I knew I was slot hoki sunk.

Sure enough, he turned up T8 for top two pair. After the turn didn’t bring one of my suit, I was left with only four outs, none of which came.
Though the mistake didn’t hurt me financially, it didn’t alter my mental state a bit. I’d just damaged my tight reputation and looked foolish in front of G-Rob. I’d made a very loose, over-aggressive play and it cost me.
Strangely enough, though, it didn’t hurt that badly. In the end, I’d altered my table image to my advantage. Players started making loose calls against slot hoki me and eventually I made back everything I’d pissed away plus about another $100.
I knew the session was coming to a close for me when a bunch of youngsters sat down and started jawing at each other. Strangely enough, -EV sat down next to me and it took us about 15 minutes to figure out who each other was. His girlfriend was with him, though, so we didn’t get to talk too much.
Finally, I stood up, collected my winnings, and headed out to lose them.
I’d forgotten that my luck had started turning and I was about to head into the land of good wins and even greater stories.
Sherwood Forest, Pt. 2
I had a plan. Since I had not been able to sleep for days, I decided the only way to sleep was to…well, drink.
As such, the next few hours are bit of a blur. I know I played cards for a while and ended up back at the Pai Gow tables, where a guy sat down and won a bonus on his first hand. I was back to the cocktails in full force, knowing that I wasn’t going to be playing poker again for a few hours, unless I couldn’t sleep.
Most everybody else was fairly dead after a long day of football and cards. CJ left to go home. It left me and G-Rob playing single deck blackjack for $25 a hand at around four in the morning.
We broke even and when the deck went cold, we decided we too would turn in.
But after getting to the room, we decided we needed one more drink before we would rest well.
“Irish car bomb,” one of us said.
“Irish car bomb,” the other answered.
And so back we went to the scene of the crime. Sherwood Forest.
We made quick friends with Cantina the Bartendress. She was quite a talker and realized quickly that we were ill-equipped. We ordered a beer in preparation for the car bomb. You gotta prepare, you know.
We looked around and discovered we were surrounded by cowboys and hookers. The Nationl Finals Rodeo had ended that day and everybody was looking for one final ride.
After we reminded Cantina how to make a car bomb, she fixed us up and we proceeded to drop our shots into the beer. As G-Rob started to down his, I dropped my shot, missing the center of the pint glass by half an inch. Before I knew it, shattered glass and Guinness were all over the bar.
G-Rob laughed at me and said to Cantina, “Would you believe it? This guy is a surgeon.”
G-Rob at some point had decided to cook up cover stories for us. Over the course of the next several hours, I would be a surgeon from Savannah and he would be a minor league baseball pitcher from Jacksonville.
“Really,” Cantina said. “What kind of surgery do you do?”
I was stumped and covered in Guinness.
“Um…general,” I said, wiping myself off. I’m not a good liar.
G-Rob laughed, “Yeah. General. He’s the Surgeon General.”
Cantina was nice enough to make me another car bomb for free, but then went and got all dark on us. She related a tale that we just couldnt believe. She said that at some point the night before, someone had jumped out of an Excalibur guest room and fell to their death. She was convinced it wasn’t suicide, but murder. But she said we’d never hear about it because the Las Vegas media is controlled by the casinos.
When she sensed our incredulity, she brought Alaska-native Sam the Server out of the restaurant to back her up. For an eternity, Server Sam related tales of unions, union-busting, and the number of people who jump to their death every year in Vegas.
Later, I’d ask several more employees of the casino about it, and they would all nod quietly, indicating, “yeah, it happened, but we can’t talk about it.”
So wrapped up in the conversation as we were, we barley noticed when the hookers and cowboys started filling in around us. It was tight. One cowboy chatted us up and I told him story after story about how bad a pitcher G-Rob was and how he was never going to make it to the show.
Several times, I laughed out loud, “Your ERA sucks so bad!”
Surgeon General, my ass.
Another cowboy walked up and I asked what he did.
With an absolutely straight face, he answered, “I’m a buckaroo.”
Um…right.
As the sun again threatened to rise, two hookers who couldn’t land cowboys came up and grabbed us.
“Well, it looks like you’re it,” one of them said.
Oh, jeebus.
These girls were not attractive. They both looked used up and tired. Nevertheless, they were friendly and conversational. While G-Rob and I tacitly agreed that “never in the world would we ever consider…yadayada” we thought it would be fun to talk with them.
And so we did, for a very, very long time.
Before I knew what I was doing, I had vowed to help them land dates for the night. At one point I started trying to brush in cowboys who were walking by the bar.
As one guy in a cowboy hat walked by I said, “Hey, buddy, want a shot? Have a seat.”
G-Rob pointed out that I had just become a pimp. And not a very good one.
I didn’t quite grasp how stupid I was being.
I spotted two guys at the end of the bar and nodded toward them.
“How about those guys?” I said to the more conversational of the hookers.
“No way,” she said.
“Why?”
She spelled it out. “V-i-c-e.”
Oh.
It was there and then I ended my career as a pimp before it began. If I can’t spot vice from the end of the bar, I’m no pimp.
As the conversation drew to a close, G-Rob asked the girls the wildest thing a john had ever asked them to do.
Good taste requires I leave their answers to something outside of a public forum. All I can say is, “Oh the toilet-drinking humanity.” (“Oh the humanity” is a registered trademark of Guinness and Poker and the Hindenburg victims’ familes).
And finally I was able to sleep.
Coming up:
*The final day, including The Bellagio, The Poker Room Brawl, and catching lucky
*Final thoughts