The first hand of the 1500 PLO 6 max I held 77xx in the big blind. An old dude limped first in three handed, the button folded, small blind wasn’t there yet, I checked my option, and flopped middle set on a lovely board. I check raised the guy, blasted the turn, boated up on the river and collected another big bet. Hey, I might have a shot here. PLO is my worst game, and I was actively trying to recall the advice my friend Billy has shared. I spewed everything I earned in that first hand back trying to do so, and finally when I realized two pair in PLO is like one pair in NLHE I started figuring things out. I had heaps throughout the day, we hit the money to end the night, and with 36 left I was seventh in chips.

I had 20k more than my entire table combined for day two. I felt like I played well but I couldn’t get much going, eventually dwindling to one of the short stacks with two tables remaining. I held on til the pay jump from 9th to 8th but then I flopped top two when he flopped the straight and that was all she wrote.

It’s been a while since I’ve been that close to a bracelet, and it thoroughly salivated me. The first time didn’t really matter since it was the employees event, the second time I got hosed and that sucked but I thought this world series final table thing was an annual event. I’ve learned through the maturation of my career that it’s really fucking difficult to book a top ten finish in the WSOP, and I’m quite disappointed with my 8th place finish this time around. I didn’t think a bracelet would ever matter to me as much as I feel like it does now, but it feels like a quest at this point and I cannot wait until next summer so I can get back on it.

On to the European Main Event, I really wanted to make a run in this thing too. I had a tough starting table and was pleased to chip up to 75k through day 1. My day 2 table wasn’t so good but was scheduled to break soon. It did shortly into the first level, and then I was moved to a table where I knew everybody. If Jen Harmon is the worst player at your table then you’re in the wrong game. There wasn’t anything I could do about it though, and toward the end of the first level they informed us that we would be moving to the live streaming table. Can’t say I blame them really. They then filled the the empty seat to my left, and none other than Ben Lamb takes it. We made jokes about tv tables being rigged and such, I managed to continue chipping up, and then busted Bruno Benvunesti winning a flip.

That marked the end of things going well though. It took squeezing maximum value out of two fours on AK8, 3, 3 and making an ace high calldown to maintain my stack the following level. All the good players busted to bad ones, the only people left from the 9 sickos assembled in level two was myself, Matt Waxman, and Brian Roberts. They were bored with us, we were moved back to the regular room during dinner, and afterwards my stack continued to decline. Finally our table broke and my new table was amazing. First hand I saw a flop five ways with 78dd, flopped the straight draw in position, was checked to, bet, and got called in two spots. I bricked and didn’t bluff at it again, I may have won the pot if I tried. Second hand I opened AJo, got re-raised by the button, stacks were perfect to 4b shove so I did, he called with AK, and I was out. I felt disgusted in myself for punting 35bbs at the best table in the room, but all I could do was go drinking at the local pub.

After moving across the harbor we’ve moved pubs too, to the sister bar of Morrison’s called Le Quay’s. The bartender from the previous night was having a pint, figured out I was a poker player based on the bracelets I was wearing last night, and we had a good chat. Speaking of those bracelets, they’re the dumbest thing ever. To enter the hotel or casino you must be wearing one. They verify that your ID has been checked and you’re actually over 18. Then to enter the tournament area you must be wearing the specific bracelet for that tournament. It’s never been necessary in any other tournament I’ve played. And they’re annoying to wear. And waiting in line to get them is lame. And if bartenders are figuring out that green bracelet = poker player, so can thieves, and as it turns out poker players often carry sizable sums of cash on them, especially when at tournaments.

So we had a good night drinking. Hit the sack. I spent the whole next day drafting magic online and chilling out while Cory adventured to Nice. She came back for dinner, I wanted to play the 330 PLO tournament at 10pm, got there in time, and was informed that it started at 8pm. Whooops. We went drinking again, first at Le Quay’s, then to Morrison’s to catch open mic night, and found many of my favorite peole there. Mike Watson won the 5k turbo, bringing his week’s profit to over 200k euro (atta boy!), and we were celebrating. One of the bartenders from Le Quay’s was there, he met some chick, she’s going to USC and couldn’t believe that I had gone there, they made out, and then she freaked. Have you been safe? Should I be worried? Do you have mono? Turns out she’s 18 and not very experienced at things. Good luck in LA girl.

The next day was the 880 deepstack event. I showed up an hour late cause I didn’t want to play 25-50 with 20k stacks. The structure was excellent containing every level at 40 minutes each. I ended the day 2nd in chips with 29 left, crushed people heading into the final table bringing 600k of the 2.4 million in play with me 10 handed, got it in pretty happily four times, was behind every time, lost them all, and busted 8th. Ugh. I collected 3k euro for my efforts making the trip basically breakeven.

After busto we went walking seeking food and then drinks. We headed up the hill toward Le Castre, an old fort turned museum. Wandering up ancient cobblestone streets I was concerned that we wouldn’t find food, but Cory had a place in mind and was convinced that it would be open. It was, we found Scott Seiver and his grandparents inside, and were immediately blasted with a helluva dining experience. We were never handed menus, but instead had our champagne glasses filled, salad, pate, miniature pickles, bread, and salami placed in front of us. Our waiter then explained that we will have a 2nd course of rattatouie and a main course that we need to choose. We must also select a bottle of wine. I went with the quail and she chose the lamb, he recommended a bottle of red that was fantastic, and all the food kicked ass. Somewhere in the course of dinner the staff broke into music, two guitars, a harp, bongos, shakers, and they all sang. It was Spanish, I knew what they were singing about, and it was fantastic. We then had dessert, and when we finally received the bill it was 37 euros each. We robbed them! The place was called Les Independents or something like that and is a must do in Cannes. Gaston Gastounette was the best meal we had but over two hundred euro more expensive too.

We then walked to the final table, got there just after Brian Roberts busted, and then walked back to Le Quai. I was gifted two decks of cards and a staff shirt. Jason the bartender made sure to indicate it was authentic, I’m pretty sure he indicated that he didn’t wash it, and I felt like I should have peeled off my final table shirt like we were exchanging football (aka soccer) jerseys. One deck is high quality plastic Jameson cards, the other is French and the neatest deck I’ve ever seen. Aces are “1″, kings are “R”, queens “D”, and jacks are some other letter I can’t remember right now.

We had a rough morning obviously, hired a car to take us to Sanremo, and I wrote most of this blog on the ride over. We’re back at the airport in Nice now where I finished it, have internet around my laptop for the first time since Cannes, and will write about Sanremo on the flight home.

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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I was glad we arrived a day early to chill out, scrape off some jet lag, and learn the town a bit. Cory found a beach she wanted to check out on her jog that morning so we headed that way. I intentionally left boardies at home planning on buying a pair here, like a dumbass obviously. Over the course of several hours I found many options in speedos and “Havana cut” swimwear, but nothing that I would ever wear at the lake. Finally found a pair my size, hideously ugly in my opinion, and on sale for 55 Euro. Cory likes them somehow. We laid on the beach reading our electronic books while I wondered why we hate boobies in America so much and insist that they stay covered.

My stress level was building throughout the day though. I’ve been trying to learn French but it’s been super difficult phonetically for me. It’s challenging to feel comfortable in a place with a language barrier. Walking back looking for food I kept seeing menus I didn’t understand and talking to people who didn’t understand me, wishing that I could find a can of dip to buy and perhaps an In-N-Out for french fries.

After dinner that night I moseyed to the casino to play the 330 NLHE turbo. Since I won’t play cash games raked that hard I’m playing the side tournaments instead. I wanted to get an idea of how the Euros were playing, and it didn’t take long to realize the answer was badly. There were 30 runners total, two of us from Las Vegas, and we got heads up. It was 4300 for first and 2600 for 2nd, we made a deal where I took 3850 and the victory, winning back to back tournaments for the first time in my life. I walked home, rained euros on Cory, and went to sleep.

The first bracelet event was the next day, 2680 6max nlhe. I made a decent run but ran out of gas on the backside. French law concerning poker is effed. The 4% rake is tax. Payable to the French government. When they approved PLO they got it down to 2% hoping that NLHE would change too but it didn’t. Those are the only two forms of poker that you can play in France. They also have a goofy rule concerning minimum raise size. If you want to raise, it must be at least 2x the previous total bet size. For exmaple: blinds are 200-400, I open to 1k, if you want to re-raise, the minimum is to 2k, not 1600. I feel like these are good enough reasons to not have the WSOPe in France, but turnouts have been up and people seem to like the place so who am I to complain. There’s got to be a place just as good around here where 4% of the prize pools don’t go to the gov though.

After busting that night I wanted an adventure. Cory was still jet lagged and sleepy so I set out solo seeking a drinking partner. Couldn’t find one at the Majestic, nor at the casino, and I ended up at a bar with Guiness signs West of everything. Trance music and Frenchies, bartender didn’t understand “Hoegaarden et Jamison, si vous plaix”. Thought I wanted the shot in the beer after finally figuring what type of alcohol I was talking about. I left that place and hoofed it East, wandering past the Discoteque 7 that scared me, continuing until I found a place called Morrison’s Pub. I tried speaking French to the blonde bartender, she responds, “I’m not very good at French, what do you want?” Ahh, heaven.

Turns out the place is an English speaking Irish pub and awesome. I met a dude named John from the South side of England who was in town working on displays for some convention. He met this gal who’s the chef on one of the yachts and wants to open a restaurant in Barcelona. They were awesome, and after Morrison’s closed with the owner telling us to “Fuck off, time to go,” we continued our adventure to some nightclub called Da Da Da.

I had a great time. I couldn’t find my iPod or tobacco pipe the following day though, and upon returning to the club the following evening nobody in the staff meeting I crashed said they found anything either.

That afternoon I played the turbo event. With three tables left from 100 runners it folds to me in the small blind. I shove, Frenchie in the big blind thinks, looks at me, puts his entire stack in front of his cards, moving them forward about one foot, lets go, looks at me, and I turn my hand face up. I am pleased to see that I have A4o. He looks at my hand, shows me K9o, and returns the cards to the dealer. I’m like, wtf? You called. You can’t un-call. I didn’t call, my chips didn’t cross the line. I really feel like I’m getting angled hard, and even though numbers are close enough that I shouldn’t mind him folding, I don’t want him to get away with this and feel like I have to be 80-20 instead of 60-40 against this angle shooting son of a bitch.

The floor man ruled in my favor. The line is a courtesy line and doesn’t mean anything, it’s all about forward motion as it should be, and he gets his cards back so we can run it. Nine in the window. Ace on the flop. Brick on the turn. Nine on the river. “Shame on you.” Excuse me? Fuck you you toadsucking motherfucker, you shoot an angle on me, get caught, suck out, and then have the audacity to say shame on me? I wanted to do lots of things, but I put my (Cory’s) ear-buds in and turned up my iPod (iPad) instead. A while later he called my shove from the button and similar stacks with KTo, confirming to me that there wasn’t much of a chance that he was actually folding the K9o and indeed shooting an angle, but I sucked out on him with my T4o. I then busted like 18th and went to find food.

The following day I was scheduled to play day 1b of the 1090 nlhe. The resounding advice that I’ve gathered and observed about the Euros is don’t fold. I have two queens, open in late position, get re-raised by the button to 200, the big blind makes it 700, I choose to not fold, hearing no voice saying fold, say all-in, and lose to the big blind’s two aces. Got me good.

Cory and I wander toward the port intending on catching a boat to one of the islands off the coast. One is owned by monks and basically a winery, the other is French and has a fort and some other stuff on it. We make it to the open air market, I buy a used pipe for 10 euro, and we decide to chill around here rather than trying to rush an afternoon on the island. I played the 200 turbo. Last hand before break playing 100-200 a lagtard opens to 600, somebody else calls, the SB with 3800 calls, and I stuff my 4k from the big blind. I have Q9s. Opener and flatter fold and then the small blind calls, turning over AQo. Got me good.

Went to Morrison’s that night, met some English kids who claimed to be in Kings of Leon, and I chose to believe them since I don’t see why they’d lie about it. They’re not trying to have sex with me, it’s pretty easy to pull up a picture of the band, and I’ve got some pretty outlandish stories myself that happen to be true. Cory on the other hand declared bullshit, they folded cause they weren’t in the Kings of Leon, and then told us about how well that speech worked on French girls.

The next day I wandered past Justin Bonomo, Ryan Di’Angelo, and Brent can’t think of his last name eating at Le Petit Paris down the street. I was headed to play the satellite to the shootout, they said join, I fetched Cory and did, then was joined by Scott Seiver and a couple others. It was nice to have a dinner with friends, and then i headed over to enter the satellite to the main event.

They have this structured poorly. Buy in for 550, receive 4k chips, play 3 20 minute levels: 25-50, 50-100, 75-150. Then for 500 euros, receive 8k chips. It made the first hour annoying because it’s pretty bad to bust before the break due to the add-on size, and only 5 of over 100 did so. Then another 5 or so didn’t take the add-on which is awesome, so it’s not all bad letting people make that mistake, I just think there’s got to be a better way. Late reg isn’t a great option either cause they’re letting these things sell out due to space constraints.

I sat next to (Cornel) Andrew Cimpan. It took me a little while to recognize him, and when I did I laughed my ass off because he was wearing a blue hat with the Italian flag once and the word “Italia” about a hundred times on it. Well played sir. I busted the last hand before break when I flopped a pair, got check-raised, chose once again to not fold, and was shown a hand better than mine that I never thought in a million years would have taken the line it did to get to where it got. Got me good.

Went to Morrison’s again, Cory and I met two Aussies who are on world holiday, and after being told to fuck off as they turned the lights on we told the Aussies that we’d see them in Vegas. Fun stuff.

I saw them the following morning though on my mission to find breakfast. One of them didn’t remember leaving the bar. Chilled out that afternoon gearing up for the shootout. Drew a fine table with Mike Watson and a bunch of French superstars. I watched them constantly roll over garbage, then I flopped top pair, called the c-bet, got checked to on the turn, bet small to induce, got check-raised, chose not to fold, and then chose not to fold when he shoved the river. Not only did he have the toppest pair, he also had the next pair too. Deu pair? Got me good.

I’m not sure if I’m running awful by running into the top of their ranges or if I’m playing awful and punting to perceived ranges, but I’d like it to stop soon, cause I’m about to run out of the euros that I won on the first night.

I came back to the room around 7:15pm. Cory had left on a jog around 4:15. She didn’t take anything besides her room key and iPod, and clearly hadn’t returned yet. I was worried, but what could I do about it? I went to dinner, ordered a bottle of wine, enjoyed a 2 hour meal like the French do, watched the Aussies asked the host for a seat, flagged them down and invited them to sit, they did, and after dinner I returned to the room hoping to find some indicator that Cory was safe. She was, eating at Le Petit Paris, I met her over there, and then we ended up at Morrison’s again. It was open mic night and the level of talent was extraordinary. The place is firmly entrenched in both of our top ten drinking establishment lists, not sure where yet.

Turns out Spain isn’t an option. Thanks for the comments on that, I also heard that the tax rate is through the roof, so no thanks. Gibraltar has become an option, not sure it it’ll work for Cory though, but from what I’ve heard everybody speaks English and Spanish there. It leaves us with an open week after the main event though since we don’t need to check out Spain anymore. So now we’re either going South to check out Gibraltar, North to holiday through Europe, or East for EPT San Remo which begins on the 21st about an hour away.

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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I think we’ve decided to leave the country.

Tuesday we actually did leave the country, not permanently, but as part of the quest to figure out where’s next. Cory really wants to teach English in a Spanish speaking country. Furthermore she’s running into all sorts of bullshit with the Clark County school district, and it’s gotten to the point where all the hoops she has to jump through make it not worth it to even spend time subbing. Her California teaching credential doesn’t mean anything in Vegas. She wants to be working, not for the money, but because it makes her happy to be in a classroom with kids. I support that immensely. She’s psyched to leave the country, I suppose I’m a bit remorseful but on board.

It breaks my heart that I can’t play poker online anymore in the US. It means I can’t live in Colorado and am forced to stay in Vegas, LA, Scottsdale, or Atlantic City, taking a significant pay cut. If I don’t like those choices I can quit poker and do something else or leave the country and do anything I want. It makes me sad to watch my government run an awesome country into the ground. What I want is to not leave the country, to be able to live in Colorado and work online, but I can’t do that. So like a rusty hinge I’m slowly coming around to embracing the idea of getting out of Dodge.

She wants to go somewhere Spanish speaking, I’m totally down with that having formerly lived in Mexico and speaking Spanish pretty well, thus our options are Spain or Latin America. I’ve never been off the continent, she’s never been to Spain, and the WSOP Europe was around the corner so I said lets use that as an excuse to go check out Spain. We left Vegas on Tuesday, arrived in Nice on Wednesday, and now it’s Thursday morning.

Last night I bought a beer. Sales tax was 19.6%. I also played 10-20 Euro NLHE. Rake was about 4% uncapped. I watched them stick over 80 E down the hole for a 2k pot. They whacked me for four Euro winning the blinds and one limp. The game wasn’t that great, and I’m not sure if the game would be beatable if it was the best game I’d ever played in. I understand I’m in Cannes, France, but if the European circuit and/or Spain is anything like this I can easily say already that this isn’t where I want to be. I don’t like it when it’s eight dollar beer night. Shouldn’t Heinekens be cheaper here?

It does feel good to be back on the grind. There’s been mixed games going in Vegas every day, often 100-200 which is right in my wheelhouse, and I had a good couple weeks playing those before getting out here. Then last week I started warming my tournament muscles back up by playing in an Aria nightly and the first Bellagio Festa al Lago event. I won the latter for $37k :).

Did you know that there’s 200 and 500 Euro bills? Me neither. I dig it though.

Peace and bonne chance,

Devo

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