Fun and frivolity in Las Vegas for most means letting loose, downing copious amounts of alcohol and leaving ones’ worries at home. I am not most.
Las Vegas to me is a workplace. Warfare on the felt at the Bellagio, Aria or any other poker room that will have me. After the birth of my son in June I reasoned that these trips would be few and far-between, but lo and behold my play-by-play duties take me to Sin City for a junket just a few weeks after the World Series Of Poker.
I know I have annoyed friends and loved-ones with my never-ceasing desire to be alone in Vegas. You see I am never really alone. Spending 12-14 hours at a poker table, reading people, concentrating, studying, playing, shoving, bluffing. That is my nadir. I venture most people wouldn’t find this “fun.” Well, the game is my fun, the grind is my fun. No cocktail, no circus show, no event can match the psychological showdowns on the felt. It’s a work trip. Filled with lots of rest and then the beautiful grind.
When the flop hits the board and you see a 2 and 4 on the board, beware if I’m in the hand. I might have it, then again, I might not.