BARGE 2004

                       BARGE 2004 Trip Report
                           by Bruce Hayek

Thursday Night
--------------

Our flight is at 8:00, and Lenny calls that afternoon to say he'll be
by my house at 6:45 to go to the airport.  Cutting it kind of close,
but he's a lawyer and has to have face time in the office, even if he
is just surfing the net.  At 6:40, I'm packed and waiting to run out
the door, Lenny calls and says he's running late.  That's taking "face
time" a little too far.

"How late?"
"I'm about 20 minutes away.  Oh, and I need to stop for gas too."

Crap.  So I tell him to speed up, and start pacing.  To ease my nerves
I flip on the TV, the democratic ntl' convention is on.  I watch for
just long enough to confirm that it's nothing but an enormous soulless
commercial, then turn off the TV and start figuring out how to shave
seconds off our drive time.

I call Lenny back and tell him I'll walk down the street and meet him
at the gas station to save a few minutes.  I then trudge .5 miles in
80 degree heat with my bag on my back, and get in Lenny's car sweating
and urging him on.

We're on 101 weaving in and out of traffic, it's 7:30 and we're about
15 minutes from the airport.  I berate Lenny some more, and say that
we'll have to park in the usurious short term parking lot to have any
chance to make the flight.  Lenny is not responding at all, just
looking kind of befuddled, which I interpret as chagrin.  We hit a
small pocket of traffic with about 15 minutes until flight time, and I
say, "Oh well, I guess we're fucked.  Hope they have another flight
later that we can take."

Finally Lenny says something.  "You really think one hour and ten
minutes isn't enough?"

There's a heavy silence in the car.

"Lenny, what time is our flight?"

"It's at 8:50, isn't it?"

It is indeed.  

Space Cadet strikes again.  I though our flight left in 10 minutes,
while Lenny genuinely believed that I was anal enough to be fretting
about getting to the airport a mere *one hour* early.  I'm seeing us
having 5 minutes to reach our gate, envisioning us sprinting across
SJC being chased by guards after hurdling the security check point.
Lenny's picturing us waiting in the lounge for one hour.

We make the flight with time to spare -- imagine that -- and we're
soon seated and taking out the cards for some airborne heads-up
freeze-out action.  We figure the long term parking will cost $60, so
I offer to play for that and give Lenny a 2-to-1 overlay for driving.
I win the first one, Lenny renegotiates and wins the second.  With 15
minutes left in the flight we still haven't settled, so we start a
final freeze-out.

Our neighbor on the flight was eyeing us suspiciously after we'd
whipped out two decks of cards and a stack of poker chips immediately
upon sitting down.  When we began lowering the tray tables to play,
then quickly raising them when a stewardess walked by, she looked kind
of worried.  After we started our third freeze-out, with the usual
accompanying trash talking -- "You can't possibly call that bet you
big pussy", "You gonna keep folding your blinds?  I'm running you
over" "How can you lay down that hand when I'm obviously bluffing" --
she was trying hard to crawl into the far corner of her seat.  Just
about then, Lenny decides to knock my drink all over my lap and hers
while dealing.

I start furiously trying to dry myself and her with tiny cocktail
napkins, meanwhile Lenny is frantically wiping the wet cards against
his clothes and the seats to be sure we can continue using the deck.
30 seconds later we're back to trying to finish the freeze-out before
landing.  Hope our companion had a sense of humor.

Vegas taxi line
---------------

We're standing outside in 105 degree heat.  I still have a huge wet
patch around my crotch from the spilled drink, so I tell Lenny that
I'm glad it's a dry heat.

Lenny forgot to leave his huge, heavy-duty leather jacket in the car
back in San Jose, and he's wearing it rather than have to carry it.
People around us in line are kind of staring at him and pointing, when
Lenny suddenly turns to me, zips up the jacket all the way to the
neck, and says, "Brrr. Is it just me or is it a bit chilly tonight?"

Vegas Taxi
----------

[Flashback to the plane: After loading my bag overhead, I'm stalling
hoping Lenny will slip into the middle seat so I can take the aisle.
After a moment I notice Lenny's bag is already up and he's stalling
also.  We both figure this out at the same time, and Lenny gestures
and says "after you Bruce."  Stalemate.

So I offer the fist in the universal gesture of "okay, we'll roshambo
for it."  I go paper, putting Lenny on good old rock, but he surprises
me with scissors.  As I'm squeezing into the middle, he says to the
cabin at large "who would've thought he'd fall for the old paper
trap?"  ]

Now we're seated in the taxi on the way to Binions, and Lenny offers
the fist to decide who pays the fare.  I throw scissors, putting Lenny
on trying the double-reverse after the paper trap he set for me on the
plane.  He cooperates nicely by throwing paper.  I say to the cabby,
"who would've thought he'd fall for the old paper trap so soon after
the plane?"


Thursday Night Poker
--------------------

After check-in, we both get on the list for the Binion's 1-2 NL game.
It's a juicy line-up, and we're licking our chops.

I get called first, and Asya pulls up a chair to sweat me.  We're
catching up and Asya's got a zillion stories to tell just from her
first day (I'll defer to her trip report rather than revealing
anything), so basically it's the All-Asya Show.  Maverick sits down on
my left, his usual quiet and somewhat rockish table demeanor on
display, but proceeds to burn a few 200 buy-ins when his solid hands
don't stand up.  I get the sense that Asya's gabbing is starting to
annoy him a little (which is a fine irony, I must say) but he's polite
and doesn't say a word.

As seems to always be the case when Asya sweats me, I'm hitting my
hands and dragging some nice pots, and all my bluffs are working.  I
try to explain to her that I'm not just lucky, I'm also good, but it's
a hard argument to make when most of my profits come from the two
gut-shots I hit on the turn.

Perry's wife Kim shows up at the table, and I haven't seen her for
over a year.  She gives me a big smile and a backrub, and I start
explaining to her how even being married to Lisa I could still take
better care of her than Perry if she'd care to move in.

Lenny gets called soon, and the table is still pretty ripe.  There are
some good-sized pots changing hands, although Lenny hasn't seen any.
The floor comes to get him and pull him to the main game (our table
was a must-move feeder.)

Lenny is on tilt about leaving this table, and points out that me and
another player had been seated here well before he was.  I just act
dumb and say, "well, your name is first on the list, see ya!"  So he
stacks up, grumbles some more and moves.

Ten minutes later two live ones have left my table and the game is now
kind of a rock garden.  I'm wishing I had gone to the other table,
when Lenny walks up behind me and taps me on the shoulder to say he's
just dragged a $1500 pot.  That should have been my seat. Tilt.

Then, about 20 minutes later, something happened.  Something
wonderful.

Our game is short-handed, which I love, but I've been getting
unplayable cards for about 4 rounds.  I'm under the gun, and look down
at aces.  I figure even the fish at this game must have me pegged as a
rock, and I don't want to make a noticeable raise.  I make it 4 to go.
2 callers, and the small blind then raises to 20.  He's a total rock,
tighter than an ADB'r on Thursday night, and I'm sure he has either
QQ, KK, AA or AK.  AK might even be questionable.

I quickly splash 50 into the pot, trying to represent that I'm
isolating with a pocket pair.  It's folded to the rock who just calls.
It's clear to me that he's already starting to worry that I might have
aces, by the hesitation in calling and his failing to re-re-raise.  I
decide I have to milk him carefully if I'm going to fully capitalize.

The flop is 9-high and he checks.  I bet just 30.  He calls quickly.

The turns is a blank and he bets 50 into me as a slowdown bet and
feeler.  If I move here, I'm pretty sure he's folding.  He's got about
400 left and wants to protect it.

I raise 50, hoping he'll interpret this as my trying to slow *him*
down.  Hopefully he thinks I'm trying to get to the river cheaply.

He does.  After pondering for a long time, he pushes.  I call and beat
his kings.

That wasn't the wonderful thing though.

The next hand, I'm in the big blind.  I'm still stacking while I peek
at my cards, only to find another pair of aces!  Cha-ching.  There's
been one small raise and one call by the time the action reaches me,
and I just grab a handful of whites from the mess of unstacked chips
in front of me and heave them into the pot.  Turns out to be 16
dollars.  Both players call.

The flop is a nice one, K-high and rainbow.  I manage to suck about
150 out of another player, goading him to call on the river.  "I've
only got pocket aces here, you shouldn't call unless you can beat
them."

Now the table is buzzing a bit about my back-to-back aces.

Still, the wonderful thing had not yet happened.

Next hand, I've got the small blind.  I now have a bunch of chips in
front of me to stack, and I reach around them to grab my cards and try
to protect them as I look.

Aces.  Again.

I had to concentrate just to avoid giving off a tell.  I was hit
pretty hard by cognitive dissonance when I first looked at the hand,
my eyes kind of glazed over and I was sure I was experiencing some
bizarre flashback.  (Many Tiltboys would argue this is a normal state
of mind for me.)

Yes, the wonderful thing.  I was dealt aces three hands in a row for
the first time in my life.

It was great timing, too, coming so soon after the annoying 200 email
thread on the BARGE list about the probability of back-to-back Aces
and back-to-back-to-back Aces.  I can now answer the question
definitively.  The probability is one.  (Clearly, brick and mortar
sites are equally rigged as online sites.)

I won a small pot with these also (all three stood up!), milking the
moment for all it was worth by making cracks about "watch out for
aces" all through the hand.  On the turn I check-raised two players,
and they both folded. The second one muttered something about "he
probably does have them again."  I replied, "geez, that would just be
silly", flipped them up and dragged the third pot.

One local rock got up in disgust grumbling something about "these
tourists show up and think they can just do this to our games...".
Well, yeah.

I get moved to the main table soon thereafter, and stay up with Lenny
and a few locals who are yakking it up (Rene and Ernie, more on them
later) until the game thins out.  Rene is talking continuously,
tilting the entire table by not taking a breath, and I tell him I'd
like to introduce him to my friend Perry Friedman.  Man, I'd like to
see those two at the same table.  Provided I'm not seated.

Ernie meanwhile is calling pot-sized bets with every draw he finds,
and missing every one.  He's muttering more and more about "bad
beats", and chasing more pots.  At some point he decides to "take a
stand" and whips out a wrapped bundle of Franklins that must be 6k -
7k.  He then sets forth on his mission to distribute this bundle to
BARGErs for the remainder of the weekend, pausing nary a moment for
sleep, food or shower.

No longer having the stamina of my early Tiltboy days, I pussy out on
the all-nighter and crash around 7 AM.


Friday
------

I wake up at 10 AM in a cold sweat thinking that Ernie might be gone
from the NL game by the time I get downstairs.  I scramble to take a
shower and rush out the door, pause to wonder if I should hit
Starbucks for a quick shot, but decide that there are people to see
and pots to drag.

Fortunately both Ernie and Rene are still seated. 

Rene is actually a pretty good player, but I don't particularly mind
having him in the game because he's got every other player on tilt.
I'm well-conditioned to this line of attack, and hence immune (thanks
Perry!) so I just relax and enjoy the show.  Occasionally I'll even
pipe up myself and respond to Rene if it means encouraging more
antics.

Poor Ernie.  He's sandwiched in the middle and gunning for everybody,
especially Rene.

By 12AM I'm up about 500, and Lenny finally wakes up and asks what I'm
doing.  Duh.  I tell him to get his ass over here.  He asks about
eating, which seems a foreign and distant concept at this point, but I
decide that food is a necessary evil and agree to grab breakfast.

Rene had noticed that Lenny and I were the only ones rolling with his
banter the previous night, and asks if he can join us for breakfast.
No problem.

We each get some comps from the desk and head to the coffee shop.
Rene still hasn't taken a breath, and Lenny and I take to calling him
Perry.

I order the eggs florentine, and Rene piggybacks on my order.  We end
up getting poached eggs on a limp english muffin, covered with what
looks like a gallon of melted Velveeta cheese.  Unfortunately, it
isn't as tasty as Velveeta.  I was sick for a few hours after this
meal, although Lenny's omelet seemed manageable.  Rene started
badgering me about ordering this mess, so I told him that I wasn't
really hungry and just wanted to tilt him.

During breakfast we got to know Rene on a more personal level.  In
fact I can easily say he was the highlight of breakfast.

Rene makes a living off E-bay.  Apparently a pretty good one too: he
buys porn in bulk and sells it piecemeal for something like a 10x
markup.  He offers to get me some kids videos for my son, an offer
that I happily accept, but not without some rather humorous
reservations.  I decide I'll preview any cartoons I get from him
before letting Daniel watch.

Herewith, some snippets of conversation from an enormously fun meal.

My Breakfast With Rene
----------------------

"You buy in bulk, lots of 10,000 DVDs.  Then you sell them for a
 penny, and charge $8.95 shipping and handling!  It's a gold mine."

"You gotta look for the hard core stuff.  Nobody wants that
 soft-light, curtains, new-age music crap.  What's that all about
 anyway?"

"I have just one word for you:  Compilations."

"The other day at the swap meet my aunt comes over and says, 'Rene, I
 hear you're selling midget porn on the Internet?!  Is this true?!'.
 I tell her "Hell no. I don't do that midget stuff. A guy's gotta have
 his standards, you know what I mean?"

Lenny asks him what his best seller is.  

"You know, after 2000 gross of these DVDs pass through your hands, you
 can't really tell tit from twat any more."

When breakfast was over I thanked Rene for the most entertaining and
educational meal I'd ever eaten at Binions.  Little did I know he'd
saved the best for last.

On the way back to the cardroom, I tell him I like his game and ask if
he's going to try to play for a living.


His perfunctory reply: "Nah, where's the future in that?"


(This followed by his detailed business plan for building a solid
 customer base and establishing a continuous revenue stream.  Rene was
 a bright guy, and I was glad he had such a worthy endeavor in which
 to channel his considerable energy.)


Back to the NL table
--------------------

Lenny has gone off with his wife Theresa, and I'm binging on NL until
the symposium.

A new young kid sits down at the table, and after hearing me talking
to Rene for a little while picks up on a comment I make about putting
Rene in the trip report.

He asks if I'm with the "BARGER" group, and I tell him yes.  He says
he's read some of our trip reports on the Internet, so I ask if he's
ever read anything by the Tiltboys.  He says, "Yes!  Those are the
best ones!"  ding.

I have to humbly confess to being the author of two of them, and I
tell him that Lenny is also in the room.  He then proceeds to treat me
like a celebrity, which, granted, I think is pretty well justified.

There you go John, you're in a Tiltboy trip report.  :-)

Soon he raises the topic of roshambo, but he's refusing to play me.
He starts talking to a companion at the table, warning him not to
challenge me either, so I decide to play this up.

I push forward a stack of reds and ask if anybody would like to
roshambo me for it.  No takers.  I add another red to the top and say
"I'll sweeten the pot, my 105 to your 100."  Still no takers!

So I pull it back and say, "Okay, just $5 then?"  Ernie finally takes.
I beat him on the first throw, he puts out another 5, and I beat him
again.

A cute blonde at the table by the name of Beth then tries her luck,
and I win again.  Nobody else is taking, but somebody asks to roshambo
for free.  I agree and win.  I then win 6 straight free roshambos
against other players!

I'm 10-0 so far, even though I'm just about the fishiest RSB player
among the Tiltboys.

The table starts speculating that I'm able to react quickly to their
hand.  Beth offers to play me again if I'll close my eyes, so I take
and we tie two times.  She backs out.

A newcomer sits down at the table, and I turn to him and put out a
dollar.  I say, "these people don't believe I can lose at
rock-paper-scissors, can you show them how easy it is to win?"  I'm
sure that he'll be flustered by being put on the spot and revert to
the "safe haven" of rock, so I throw a scissors.  I give him the $1
and say to everybody, "See?"

This further enhances my image, now everybody is sure I'm able to lose
at will also.  I've done my job and feel I've fairly represented the
sport and evangelized the cause.  John is gushing about how "we're
[the Tiltboys] even better than he thought."  I've earned $14 and left
a lasting RSB impression on 9 future donaters.

When I leave for the symposium, I tell everybody at the table that
I'll be playing in the World Roshambo Championship the next evening,
and that they should come root for me or even play.

Symposium
---------

I meet up with Cliff Matthews for the symposium, and we start reliving
the epic BARGE of two years ago, during which both of us wet our pants
while playing at the post-banquet pot limit game.

[flashback to BARGE'02]

Cliff is slightly drunk, I'm slightly drunker, and we're both seated
in the traditional saturday night pot limit game.  Also in the game
are Lenny, Russ Rosenblum, Steve Brecher, Rich Strauss and a rotating
bevy of BARGErs.

We're switching between pot limit omaha and pot limit holdem, and
during Omaha Cliff is engaging in some incredible antics that involve
intermittently playing hands blind and making huge bluffs, combined
with actually looking at his cards and pretending to play blind and
getting fools to put in all their chips when he has the nuts.

He's then donating all his winnings in tips and random moves like
raising before the flop and folding to a small re-raise.  He
consistently is making incorrect pot limit bets and claiming "he
doesn't know how to count a pot."

He's playing so erratically that I'm pretty sure I'm the only one at
the table who recognizes the extent to which he's acting.  He r00led
Russ when Russ was talking about a Ferrari that he was going to buy,
and Cliff acted massively interested, asking "Wow, how fast can it
go?"

Russ turns to give him a detailed answer full of Car&Driver specs, but
before he says a few words Cliff adds, "... in reverse?"

So Cliff kind of has everybody tilting, and I'm kind of in stitches,
and he's on the verge of cracking up but doesn't want to let down his
act.  And everybody is rubbing their hands looking forward to taking
his money, including me.

The next dealer shows up, indicating that it was time to switch to PL
Holdem.  Cliff gets upset by this, because he hates holdem and wants
the action of Omaha.  He throws his hands in the air and starts
complaining loudly that we're not accommodating him when he's the only
loose player at the table.

He says to the table at large, "Look you guys, I don't like Holdem.
I'm going to go take my drunk chips somewhere else unless we just
stick with Omaha."

Most of the players really want to keep him around, so everybody
agrees except two local rocks who have squirmed into the game.

Cliff has racked up his chips and is getting ready to leave.  The
dealer announces that unless everybody agrees, we can't change, and
starts dealing hold'em.

Cliff hesitates, then unracks his chips and says, "Okay, I tell you
what, I'll go ahead and play."

Every single person there dropped their jaw to the table.  They are
completely convinced that Cliff had just staged a huge elaborate act
to get them to change with no intention of actually leaving.  I think
they were just hugely impressed with the seeming sincerity of his act
and offer, which they now saw as just a complete set-up.  Cliff
apparently did not give the slightest shit about having lied to
everybody to get his way.

I was the only one at the table who knew the truth: Cliff really was
set to go.  I could see it in his reaction, and I could see him
genuinely change his mind and decide to stay.

But Cliff catches on to what everybody else is thinking, and starts
reinforcing their belief by acting like he did intentionally r00l them
with complete disdain, and made a threat he never intended to keep.

When I realize just how audacious Cliff's behavior must look to
everybody, I choke on my drink and go into an apoplexy of laughter.
Cliff is still trying to maintain his act, which makes the whole thing
even funnier, but he realizes that I realize what he's doing and
starts laughing at me laughing at him.  This sets up an infinite loop
chain reaction, wherein pretty soon both of us are just retching,
laughing so hard that we're at real risk of passing out.  No
exaggeration.  I looked at Cliff through my tears and his face was
purple, and he was sucking in air in huge gasps.  His face is
completely awash in tears, and his glasses were bent askew by him
trying hard to wipe his eyes clear, he's falling over and hanging on
the the table for dear life.

I can only imagine I looked even more ridiculous.

[end BARGE'02 flashback]

I'm telling this story to anybody who'll listen at the Symposium, and
Cliff starts explaining that he's not going to try to maximize his
winnings this BARGE, he's here solely to maximize his expected "Bruce
Laughter."

I can't help but agree, you couldn't pay enough for a moment like that
one.

Unfortunately the games we end up playing together all trip have such
an erratic nutty group of players that Cliff's antics this time didn't
even stand out, and there was no sense in him getting out of line and
playing blind because he would have been just one of many players
doing so.

He still manages to draw a few chuckles from me, but he definitely
didn't maximize his E.L. (expected laughter) to the extent he did in
'02.

The symposium itself is a rather subdued affair, and I refrain from
bidding on myself because I'm paired with Penn Jillette.  I explain to
Lenny that Penn and I will probably get bid up over fair value due to
the "celebrity factor", and then I add that "Penn's name might also
draw some interest."

Turns out we go for 100, and to Kim at that.  So much for the
celebrity factor.

Part way through the calcutta, I take the microphone from Peter and
announce that the "crown jewel" of BARGE, the World Roshambo
Championship, will be held after the banquet.  I promise some serious
action, including Chris Ferguson, Greg Raymer and the current World
Champion Andy Bloch.  For some reason the crowd doesn't erupt in
cheers, but I remain confident that the turnout at the event will be
good.


Back to NL
----------

I'm back at my favorite NL game, and Ernie and Rene are both still
seated.  There was only one occasion when I was in the cardroom and
one of them wasn't, and that lasted less than an hour.

Then, I'm witness to a spectacle that I wouldn't believe had I not
been there to see it.  I relay the story here, so that you too can not
believe that it happened.

While the hand itself was reasonably interesting, it's the events
around the hand and the circumstances of the hand's conclusion that I
find truly awe inspiring.

The hand
--------

Seated to my right is a tight, quiet Vietnamese player who I've
quickly labeled a rock.  I'm not giving him any action, but apparently
the guy in seat two had.  Seat two is steaming about a pot that the
Vietnamese player won before I got there, and he's on tilt and playing
hyper-aggressively.  I'm waiting for a chance to pick him off.

Suddenly a pot develops between steaming, aggressive dude and quiet
Vietnamese dude.  A player in middle position makes a modest raise to
8 or so, Vietnam calls on the button, Steamer calls in the big blind.

The flop is Q 6 2 (rainbow.)

Steamer checks, initial raiser checks, Vietnam bets 20.  Steamer
*immediately* raises 40, with a red-faced angry look but not saying a
word.  In fact, it's the first time I saw him stop talking.

The middle player folds, Vietnam calls.

The turn is a 9.  Now Steamer bets 200.  Vietnam has about 500 in
front, Steamer has about 700 left after his bet.  I can see Vietnam
sweating the decision, and I think he's putting steamer on having
flopped a set.  I'm guessing Vietnam for maybe a set of deuces or AQ.

Finally, Vietnam makes up his mind and pushes all-in.

Steamer calls so fast that I'm sure it's his pot, he doesn't even stop
to think.

Steamer immediately jumps up from his chair and acts like he's going
to muck his cards, rather than show them.  The river is dealt a king,
and Steamer is *yelling* at Vietnam, "What do you have, huh?  You've
got me beat, what do you have?"  His face is red and his eyes are
bulging and I'm completely baffled as to what's going on.

Vietnam is quiet and just waiting for the guy to show his hand.  The
dealer isn't prompting Steamer to show, and he is just standing there
with his cards over the muck saying, "Well?! What's your hand? It's
your pot, just show your hand!"

Finally Vietnam decides to say his hand.  He announces out loud,
"Queen-Nine."

He has an accent, and it comes out more like, "Quee-Nye."

Unfortunately, it sounds exactly like "Queen-high."

At this point, Steamer lights up like the Fremont Street Experience
and says, "Queen High!  He triumphantly throws his hand face up on the
table, glorying in having caught a massive bluff (or so he believes).
His hand, exposed for the world to see: 6-4 offsuit.  I kid you not.

Now Vietnam turns up his Q9s and the dealer pushes him the $1800 pot.
Steamer is totally speechless, he's just had a pot that he thought he
won taken away, not to mention that he revealed his huge mistake to
the whole table.  He has put 800 into a pot with 3rd pair, against the
tightest player at the table, on a board with no draws.  He begins
yelling that the other guy slow-rolled him and said "Queen High", but
I quickly correct him before he can jump over the table and throttle
the guy.

Steamer hurdles the wall, leaving his chips behind on the table, and I
don't see him return for the next two hours.

I found this hand completely astonishing.  For this guy to go on tilt
like that and commit all his chips with that hand, followed by the
unfortunate declare pronunciation that forced him to expose his
hand... it just shows the full spectrum of meaning to "anything can
happen at poker".

Binglaha
--------

Soon they get a Pot-Limit Binglaha game going, and I jump over to that
table for some Cliff-goofing action.  Lenny's in the game, along with
Dan Goldman, Sharon Goldman, Goldiefish (did I mention this game was
Golden?), Grizz, Nolan, Murray, Paul Phillips, Warren, Steve Day,
Brian Goetz, and a few other people rotating in and out that I'm
blanking on.

It's a rammin-jammer of a game, and it seems that either Dan or Sharon
is betting the pot on every flop.  Binglaha is played with a die that
is rolled after the flop betting, which determines if the hand is
omaha-high or omaha-eight.  So these players putting in all the action
on the flop don't even know yet whether it's going to be a high-only
or high-low game!

I watch Sharon double up 3 times in the first hour of play.  She's up
to about 2000, I think her buy-in was 300 or 400.  She hasn't yet seen
a flop she doesn't like.

Then comes the pot the Lenny would rue for the rest of the trip.  He's
trapped between Sharon and Nolan (another player who hasn't been
particularly tentative about pushing chips, or downing drinks.)

Sharon bets the pot on the flop, Lenny calls, and now Nolan re-bets
the pot.  Sharon and Lenny both call!

Two players are all-in, so we turn the hands up.

Sharon has flopped the nut-straight, and has a wrap/extension straight
re-draw.  Lenny has flopped the nut flush draw and has an
uncounterfeitable low draw (the board has a 6 and 8.)  Nolan has the
worst of it, having flopped the nut straight with two pair for a
full-house redraw.

The die comes up a 2, meaning the hand will be high-low!  Now Lenny
has about 40-50% equity, anybody care to do the math for us?

The turn pairs the board, filling up Nolan, high card on the river,
Nolan scoops the 2500+ pot.

Come to think of it, I played Binglaha with Nolan all trip long and he
dragged a pretty good number of 1000+ pots.  I think he even still had
some left after tipping the dealers and cocktail waitresses red-birds
all night long.

Meanwhile, Cliff is shrugging at me helplessly as if to say, "How can
I compete with that?"  I buckle down into full rock mode, and decide
to only play lock hands until I can get a better grasp of some kind of
strategy at this game.

The game eventually breaks as players move to the big PL HOME game,
and my stack has hardly moved.  It was costing 20-30 to see a flop,
and Paul was blind raising the pot pre-flop or straddling and then
blind-re-raising the pot, such that it was a pretty big game.
Unfortunately I didn't get a taste of the action, but I did salvage my
buy-in and pocketed maybe $200.

PL HOME (Hold'em, Omaha, Mississippi, Omaha-Eight)
-------

I don't feel adequately awake to play in a HOME game with $40,000 in
play, but Lenny apparently feels he needs to "recoup" and jumps right
in.

I adjourn to my usual 1-2 NL game, and begin yucking it up with Rene
and Ernie.

Asya is again sweating me, and Ernie is jumping in and out of the
conversation.  He has a bunch of gold coins piled on the table,
including some old ones.  He shows us one that he says is from
Napoleon.s time, a pretty impressive gold coin with a women's head
clearly imprinted.

Asya makes some remark about how maybe the money compensates for being
short, and Ernie immediately says, "actually, that's a common
misconception.  Napoleon was really 5'11."

Asya and I both guffaw at this, but he continues to defend his
statement earnestly.  He claims to be a real history buff, and
actually seems nearly credible, until he finishes with, "I read it on
the Internet, you can go confirm it."  (I did, BTW, and 5'2" seems to
be the consensus.)

Ernie, gets up and takes his slightly diminished stack of hundreds,
combines it with the rest of his bankroll, and joins the HOSE table.

I learn later that he got in a slightly heated "debate" with Maverick
that culminated in him grabbing his chair and threatening to take
Maverick's life.  I'm sure that Brett was loving the attention.

Nothing like getting two "mavericks" at the same table, as Asya
pointed out.

I heard through Lenny of a pot of Mississippi stud that Ernie played
with Paul Phillips, in which Ernie got $6,000 in on 6th street with
nothing but a high straight (no low draw, no flush draw), when Paul
was showing 3 low cards on the board.  Paul of course had a made low
and could have been free-rolling for the high half the pot, though it
didn't work out that way.

Back at the NL game, I finally find a hand I can take up against Rene:
Q-7 in the big blind.  After flopping an open-ended straight draw, I
call Rene's bet on the flop, and I read him for a flush draw.  The
turn misses both the straight and the flush, and I decide to take the
pot away from him by betting the pot on the turn.  Sadly he calls, but
I still think I can steal on the river if the flush misses.

The river is a K of another suit, and I again bet nearly the pot (150
or so.)  Rene goes into the tank, and finally calls, so I get to show
him my weak Q-7, setting me up for some great action the rest of the
weekend.  Turns out Rene did have a flush draw, but it had a K in it
and he paired on the river.

Rene tells me I played that hand "just like Lenny."  This is a
throwback to his having picked off three of Lenny's bluffs on the
previous night.  In all three cases, Lenny bet $50 on the river, and
Rene called.

He starts parodying Lenny (and continues doing this for the next two
days whenever Lenny's in the game).

"I-bet-$50-doh-you-got-me."  (said in one continuous flow with no
pause between the bet and Lenny mucking his cards.)

I quit for the night after my first losing session of the trip, but
down only about 150 in the game.

Saturday
--------

I crash at 6AM and can't believe the phone is actually ringing 10
minutes later.  It's my 9AM wake up call.  I try to snooze the phone,
but when I almost doze off again I realize I'd better get up.

I take one of my "famous showers", as Lenny is prone to call them.  On
a previous trip while rooming with he and Dice, I asked for a few
minutes to take a quick shower before dinner.  25 minutes later I
emerge and they're sitting there half amazed, half laughing.

My "famous shower" routine probably isn't what you're thinking.  Those
showers rarely last more than 15 minutes.

My "wake-up shower" consists of me standing under scalding water
staring into space and breathing steam until my brain engages.  Often
this doesn't happen, and I have to get out before I drown standing up.

So I make it down to the NL tourney with 5 minutes to spare, only to
find that Lenny has once again worn the exact same Tiltboy t-shirt as
me.  (He did this on the prior day also; with 6 t-shirts to choose
from what are the chances that we bring the same two and change into
them at the same time?)

Furthermore, he's wearing an unbuttoned blue shirt over it, and jeans,
exactly like me.  He has his badge around his neck, as do I, and I'm
wondering if people will start to think that the Tiltboys all share a
collective brain.  (Fortunately they'll be able to dispel that notion
when Perry opens his mouth.)

The tourney starts.

I should have stayed in the shower.


NL Tourney
----------

I'm out in the first hour.  It wasn't my fault, Kim!

After playing pretty tight for about 50 minutes, I've only been in
three hands and folded all of them on the flop.  I'm spending the time
getting a read on the rest of the table.

I open a pot for 75 with KK (blinds are 25-25), and Ming Lee makes it
225 behind me.

The big blind now re-raises to 600 (sorry sir, I don't remember your
name.  Must be a mental block.)  I go into the tank, and I'm damn near
ready to release my hand.  I don't know the player in the big blind,
but my reasoning is that I must have a tight image, and for Ming Lee
to raise me he must have a pretty respectable hand.  Assuming the big
blind knows this, his only probable hands with which to re-raise Ming
are AA, KK, AK and QQ.  Given that I have two kings, AA is looking
reasonably likely, and I only have $75 invested in the pot so far.

I continue to stare at the big blind player.  He doesn't seem
particularly nervous.

Unfortunately, I then recall a hand that occurred in the first 10
minutes of play.  This player had called an all-in bet from Grizz
before the flop with QQ and doubled up.  So I start to reason that not
only is it possible that he is slightly over-valuing pre-flop hands,
it's also possible he's on "happy tilt" and feeling invincible due to
his big stack.  I talk myself into calling, and he shows me AA.

Tears well up in my eyes behind my fine Oakley shades...  no, wait.
That wasn't me.  I just shrug and shake the big blinds hand, the lucky
so-and-so.

Ming goes on to claim he folded AK; obviously the stars were in
alignment against me.

I walk over and tell Kim and Penn that I've busted, Kim smacks me and
Penn calls me an asshole.  My BARGE NL tourney experience is complete.

Try, try again
--------------

I railbird Lenny and tell him I'm out, he replies, "give me just a sec
and I'll join you."  He *is* short-stacked, but somehow I think that
might be the wrong attitude.

In any case, he keeps his promise and busts out 5 minutes later.  We
head over to the coffee shop for breakfast.  This time I remember not
to order the Velveeta Bomb.

While we're eating I offer to cross-book with Lenny at Keno.  It's a
no-brainer bet: there's no vig and you get to tilt somebody when you
win!

We agree to pay each other a quarter of the prize, capped at 100.  We
then try to strategize about the right number of places to pick given
the payout structure.

We agree that Lenny picked a better quantity of numbers, but of course
he's the unluckiest guy I know so I'm the only one to score a winning
card during breakfast.  We both had 55 on our cards, and it came up
about half the time.  In fact, it was the only number Lenny hit.

Theresa joins us for breakfast, followed soon afterwards by Asya and
Ben.

I persuade Lenny and Asya that we're due to win a tournament, so we
sign up for the Binion's NL tournament at 2:00.

I guess busting out of the BARGE tournament in time to play in the
Binion's tournament must be all the rage, because there are three
other BARGErs at my starting table (Crunch, Iceman and Peter Caldes.)

I build up a nice stack by draining some not-so-clever WPT-watching
Wanna-bes, and I've tripled up by the first 1.5 hours.  I lose a fair
chunk of chips to Peter during some small-blind, big-blind
confrontations.  I get off my hand the first time when he pushes all
in, and he claims to have had TT.  The second time I raise, he
re-raises again and shows KK after I fold.  Other than the BARGErs,
this table was a ticket to ride.

Crunch takes a mega-nasty bad beat when one of the young Phil Hellmuth
emulators decides to call his last 800 with AJ of hearts after Crunch
went all-in with AA, on a flop of Q98 of diamonds.  One of Crunch's
aces was a diamond, so the caller was drawing fairly thin.

Boom.  Off comes the T of hearts on the turn, and the river doesn't
make Steve's flush.  Peter and I both wince, and then put on a
lopsided grin when we realize those chips are right where we want
them.

Crunch starts talking to himself about the hand, not so much on tilt
as explaining to himself and the rest of us that he *should* be on
tilt, dammit.  Peter and I take turns telling him to let it drop, but
I'm sure I heard him mumbling some more during the break and passing
out some $1 bills.

After the table breaks I get a hugely great table at which the big
stack is pushing all-in before the flop with hands like 99 and A9.
Dave Tahejian is at the table trying to push the pace by gathering
antes and blinds, making sure enough hands get played to give him a
shot at the live one.  It doesn't happen, and we break soon
afterwards.

We're down to about 30 players, and I move to a table where I'm the
average stack.  Next thing I know, the player on my right is calling
all bets and has accumulated about 1/3 of the chips on the table.
Blinds have gone up and I only have about 5x the big blind left.  I
bust out with a K7 in the big blind, when I get to see a flop for free
and it comes K high.  A middle seat had limped into the pot with KQ.
He *limped* in, while short-stacked, with a hand that ended up
trapping me.  The stars were in alignment against me.

Lenny and Theresa are playing 4-8, Lenny is trying to teach Theresa
that raising is a perfectly acceptable play.  He eventually joins me
in the NL game, telling me how Theresa is now "raise-crazy" and raised
every round of betting on a flop she had missed.  He thinks it's an
improvement to her prior style.

Rene is thrilled to see Lenny, but unfortunately Lenny has stopped
making his "I-bet-$50-doh-you-got- me" wager so Rene has to seek other
player's chips instead.

7:00 rolls around and it's suppa time.

The Banquet
-----------

I head over to the Four Queens, wondering if they can possibly murder
the food more efficiently than the Golden Nugget has in years past.

I run into Asya, who's decked out in a genuine custom bustier, and Ben
is styling in some nice vaguely purple threads with a tie that matches
Asya's outfit.  Lenny and I are resplendent in our matching Tiltboy
t-shirt and jeans.

Kim, who was skipping the meal but was hanging out in the lobby
passing out Full Tilt gear, showed up in a see-through top and lacy
bra.  At some point she decided her outfit wasn't revealing enough and
had a breast on display.  (No, I didn't see this directly so it's
hearsay, but knowing Kim, I don't doubt the story for a second.  I'm
surprised she managed to keep her pants on.)

The food was mildly acceptable.  I stuffed myself with bread rolls
knowing that the portions wouldn't be spectacular, so I didn't
actually go hungry.  The desert mousse cake was probably the first
BARGE banquet dessert I've actually eaten.

Greg has a good stage personality and his talk was quite enjoyable.
He spent a little more time on foundational and intangible topics
(tilt avoidance, confidence, etc.) than concrete strategy, but some
BARGErs hit him up for specifics on certain plays he made during the
WSOP, so I got my fix anyway.

At one point he was talking about the final table hand in which he
busted Mike McClain, and I asked, "How the hell could you come over
the top of him for 900k when you could easily be dominated?  What were
you thinking fool??"
 
(Actually, I think I might have said "do you think the 900k to 300k
odds were worth laying hoping he had a worse hand?")

He game me a fair answer, that he felt Mike might raise a good number
of weaker hands in that situation.

When he finished Peter announced the tournament results and gave out
some plaques (Sabyl got BAAP), and then we got to embarrass Chuck
Weinstock like we do every year by giving him the usual roaring
standing ovation for which he always sits humbly as if to say, "okay,
okay, thanks, let's get on with it."

After all announcements concluded, I went up and announced that the
World Roshambo Championship would take place after the banquet, and
put Greg on the spot by publicly offering to stake him.  Good sport
that he is, he took me up on my offer, but sadly even the rigors of
the WSOP had not prepared him for the challenge of roshambo.


World Roshambo Championship
---------------------------

After suffering the ignominy of seeing two non-Tiltboy World Champions
holding the title (Len Granowetter in '02 and Andy Bloch in '03), we
were determined to see it back to its rightful position.

Under-represented though the Tiltboys were, we knew that our superior
trash talk and tell reading could carry the day.  A mere 3 players in
a field of 12, we kept our eyes on the trophy and our throwing arms
limber.

Perry, Kim and I did our part by busting out in the first round, as
part of the team effort to maximize the pressure on Lenny and drive
him to peak performance.

(Kudos to Marlin for his unorthodox use of the paper-rock-paper
opening against me; had I better researched my opponent I might have
known that he would disdain the classic openings.)

Thanks to all who participated:

Marlin Cohen
Chris Ferguson
Andy Latto
Steve Day
Regis Donovan
Ben Gamble
Greg Raymer
Andy Bloch
Perry
Lenny
Kim
Bruce

Thanks also to Rudy Tatay, who again provided video coverage of the
event.  If I can't license it to ESPN, I will attempt to edit a video
collage for the Tiltboy home page.

The finals came down to a three-way round robin between Lenny, Chris
Ferguson and Ben Gamble.

Ben and Chris took the stage for the first leg of the round robin.
Chris evidenced the competitiveness and intensity you'd expect from
him, adopting the aggressive "leg forward" stance with emulous arm
thrusts on each throw.

Ben, a WRC freshman who qualified through a satellite, showed
tremendous poise and self-possession in the face of Chris's attack.
He stood straight and tall, throwing with just enough force to
demonstrate that he wasn't intimidated, but not so much as to appear
truculent.

It was neck and wrist the whole way, but Fergusen executed a masterful
scissors reversal at the end that took Ben by surprise and carried the
match.  (Allegations that Jesus cheated remain unsubstantiated; no
evidence of him obtaining outside aid from a random number generator
could be found.)

Lenny cantered on to the stage with the traditional Tiltboy swagger,
but there was no mistaking the determined look on his face.  His
throws spoke of fortitude and invulnerability, and they deflected
Chris's thrusts with seeming effortlessness.

Lenny quickly lunged ahead, taking a 6-2 lead.  Calling on Greg
Raymer's advice, I warned Lenny not to go on "happy tilt."  He wiped
the grin off his face and polished Chris off 10-6.

Ben stepped forward, resolute and somewhat grim.  He knew that he
alone stood between Lenny and Tiltboy victory, and it must have been a
lonely moment indeed.

Lenny had observed carefully while Ben was playing Chris, and believed
he had a line on Ben's play.  He exploited his advantage and took a
4-2 lead.  Ben quickly adjusted but Lenny was able to carry the lead
through, surprising Ben with a series of rocks in the late stages.

(Surprisingly, this same "avalanche gambit" was what got Lenny into
the finals in '02 against Perry, but Ben did not have access to the
archival footage for his research, and he who fails to study
history...)

When Ben's final paper fell to Lenny's scissors, the Tiltboys in the
room could be heard whispering "paper trap."

Lenny leapt straight into the air, briefly forgetting the dignity of
championship as he was caught up in the moment.  Choked by emotion, he
composed himself, quietly collected his bracelet and scooped up the
$1200 prize money.

The Tiltboys were back on top.  Rest assured, non-Tiltlips will never
again taste of this chalice.


Saturday Night Fever
--------------------

The post-banquet pot limit and no limit games have for the last few
years been the best part of BARGE for me.  (see the story above with
Cliff)

In years past, I decided the optimal fun to be had was by playing the
complete maniac, a style that's relatively unfamiliar to me and
contrary to the typical complexion of a BARGE NL game.  In '01, I sat
down at a 1-2 NL game determined to raise every pot until I went bust.
Instead I won a couple grand.

In '02, I again cleverly employed the strategy of getting run over by
the deck to win huge pots with all my trash starting hands.

This year, I arrived at the pot-limit Binglaha table to discover that
half the table had appropriated my strategy.  At a loss for what to
do, I again took the road less traveled and became a total rock.

Cliff was attempting to play erratically, but when he actually showed
a few solid hands on the river people began discounting his random
behavior.  Compared to some of the action there, Cliff came off as
sort of rockish himself.

He did make it a point to wave his arms in the air whenever somebody
called a bet or raise of mine.  "What are you doing?!", he would yell,
"it's *Bruce*!"  Although I was unable to bluff Cliff and thereby take
the upper hand in our annual hi-jinks, my rock image did allow me to
steal a few select medium-sized pots and I stayed ahead of the game.

It was a fun table, and I played all night, remaining steadfast
granite, gleaning 100 here, 100 there.  At different times the table
was populated by the likes of: Dan G, Sharon G, Michael Hunter, Mike
Maurer, Nolan, Grizz, Andrew Prock, Bingo, Charles Haynes, and several
more.  The bad-beat target this year appeared to be Maurer, who it
seemed never saw a river card while trailing, and never dragged a pot.

At some point during a break from the game, I grabbed a seat to catch
up with Dave Orr.  Dave, who I only knew peripherally the year before,
had taken my beautiful home in Belmont off my hands last October, so I
wanted to check up as to how he was taking care of my lost love.
That, and I reminded him that we had some purchase settlement costs
still to take care of.

We agreed to settle remaining costs via a heads-up freeze-out, and
adjourned to my room.  After the long hike up to the room, I whip out
some cards and chips for a pot-limit game, and on the second hand the
betting goes:

"bet 4"
"raise 10"
"raise the pot"
"all-in"

I'd flopped middle set, he'd flopped a pair and open-ender, and he
nabbed his straight on the turn.  My remaining three chips weren't
enough to rally, and when all was said and done he'd won the house for
a steal.

10 minutes later, we're back downstairs, and I rejoin the Binglaha
game.  Kim S comes by to rub my shoulders, but instead opts to give
Dan Goldman a backrub that has him groaning and folding.  In that
sense, Kim cost the game a pretty penny.

If you recall my remark above (way above) about her taking her pants
off, well, she had.  She was wearing a pair of, well, I guess you'd
call them "jeans" that were defined more by where the denim *wasn't*
than where it was.

Around 1AM Lenny snaps the big Tiltarino.  He's been in control the
entire trip, even after losing the big pot to Nolan yesterday, but
suddenly the dam breaks.  He folds the river on a pretty small pot --
I'm guessing he had a few outs -- and smashes his fist on the table
while it's full of chips.  Chip dusk goes flying everywhere.  Shrapnel
from a dessimated $25 chips made it to the opposite end of the table.
People taking to picking up fragments of Lenny's chips and using them
for tips and antes.

The game lasted until about 4AM, and I was there the whole time, the
card-carrying table rock.  Hell, Michael Hunter was playing more hands
than I was.  (Actually, that might have had something to do with his
blood-alcohol level being more of an alcohol-blood level.)  He and I
were chatting about our experiences in various bay area games, and
it's a testament to his poker acumen that he could recall hands,
players and dates while being unable to recall his own name.

After the game broke I made my way over to the NL HE/Omaha game, but
fell asleep on my hand during the first round.  I decided a pillow
would make a better, um, pillow, and crashed early.


Eggs Over Easy Like Sunday Morning
----------------------------------

After an entire trip of rushed meals, trying to get back to the poker
tables, Lenny, Theresa and I opted for the relative luxury and
languidness of the GN breakfast buffet.

I'm generally not a buffet kind of guy, but breakfasts are difficult
to ruin and I've had good meals there before.  I was temporarily
deterred when watching somebody in the dessert line bending *way* over
and leaning sideways in order to get his head under the sneeze-guard,
so he could *smell* one of the desserts.  Still, I just neglected that
particular bowl of lime tapioca and opted for a macaroon instead.

Back to Binions for a final shot at the NL game, and Rene is of course
already seated.  Ernie is nowhere to be seen.

At some point during this session Lenny makes his standard $50 "I must
be bluffing" bet against Rene, and this time Rene folds.  Lenny of
course is bluffing, and proudly shows a hand that has no relationship
whatsoever to the board.

Rene is gabbing as usual, and the rest of the table is rolling their
eyes as usual, so I as usual spur him on.  Then Rene takes two bad
beats and loses another pot in about a half-hour, and he's suddenly
*dead silent*.

Another half-hour of play goes by, and Rene hasn't said a word.  I'm
commenting to Lenny about the lack of chirping, loud enough for Rene
to hear, and this finally pulls him out of his funk and gets him
chattering again.  Just in time for us to head out, waving so long to
everybody at the table.  Rene promises to be in touch about my videos.

I whisper my good-bye to Binions, BARGErs present, and the ghosts of
BARGErs departed.


Every Good Boy Departs Finally
------------------------------

Ken Kubey is on the same flight back, and we all share a cab to the
airport.  I beat the World Roshambo Champion for cab fare for the
second time this trip.

On the plane, I win our final heads-up freeze-out and Lenny has to pay
for parking.

We spend the rest of the flight playing chinese poker with Kubey for
$5 a point.  Lenny tell Kubey to be patient, it's only a matter of
time before I mis-set my hand.

After leading for most of the flight, I'm up $10 approaching the
runway.  I mis-set my hand and end up even for the flight.  Kubey is
down $5 to Lenny, but beats the World Roshambo Champion (good old
rock) to get even.

The only remaining bad beat is discovering that we don't know where in
the long term parking lot we're parked.  Lenny solves this problem by
running up and down the aisle like a madman, holding his remote over
his head and pressing the alarm button until he locates the car.

          ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chuck and Peter, don't know how you do it, but thanks and please keep
doing it.  My wife Lisa somehow agreed to stay home with our two kids,
including our new 4 month old, while I cavorted, and for that she gets
the most thanks of all.

I've tried to characterize BARGE to the initiated, including Lisa, but
it's fairly difficult to capture what makes it unique in the poker,
and indeed any, community.

I believe it has mostly to do with the fact that every single person
there is so heavily committed to seeing to it that every other person
there -- from the other BARGErs, to the dealers, floor people,
servers, local rocks and tourists -- has fun.

Cliff put it best: "I'm here to maximize my Expected Bruce Laughter."
I think all BARGErs are there trying to maximize everybody else's
laughter, and I hope it stays that way.

---

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