I’d like to think that SOMEDAY soon I’ll be able to write a post where my ill health isn’t the lead subject, but that day hasn’t yet arrived. After beating down my bronchitis a week ago it came back with a vengeance on Thursday. That’s the day I decided to take as my first day off, and instead of playing poker or swanning about Bellagio or whatever I spent 90% of it in my room feeling awful. I went to work yesterday and could not stop coughing. The general consensus on media row was, “Gene, go see a doctor”. And for once I decided to take good advice when it was offered and went to a clinic just down the street from MGM. Was in and out within an hour, with a beefed-up prescription and apparently lungs free of serious congestion. Feel better today, though I still have the occasional coughing jag.

For me, the 2009 World Series of Poker will be forever known as the Year of Feeling Miserable. There’s always been a little something wrong with me, when there wasn’t A LOT wrong with me. Hopefully these meds will clear me up once and for all and I can actually enjoy myself a little before its time to pack up and head home. Which is close enough now that I can almost see the finish line by so far away it feels like an eternity. Which is kinda the WSOP in a nutshell.

Beyond my suffering (which probably makes for fun reading for some of you) here are a few highlights from the World Series so far:

• I had the worst Chinese food in the world for dinner last night. I got it from Studio Wok at MGM–kids, never EVER eat at Studio Wok. I was starving and needed food to take my pills with, and I threw away more than two-thirds of it. I wish I’d thrown away, oh, fifteen-sixteenths. Here on Media Row we’re often critical of the Chinese offerings in the Poker Kitchen, especially late at night. Studio Wok made the Poker Kitchen look like an episode of Iron Chef.
• As I walked down the Strip to the clinic yesterday two girls bought a couple of bottles of beer and dumped them in a glass. Then the one girl put her thumb on the bottle and shook it up and started spraying people who walked past. Folks, you come to Vegas, act like you’ve been here before. Jesus.
• As I walked back to the MGM after the doctor I saw two girls wearing black bikinis and flip-flops coming down the sidewalk from Monte Carlo. They were so drunk they kept falling down, until the one girl just plopped down on the sidewalk, giggling hysterically, while her friend tried to pull her to her feet. I was pleased that the crowd waiting to cross the street looked at them like they were frickin’ idiots. I should add that it was about 100 degrees out and that sidewalk had to be hot as hell.
• I got back to MGM to catch the shuttle back to the Rio and some folks walked by, more than a few carrying drinks. One crazed individual in his sixties walked by with a friend, no shirt, and carrying a half-full (or half-empty) bottle of Cuervo. “This is my drink,” he said to his companion as he lifted the bottle for a sip. Viva Las Vegas!
• The number of times I’ve nearly been run over by people on those motorized scooters? Three. The number of times the driver who nearly flattened me was T.J. Cloutier? One.
• I usually get back to the MGM around midnight or so, and it’s a bit depressing at times to walk through the lobby and see scores of pretty girls dressed to the nines going out to the clubs–and I’m dragging my ass back to my room to collapse. That said, my God, there are SO many bad tattoos out there. Nothing like seeing a beautiful woman in a slinky gown glide by…and then see she has a toucan the size of a serving tray tattooed on her back. Which I saw a couple of weeks ago. “A toucan?” I thought. “She’s really into Froot Loops, maybe?” Maybe. Who knows.
• Video poker has not treated me well this time around. Not well at all. Quads, just four times. That used to be a good afternoon for me. No more. No more.

So that pretty much sums up my last four weeks. And that’s so depressing I think I’m gonna have a cry. Still got a few weeks to turn everything around, maybe another blue pill will do the trick…

Oh, and yinz know you can follow my musings on Twitter, right? I post nonsensical ramblings there quite a bit during the day, they may amuse.

OK, I didn’t get to touch the Stanley Cup, or get my picture taken with it, or drink a Sam Adams out of it. But I got some pics and I wrote up a post at the UB blog that I’m gonna repost here, because I really don’t feel like writing another post about last night.

Oh, and last night I hit quads TWICE, booking a $70 win and erasing about 30% of my gambling losses for the trip. Maybe one of these days I’ll actually play some poker. Or, maybe not. So far I’ve worked, uh, 22 out of 22 days. Feel fine, no burnout, getting enough sleep, finally got some meds to beat back my bronchitis. Of course the idea of having an entire day off makes me want to weep with joy, but I don’t see that happening. No biggie. My shattered body and psyche will rest when I get home. Home. Home.

Anyway, about the Cup:

It’s a hockey night in Vegas. Or it WAS a hockey night in Vegas, last night in fact. The NHL Charity Shootout tournament was held yesterday and a number of current and former NHL legends were here in the Amazon Room. I took a bunch of pictures, which was difficult at times because what with the ESPN cameras orbiting the table I had to shoot through the glass that was set up around the table–you do recall me saying that they’d remodeled the Feature Table arena to give it a more appropriate feel:

They also replaced the table’s green felt with a really cool rink motif:

The tournament was conducted shootout-style, with the top 3 players at each table moving on to the final table. A few pics I managed to snag:

Current MVP (and he’ll almost certainly win the award again tonight) Alexander Ovechkin of the Washington Capitals. That white fin pointed at his head was from the lens hood of the film camera, sorry about that, couldn’t angle myself over to get a better shot. Notice please that Ovechkin is wearing an All-Star baseball cap, not a Stanley Cup Champion cap. Have I mentioned before that I’m from Pittsburgh and a borderline-insane Penguins fan?

Montreal Canadiens forward-enforcer Georges Laraque. Laraque played for the Pens the previous two seasons, where he was a huge fan-favorite (literally and figuratively). One of the most feared fighters in the NHL, Laraque isn’t one of those guys who goes out and picks fights. He lets others start the fight…and then he ends it. Oftentimes two guys will agree before a faceoff to duke it out, and after the two agree to drop the gloves Laraque often says, without sarcasm, “Good luck”. Seems like the sort of guy you’d like to have at your table. Maybe at the other end of your table.

Jeremy Roenick, currently with the San Jose Sharks after having played (and played exceedingly well) for about a half-dozen other teams during his illustrious career. He was one of the more crowd-pleasing players during the tournament, and even when he was waiting for the final table to start. We were sitting on Media Row when Roenick sat down with a stack of red and green chips and was playing some young guy heads-up. It didn’t take Roenick long to lose his stack, and then he leapt up and headed back to the stage. It was remarked during the tournament that Roenick looks more like actor James Woods than James Woods does.

NBC hockey analyst (and former Penguin player, coach and announcer) Ed Olczyk. More than any other hockey personality at the event, Olczyk LOOKED like a poker player. He also won a pot playing my favorite hand, the Hammer (otherwise known as Seven-Deuce offsuit).

As the day wore on I started to get a wee bit excited, as I knew the STANLEY CUP would be arriving around 8pm and I was gonna be there when that happened. I knew the Cup was going to be included in the daily bracelet ceremony (which was pushed back from 2pm to eight) and a bit before the appointed hour I got a spot by the stage and stared down anyone who tried to infringe on my territory. Some guy tried to engage me in idiotic conversation (about how he should’ve won two bracelets already like J.C. Tran but in 2007 his aces got blah blah blah) but I looked at him in such a way that he quickly ended the conversation and scurried away with his head still on his shoulders.

And then the side door behind the stage opened and…there was the Stanley Cup, carried in by a gentleman wearing clean white gloves and escorted by a phalanx of security, Harrah’s execs, and excited gawkers. I held my ground by the stage as people saw the Cup carried up on stage and pressed close, and I squeezed off a few shots of the Holy Grail itself:

It was smaller than I expected, more nicked-up, not as shiny, and the bowl at the top was dented in a few places. And, sigh, it was more beautiful than I dreamed. Jeffrey Pollack took the microphone and told the crowd that the NHL had come to the WSOP for the day, and that included the greatest trophy (yes, he said even greater than the WSOP bracelet) in the world, the Stanley Cup.

Pollack introduced the three bracelet winners from the day before–Leo Wolpert, James Van Alstyne, and J.C. Tran, and the crowd stood as the Star-Spangled Banner was played for the three new champions:

After that Pollack introduced Gary Bettman, the NHL Commissioner (and Pollack’s brother), who returned the throngs to action by announcing “shuffle up and deal!”. And then the two Commissioners posed for a few pics with the Cup:

It’s been something of a running joke among my friends on Media Row that I’d need to be kept on a leash when the Cup arrived. I may have made some idle comments about grabbing the Cup and making a break for the door (and probably getting Tasered within five steps). During the bracelet ceremony I was about 5 feet from the Cup–all I had to do was step forward, reach out, and touch it. That’s all I wanted to do–touch the Cup. Maybe get my picture taken with it.

As the ceremony ended a guy in a Steelers sweatshirt squeezed forward to get a better look, apologizing for his shouldering by saying, “I’m from Pittsburgh, I gotta get a closer look!”. I said I was from Pittsburgh too and we did the fist-bump to celebrate the Pens victory. As the crowd started to disperse he took that step forward, reached out, and touched the Cup, as his friends snapped pictures.

The reaction wasn’t as extreme as I feared, but there was a reaction. Security moved forward, a Harrah’s person told him to knock it off, another barked an order and the man with the gloves whisked the Cup off the stage. My fellow ‘Burgher apologized and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I HAD to touch the Cup!” That seemed to satisfy the guards, they didn’t hustle him out of the room, so maybe I could’ve gotten away with putting my fingertips on the Cup. Or, maybe I would’ve lost my media badge. It wasn’t worth the risk.

They brought the Cup onto the Final Table stage and set it on a table near where the bracelet display usually is. A few WSOP employees had their pictures taken with the Cup, but they weren’t letting just anybody (or, just anybody like me) in for a snapshot. I guess I understand–let someone like me say cheese while standing by the Cup and EVERYBODY would want to get a picture. Madness, chaos, the end of civilization would ensue.

So I just there with the other media types for a bit and just…looked at it. Funny, had the Penguins lost Game 7 the sight of the Cup would’ve made me want to barf. Instead I sighed like a lovesick teenager. I wonder if players who win WSOP bracelets feel the same way when they get their hands on it. I wonder if players who come second and don’t have a bracelet look at it and feel nauseous. And I wonder how long those feelings last. For me, I looked at the Cup from afar for about fifteen minutes, and then I remembered I hadn’t eaten in about 10 hours. It was enough to see it, take pictures of it, bask in its presence. Eventually the Stanley Cup will return home to Pittsburgh, and so will I. “I’ll catch up with you later,” I said to that glittering silver chalice, and headed for home.

OK, yinz in Pittsburgh had your chance to see the Stanley Cup in person–now it’s my turn. The NHL is holding a charity tournament here in the Amazon Room today (the NHL Awards ceremony is at the Palms tomorrow) and I have solid information that THE STANLEY CUP WILL BE HERE TODAY. And if the STANLEY CUP WILL BE HERE TODAY you’d better be DAMN SURE I’m gonna get pictures of it and, God willing, maybe even get up close and touch it.

ESPN is filming the event, they have their big cameras here and they added hockey accouterments to the final table arena. To wit:

Yes, those are boards, glass, etc. The table itself is really cool, they replaced the green felt with “ice” and added the bluelines, faceoff circles, the works:

The tournament is going on right now, they’re playing three shootout tables (the top three from each starting table ends up at the final table tonight) and the guy I’m rooting for right now is Georges Laraque, the former Penguin tough guy who was such a fan favorite. I fondly remember rooting him on many a time as he made a shambles of some silly opponent’s face.

Alexander Ovechkin will be playing at some point today (I’ll stay classy and won’t run him), Roberto Luongo is there right now, Pat LaFontaine got knocked out, as did Mike Richards. I’ve been told that there will be a Penguin playing today (Max Talbot?) and maybe that’s when the Cup will arrive. That would make sense, bring it later in the day when the room is filled and there’s more energy in the place. But at some point I’ll get to see the cup. Maybe touch the Cup. Maybe add my name to Stanley Cup lore–I’ll be the insane guy in Vegas who grabbed the Cup and made a break for it and got Tasered after five steps. Aw man, that’d be AWESOME!!!

I watched Game 7 up at the Rio spotsbook with Al and Jen and Tim, though I think they were all more interested in watching me melt down than the game itself. I sat on the edge of my seat and sipped water and tried my darnedest not to spontaneously combust. There were three people sitting at the bar directly in front of us…they were rooting for the Pens, but they were loud and obnoxious and the woman had a voice that could cut through an engine block. That and she was wearing way-too-short shorts and a blue-green striped tank top that seemed to be made from sailcloth. Not a good look for a woman around 50. But I resisted throttling her and channeled my positive waves at the screen.

After Talbot scored I texted my brother “MAX TALBOT ONLY SCORES BIG GOALS!” and then when Talbot scored AGAIN I texted “Um…MAX TALBOT ONLY SCORES BIG GOALS!!!!” When the Wings scored on that fluttering shot I got that burbling “Oh, shit” feeling in my stomach, but when Kronwell rang that shot off the crossbar I felt like we were destined to win. It seemed like we were down to 31.6 seconds, then 17.4, then 6.5. Of course we lost the faceoff, Fleury stopped Zetterberg’s shot and then threw his body across the crease to stuff Lidstrom’s last-gasp wrister. And then the game was over, the Pens threw off their gloves and jumped on top of Fleury, and I jumped up and threw my arms in the air and screamed like a maniac. And nearly passed out as all the blood rushed from my head. That would’ve been embarassing.

Wish I’d been home for the game but at least I got to see it. The bar cleared out a lot after the game ended and Change100 and F-Train stopped up for a drink while I answered texts from a half-dozen people and savored each sip of my Sierra Nevadas. About an hour after the game my brother texted me saying, “I’m not even happy right now, just relieved”. I know how he felt. If Lidstrom’s shot had gone it, had we lost in overtime, I can’t imagine how horrible I’d feel. But Fleury made the save, the game ended, the Cup was ours.

And how appropriate it is that Max Talbot was the hero, as I of course briefly met him two years ago at the World Series of Poker and got a few pics of him. “I suck at poker,” he told me then. Maybe, but he scores BIG GOALS.

Jeffrey Pollack, the commissioner of the World Series of Poker, is the half-brother of NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman. The NHL Awards ceremony is June 18th at the Palms (right across the street from the Rio) and Pollack twittered that the Stanley Cup may make an appearance at the World Series. If it does, you can bet that I’m gonna do everything I can to get pictures and just bask in it’s silvery brilliance. Is it bad luck to touch the Cup? Some people say that it is, but I thought that was limited to players who hadn’t won it yet. ‘Cause if I get close enough to touch it, I’m touchin’.

When the playoffs started I was in Argentina. When they ended I was in Vegas. Both a long way from Pittsburgh. It was a long ride in more ways than one. Pens won the Stanley Cup. Unreal.

So tonight is Game 7 and there’s nothing more to say about that. The Stanley Cup playoffs are the greatest sporting event in the world and tonight that all comes to an end. And thank God. I got nothing left in the tank. Well, maybe I can squeeze enough rage and bloodlust to get me through one more game. One more.

I didn’t get to see much of Game 6, as I had to work and couldn’t skip out. And there’s the very real possibility that the same thing will happen tonight. That could be a good thing–I didn’t see either Penguin Cup-clinching games in their entirety. In ‘91 we were all in Philly for Gary and Lori’s wedding and the bottle shop we watched the game at closed before the 3rd period started. And the bar downstairs wouldn’t turn the game on. In ‘92 I had to work and missed the first period and part of the second, but I was there for the end and the celebration. So if I have to miss some of the game, so be it. So long as they win.

So long as they win. This is the glorious thing about sports, isn’t it–by the end of the day I’ll either be floating on Cloud Nine or wallowing in the pit of despair. All because of some contrived meet-up of large armored men with sticks skating around a rink. Very strange.

The hockey playoffs go on for almost two months and it’s takes a toll on the nerves. Between the Cup run last year, the Steelers winning the Super Bowl, and the long march to Game 7, it’s been a trying (yet glorious) year. It seems a bit much to ask the Sports Gods for a Stanley Cup after winning the Super Bowl (especially how the Steelers won it), but fans have short memories.

I’m gonna switch things up tonight. I’m not gonna sit at the bar and play video poker during the game. And I’m not gonna drink during the game–yeah, I’m pulling out all the stops. Gonna find myself a little table and watch the game and try not to burn out the screens with my brainwaves. Three hours ’till face-off. And then we’ll find out how the story ends.

I’ve been in Vegas now for x days. At this point it really doesn’t matter what number x signifies, because it’s insignificant. Who cares? I’ve been here awhile, long enough to feel that I’m in the swing of things. And I still have long enough to go that I’m not even looking at the finish line. When we get to July, then I’ll start thinking about how I only have x days until I can go home.

Walking down the hallway to the Amazon Room no longer feels surreal–it feels like I’m walking to work. My room at the MGM feels like home…well, it at least feels familiar. I’ve settled into a nice little routine–up at 8am, futz around for an hour or so, press off a shirt, and then get ready in time to catch the shuttle at eleven. Work until midnight or so and then catch a cab back to MGM. In between I might have dinner with friends, sneak out to see the Pens’ games, or maybe have a beer. Don’t let this photo fool you–the idea of the permanently-soused poker scribe is highly overrated.

I haven’t stayed out late (well, past 2am) since I’ve been in Vegas. I get home, I get under the covers, and I get a good night’s sleep. Yeah, I know, it’s weird.

My sloth is due in part to the fact that, yep, I’m sick again. Just a head cold this time, the “casino flu” that pretty much everyone gets at some point during the Series. Stuffed up, sore throat, coughing…awesome. I had about 24 hours where I felt good…and then it all went to hell again. DayQuil and cough drops are keeping me functional, but it wears you down, wears you down. Saturday night I got back to the MGM and stopped at the little stand by the elevators that sells magazines and candy and whatnot. I grabbed a box of cough drops and a pretty girl who wore a dress that’d been sprayed on her was looking at the same shelf. “These work,” I said, sensing we shared a common burden, and in a hoarse voice she groaned, “I feel terrible”. Sunday night I got home around the same time and bought some more DayQuil. The same girl, wearing a dress even tighter and shorter than the night before, was picking over the cold meds. I grabbed what I wanted, she saw me, and we shared a sad, familiar smile. She looked great; she looked terrible. Can’t imagine going clubbing at midnight feeling like I did.

Today I allowed myself a little time off. I got up at the same time but after I showered I went down to the casino and wandered around a bit. I decided to eat at the MGM buffet, if the line wasn’t too long, and it wasn’t so I did. It’s called the “MGM Grand Buffet”, but I didn’t find it that grand, to be honest. The food was OK, nothing spectacular. It was hard to get around, people kept moving along the stations in both directions and getting to the grub was at times frustrating. But after 20 meals from the Poker Kitchen I was glad to get something a little different. I went back to my room…and promptly took a little nap. I planned on getting to work at 2pm, when the $10K Omaha/8 event started back up, but that was postponed to 3pm…and then four. By then I figured I’d better get my backside to the Rio and I ran down and found the shuttle waiting for me, and me alone. Almost feel like a VIP.

It’s different working on my own this year as opposed to the PokerNews team. On the one hand it’s nice being able to write about what I want and spend some time on the photos I take. And if I want to step away for a bit to grab a bit to eat or linger over a drink it’s no big deal. On the other hand I have to come up with new and interesting posts every day and that isn’t always easy. Every day it’s people sitting around playing poker, and while that can be very compelling when there’s a final table and people are playing for millions of dollars, it’s less so on Day 1 of an event with 3,000 people. I’m writing the blog for UB so naturally I’m focusing on our players and trying to write things that would be of interest to people who play on the site, but I’m also trying to write posts (and publish photos) that are just plain interesting, period. I’m trying to find that niche where I’m providing the content my overlords want and that poker fans will find interesting and unique. It’s a challenge, and some of the pics I’ve taken are, I think, pretty cool (you can see them here). Just gotta keep it up, try not to repeat myself too much, and do good work.

I’ve been working about 12 hours a day and feel like I’ve been slacking. Compared to the hours I worked last year for PokerNews (and the hours they’re working so far) I feel like a slouch. On the other hand I haven’t had a day off so far and the more I think about it, I don’t see me taking one. Chances are we’re gonna have SOMEONE playing in an event every day and it’d be just my luck to avoid the Rio the day something stupdendous happens. But we’ll see.

It’s 9pm here…should I maybe eat something? That probably wouldn’t be a bad idea. The Chicken BLT wrap has been my go-to meal this year–it’s quick, easy, tasty. Had my first In&Out Burger last week–good. Real good. Had some pulled pork at the BBQ place in the Rio, very good. Had a steak one night–outstanding. That about sums up the most exciting bits of my trip so far. I’m down about $100 playing video poker during the Pens games. Haven’t played a hand of poker or Pai Gow. Work, sleep, eat. I guess I really am getting old, because that’s been a pretty good combination so far.

So far so good at the World Series of Poker. My sore throat and cough cleared up, my appetite has returned, and I’d say I’m operating at around 95% efficiency. I’m getting six hours of sleep a night, I’ve eaten the occasional vegetable, and three times I’ve wisely hit the breaks when out drinking. I’ve written some good stuff, taken some cool photos, and spent about 85 hours at the Rio in the past week.

It’s weird not working for PokerNews and covering one tournament from start to finish. To be honest I usually have no clue what’s going on out there. I’m following the UltimateBet players, natch, and I keep my ears and eyes and mind open to possible stories or photos to work on. I really haven’t had a chance to chat with many of the UB players (heck, or even to introduce myself) but that’s no biggie. I just do my thing, like I always do.

There are some logistical issues that have me on Category-4 worktilt right now, but to be honest the ride so far has been smoother than I expected. My roommate for the first two weeks couldn’t make it, so I’ll have the room to myself through mid-June. I’ve got my seat locked up on Media Row, I’ve only lost $50 playing video poker (and gotten about 8 beers out of it, a wash) and I won my first prop bet of the WSOP with Pauly. To be honest I’m so relieved that I’m feeling good that I can fade a lot of nonsense. I’m a professional; I can deal.

Anyway, here’s a few pics I’ve taken the last week or so.

Harrah’s invited 21 former World Champions to play in a Champions Invitational, with the winner going home with a restored 1970 Corvette Stingray and a trophy called the Binion Cup. The gathered the champions around a table and while I wasn’t able to get down there on the floor to get a good shot, I elbowed and shouldered my way into position in the lounge above to get this shot:

ESPN filmed a competition between Annie Duke and Norman Chad to see who could sell the most lemonade to fans waiting to get into the Amazon Room. I’m hoping I don’t end up on TV, but I got some good shots of Annie and Norm having fun selling tart drinks:

There’s less media here than in year’s past (that pesky economy) but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a lot of folks out there with pens and cameras following the action. Here’s a shot of the media recording the first bracelet ceremony of the WSOP:

A wide shot of the Amazon Room, the biggest of the three rooms used for the WSOP. That doesn’t include various nooks and crannies they stick tables when there’s a serious overflow. Basically this is my office for seven weeks out of the year:

The plan was to do some “creative” photography at the WSOP, and to that end I was studying up on Lightroom and composition and coming up with neato ideas. So far I’m not happy with the pics I’ve taken, but I have a few that I think are neato.

Phil Hellmuth, petulant, zeroed out but for the yellows:

Robert Varkonkyi, 2002 World Champion, looking at the felt during the Champions Invitational tournament:

This really isn’t a good pic, I just dig it because I shot from the hip (figuratively speaking) and got a pict with seven World Champs. Fuzzed it up a lot, it’s just this haphazard collection of faces and frames I think looks neat:

So that’s it, so far. One week down, six more to go. So far so good, I guess. The trick now is coming up with good content every day without repeating myself. But I feel confident I can come up with interesting crap or, failing that, fake some interesting crap. All the photos I’ve taken (and will take) at the World Series will be posted at my Flickr page. Check it out, and follow along with the WSOP.

This year the new lead sponsor of the World Series of Poker is Jack Link’s Beef Jerky. In every way imaginable this was an improvement over Milwaukee’s Best Light. OK, maybe beer sales dwarf jerky purchases but Beast Light is not an acceptable beverage. Two years ago I was sitting in the Milwaukee’s Best Light Lounge (the raised seating area above the final table stage) and decided to have a brew. For two dollars I got 12oz of Beast Light in a plastic cup and to quote Jean-Paul Sartre, it was deeeesgustang. I literally had to pop a peppermint Live Saver in my mouth before I could choke it down. And those who know me know I don’t finick much about beer.

So I applauded the switch to Jack Link’s. I like their “Messin’ with Sasquatch” commercials and I enjoy a nice hunk of dried, extruded meat. Heck, to my mind beer, jerky, and poker make for a perfect evening. The multiple trips to the restroom when the evening’s over might be less than perfect, but you gotta take the bitter with the sweet.

The other day there were two big cardboard displays packed with free samples of Jack Link’s jerky. If you went to the Poker Kitchen a pouch of jerky would run you ten bucks. But they were giving it away gratis to members of the working press. So Al grabbed a pouch of pepper jerky and we wolfed it down and then I grabbed some teriyaki jerky and we ate that up all gone. Pauly and Jen both seemed to think the teriyaki was the big winner so I ran back and grabbed another bags. In all we wolfed down about $60 worth of spiced, dehydrated cow. That’s not something I’m proud of. I had some trouble looking at myself in the mirror when I got home.

I didn’t see any jerky in the media room yesterday, but in truth I didn’t look to hard. I don’t think my pancreas was preparted for another full-on jerky onslaught. Today I had my first meal from the Poker Kitchen, a chicken BLT wrap that was OK (tho not nearly as good as last night’s In & Out Burger, my first) and then I wolfed down the chocolate-chip muffin Al brought me from Seattle’s Best. Felt good to have a healthy appetite for a change, but when I stopped in the media room to see if the live-feed of the $40,000 Anniversary Hold-Em I saw they had these little 50-calorie bags of Beef Steak Nuggets. Not sure why they felt compelled to use both “beef” and “steak” on the label, I mean, what other sort of steak might it be? Uh, maybe it’s best not to think on that.

I’m ashamed to admit that the word “nugget” triggers a Pavlovian response with me, and when you add the words “beef” and “steak” and alongside I’m powerless to resist. So I took one back to my seat and shared it with Al. There were only about 6 nuggets in the bag, just enough to give me a taste but not leave me bloated. They were appropriately moist and spicy and had that delicious, ephemeral nuggety quality.

The $40K tournament finally got underway and me and Pauly and Benjo relocated to the media room to watch the live feed. Seth Palansky, the WSOP Media Director, brought over a great whopping huge box of yummy, yummy Beef Steak Nuggets. The big bags, not the little pouches. Putting temptation right before us. Oh, my aching sweetbreads. Is this going to be the Summer of Jerky? Will I be able to resist eating 50 kilos of sticky meat over the course of the WSOP? Will Pauly become the Jack Link’s ambassador within the pokerblogging community? He seems a natural:

There’s an open bag ‘o nuggets right at my elbow. There’s about $300 of jerky in a box right behind me. I can’t help thinking that my cousin Terry should be here–now there’s a man who admires the juxtopositon of meat and evaporation. I must resist. I will resist. But for how long?

When I returned home from the World Series last year I planned on making two major purchases. Number one was a new car, as my 11-year-old Cavalier was on it’s last whitewalls and wasn’t much help in dragging chicks. And after about six weeks of tire-kicking I made the kill, buying my beloved Altima (I weep to think I won’t pilot her for seven more weeks).

The other big-ticket item I needed was a bed. My current bed is a hand-me-down from my ex-wife’s aunt–a word to the wise, when your soon-to-be-former spouse magnanimously offers to let you keep your marriage bed, heads up, ’cause you’re getting played. She bought a brand-new bed, while I got stuck with a shot mattress and a box spring that creaks in anguish if I so much as toss a magazine on it. Yeah, she was always a lot quicker on the draw than me.

Anyway, for some reason I never bought a new bed. Found one I liked, tried it out, even cleared out the stuff I stored under the bed for that happy day when the delivery men carted it away. But I never made the kill. I always found an excuse to keep the old one–it wasn’t THAT lopsided, it didn’t list THAT far to the left, my back and hip problems hadn’t landed me in a wheelchair YET. I bought a couch instead, figuring that my nocturnal comfort was less important than keeping my guests from having to sit on the floor. Unselfish, that’s me.

ANYWAY, when I got back to the MGM last night I was draggin’ ass. It was around 2am (5am Pittsburgh time) and I still had that tickle in my throat and a slight headache. I hauled my gear down the endless hallway to my room and dumped it on the floor as soon as possible. Pulled out the contacts, pulled on a T-shirt, pulled back the covers and slipped into bed.

And, Jesus, said bed was just INCREDIBLY comfy. “Aw, (expletive deleted) yeahhh!!!” I groaned as every ache and pain in my dilapidated body floated away. Sleeping on a firm mattress, a mattress that doesn’t have the same topography as a Scottish golf course, has been heavenly. And fantabulous beds are one of the little benefits of this strange gig of mine. I remember the bed at my hotel in Costa Rica was fantastic, and the pillows were encased in a silky golden fabric that both felt and looked like one of my favority ties. My bed in Aruba was had one of those adjustable air mattresses, press a button and you could go from sleeping on a pool table to a big pile of squish, and every stop in between. Heaven. And the bed at the MGM has treated me right so far–heck, it’s only 8:30pm and I’m half-tempted to bolt and stock up on some serious rest.

So when I get back home I’ll conduct a rigorous financial review and then hopefully go out and get myself a bed. I like the idea of waking up in the morning and not feeling like someone threw me off the roof. These are the pathetic dreams that get me through this interminable WSOP marathon. Like today, I had to run out take some photos out in the Rio parking lot:

The Sapphire gentleman’s club sponsored the car wash and with my newshound instincts I rushed out to record it for posterity. I almost missed them, as I ran into the latest incarnation of the Milwaukee’s Best Light girls:

It’s a tough job, somebody’s gotta do it, blah blah blah. If you told me five years ago that I’d have a job that required me to rush about taking photographs of hot chicks in costumes, I would’ve said, “Thank you. Thank you so very, very much”. If only every day was like this one. One can dream.

Last week, lying on the couch and wondering if I should just sleep there or drag myself to bed, I worried that I’d crash and burn on Day 1 of the World Series. Every time I conked out I justified the nap by telling myself I needed to store up every smidgen of rest while I could. The WSOP would bring long, long nights and I wouldn’t have the luxury of sleeping away the afternoon.

Flash forward seven days, because that’s how it felt to me, like time flashed by before I could notice it’s passing. Before I knew what hit me I was boarding my flight to Vegas, a flight where I dozed on and off for four uneasy hours. I felt better, good enough to work, though I’m still battling a sore throat and a little congestion. Compared to last week, no big deal.

I got to my room at the MGM, a room I’ll have to myself for another day or so, and flopped down on the bed. Mistake. The bed was cool and firm and comfortable, and five minutes after my ass hit mattress I was asleep. I jerked awake about fifteen minutes later and ordered myself to stay awake and try to get my internal clock a bit closer to Vegas time. I took a long hot shower, pressed off a pair of shorts, and decided to head downstairs to explore a bit and find something to eat.

You will forgive me when I admit that I never made it out of the room, choosing instead to crawl under the covers and go to sleep. The bed, as I said, was very comfy, the room deliciously cool, and I wasn’t that hungry anyway. And the hell with exploring the MGM–I’m gonna be there for 50 freakin’ days, I’ll know the nooks and crannies soon enough. I let my body rest after a trying day and I think that was a good call.

Woke up this morning feeling pretty good. Throat still a bit sore, still a bit congested, but I could deal. Another hot shower roused me enough to get me out the door looking for breakfast, which I found at Starbucks (still have to get over the sticker-shock of Vegas meals, as my croissant and coffee cost more than two dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, and a loaf of bread). I ate, looked at the clock, and said the hell with it. No use sitting in the room when the Rio beckoned. I told Al I was headed over and he said we should meet. “At the Hooker Bar or the Amazon Room?” he asked. “Amazon…for now,” I said.

Ten minutes and twelve dollars later my cab pulled up to the Rio Convention Center entrance and the deja vu hit me like a wet frying pan. Jesus, wasn’t I just HERE? I walked through the doors and down the long hallway toward the Amazon Room and it was like a waking dream, it felt like I was floating, not walking, and time seemed to distend and slow to half it’s normal speed. Did a year really go by that fast? Did I really ever leave Vegas, have I in fact been working in the Amazon Room for the last year, the last decade, the entirety of my life?

Nah, just an overinflated sense of drama. Pretty much everyone I talked to felt the same generalized weirdness. Met up with Garry and Haley from the PokerNews crew, tracked down Al, hugged the svelte Change100 and grabbed the seat next to Pauly on Media Row. Said hello to Jen Newell and a bunch of PokerNews veterans, bonjour to Benjo, buenas dias to Joe and Jonathan, who I’d worked with in Argentina. And saw dozens of other familiar faces on the floor and in the halls. And then it was time to get to work, same as it ever was.

I’m feelin’ a bit run down, but nothing like the nightmare scenario I feared last week. Pauly and Change and I went to the diner we visted a number of times last year–the service tonight was problematic, it took use 15 minutes to get a glass of water, an hour for our food, but my burger was pretty good and just having an appetite is a plus these days. We have 40 minutes to go before play wraps up tonight, the three UB players in today’s field (Hellmuth, Duke, Binger) have sadly been eliminated, and I think I’ll take some pics and start thinking up my game plan for tomorrow. The plan once play ends tonight is to go back home and reacquaint myself with that cozy bed. Another good night’s sleep will do me good.