Shamus in Vegas: Episode 4 -- Shamus, Get Your Ass in Here!

I slipped between the tables to the back of the densely-packed room to Table 2 where Tom Schneider was in the early stages of his satellite. “Hang on a sec,” said Tom. I watched as he waited his turn to act, looked at his cards, then folded. He quickly stood up and with a handshake we moved back a few steps from the table to talk.

We ended up chatting for 10-15 minutes or so about Beyond the Table (the weekly podcast he co-hosts with Dan Michalski and Karridy Askenasy), Hard-Boiled Poker, what I’d been up to thus far in Vegas, and my subsequent plans for the week. I eagerly (and vainly) reported to Tom my successful day of 2/4 limit at the MGM. Might appear hopelessly incongruous to boast about winning a hundred clams to someone in the process of qualifying for a $25,000 buy-in event. But if you’ve ever heard Beyond the Table -- or read Tom’s book, Oops! I Won Too Much Money -- you’d know that Tom, like many successful pros, understands well how the significance of dollar amounts is all relative.

Tom is probably best known for his final table appearance at the WPT World Poker Challenge in Reno in 2006 where he placed third. (Here’s his Hendon Mob database entry.) He’s also made a couple of WSOP final tables -- the $3,000 pot limit hold ‘em event in 2002, and the $1,500 limit hold ‘em shootout last year. His book, subtitled “Winning Wisdom from the Boardroom to the Poker Table,” is not a conventional poker strategy text, but rather a series of short, highly-readable essays that impart valuable advice to poker players and others. Certain themes -- honesty, personal integrity, dealing fairly and openly with others, the benefits of hard work, knowing oneself -- emerge over the course of the book. I mentioned to Tom how I’d read it a few months ago, then gave it to Vera (who doesn’t play poker) who dog-eared certain chapters she thought I could stand to read again.

Every couple of minutes, Tom would move back to the table whenever another hand was dealt. Meanwhile I spot Shannon Elizabeth at a nearby table. Then, over to the left, I see Men “The Master” Nguyen stirring a glass of cream-laden coffee, head buried in a copy of CardPlayer. I scan the room for other big names, but am distracted when I notice Tom is not folding his hand.

I lean forward to see a ragged flop and the player to Tom’s left putting out a modest-sized bet. Tom looks at his cards again, then promptly pushes a larger stack of chips to the center to raise. As the initial bettor contemplates his decision, I’m stricken with apprehension that Tom might get involved in a big pot here -- perhaps even get busted. After a few moments, though, the player folds and Tom scoops the chips. He steps over and covering his mouth whispers “I had queen-four.” Not a hand that connected meaningfully with that board, I’m thinking. Nice.

For those of us who don’t follow every stop of the circuit, it is kind of incredible to witness how simple it is for poker fans to get close to their favorite players at these events. In his post on Monday, Dr. Pauly (reporting on the WPT Championship) describes the crush of fans snapping photos outside the Fontana Room, lamenting that the “scene has become all too common at poker tournaments.” Never really witnessed anything similarly out-of-hand when I was there, although I can certainly understand how such easy access to players could allow such scenes to develop -- and how tedious they must be to those who repeatedly must endure them.

During my time there, I tried to steer clear of the players’ business (for the most part), remaining content to watch from afar. Thus did I get a special kick out of Tom’s invitation. (Thanks again, Tom!) I took off shortly after that Q4 hand, moving back outside to reunite with Paul and Rick (see previous post). Tom would go on to qualify to compete against the other 638 players for the almost $4 million title. He made a respectable run in the event, too. He was sitting in 14th position out of the 117 players who made it through Day 2, though would eventually bust out just shy of the money.

Hung out with Paul a bit more. We talked about tourney vs. cash games, the current status of casinos/poker in England, our buds Cell 1919 and Cadmunkey, and whether or not his beloved Leeds United Association Football Club would be able avoid relegation this year. (Either gonna be Leeds or Hull City, correct?)

Around 3 p.m. I decided to run down to the Imperial Palace to play for a couple of hours before meeting up with Vera to see “O.” JasonSpaceman had recommended the Imperial to me as a place where the “competition is donkalicious.” I’d also read Aquaman’s account of his recent Vegas trip and how he had found the 2/4 game at the Imperial “FULL of wonderful fish.”

On entering the Imperial I saw only two tables with players. One was the afternoon tourney, the other the 2/4 game. Every seat was occupied at the 2/4 game, so I put my name on the list. A few minutes later, my seat was ready . . . .

Shamus in Vegas: Episode 3 -- Hands Across the Water

I successfully reached the Bellagio without my hat blowing across Las Vegas Blvd. (That would’ve been a sight.) Found the main poker room. Not quite what I’d remembered from two years ago, when I believe the poker tables were in a different location (and not sectioned off). The stylish video screen outside showed the lowest limit HE game being spread was 4/8, which I confirmed with the woman at the front desk. That nice run at the MGM gave me thoughts that perhaps I could take a shot at 4/8, but I knew I’d be better off sampling some of the other rooms before making any rash moves to higher stakes.

Ended up meeting some friends Wednesday night for dinner at Wolfgang Puck’s Bar & Grill over at the MGM. Had the steamed black mussels in white wine and garlic (excellent), coupla slices of sourdough slathered with Béarnaise (fair), and two pints of Stella Artois (yum, and yum). Still on Eastern time, Vera and I made it an early evening. Got up fairly early on Thursday and Vera took off to watch more dressage at the FEI World Cup. Meanwhile I caught the 10 a.m. shuttle back up to the strip. Had four items on the agenda: to pick up our tickets to “O” for that evening at the theatre in the Bellagio; to visit with my friend from England, Paul (a.k.a., the Microlimit Donkey); to find and say hello to Tom Schneider (of Beyond the Table), who was likely going to be trying satellite his way into the WPT Championship set to begin Saturday; and to play some poker.

I walked back to the Bellagio on the east side of the strip, passing the various souvenir shops along the way. All very touristy (as Dan from Beyond the Table & Pokerati might say). Watched a couple of brothers, probably aged six and eight, laughing like crazy at a plastic doll bent over and blowing bubbles out of his ass. Then I saw a man who was presumably the kids’ father sitting on the other side of the sidewalk, also laughing uncontrollably.

My own grin was just beginning to fade as I reached the Bellagio entrance. I picked up the tickets at the theatre, located just off the main poker room. I had about an hour still before Paul and I had arranged to meet. I lingered over the roulette tables for a while, thinking of Dostoevsky (and how little interest I had in plunking down any chips). I then decided to hike over to the Imperial Palace (only 10-15 minutes away) to scout the poker room there. The Imperial’s poker room, conveniently located just to the right of the entrance, was spreading a 2/4 limit game. They also had a $50 tourney beginning at 2 p.m. which I thought could be a possibility. I decided to return later in the afternoon.

I walked back over to the Bellagio and at noon met Paul on the sidewalk. Even though we’d never met face-to-face (having only previously communicated via our blogs and over email), we recognized each other immediately. My hat probably gave me away, while Paul’s Leeds United jersey served as my clue. We shook hands there before the fountains and walked inside.

As we walked, Paul told me about his week of poker, blackjack, and craps, picking my brain for thoughts about some of the hands he’d played. He also told me about the many pros he’d already seen -- and, in some cases, with whom he’d discussed some of those same hands -- at the Bellagio during the week. He led me over to the Fontana Room, and we saw Steve Dannenmann walking out as we stepped inside.

There we ran into Rick, a new friend of Paul’s who used to deal over at the Starlight. We stepped back outside and ran into Rick’s friend and poker pro Peter “the Poet” Costa. He earned that nickname thanks to his poem “The Big One” commemorating the 2000 WSOP Main Event. The Cyprus-born player has had a long, successful career, including four WSOP final tables (in three different games). We only visited for a short while, but he struck me as a very nice guy. Sort of what you’d expect from the last stanza of “The Big One”:

For after all, it’s just a game
So lose your chips, but not your name
And win or lose it with a smile
And do it all with charm and style.

While we visited, I snapped this photo of Peter (left) and Paul (right):

















Peter took off and as we started to discuss lunch plans Kenna James strutted past in a red button-up shirt and signature black cowboy hat. He took a spot alone at the end of the long line of registrants to the next satellite. I mentioned to Paul how I’d written a post about James last summer, and he’d even been gracious enough to send me an email about it. Encouraged by Paul, I went over and introduced myself. We chatted for a short while until Kathy Liebert took a place in line behind James. I watched (a little starstruck, I must admit) as the two of them traded $1000 and $5000 chips so each would have the correct change for the satellite. Said hello to Liebert and shook her hand, wished them both well in the satellite, then scampered back to Paul and Rick.

The three of us walked over to Snacks for sandwiches. Paul and I traded stories, alternating between life stuff and poker stuff. Paul’s a thoughtful, super-friendly guy and I’m really glad our trips coincided and we were able to meet. He was among the first ever to comment on Hard-Boiled Poker (coming close to the one-year anniversary here), and I know I’m not the only blogger who has appreciated his feedback over the last twelve months. To give you an idea of Paul’s friendly, outgoing nature, when we ran into Rick, I had assumed he and Paul were old friends -- in fact, they’d only just met earlier in the week. (Go check out Paul’s blog for more about his week, including the tourneys in which he played.)

We finished lunch and moved back over to the main poker room to rail a little more. I was due to meet Tom who had just begun the 1 p.m. satellite and was seated somewhere in the main room. He had told me it was okay to call him even if he were at the table. So I did. Soon I noticed a figure in the back of the room standing with his arm waving while the voice in my ear was asking if I could see him.

“Come on back,” he said. So I did.

Shamus in Vegas: Episode 2 -- The Return

The decision to play at the MGM Grand poker room was due to a couple of factors. For one, I rarely play live, and the only time I’d ever played in Vegas before was at the MGM -- a couple of years ago, not too long after they had opened, I believe. I wasn’t necessarily nervous, but did consider the calming benefits of familiar surroundings. Also, I guessed they’d likely be spreading a 2/4 limit game. I knew when the trip began that I’d not be venturing any higher than 3/6. And while I am aware how difficult it is to stay ahead of the rake at 2/4, I mainly wanted to gather some live experience here.

I worked my way through the slots, roulette wheels, and blackjack tables. Looked in on Sky and Jade, a pair of seven-and-a-half year old lions on display not too far from the poker area. They appeared sleepy. I couldn’t have been more awake. Put myself on the list for 2/4 limit. My name was fifth.

I waited for 20-25 minutes or so, watching the 1/2 NL game going on at the near table. Later I jotted down a couple of the hands I saw. (All of the hands I recount here come from notes I took soon afterwards.) In the first an EP player raised to $15 and everyone folded to a LP player who called. The flop came 992, and EP quickly pushed out $30 of chips. LP leans in and flicks his hand forward, saying he’s all-in (for $115 or so, I believe). EP thinks a bit and folds, and LP shows . The other hand was another large pot -- $200 or so -- in which JJ cracked big slick when a jack flopped.

After seven names have appeared on the board, they send us all back to Table 18 on the other side of the room, far away from the NL game but near the two remaining tables of the daily tournament. As I approach the table I see the only person seated is an older woman looking like she’s having trouble working her cell phone. I decide to sit on her right. I’d subsequently be glad about that decision, as she never raised a single hand preflop -- not even with AA -- during the two hours we played together. I buy $100 worth of chips and await the rest of the players.

Five show up (including me), then no more. Didn’t much like the idea of only playing short-handed, but then again most of my play online over the last year has been 6-max. I notice the plaque beside the dealer that describes the rake: 10%, $4 max. We drew for the button, and I got the ace. Might as well consider that a sign.

The first hand I was dealt KQ (on the button) and watched as everyone limped in. I just called as well, telling myself Miller/Sklansky/Malmuth certainly wouldn’t approve of such applesauce. The flop came three baby cards and when someone bet I hastily got out. Sheesh, Shamus (you’re cryin’). How you gonna win playing like that?

The tightness continued for the next couple of orbits, as I folded nearly every hand. Meanwhile, I noticed everyone else was playing every hand. I mentioned back in January Barry Tanenbaum’s advice about trying to win your first significant hand when sitting down for a session of limit HE (which I’d heard him discuss on Keep Flopping Aces). Tanenbaum finally formulated that advice as a CardPlayer column just a couple of weeks ago, where he recommends starting out conservatively and trying to win the first hand one plays to the end as a means to establish a positive image. (And achieve a little self-confidence, too.)

At last I pick up in the cutoff and raise it up. The button -- a tanned gentleman in a gray baseball cap with a blue bill -- calls, as do both blinds, and the flop comes QJ6. Checks to me, I bet, and the button raises. The others fold and I decide to reraise. Baseball cap just calls. The turn is a king. I bet and he just calls. The river is a 9. We both check and he turns over QJ for two pair. I’m down to $84. So much for winning that first hand.

I’m actually not too bummed, remembering how I had in fact spooked Baseball cap into just calling my flop reraise and checking the river, saving myself a few chips. The fact was, the entire table was very passive and very predictable. They’d call if they hit the flop -- however modestly -- but almost never raised unless they really had something special. And no one seemed ever to three-bet.

A few hands later the table fills up with players in all ten seats. I pick up in LP and limp in along with everyone else. The flop comes three hearts and all check. The turn is the and again everyone else checks. I throw out four chips and the table folds. Toss one to the dealer and see I am up exactly two dollars. I’d been playing for half an hour.

Soon I’m on the button and look down to find . (Never got rockets once two years ago, I thought fleetingly.) Four players limp, I raise, and everyone -- including both blinds -- calls. Seven players to see the flop. My poor aces, I think. The flop is and all check to the cutoff who thankfully bets. I raise, causing everyone else to fold, and he just calls. The pot is up around $40. The turn is the and his rapid check tells me it is much more likely he’s holding the queen than the jack. I bet and his call esssentially confirms my suspicion. The river brings the , giving me the boat. He check-folds, and I decide to show my aces. “Ace [on the river] cost you a bet,” he informs me. “Queen?” I ask. He nods, eyes closed. I tip the dealer again. I’m up $30 or so.

About an orbit later I get JJ in the small blind. Again, nearly the entire table limps in. I go ahead and raise it and everyone (but one) calls. The flop comes a sweet KJ8-rainbow and I bet out. Three players call. The turn is another king, giving me jacks full. I bet again, expecting someone with a king to raise me. All fold except one player across the table from me who just calls. The river is an ace. I know he doesn’t have big slick. I’m also doubting seriously he has K8. I bet and he raises. I pause a beat, and announce reraise. The table is murmuring that I must have AK. With a desperate look, my opponent calls and shows QT for a rivered straight. Another tip, this time for Bob (whom I remembered had dealt at my table two years ago, as well). I drag the $60 pot and start building more twenty-blue-chip towers.

Some younger guys come to the table -- all friends, a couple of whom are brothers -- and the chat increases. The mood is friendly and I’m feeling very comfortable, particularly now that I’m ahead about $65. Was a little amazed at how often players around the table were acting out of turn. The dealers did a pretty good job, however, keeping all in line. Meanwhile, I tried to pay attention and play every hand exactly the same way, dropping a chip on my cards before looking at them, then riffling a couple of small stacks with my left hand while awaiting my turn to act.

I fold a few more hands, watching with amusement as a big-haired woman with sunglasses accidentally bluffs one of the young guys out of a medium-sized pot with a river bet. He had raised preflop -- something he did every single time he was dealt an ace, as far as I could tell -- and the flop had come AQ5. Everyone but the big-haired lady had gotten out by the river, which brought another queen. Acting first, the lady surprisingly bets, causing the young man to groan. Then he breaks into a good-natured smile and folds with a chuckle, showing his ace as he does. She then turns over K4. “You bluffed me!” cries the young man, incredulously. She takes off her sunglasses and explains she thought she had a queen. The table cracks up.

A new player arrives announcing he is buying in for $160. Uh oh, I think. This table is going well for me, and I don’t want somebody who knows what he’s doing screwing it up. My fears dissolve immediately, however, as he leans over to tell the dealer “This is my first time playing. Please tell me if I’m doing something wrong.” A nice fellow, he asks several players where they are from. Eventually he and I chat a bit. He tells me he’s only played $0.25/$0.50 online. I don’t offer any information about my own background, instead just telling him that online is a great place to learn the game. Later on he’ll ask me if I’ve been playing for a long time. “Not really,” I answered.

A few hands later I get on the button and decide to call with the rest of the table. Eight or nine of us see a flop that brings two diamonds, including the . An early position player bets and a couple of others call. I call as well, making the pot $40 or so. The turn brings another diamond, giving me the nut flush. EP bets again, one other player calls, and I raise. Both call. The river’s a blank, and both players check-call me. EP shows an ace, the other mucks, and I show the nuts. Another nice pot -- $60 or so. “He can’t miss,” someone exhales from across the table. I shrug and tell my side of the table I’m getting hit over the head with cards. I’m up about $90.

After that I go back into mostly-folding mode. I do semi-bluff one hand when I flop a flush draw, causing my only two opponents to fold. I win another hand with AQ-suited. Some players start to leave and as we head back down to short-handed I decide I’ve had enough. I grab a couple of racks and carry my $195 worth of chips over to the desk to cash out, pocketing one for a souvenir.

Not a bad way to spend two hours, I’m thinking as I head back out through the casino. I certainly benefited from some nice cards and fortunate timing. Didn’t take that much, frankly, to distinguish myself with that particular group of players. But I thought I’d played fairly well, too, adjusting to the table and picking my spots.

I push out the MGM doors and move out onto the sidewalk. Decide to wind my way up to the Bellagio, where I’m curious to see what games are being spread (and whether any pros might be trying to satellite into the WPT championship). I keep one hand on my hat as fifty-mile-an-hour winds are blowing across Las Vegas Blvd. Dust from ubiquitous construction on both sides of the street makes the journey even less pleasant.

But I’m feeling fine.

Shamus in Vegas: Episode 1 -- Overture

So we land at McCarran mid-morning Wednesday. Work our way down to baggage claim, slot machines and big-screen ads filling the air with a raucous din. Takes a good long while for our flight’s luggage to appear on the carousel. Meanwhile a largish crowd has gathered. Finally the chute starts spitting out bags, and as I stand there leaning forward, eyes trained on the opening, someone taps me on the shoulder.

“So they just go around in a circle, right?”

A reasonable question. How else you gonna know? Right?

Just got home a couple of hours ago and I am fairly exhausted. The trip was a total blast from beginning to end. Took a lot of notes and have a ton to relate. Even used that digital audio recorder once. Thought at first I might take a few days and produce an Iggy-styled uberpost relating the entire adventure in one shot. Decided instead to parcel it out over several posts -- ten in all (including this one). I may have to interrupt the narrative if other matters arise, but barring that eventuality, here’s what the next nine posts will describe:

Episode 2 -- The Return
Barely unpacked, I head over to the MGM Grand for an afternoon of 2/4 limit hold ’em.

Episode 3 -- Hands Across the Water
I meet up with Paul, a.k.a. the Microlimit Donkey -- poker player, Leeds United fan, and helluva nice guy.

Episode 4 -- Shamus, Get Your Ass In Here!
I visit with Tom Schneider (Beyond the Table, Oops! I Won Too Much Money) as he tries to satellite into the WPT Championship.

Episode 5 -- “It’s Only Money”
More 2/4 limit hold ’em, this time at the Imperial Palace, including the craziest damn hand of the week.

Episode 6 -- The Place That Made Poker Famous
I take the trip downtown and try the 2/4 game at Binion’s.

Episode 7 -- Pass the Tequila
I hang out for awhile in the booth with Wade Andrews of Hold ’em Radio.

Episode 8 -- They Even Have Books About Crazy Pineapple
I visit the Gambler’s Bookshop where Howard Schwartz gives me a lollipop and a bottle of water.

Episode 9 -- What Happens In Vegas Gets Spread All Over the Internet
Riding back uptown on the Deuce, the entire second level (and now, the world) learns how a certain young lady’s trip to the Rio went the night before.

Episode 10 -- Stargazing
Wandering around the Bellagio with Vera on Day 1A of the WPT Championship Main Event.

* * * * *
Vera and I stayed at the Best Western down on Paradise Road -- cheaper than the strip, of course, and much more convenient for walking over to the Thomas & Mack Center where the FEI World Cup Finals were taking place. (The real reason for the trip.) We arrived at the hotel around 11 and were able to check in early, allowing me to catch the noon shuttle up to the MGM Grand.

I had been to Vegas only once before -- two years ago -- when I had only played a single three-hour session of 2/4 at the MGM Grand. I had been playing poker online for just a few months at the time, and was probably fortunate to have only lost a little over $50 in that exciting (if a little bewildering) session. Riding up Tropicana Avenue in the Best Western van, I knew I’d be going back to the MGM to see if perhaps I’d learned anything over the past two years . . . .

Stay tuned.

Next Stop, Vegas

No blogging for the next few days as I’m in Vegas until Sunday. Should be a fun trip. I’ll most certainly be taking a notepad to keep track of what’s going on. Vera has also supplied me with a fancy digital recorder, though I’ve yet to tutor myself how to work the thing. (In fact, I’m not even sure how to turn it on.) Hopefully I’ll figure it out and come back with some stories to relate.

Thanks again, well wishers! Everybody have a good week.

Lament

In the first part of Barry Greenstein’s Ace on the River: An Advanced Poker Guide, Greenstein introduces the “Poker World.” After detailing his own career as a player, he then tells of various characters and behaviors one should expect to encounter in poker rooms. Amid the discussion appears a brief section titled “Insensitivity of some gamblers” -- really just an excuse to share a few anecdotes that demonstrate the occasional callousness one finds among some famous poker players.

For example, the first such story concerns the legendary Johnny Moss (winner of the 1970, 1971, and 1974 WSOP Main Events). Moss was in the midst of enduring a losing session when the wife of a player who had recently died called him to ask if he’d help pay for the funeral. “I’m losing my money to live people,” Moss responded. “I don’t have any for the dead.”

I would imagine that even the most thick-skinned among us had to experience at least a twinge of sorrow at the news of yesterday’s tragedy at Virginia Tech. Today we awoke to more details about what happened yesterday morning at West Ambler Johnston dormitory and then later in four different classrooms at Norris Hall. The sheer brutality demonstrated by the shooter exceeds comprehension. So does the enormity of the event, something newspaper editors tried vainly to communicate via the large fonts of today’s front page headlines.

Reading those articles this morning, I realized what grieves me the most about what happened. I’d be upset no matter where such a horror took place. But what really bothers me is how most of it happened in classrooms.

I’ve spent a great deal of my life in college classrooms. Most of that time has been especially positive. I’m not going to rehearse all of the tired clichés here about the importance of learning and education and thinking critically and so on. Those of you who have spent time in college classrooms or on college campuses know what generally happens there, and how special and important those places can be. And how the world needs places like that where we can go and figure things out.

College campuses also happen to be places where some of the best, most edifying examples of community exist in our troubled world. That’s a good thing for those at Virginia Tech right now. No one there has to go through this alone.

So while my thoughts are more than a little occupied with my Vegas trip this week, I thought I’d at least acknowledge here that despite occasional evidence to the contrary, we poker players ain’t uniformly insensitive to what’s happening away from the tables.

Stay strong, Virginia Tech.

I Declare; or, Uncle Sam's Rake

Now my advice to those who die --
Declare the pennies on your eyes.

Will be jetting into McCarran International Airport day after tomorrow. Arrive midday, and so may even be able to sit down at a poker table somewhere there on the strip Wednesday afternoon.

Yesterday Vera Valmore and I went ahead and reserved tickets to one show -- O -- which we’ll be seeing in the theatre at the Bellagio on Thursday night. Gotta admit, I haven’t the first clue what it is about . . . but hey, why not? Would’ve preferred to see Love, that other Cirque du Soleil show featuring the music of the Beatles, but that one is shut down this week.

I suppose about everyone who has a pulse likes the Beatles. I do, too, thanks in no small part to my father, who saw A Hard Day’s Night in college and then soon was playing covers of early Beatles tunes in his band.

Some years after that experience, he could frequently be found driving around a young Shamus in a miserable, dirty white Plymouth Valiant (affectionately referred to as “the Bomb” around the house), the only redeeming feature of which was an eight-track player. Soon after acquisition of said Bomb, the glove compartment became home to four items -- the two cartridges of The Beatles 1962-1966 (a.k.a., the “red album”), and the two of The Beatles 1967-1970 (a.k.a., the “blue album”). The soundtrack to my youth. Almost typed the “uninterrupted” soundtrack, but as anyone who remembers 8-tracks knows, there were interruptions -- about every eleven minutes or so, as I recall. Eventually I’d pick up one of the many acoustic guitars we had laying around the house and learn to play by following the chords detailed in The New York Times’ Great Songs of Lennon & McCartney (compiled by Milton Okun).

Harrison’s “Taxman” doesn’t appear on the Red album. (I’d eventually get to Revolver and the rest.) Nor, obviously, is “Taxman” in the NY Times songbook. The tune is on the mind, though, as we Americans have until tomorrow to do our annual duty and file taxes on last year’s income. For that small percentage of us who play poker online and who managed to come out ahead for 2006, we face a decision: To declare or not to declare?

Have written before about getting started with online poker. After a few months of play money fun, I made my first $50 deposit on Stars in November 2004. Started out playing for pennies, and about three months later was still sitting on that initial fifty bucks. As I didn’t see a profit for the end of ’04, it didn’t occur to me even to think about taxes for that year. But by the end of ’05 I did earn enough to make me decide to go ahead and list what I’d won as “gambling winnings.” Am doing the same for ’06, reporting a good bit more this time around. By running the numbers both with and without those poker profits, I can see that I am giving back around 31%-33% of my winnings to Uncle Sam. Not as bad as “one for you, nineteen for me,” but still a hell of a rake.

At any given moment over on 2+2, there are usually at least a few active threads in the Legislation section where posters debate whether or not to claim their winnings. Some say they never pay; others insist paying is the only +EV option. Much of the discussion over there concerns those who list themselves as professionals (or are considering doing so), and so all the talk of deductions and whatnot doesn’t apply to me.

I know there are those who probably would view me as a sucker for paying anything at all. Some would probably look at the amount I’m reporting and say it falls under what they’d consider the minimum one needs to be worrying about when it comes to declaring. To be honest, if I’d made the money in a brick-and-mortar poker room, and received no W-2’s or other documentation recording how much I’d taken home, I probably wouldn’t bother declaring. Having played online, however, I did leave that electronic paper trail through the various poker sites, Neteller, and my bank, and so I figure I might as well own up.

As I’ve said before here many times, I ain’t so keen on gambling, and so regard this as another example of my having chosen not to take an unnecessary risk. What you do is your call. (I ain’t the taxman, so I’ve no opinion on that subject.)

A Change in the Cards?

I am a member of the Poker Players Alliance. I joined about a week after the UIGEA was signed into law back in October. Ponied up the twenty bucks and got my t-shirt, lapel pin, and PPA membership card that now rides around in my wallet next to an old laundry receipt, business cards of unremembered origin, and a sadly useless Subway Sub Club card. The membership card is one of those fancy lenticular cards where the image changes when you tilt it back and forth. Symbolizing the PPA’s intention to create change, perhaps? Or to create groovy-lookin’ cards.

The membership number on the back of the card suggests I was among the first 20,000 to join. (I suppose that might be true.) Today the PPA is reporting a membership of over 330,000 -- impressive, to be sure, although with free sign-ups via the internet there are several reasons one might question the legitimacy of that figure. Still, anyone who joins is -- theoretically -- of voting age and thus of tangible relevance to elected officials.

There’s been a lot of speculation about the PPA and its efficacy as a grass-roots, agenda-affecting organization. Some of the doubts are well-founded, though I’m going to give the PPA some credit here for doing what it can to marshall together a group whose numbers might well impress those who need impressing. Thursday’s webcast “chat” with Chairman of the Board Alphonse D’Amato clearly demonstrated the PPA’s number one priority right now is to attract more members into the fold. The webcast was open to anyone -- not just those of us with the fancy cards in our wallets -- and amounted to a thirty-minute rallying cry. (The PPA has posted an excerpt of the webcast over on YouTube; they intend to post the entire show in the near future.)

D’Amato was actually fairly communicative and (for the most part) actually answered the 15-20 questions that had been emailed to him. There was one misstep early on by D’Amato during his opening remarks. After running through the various reasons why the UIGEA is objectionable, he then lamented how people are “now” being arrested for playing poker. A couple of problems, here. For one, D’Amato seemed to imply a causal link between the UIGEA and the arrests of individuals running illegal live poker clubs such as has occurred recently in Cary, North Carolina, Indianapolis, and Atlanta. Obviously not true. The other, equally false implication here is that people are being arrested for playing poker online -- as if that were part of the UIGEA’s purview. I don’t think D’Amato intended either of these connections, but as the group’s spokesperson he should strive to be precise whenever referring to particulars of the present situation.

As I say, from a rhetorical standpoint the webcast amounted to a rallying cry for those already in the fold, and (perhaps) a recruitment tool for those yet to join. Makes sense, since it is fairly apparent that as of today, the PPA is clearly the short stack at the legislative table. As D’Amato mentioned in the webcast, Barney Frank does not intend to make any distinctions on the House floor that would consider poker any differently from other forms of gambling. As I mentioned in that note I added to my last post, this statement indicates to me that we will not be seeing any attempt here in the near term to introduce a poker “carve out” into the UIGEA. One can further surmise that since poker isn’t going to be given any special treatment next week -- or whenever Frank does introduce to Congress the subject of revisiting the UIGEA (reports from week’s end suggest it might in fact be some time before Frank makes his move) -- an organization of poker players, no matter how large, ain’t really part of the discussion. Now that I think about it, the PPA isn’t the short stack -- they’re on the rail.

Which is where they (ahem, I mean “we”) will be staying, it is likely, unless membership grows to something like NRA numbers (i.e., the millions). Even then -- as I’ve said before here -- it is hard to imagine the right to play online poker ever becoming a significant concern of legislators.

There is hope, though. As one 2+2 poster succinctly pointed out this week, “We have to remember that this issue is really a small blip on the national radar. But that fact was what allowed the UIGEA to get ‘passed’ in the first place, and it can be used to get it undone too.” Unnecessary scare quotes aside, the poster has a point. The issue’s relative obscurity may well reduce the stakes (as it were), enabling members of Congress to support a repeal of the dubiously-passed legislation without necessarily facing any meaningful political backlash.

Nifty how these cards work. One wishes the UIGEA could be changed as easily.

Making Plans

The Hard-Boiled Poker World Tour rolls into Vegas in less than a week. Starting to make plans. Gonna meet up with some folks, play a little poker, get over to the Gambler’s Bookshop at some point, and perhaps do some stargazing over at the Bellagio since I’ll be there during the lead-up to the WPT World Championship that begins Saturday the 21st.

Meanwhile, I have registered for that “Poker Players Alliance Chat with Senator Alfonse D’Amato Webcast” thingamabob occurring later this afternoon. We’ll see if my operating system is sufficiently compatible for me to be able to listen in. The event is scheduled to last for thirty minutes. I’m guessing rather than a “chat” we’ll be more likely treated to another monologue (of sorts) from the Rambling Gambling Man. I also can’t imagine we’ll be hearing much that is new today. Nonetheless, I am curious to hear how the Chairman of the Board will choose to address the organization he’s being paid to represent.

It is possible that D’Amato might say something about the legislation that Barney Frank, the Democratic Congressman from Massachusetts, will apparently be introducing on the floor of the House next week. Recent reports have suggested Wednesday, April 18th will be the day Frank will play his hand. (Same day I’m flying to Vegas, so I suppose that countdown I’ve added over on the right-column is serving a dual purpose.) A Poker Player Newspaper article from March 28th reported Frank to be “consulting widely before moving forward with the drafting of legislation which will include but not be limited to a poker carve out from [the] UIGEA.” The article also says that Frank is not consulting with either D’Amato or the PPA, which makes me think D’Amato will be necessarily vague today when responding to any questions about upcoming legislation.

Making some sort of attempt now to repeal (or at least alter) the UIGEA is certainly appropriate. Federal regulators have yet to issue their instructions to “designated payment systems” and “financial transaction providers” to stop their clients from dealing with online gambling sites. But that rumbling we’re hearing in the distance indicates the storm’s approach. Online gambling-foe Jon Kyl -- the Republican senator from Arizona who was involved in the drafting of earlier versions of what became the UIGEA -- apparently wrote a letter to President Bush last month urging the executive branch to get moving with those instructions. (I say “apparently” because there seems to be some doubt about the authenticity of Kyl’s letter -- see this Kick Ass Poker post for links/details.)

I would think that preventing the delivery of those instructions to federal regulators would be a high priority for those desirous to preserve the precarious stability of the online poker industry. Since Frist pulled his ruse in the dead of night last September, we’ve experienced a couple of “calamity”-type events that have shaken the online poker world -- e.g., the day Party announced it was pulling out, the day Neteller bailed. Neither of those setbacks will compare to the tidal wave of paranoia-slash-anxiety that will crash down on us once the U.S. Attorney General and those who serve on the Federal Reserve send their instructions to the banks. I guarantee it. (Am hoping with everyone else that day does not come.)

The day the UIGEA was signed into law, I wrote a post saying I didn’t think we’d ever see a carve out for poker. Can’t really say I’m thinking much differently six months later. That opinion was/is partially based on my belief that no matter what they might be saying in Russia at the moment, poker is “a game based on chance.” The fact that most everything in this life might be described that way is beside the point. As long as the U.S. government does not explicitly exclude poker from the category -- and I don’t think they ever will -- poker is covered by the UIGEA.

My opinion that we won’t see a poker carve out also stems from my experience living in America and being acquainted with the culture here. I just cannot imagine a majority of Congress ever finding it useful politically to identify themselves as supporters of poker, especially online poker. So while Frank may be consulting about the feasibility of seeking a carve out, it is much more likely we’ll see a more comprehensive argument from him about how the entire Act violates our civil liberties and should therefore be repealed outright.

(EDIT [added 4/12/07, 3:40 p.m.]: During the session, D’Amato confirmed that Congressman Frank would be introducing legislation next week. At first, D'Amato said -- ambiguously -- that such legislation would be to “amend this law, to do away with this law.” Later he was asked specifically whether or not Frank would be making any distinctions between poker and other forms of gambling. D’Amato said that while he was not privy to details, he understood that Frank’s proposed legislation would not distinguish between poker and other forms of gambling. It appears evident, then, that Frank will not be seeking any “carve out” for poker next week, but rather a wholesale repeal of the UIGEA.)

Can’t say I’m all that optimistic about that plan, either. But how does that saying go? He who fails to plan plans to fail . . . ?

Speaking of . . . . Anybody have any suggestions about where I might want to play low limit HE -- no higher than $3/$6, I’m afraid -- when I go to Vegas next week? I might also be able to withstand a $1/$2 PLO game, if such an animal exists on the strip. All advice is welcome.

Master of the Obvious

Doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realize when it comes to poker, we’re living in a Hold ’em world at the moment. So I know not everyone reading this here blog will be all that enthralled by discussions of pot limit Omaha hands. Take a ride with me, though, on this here brief voyage of discovery . . . .

At least two factors in PLO make reading hands after the flop relatively less difficult than in hold ’em (especially no limit). For me, anyway. One is the number of hands in play -- at a nine-handed table, I’m essentially looking at 54 different two-card combinations that can be matched with those three flopped community cards. That means, of course, that when assessing the board, just about any possible hand I can think of is probably going to be out there -- particularly when there’s several players seeing the flop. So if I ain’t holding the best possible hand, someone else probably is. (Something one really shouldn’t assume so readily in hold ’em.)

The other factor that makes hand-reading a simpler matter is the fact that the game is pot limit. In this game I never face the ambiguity of an all-in raise wildly disproportionate to the size of the pot. That is not say there is no guesswork at all here -- but with certain flops, a pot-sized bet is usually a pretty strong indicator of what a player is holding. And the relative purity of your own outs is usually easier to calculate as well.

Let’s say it’s a $0.10/$0.25 PLO game and I’m in late postion. Seven players have limped in. The flop comes 569-rainbow and a player in early position bets pot. It is reasonable to assume here that two of his cards are probably 7 and 8 (or perhaps he has a set). And anyone who calls and/or raises before the action gets to me probably has a set (or perhaps a 7 and an 8). So if I don’t also hold the nut straight -- or at the very least a set of nines -- I’m basically ignoring the evidence before me if I don’t let it go. (I’m talking lower limits here, of course -- $25 or $50 max. buy-in -- and so can’t really speak to the sort of meta-games happenin’ over at the $100/$200 PLO tables on Full Tilt.)

So, in a sense, what I’m saying here is that doing well at PLO requires -- among other things -- at least being able to master the obvious. Here are three hands where I’ve determined being in possession of this here much-underrated skill to have been a factor.

Hand No. 1

I limp in early position with . Six of us see a flop of (pot $1.50). I’ve flopped the second-best straight, but I’m also holding two of the queens, which makes someone else holding KQ just a bit less likely than it would have been otherwise. The big blind bets a quarter. (I’ve seen a lot of people try this nuisance-minimum bet either with very little or to disguise a monster.) I go ahead and bet pot -- $1.75 -- to see what’s what. Folds around to a player in late position who fires out $7.00 (again, a pot-sized bet). And the big blind calls. What once seemed unlikely now seems undeniable. I fold. Sure enough, both players hold KQ.

Hand No. 2

I’m on the button with and again I just limp, as do three others (pot $1.00). Flop comes . Early position player opens with a probe bet of $0.50 and the other two players call. I don’t have much, but call as well with my overpair. Pot is $3.00. Turn comes . Again, EP bets half-pot -- $1.50 -- and again both of the other players call. I’ve got the up-and-down draw (plus the Q-high flush draw) and 5-to-1 to call, so I do. Pot is $9.00. The river is a and all three players rapidly check to me. I’ve missed my draw. There are several straight possibilities out there, but it is pretty damn clear no one has the Q9. If EP had it, he’d have bet here. And if anyone else had it, they’d have raised the turn. Rarely do I outright bluff in PLO. I’ll semi-bluff or open bet big draws, but almost never do I stone cold bluff. At this particular table, I’d cultivated the tight image, only showing down winners. I take the plunge and plunk down $7.00 -- a little over 3/4 the pot. Thinking I obviously have the nut straight, all fold. (I would have, too.)

Hand No. 3

So as not to give the impression I don’t screw up from time to time, here’s a blunder-filled mess of a hand for you that also demonstrates the principle. On this one I make a dubious call from the button with . Six are in, so the pot is $1.50. The flop comes . I’ve flopped the nut straight with my sketchy holding. A player in early position bets half-pot, and I hastily make a pot-sized raise -- telling the table, essentially, I’ve got J9. He quickly calls. Pot is $9.00. The turn is the and my opponent checks. What might he have? Immediately I assumed QJ -- not because I am a pessimist, but because I am a realist. But I bet $5.00 anyway. (Really.) Like a shot he raises to $10. Now it’s obvious. He has the better straight. But I look at my once-proud straight, my two pair, my baby flush draw, my chance to counterfeit if a queen comes . . . and I talk myself into calling. Terrible. Pot is $29.00. The river is a . Three pair no good. EP bets his last $11.00. Everyone at the table knows he’s got the nuts, including me. But somehow I decide that with 4-to-1 to call, the bluff might be possible (yeah, right), and pay the man off. I drop $25.00 on the hand, $21.00 of which I could have easily saved if only I had mastered the obvious.

As that last hand illustrates, I do occasionally run into trouble when flopping the nuts then stubbornly hangin’ on after a ruinous turn card. Sometimes you just don’t want to believe what you’re seeing. (Like that boat up there -- that’s a static image, I promise you. Read more here.) In fact, I’m starting to figure out that it’s much better to turn the nuts -- that’s where one really gets paid (as my opponent did in Hand No. 3).

For the most part, though, I think I’m doing fairly well believing what I’m seeing. One encounters a lot of subtleties playing pot limit Omaha. But one also encounters a lot that’s obvious, too.