versus his two-outer. This way, I let him either make something or represent the flush if it hits. What do you think?

The river is another ace. He puts in $15, just like the first hand, and just like the first hand, I make it $50. Same Hollywood and all. He pushes it all in, and I call to double through him. I either didn't see or don't remember seeing his hand, and I don't care either. I'm the king, baby. Send the money.

Well, maybe I'm not the king quite yet. The aforementioned 44 vs. KK hand happens, and I finish the session a modest $75 on the positive side. Which I guess isn't bad for a game with 1-2 blinds, but with the amount of money on that table…wow. Anyway, there are no bad beats in no-limit, only bad calls, so I have no one to blame but myself.

With my NLHE virginity lost, I crashed at my suite early (about 3:45). For some reason, I had the idea that the pool might be open at this time. This thought - along with any hope that I might find a young female poker player with a killer smile and devastating body to come up and see the luxorious suite that high-rollers like me get comped to - were dashed by a big gate in front of the elevator door.

Oh well, more time to sleep, and subsequently more time to play poker. Yes, to sleep, perchance to dream about sets, straights, and flushes at the tournament tomorrow.