The Super Bowl in Vegas: How I lost $2500 on EVERY wager in a week.

Do you believe in karma? That everything happens for a reason and our bad deeds come speeding back at us on the boomerang of life? Nobody knows for sure, but it’s always good to keep a clean slate. Unfortunately, I still enjoy fucking with strangers. Counting some indiscretions, my lifetime slate of karma still remains above board. Maybe, though, I deserved an eight day streak of poor luck in sin city. Fortunately, the bad luck only involved money. I can get over that. But I can’t get over the fact that NOTHING went my way. Eight days of mostly 12 hour sessions at the poker tables, and I didn’t win a single day. That fact alone is worth a story. And it all begins at JFK airport enroute to Vegas…

Frank Gags and I were flying in January 2009. The day before the Super bowl and less than 2 weeks after Captain Sully’s heroic crash landing into the Hudson. The event was still fresh in everyone’s mind. The boomerang began here as I nearly peed myself laughing on the plane. Glancing out on the marshlands in the long afternoon sky, I screamed to Frank a few rows away, “Look at the beautiful flocks of birds…there must be hundreds of them.” The panic created an ear to ear smile for the entire take off.

Upon landing in the desert we were greeted with the chill of a winter’s night. Frank remarked how it felt refreshingly warmer than the climate we left in NYC. Then I propose my first in a historic line of lost wagers. I encouraged Frank to bet it’s still under 40 degrees out. He gladly accepts, and we wager the cost of the cab ride to the hotel.

In the cab, we’re greeted by a happy border crossing driver who has all the same silly cliché cabbie questions in broken English. He’s quickly silenced by our total interest in Las Vegas news, but he doesn’t know what AM channel the news is broadcast on.

“Sir, that’s a sports talk channel. We’re looking for a news channel.”

“A news channel please, not health talk” I insist as he fumbles around the dial.

“Me no have one” he says.

“There’s never any news in this town” I think aloud while searching my phone. After all, everyone is here to forget about life in the devil’s playground. At 49 degrees, the first wager is lost as we say goodbye to the driver and the Jesus glued to his dashboard.

The Super Bowl annually brings thousands of raging sports nuts to Las Vegas. Everywhere you turn there’s a banquet room with food and drink specials. We opt for McMullen’s, a large but cozy local Irish pub behind the Orleans casino, after first stopping at the Caesars sports book to place a litany of prop bets…all of which I lost. I was eager to wager on Jennifer Hudson exceeding the 2 minute line for the national anthem, but the house would not take action among the ten pages of available bets.

Instead, my wagers totaled $300 of other interesting bets. Here’s the list...

*Total distance of the longest field goal completed will be over 45 yards: LOST

*Total combined sacks in the game, over 4: LOST

*Team to commit the first penalty: LOST

*Total rushing by quarterback Kurt Warner, over 1 ½ yards. Basically one step forward: LOST

*Jersey number of first player in game to score will be over 33: LOST

*Arizona will score exactly 24 points in the game. 10 to 1 odds. They scored 23. LOST

We saddled next to a guy named Dennis and his entourage at the bar. He loved my enthusiasm for the wonderful two minute and eleven second national anthem. Dennis is another type A personality. A Vegas stereotype; a 250 pound gambling junkie with no credible job and no plans for the future. He’s proud to tell me how he spent last evening blowing one thousand at the craps table. By kickoff he’s already wired, thumbing his nose with the textbook “coke jaw” addling back and forth. Sensing the city stereotype in me, we bonded. He tells me about the 2 pound burgers in the joint that are as big as one’s head.

“I’ll bet you ten bucks you can’t finish just the burger alone in 30 minutes” he says as I stare at the redheaded waitress with the big Irish ass. I tell him, “I’ll finish the Burger, mashed potatoes and the garnish in 30 minutes.” He recommends we walk out back first, exposing an ounce of weed at the crowded bar. More than the munchies, I wanted another double vodka on the rocks to help wash it down. The burger was indeed great! Twenty one minutes later, I handed Dennis a squeaky clean plate and the bill. It was the only wager I would win the entire week.

The Venetian casino holds three large poker events each year. Each event brings over five hundred players, and most buy in’s are $400. After 3 attempts ending with improbable bad beats, I’m down over a grand.

Playing at an 11pm tournament at Binion’s legendary poker room, I make the final table. It’s hysterical because every final table tourney is moved to their featured table. It’s a platform table railed off and close to the hotel front desk area and a nearby bathroom. You feel like a celebrity…even with a $100 buy in and only 5 tables of players. I felt more like a celebrity knowing that poker hall of famer Suzie Isaacs was at my table and I outlasted her. It was sad to see her eliminated. She was the most charismatic player at my table. The rest of the final table were all rubbas. By 1am and a good five hours of drinking tumblers of straight vodka on the rocks the nearby bathroom was a pleasure.

We’re down to 7 players up at the platform table. Only the top 5 players would cash, and at 2 am there were only a few spectators. My buddy Frank was watching and some big leather clad biker dude was watching his equally dirty friend who was on the button in a great hand.

With the blinds at 900/1800 the first player goes all in for 2200. The nerd next to him calls as does the biker. In the small blind, I have  A, 7 of diamonds and call. The big blind calls too and we see the flop 5 handed. I wonder aloud to Frank on the rails, “I wonder who’s gonna screw this one up.” Flop comes 10, 7, 5 with 2 diamonds. The nerd now goes all in for 2000. I shoot him a look, and utter something displeasing. Biker dude calls, and I look at the over 12k pot, wave my hand above it counting and say “that was ridiculous, of course I call!” The turn brings a black deuce. The biker bets 5k into the pot. With only 9k left in chips, I cannot call on a hand where I’m likely behind.

“I knew it Frank” I say aloud as I looked toward the biker. “You better have both of them beat to push me out of the pot, or else I’m gonna make you my bitch the rest of the game!”

“What!” the biker screams. “What did you say?”

“You heard me!” I say as I muck my hand. The entire table feels the chill as the dealer tries to control the conversation and the hand. The river blanks me and my diamond draw but doesn’t help Harley boy’s Ace-Jack hand either. The nerd takes down the hand top pair. The first all in player exits the table with his pocket sixes turned up.

“Congratulations, you suck” I say across the table as I order another cocktail. The biker is getting stirred. His friend on the rail is not liking me much either. The dealer says something to calm me down, though I’m not the one getting heated.

“I think you suck!” is the only statement my 6 foot 2 and 300 pound dude utters as I hear his voice getting angrier…exactly what I want to do down to 6 players.

“Sir, you’re probably a great guy.” I lean forward stating. “I’d probably wanna buy you a beer off the poker table, but at this point we’re playing ELIMINATION style poker. And you don’t get it. Indeed you truly suck! You have no business at the final table and you’re counterproductive to the cause.” I swallow a big swill from my glass and the game continues. Frank shoots me that “shut the fuck up” look as the outside biker on the rails whispers to Frank, “Your friend don’t know what he’s getting into.”

A few hands later everyone folds to biker boy in the small blind and me in the big blind. As expected he puts in a raise 3 times the blinds. I look at my pocket 10’s. chuckle at him and the table and call. Sure enough, the board comes, J, 10, 4 rainbow. He continuation bets. I sigh and go all in, but for not much more. He also has me covered.

“A pocket pair?” he says aloud and you can believe EVERYONE is paying close attention.

“No. I say to him. Just better cards than yours. cause you’re horrible.” Man, I was trying every trick in the book to hook this rubba. Instead he just folded.

The very next hand we take a 10 minute break. Now I’m expecting fireworks. I gotta pee first, knowing the break should be a doozie.

I’m the third player into the bathroom and I hurry to the urinal. The other players quietly shuffle in. You can cut the tension with a knife. I see the shadow I anticipated moving toward me. Everyone is looking at him as he approaches me and leans his big forearm onto the urinal partition and stands behind me to my right. I’m trying to brace for the punch to the back of my head and wondering if this dude is punk enough to strike another man while actively using a urinal. While standing, another thought puts a smirk on my face. I remember telling friends that I was bringing extra bail money on my first week-long stay in town.

“Hey you fat fuck! You wanna step outside?” he says from behind.

“Well I can’t right this second” I say looking down at my zipper…”but I’ll tell you what…I’d hate to fight over a poker game. I’d like to think I have the mental acuity to realize that poker is not worth fighting for. So how’s this sound?” while zippering my pants and turning to the sink still expecting a punch to the head. “First I’m gonna take all your chips from you. THEN if you want to fight we can fight. But I’d rather fight for charity, or even just for shits and giggles but not over a silly game.” How’s that sound?”

I throw my paper towel in the trash and walk out. It couldn’t have been scripted better. Every jaw in the room had hit the floor and I walked out with a big grin on my face. It was worth a beating just to see the expressions on every player's face in the bathroom.

The biker storms outside for a smoke and is clearly angry. After the break the nerd whispers in my ear, “That guy is really pissed at you. You better watch out!”

Sadly the story ends there, as I raise a hand, and another weak player comes over the top of me. I knew I had to call him. He shows K, J off suit to my A, 9 of diamonds. And sure enough he rivered a jack. The boomerang on the tournament bubble hit me once again! With that, I stood up and shook the winners hand, thanked every player at the table including my biker friend. He was quick to call me a fat fuck as I walked away. I blew him a kiss and walked with Frank out the door. Fortunately or not, he never followed me.

It sucked losing two and a half grand on bad beats for a week…but I never had to use that bail money.