This will probably be in 2 parts, because it may take awhile to get through all this, and I don't want a "tl; dr" sticker slapped on the trip report. Just be warned. ;)

Boy, with a title like that, how can you lose? But this weekend brought new meaning to the terms "running bad" and "life tilt."

The trip was supposed to begin Thursday night at 9:30 when my flight was due to leave Sacramento. Only problem was, at that time, the flight had still not left from Phoenix due to weather conditions there. By 10:30, the airline was advising people to rebook for the morning if they had anywhere to go, so I rebooked for 6:30 the next morning and had to call my girlfriend to retrieve me from the airport. So, I lost a potential night at the tables because my flight was effectively cancelled. That should have been a sign. The weekend did not improve from there.

I arrived at the airport again Friday morning at 5:15 am sharp, and of course slid right through security and had nothing to do for over an hour while I waited to board the plane. I did go to Burger King to relieve my terrible hunger, but of course, I can't get the Chicken Fries I want because they only serve breakfast before 10:00 am, and fast food breakfast barely qualifies as food at all. Now, I realized on this particular morning that the last time I was on a flight was several years ago, and apparently in that time I've developed flight sickness. I didn't get nauseous or anything like that, but I did feel dizzy and light-headed for almost the entire duration of the flight, I was unable to read, and it was difficult to enjoy my podcast. After what seemed like hours, we landed, and actually managed to get out of the airport and into the hotel with relative ease. It was the first break I'd caught.

Now, my plan had originally been to head over to the Rio at 11:00 am so I could catch the live PokerRoad broadcast, but I was too exhausted by the time I made it to the room. My friend was hyped up on plenty of caffeine and headed out to play at the Venetian, while I crashed until the afternoon. No chance to see Gavin, Joe, Ali, and their guest. No chance to play trivia. No chance to see the ME players process in. Best laid plans eh?

My buddies came back to the room shortly after getting something to eat and we decided to head over to the Rio to check out the action. Splitting a cab 3 ways was pretty easy. However, when compared to last year, the Rio sucked. The ME was boring, and all the cash game action had disappeared, apparently back to its usual haunts of Bellagio for their big tournament. Of course, being a small stakes player at Bellagio earns you the disdain of the staff, so I wasn't about to head there. Instead, after an hour of watching paint dry, I headed over to Mirage to play in the O8 game there.

Yes, finally, some actual Poker story. I like the Mirage Poker Room--it is well run, has good game selection, and is one of the few rooms left in the city that has not completely succumbed to the NL Hold'em invasion (thanks in large part to the room manager, Donna Harris). I got a seat in the $5/$10 Omaha-8 game with a full kill pretty easily. I am somewhat embarassed to say that I did not play as well as I could have. I played some marginal hands, overvalued one way draws, and just generally was not on my A-game, perhaps due to fatigue. Despite this, I was still easily the only player in the game who had anything resembling a more than rudimentary understanding of the game. As the evening wore on, I got back to even, and then even got positive as the game got more and more short-handed. In an effort to keep the game going, we even played 3-handed for awhile with no rake! That was really fun, and I actually did much better, in part because I am more experienced from short handed O8 from online, and because I was better at understanding hand ranges than my opponents. However, things were about to change, as four more guys waiting to see Love camer and sat down in the game.

This is when things started to heat up. They all had wads of cash, and absolutely no experience playing O8. They straddled, they played every hand, they raised without looking at their cards. It was the greatest, juiciest game I'd ever seen! And... I was completely unable to capitalize. I picked up next to no hands, and I ran into terrible beats when I did get something. I'll share two hands I jotted down with you.

Hand 1: I have [Ah 2s 3h 7s] in a kill pot. UTG has already live straddled to $20, and I raise on the button after some limpers. This 3-bet pot goes 6 ways to the flop, [As 4h Jd], giving me a nut low draw, gutshot wheel draw, two backdoor flush draws, and top pair! One bet to me with callers, I raise, and all five players call. The [8h] on the turn gives me the made nut low and the nut flush draw. Now it gets crazy. We lose one player, but the other five of us put four bets each into the pot! Normally, I'd worry that I was drawing for 3/4 or less with only 1/4 or less locked up, but that was less a concern in this wild game. However, when the [2c] hit the river, I was annihilated. The wild player with [3d 5s Jh Qc] ended up scooping the whole thing with his wheel.

Hand 2: I raised from MP with [Ad Kh Qd Jh] and got four callers. When the [Jd Th 7d] hit the flop, I was happy to put in five bets along with every other player who came into the hand. Of course, the [8c] and [Tc] that came on the turn and river did nothing to improve my wrap and flush draw (a 20-out draw), and I was "wamboozled," as Norman Chad would say, once again.

The great game could not last forever, and when it was time to for the show, the wild men cashed out, one of them for over $1500, and the game sunk back down. Frustrated, angry, and out $240, I left the Poker Room, gambled my last $60 from the game at the Craps table, and stormed back to my room.

I ordered room service while my buddies went to play at MGM (I was too angry to continue for the night), and I tried to relax with a nice meal. When finished, I went to leave my tray outside my door. Of course, I didn't think about the fact that the door promptly slammed shut behind me, and I had left my key in the room. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing nothing but my boxers at the time? Fortunately, I was spared the embarassment of either having to knock on someone's door or go to the front desk in my largely unapparelled state by using the courtesy phone next to the elevators. Security dispatched someone to my room to open the door, but not before a parade of no less than a dozen guys and girls passed by my door as I wait outside in my underwear for the hotel staff to let me back in. Not exactly my finest hour. But it was about on par with the rest of the weekend.

Next time: cash games at Caesar's and Venetian, an unfortunate incident at Bellagio, an amusing trip to find food at 3:30 am in Las Vegas, and the return home.

So far, the score is Las Vegas - 5, Dave - 0.