Official World Poker Tour Magazine

Ok guys, have inspected the town (and the stunning Monte Carlo Bay resort) further and would like to share a nugget of wisdom with you: if you ever go to a city where nothing has a price on it, there’s probably a very good reason.

It’s incredible. Nothing in this town has a value on it for the simple reason that if you need to ask how much something is, you probably can’t afford it in the first place. From the Roll Royce dealer to Gucci via Lavius (I think that’s what it was called, to be honest I was intimidated by the ornate glassware and scarpered quick-sharp), there’s not a price tag to be seen.

Having said that, I did manage to have a meal for around £20. Bizarrely, the main course was only a couple of euros more than the hotel are asking for that oh so tempting bag of peanuts in the mini bar… Perhaps they have some kind of magical properties?

While looking around this evening I’ve noticed that while the outward appearance of the racing constructions and advertising hoardings certainly dominate the town, if you prick up your ears the place has actually gone poker crazy too. Walk into any bar, restaurant or cafe and over the din of staccato French dialect you’ll just about be able to detect one or two American twangs discussing the merits of four-betting light. Ah, just like home.

Anyway, inspired by the familiar hand analyses I figured it was high time to check out the Monte Carlo Bay resort and see what’s going on in the EPT. Any fears I had of being under dressed for the occassion were quickly allayed when I walked in jeans and a suit jacket only to stumble upon the comforting sight of 200+ grown adults in hoodies, baseball caps and ridiculous shades. God I love degenerates.

From my limited time in the casino thus far, I garnered on or two snippets from the various tournaments on the go:

The main event is completely inaccessible without press credentials, which I unfortunately do not yet possess. From what I could see, not many big names are still in.

The high roller event is going strong, with Vanessa Rousso amongthe chip leaders a couple of hours ago. Devilfish and Liv Boeree are both still flying the British flag and Thomas Wahlroos is sat next to Tony G. Funnily enough, he’s been plugged into his headphones all night… Can’t imagine why.

The 1,000 euro side event has just got going and a lot of big players have been seated together. Notably, Hevad Khan and Humberto Brenes have been reunited after their WSOP double-act a couple of years back and are sharing a table. From what I saw, Khan is yet to get on the Red Bull, which is probably just as well for his fellow players.

Right, off to get some shut-eye so I can bring you some more news tomorrow.

Monte Carlo. It’s a lot of things to a lot of people. For some, it’s a tax haven safe from the ravishes of mainland Europe. For others, it’s a monument to decadence and excess; an overblown physical salute to affluence and social elitism at its most indulgent. For other still, namely my geographically-challenged housemate Dave, it’s a small country in Northern Africa. But for me, Monte Carlo represents something else entirely…

For me, Monte Carlo is the absolute zenith of the high-roller’s life-style. The holy grail to which any two-bit gambler worth his salt ultimately aspires to. For me, being here and witnessing the EPT Grand Final first hand in all it’s glamorous extreme encapsulates what poker is all about and you can rest assured that I’ll do my utmost to relay everything I can from this fantastic tournament back to you good people at home.

However, having only been here a couple of hours, I must confess that as of yet I haven’t even set foot in the casino, but what I have done is taken a little stroll around town to soak up some of the general ambience – and what a place it is. The whole city looks and sounds like a race course; there are hardly any pavements and the architecture seems as though it was designed to deliberately amplify the roar of sports cars’ engines as they tear round ridiculously tight corners at 100mph.

This, of course, is accentuated further by the fact that the town is currently gripped with F1 fever ahead of the Monte Carlo GP. Huge seating areas have been erected down by the harbour, which overlook all manner of artificially constructed S-bends and chicanes. Indeed, I sit here writing this blog from the balcony of my hotel, which is situated on a rather treacherous looking hair-pin.

The other thing I have noted so far about Monte Carlo is that the wealth of its residents seems to be inversely proportional to the size of their dogs. So much so, in fact, that the very creme de la creme of Monaco high-society have hounds so small that they can comfortably be transported from place to place in the side pocket of Luis Vuitton hand-bag.

One black spot on my arrival in this millionaires’ playground, however, is the underwhelming quality of Monte Carlo WAGs. Julian promised me great things of Monaco’s ladies, yet those on display so far have been bronzed, bleached, bling’d but certainly not beautiful. Perhaps they only come out at night…

You know when the Brits have been in Vegas too long. You’re standing in the check-in at McCarran Airport and everyone in front of you is angling for an upgrade to Business Class, or, at worst. a little bit more legroom.

But it does that to you, Vegas. It make you always on the lookout for another bargain, another freebie, another way to go longer, bigger, faster, and fatter – all for half-price until 10pm.

Goodbye Vegas. goodbye WPT, see you at your older brother’s birthday party, the WSOP, in June. It’s been fun.

Once a haven for the Rat Pack and other stars of the 50s and 60s, the Sahara Hotel at the north end of the Strip, as its name suggests, boasts Moroccan-influenced designs, architecture and cuisine. Oh, and there’s a rollercoaster on the roof. Just like what you get in the African desert.

In search of a late-night poker game after the WPT World Championship had wrapped up early at the Bellagio, I fancied a trip back near my hotel to see if I could emulate the storming victor, Yevgeniy Timoshenko. Just with about a 985th of the budget.

Inside the Sahara’s casino, the deceiving African exterior gives way to the familiar 70s/80s decorated gaffe, with the familiar 70s/80s music pumping out over the sound system. As I enter the poker room at the far end of the casino (just sandwiched between the African-influenced Burger joint and the equally African-influenced NASCAR Cafe, I catch a few bars of ABBA’s ‘The Winner Takes It All’ wafting through the lounge. If only the gamblers happily chucking their hard-earned over the blackjack tables understood the pain and anguish that was going on when that song was written.

Anyway, happily I find that the North End casinos give a toss about poker and there’s a $65 Freezeout kicking off at 11pm. A tasty 6,000 start stack and 20 minute blinds (despite the inevitably hefty vig) is just fine with me and we shuffle up and deal. The usual mix of locals, middle-aged women and German tourists make up the field and it;s a mix of locals, middle-aged women, German tourists, and one English editor who make the final table. At near on 4am, I’m losing the will to live and praying for an end, even if it means a bustout. The curiously sped up structure also means that the big stack only has 10 big blinds, with 5 players left, and with a decidedly wonky payout plan ($1,200 to 1st, $580 to 2nd, with just over $100 for the other 4) we elect to chop 5 ways after giving the bubble his entry money back and, after a week in Vegas, I find myself with a healthy $500 profit.

Now, this is where ‘Vegas-itis’ gets to you and you suddenly rouse yourself from your slumber, itching for another game. Having meant to check out the Mirage’s impressively lively cardroom all week, I hop in a cab down to the busy end of the Strip and find a $70 sit n’ go calling my name. As this is Vegas, it’s actually a $60+$10 Sit n’ Go (17% fee, lovely) with 10 minute blinds. As i discover as we hit the 3rd level, it’s a turbo with ANTES!! The bizarre sight of 5 players anteing in 25s from their already meagre stacks shows the attitude of most Vegas casinos to the game. Pack ‘em in, take their money, turf ‘em out. Next please!! ANd why not? There;s always another game a few minutes away or there are a multitude of much less skill-based (make that none) games on offer if you want to switch your brain off.

With four players remaining, I wake up to find pocket aces on the SB. UTG decides it’s time to call it a day and moves all in, the middle-aged woman next to me (there they are again – maybe they’re hired by the casinos) snap-shoves and i elect just to call the 2 smaller all-ins. The BB also calls and after a flop of Q-6-7, I shove the rest of my chips in. He calls to show Q-J, player 2 has 10-10 and the Mrs. Vegas has kings. How’s that for cold decking?

Naturally a king comes on the river to scupper my first SnG win of the trip and I walk away with $180 2nd prize. (oh, that’s another thing – 10-man SnGs are paid out at the Mirage 70%/30%, just in case they were being too kind to start off with). ANyway, I WOULD have walked away with my cash if I’d bothered bringing my passport, apparently a requirement in Vegas casinos in order to collect poker winnings but a rule only strictly adhered to by a minority of places, as I’ve discovered. My chips irritatingly waiting for me in the cage, the sun nudging its way up, I fill in some tax forms to receive my very own ITIN number from the American IRS and head home. The winnings were waiting for me this morning but a word of warning if you’re heading out here: bring photo ID everywhere – you never know when you’ll need it. Also remember that UK citizens are exempt from paying tax on gambling winnings in the US over a certain amount. The casino will have to provide you with the forms (W7, W8-BEN, and, although we don’t recommend it, your WD-40) and you’ll be sent a tax number to your UK address.

Amazing to think that WPT World Champion, Yevgeniy Timoshenko, was banned from setting foot in the Bellagio prior to winning his WPT main event. The young Russian-American, who’s just squeaked past the legal 21 years to be able to gamble in this town, had to negotiate with the casino to allow him to participate. Just as well, as last night, the baby-faced assassin used his dominating chip lead to destroy a final table that had seen Scotty Nguyen implode (calling an all-in with 6-6 against 10-10) and ElkY (who was mightily unlucky to exit having seen his A-Js all-in called by A-8 and A-7. The A-7 won (naturally). Grospellier takes away the consolation of being WPT Player of the Year and he just about managed to hold aloft the trophy for the WPT Poker snappers. Looks like they’ll be paying some extra luggage charges to fly that baby to Monte Carlo tomorrow.

I don’t know who votes for ‘Best Lunchtime Entree’, ‘Best All-You-Can-Chunder Seafood Buffet’, or ‘Best 11.03pm ENglish Pub Ruckus’, but there are plenty of awards boasted by the various casinos dotted around the Strip. So, in the spirit of the occasion, I’m adopting a similar strategy. WHo’s going to prove otherwise?

We depart the Fontana Lounge today as the WPT final table moves to the Tower Ballroom in the bowels of the Bellagio. To pay our respects, here’s my top 3 Bellagio fountain shows (in no particular order):

Viva Las Vegas (Elvis Presley) – bendy, sublime.
My Heart Will Go On (Celine Dion) – fountainy, shoot-up-in-the-airy.
Wind Beneath My WIngs (Bette Midler) – cancelled due to high winds.

I was in Las Vegas last summer for the WSOP and I was shocked at the size of the Americans, but even more shocked at the size of the Americans on mobility scooters. It seems to have gotten worse since last year, I’m certain. It’s almost as if, in a bid to beat the recession, the government has introduced a dancing marathon-style game of real-life Super Mario Kart up and down the Strip, with $1 million on offer to the winner. On your marks…

Someone much smarter than me (and whose name escapes me) said of Vegas: “It’s what the Nazis would be doing on a Friday night if they’d won the war.” I may have massively mis-quoted there, so if you’re reading this and know the real quote, do write in.

Anyway, if that’s the case, then Big-Top-themed hotel Circus Circus (so bad, they named it twice), where I’m currently in residence, is what Billy Smart, Paul Daniels and the Mayor of Blackpool would be doing if they’d somehow amassed an army and defeated the world’s powers.

Four days in Vegas and it’s only just dawned on me: my hotel room is almost directly above a rollercoaster, fun fair, amusement arcade and daily show. What’s more, I’m not in the least bit surprised (although I’ve developed sudden cravings for candy floss).

“If you gave a 10 year old boy a whole box of Lego, Meccano and Duplo bricks” says Gerard Harris, “but only on the condition that he used every single piece all at the same time, he’d probably come up with something like Las Vegas.”

There are many examples of this brilliant observation but Circus Circus was certainly made from the Lego Funfair bits from the box. Eerily plastic promenades of family restaurants, magic sideshows, tacky toy stalls and, er, masseurs, line the route to the ‘PleasureZone’, a glass dome full of vomit-inducing rides, retro arcade machines (Galaxians, anyone?) and Zoltar machines straight out of Tom Hanks 80s crowd-pleaser, ‘Big.’

It’s wholly appropriate that you get these ‘Big’ machines in Circus Circus, and indeed dotted up and down the Strip. The city as a whole was built on adults making that wish that they’ll be children again – and on the whole, that wish is granted in full. And where better for parents to bring their kids to show them just how degenerate gambling can be, how tacky the American Dream can really get and how greedy the human race is. Still, the rides are good, aren’t they?

One hilarious thing about Vegas is that the decor is so spectacularly non-anything. You could call it ‘kitsch’, retro, 70s, hotch-potch, whatever. I prefer to see it in the same terms as Gerard’s 10 year old. If the hotels and casinos themselves are like a young boy’s Lego-brick hatchet job, then the interiors are like giving a designer every pen, pencil and graphics package on the market, but only on the condition that they first drop acid, tear up their art degrees and get cracking.

To illustrate: as I returned back to my hotel one late night after play had finished at the WPT, I noticed the carpet on the way to the lifts. I just had to take a photo – a bizarre mix of ‘Day of the Triffids’ and ‘The Joy of Sex’. Or maybe I’ve had one late night too many and I’ve started to hallucinate. Someone get me out of here.

Late on Day 6 of the WPT World Championships, with 7 left, Brian Rast, holding A-K, was eliminated against New York’s Yevgeniy Timoshenko whose kings held good.

What it meant was that Yevgeniy became chip leader, the table of 6 broke for Saturday’s final table, and all sorts of interesting conundrums emerged.

Firstly, if Scotty Nguyen takes down the title, his prize money will see him become the all-time tournament cash earner, beating Jamie Gold and his paltry $12 million. The fact that Scotty has achieved this through years of consistency rather than a one-off a few years ago surely puts him in the books as one of the greatest players of all time.

The WPT Player of the Year is also up for grabs. ElkY needs to reach 5th place to tie with John Phan in the race, but if he gets 4th or better he’ll win the title outright.

With play starting at 4pm Vegas time, the chip stacks are as follows:

Seat 1 – Elky Grospellier – 5,955,000
Seat 2 – Scotty Nguyen – 3,275,000
Seat 3 – Shannon Shorr – 1,130,000
Seat 4 – Yevgeniy Timoshenko – 13,300,000
Seat 5 – Christian Harder – 7,425,000
Seat 6 – Ran Azor – 2,525,000

I managed to nab Scotty for an interview at close of play on Day 6, and he sounded pretty earnest about wanting to devote some more time to his family life, which he said was ‘a mess’. Could this be the end of Scotty Nguyen on the circuit? The rumours abound that he’ll retire this year, but for the sake of the game, let’s hope not.