I wrote a short piece over on Pokerati about introducing kids to the great game of poker. The questions posited in that piece were how young is too young to expose kids to the game, and what’s the best way to teach them about poker. Head over to Pokerati to weigh in.

What I didn’t discuss in that post were kids who are a little older, like my 16-year old nephew Nat. Nat is a great kid who also happens to be a genuine math prodigy. A Chris Ferguson, Andy Bloch, Allen Cunningham type prodigy. For someone like me, who was very much not a math prodigy, it’s almost scary.

At 16, Nat is too young to play poker, either live or online, but he has played some low stakes home games with us at family gatherings and, with some practice, he’s someone who’s completely capable of making a living (and then some) if he ever decides to take up the game professionally. The question is, should I encourage him to give professional poker a try? On the one hand, I have complete confidence in his abilities to play the game and think he’s got a level enough head on his shoulders to be able to handle the inevitable ups and downs that professional poker players must inevitably endure. On the other hand, I’ve spent enough time around the poker industry to know that it’s filled with a wide variety of misfits, hustlers, degenerates and hangers-on that can warp even the most stable of personalities.

Do I really want to encourage my nephew to join this circus?

Let’s forget for a second that my sister may actually kill me if I encourage my nephew to take up professional poker. My question is should an obviously talented kid put his mind to making what would likely be a very good living or should he actually focus his energies on something more tangible (or socially responsible) than playing cards for a living. I’d like to think that he could do both if he wants, but in the end, the choices he makes will be his alone.

I hope he’s as smart as I think he is.

With the Final Table taking place this weekend, it’s been a little bit of a WSOP reunion here in Vegas over the past few days. And of course, when the poker media gathers, hijinks are sure to ensue. Such was the case last night when a group of tired, drunk and generally rowdy poker writers descended on the Golden Nugget for the 1AM tourney.

Why the 1AM? Because we all wanted to help tilt Michael Craig, who had to play the event after losing a prop bet to Al during the FTOPS warm-up tournament. Also, because after watching a marathon final table that took nearly 18 hours to play down from nine to two players, everybody needed to kick back a little before tonight’s final heads-up battle.

I arrived at the Nugget with Otis and promptly sat down at a $1-$2 table to kill some time until the rest of our motley crew arrived. With Otis on my left and only $200 in my pocket (I wasn’t expecting to play more than the tourney), I decided not to get out of line. Much. In fact, there weren’t really any big hands to speak of except for one of my last of the night when I picked up Aces in the small blind. It was the first hand that anyone had straddled during the entire session, and six players limped in for $4 before the action got to me and popped it to $20. It obviously wasn’t enough as four players called and we went to a scary flop of J-9-8 with two clubs. I bet $65 and got action from one player who shoved for an additional $20. I made the call and successfully faded her straight outs to take down the pot.

Soon after the hand, the tourney started. Now this is an event that generally gets about two tables but, because of our rowdy little group, we started with three. My starting table featured a drunk JDN in seat 2 (he had just won $400 across the street after taking down the Fitzgerald’s 9PM) and Lana in seat 3. I was in seat 4. A few hands into the first orbit, Jules from Australia made a surprise entrance and quickly grabbed seat 1. Needless to say, the drinks and insults flew around the table almost as fast as JDN’s chips (he played almost every pot for a raise and snagged a $50 bonus for being the Gigli). In fact, JDN was so good for the game we tried (unsuccessfully) to get the TD to let him rebuy. Instead, the local degens at the $1-$2 game inherited the rest of his Fitzgerald’s winnings.

Meanwhile, Benjo got busted by Jen who flopped a set of 5s and Michael Craig got knocked out by some random (read non-poker media type) person. I never got much of anything going and by the time the blind hit 300-600, we had consolidated down to two tables and were joined by Otis, Pauly, Change 100 and Al. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to enjoy the fun as I woke up with pocket 8s UTG and shoved. Everyone folded except Pauly who called from big blind with Ace-4 off. He looked a little sick when I tabled my hand, but he quickly channeled the energy of the final table and Mooned me by catching his Ace on the river to knock me out.

Oh well. It was fun while it lasted and I only hope we get to do this at least one more time before everyone leaves town again.

When I’m not periodically rambling about issues of vast social importance in this space, I can often be found writing over at Pokerati, which is how I found myself spending the day in the sky box at the Penn & Teller theater for today’s WSOP Main Event final table.

While I’m closer to the action than many other poker fans, I’m still separated from the final table by a pane of glass and about 300 feet. Still, my bird’s-eye view has provided an interesting take on today’s action. I’m not doing hand-by-hand commentary like I did earlier in the series and, for the most part, I’m free to write about what I want. Today, that meant finding some of the color here at the Rio.

As anyone who watched last year’s final table remembers, Dennis Phillips showed up with a huge entourage all dressed in matching white button downs and bright red Cardinals caps. They were easily the most identifiable group here and helped make Phillips one of the best-remembered players from the 2008 series. This year, most of the players arrived with groups of friends and family in matching T-shirts, creating little colored pockets of fans spread throughout the audience. Combine that with the fact that each group is trying to out-cheer their counterparts, and you’ve got a real party atmosphere here at the Rio.

Say what you will about Harrah’s and the three-month delay before today’s action, but they’ve certainly created the “event” atmosphere that they were looking for when they introduced the November Nine concept last year. There are still kinks to be worked for sure, but overall, this has been a great spectator experience for fans and media alike.

Am I completely sold on the merits of delaying the final table? Not at all. But, compared to last year’s final table, I have to say Harrah’s has taken a big step in the right direction.

A Steve Begleiter fan

Moonies

The final table from up in the sky box

Last night was one of the more entertaining poker sessions I’ve played in a long time. Not because the game was so great (though it wasn’t bad) or because I had a particularly profitable session (I won, but not a huge amount). No what made the night fun was the fact that F-Train was sitting on my right and that I put two different players on mega-tilt without trying.

Victim #1 was a local whose head almost exploded after I took down a $300+ pot with 7-9 off. The action started when four players limped into the pot on my button. I decided to come along for a cheap flop before my eventual victim made it $10 to play from the big blind. All of the other limpers called so I decided to stick around. A flop of A-8-10 with two clubs was a little scary, but not horrible, and I happily called for $10 before the big blind check-raised to $50. When action folded to me, I gave the situation a few seconds of thought before making the call.

The Jc on the turn gave me the straight I was looking for, but also brought the dreaded club flush, and I happily checked through to the river, which brought the 8s. When my opponent checked again, I bet $135 and he launched into insta-tilt.

“I flopped top two,” he said. “You caught the flush?” I said nothing and he reluctantly made the call, only to go nearly apoplectic when he saw that I hit the straight instead of the flush. He fumed as I stacked up the chips, and quickly donked off his last $40 before leaving the table.

A short while later, Victim #2 joined our merry band. He was obviously a tourist who had read somewhere that aggression is the key to winning poker. Unfortunately for him, he skipped over the word “selective” in his reading, and he quickly dusted off the better part of two buy-ins before we tangled for the first time. He had just lost another pot when I raised to $11 with A-J from early position. He was one of two players to come along and, when I continuation bet for $25 on a ragged board with two hearts,I got one call before he shoved for his last $65. I made the call and went heads up to the turn, which brought the Ad. The river was a blank and scooped another pot while he reloaded for $100 more.

We mixed it up again a few hands later when he shoved for $85 on an Ace-high flop while I held AK. I called and he showed me his Queen. “This is my kicker.”

“It’s not enough,” I said and his jaw nearly hit the table. “Really?” I just nodded and tabled my big slick as the board ran out. Steam started coming out of his ears as his chips were pushed my way. He continued to spew for a while, raising almost every hand pre before finally sucking out on an opponent to rebuild some of his decimated stack. By this time, F-Train was looking for any opportunity to get involved with this guy, while I continued to look for spots to take more of his stack.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get him to take the bait in the next two hands I played with him. In the first, I called his preflop raise with Ace-9 off from the button and promptly flopped top two. I bet when action checked to me, and he quickly mucked. A couple of orbits later, I picked up Kings in the big blind. The tourist raised to $16 and the solid player in seat 1 made the call. I re-raised to $55 and the tourist started a speech about how I had shit and that he just donated $16 to my stack. I just smiled while thinking about how unlucky I had gotten by pushing him out of the pot.

Thankfully, I got one more shot at him on one of my last hands of the night. I found AK under-the-gun and raised to $11. Two players called before action got to the tourist. “Who raised?” he asked. I just smiled and he quickly made the call.

“I’ve got you now,” he said before turning to the dealer. “Give me twos and threes.”

He got part of his wish as the flop came King-2-5 with a couple of spades. I bet $30, drawing one fold and another speech from the tourist. “He has to bet big because he has nothing,” he said before making the call. The turn brought a Jack and a $70 bet from me. “Your Ace-Queen is no good,” the tourist said before calling again.

A river Queen made the board a little scarier and I made my only mistake of the hand by checking the action. When the tourist checked behind, I tabled my AK and scooped up another pot while listening to him bitch about how “lucky” I was. Meanwhile, I was kicking myself for missing a bet that I should have made. Still, taking his chips was reward enough, especially as the hand put me comfortably in the black for the night.

So, was I lucky last night? Sure, if you consider that I got the right cards  and the right odds at the right times against the right opponents. Call me lucky. I don’t mind.

You knew it was bound to happen and, in fact, the only thing that surprises me is that it took this long to debunk. Yes, the Balloon Boy saga was a hoax. A big, ugly, expensive, stupid, selfish, hoax.

I was planning on writing a small diatribe on why this story pisses me off and that, in and of itself, annoyed me because I know by commenting, I’m giving the Henne family exactly what they want – a few more minutes in the spotlight. Thankfully, I have friends who are not only better writers than me, but who also occasionally beat me to the punch. So if you want to know how I feel about the Henne’s, do me a favor and read what my buddy Otis has to say on the subject.

Why do people do this? I don’t really know. I certainly like money as much as the next guy, but it’s never been the ultimate driving force in my life. As for fame? I value my privacy too much to want to be famous. So while the Henne’s enjoy their final 15 minutes smoldering under the hot media lights and over the coals of public opinion, I’ll just say I hope the experience was worth the price. Morons.

I tortured myself today and the truth is, I liked it. In fact, I liked it so much, I may even do it again tomorrow.

Why?, you may ask. The answer is simple. I’m a car addict. I always have been, to tell the truth. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll all tell you I have 10W-40 running through my veins. Like any addict, I do have my drugs of choice and with the Barrett Jackson auction in town, I’m likely to overdose. That’s because Barrett Jackson specializes in muscle cars from the ’60s and ’70s, along with some amazingly cool customs and other one-of-a-kind rides. It’s car porn, pure and simple.

I want this.

I spent a few hours wandering around the Mandalay Bay Convention and Events Center this afternoon trying hard not to drool on the acres of gleaming metal spread out across the property. Shelby’s, Camaros, ‘Cudas, Nomads, Ferraris, Austin Healys, Auburns and more all polished to perfection and gleaming under the lights. It’s enough to want to make me rob a bank.

And this.

This too.

Gladly (well, not really), I can’t afford to do anything more than look at these incredible machines right now because if I could afford to buy, I don’t know if I’d ever stop. Hey, who needs a $1 million house? Give me a two bedroom condo and a $1 million garage, and I’ll be happy.

Yeah, this too.

For more cars I want to own, check out my Flickr page.

If I wasn’t already a fan of David Letterman, I’d be leaning that way today. Sure, Dave isn’t perfect, as his admissions revealed last night, but his class in the face of a brewing personal and professional scandal is something that many others in the limelight should study and learn from.

In case you missed the story, here are the bare bones; Letterman used the first 10 minutes of his show last night to announce that he was the target of a blackmailer who wanted $2 million in exchange for not revealing embarrassing personal facts, including that Letterman had sexual affairs with members of his staff. The blackmailer, by the way, is named as Robert Halderman, an Emmy award-winning producer for CBS News’* 48 Hours who once shared a residence with one of Letterman’s former assistants and sexual partners. Got it? Good.

The first thing I have to say is that if this wasn’t all real, it would make for some fine television. In fact, I’m fully expecting a Letterman-themed episode of Law & Order by the end of the season. The second thing I have to say is that I think Letterman will come out of this whole thing relatively unscathed. Sure, he fucked up and sleeping with subordinates is a big no-no (at least officially) in most corporate cultures. That said, Dave is certainly not the first boss who has diddled the help and he probably won’t be the last.

Part of the problem for Dave, professionally at least, is that a big part of his schtick has been to lampoon various politicians and corporate chieftains who have found themselves in the same position he’s now in. Those jokes are now off limits for him as he has admitted to being no better than the public figures he’s raked over the coals in the past. It’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black and that’s a tough thing for a comedian and cultural critic like Letterman to overcome. Can he do it? Only time will tell, but I think you’re going to see a more tone-downed show for a while.

Professionally, Letterman also has to expect some fallout from the suits at CBS. Sure, he’s not in as much trouble as Halderman who put this whole scheme in motion, but the fact is, his actions have opened him and the company up to potential legal action from former Late Show staffers who may now come forward and say they were intimidated into sleeping with the boss in order to protect their jobs. Are those potential claims true? I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. The thing is, it doesn’t really matter since in the court of public perception, charges often carry more weight than facts.

Things on the home front probably aren’t going to be much better for Dave either. After marrying his long-term girlfriend earlier this year (the pair dated for more than 20 years before tying the knot), this is not the kind of revelation that’s going to lead to further domestic tranquility. Of course, Dave’s wife is also a former staffer on the show (as was Dave’s previous girlfriend), so that fact that her husband likes to dip his pen in the company ink can’t come as too much of a shock. Still, I would expect things to be kind of tense around the Letterman family compound this weekend.

So, why am I still a Letterman fan? Because the man handled this whole unpleasant situation with dignity. Unlike Mark Sanford, John Edwards or Nevada’s own Senator John Ensign, Letterman didn’t skirt the issue or try to dance around the facts. He flat out admitted that yes, he was unfaithful. No euphemisms. No BS. Just a straight up “Yup, I fucked up.” Will it be enough to save his job and family? I don’t know, but I hope so because even as imperfect as he may be, television will be far worse off without Dave.

*In the sake of full disclosure, I am a former CBS News staffer, having spent five years working for CBS News/Radio. I do not know Robert Halderman, though I have met Letterman and do know some of his former staffers.

21 years ago today, I was allowed to take my first legal drink. I did so at T’s Pub, a bar on Boston’s Commonwealth Avenue near the West Campus dorms where I spent my first two years an undergraduate. Don’t get me wrong, this certainly wasn’t my first time inside of T’s or my first drink at their fine bar, but that drink was different. Special. It was a rite of passage and the beginning of a new stage of my life.

A lot has changed in the 21 years since my official admittance into adulthood. I’ve had jobs and lost jobs. I’ve gained a niece and four nephews, and lost my father. I’ve been broke and (reasonably) flush with cash. I’ve lived overseas and in five states in various regions of the country. I’ve been in relationships and been single. In short, I’ve lived what I consider a reasonably fulfilling and maybe even interesting life over the past two decades.

Does this mean there aren’t things I wouldn’t change? Of course not. I’ve made my share of dumb decisions and bone-headed mistakes over the years, and looking back, there are certainly some missed opportunities that could have changed the direction my life has gone. I have no regrets though. Sure, maybe I could be richer or have a wife and family, but that’s not where my path has taken me so far. And I’m not sure having those things would make me any happier than I am today. I know I’m not looking over the fence to see if my neighbor’s grass is any greener than mine, so I see no reason to complain about my current situation.

Now, 42 is certainly no milestone birthday. My vote doesn’t count twice as much as it did when I turned 21 and I know I can’t drink twice as much as I used to (in fact, I probably can’t drink half as much as I used to, which is fine too). Still, it’s 21 years down the road from when I became an “adult”, and it seems worth marking just for that fact alone. So, with that in mind, I’ll be heading to the bar later today for a celebratory toast to the next 21 years. Will they be as eventful, profitable or happy as the previous 21? I’d like to think so, but I guess the only way to find out is to keep plowing ahead and doing the things I enjoy for as long as I find them enjoyable.

Honestly, if I have even half as much fun over the next 21 years as I’ve had in the past 21, I’ll consider myself lucky.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon in Vegas so I did what any self-respecting degenerate type person would do… spent the day in a casino. Now, before you get on me about wasting my time inside on a sunny day, remember I live in the middle of the desert. We get lots of sun. And anyway, this was a planned excursion to downtown, as opposed to a spur of moment type thing.

Earlier in the week, Michalski and I talked about hitting the 2PM tourney at Binion’s, where a buy-in of $110 ($70 for a starting stack of 2,500 and $40 for an additional 2,500) gives you a chance at a guaranteed $10K prize pool. With a fairly small field of about 125 players, it’s not a bad deal. So down to Glitter Gulch I went.

Now, there are a few strategies you can employ when it comes to taking your rebuy/add-on and, in my case, I decided to purchase the additional chips right at the start of the tournament. With short levels and blinds that double every 20 minutes, I like having as much ammunition as possible in the early going in order to make sure I have as many players covered as possible. It’s a strategy that paid off almost immediately.

On the fifth hand of the tournament, I picked up pocket Aces on the button and, with one limper in the pot and blinds at 25/50, I made a small raise to 200. The player UTG called and we saw an Ace high flop with two hearts on the board. He checked and I bet 350 hoping to just get a call. Imagine how happy I was when instead, he check-shoved for about 2,000 and I could easily make the call. He turned over Ah-5h for the nut flush draw, but I faded his outs and took his starting stack, giving me nearly 8,000 chips by the end of the hand.

Things kept going my way through the first hour as my big hands held and, more importantly, my opponents paid me off. River Broadway with King-Jack? Take down a 1,200 chip pot. Raise pre-flop with pocket 10s on the button and flop my set? Ding! Raise with pocket Jacks and have an opponent shove with Ace-Jack off? Thank you. Cards just kept falling my way and, by the break, I was sitting on a comfortable stack of 12,000 with blinds moving to 200/400 with a 25 ante.

Of course, I should have known that after a good start, the wheels would come off. Honestly, I don’t feel like I misplayed any of my hands, but rather, I just stopped connecting. Take the hand where I lost half my stack in a blind vs. blind battle. The small blind limped in and I decided to see a cheap flop from the big blind with Ks-10s. My opponent bet 500 on a flop of As-Qd-9s and I raised to 1,500. He called and checked the flop, which brought the 10c, giving me a pair to go with my straight draw and nut flush draw. I bet 2,500 and he raised all in for an additional 300. I called and still like my chances when he tabled Ace-Jack, but failed to improve when the river bricked out. Suddenly, my 12,000 chip stack was down to about 6,500. Ugh.

I picked up Aces in the small blind on the very next hand, and added a few thousand chips to my stack before getting involved with the most aggressive player at the table when I called his min-raise to 800 with Kc-9c from the button. The flop came Q-Q-10 rainbow and I called his 1,200 chip bet hoping to hit my gut shot. He checked the turn, which brought the 3d and I checked behind (possibly my one mistake of the day). When the river brought the 3c, he moved all in for about 5,000 and I debated making the call but just couldn’t convince myself that my King high was actually any good. Back down to 6,000.

I stayed out of the mix for a little while until I picked up Ace-Queen in early position. With blinds now at 400/800/50, I raised to 2,100 and Mr. Aggressive moved all in for less. Immediately behind him, Lara Miller moved all in with her short stack, and I called. Lara turned over Ah-9h and the villain showed pocket 8s. I caught my Ace on the flop, which also brought two hearts to give Lara a flush draw, and felt pretty confident when the turn brought a black 6. Of course, the villain found his two outer on the river when the 8c hit the board and suddenly, I had just 2,000 chips left.

My demise came a few hands later when I shoved from the button with Jc-10c and got called by an old cowboy holding Ace-Queen. I flopped a pair and a gut-shot with a board of Ace-King-10, but again, couldn’t find a way to improve and made my exit.

Overall, I think I played well and had a good handle on the table, aside from the aggressive British guy who continued to mix it up with all sorts of junk. Still, playing well just wasn’t enough today. Then again, the great thing about Vegas is, there’s always tomorrow.

The date, November, 2001. I had just resettled in LA after being laid off from job at Quicken.com following the dot com bubble burst. I had been making a decent salary at the job, but with no pay check coming in and the measly amount of income I was drawing from unemployment, the idea of using Intuit’s COBRA plan was just plain crazy. I simply couldn’t afford the payments.

Thankfully, I was a healthy 35-year old and Blue Cross/Blue Shield offered a good individual insurance policy that was significantly more affordable than the COBRA coverage I opted out of. I applied and was quickly accepted, which was a good thing because just two months later, things were about to change.

I knew something wasn’t quite right before that fateful night, but as a doctor’s kid, I’ve developed a healthy distaste of all things medical. I’m not a fan of doctors, hospitals, waiting rooms or shitty coffee so I did what any sane person would have done. I ignored the fact that something didn’t feel right. Thankfully, my girlfriend didn’t.

Of all the phrases a guy hates to hear in bed, the words “What’s that?” are probably near the top of the list. Nevertheless, when your significant other feels something unfamiliar while groping your junk, you should probably pay heed. Especially when what’s she’s grabbing feels a little bit too much like a marble than it should. So, being properly chastised, I did what I hated to do and made an appointment with a urologist at Cedar’s Sinai. Now, I’m no medical expert but even I knew that a lump on my testicle was probably not a good sign. So, after the poking, the prodding and the ultrasound, I wasn’t surprised when I heard the diagnosis. Testicular cancer.

The good thing about the disease, if there is such a thing, is that’s highly treatable. A quick surgery to remove the offending tumor (along with the testicle it inhabited) and a few rounds of chemotherapy to ensure there are no more bad cells floating around waiting to do more damage. Easy? Not particularly. Expensive? Like you wouldn’t believe. My chemo treatments lasted for nearly four months and consisted of three week rounds of treatment. In the first week, I’d spend about five hours a day, five days a week having a variety of drugs dumped into my system. Then, for the next two weeks, I’d spend about 45 minutes one day a week having a single drug administered. That one treatment alone cost nearly $5,000 a pop.

When all was said and done, I figure Blue Cross dropped close to $250,000 on my treatment, meaning they got the very short end of the stick on my policy. Good for me, bad for them. Now however, it looks like the shoe may be on the other foot.

It’s been just over a year since I left my last “real” job and, in that time, I’ve been happily (well, maybe not happily), paying my monthly $400 premium for my COBRA. So, imagine my dismay when I received a recent email saying my insurance company was changing its policy and that my coverage would end effective September 30th. So now, I’m back in the market for insurance only this time, I’m nearly 42 and I have one of those dreaded “pre-existing conditions” you hear so much about.

According to my doctors, I was officially “cured” of cancer just over two years after I finished chemo, but try telling that to an insurance company. They don’t really care what the doctors say. They’re more concerned with their bottom line and on how they can take in as much money as possible while paying out as little as possible on the other end. Which means I’m kind of up shit creek without a paddle.

I’ve applied for new Blue Cross coverage and am waiting to hear if I’m accepted. Needless to say, I’m not holding my breath. I’m not sure what my next move will be if I – as I fully expect – my application is rejected. Of course, it would be nice if Congress got off its ass and actually did something about health care reform, but that’s as unlikely as my application getting approved. So, now I sit and wait. And hope I don’t need to see a doctor any time soon.