DAY 1D. THE JOURNEY TO HELL AND BACK...AND FUN PEOPLE. B.A.P., ANYONE.?




6,865 players this year.  Just a few of them here.

 It was downright "Twilight Zone" to be sitting back at Table White 51 in the Pavillion Room.  Of all the tables in the Rio, the one where I "left off" with a bust in 2009 (my only other WSOP main) was the most curious spot to land in this years event.  In the seat of the guy who busted me no less.  Kind of like they divide day one up into day one A, B, C, and D...this felt like I was playing in event 2009-B.  The conclusion of a cliffhanger.  A do-over.  Something.

So I was a little terrified when ol' TT landed in my palms again.  But it worked out well, and I played it right.

2009's unceremonious exit was extra heartbreaking because the guys at my table and I were all having a great time.

Ditto 2011.  Deja vu all over again.

I don't know why it is that I always seem to have a great time at main events.  Maybe it's the awesome structure.  Maybe it's the magnitude of the event paired up with people on day one that one can only wonder how on Earth they got in, or landed in a lucky enough gene pool to have such funds available.

But it's probably the nervous tension that I pick up on at the table and try my hardest to twist that nervousness into a fun time.  Toss around a few insults with a smile and a wink, tell a few stories that make no sense...then stop and look around confused... whatever it takes, I always try to turn that nervous energy into a good time.  And this bunch of guys, well, at least on my side of the table, were game.  The other side of the table?  Not so much.

Then there were our two mildly psychotic dealers.  Picuted immediately below is "Raven."  Presumably her stage name.  This self-proclaimed witch, as in "Wiccan," decided she absloutely must wear my ridiculous leopard skin sunglasses.  She was, to say the least, a lot of fun, and had no reservations about being excessively goofy despite the size and importance of the tournament.  After she put my glasses on, a tablemate told her she should "lick his glasses to give them some witch magic."  She wasted no time and covered my glasses in a nasty, glossy veneer of 62-year old saliva.  The table roared laughing!   All except for the stoic Jedi-Knight hooded Dwanna-be's in seats 3,4, and 5....more on them in just a moment.

The "sexy" pose.



Spit.  It's the new "rust-coating."



NNN TSS NNN TSS NNN TSS

"Raven" had lots of good one liners, and really cracked me up when one of the Dwanna-be's took forever on a hand, released it, and she taunted him by saying kind of quietly, "Baby...I still need to get my toothbrush back."

Gold!

Then there was "A.J." a dealer from Thailand who reminded everyone that if you play AJ you'll wind up in the parking lot, and that her nickname in fact was "Parking Lot."

"Wanna go to Parking Lot, honey?" she'd ask.   Then she'd insist that me and the dude next to me had to give her a lapdance.  Even took a couple of stray dollar bills out of her pocket, and begged for it!  Hysterical!!!

By level three, of course, most of the laughter had subsided...and the rest of the entire Pavillion Room no longer had to wonder why our remote corner of the room was having such a great time.

"Parking Lot."

As I was slowly grinding my way up to $35,000 from my starting stack of $30,000, aiming for my calling station target who I'd named "Darth Spewer," the wheels came off and took me from in a great mood, to so angry I actually believed I couldn't physically see for a few seconds.

How the other side of the table "rolls."On their collective bookshelves: "Being
a Tool for Dummies."  Do they all shop at the same garage sales?  I don't
 know, but pictured center is"Darth Spewey, Lord of Jedi Clowns."

Darth Spewey, who's mission in life seemed to play Ace-rag from any position and river two pair against anyone, looked down to find himself with a commanding stack of 70,000 pretty quickly.  Make no mistake about it...I liked that quite a bit, since another guy in seat two really seemed to be the best player at the table, I'd much prefer Darth to have the chips.  Or so I thought.  It's no fun when your target's special Sith power is not "force lightning," but "catching abilities."

I raise big. I flop a perfect one-gapper straight.  Darth Spewey calls. I jam it.  Again.  He rivers a flush with a lovely J6h.

I look down at AA against him.  9,3,2, J,9.  I jam huge every street.  He has A-9o.
At about this time, I look down at 9k in chips, taste the full, rancid flavor of defeat in my mouth, and start to have a Helmuthian meltdown of rage.  More like a blackout where I just had to walk it off...for twenty minutes.

Picked and clawed my way back up to 14k, doubled up somehow with AK, won another big one, clawed and scratched some more and finished with 64k.  WHEW!!!  Comeback!

About the same time that Monkey and I are sending creative suicide plans to one another via text message, he makes a REMARKABLE comeback as well.  El Monkez went from 1,975  (about a small blind, big blind and an ante) to finish the day at 42k.  Wow.

Almost a shame...because I kind of liked the idea of sending a long rope through the rafters in the ceiling of the Pavillion Room and going Saddam in front of the crowd.

No?  Too soon?

Well, there's always tomorrow, but I'm really planning on cashing this thing instead.  Stay tuned.

Lastly, just a word of confirmation to Gabe Costner and Michael "Car Wash" Schneider, who have 20% of me, and a 1% save-swap respectively.  Also, I'm glad to see my 40% of Monkey didn't vanish into the land-of-broken-dreams-o-sphere yesterday, and is positioned for what I can only hope will be a strong run starting today at high noon.  Also predicting Claudia "The Claw" Crawford to make a big run.  Don't know why that is, I just trust my gut.  Hope she'll swap 1% with me tomorrow.

And as I look at that, I realize I'm really overinvested in myself for this one.  I'd like to probably sell another 25% or so of my action.  Or at least a swap.  You guys let me know... but not too late, and we'd have to have some sort of a written deal, of course.

Off to get a good night sleep in a comfortable bed, have a great run through the crack corridor of Las Vegas tomorrow morning, and if I don't get shot, stabbed, or beat down, do some good things tomorrow.  Hope my A-game shows up.

Boom Shaka Laka Laka,
K