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Postcard from Vegas | The Curious Case of the Limping Belle
It occurred to me today that I'm entirely comfortable in my own company. In a densely populated, social media existence it is a rare thing to spend some time alone. To let your mind wander. To be in the moment with the elements. To resist capturing every moment on camera instead of living that moment and savouring the memory.
Why was I alone in Vegas do you ask? Let's rewind a little...
I last left you just as I'd managed a min cash + ladder in the PHamous Goliath series at the Planet Hollywood. I played well, but there wasn't really anything else spectacular to report from the event. The only comment of note was that we had to grind a 45 minute bubble. Forty. Five. Minutes. This may seem overkill for a $180 event, but it made me appreciate that there are still a significant number of players to whom that min cash meant a lot. That can only be good for the game and for general recognition of the value of money (a concept I fear gets lost in poker).
An early second half goal should, you would think, put me on the right track to a trip-saving result in Prop Bet #1 (number of flags). Alas this was not the case. As the Boy is now 1-4 ahead.
His 4th flag was in downtown Vegas at the Binions. A cracking event - 50,000 chips and a one hour clock - which was rammed to the rafters with players. So much so that the 2 day event had to be turned into a 3 day event and the TD was pacing the floor on the microphone crying about the number of players and asking everyone to play aggressively and bust as soon as possible. Would never happen on Trumper's watch...
Again, nothing particularly exciting to report, apart from the rather annoying scenario that in a room full of the senior and super senior cohorts, I managed to get two of the most young, aggro, technically hard-to-play-against fellows sat directly to my left. Plus Tal. Meh.
So let's fast forward to the point where I found myself alone with my thoughts in the (probably massively overpriced) spa in the Aria. Well I managed to tear the connector muscle at the top of my hamstring. And I have no idea at all how I did it. But I couldn't walk for two whole days and was hobbling around so badly that I was accosted by security at 3pm in the afternoon and accused of being drunk. I mean, it's a fair shout in this town but give me a break dude.
The trip itself has been so much fun and we've actually been able to do a lot of non-poker fun since we've been here. I'll update you on those later, but it involves seeing me cheering on the Germans in this weekend's Euros. How on earth did I get myself into that pickle...
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