tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-184882702023-03-16T04:14:23.144-07:00Las Vegas Poker through the eyes of a Parisian GrinderParisPokerNuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1136212782888931302006-01-02T06:36:00.000-08:002006-01-02T06:39:42.900-08:00

I always get a kick out of hearing high profile poker players declare it’s not the money that counts, but winning the bracelet. That sounds a bit strange when the essence of the game is that it has to be played for money. Clearly, poker can be defined as a series of monetary challenges as to who holds actual or potential winning hands. Chips are used in lieu of cash as a matter of convenience.

Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1136049819644040342005-12-31T09:18:00.000-08:002005-12-31T09:23:39.656-08:00

One afternoon in a game of dealer’s choice, I won a hand that elicited surprise and admiration from nearly every player at the table. While the consensus among my opponents was that I had pulled off a brilliant coup, in truth all I did was commit a lucky error. What made the hand particularly pleasing was the expression of shock on the face of the victim of my stupidity. Universally detested,

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135792660677379432005-12-28T09:52:00.000-08:002005-12-28T09:57:40.690-08:00

For a long while our afternoon poker game in Paris seemed to be going nowhere. Day after day the same eight or nine participants showed up with an attitude of passing time rather than enjoying the challenge of creative poker. Of course that was better than no game at all. Still, I suspected if things didn’t pick up, poker might die a slow death. Happily, Alain Bertier, Grandpa Pepe, and

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135695444675224532005-12-27T06:51:00.000-08:002005-12-27T06:57:24.690-08:00

I was playing a dice game called Yam with Alain Bertier when a slim elegant gentleman wearing a pair of thick-rimmed eyeglasses came into his boutique. Bertier eyed him briefly before urging me to get on with the game. “Make yourself at home, Monsieur,” he said to the gentleman. “Call me if you need any assistance.” I was reluctant to throw the dice. Not because I was thinking of poker. More

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135610610981913092005-12-26T07:18:00.000-08:002005-12-26T07:23:30.993-08:00

One afternoon a tall man with a fair complexion came into the bar where our afternoon poker games took place in Paris. Smartly dressed in a dark blue suit and a bright red tie, his long brown hair ended in a ponytail. He had light blue eyes and a small crooked mouth. A pair of ash blonde mustaches curled from his upper lip to his cheekbones. “You’re Bill, aren’t you?” he asked me. I said I

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135521784654739642005-12-25T06:40:00.000-08:002005-12-25T06:43:04.666-08:00

Have you noted this particular holiday season that many people are puzzled as to how to express their feelings? Apparently “Merry Christmas” is politically incorrect, while “Season’s Greetings” and “Happy Holidays” are nothing less than cop-outs. In matters pertaining to Christmas, the inmates seem to be taking over the asylum. Between religious fanatics on the one side and their anti-religious

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135349958946329012005-12-23T06:54:00.000-08:002005-12-23T06:59:18.963-08:00

Unlike we Americans who begin preparing for Christmas in early November, the French wait until mid December before unloosening their heavy artillery. That’s easy enough to understand. Rather than frolicking Santas, chubby snowmen and leaping reindeer, the holiday season offers the locals an excellent occasion to manifest their gastronomic expertise. In the spirit of the old Roman festival of

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135263905155115992005-12-22T07:01:00.000-08:002005-12-22T07:05:05.170-08:00

Is it possible for a player to lose with four aces? Of course! Many of us have seen it happen. What about losing with a straight flush? Personally, I’ve never witnessed it, though of course theoretically it can occur. Indeed, in Texas Hold ‘Em, how would you feel holding the seven of spades when the board displayed the eight, nine, ten, jack of spades and your opponent just went all-in? He

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135172103693301302005-12-21T05:31:00.000-08:002005-12-21T05:35:03.703-08:00

One of the advantages of having a foreign spouse is that you get to learn new words and expressions all the time. Like with my German wife, commenting on my case of budenkoller. What is budenkoller? Doubtless a literal translation would be: ‘chamber wrath.’ On the Rhine or Oder, a bude is a small room, while koller is the Teutonic version of choler, an emotion personified by anger and

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1135078247626813452005-12-20T03:28:00.000-08:002005-12-20T03:30:47.640-08:00

Attitude is everything. Well, almost everything. Anyone would prefer to hold aces and kings in a docile mood to rags when feeling like an angry tiger. So yesterday, nine days after breaking my arm, I stopped off at The Palms to try my hand (the good one) at no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em. Which brings me to the conclusion that, if not everything, attitude means an awful lot. I just couldn’t get

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1134314421533512002005-12-11T07:19:00.000-08:002005-12-11T15:25:47.796-08:00

Yesterday on a visit to the Ramparts Casino in Summerlin, about 10 miles from The Strip, I fell down and broke my arm in three different places. While the pain is considerably less today, it remains bad enough to make typing difficult. I’m telling you I’d rather lose four aces to a straight flush than go through that experience again. Tomorrow morning I have a visit scheduled with an

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1134232522266104312005-12-10T08:31:00.000-08:002005-12-10T08:35:22.310-08:00

Last night I went to Mandalay Bay again. Wait a minute! That sounds like the opening line of a book. There was a film too, directed by Hitchcock, starring Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine. Yes, “Rebecca,” a novel by Daphne Du Maurier. But I don’t have it quite right. “Last night I dreamed I went to Manadalay again.” That’s how it went. No, not Mandalay, it was Manderley. That’s the way

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1134147450714970782005-12-09T08:52:00.000-08:002005-12-09T08:57:30.726-08:00

One similarity to poker playing and police work is that each requires a lot of patience. Any detective will tell you he spends far more time in observation than in confrontation. Plod along plod is the modus operandi, be the person a professional dick or a regular player in Las Vegas card rooms. Timidity and discipline defined yesterday’s one-two no-limit game at the MGM Grand. Playing a hand

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1134057735640512442005-12-08T07:56:00.000-08:002005-12-08T08:02:15.653-08:00

I liked the gentleman sitting at my left at yesterday afternoon’s no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em game chez Wynn. He spoke in a soft voice, had a sense of humor and showed me he had a king high flush when I dropped out against him with two high pairs. “Good fold,” he said. “I guess I was too expensive.” Whether he was or wasn't mattered little. I abandoned the hand since previously I had noticed him

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133977304998337262005-12-07T09:32:00.000-08:002005-12-07T09:41:45.016-08:00

I was enjoying an aperitif at the outdoor terrace of the Café Deux Maggots when a series of loud blasts of an automobile horn interrupted the evening calm. While Alain Bertier was not the sole person in Paris who possessed a ‘La Cucaracha’ claxon, I doubt if anybody other than he would repeat such a frivolity five times. Double-parking his Peugeot convertible, he charged over to where I was

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133882438536587302005-12-06T07:17:00.000-08:002005-12-06T07:20:38.583-08:00

While my friend Pedro da Silva was busy playing blackjack yesterday afternoon, it took me close to an hour to be seated at a Texas Hold ‘Em game at the Mirage. The conversation at the table was focused on money, hardly an uncommon topic on the Las Vegas Strip. “There is a rumor that Madonna is throwing big bucks away over at The Palms.” “At what game?” “Texas Hold ‘Em. What else?” “I didn’t

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133807136175970732005-12-05T10:09:00.000-08:002005-12-05T10:25:36.186-08:00

Thank heavens John Updike taught us the word redux in his brilliant series of "Rabbit" books. So today, since I am taking another day off, I am titling today's comments: "Renewal Redux." All this because last night, 25 hours late, my wonderful friend of 35 years, Pedro da Silva (see "Marathon Game") arrived in Las Vegas. Pedro is a consummate master of complicating the most simple matter.

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133703652736436802005-12-04T05:36:00.000-08:002005-12-04T05:40:52.756-08:00

Besides advocating civil disobedience (in certain instances), Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) also said: “renew yourself each day; do it again and again and forever again.” Pretty good advice, Monsieur! Accordingly, I am taking today off from posting blogs, remembering Paris, playing poker, or repeating whatever inanities I performed yesterday. How wonderful it shall be to discover new

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133626201825190062005-12-03T08:05:00.000-08:002005-12-03T08:10:01.840-08:00

If there is any one point that contestants at a no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em table agree on, it’s the belief that wired aces have a tendency to win little but lose big. I don’t think there is a player alive - or dead - who has not suffered a major loss when holding a pair of aces. Certainly, I never met such a person. My particular memory of getting ripped apart when holding those two cards

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133536059239070752005-12-02T06:59:00.000-08:002005-12-02T07:07:39.253-08:00

When asked to give his definition of justice, Thrasymachus (circa 459 – 450 BC) who appears in the first book of Plato’s ‘Republic’ replied: “justice is simply the interest of the stronger.” While the idea that might makes right is unpalatable to many of us, it is doubtful that anyone can come up with a better definition. Whether in the casinos of Las Vegas, the boardrooms of Wall Street or

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133454118318888632005-12-01T08:18:00.000-08:002005-12-01T08:21:58.336-08:00

I am a nasty, miserable, cantankerous son of a bitch. Anyway, that’s how I felt last night after a particularly lousy performance at no-limit Texas Hold ‘em. As if losing wasn’t bad enough, I had to stop off at the supermarket. Wouldn’t you know it? My checkout line could have been awarded the Guinness Book of Records for languor. The store was overheated and I was overdressed. Drops of

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133375505071826732005-11-30T10:14:00.000-08:002005-11-30T10:31:45.086-08:00

Of all the madmen I encountered in 30 years of poker in Paris none was nuttier than Marcel Favart. Universally called Baby Rose, Favart’s winning percentage was lower than a worm’s belly in winter. Fellow art dealer, Alain Bertier might have lost more money (he was richer), but even he was able to throw away a small pair or resist drawing to an inside straight. In afternoon sessions Baby Rose

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133274410993785012005-11-29T06:19:00.000-08:002005-11-30T08:14:14.580-08:00

One evening during a prolonged winning streak in Paris, I invited a friend for dinner at Maxims. At the time, the restaurant was considered a temple of gastronomy, equal in both the quality of its cuisine and the esthetics of its Majorelle interior. All that changed years ago when the Michelin Guide downgraded the establishment by removing two of its prized three stars. In a highly publicized

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133200224310161132005-11-28T09:42:00.000-08:002005-11-28T10:51:21.013-08:00

The first evening I played poker at Jerry and Carla Prtikin’s I immediately recognized I had fallen into a cavern of riches. Their invitees were as unskillful as those who played in my afternoon game. In the poker business one’s assets are one’s opponents. Chez Pritkin I was facing a group of kindergartners. Apparently, Jerry’s main objective was to show off to his wife. He could not restrain

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18488270.post-1133108205400232662005-11-27T08:14:00.000-08:002005-11-27T08:16:45.413-08:00

At last the long Thanksgiving weekend is coming to a close. The lines for everything have been endless. At casino after casino, up to three-quarters of an hour was necessary to retrieve one’s car from valet parking. Well, that did me a bit of good. The only place I’ve been able to win at no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em has been the Wynn, where the self-parking lot, I learned yesterday, is adjacent to

Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03352425806949877635noreply@blogger.com0