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Tropicana Paradise (AC Trip Report Pt. 3)

After the tournament and cash game at the Showboat, Hole, bro-in-law Marc and I headed over to the Tropicana hotel for night #2. Roose was already on his way back to NY to start moving, but we had plenty of poker ahead.

Trop has special room rates for poker players, provided that the player plays 4 hours of poker. To qualify, you have to average 4 hours of poker per visit to the Trop anyway. Luckily, I had that covered hands down.

We arrived and failed in our 2nd attempt to get a room upgrade. Resigned, we headed to our room to dump off our bags. We were hungry, and I wanted to check out the Seaside Cafe, where I had many a grilled-cheese as a kid. I even had Thanksgiving dinner there a couple of times. At the time, my mother was fueding with her sisters, and my paternal grandmother had a way to cheer her up. "I know, let's go to Atlantic City for Thanksgiving." And a tradition lasting several years was born. Eventually the fued ended and so did the AC Thanksgiving trips. Now, it's been moved to Christmas. Ah, the joys of being a Jew.

Unfortunately, the Seaside Cafe had us wait around for about 5 minutes. That was too long for us degenerates, and we decided to go somewhere where class (i.e., Diamond cards v. regular) doesn't matter: Hooters. I kept the tradition alive by eating High On Poker's official gambling food, grilled cheese. Hole and Marc had cheese steaks. We all gawked at the waitresses. Marc chatted up ours and even slipped her his number. That guy is always on. I pontificated about the type of girl who works at Hooters. Well, they aren't strippers, but they do use their bodies to make money. I believe it's only a small step away, psychologically, but in reality, miles apart, mostly because I didn't get to see any boobies at Hooters.

After a refreshing meal and a pitcher of cheap light beer, the crew got to business. I contemplated playing some Roulette at the cheap $5 minimum tables with Hole, while Marc went to find some Stud action. He had been jonesing the entire trip, and took pride in his status as a Stud player. By the end of the trip, that status would be markedly different.

Meanwhile, I watched Hole lose his stack at Roulette, all the while humming to drown out the voice in my head saying, "Go ahead, Jordan. You like to gamble, don't you? Come to the light! Come to the light!" After Hole's misfortune, we headed to the poker room for some non-gambling poker.

I was seated immediately in the back. I bought in for the full $300 and looked around my table. White male city. Even worse, it wasn't young hotshots either. There were a bunch of older guys who looked and played very seriously. In a matter of an orbit, my stack dwindled from $300 to $130. In one hand, I held JJ. I bet from $2 to $10 preflop and was re-raised to $20. I called, figuring that it was an older guy willing to test the shlubby looking kid. I was also wary of overcards on the flop. The flop came down 7-high, and I felt good. Then my opponent bet $30. I thought to myself about my options, and decided to put his hand to the test. I raised to $100 total, my largest bet of the trip. The idea was to learn where I was at. If he called, I was in bad shape. If he re-raised I was screwed. If he was making a move with AK, I'd take down the hand. He called. Turn, check, check. River, check, check. He showed. AA v. JJ.

After that hand, I lost another chunk to a draw that didn't come in. I think I was playing a bit on tilt, but also it was a tough table. I got fed up after an hour, when I got into a war of words with a player at the table. I don't mind getting under people's skins, but not if it ruins my game or fun. I got up and found Hole, who was holding his own at a table of random characters. It didn't seem like a loose table either, and one guy in particular had a bucket load of cash in front of him. Apparently, he was cleaning up at the table. But he looked like a little kid to me, and I had no fear. I found the floor and asked to be moved as soon as a seat openned up.

Twenty minutes later, the floor is pointing me to my new seat. The lucky kid with all the dough decided to leave with his profits, and I was placed in his 8 seat. Robbie Hole was in the 3 or 4 seat. I felt a tinge of luck that I was sitting in the winner's seat. I didn't think about that luck again until late at night, talking to Hole with the lights out ready for bed. We realized that I had stepped into the seat of the guy controlling the table, and that I became the controller almost immediately.

Coming soon...The Anatomy of the Perfect Table...

posted by Jordan @ 12:56 PM,


At 2:53 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Keep the summaries coming, Jordan. I'm really enjoying all the posts about the weekend. And I like the foreshadowing you've set up now for your new table in the former winner's seat. Can't wait to hear the rest.

Btw, link me up there on your sidebar when you get the chance man. I might have missed it but I don't think I see me up there.

At 2:57 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thanks for the reminder, Hoyazo. I thought I had it up there too, but I'll fix it.

At 3:10 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Looking forward to the anatomy...of a perfect table you pervs.

Yeah, hook a hoyazo up.


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