Our group gathers at the Gold Strike not long before sign-up begins
for the first big no-limit event in the tournament, a $500 buy-in
contest to be held the next day at noon. Thanks to the
proliferation of poker shows on television (ESPN, Fox Sports, even
the Travel Channel), similar events across the country are drawing
overflow crowds, so we want to get in line early.
There are six on the trip besides me: The Raccoon, still asleep at
the hotel, as it was only 2 p.m.; Señor Cowboy, a salesman for an
Internet concern;
Sweater Vest, a lawyer; Dr. Real Estate, an
expert in price per square foot; Vino Corleone, a wine-store owner;
and
High Roller, a partner in a
law firm who doubles as Dr. Real
Estate's father. We arrive en masse at the top of the escalator
like three pairs of Raymond and Charlie Babbitt from Rain Man,
ready to take down the house. We're met by a line of more than 300
people. (I count them. Twice. Seriously.) Only one thing to do.
Get in line, wait three hours, and be overserved by cocktail
waitresses.
High Roller, who usually pays underlings to wait in line for him,
grows antsy. A gentleman in line tells us he's a good backgammon
player. (Many top backgammon players are also top poker pros.) High
Roller says he'd love to play. The man suggests
High Roller play
his friend, whom he promptly introduces. High Roller declines. "I
don't know him, but I know of him," High Roller says. "One of the
five best backgammon players in the world." As always, High Roller
has made a good lay down.
Just before we reach the front of the queue, a man approaches me
and asks if I will sign him up, as he doesn't want to wait in
line.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir," I say. "It would be wrong."
"I'll give ya 50 bucks."
"Deal."
Up $50, and I haven't even played a hand yet. Sweet.