Bonus update: To the incensed people demanding Empire's rescinded bonus -- hey, you got a free $50, no? Better than nothing and no raked hands to play? If anything happens to online poker legally and the U.S. Government begins wanting their share, I wouldn't be a bit surprised to see these sites shut down with our money. If you think Empire taking back a measly bonus is bad, wait'll you see sites shut down with your entire bankroll.

I have a manila folder in my filing cabinet labeled "Gambling" back when I used to be organized. In it contains fliers and outdated player's cards from my inaugural visits to Atlantic City with a just-turned-21 grubette. This was a long time ago (sorry, grubette).

grubette would drive to my place and we'd head to the Howard Johnson's or Red Roof Inn where we'd catch the daily weekend Martz bus and hope to be able to sit together and not with one of the smelly seniors protecting their plastic cups of quarters.

After multiple stops in dead areas of Virginia and Maryland and an edited-for-TV movie to pass the time (Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead on the way up, Uncle Buck on the way back), we'd begin seeing billboards and call out each one and their jackpot values.

Our excitement built with each passing sign, and when we finally arrived in the parking lot of the bus terminal, we couldn't wait to burst out and crush the casinos.

We hopped from Bally's to Caesar's, from the Sands to the Claridge. Accumulating player's cards, riding the escalators, pretending we were trust fund babies, marveling at the sheer opulence of it all. I did not know blackjack strategy (I wouldn't always double-down on 11 and wouldn't split 8s). My one brilliant strategy was to eat first so we wouldn't go hungry if we lost everything.

We would spend our allotted 6 hours enmeshed in blackjack and buffets, constantly get carded, load up on free drinks, lose what we brought, then return home vowing never to return, at least for another couple weeks.

That was a good Sunday.

I dug out the folder and spotted two cash advance receipts from credit cards I no longer have. One was for $50 and one was for $100. Those amounts seem so tame now, but back then it was quite a lot, even though I had more money then. We hadn't yet been to Vegas (nor had any desire) and my credit record was crystal clear, diligently paying off each card every month. I was living on my own for the first time, away from roommates, away from college, away from debt.

Taking out that first $100 cash advance at Merv Griffin's Resorts where they charged $14.95 in fees (on top of credit card fees and the increased APR %) was the beginning.

The beginning of what, I don't know, because it hasn't ended.

Atlantic City seems different now. The innocence for me is lost, for sure, and when I go, it's with a pointed purpose more than a sense of fun.

Hanging out with the bloggers in AC last weekend was for fun.


Saturday at the Borgata

After the blogger crew left, I put my name down on the long waiting list in the poker room and give in to blackjack temptation. I hadn't played any pit games at Borgata before and thought I'd sit down for a few (hands? hours? drinks?).

I take first base (my favorite seat) and settle in with a $200 buy-in. The pit-boss swipes my card and I ask if $25 is the minimum to be rated, and he says any amount will rate you.

The table is a fun one and a girl in a halter top high-fives everyone every time she or the table wins. Her friend sits behind her for luck. Fortunately she's more attractive than Pedro Martinez' lucky midget. Halter top rubs this friend's belly before each hand, which became a turn-on.

I couldn't leave the table in more ways than one.

Eric the dealer chats up the table in a sincere and non-tip-inducing way (they surprisingly don't share tips at the Borgata). He dispenses friendly advice and pleasantly chastises players for playing incorrect strategy.

"Sometimes I just have a feeling," the guy in the glasses says as he splits 44 against the dealer's 10... gets another 4, splits that, then gets yet another 4... and doesn't split. "Sure you don't want to split that?" Eric the dealer says. "Because you split the others, and I just want to be sure." Seven 4s were out in his hand.

I don't mind incorrect strategy too terribly much, because in the long run he'll help as much as hurt the table.

It's a $15 minimum table, and I'm betting a consistent $25 (my bj leak, when I should vary) with occasional bets for Eric the dealer. Others vary their bets from $15 to $100. The guy in third base has a wad of 100s that he keeps doling out and losing.

The tall girl to my left asks if anyone minds if she smokes. The belly girl pipes up; she's pregnant but don't let that stop. Rubbing her belly for luck now makes sense. In her 1950s rim specs and appearing very hot-for-teacherish, she certainly didn't look like any Buddha I know, but she had a rock on her finger about Buddha's size.

An ashtray is delivered and the tall girl refrains from smoking out of courtesy until she's down another $100, then she lights with abandon.

She jokes about her bad luck, but you can tell it matters to her. Perhaps not the money especially, but being beaten.

I feel guilty for having green chips in front of me and for winning and for not rebuying. But I've been in her place plenty of times and attempt to enjoy not betting just to get even.

Eventually the tall girl busts out and leaves, the dealer's down ends, and the belly-rubbing ceases enough for me to know it's time to go and cash out ahead $85.


Check-raising 6/12

Carter didn't nap after all and found his way into a 1/2 NL game. I'm amazingly still on the waiting list and opt for a Poker Snack from a constantly grinning blonde who doesn't entirely understand English and the smiling masks that fact. This time chicken noodle soup, a fruit tart, and a water, which my comp points take care of.

I don't know the rate, but I think I've been earning $1/hour for poker play. Far better than any casino in Vegas, where I think the best you can do is $.50/hour at The Orleans. A buffet comp at Bellagio if you're lucky.

From the poker lounge, I watch the final rounds of the Toney/Booker fight from the Pechanga Casino, soundless but front row center on the plasma. It goes the full 12 rounds and despite no KOs and no sound effects, is still compelling seeing Toney's energy and seeing how flabby Booker just stands there and continually pulls the hug maneuver to rest (it's obvious I know nothing about boxing). Toney's punches seem to have no effect on big lug Booker, but Booker just stands and takes it, either putting his gloves in front of his face or hugging like a bear. He reminds me of the crybaby AlCantHang sucked out on earlier that day.

I'm called for 6/12 and get seated at a tricky table. Like the 3/6 from the previous night, there are still many callers to a flop. But this time there are check-raises.

I win one hand total out of the two I was involved in past the flop.

Then I get AKs, raise preflop, one caller, undercards on the flop, and he check-raises. It could've been a move and I might have raised if another caller was in the hand, but I muck on the flop. No need to go further.

Then a loud, obnoxious kid sits to my right. He begins winning with bad cards and he's enjoying being loud.

My out to leave the table comes when Carter stops by and says I have to get to his table no matter what because there are "assholes giving away money."

I say I don't do well in no-limit; he looks at my stack and says I'm not doing well in 6/12.

He's right, and I table-change.


All I know I learned from the WSOP

I'm in the 10seat, which I like because it hides well from the other half of the table.

One of the assholes Carter was talking about is in the 5seat, two seats to Carter's right.

He was a genuine piece of work, with the TV posturing, the staring down, the sunglasses, the goatee, the PokerStars.com hat (which Carter mocked to his face, saying he's gotta be a good player because it's not a PartyPoker hat). There must be a WSOP for Dummies book out there and he read the Cliffs Notes.

Deb, an accountant from Philly wearing an Eagles jersey, takes up the 1seat with a commanding chip lead and goes up against WSOP guy.

WSOP guy raises all-in, then stares at Deb through his sunglasses. Deb plays with her chips, unsure whether to call. He then removes his shades. "I like you," he says. "You're wearing an Eagles Jersey. I like that. Just for you, I'll show you my cards."

Deb's not buying any of it. Good for her. She's a rock and only plays good cards. The flop was A-Q-x. She probably has KK or AJ.

She mucks, and WSOP guy nonchalantly tables his AQ face up over the flop and stacks the chips slowly and deliberately like this table is no match for his scary skills.

From then on, he would raise or go all-in. He was capable of folding, and when he did, it would be face up with him declaring, "I fold the winner to your King-Queen."

I was itching to get in a hand with him and I do with AQs.

I raise preflop, he's the only caller. His stack is hurting from his constant calling and drinking.

The flop is K-x-x.

Trying not to make it obvious, I glance at the size of his stack and bet half of it. My hand shakes a bit, more because of the freezing air conditioning blowing on my head than lack of confidence.

He makes the typical TV poses and then mucks K-7 face up. "I beat you," he says.

I consider showing, but I don't and stack my chips. Later, he asks, "Did you have a King?"

I say no. He nods, as if impressed that I made a play on him.

Then I think quickly and realize I don't want him thinking this, so I say, "I didn't have a King... I had better."

Which, of course, I did: I had a better bluff.

He nods again, rubs his goatee, and reapplies the smug look that he was correct in laying down the winner.

I had him back where I wanted him; unfortunately, I wasn't involved in another hand with him before he busted out.


The lucky flush

I hadn't been calling many hands, but we're now shorthanded and I'm now raising with a variety of groups.

I have A8o and raise on the Button. BB calls.

The flop is undercards, all s.

BB bets all-in, which completely surprises me. I know my A8o are black but I don't remember what my Ace is.

I say, "I'm going to have to look at my cards."

I say this while watching him out of the corner of my eye, gauging his reaction. I see nothing but confidence.

I have the A. His confidence does not include the nut flush, perhaps the reason why he pushed.

It's $60 to call.

I break down how much I'd be willing to chase. $30 on the flop, $30 on the turn? That was the equivalent.

No other callers. It isn't worth it.

I didn't have a read on him, but he seemed a decent player. I tried to think what I would do if I flopped a flush. Wouldn't I check-raise all-in or wouldn't I risk one more card showing before making a move? Especially heads-up?

A low made flush was a possibility, but then so was two pair or a set and he was protecting.

There's no business calling this hand whatsoever, except I wanted to see for future hands.

I call.

A card's burned, then the turn flips a and I win, and it's then that I see his cards -- J Q.

Ouch, I sucked out.

I don't know if this guy knows the WSOP guy, but they have words about my bad call. The flush guy keeps shaking his head, saying he can't believe I called. Yep, a stupid call, I know that, and I feel like Al must've a few hours prior.

I feel awkward and am relieved when he finally leaves.


Reading the rock

Deb is pretty and lights up our corner table with her smile. She's the sole woman at the table and she and Carter have been flirting, or what might constitute flirting over a game of bluffing and cards. From my vantage point, I can see some skin whenever she reaches for the pot and her Eagles jersey rides up. Not that I enjoy admitting I'm a horny ol' grub, but, well, I'm clearly headed that way so why try to hide it.

She raises $15, it's folded to me in the BB. I have A2s and desperately want to call. I want a chance to play Deb, but no one's giving me odds.

From what I'd seen, she only raised strong hands. She would limp with medium pocket pairs. Everything else she folded.

She rarely, rarely lost a pot when she was in a hand.

Yet I call, wanting to see if I could outplay her.

The flop is 2-3-x.

I bet $20 on my bottom pair, treading carefully and trying to watch her hands to see if she had a pocket pair.

She calls.

The turn is 4 and no flush.

Her hands are toward her cards and not her chips. I think she's getting ready to fold.

I bet $35. I'm betting while watching her, and I'm watching her watch the cards. I'm reasonably confident she doesn't have a pocket pair and put her on AK or AQ because she's been showing down nothing but good cards all night.

She calls again.

I don't know where I am, I'm lost in the hand. With the river I plan a pot-sized bet and hope for the best.

The river is 5.

Though there's a slight chance she has 66, I check. She checks and shows AQs for a split pot.

Carter says that was anticlimactic, that he'd expected something bigger from "the rock" and "the hard place."

I know which one I was, horny ol' grub.


Pulling an Annie on Carter

It was fun going up against Carter, and I did a few times. One time we both had AQ (his were suited), he raises, I call, and the flop is nothing. He checks, I check. The turn is a King and he says, "Now that's an interesting card," and bets on it. I fold and he shows AQ. Good bet!

And then my Annie Duke hand.

Carter raises and I call with 10-J. I noticed Carter was showing down less-than-premium cards, so my hand selection scaled down.

The flop is 10-3-3.

He bets, I call.

Turn is 10.

He checks, and I sigh in my moment of drama and WSOPishness. I say, "You showed weakness and now I have to... all-in."

This was a truly horrible move. I had Carter covered and there's no way he could call. I was playing him like a Party player. However, I put him on a big pair. JJ or QQ. Maybe AK. I was hoping he would think my posturing was bullying and he would call. Surely I wouldn't make a move like this and instead milk it further if I had the nuts...?

But Carter's a good player and he wouldn't call without the other 10.

He folds face-up: 99.

I nod and flip over one card. Earlier that day I had seen a rebroadcast of Annie Duke against Phil Hellmuth when he had K7 and she had K9 and the flop was K-9-x. Phil folded, Annie shows her 9 only, and Phil launches into his Hellmuth antics. Wish I could've heard the sound on that.

I'd been waiting all day for this opportunity, and I flip over one card (not knowing which is which) -- and the Jack flips up.

The table gets excited, thinking I made a play on Carter.

I couldn't resist telling him that I did indeed have the 10, but I'm not sure he believed me.

Oooh, I can't wait to try this move in Vegas. Too bad you can't reveal just one card online.


Folding rockets

I can lay down KK when I strongly suspect someone having AA preflop. I did that at The Orleans when I raised big and someone went all-in preflop. Probably the first and only time I'll ever lay down KK.

Two people sat down who looked in their 20s (one -- Joe from Poughkeepsie -- had just turned 21, I had found out). They were moderately club dressy but not WSOP bravura. I could see Carter rubbing his hands at the new fish, but they proved to be anything but.

Joe opens with a raise, I call with 55, and flop a set. An Ace also falls on the flop. Joe bets and I call. Turn is a King. Joe bets and I look at his chipstack and put him all-in.

He nods and calls. He tables AK and my set holds.

He rebuys.

Half an hour later, I have a good stack and am taking advantage of my rock image.

Joe raises $10, there's a call, and I call with Q-10 (unsuited). We were about 7-handed and I'm in late position. With one or two callers, I'll loosen and call. A bigger raise than that and I'd fold.

The flop is a miracle for me: 9-J-K (rainbow).

Joe bets $15, the other guy folds.

I look at his stack (about $50 left) in the same manner as before and raise the minimum (to $30). I considered putting him all-in, but feared he'd fold. I figured this was the best way to get more out of him, rather than raise the turn.

But I went back and forth on how to play this hand. A larger raise would have him thinking why I didn't just put him all-in. But a minimum raise would be suspect as well.

I thought he might move all-in with the rest if I made a minimum raise.

In retrospect, I should have smooth-called and hoped for him to push on the turn. That or so I could raise the turn. Against good players, however, I try to go opposite the standard turn-raise. Little did I know how good he really was. This was not PartyPoker by far.

He looks at the flop, looks at his hand, and mucks face up -- AA.

Other players including me are shocked. I go ahead and show my flopped straight, a bit angered he folded those.

Seeing that he was beat didn't surprise him.

I asked him how he could have folded that and he said, "I learned my lesson" from the 55 hand half an hour ago.

Incredible laydown, I tell him. I believe the sign of a good poker player is knowing when to fold.

He made the best play at the table, and even though I won, I felt I lost because I would never lay down AA to a flop raise. If I had his $50 remaining chipstack, I probably would've raised all-in.

That's why he's the better player.

Later he rebought and sat directly to my right, and we chatted for awhile. This was his first time in a casino, he just turned 21 on Sept. 23, and he's only played poker online for play money.

I wouldn't be at all surprised if we see Joe from Poughkeepsie ascending to a tournament champion very soon.


Two-hour nap

A couple times Carter said he'd sleep for a couple hours before heading to Al's. It's now 9 a.m. and checkout is 11 a.m.

My eyes are hurting and I cash out, planning to shower and return.

I'm up about $200, including what I lost from 6/12.

I go up, pack, and shower. I mop up the smaller shower flood, then crawl into the comfortable bed and relax a bit before checking out.

I should've kept my spot, because I'm now 5th on the waitlist for NL.

I'm completely beat at this point and can't think of anything but the Borgata bed. Plenty of time to sleep on the bus. I felt for Carter, who hadn't slept yet and still needed to drive to Philly.

Wandering around upstairs, it's pretty empty. I play some blackjack at an empty table. Two people sit in for one hand, lose, and leave.

I'm up about $65 and color up. The pit-boss comes over and I ask for reds, then I tip the dealer two reds with the pit-boss watching. No idea if this helps the rating, but couldn't hurt.

Back downstairs and I'm still on the waitlist.

I see some new slots and sit down. I'd hoped to last the entire trip without any slotplay, but my mind was mush.

I played two slot machines for an hour and am down $150. I nod off on the second machine while pressing the buttons.

I finally tear myself away and cashout, bid goodbye to Carter, and cab it to the bus terminal.


Can you hear me now?

The cabbie knows a shortcut, and makes it well within the $8 fare (fares in AC are capped at $8, which I'm sure makes them grumble at what would've been $8+ fares to Borgata).

Departure is 1 p.m. and I'm there and waiting at Bay 11 with a good 15 minutes to spare. Only in my sleep-deprivation I can't find my cell phone. I check my pocket, then my bag, then panic.

This happened the last time I was in Vegas... I was up all night playing slots at Luxor. When I park myself at a machine, I make myself comfortable. I don't straddle two machines like the blue-haired women, but I do put my feet up and relax over girly pina colada drinks. My cell had fallen out of my pocket and I didn't realize this until I had slot-hopped various machines. I retraced my steps, then asked the desk and they suggested Lost & Found. I sighed and trudged to L&F and inquired about a phone. Lo and behold they had it, I just had to prove it was mine by mentioning the Wendy's logo on the startup screen.

This time, I'm feeling hopeless. The phone is small enough that it had always slipped from my fingers since then. Maybe it wanted to be lost.

I try to retrace, recalling I had it in my hand while picking up my bag from the bell desk. Or did I? I had it in the cab, didn't I? Did I lose it at the slots?

I call the cab company. But was it a Yellow Cab or another? The dispatcher broadcasts a message asking for a fare from Borgata to the bus terminal and if anyone left a phone. He asks three times to no response.

Was there any hope of Lost & Found at Borgata? I connect to their Lost & Found department, but apparently they were closed. They gave an email address of lostandfound.com. Not too helpful.

Back and forth from the bay area to the terminal lobby, scanning each person to see if they resembled my cabbie. My memory of faces isn't too good, and in my stupor I couldn't even remember what color my cab was.

A woman lights up a cigarette and asks me for 50 cents. She says she needs bus fare. I say, "Only 50 cents for the bus?" Then she revises to $2. I give her all the change I have and she seemes appreciative.

Then I realize I don't have my calling card with me since getting the new phone. And I need that change for the payphone if I'm to call around trying to hunt it down. I couldn't even call back to the dispatcher to rebroadcast offering a reward.

And somewhere in the interim of going back and forth, I miss the 1 o'clock bus.

I curse myself for being so stupid -- the reason I'm missing Al's party and leaving AC at what I hoped was 1 o'clock was because I'd set up a third date (the first two were my fault that I'd missed and rescheduled).

I lose the phone, I miss the bus, I'll miss Al's party, I'll miss my date (and will be standing her up because her phone number was in the phone), I gave away my change, and here I am waiting for the next bus... which I don't realize until later won't arrive for another five hours.

My circle of Hell is the Atlantic City bus terminal.

I also realize I left the charger in the Borgata hotel room. That made the phone loss a bit easier; it was just as well then, though I could still hunt down another charger. I began thinking about a replacement for the two-month-old phone, maybe one with a speakerphone. The hassle of a new number and programming everyone's number into it. But I could get a clamshell! Dealing with AT&T about a lost phone. I could say it was stolen! I could get a phone with a better camera!

I went back and forth with pros and cons.

Suddenly a bearded man in a turban and gray beard is in front of me. "Hello," he says.

My jaw drops and I'm so ecstatic that I hug him. Then I reconsider -- was this my cabbie? Fortunately, it was.

He says he heard the announcement, found the phone, and came looking for me. I tip him heartily and marvel at my luck on the river.

Only it's still another 5 hours for the next bus.

I call and cancel my date (on her voice mail... as expected, haven't heard back since). Then I go walking. I need to lie down, I'm exhausted. Maybe I could then take a bus to Philly and still catch Al's party. Maybe Carter hasn't left yet.

I walk to the Boardwalk and then to the Irish Inn, where I'd originally planned on staying at the last minute without a reservation. Good thing I didn't -- boarded up until April.

I walk some more and ask for hotel rates -- all were over $150. I just needed it for a couple hours and I wasn't even with a hooker. If I couldn't make Al's, I could at least sleep some, play at the Taj, and catch the 4 a.m. bus.

Finally I opt to return to the terminal and catch the 6:30 (which doesn't arrive until 7), sleep most of the way, and return home late Saturday.

All in all, a great weekend except at the end when I should've folded and gone to Al's party.