I met up with James, my best friend from college, for our annual 4-day Las Vegas trip. Had some truly remarkable poker experiences at Monte Carlo, Stratosphere, Bellagio, and MGM. Nice of the wife to never give me grief about making the annual Vegas trip.

I had to stay up all night getting work done before catching a Saturday morning flight from Florida to Las Vegas. I figured I would get some sleep on the cross-country flight, but never could dose off. Arrive in Las Vegas about 1:00 pm, and wait 2 hours for James’ delayed flight in from New York. Feeling really tired, but the adrenaline rush of seeing Mandalay, Luxor, and MGM from the McCarran tarmac has got me pumped up and ready to hit the town.

We drive straight from the airport to Bellagio, to check out a WPT tournament. Hard to see much action from Railbird Row, so after 15 minutes we decide to head out and get some early dinner. On the way out James decides to play some Blackjack at Bellagio’s $25 tables. Normally, I count cards and signal to James when the deck is favorable. Bellagio uses autoshufflers after every hand, so the card counting advantage is lost. I sit on the rail and save my money for poker and Blackjack tables that are friendly to card counters. James plays 13 hands and amazingly loses 12 and pushes 1. Less than an hour into our 4-day trip, James is down several hundred dollars. He slips into depression, although he later won over $1,000 on the craps tables for a highly profitable trip.

We grab dinner and then hit the Monte Carlo for 1/2 No Limit. Uneventful 2 hours until the very end. I am dealt A-10 and make a strong late-position $20 raise. Everyone folds except the guy on my right, who calls. I put him on a weak ace. Flop comes A-10-5. Bingo! I bet the pot - $50 - and fear I might have scared him away. To my surprise, he calls. Hmmm… A-5, maybe? That would be nice. Turn is a 2. Nothing to fear there, so I bet another $50. He insta-calls. River is a 4. I like it. Unless he was an idiot chasing big bets with an incredibly weak A-4 or he is slow-playing pocket 5s, I am good. I bet another $50 and he calls, turning over A-4. Unbelievable! He called a big pre-flop raise and big bets on the flop and turn with top pair/weak kicker? And then when he catches the miracle runners for a straight, he simply calls on the river and doesn’t raise with the nuts? Oh well, nobody said that weak players can’t get lucky once in a while.

A couple of hands later, I watch the best entertainment of the trip. A skinny, flashy-dressed mid-20’s guy of Middle Eastern descent raises pre-flop and gets one caller; a rich, buzzed-but-not-quite-drunk, 50’ish Texas cattleman. All session long the Arab-American has been rude enough to be annoying but not quite rude enough to get smacked. He and the Texan are the two big stacks and have been subtly getting under each other’s skin for over an hour. The flop come Ac-Kd-10d. Arab-American bets the pot, Texan raises, Arab-American calls. Turn comes 4c. Arab-American makes a healthy bet, Texan raises. Arab-American pushes all-in, Texan calls. Arab-American turns over Qc-Jc for a straight, plus a flush draw. Texan turns over As-Ks for top two pair. River comes Kc, giving Arab-American the nut flush, but Texan a full house. As the room bursts out in amazement and laughter, Arab-American leans forward over the table and screams in the face of the 50’ish, soft-spoken, mildly overweight female dealer, “You f*cking c*nt, you did that on purpose!” Before your spit could hit the ground, three security guards rush into the room, grab Arab-American and pull him out of the room. Talk about Homeland Security....

James and I then hit the Stratosphere. The Stratosphere is our preferred hotel/casino. Rooms are clean and incredibly cheap. Casino décor is pleasant and you can play $5 Blackjack and craps. We play a couple hours of uneventful Blackjack, get a nice Jack Daniels buzz, and then hit the poker room.

I have now been up for 40 hours straight, but am pumped to play some more 1/2 No Limit. I buy in for the full $300. The guy on my immediate right, a boisterous, sharply dressed Greek guy about 50 years old, has a big stack of chips and is raising every flop, whether he has anything or not. He catches enough miracle turns and rivers to sustain and even build his chip stack. My eyes light up at my luck to have him on my immediate right, and I wait patiently for a good hand to take him to the cleaners.

Horrendously, I do not catch anything for 3 ½ hours. I literally never was dealt a pair or two face cards. I keep a friendly rapport going with the Greek guy so that he will not hesitate to play with me when I finally get some cards, but they never come. After a while, he keeps yammering to me that I cannot win if I do not play.

At 1:30 AM, shortly after re-buying, the hand of the night comes. With James railbirding and saying, “Come on, let’s go get some sleep,” I get dealt J-10 offsuit one seat from the button. Nearly everyone calls the BB, and this is literally my best starting hand of the night. I call as well, and we see a flop. The flop comes 10-10-10! BAM!!! Everyone lets out a whoop at the flop. The table checks to me, and I give a flabbergasted “Check!” The button, acting last, bets $25. Everyone folds, and I go into Hollywood mode. I pause, and begin talking out loud. “Ain’t no way you got a 10… So what do you have? My top card is above average. I think you’re trying to buy it. I’ll call.” Next, turn is a deuce. I insta-check, button bets another $25. I begin talking out loud again. “Are you trying to tell me that 2 helped you? No way. So what do you really have?” The Greek guy on my right says, “He has an ace. I guarantee you he has an ace.” Nobody objects to the Greek guy talking about this hand, and I let him keep talking. I also believe the button has an ace, but pretend to not believe it. “If he has an ace, then he over-bet the flop,” I stupidly reason out loud. “No, I think he is bluffing. I’ll take my chances. Call.” The river comes – an ace! I roll my eyes and insta-check. Button bets $50.

The Greek on my right says, “Don’t do it my friend, he has an ace.” I pretend to go into the tank. After saying once again that he would not have over-bet his ace, I say, “Well, I’ve sat here for nearly 4 hours and have not won a single hand. I know you are bluffing, and I think I can beat your bluff. I’m all in.” Button looks like a truck just hit him. I can see the fear in his eyes that he has been strung along by quads, and after a moment of deep thought he picks up his cards in preparation for a muck. Having watched the button come to the table an hour earlier and quickly proceed to double his stack, I can tell he knows what he is doing. I definitely get the impression that he has done his research, and has probably read the Hellmuth-Navarro book on poker tells, “Read ‘Em and Reap.” So I quickly give off the most reliable tells for “very weak hand.” I nervously and very subtly bite my lip and pick at my fingernails while looking up at the ceiling. Button pulls his cards back, looks very proud of himself for his tell-reading ability, and says, “Call.” I flip the 10 and he goes into a rage. He jumps up and stalks around in circles, mouthing silent curses while glaring at me. He knows I read the same Hellmuth book and did that anti-tell on purpose, and that I had been Hollywooding him all along, and he is P*SSED! On this one hand I am back to nearly even. Button stays on tilt and loses his remaining chips on the very next hand, going all-in on pocket sevens even though 2 overcards hit on the flop. Nice!

All the hotels were booked solid, and even a room at the Stratosphere was going for over $250 for the night. Because of this, James had booked us a room at this dive called the Paramount, about halfway between the Stratosphere and downtown. Half of this hostel/motel is a closed-down pile of rubble. Our room is right next to the surely rat-infested rubble. A stripper dive is next door. James grabs one bed, and now thoroughly exhausted after being up for nearly 2 days straight, I grab the other. I pull the blanket back to see a patch of green slime on the sheets. Appalled, I berate James for booking this place. He just laughs and says, “My sheets are clean.” I go outside to smoke a cigar in the parking lot and contemplate sleeping in the car. But it is cold outside. Plus, as I stand there smoking, an SUV pulls up and out of the passenger door comes something about 6 feet 2 inches tall, wearing a cocktail dress, a wig, and insanely high heels. It doesn’t take me more than a second or two, even in the dark, to tell that this is a big black guy in drag. He knocks on the door of the room next to mine, goes inside while the driver sits in the SUV, and comes back out in 30 minutes. I finish my cigar in a state of frightened disbelief and then go inside to spend the rest of the night sitting on a hard, wooden desk chair rocking back and forth in a fetal position like Ben Stiller in The Heartbreak Kid.

Morning can’t come soon enough. At first light I force James out of bed and we head off into the desert. I always spend daylight hours in Las Vegas going out into the desert to replenish, get some fresh air, sunshine, and to detoxify from the previous night’s liquor. Red Rock Canyon, Valley of Fire State Park, and Death Valley are just a few of the awesome places to go see in the desert. We decide to hit Death Valley, which is 160 miles away but less than a 2-hour drive when I am at the wheel. We stop along the way at a roadside gas station/convenience store/choke-and-puke for breakfast. Inside, the walls are lined with space alien art, and it occurs to me that we are pretty close to Area 51. Sitting at our table waiting for our food, I notice saloon doors leading to a bar and a lounge past the bar. I go over to check it out and realize there is a brothel connected to the choke-and-puke! Not sure about whether I want to touch my food now, we eat our food in amusement mixed with concern about the cleanliness of the food and utensils. I feel like I’m in an X-Files expisode. A nice but air-headed lady in her 50s, who gives the impression of a former prostitute turned out to pasture, waits on us. I feel sorry for her and give her a large tip as we leave.

As we leave, I pull around to the side of the gas station/choke-and-puke to see – sure enough – a brothel entrance. Based on the state of the building and its furnishings, I can’t imagine there would be any fine pickings in there. Nevertheless, as we are sitting in the car checking out the entrance, two white boys in their early 20s, clearly from metropolitan New York, emerge from the brothel. One has a Yankees hat on, cocked sideways, and a big gold chain around his neck. His pants are worn very low, and I wonder how they are staying on his hips. His friend looks like a big dork. The guy in the sideways Yankees hat walks out with a pronounced swagger, and everything about him is saying in a cocky manner, “Yeah, I f*cked her.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” I say out loud, though not loud enough for him to hear it. “You had to pay her to do it, and by the looks of that building, I doubt I would do her if SHE paid ME.”

Most profitable night of the trip comes that night at the Bellagio. I am at a table with some really good players. I am getting cards just good enough to see the flop, but never hitting. Three aggressive but smart players on the far end of the table are controlling the action and building their stacks. I bleed a couple hundred in chips to them before I learn to stay away from them and try to make hay off a couple of weaker players. I slow play a full house against a weak player on my right who caught a straight on the river, and quickly get back to even. I can read this guy like a book and before long am up a few hundred, while still avoiding the very strong players at the other end of the table.

The weak guy on my right finally walks away, and I am about to call it a night when a new guy sits on my right and is Under the Gun. He seems pretty sharp. Under-the-Gun raises to $20, and I look down at pocket Jacks. I know I need to either re-raise or fold, and folding is not an option. Not wanting to risk getting drawn into a high-stakes race and lose the money I had won, I do the worst possible thing and merely call the raise. Table folds to one of the very strong, heavily stacked players, who is on the button. Button calls. Three of us are in a $70 pot, and I put UTG on A-K and Button on a medium pair, but perhaps strong suited connectors. I am kicking myself for my weak call and not driving at least one of them out. With two callers, any over-card on the flop puts me in deep trouble. Flop comes Jc-6c-2h. Yahtzee!!! UTG bets a weak $25 into the $70 pot, confirming my guess that he has A-K and is putting out a feeler. I know that I don’t want to chase him out, but I am concerned about Button. If I am right that he has a middle pair, I am golden. But if he is playing strong suited connectors (Kc-Qc, maybe?) I could be set up for a rude finish to this hand. Figuring one in the hand is worth two in the bush, I risk scaring away the money and raise to $75. Before I can pull my hand back to the rail, Button asks how much I have. I tell him I have about $800, and he has me covered. He thinks for just a few seconds and then says, “All in.” UTG laughs and folds. I pray that Button has got trip 6s or 2s, am somewhat concerned about the flush draw, but make the easy insta-call with trip Jacks. Button immediately asks me if I have Jacks. “Yup,” I say. Button says, “Man, I should have gone with my gut!” and turns over pocket 6s. He does not hit the miracle one-outer, and I double up huge.

It is very late, I have been awake now for nearly 70 hours straight, and I plan to call it a night (we have now booked a room in the Stratosphere), but I don’t want to be a jerk and leave immediately after winning a big hand. Just before I am about to leave, I am in late position looking down at Qs-7s. There are several limpers, and I am flush with cash, so I give it a significant raise from late position. BB, who is another one I can read like a book, can’t wait to make the call. I put him on A-K, and perhaps a big pair. The table folds except for the guy who I had just doubled up huge on. He calls, and I have no idea what he has. Perhaps he is just trying to chase some of those chips he gave me.

Flop comes As-Qc-7c. Oh yeah, baby! My two pair is looking very good, and BB caught just enough of that flop for me to reel him in like an overstuffed tuna. BB leads with a large bet, and Mr. Trip 6’s surprises me by calling. I can’t put him on a hand, but don’t see much that can threaten my hand. Hard to put him on pocket aces, queens, or 7’s, because I am confident two of each are already spoken for. Tempted to raise, I instead smooth call. I am somewhat fearful BB may have flopped trip aces, but I trust my read of A-K. Turn comes 9s. Nice! No threat there to me, or to BB’s feeling that he has a very strong hand. Mr. Trip 6’s checks, I smooth check my two pair/flush draw, and BB makes a sizeable bet. Mr. Trip 6’s calls again, and now I go into the tank. Why is Mr. Trip 6’s playing this out? He can no longer merely be trying to chase chips. He must have something. But what? I figure he might have trip 10s, but they don’t exactly fit his betting pattern either. Normally I would raise here, but Mr. Trip 6s has me concerned. I merely call, and wait to see what the river brings. I am hoping the river brings a queen or 7 for a full house, or a spade to complete my flush. That would take away any anxiety I have.

River brings 4s. Nice! I flopped the flush, getting rid of any threats from trips, and I immediately start thinking about whether I will lead with a shove or do a cagey check-shove. BB bets, as expected. Mr. Trip 6’s confidently pushes all in. What?! I realize the only hand that can beat me is Ks-Xs. Does it fit? Not really, because why would he call a big bet after the flop if he caught air and needed running spades? No kings on the flop and only one spade. The only remotely likely hand he might play would be Ks-Js or Ks-10s, which would have given him the nut inside straight draw on the flop. This would not be a very smart play him, chasing an inside straight draw on the flop at so great a cost, but he had to still be on tilt from his trip 6’s and might be susceptible to making an uncharacteristic bad play. My brain tells me to call his all-in and win another $1,000, but my gut tells me he has the improbable nut flush. I fold with great reluctance. BB pauses, but he can’t get away from his hand. He calls and shows A-K for aces up. Mr. Trip 6’s turns over Ks-10s for the nut flush.

Man, my adrenaline is pumping! What a fantastic (and lucky) lay-down! I have never before felt so good about a hand in which I lost over a hundred dollars! I decide to happily scoop up all the chips I almost lost and cash out a big winner for the night. The rest of the trip goes par for the course, winning moderately at MGM while largely card-dead. Great trip. Took my winnings and used them to take my young daughter on an Alaska vacation. I’m already jonesing for my next Las Vegas run.