Bagholder has always had a Love/Hate relationship with Las Vegas, the modern-day Mecca of Gambling & Debauchery. Originally built by gangsters, the desert paradise was a one-of-a-kind destination designed to get the average Joe to gamble away his paycheck by plying him with discounted/comped hotel rooms, free booze, world-class service, 99-cent prime rib, low-cost entertainment, and of course 24/7 gambling. For those of us old enough to remember the Mob-run Vegas of old, gambling away our paychecks in exchange for all those goodies, felt like a fair trade. It was a Shangri-la of sorts, with a unique atmosphere and vibrant multicolored lights hypnotic enough to pull you away from the responsibilities of your everyday life. It was…a place where time stood still. Bagholder loved it all at first sight.
Unfortunately, Vegas is no longer run by the Mob, as the Wall Street Suits have taken over. Sure the 24/7 gambling is still available, but the world-class service and 99-cent Prime rib have been replaced by long lines and $200 Tomohawk steaks. The cheapest hotel room at Caesars last weekend was $1340 per night, plus resort fee & taxes. The room service pot of coffee in the morning was $65, and came in a cardboard pot with paper cups. For fuck sake, they charge $30/day just to park. The wall street Vegas of today, as opposed to the Mob run Vegas my parents got, is one where everything has become an income stream. Bagholder is disturbed by all of it. I’m left feeling like Alec Baldwin in this iconic scene of “The Cooler”:
Despite all the changes for the worse instituted by Wall Street, Bagholder spent the better part of 3 weeks in Las Vegas this June catering to my inner degenerate by playing in 13 different events at the WSOP (World Series of Poker). To Bagholder, putting up with Wall Street’s hands in my pocket was a necessary evil in exchange for the pleasure of, as Joey Knish would say, “Sitting with the scumbags, telling jokes, and dragging the occasional pot.”
Truthfully, most poker players are not scumbags. They are however (Bagholder included) societal misfits - the proverbial square peg in a round world. Most, in one way or another, have given the “man” a big middle finger. Many of us are dropouts who recognized early the false promises of our educational system and the yok of student debt that comes with it. Many more threw off the shackles of the corporate world as they could not handle one more day of shoveling shit for their ungrateful boss. Every summer, tens of thousands of these misfits scrape together what cash they can and head to Las Vegas with the dream of an 8 figure payday winning the WSOP main event. The fame and the financial security that comes with winning the WSOP provides a level of freedom 9-5 gigs could never offer. The cold hard math, is while tens of thousands have visions of a life-altering experience, most will head back home, tail between their legs, and re-assume their position on the societal hamster wheel.
The tournament poker world is an ecosystem with a near-universal appeal to those of us who struggle to fit into society. It dangles the carrot of freedom, working for yourself, creating your own schedule, making all the decisions, and taking down the occasional big score. Having spent decades in that world, Bagholder has peeked behind the shiny veneer and can say with certainty that it’s a mirage for most. Making decisions for yourself requires reaping the consequences of those decisions, yourself. Chasing the big score means coming to grips with the reality that you will lose WAY more often than you win. The best tournament pros will cash in less than 20% of their tourneys and final table less than 2%. Tournament poker requires the realization that (like in life) good decisions do not lead directly to good results. You can do everything right, and if your opponent gets a timely card, you lose. This complete disconnect between good decisions and the immediate positive results is the norm, not the exception. As this disconnect asserts itself day after day, tourney after tourney, the psychological toll, is staggering. But then again, so is humpng the day shift in a corporate cubicle churning out TPS reports for some piece of shit ingrate of a boss.
Tournament poker is a grind, both physically and mentally. Sitting in the same chair 12 hours a day, standing in line to take a piss on 15-minute breaks, wolfing down over-priced food out of a bag on dinner break, ALL wear you down physically. The mental grind is even worse. After investing hours of your time patiently waiting to get your money in as a big favorite, you do just that, and the poker gods smite you by giving your opponent the one card in the deck that makes their hand better than yours. Poof. With just that one card, your opponent’s poor decisions are rewarded with a mountain of chips so tall, they can barely see over it; while you are left walking out of the room, talking to yourself, and wondering how any of it makes sense. Once again, those walks of frustration are the norm, not the exception.
It has been said, Holdem poker is a card game played by people. In reality, it is a people game played with cards. Crafting, and constantly updating a strategy tailored to exploit your opponent’s tendencies is the key to the game. Learn how to do that, and you can occasionally avoid the walk of frustration by running deep enough in a tournament to make a final table. Once there, every decision is magnified, every hand is life or death, and any given card could be your last. Bagholder was blessed to have made a final table in a WSOP event this year. It was an unbelievable experience. And yet, Bagholder wonders if you broke out the “scales of justice” and placed the exhilaration of that final table on one side, and the misery & frustration of all the bad beats in prior tournaments on the other - which would weigh more.
The truth is, it doesn’t matter which weighs more. Any winning player would tell you that you can’t have one without the other. Tournament poker is a long, meandering, seemingly never-ending journey through a barren desert in search of the ever illusive lush oasis of a final table. For those lucky enough to occasionally find the oasis, the respite from the desert should be savored. Bagholder speaks from experience when he says those moments are fleeting, for it is such a brief time before you are sent back to the desert to start the journey all over again.
Shortly after getting booted from the final table, Bagholder got a taste of just how fleeting those moments can be. The lovely Mrs. Bag, myself, and a close friend sat down in the hotel bar to have a celebratory drink. The stark reality of the real world was quickly apparent, as two bottles of beer & a glass of the house red were $57, plus tip. Where is the mob when you need it?
Sort of like fishing I guess.
The rewards are few and far between, but studying the shoreline, the water temperature, depth, and time of day, all can help you get your lure in good. You have to sit for hours, baking in the hot sun, balancing precariously as you piss off the side of the boat, scarfing down a ham sandwich between casts, which you will be doing most of the day and coming up dry. You may get a catch and see that monster so close to the boat, only to lose it in the river at the last second. Finally, you land one and you reel in the big guy; take it to the final dinner table. Sure beats humping the day shift in a corporate cubicle churning out TPS reports for some piece of shit ingrate of a boss.
Just like fishing actually...
And the three cigars were over $80.00 if I recall.
My dad used to say, "Bid 'em high and sleep in the streets." Is that an old saying? I never heard anybody else say it but assumed it was.