Two things stand out. One is that during the Big East college basketball tournament which ended Sunday, Pitt won 4 games in 4 days at Madison Square Garden. It took the Knicks from January 15 to February 27 to win 4 games at the Garden.
The other is that I was listening to sports talk radio the other day, and the host noted that on the call-in shows, no one is even calling to talk about the Knicks anymore.
Blame who you like, but pro basketball in New York irrelevant. College too, for that matter. St. John's can't even qualify for the Big East tourney these days.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Of Roller Coasters, and When All is Right in the World
I really don't know a whole lot about roller coasters. I have heard of some of the big ones; I once dated a girl who road-tripped to Sandusky, Ohio just to get on a 30-story roller coaster overlooking Lake Erie. I have been on Coney Island's Cyclone many times, however, and found it to be pretty cool. It's wonderfully rickety, and when you get to the top of that first slow ascent you get an amazing view of the ocean. And one thing I have heard from most of the aficianados is that the prehistoric Cyclone ranks right up there with the best of the high tech jobs.
I've been to Las Vegas maybe six times in my life, and seen some pretty outrageous things, like when some buddies and I went to play poker and watch the NFL playoffs but found ourselves in the middle of the Adult Video Awards weekend. So a few weekends ago in Atlantic City, I got a bit of nostalgia for the lesser outrageousness that you find there. There is just something so not-Vegas, but perfect and ridiculous, about drunk Jersey girls in acid-washed denim hot pants and 5 inch heels stumbling around the Borgata at 2 am. It brings a smile to your face, like hearing 'Stairway to Heaven' come on the radio, and reassures you that all is right in the world. Especially when their drunk boyfriends come buy in for 200 across the table from you.
There was a bit of a commotion in the Borgata poker room that Saturday when Howard Stern was seen strolling through with his entourage. No one got to sit with him, though, as he and his crew got their own table in the high-stakes room and played 3-6 limit for maybe an hour. One of my dealers said that wen they finished, Howard couldn't be bothered to wait in line to cash in his rack of red chips, so he just left the whole $500 for the dealer.
An interesting hand. An overweight 50-something woman sat to my left listening to 'The Kite Runner' audiobook on her ipod for a few hours, playing with her souvenir wsop chip (We are not impressed, honey; I bought the same one for a dollar at the Rio gift shop) and complaining about the poor service imposed on her by the cocktail waitress. Listening to music while I play often helps me focus, but I cannot imagine listening to a book while trying to play. She took the earphones out to make a phone call (while on the button, no less), when the following sequence took place. In the process of folding a hand, the dealer accidentally flipped up the Queen of spades. 3 limpers come in (fairly typical at this table), and I raise to 15 with A-K ( a bit more than the standard, hoping to get heads up with someone). Kite Runner peeks at her cards, hurriedly say "I gotta go" into the phone and calls. Huh.
The limpers fold, and we get to see a K-K-10 flop heads-up. I hate overplaying trips; Bwop and I frequently refer to it as fools gold. But with about 200 in front of me (she has about the same), I'll just have to pay her off if she's got 10-10 or K-10. I lead out for 25 into a 40 dollar pot, and she almost beats me into the pot with a quick call. Huh again. The best I can guess is she has a pair or maybe A-10 and either doesn't believe I have a King or (more likely) isn't reallly thinking about anything other than her two cards. I think she would have re-raised me with A-A preflop, and with the exposed Queen and the other King in my hand A-K and Q-Q are unlikely.
The turn is a 5, the second diamond, and I lead out again, this time for 45, and get another insta-call. Suddenly there is 180 in the middle, I have trip Kings, and she could be holding two jokers for all I know. Life would be so much easier if the damn board would pair, but instead I am treated to the 7 of diamonds, and I am suddenly less sure about my willingness to pay her off. I've got 150 left, and I think I am either way ahead or way behind, and probably have been all along unless she just went runner runner for the flush. Betting any significant amount would commit me to the rest of my stack, which seems imprudent, and since I haven't seen her bluff at a pot yet, I decide that I'll have to trust my read if she bets the river. I check and she quickly checks behind me, then turns up Q-J for a busted straight draw. I am indignant, and while I usually try to be as stoic as Rob and not discuss the hand, I can't help myself. "You had to get off the phone for Queen-Jack off?" I ask. She gives me an "of course I did" look. "You did see one of your outs exposed, right?" She shrugs, puts the headphones back in, and keeps playing with the souvenir wsop chip.
One NYC note. The Whole Foods on Houston and Bowery apparently offers the following service. I couldn't possibly make this up.
I've been to Las Vegas maybe six times in my life, and seen some pretty outrageous things, like when some buddies and I went to play poker and watch the NFL playoffs but found ourselves in the middle of the Adult Video Awards weekend. So a few weekends ago in Atlantic City, I got a bit of nostalgia for the lesser outrageousness that you find there. There is just something so not-Vegas, but perfect and ridiculous, about drunk Jersey girls in acid-washed denim hot pants and 5 inch heels stumbling around the Borgata at 2 am. It brings a smile to your face, like hearing 'Stairway to Heaven' come on the radio, and reassures you that all is right in the world. Especially when their drunk boyfriends come buy in for 200 across the table from you.
There was a bit of a commotion in the Borgata poker room that Saturday when Howard Stern was seen strolling through with his entourage. No one got to sit with him, though, as he and his crew got their own table in the high-stakes room and played 3-6 limit for maybe an hour. One of my dealers said that wen they finished, Howard couldn't be bothered to wait in line to cash in his rack of red chips, so he just left the whole $500 for the dealer.
An interesting hand. An overweight 50-something woman sat to my left listening to 'The Kite Runner' audiobook on her ipod for a few hours, playing with her souvenir wsop chip (We are not impressed, honey; I bought the same one for a dollar at the Rio gift shop) and complaining about the poor service imposed on her by the cocktail waitress. Listening to music while I play often helps me focus, but I cannot imagine listening to a book while trying to play. She took the earphones out to make a phone call (while on the button, no less), when the following sequence took place. In the process of folding a hand, the dealer accidentally flipped up the Queen of spades. 3 limpers come in (fairly typical at this table), and I raise to 15 with A-K ( a bit more than the standard, hoping to get heads up with someone). Kite Runner peeks at her cards, hurriedly say "I gotta go" into the phone and calls. Huh.
The limpers fold, and we get to see a K-K-10 flop heads-up. I hate overplaying trips; Bwop and I frequently refer to it as fools gold. But with about 200 in front of me (she has about the same), I'll just have to pay her off if she's got 10-10 or K-10. I lead out for 25 into a 40 dollar pot, and she almost beats me into the pot with a quick call. Huh again. The best I can guess is she has a pair or maybe A-10 and either doesn't believe I have a King or (more likely) isn't reallly thinking about anything other than her two cards. I think she would have re-raised me with A-A preflop, and with the exposed Queen and the other King in my hand A-K and Q-Q are unlikely.
The turn is a 5, the second diamond, and I lead out again, this time for 45, and get another insta-call. Suddenly there is 180 in the middle, I have trip Kings, and she could be holding two jokers for all I know. Life would be so much easier if the damn board would pair, but instead I am treated to the 7 of diamonds, and I am suddenly less sure about my willingness to pay her off. I've got 150 left, and I think I am either way ahead or way behind, and probably have been all along unless she just went runner runner for the flush. Betting any significant amount would commit me to the rest of my stack, which seems imprudent, and since I haven't seen her bluff at a pot yet, I decide that I'll have to trust my read if she bets the river. I check and she quickly checks behind me, then turns up Q-J for a busted straight draw. I am indignant, and while I usually try to be as stoic as Rob and not discuss the hand, I can't help myself. "You had to get off the phone for Queen-Jack off?" I ask. She gives me an "of course I did" look. "You did see one of your outs exposed, right?" She shrugs, puts the headphones back in, and keeps playing with the souvenir wsop chip.
One NYC note. The Whole Foods on Houston and Bowery apparently offers the following service. I couldn't possibly make this up.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Great Sports Name Hall of Fame
My friend Courtney did something similar with her poll of great sports names a few months back. Somehow this one was overlooked. Here I give you Rusty Kuntz, utility outfielder for the White Sox, Twins, and Tigers in the early 1980s. He played 7 mostly undistinguished seasons, never getting more than 140 at-bats, but he did win himself a world series ring as a member of the 1984 Tigers. I'm sure getting a mention in this space means more than that dumb ring, though.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
That's Life in America
I'll come right out and say it. Los Angeles and I don't get along. I don't like the place, and it doesn't like me. It probably started when I was a kid and the Yankees played the Dodgers in 3 World Series in 5 years. Yes, I was a Yankee fan back then. And no, I am not now. Long story.
In any case, bad things seemed to happen to me or my friends when I was in L.A. I first went when I was 16 on a bicycle trip with a bunch of other teenage boys, riding south from San Francisco. About 100 miles out of L.A., I crashed my bike. Nothing major -- just scrapes and a bent front wheel -- but the tone was set. My next visit came maybe 10 years ago when I took a road trip with a girlfriend and stayed with a friend of mine who had recently moved there. The girlfriend had asthma, the other friend had a cat, and what started with trying to get the cat confined to the bedroom led to a chaotic scene with cat hair everywhere and ended with a 3 am drive through Westwood trying to find the hospital. Finally two cops gave us an escort. The girlfriend was okay, and we limped home.
The third trip centered around New Year's eve of the new millenium. The one where we went from 1999 to 2000, not the one that people say is the real one, something I never really got. Anyway, I got food poisoning from (I think) some bad airplane food, and spent most of the weekend hunched over the toilet.
Things seem to have turned around, though. I attribute this to my friends Jeremy and Tyra having moved there. I visited about a year ago, and it was an entirely pleasant vacation. No mishaps, I got to see the Getty Museum (an absolutely stunning place), and Jeremy even won a poker tournament at the Bicycle casino.
I was back last weekend for an annual beach ultimate tournament called Lei-out. I got to hang out with some old friends, play some frisbee, and enjoy being away from the cold snap in NYC. My team (Play Date) lost in the round of 16 to a nationals-caliber co-ed team from Santa Barbara.
The highlight of the weekend occurred when several of us were in line to order breakfast at a deli in Santa Monica. The deli was completely unprepared for the volume of business from the frisbee players, and after about 20 egg-and-cheese-on-a-biscuit sandwiches, they were out of biscuits. When Tucker ordered one, the woman behind the coutner said they were out, but had croissants, which were a dollar extra. Tucker pointed out that she had wanted a biscuit and should therefore not have to pay the extra buck. The woman, already grumpy, replied "I'm sorry miss. That's life in America."
On to some poker. I've started playing in a weekly single table game that pays one winner into a winner-take-all satellite to the wsop main event in Vegas. Basically you have to win a 55-dollar single table and then a 20-person tourney. It's a lot of people to fight through, but I think the math goes like this: if you win one out of 4 single tables at 55 each, you'll have spent 220 for a 20-1 shot at a main event seat plus $1k in spending money/airfare. That's like getting a 50-1 payout when you're a 20-1 dog, which seems like a pretty good deal. The key is getting that first single table win, of course.
With the very slow structure for a small buy-in single table, 4k in chips, and a super-aggressive table, I was able to stay tight for several hours and steadily accumulate chips. I didn't have to get fancy at all; if I made a hand like top pair solid kicker, the betting would be done for me and I would still get paid off. One guy tripled up in the first level and finished 5th, blowing off most of his stack with A-10 into a made set against the only other big stack at the table. I felt like I had a good read on just about everyone, and there were just 2 guys I felt like I needed to be careful around. Down to 4 handed, I hovered around 11k-13k out of the 44k in play while the other 2 medium-large stacks were happy to duke it out hand after hand. The one short stack was around 6k for a long time, and the 2 others were trading the remaining 25k between them.
Finally one guy (sasha) crippled himself, and I finished him off with A-5 against his 10-7. With 400-800-100 blinds and 14k in chips, I made the standard raise of 2200 from the small blind with As-10c. BB, big stack wa a solid, thoughtful, aggressive player who tended to flat call a lot of bets with his premium hands, especially early in a hand. So when he re-raised, I was more than happy to move in on him knowing he was priced in no matter what. He turned over A-5, and everything was cool on a board of 4-Q-J-9 with 3 clubs until the river brought the 4d for a chop. Damn. The guy made very few mistakes, I had finally caught him making a big one, and he got lucky.
The very next hand it was my turn to make a big mistake, and with blinds up to 500-1000-100 I get 7-7 utg and make it 3000, hoping to isolate the short stack big blind and his random hand. Except big stack re-raised immediately to 10k, effectively putting me all in. I could fold here, pay the blinds and be at 8500, but I felt like 1) he could just as easily have a big ace as a big pair, 2) I was getting nearly 2-1 in a spot where I might be a slight favorite, and 3) I needed to chip up sometime in the winner-take-all format, so I called. He showed K-K, and that was that.
In any case, bad things seemed to happen to me or my friends when I was in L.A. I first went when I was 16 on a bicycle trip with a bunch of other teenage boys, riding south from San Francisco. About 100 miles out of L.A., I crashed my bike. Nothing major -- just scrapes and a bent front wheel -- but the tone was set. My next visit came maybe 10 years ago when I took a road trip with a girlfriend and stayed with a friend of mine who had recently moved there. The girlfriend had asthma, the other friend had a cat, and what started with trying to get the cat confined to the bedroom led to a chaotic scene with cat hair everywhere and ended with a 3 am drive through Westwood trying to find the hospital. Finally two cops gave us an escort. The girlfriend was okay, and we limped home.
The third trip centered around New Year's eve of the new millenium. The one where we went from 1999 to 2000, not the one that people say is the real one, something I never really got. Anyway, I got food poisoning from (I think) some bad airplane food, and spent most of the weekend hunched over the toilet.
Things seem to have turned around, though. I attribute this to my friends Jeremy and Tyra having moved there. I visited about a year ago, and it was an entirely pleasant vacation. No mishaps, I got to see the Getty Museum (an absolutely stunning place), and Jeremy even won a poker tournament at the Bicycle casino.
I was back last weekend for an annual beach ultimate tournament called Lei-out. I got to hang out with some old friends, play some frisbee, and enjoy being away from the cold snap in NYC. My team (Play Date) lost in the round of 16 to a nationals-caliber co-ed team from Santa Barbara.
The highlight of the weekend occurred when several of us were in line to order breakfast at a deli in Santa Monica. The deli was completely unprepared for the volume of business from the frisbee players, and after about 20 egg-and-cheese-on-a-biscuit sandwiches, they were out of biscuits. When Tucker ordered one, the woman behind the coutner said they were out, but had croissants, which were a dollar extra. Tucker pointed out that she had wanted a biscuit and should therefore not have to pay the extra buck. The woman, already grumpy, replied "I'm sorry miss. That's life in America."
On to some poker. I've started playing in a weekly single table game that pays one winner into a winner-take-all satellite to the wsop main event in Vegas. Basically you have to win a 55-dollar single table and then a 20-person tourney. It's a lot of people to fight through, but I think the math goes like this: if you win one out of 4 single tables at 55 each, you'll have spent 220 for a 20-1 shot at a main event seat plus $1k in spending money/airfare. That's like getting a 50-1 payout when you're a 20-1 dog, which seems like a pretty good deal. The key is getting that first single table win, of course.
With the very slow structure for a small buy-in single table, 4k in chips, and a super-aggressive table, I was able to stay tight for several hours and steadily accumulate chips. I didn't have to get fancy at all; if I made a hand like top pair solid kicker, the betting would be done for me and I would still get paid off. One guy tripled up in the first level and finished 5th, blowing off most of his stack with A-10 into a made set against the only other big stack at the table. I felt like I had a good read on just about everyone, and there were just 2 guys I felt like I needed to be careful around. Down to 4 handed, I hovered around 11k-13k out of the 44k in play while the other 2 medium-large stacks were happy to duke it out hand after hand. The one short stack was around 6k for a long time, and the 2 others were trading the remaining 25k between them.
Finally one guy (sasha) crippled himself, and I finished him off with A-5 against his 10-7. With 400-800-100 blinds and 14k in chips, I made the standard raise of 2200 from the small blind with As-10c. BB, big stack wa a solid, thoughtful, aggressive player who tended to flat call a lot of bets with his premium hands, especially early in a hand. So when he re-raised, I was more than happy to move in on him knowing he was priced in no matter what. He turned over A-5, and everything was cool on a board of 4-Q-J-9 with 3 clubs until the river brought the 4d for a chop. Damn. The guy made very few mistakes, I had finally caught him making a big one, and he got lucky.
The very next hand it was my turn to make a big mistake, and with blinds up to 500-1000-100 I get 7-7 utg and make it 3000, hoping to isolate the short stack big blind and his random hand. Except big stack re-raised immediately to 10k, effectively putting me all in. I could fold here, pay the blinds and be at 8500, but I felt like 1) he could just as easily have a big ace as a big pair, 2) I was getting nearly 2-1 in a spot where I might be a slight favorite, and 3) I needed to chip up sometime in the winner-take-all format, so I called. He showed K-K, and that was that.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Oops, my bad
I recently came across one of those links that makes you start off an email to your crew with the words "I don't usually forward stuff, but..." In fact I do occasionally forward links, and I thought this was a particularly good one. I have some pretty funny friends, and a funny site link is usually good for a week's worth of witty banter. Recent highlights included finding one of our buddies on a fashion "don'ts" site and that time someone sent around a link to a friend's online dating profile for laffs, even though we've all done it.
Possibly the funniest ever was a few years back. A bunch of us have played ultimate frisbee together, and in advance of a reunion tournament, I wanted to bet a case or two of beer on the matchup between players from our old school teams (SUNY-Binghamton and SUNY-Albany). The Albany boys refused, giving some lame-ass excuse that their best players wouldn't make it up to Saratoga, NY for the tournament, etc. Like we all weren't going to drink all that beer anyway. T, who didn't go to either school but was playing with my team (a fact that would arguably make the bet more attractive for Albany) called him out for being a fraidy-cat, and sent around an mp3 file of the Albany Fight Song, which made me spit-take my coffee all over the keyboard.
So a few weeks ago, and I send around a thing about this airline running a MILF special thinking it was good for a few laughs. The response? Silence. You could hear the crickets. I saw a few of the guys a few weeks later and asked a couple of them if they'd seen it. Yeah, it was cool, they said. Then I finally got it. I am one of two guys in our group who is not only still single, but childless. The MILF joke isn't funny anymore because all these guys are now married to someone's mother. Sorry, fellas. My bad.
For my money, it's the best ad campaign I've seen since some marketing MBA decided to see, as a prank, if they could convince a major car company to name a motor vehicle "the hummer."
In a related note, though none of us is crass enough to actually organize a betting pool around who among us gets the first divorce (counting roughly 10 married guys, give or take), if such a pool did exist, the smart money would be on one of two people not actually married. In fact, you'd do no better than 3-2 on the guy and you might even be betting the short end.
On to some poker. This is the part where I really try not to be results-oriented and just be content to make the correct decisions and get my money in with the best of it. In last night's small stakes tournament, played a series of hands exactly how I wanted to, and still found myself playing guitar hero while 5 guys dealt cards. Two events set up the play, and the third was the payoff. Just not for me.
Event #1: I raised in late position with 8-8 behind two limpers. I figured my hand was best at the time but probably wouldn't be after the flop, but if I did get called, I'd have position. One of the limpers, Jamie, squinted at me before folding, saying 'not this time.'
Event #2: A few minutes later the table conversation drifted to results. Jamie allowed as how the best way to knock him out is to suck out on him, which is what always seems to happen (according to him). Now I couldn't resist a tweak. "Or just wait for him to bet into you with the second best hand," I added, recalling that he felted himself in the razz portion of a recent HORSE tourney when I held a wheel to his 6-4 low. He again shot me a look, leading to Event #3, wherein, with 10-10 in late position, blinds at 100-200 and two early limpers at a 6-way table, I made it 800 to go. Jamie had the chips out to call before it even got around to him, and two of us saw an 8- high flop of all clubs. J checked his hole cards and pushed all in for about 2200, which covered me by a bit. With my overpair but no clubs, I called, figuring him for one club, and if he had two, then high-five, you played me. He turns over 5c-5d, turns the Kc, and it's me and Foghat on the Wii.
I think would have played the hand the same if I could have seen his cards, even after the flop, so I like my play. The part I needed to know and didn't was what was the math after the flop. He may have had a gutshot straight draw on the flop, which would have put us at 50-50. With just the clubs and the two remaining 5s, I was a modest favorite, maybe 57-43.
Possibly the funniest ever was a few years back. A bunch of us have played ultimate frisbee together, and in advance of a reunion tournament, I wanted to bet a case or two of beer on the matchup between players from our old school teams (SUNY-Binghamton and SUNY-Albany). The Albany boys refused, giving some lame-ass excuse that their best players wouldn't make it up to Saratoga, NY for the tournament, etc. Like we all weren't going to drink all that beer anyway. T, who didn't go to either school but was playing with my team (a fact that would arguably make the bet more attractive for Albany) called him out for being a fraidy-cat, and sent around an mp3 file of the Albany Fight Song, which made me spit-take my coffee all over the keyboard.
So a few weeks ago, and I send around a thing about this airline running a MILF special thinking it was good for a few laughs. The response? Silence. You could hear the crickets. I saw a few of the guys a few weeks later and asked a couple of them if they'd seen it. Yeah, it was cool, they said. Then I finally got it. I am one of two guys in our group who is not only still single, but childless. The MILF joke isn't funny anymore because all these guys are now married to someone's mother. Sorry, fellas. My bad.
For my money, it's the best ad campaign I've seen since some marketing MBA decided to see, as a prank, if they could convince a major car company to name a motor vehicle "the hummer."
In a related note, though none of us is crass enough to actually organize a betting pool around who among us gets the first divorce (counting roughly 10 married guys, give or take), if such a pool did exist, the smart money would be on one of two people not actually married. In fact, you'd do no better than 3-2 on the guy and you might even be betting the short end.
On to some poker. This is the part where I really try not to be results-oriented and just be content to make the correct decisions and get my money in with the best of it. In last night's small stakes tournament, played a series of hands exactly how I wanted to, and still found myself playing guitar hero while 5 guys dealt cards. Two events set up the play, and the third was the payoff. Just not for me.
Event #1: I raised in late position with 8-8 behind two limpers. I figured my hand was best at the time but probably wouldn't be after the flop, but if I did get called, I'd have position. One of the limpers, Jamie, squinted at me before folding, saying 'not this time.'
Event #2: A few minutes later the table conversation drifted to results. Jamie allowed as how the best way to knock him out is to suck out on him, which is what always seems to happen (according to him). Now I couldn't resist a tweak. "Or just wait for him to bet into you with the second best hand," I added, recalling that he felted himself in the razz portion of a recent HORSE tourney when I held a wheel to his 6-4 low. He again shot me a look, leading to Event #3, wherein, with 10-10 in late position, blinds at 100-200 and two early limpers at a 6-way table, I made it 800 to go. Jamie had the chips out to call before it even got around to him, and two of us saw an 8- high flop of all clubs. J checked his hole cards and pushed all in for about 2200, which covered me by a bit. With my overpair but no clubs, I called, figuring him for one club, and if he had two, then high-five, you played me. He turns over 5c-5d, turns the Kc, and it's me and Foghat on the Wii.
I think would have played the hand the same if I could have seen his cards, even after the flop, so I like my play. The part I needed to know and didn't was what was the math after the flop. He may have had a gutshot straight draw on the flop, which would have put us at 50-50. With just the clubs and the two remaining 5s, I was a modest favorite, maybe 57-43.
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