Foxwoods Poker Classic
It's easy to lose the momentum on these things after being away for a few days. So, I'm seizing the moment, sat in JFK Airport in New York, on the floor to be precise, two feet away from one of the only power outlets within a secure ten mile radius. It's a nice day. I can see through light smog for miles. But the main thing is I'm going home.
This has been the first trip I haven't been keen on going on. Every step of the one-day long journey to New England was a step away from where I wanted to be, and the person I wanted to be with. But I did it anyway. A seven hour London to New York flight on Wednesday, followed by an hour taxi to Penn Station, an hour wait for a train and internet, the latter never coming, and a three hour journey through the wilderness, to the wilderness, that is Foxwoods Resort Casino.
It's horrible.
It's an ugly building and an ugly colour. Like a large shopping centre built in a rush sometime around 1985, with no proper shops, too many food outlets and only covering the "Chicken", "Chili" and "Ribs" American food groups. The average age of the punter is about 65. The average age of each employee is about 75.
On saturday night, after play finished early, I got sick after eating a plain turkey sandwich and spent the night hurling at the toilet. I did manage to play though, doing okay, in the shiny new WPT Poker Room at Foxwoods. Essentially this is the original poker room that was already there, only now they have the WPT logo stamped on each table.
Four days later we had a winner in Victor Ramdin, the only known player at the final table and good enough for us. Jason Kirk from Bluff magazine reminded me of the great saying, also known as the Poker Media Battle Cry: "Let the chip leader win". I like that, because after three and a half days you just want the thing over with, with no attachment to any player. I believe if my mother was playing, and was the short-stack heads-up against Phil Hellmuth, I would want The Brat to win.
So now I'm back at the airport waiting for the red-eye, where you fly into the future a bit and land at the too bright time of 7am. That's when the real journey begins, when carefully considered American Metropolitan transport makes way for patch-it-together, god-help-us-all British transport, where genuinely anything can happen.
It'll be good to be back.
This has been the first trip I haven't been keen on going on. Every step of the one-day long journey to New England was a step away from where I wanted to be, and the person I wanted to be with. But I did it anyway. A seven hour London to New York flight on Wednesday, followed by an hour taxi to Penn Station, an hour wait for a train and internet, the latter never coming, and a three hour journey through the wilderness, to the wilderness, that is Foxwoods Resort Casino.
It's horrible.
It's an ugly building and an ugly colour. Like a large shopping centre built in a rush sometime around 1985, with no proper shops, too many food outlets and only covering the "Chicken", "Chili" and "Ribs" American food groups. The average age of the punter is about 65. The average age of each employee is about 75.
On saturday night, after play finished early, I got sick after eating a plain turkey sandwich and spent the night hurling at the toilet. I did manage to play though, doing okay, in the shiny new WPT Poker Room at Foxwoods. Essentially this is the original poker room that was already there, only now they have the WPT logo stamped on each table.
Four days later we had a winner in Victor Ramdin, the only known player at the final table and good enough for us. Jason Kirk from Bluff magazine reminded me of the great saying, also known as the Poker Media Battle Cry: "Let the chip leader win". I like that, because after three and a half days you just want the thing over with, with no attachment to any player. I believe if my mother was playing, and was the short-stack heads-up against Phil Hellmuth, I would want The Brat to win.
So now I'm back at the airport waiting for the red-eye, where you fly into the future a bit and land at the too bright time of 7am. That's when the real journey begins, when carefully considered American Metropolitan transport makes way for patch-it-together, god-help-us-all British transport, where genuinely anything can happen.
It'll be good to be back.
posted by Stephen | 10:00 PM
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