Official World Poker Tour Magazine

US power adaptors – check. Harrington on Hold’em – check. Tetley teabags – check. A vow never to fly to the US with a connection in Charlotte, North Carolina, which is 3 hours delayed and bumps your total journey time to about 18 hours – check

So it’s that time of year again when the world’s media, the world’s best players (and a majority of its worst) descend on Sin City for the World Series of Poker.

Bravely reporting from Vegas, where i’ll also be playing in the $1,000 No Limit Hold’em event for about 35 minutes, this is your one-stop blog for random thoughts, typical English grumblings and general poker rambling.

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…