2006, Year in Review (Phil the Groundhog Sees his Shadow)

In a way, 2006, the first year I traveled the poker circuit full time, was rewarding and successful. In another, more accurate way, it was a disappointment verging on total failure. I still don't have my shit together as a poker player, and it turns out that having your shit together--being able to manage a bankroll, save money, and avoid costly leaks and indulgences--is the key to achieving prosperity in this game. Every true grinder lives a version of the Protestant Ethic, and every true gambler betrays it.

During the last major of event of the year, the Bellagio Five Diamond Poker Classic, I felt that my desperation was shared by others on tour. It became clear that I was not alone among my peers, some of whom grossed decent, often impressive, numbers for the year, but who had very little left to show for them.

I still remember the cab driver in Reno, who told us that he used to travel with the poker tour and was hoping to get back on it, as soon as he re-acquired the bankroll for a $4/$8 game. "Sounds of Silence" played on the radio, and we didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

***

This year's World Series of Poker was the low point of 2006. I had looked forward to the summer in Vegas since the last one ended, but sometime shortly after arriving, my enthusiasm deflated. By the end, I knew what players meant when they talked about the burnout that participating in the entire series engenders.

My choice to rent a house with four other guys was probably the first and biggest mistake I made. I'm good friends with all my roommates, and everyone got along fine for the duration, but, when I agreed to participate in the share, I must have somehow forgotten how highly I value solitude.

Also, there were roaches (or maybe waterbugs--nasty, sizeable desert vermin in any case) crawling all over our Henderson rental, just like there were at the condo I rented with one friend of mine in 2005. I longed for the amenities of a strip hotel, which, I believe, allow to me function more harmoniously in the environment of the WSOP. I think if I play next year's series it will be in segments, and I will try to find an affordable way to stay at a decent hotel while I'm there.

To more accurately pinpoint the nadir of the Series, I think things fell apart during the first $1K rebuy event after I folded KK preflop to Steve Wong, a totally absurd and uncharacteristic laydown. I think the blinds were 150/300 with an ante, and both Steve and I were big stacks. He limped in early position and, next to act, I raised to 1100 or so with my kings. David Matthew, who was playing extremely wild and loose, pushed allin from one of the blinds and Steve instantly re-pushed allin.

I thought my kings were no good and folded. I was wrong. Wong had QQ and Mathew had AJ, which was literally his most likely holding (I knew I had an easy call vs. the first allin, then Steve's move spun me). The pot was huge, kings would have held up, Steve Wong went on to finish 4th in the event, and that hand fucked with my head for a while.

***

The only spark of life I showed for the rest of the series was in the second $1K rebuy event, where I made a strong run to the final two tables and then gave my stack to Phil Hellmuth on the last hand before dinner break, unsure whether my push on the river was a value-bet or a bluff.


It was my first time playing with Hellmuth, and he made a distinct impression on me. I realized for the first time that his schtick--usually unpleasant, often intolerable, always intriguing--is a tightly crafted routine that effectively accomplishes everything Hellmuth is seeking. His presence intimidates opponents, succeeds in flustering them and also in prying from them information they would otherwise protect.

He consumes the entire table's attention, all the energy from the rail around him, and transforms the tournament into the Phil Hellmuth Show. The coast is clear for his small probe bets and undersized bluffs, and he has space to work with his famous reads. He also knows how to make a big call when someone like me overplays trips, aware of Hellmuth's supposed aversion to making big calls.

Hellmuth plays his role perfectly, and I believe his act is the result of some amount of insecurity combined with the fact that no limit tournaments are really the thing that Hellmuth does best, and probably better than anyone else. When you consider Hellmuth's behavior in the context of a savant, his obnoxious, impersonal attitude becomes understandable, almost forgivable.

***

I have less forgiveness for others, and the one consistently disappointing thing I saw at the WSOP was how very successful players turn into prima donnas when things don't go their way. Generally speaking, I think it is the responsibility of professional poker players to act cordially towards less experienced amateurs and stoically in the face of bad luck. I'm thinking of one hand in particular, the last hand of day one of the main event, when a player who "had no business being in the hand" won a big pot with AQs vs QQ.

The player who had his queens cracked was enjoying an extremely prosperous year on tour and, even after losing the hand, was still sitting on a mountain of chips in the main event, chips that he probably accumulated by bullying and trapping players like the one with AQs.

The player who lost with the queens took the passive-aggressive route while berating his opponent: "Aw man, you played so good all day. Why'd you have to go and do that?" and so on, continuing along those lines even as we bagged our chips for the day. The player who won apologetically offered a "gamble or go home" explanation, and I was revolted but said nothing.

Then there was Phil Gordon, whom I basically like and respect. He's charismatic, gregarious and bears a strangely pleasing likeness to Nicolas Cage. We had a memorable encounter in 2005 playing Roshambo at an ESPN final table, and he usually asks for a rematch when we see each other. He also managed to acquit himself nicely during an appearance on the television show Blind Date, in which he presented himself as a sort of freewheelin' (albeit independently wealthy), RV-driving, would-be poker champion, and rejected his date's advances.

The episode was filmed after Gordon's 2001 WSOP final table but before the current poker boom occurred and, in the interim, Phil has parlayed that WSOP accomplishment and his personality into a successful career as a poker celebrity, TV announcer and founding member of Team Full Tilt.

So who gives a shit if he's having a crappy WSOP, right? Well, Phil does, and if you happen to be at the table with him during some part of that, he'll gladly tell you about it. Phil Gordon can't help but offer a running narrative on the plight of Phil Gordon:

We played during the mid-stages of the same $1k rebuy event in which Hellmuth eventually busted me. I arrived to the table mid-monologue, and Gordon was informing the table that he's shortstacked and will probably be pot-committed if he makes any raise. He then let us know that despite playing perfect poker, he's having a rotten run at this year's Series. Barney Boatman, sitting on my left, wryly mumbled something to the effect that "some of us have our own agenda here, too, Phil, like winning this tournament," but it's not really meant to be heard.

Then, Phil gets his shortstack allin with pocket tens against my KQ, in a situation where I wouldn't have raised his blind unless I was prepared to call his allin. Before the queen even shows up in the window, the table and the rail are aware that Phil Gordon is 0-10 in coinflips at the 2006 World Series of Poker.

As he left the table, noticeably a little frustrated, all I could think was "Gee whiz, Phil, I'm having kind of a crappy Series, too, and I don't have a hundred-million in the bank, either."

***

Plenty of interesting and fulfilling things did take place during this calendar year, and I had intended to detail more of them, until I realized that my WSOP remembrance will probably suck up my readers' collective attention span. Some brief highlights:

- After 29 years on foot and bike, and almost a year living in Los Angeles, I got my first driver's license.

- It's been more than two years since I met my girlfriend, Sheila McCormack, and that's much longer than any other relationship I've been in. Love you, baby.

- This past January, I was finishing up a meal with my friend Carolyn at Babbo in New York. We had been sitting next to actor and playwright Sam Shephard, his wife Jessica Lange, and their companions. On my way out, I decided to tell Shephard that "Brownsville Girl," the song he co-wrote with Bob Dylan, is one of my favorites. Jessica Lange heard the compliment and cackled in delight. Shephard smiled, shook my hand, and said something like "thanks, little-known fact."

- I snapped out of 2005's funk by winning the $300 rebuy tournament at Commerce last February, and by default, it was the poker highlight of 2006.

- A close second was the Taj Mahal USPC, although my run ended in 9th place. The field was smaller than 300 players, and most of the name-brand pros (at least 60 of them), who usually make the trip, were forced to be in Vegas for the PPL draft. This created a unique opportunity for those of us who played, since ESPN will be devoting 12 hour-long episodes to the tournament. ESPN came to my apartment and filmed a short segment that is supposed to air during one of the shows. We minor-leaguers will get to enjoy the media spotlight when the series broadcasts.

- The best part about being on the road this year was all the friendships I formed and all the interesting people I've encountered along the way. Although many seem to disagree, I think poker players are among the most open and honest people I've ever met.

Good luck in 2007, and thanks for joining me.

The Day 'The Wire' Stood Still

SPOILER WARNING: The following entry contains significant spoilers from Season 3 of The Wire and possibly also from the 1951 "Sci-Fi" classic The Day The Earth Stood Still. Easily rectifiable for anyone who cares, both are available on DVD.

***

I'm a fiend for words: for lyrics, for conversation and for dialogue. Tonight, I noticed a similarity (perhaps even a direct reference) between a phrase uttered by Brother Mouzone to Avon Barksdale in the 11th episode of the third season of The Wire to one spoken by Klaatu, the hero of The Day the Earth Stood Still.

One of the great and often-cited aspects about The Wire is its "literary" quality: Watching it induces feelings similar to reading a good book, and its intricacy practically demands, but also embraces, repeated viewings. So it might not be until the third or fourth time that you watch Season 3, and maybe only during the one that you decide to turn on David Simon's audio commentary, when you realize the entire season presents a succinct metaphor for the war in Iraq and a condemnation of the stultified policies which fuel wars of all kind.

The fallacious, Pyrrhic nature of war is exposed, but so is the oppressiveness of our existing leadership as it viciously recycles the need to maintain the battle, ensuring that "we fight on that lie." The only potential solution--represented by Major Colvin's attempt to decriminalize drugs in his Baltimore district--is so antithetical to the current system that it is not only untenable, but relatively absurd.

The Day the Earth Stood Still revolves around the arrival of an alien named Klaatu in Washington, DC. He travels 250 million miles to deliver the message that our world's ability to harness atomic power, combined with our petty and irrational ways, now threatens other planets. If our behavior continues, our world will have to be destroyed in order to maintain the safety of the entire universe.

The problem is that his message is too important to deliver to one nation or its leader alone, and, with the Cold War in effect, it is essentially impossible to peacefully assemble all nations in one place. Klaatu's sole obstacle is to be able to appropriately present the message to all earth's people at once in order to convey its gravity. "It concerns every last creature on earth," Klaatu repeats.

The Secretary to the President, Mr. Harley, explains that the "enormous distances" involved would make such an event difficult to stage. Klaatu reminds him that he has travelled 250 million miles to deliver this message. Then, the secretary tries to describe the political climate in the world that, again, would make a true meeting of all nations impossible.

Klaatu cuts him off and states flatly, "I'm not concerned with the internal affairs of your planet."


Meanwhile, nearing the end of Season 3 of The Wire, Brother Mouzone, who himself is rather like a super-intelligent alien in the story, enters the barbershop where Avon Barksdale is getting finished with his shave. He tells Avon that for his partner Stringer Bell's duplicity, Stringer has to be taken out. As Mouzone explains the situation, Avon rehashes the circumstances in his mind and mutters something about "Proposition Joe and the package," in reference to the original situation that got Stringer jammed up.

Mouzone cuts him off and states flatly, "The inner workings of your organization don't concern me."


Considering another great movie reference in that episode of The Wire--"you need a Day of the Jackal-type motherfucker, basically, to do some shit like that"--I wouldn't be surprised if the nod to Klaatu (and the inherent symbolism) was included subtly but purposely. Whether intentional or coincidental, it appeared to me as a remarkable bridge between two pieces of media that are separated by worlds and decades and, yet, are thematically completely in-tune with each other.

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.

A New Day Begins

It was a steadier, although less exciting and satisfying, day two at the Bellagio's 5 Diamond Poker Classic.

My starting table was, again, rather tough. Ramabird was there, starting the day as a shortstack (but ending the day big), and the table was filled out by online poker legends Darrell "Gigabet" Dicken, Erik "123" Sagstrom and Greg "FBT" Mueller. The even more legendary Bobby "The Wiz" Hoff, who took second place in the WSOP right around the time of second birthday, was on my direct right, and we talked briefly about our common interests in The Natural Mind by Andrew Weil. With Billy Duarte's passing, Hoff is arguably the coolest over-60 poker player currently traveling the circuit.

I accumulated some chips, but our table broke quickly, and I was moved to a table that was probably tougher by virtue of Michael "The Grinder" Mizrachi's presence alone. When Michael is working a big stack (he was probably the chip leader at this point with over 300K), it's like artistry. He plays lots of hands and manages to show up with the goods whenever it really matters, which is also usually when you least expect him to have it. He has an uncanny ability to know when someone is dying to "look him up," and I've seen his opponents pay off overbets when they're drawing dead many times.

I left the table with around what I had arrived with, 90K, and Blair Rodman gave me a copy of Kill Phil for Chanukah when the table broke.

There's more to report from today, including a genuine Dutch Boyd pyshcotic breakdown, but room service is here, and I am going to conclude this entry now.

I have 87K going into day 3, which resumes tomorrow with 1500/3000 blinds. There are 136 players left and 100 paid. Payouts are between $25,000 and $2.1M.

Chanukah at the Bellagio

Balance is My Thing

It just wouldn't be a deep-stacked main event if I didn't drop at least two-thirds of my stack early in the tournament.

During last year's Bellagio $15,000 event, I managed to lose 25K out of the 30K starting chips within two levels, rebounded from 5K, and ended the day with 40K. This year, my stack went even more haywire, dropping from 30k to 23K, up to 50K, and as low as 7K after two poorly played hands.

I started the penultimate level of day-1 play--200/400/a50--with 11K, doubled up against Mike Matusow with AK vs his TT, and then went on a sick run of cards: I made two full houses, quads and a flush within the course of a few orbits--and by the end of the level, my chips had shot up to 84k.

During the break, Dustin Woolf asked me if I was going to slow down and lock up a stack that would be formidable at any table draw on day 2. I told him "probably not" and I didn't--my stack grew to 110K at its peak, after I flopped the nut flush and busted someone who turned trips. Then, I bluffed off a bunch of chips to Erik Cajelais, the 24-year old French Canadian who plays very well and is on an absolutely sick run in tournaments since the fall, and ended the day with 66K. Hopefully, I can find a more steady groove tomorrow.

Our table was extremely tough. In addition to Cajelais and Matusow (who is a lot of fun to play with), Chip Reese, Gus Hansen, and Jason "Ramabird" Sagle, who took runner up in the WPT Niagara event, completed the list of "famous faces." The rest of the table played really well, too--"like nine surgeons," as Matusow put it--and there was a shitload of action and several interesting hands. Of the original 10 players, only Gus and the one guy I busted didn't make it to day two.

Jeff Madsen Cooler

This lazy blog entry, plucked almost verbatim from an IM conversation with my friend, turned out to be more laborious than it would have been if I had just tried to write it up normally. Maybe less readable, too. Certain names and details have been changed.

The Cast:

Jeff Madsen: 2006 WSOP wunderkind
David "Chino" Rheem: Poker tour fixture, perpetual fuckup, master hustler.
Jordan Morgan: Former "super-nerd" and Gavin Smith's favorite young poker player

The setting:

A hotel room in the Bellagio.

***

shaniac (10:44:08 PM): so ok chino

shaniac (10:44:15 PM): lol this story is decent actually

shaniac (10:44:22 PM): he's in a $20 SNG

shaniac (10:44:24 PM): on Stars

shaniac (10:44:25 PM): HU SNG

My friend (10:44:28 PM): why?

shaniac (10:44:29 PM): basically his case 20

My friend (10:44:32 PM): k

shaniac (10:44:33 PM): whatever, why

shaniac (10:44:35 PM): he's a grinder!

shaniac (10:44:37 PM): anyway

My friend (10:44:38 PM): ok

shaniac (10:44:40 PM): he's down to 95 chips

shaniac (10:44:44 PM): so the other guy has

shaniac (10:44:48 PM): 2905

shaniac (10:44:55 PM): and Jordan offers him 15-1

shaniac (10:44:58 PM): on $20

shaniac (10:45:00 PM): that he cant win

shaniac (10:45:01 PM): he wins

shaniac (10:45:07 PM): $300 for Chino

shaniac (10:45:11 PM): obv it was a bad line but whatever

shaniac (10:45:53 PM): so $300 for Chino

My friend (10:46:07 PM): that line seems almost ok

shaniac (10:46:15 PM): then Chino wins another $100 off Jordan on another prop bet so his roll is 400

shaniac (10:46:41 PM): then jordan kicks in 400 and I kick in 200 and we have a 1K bankroll, 40/40/20....

shaniac (10:46:43 PM): on FTP

shaniac (10:46:48 PM): and we work it here and there

shaniac (10:46:54 PM): from 8/16-25/50 NL

shaniac (10:46:59 PM): then sometime during this

shaniac (10:47:07 PM): Jeff Madsen comes into the room with [a friend of ours] during their dinner break

shaniac (10:47:37 PM): anyway, we pull out from all games and are grinding out this 10/20 PLO game

shaniac (10:48:06 PM): we're in the 10/20 PLO game with 2500

shaniac (10:48:11 PM): and another 1200 in the account

shaniac (10:48:16 PM): which we have grinded up from a 1K roll

shaniac (10:48:51 PM): and we get headsup with this dude who has likle 7500

shaniac (10:49:29 PM): 10/20 PLO. First hand of HU play He raises to 60, and we make it like 180 with ATT8 double-suited,

shaniac (10:49:32 PM): he calls

shaniac (10:49:36 PM): we flop the joint

shaniac (10:49:41 PM): 7-9-J rainbow

shaniac (10:50:23 PM): we bet, he raises, we push, he thinks and calls with top set. 5K pot. Turn is a deuce. Jeff Madsen looks at the screen, goes "wow big pot" and then says "no deuce."

shaniac (10:50:26 PM): and then the river is a deuce

shaniac (10:50:29 PM): and then he sort of slunk out of the room

shaniac (10:50:31 PM): and that's the story

Friend (10:50:40 PM): lol

shaniac (10:50:48 PM): maybe you had to be here, but we were all like "fucking Jeff Madsen!!!"

shaniac (10:51:02 PM): he was like this chipper little kid, talkin about how he was into Magic the Gathering

shaniac (10:51:09 PM): and he just said the worst possible thing

shaniac (10:51:19 PM): it was like silent

shaniac (10:51:34 PM): Chino's run from 95 chips in a sng to a 5K pot and Jeff Magic Madsen puts the cooler on it

shaniac (10:51:41 PM): then he's chip leader when I wake up next day