Flying High on the Friendly Skies

The past couple days my buddy Carlos Venesuela and our mutual aquaintance Dr. Billy rolled through Las Vegas proper. Both were members of the ring no limit hold em game we ran at Duke, and although I havent kept up with them as well as I have others, it was still great to have them back in the mix. Since college they have kind of drifted their seperate ways, with Billy fullfilling his goal of Med School and plausible success and Venesuela fullfilling his prophecy of compulsive gambling and financial ruin. I call him Dr. Billy not only because of his medicinal pursuits but also because he is a clear rival to the sportsbetting service my roommate Scalley subscribes to called Dr. Bob.
The three of us met up on Sunday at the Bellagio poker room to see what was doing. As we were waiting for a couple other buddies to arrive, Billy said he wanted to sit in the sportsbook so he could watch the Dallas/Minnesota game conclude and see if he could hit his over. The teams had combined for 70 points in the first half, so it was looking like a real longshot but we sat and cheered anyway. Come to pass, a 29-35 fourth quarter sends him over the mark and Carlos casually asked how much the bet had been for. The good doctor proudly displayed him $1,000 wager at +105 and stepped to the window to haul back his $2,050 gross. By no means is the kid rich enough to be betting at those levels, but it turns out hes that good. He hitting at a suppossed 63% clip this year and is way up on the books. Claimed he put most of his action in online at pinnacle, but that he was better than the linesmakers.
Coming off his win, we all went to play in a 4/8 game at the Wynn which was well below both of their regular playing limits. I couldnt catch any magic, getting beat out of two big pots as a favorite going to the river, and cashed out down a hundred while Doc was raking the whole time and Los stayed even. Paging through the free magazines as they played out their blinds, I found an ad for the 11PM forty dollar buy in tourney at the Sahara, and told them we should make a night of it. We applied the requisite bounty and last man standing bets as we entered the 81 person field confident in our abilities. We all made it to the break unscathed, but then the Latina Cheata purchased an add on that was strictly prohibited by the rules we had posted prior to competition. Of the 81 involved, 77 used their rebuy/add on option for 20 bucks, meaning myself and Billy were two of four who declined. That said, it didnt stop me from crossing cats with limited chips, and as the others faded I was the last man standing by a good margin. My key hand was a KQ suited against A7 when the blinds got real high and I couldnt catch a card. I went out 18th with no cash, but my buy in was covered by my dominance within my crew.
Over the next couple of days we got a little blacked out from night to night and made unsuccessful passes at the fairer sex, but didnt vary that much in our gambling. I dominanted a three handed no limit tourney where I was the clear best player at the table as I forced the others to scurry to the ice machine and do my fucking bidding. The bigger news was Dr. Billy’s continued dominance at the sportsbetting window. He was putting like two grand in play a night between 7 bets and hitting at a ridiculous clip. The last day I was in town I piggybacked his 76ers -3 at home over the Warriors, and used my 50 dollar take to buy a moderately sized ziploc bag of love. I spent the afternoon leading to my departure abusing said substance and ignoring calls from those I claimed to be meeting a place other than passed out on my couch. Eventually, it was like 8 in the PM and I came to realizing I needed to get a ride to the airport. I struck a deal with Venesuela who had recently decided on a whim that he would not be returning home for the holidays or thereafter but rather staying in Las Vegas indefinitly. I gave him my car and apartment while I was gone in exchange for a ride to the airport and a fee to be named later. Insodoing I was able to get wicked high before takeoff and even takedown some cake batter ice cream from cold stone creamery. Needless to say, shit was the shit. I rolled my way to gate A8 just as they were making the boarding call. When I found my seat in the back of the plane, I realized that I didnt want to be sitting next to the ass clown in the middle who had already occupied both armrests and passed the fuck out. I smoothly transitioned from the assigned 32C to the wide open row 33 and hoped for the best.
Next thing you know this middle aged douchebag sits next to me and issues what may be among the douchebag hall of fame lines to open a conversation on the airplane: “I hope to goodness they have good autopilot on here, that has decent damping.” In order to avoid laughing in his face, I grabbed my notepad and wrote down the quote verbatim such that I could laugh at it later. He issued the line with the kind of anger I would say “Who the fuck took my eclair?” but the most inflamatory word he was able to mutter was “goodness”. When I was unresponsive to his advances, he settled into a novel of some sort saying hopefully, “now I get to find out if the good guys win.” I had always wondered why I got stuck with this sort of worthless travel companion on flights from Vegas to Philly. Would it be so fucking hard for the airline gods to send me an exotic dancer or at the very least compulsive gambler to converse with. Instead I get Captain Damping and his musings about autopilot.
I was trying to settle in and catch some shuteye on the redeye, when I looked up to see Ted Forrest standing about ten feet away. For those of you who dont know, Ted Forrest is a top tier poker player with an expansive resume of dominance and one of 24 to be invited to the most recent Poker Superstars tournament. He is my roommate Scalley’s favorite player, largely due to the fact that he is always in the audience of final tables when hes not involved and quite clearly has taken signifigant side action on the outcome. He walked toward the rear of the plane to ask the steward a question and as he passed I said “How are you doing tonight, Ted” to confirm my suspicions, and he very politely said that he was doing well before moving on.
There he was, sitting in 27D, literally five rows from me, in coach. The man is a millionaire ten times over and he was flying coach on a December redeye stowing his baggage like it was nothing. If it wasnt a full flight, I would have inched my way towards his locale and tried to engage him in some sort of proposition wagering. I was trying to think of a prop bet I could get him to accept for a c note, but the best I could come up with was an over under on official landing time and I figured he wouldnt bite unless he had the best of it. So instead, I laid back and let him peacefully read his book as I contemplated why the fuck he would be flying coach.
Really, there are only two options, and both of them mean that he is more dominant than I originally imagined. The first option is that he is a down to earth guy unchanged by the money he has won and unafraid of the common people. The second is a far more desireable version of the truth whose possibility is only included based upon a recent antedote told to me by my roommate Scalley. Scalley works with a guy whose friend serves as a valet at the convention center. The job doesnt sound like its that great, but he is pulling in upwards of 100 grand a year in tips and has had months that top 20 grand. Despite that level of earning, the guy doesnt have heat in his house because nevada power refuses to service him due to his failure to pay bills. Hes pulling in 20 grand and unable to pay out sixty bucks to keep his home in order, thats a true compulsive gambler. If Ted Forest had so decimated his financial holdings that he could only afford to fly coach, my respect level for Teddy Ballgame would be at an all time high.
We exited the plane and I was hoping to catch up with him at baggage claim where I saw him patiently waiting for his luggage. I approached with a pen and notebook in hand and asked him if I could trouble him for an autograph. I also asked him to settle a ficticious bet as to what he listed as his occupation on his tax returns. On poker telecasts his occupation is listed as either “Poker Player”, “High Stakes Gambler”, or “Professional Poker Player”, so when I asked the question, he gave it due consideration. I clarified by saying what did you write as your occupation on your 2004 1040, and he said “Proffessional Poker Player, but in the past I have listed Professional Gambler”. We parted company and I was left with a signiture that read “1040 file as Professional Poker Player”, signed Ted Forrest.

Flying High on the Friendly Skies

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