We began gambling at a staple in Vegas. No, it wasn't the Bellagio or Ceaser's Palace. No, not Horseshoe either, although we did end up there. It was a little place called The El Cortez. The El Cortez is down the street from Downtown. It's not even considered a downtown casino. It is bad. I mean really bad. The only reason we started there was because they have three dollar blackjack, which also had the flush bonus bet option (which is when both of your cards are the same suit), and three dollar craps. It is a place of cheap finance.
Bart rolled into town about an hour after we arrived and met us at the El Cortez. I did have an extremely scary conversation with an inebriated man about Texas Hold'em and seven card stud. I wanted to watch a 1-2 stud game to see if it was worth my time in trying out. The man stood next to me and proceeded to teach me how to play the game. For the record, I've been playing seven card stud since I was seven. He told me, with very stinky breath, that true poker players don't share their cards. Hold'em is for youngens who don't know how to play real poker.
"You never share your cards," he said. "Hold'em is just young wanna be's. You never share your cards."
"Yeah, I got it. Don't share your cards," is what I wanted to say. Instead it was more like, "Yeah. Uh-huh. Yep. Okay." And of course, none of my friends are around to save me. Instead, I had to slowly back away while he rambled on about not sharing your cards.
We stayed and gambled for about another hour and then went to Binion's Horseshoe Casino to try out the poker room and see the picture of the winner from the 2004 World Series of Poker.
Chad and I were at one table sitting next to each other. James was at a table by himself. Clint and Bart were at another table. According to Clint, "Bart was down by the idiots and I was by the retards." Clint sat next to a guy who actually vomited on himself at the table.
After about an hour of gambling Clint and Bart had run out of money, Chad decided to quit while he was ahead and I was moved to James table. I only had about $60 when I sat down. Not too long after I got there, a very drunk and beligerent young man decided to grace us with his presence. He was about 300 pounds of pure fat and flab. Don't get me wrong, his arms were the size of tree trunks, but there wasn't much to it. He could have crushed me, but only by actually falling on me. He was immediately hated. He wouldn't shut up, he was obnoxious and he kept saying how great he was. You know, if you're so good, why are you sitting at the cheapest table in the house? Because you suck, that's why. James was the one that actually started the trash talking, but it really escalated when I was in a bad beat with the guy.
Fatso would pre-flop rais everything, and I do mean everything. He pre-flop raised 2-3 offsuit. I flop top pair and he hits two pair. Of course I lost, but it wasn't because I was the bad player. When he flipped over two pair against my jacks with an ace kicker, I was astonished. How could someone pre-flop raise with 2-3 offsuit. I decided to say something.
"You have got to be the worst player at the table to play that," I blurted.
"Is that a fact," he responded.
This was his phrase. He would say this to every comment.
I came back with, "Yes it is. But I'll leave it up to a vote." I chose to let the other players at the table back me up. "By a show of hands, who thinks this guy is the worst player?" I immediately sent my arm sky high.
One guy near James said, "I don't know. That's a bold statement." I was thinking this moron was going to defend the 2-3 offsuit. Then he said, "But I think you are right. He is the worst player here."
Then a little, old man said, "You haven't seen me play yet."
I couldn't help but laugh. "No sir," I said, "You are way better than this guy."
During this humorous exchange, fattie had been messing with James and poking him. After the third prod, James shouted, "Don't f*#%ing touch me again."
The guy got defensive and asked what James was going to do about it. James told him he would take him outside. The guy told him he would tear James apart. Then, in Bart's finest hour, he leaned in from behind both of them and said, "You're not going to do a thing." I was more proud of him then than I have ever been.
After the hand was over I only had about $25 left and I was on tilt (big surprise). I told everyone the next big hand I get I am going all-in. It just so happened it was the next hand. Flabby raised pre-flop (of course) and about three people called, including me. It ended up with James winning the pot, thank goodness. Everyone was pissed at Stay-Puffed and I had lost all my money. James began putting his chips up to leave so we could go to our room.
During all of this Chad had gotten a room comped for half-price at the Horseshoe. We had decided we couldn't stay up all night. We were going to head up to the nice room and crash for the evening.
I began to stand up and Fattie Fatterson said something about how I was out of chips. I couldn't hold it in anymore. There is only so much one man can take. I looked at him with the darkest eyes I could muster and I firmly and deliberately spoke these words.
"I may be the smallest guy at this table, but I will still kick your ass."
I got up, left the table and heard his overstated question, "Is that a fact?" James left to go cash in and Chad was helping him. Bart, Chad, James and I were ready to rumble. However, Clint was not completely on board with us. He decided to do damage control. He talked the guy down and met us by the exit. We ended up not fighting, but we were ready to. There is nothing like having a story about the first night in Vegas and getting into a brawl. As we left to get the car, a guy called us a crew. I've been waiting for that my whole life. We were a crew. How cool is that? We then got the car and went to the room. End of day one, or is it...
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