I wish I could take a bath in Purell™.  I’m standing on the end of a two day session of filthy dirt in the mecca of degenerates- Atlantic City - and still trying to make sense of it all.

We’re on the Atlantic City Expressway when the AC skyline comes to view over the horizon.  Half a dozen giant gold and silver hotels are hapharzardly staggered across the skyline like broken teeth, shrouded in a yellow-brown haze from the heat and the humidity.  Something about it all looks greasy and it’s a feeling I won’t shake until we leave.  I think it’s the way the dense, wet air clutches at and clings to your skin, even in air conditioning, but I further suspect it’s the collective atmosphere of the people there.  A group fog built from the diminished expectations and hopes of countless would be’s, could be’s, should have been’s.  When we cut through the poor neighborhoods to get to the shiny oasis’s of greed and even more greed, it only agrees with my suspicions.  The stark contrast between what comes before the casinos and what comes within their walls is nothing short of astounding.

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(3 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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It’s a quarter to ten and I’m standing in the dingy vestibule of an old brownstone somewhere in soho. The routine is always the same. I ring the buzzer, the intercom crackles and I’m asked my name and told to stand in front of the camera.

I oblige, telling them my name for the 10th time and removing my hat so they can get a better view. I’m told that I’m OK and am buzzed in through a series of doors.

The interior of the club is dingy and sloppy, it looks to be somewhere between a living room and the back room of a bodega. White walls with glossy lime trim, unflattering fluorescent overheads and dingy green checker board tiled flooring. A tabby cat sashays between the legs of the players, looking for attention. Something about the acoustics causes the usual clatter of chips to be amplified, but it’s a soothing sound so I don’t mind.

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(1 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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For most players, there’s a turnaround hand that launches him or her down the path of poker for life. It’s something like an epiphany where a sudden clarity of purpose, a meaning to it all, a reason for waking up, breathing and buckling your belt, lands on top of your head like a milky gob of the Pope’s cum. It often converges with the moment you learn how to riffle chips.

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(2 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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I should have known that writing an article about sliding into the gutter was a signal that today in Atlantic City was going to be a total wreck.

In some ways it actually worked out well for me - if you look beyond the $800 hit to my bankroll - because it put me right in the place I needed to be to test out my disaster preparedness plan.

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(1 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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If there is one universal truth, it is this: All good things will eventually come to an end.

This seems to doubly apply to poker.

Anyone who has played for awhile can tell you of long barren stretches of ice cold cards, stabbing turns, demolishing rivers and degree all-in moments that - upon their conclusion - have you waving goodbye to everyone at the table as you slump off to some corner to weep like a baby. Jesus, is there anything worse than standing up from a table empty handed?

I realized I have a disaster readiness kit at home. You never know when that asteroid is going to hit. As I was looking at it, I was thinking that it might be a good idea to prepare a similar kit for when an asteroid strikes my poker play as it seems to happen with frightening regularity.

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(4 votes, average: 3.5 out of 5)

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So you can wreck your home game. And when you hit the local card room, by playing super tight against the degenerates, you can scrape out a buck or two. But what happens when you sit at a table and can’t find the fish?

Do you stubbornly sit there trying to beat the game or will your ego let you admit YOU are the fish that these sharks have been waiting for?

A big, big, HUGE part of poker is game selection. It’s probably the second thing you need to learn after hand selection. So what are some tell-tale signs that you might be in over your head?

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(2 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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Dave had to head back to San Francisco, leaving me to fend for myself. I was initially hesitant, playing with a buddy is really the best way to go. You can protect each other in multi-way action, you can do some sick post game analysis and just sounding ideas on betting, constructing table image and what not always push the game to that next level.

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(2 votes, average: 2.5 out of 5)

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I Thought a Week of Poker in Vegas Would Cure Me

I fell in love today.

Her name is 2/5 No Limit Hold ‘Em and she is beautiful. I had always been sheepish around her. Flirtive glances here and there; always considering her beauty from afar. I’d often daydream of the time when we’d finally meet, but - to be honest - I always thought I wasn’t good enough for her. I always thought she required more than I could give. She also seemed a little bit like a gold digger, and I wasn’t sure my ATM card could carry the weight.

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(2 votes, average: 3 out of 5)

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I just ended a 14 hour poker marathon that has taught me more about playing my game than the last two years combined.

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(3 votes, average: 3.67 out of 5)

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