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London. I had hit the wall about one week into covering the World Series of Poker Europe (WSOPE), only a couple of days after the Main Event championship had started. That marked the fifth week of an arduous European adventure (Amsterdam, Stockholm, Barcelona, and London). I was physically exhausted and mentally drained. The streets of London made me homesick for New York City, more homesick than I had ever been over my last three years on the road following the carnival-like atmosphere of tournament poker. I’m the type of person who lives in the moment and rarely gets caught up with dwelling on the past or anticipating the future. However, the last thing on my mind was being in London. All I could think about now was the day that I would fl y home to New York.
When I walked past the Ladbrokes betting shop on my way to the Empire Casino, my thoughts drifted to sitting on my brother’s couch in New York and watching NFL games.
When I wandered past the tube station, I longed to be on a downtown #1 subway speeding underneath Broadway. And when I shuffled into the casino past the bulky Eastern European security guard wearing a black suit, I had become comfortably numb and transformed into a chip-counting zombie, right out of Shaun of the Dead. I was officially homesick.
The first few hours on Day 2 of the WSOPE Main Event were a struggle. I covered the featured TV table, something completely different than previous assignments. That held my attention most of the time, but I kept eying the tournament clock. I couldn’t wait for the day to end.
Michael Craig wandered over and asked me if I could join him and some other friends for dinner. I looked at the clock and the tournament was still ninety minutes away from the scheduled dinner break. I declined. “Too bad,” Craig said in his distinct Midwestern accent. “Would you still like to meet Al Alvarez?”
I jumped out of my stool and gave him a look like “Oh, yeah!”
We fought our way past the crowded rail and walked into the bar. I immediately recognized Tony Holden, author of Big Deal and Bigger Deal. That’s when a group of people parted and I caught a glimpse of Al Alvarez, the famous poet and one-time friend of Sylvia Plath. Alvarez was also the author of the most influential piece of poker, Las Vegas, and gambling literature, The Biggest Game in Town.
Michael Craig said something to the effect, “This is Pauly, one of the premiere poker writers in America.”
I shook Alvarez’s hand and was certainly pleased to introduce myself. He said in a whispered tone, “I have heard about you.”
Alvarez celebrated his 78th birthday last month and lumbered around with a cane. I was told later that his hearing is not the best these days so he probably said, “I can’t hear you.” Regardless, I stood in awe and began to sweat. Aside from the fi rst week of the
2005 WSOP when I started covering poker tournaments, I have not been geeked out about meeting anyone in poker. That initial bombardment of excitement had escaped me years ago. Yet, for the first time in a very long time, I stood in the presence of three great writers of my genre... Alvarez, Holden, and Craig.
Their group shuffled off to the Asian restaurant and Tony Holden stayed behind for about five minutes to shoot the breeze with me. My friend Mad Harper from PokerStars had initially introduced me to Holden at the 2005 WSOP. We had a brief encounter then but finally had a proper chat. Holden sipped a glass of wine with his dinner jacket slung around his shoulder while I asked him a dozen questions. He was happy to answer each of them, despite the fact his friends were already seated at dinner. I wanted to know how long it took to write both of his books, which occurred twenty years apart. I asked him about the pressure of having to write something that was being anticipated by a flock of hungry vultures. It’s not too often you get to chat with a high caliber writer such as Tony Holden, and I soaked up every minute. That’s when I wished I had blown off work to join them for dinner instead.
Before we ended our conversation, Holden invited me to play poker with the writers on the Bigger Deal blog. I told him I couldn’t wait. Then I excused myself to get back to covering the featured TV table with Daniel Negreanu. That’s when Holden paid me the ultimate compliment: “I love your writing. Don’t change a thing.”
As I walked away, I unleashed a Kirk Gibson fist pump, just like he did as he rounded the bases in the 1988 World Series after hitting a pinch-hit game-winning homerun against Dennis Eckersley. That’s the best way to describe how I felt. I started the day completely homesick and on work tilt. All of that vanished after bumping into Michael Craig.
As I walked over to the final table to get a chip count on Negreanu, I couldn’t believe that I didn’t have the balls to ask Alvarez if he ever gave Sylvia Plath a good rodgering.
* * * * * *
My favorite thing about London was the legal sports books that were on every corner. For a degenerate sports bettor like myself, that almost made me want to move to London. Ladbrokes had a betting shop ten meters away from the entrance to my hotel. A William Hill shop sat near the Empire Casino. I had two legal sport books within close proximity to me. That’s an action junkie’s dream.
Flashback to New York City in the late 1970s… there was an OTB near the subway station in the neighborhood where I grew up in the Bronx. If you don’t know, OTB is an acronym for Off Track Betting legal spots where you can place horse racing bets. Before the internet and cable TV, those were the only places where you could watch the races unless you physically went to the race track. By New York State Law, along with a powerful edict from my parents, I was not allowed inside an OTB. I had memories of those humiliating moments when my parental units boldly reminded me that I was just
a kid with absolutely zero rights and that adults will always rule the world. I’d have to wait outside while my father or uncles would place bets or cash a winning ticket.
As soon as I was old enough (and tall enough), I could peek into the window where I’d see a crowd of degenerate gamblers shrouded in a thick veil of cigar and cigarette smoke with their bloodshot eyes glued to the monitor as the third race at Aqueduct was about to go off. I didn’t have an infatuation with horses or betting on the ponies, but desperately wanted to be inside the OTB. Like so many things I’d experience in life, I wanted to do it because I couldn’t.
I still had lingering thoughts and vivid memories about the OTB of my youth when I wandered inside my fi rst betting shop in London during the WSOPE. Courtesy of a recent law banning smoking on the premises, the betting shop was smoke free. A few older gents huddled in the corner around a screen that showed a random horse race while a teller sat behind a bulletproof counter along an adjacent wall. I told him that I was a newbie and he happily explained the process of making bets. He showed me the odds and point spreads for the NFL games, then slid me a pen and a slip of paper. I wrote down my bets and handed the slip back to him with my money. He ran the slip through a machine and a photocopy popped out. That was my ticket and receipt. Or as I saw it, my salvation. I also discovered that the London betting shops allowed special wagers called a “triple” for a three-team parlay and “accumulator” for four and up. I put a few quid on a couple of those bets before I left.
My bets for the opening weekend of the NFL season were officially in. That was the easy part. Watching the games that I had bet on proved to be a challenge. I found out about a sports bar near Piccadilly Circus that showed American sports such as college football and the NFL. Unfortunately, I would not be able to sneak out to watch those games due to work. I was told by a few American ex-pats living in London that SkySports broadcasts the NFL. I convinced the person at the casino who controlled the massive big screen, to change the channel from golf to the NFL. He reluctantly granted my request and the Jets/Patriots game magically appeared.
I took my first betting shop bad beat of the trip on a soccer match. I know nothing about soccer. The only players I could name were Mia Hamm, Pele, and David Beckham. Of course, I knew nothing about cricket either, yet bet on a dozen random matches. Why would betting on soccer be any different?
Mike Lacey, an Irish pro and writer, stopped by the poker room to check out the progress of the Main Event. We had not seen each other since the 2007 WSOP in Las Vegas and caught up at the bar over a couple of pints. He told me about a great tip on a European football match, Ireland vs. Slovakia.
“Ireland is a lock at 8-5 odds,” he said convincingly.
On my next break, I ran out of the casino and fought through the crowd in Leicester Square. I made my way to the closest betting shop and wagered £100 on Ireland to win. I missed the first half due to work. But during the dinner break, I watched the second half with Lacey at the bar. Ireland was ahead 2-1 when it reached 90:00. The game was almost over and I was about to order a round of celebratory drinks, when Slovakia scored a goal in extra time to tie it up. The final score was 2-2. Ties lose. And that s my bad beat story.
“That’s what you get for betting on Ireland. Nonetheless, from a tip that you got from an Irish guy!” said British poker writer Barry Carter.
But there’s a happy ending to this story. Annette “Annette_15” Obrestad was a couple of days shy of her 19th birthday when she came from behind to win the WSOPE Main Event. In the process, she became the youngest bracelet winner in the history of the WSOP. She burst into tears at the exact moment Jack Effel announced her as the winner.
It was a genuine moment and I got goose bumps. She’s such a sick poker player that you almost forget that she’s just a teenager. A few days shy of my 19th birthday, I was following The Grateful Dead, and beating the best players in the world in a poker tournament was the last thing on my mind.
Annette_15 won £1 million pounds (or the equivalent of $2 million) for her epic victory in the WSOPE Main Event. She busted Annie Duke and Jen Harman en route to her first place finish. Before the fi nal table began, Annette_15 was fifth in chips and I bet on her to win the WSOPE Main Event at 6-1 odds. Talk about coming through in the clutch. I won enough money to cover all of my London betting shop losses and paid off all my Chinese Poker debts to Nicky, Benjo, and Johnny Mushrooms that I incurred during the entire six-week European trip. It wasn’t the NFL, soccer, or cricket that got me unstuck. Rather, my savior was Annette_15, a little Norwegian chick who is not even old enough to gamble inside a Las Vegas casino.
Next stop… Key West.
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