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.