Simon Says

After busting out of the Bellagio event in 94th place for a bottom-money cash, I was all set to go back to Los Angeles until a friend of mine told me about a hip-hop show taking place later that night: The lineup included Smif 'N Wessum, Raekwon and Ghostface Killah from the Wu-Tang Clan, Supernatural (a freestyle expert whom I had never heard of before), Redman, and, probably my favorite of the bunch, Pharoah Monch.

Pharoah's set was short, but typically awesome. He might be the most "rock 'n roll" of any hip-hop MC I've ever seen. I've seen Monch perform his biggest hit, "Simon Says," in venues ranging in size from S.O.B.'s to the Hammerstein Ballroom to this midsize club off the Vegas Strip, and I can't think of any number by any other performing artist that is capable of rocking a crowd as thoroughly as "Simon Says" does.

Raekwon opened his set with lyrics from "C.R.E.A.M." and then "Can it Be All So Simple," two of the most poignant, vivid verses in all of rap. Ghostface's set was so short I feel like I almost missed it, and I don't think he even did any songs from Fishscale.

Redman ended the show, and he definitely knows how to hold down a crowd. He can rap for hours on end about smoking blunts over a Mary Jane Girls sample and still keep me entertained all night long. DJ Kool came on stage, and they ended the show with "Def Squad Delite."

***

The energy at the Bellagio during this trip was more hectic--more psychedelic--than normal. Vegas itself often induces an almost hallucinogenic effect on me whenever I spend more than a few days straight on the Strip, but this time that sensation seemed to bubble over.

Anyone who follows the happenings of the poker circuit knows that Dutch Boyd became a focal part of that hectic energy by playing out a bonafide psychotic breakdown in the Fontana Lounge, during the second day of action at the Bellagio $15K main event. Since I was in the room while Dutch was in the throes of his psychosis, and since, as my faithful readers know, I had a similar episode to Dutch's in my early 20s, I feel uniquely qualified to offer my perspective on what Dutch seemed to be going through.

I'm friendly with Dutch, though I'd say we are "acquaintances" as opposed to "close friends." We have never shared a meal, or deep thoughts about life, but I have spent a little time conversing and hanging out with him. I'm certainly not close enough to him to be able to help him, so whatever I write is probably a mix of genuine concern and the same intrigue that everyone else maintains.

The reactions to Dutch's episode have ranged from mockery to concern, both genuine and fake, to disgust. However, I believe the underlying factors are more complex and subtle than any of those reactions betray.

There was a time when I probably appeared just as "nuts" as Dutch did, and was also similarly burdensome and annoying to the people around me as Dutch was during the tournament.

I remember being in a hotel room in Amsterdam, during the onset of my breakdown but before I was wandering the streets aimlessly, when a video for Bob Marley's "Iron Lion Zion" came on the television. Despite being a big Bob Marley fan, I had never heard that song before. This, incidentally, is one of the great perks of being a Marley fan--he recorded many beautiful songs that I would classify as "hidden gems," and they're fairly easy to find.

The video featured Bob kicking a soccer ball around with some of his mates, and suddenly it occurred to me: Bob Marley is not dead at all, but rather somewhere out there in the city of Amsterdam, in a courtyard, kicking a soccer ball around with friends and recording awesome new songs.

At the time, there was nothing you could have done to convince me otherwise, and that's sort of how I remember psychosis.

***

Addendum: I found the video, and it's interesting that the soccer-related clips occupy only a few seconds of it, but was the imagery that stuck with me for almost a decade.



***

The first time I saw Dutch this trip, he was walking around the room during the first $5K event with a woman who seemed a little older than him, but who could have been either his girlfriend or his mother.

He greeted me at my table and told me all was good and that he was going to the Billboard Music Awards that night. Then, he asked me if I had any weed, since he hadn't slept in a few days. Knowing Dutch's well-documented mental history, and that a lack of sleep is the most tried-and-true trigger for a meltdown, an alarm bell fired off in my head. "Yeah, man" I told him, "I got weed, and I got a Xanax, too, if you need it. Call me."

He never did, and the next time I saw him was during day one of the main event. He came into my hotel room with a friend of his, who seemed intelligent and relaxed, but Dutch was starting to show signs of delusion: He talked about wanting to acquire some "heat" and the need to protect himself from certain individuals who were out to harm him and his family. "If my cap gets split open tomorrow, you'll know who did it," he explained to us.

Earlier, he had asked Eric Mizrachi, who was also in the room, if his brothers were CIA agents. I knew the shit had hit the fan inside Dutch's head, but I couldn't conceive a way of helping him.

By the time I saw Dutch again, it was day two of the main event. I had heard grumbling about his behavior ("Yo, Dutch is in a bad way, he needs help and soon"), but didn't see him again until he came over to my table. Zach "Monkey101" Stewart had pushed allin vs The Grinder on the turn and, Dutch, approaching the one-seat, loudly exclaimed, "Zach, you bluffing all your chips again?" Then, after futzing around with the chips in front of Zach, Dutch took Zach's iPod and wandered off with it.

Everyone at the table--Brian Townsend, Johan Storakers, Burt Boutin, Blair Rodman, Jon Friedberg--was taken aback and many of us became visibly annoyed. There was no time to consider the larger, more sobering implications of what Dutch was going through--what he just did was fucked up! Grinder called, and his two pair was no good to Zach's flush.

We barely had time to process the mania of the moment before Dutch came back around, this time squatting down with a camera and asking Grinder to smile for a picture, "C'mon, Mikey, Smile!" The dealer shoed Dutch off, and I didn't see him again until I was moved to a table on the other side of the room, where Dutch was creating a steady amount of commotion.

I really wish I had been able to tell him, "Dude, you need to sit down and chill the fuck out," which is what the people who helped me the most during my episodes effectively did, but there wasn't an opening for that type of intervention, and I doubt it would have helped, anyway.

I heard from someone reporting on the event that Dutch's friends were going to try and check him in somewhere after the tournament. The last time I saw Dutch, he was allin--ironically, I guess, against Zach Stewart, who had AT over Dutch's weaker ace. I passed by the table during the hand, on the way back into the room after a quick cigarette, and Dutch noticed me. He stuck out his fist in a gesture of solidarity and asked, "We in this hand together, Shane?" I extended my fist, but told him, "No, Dutch, I think you are in this one alone."

***

Those who read my piece in the Press know that I don't consider hospitilization, or a lifetime addicted to prescription medications, the consummate answer to mental illness, but I do hope Dutch has, or will, check back into a hospital to re-stabilize himself.

Since that is not the ultimate solution, I believe that most of the important work of maintaining Dutch's sanity will take place in Dutch's life and in his mind. There's no doubt that Dutch has an underlying "psychological disorder" but, to me, there is an equal lack of doubt that he can overcome it and live a functioning life, even in the poker world.

But it will take work. It's not an indictment of his character, but the vibe I sometimes get from Dutch is that he is ready and willing to indulge certain delusions and fantasies, whether subconsciously or consciously, and doesn't put any external controls on himself to prevent them from gelling. If he has any hope of avoiding these relapses, he will have to eliminate his mind's tendency to veer in the direction of those malignant thoughts.

Considering how smart Dutch reportedly is, I really hope he can consciously restructure his life and his mind in a way that keeps him thinking good thoughts. I also think this type of reformation is completely possible. I don't know what kind of support Dutch has around him, but with the right level of focus, I'm certain he can reclaim his mind and reengineer his thoughts so that they become softer and more lucid.

I relate it to Natalie Portman's sobbing rant to Jude Law in Closer, when she talks about falling in love while in the midst of infidelity: "As if you had no choice? There's a moment, there's always a moment, 'I can give in to this, or I can resist it.'" Although psychosis might be a human condition more complex than love, I like the analogy. Looking back on my own incidents of relapse, I think that I was giving in. Today, I think I am capable of making the choice to resist.