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 Then, instead of taking the free card they wager again on a more costly round... |
TALES OF THE VEGAS VIRGINS: THE DIARY OF A POKER-MEETS-REALITY TV SHOW by: Lou Krieger© Day 1, January 29, 2005: Sometimes it's easy to know that you're in the right place and doing the right thing because everything seems to fit and flow and work in grand consonance, as if you're in the curl of a large, perfectly shaped wave propelling you toward the shoreline of a perfect beach. That's how things are right now. Two days ago I picked up my brand new car and I'm driving from Palm Springs to Las Vegas. I'm just outside of Baker, about two-thirds of the way there, when I come over the rise at Sheep Ditch and gaze down at Baker in the distance. The sky isn't California at all. It resembles an import from south Florida, all big, puffy, cumulus clouds as far as you can see in one direction, while in the other the sky is black as pitch. It's been raining intermittently across the desert. From the rise this high point in the road you see two large outcroppings of rock, off to the right where the sun angles down and highlights them like sculpture in a gallery. Usually the light is unflatteringly flat as you drive across the Mojave Desert, but today it's etched in bas-relief as the rain falls, then stops, and the white clouds and the dark ones chase each other across a late afternoon, January sky. I'm on my way to Las Vegas to work on a TV production called "Vegas Virgins," and appear on-camera in what amounts to a strange and enjoyably sounding blend of poker show and reality TV. And for a guy who spends the majority of his time either playing poker or writing about it, appearing on camera in a TV show represents a real change of pace. Here's the show's concept in a nutshell: Ten people who have never played casino poker before, five from the USA and five from the UK, are whisked away to Las Vegas for three weeks, put up in a first class hotel and provided with poker coaching. That's where I come in. A "success" coach in the person of Sally St. John, a Las Vegas based psychologist, will work with each of the contestants on life lessons while I concentrate on making poker players out of these absolute newbies. Poker's not all these virgins will be up to. There are tasks to be performed in competition, with the winners garnering more chips for the nightly poker tournament. The tasks lend a "Fear Factor" quality to the show - it's the usual sort of reality show fare: eating duck embryo, walking a tightrope suspended under the canopy of downtown Las Vegas' "Fremont Street Experience" - but the need to compete and gather ammunition for the evening tournament will force the contestants to follow through with the game. Each night features a poker tournament and each evening's winner evicts a player of his or her choosing from the show. In alternating fashion, they'll toss a Brit, then an American, until just one player from each country remains. The two survivors then play in a penultimate match and the winner receives $5,000 to play poker against a few real "pros," each of whom will be armed with only half the chips the newbie has. The money discrepancy levels the playing field and gives our virgin a fair shot at winning. In addition to giving poker lessons, Sally St. John and I will provide play-by-play coverage of the nightly tournaments, so there'll a terrific opportunity for me to talk up my seven books, as well as the two online sites I'm associated with: Royal Vegas Poker and the College Poker Championship. I'm not sure about when the show will air in the US - they're shooting for early summer or fall - but it will air in Britain this May. What I do know is that filming is set to begin tomorrow and run 18 straight days. Only the names in this story have been changed, and that's to protect the innocent, the guilty, the winner, and any other contestants who ride out high in a blaze of glory or a flame out and crash to Earth with naught but a resounding thud. After all, if you're planning on watching Vegas Virgins on TV, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. And if you're not, the names won't matter anyway. While all this is going on, I'll have some tasks of my own to complete. We're in the process of selling our condominium in Palm Springs and buying a larger house 10 miles away in Palm Desert. The closing date on the new house is scheduled right smack-dab in the midst of this show, so somehow I'll have to duck out during any downtime I can wangle, catch a plane to Palm Springs, sign on a few dozen dotted lines, then fly back to Las Vegas the same day or very early the next morning in time to meet my shooting schedule. Deirdre will have to deal with the electrician, painter, carpet installer, and the realtor in charge of selling our condo. We're shopping for furniture, too. Unlike most of the world, out here in the desert where there are 116 golf courses and almost everybody is on permanent or at least semi-permanent vacation, the majority of properties are sold "turnkey," which means the buyer takes possession of the house and everything in it: furniture, towels, coffee pots, linens - the whole enchilada. You're not only selling a house; out in Palm Springs you're selling your entire lifestyle. All the new buyer needs is a toothbrush and a change of clothes and he's ready to enjoy the endless summer. Tomorrow I've got to meet the contestants, give them a poker class in hopes that they'll pick up enough knowledge to compete in a tournament the following day, when the first player will be evicted by the event's winner. Immediately after the class is over, I'm scheduled to brief a contingent of British reporters who are here to cover the show. Day 2, January 30, 2005: There's a fever in the air today, a rush of nervous energy on the part of cast and contestants alike as filming is set to begin this morning. But not me. I'm relaxed and treating this like a paid vacation. I have two chores today: a poker class in the morning and a press conference for the in the afternoon. I don't know whether the show is all that big a deal in Britain or if the press views this as a grand junket to take them away from the cold, pervasive gloom of an English winter. Maybe it's some combination of both, but they are here en masse to report on Vegas Virgins. Even the editor of the London Times entertainment supplement is here, and he's quick to tell me that he does very little reporting nowadays, staying in his office for the most part, but when a trip to Vegas reared it's head, he decided to trade his blue editor's pencil for a reporter's notebook, a portable tape recorder, and a poker bankroll to use on his "business" trip to the Nevada desert. But earlier that morning, before the press conference, ten contestants are seated in small conference room around a U-shaped table. They have no idea what, exactly, they're going to be doing in Vegas, until I walk in and begin. "I'm Lou Krieger, and would like to welcome you to Vegas Virgins. This week is all about poker lessons and the lessons of life. And mind your lessons, because by the end of the day tomorrow, one of you will be gone…" The seminar goes well, and these Vegas virgins are, to a person, very bright and verbal - a high-energy bunch. But what they know about poker wouldn't fill a thimble, so I begin at the very beginning: hand rankings, from straight flush all the way down to high card, with special emphasis on that old beginner's bugaboo: "Yes, a flush beats a straight." But they're quick, and the discussion moves onto such "advanced" concepts as the importance of one's position in the betting order, and the fact that kickers really do matter, and they matter quite a bit. They also meet their life coach, Sally St. John, who prefers calling herself a "success" counselor. We've never met, never talked before today, but it's nice to see that her life lessons and comments mirror what I'm saying about poker: Accountability matters; you have to remove your ego and emotions from the game to succeed at it; you can't win 'em all but you need to really go after the things that matter. All of her statements emphasize the poker concepts I've always stressed, and for me hearing it from someone who is coming at these principles with no real knowledge of poker on her part, validates my belief that the lessons of life and the lessons of poker are one and the same. Once the master class ends, a photographer on hand shoots stills of the contestants, and glam outfits quickly replace jeans and hiking boots. This is a group of five guys, five gals, five Brits, five Yanks who really clean up well. Part of the shoot takes place in the Gold Coast's poker room followed by a sample poker game with tournament chips so the contestants can become familiar with what we've discussed in class. It's one thing, after all, to explain how the small and big blinds work and how the dealer button orbits its way around the table, but these abstract lessons are really clarified when each contestant can sit down at the table, play poker for half and hour with the day-shift manager on hand to walk them through the mechanics of the game. While this is happening, Sally and I are whisked away to a conference room at the Mirage, where sandwiches and cold drinks have been put on the table to feed the British press corps. They question Sally and me, and I give them a small "poker tips" seminar, using the Powerpoint slides on my laptop as I would for larger seminars. Most of the press contingent are poker players, or at least gaming aficionados, and one of the reporters tells me he was up very late last night taking fourth place in a tournament downtown at the Horseshoe. It's the first tournament he ever entered, and he's rightly proud of the $1,000 he won. Today is moving day. We moved out of last night's digs, the Alexis Park Suites, and over to the Orleans. My bags are in my car, which I left at the Gold Coast, so I could travel with the others to the press conference at the Mirage. When the press conference concludes, one of the transportation crew deposits me at the Gold Coast where I fetch my car, drive over to the Orleans where I run into one of the producers, Rachel O'Connor who says to me in her Dublin accent, "Lou Krieger, I've been waiting for you. No need to stand in that long line; you're already checked in." Those are the very words my weary feet have been longing to hear, and I trundle up to my room to unpack, set up my laptop, and see what the future holds in store. Day 3, January 31, 2005: I'm a betting man and I'd wager that not one person in fifty who visits Las Vegas has ever heard of the Valley of Fire. But that's where we're filming today, in a location just 45 miles from the Strip, but it's worlds away, really. The dirt is red, and the rock formations look like those Travel Channel specials about Ayers Rock in the midst of the Australian outback. The color is identical, but the formations are like open-air cenotes that have been chiseled out of the limestone by whatever massive body of water inundated this area eons ago. It is stunning, and if you were looking to film a western, or a sci-fi epic, and are seeking a location that could stand in for one of Jupiter's outer moons, this is your place. From what one of the transportations coordinators tells me, they film scads of commercials out here just to get that look, and it's like no other place on Earth. Valley of Fire is a Nevada state park, but one that's very under visited. To find it, just head north out of town on the freeway, go a few miles past Nellis Air Force Base and follow the signs. If much of filming is "hurry up and wait," today has that element in spades. We're on location to film what the viewer will see first on the show: the contestants and the mentors being introduced. First the Yanks are filmed and then the Brits. Publicity stills are also shot and finally the contestants are all filmed again. This time it's the women in one group and the men in another. Lunch is called, and I chow down on a turkey sandwich with the show's executive producers who have just arrived from London to oversee the production and make certain they are getting what they commissioned. It's their first time at Valley of Fire, and like everyone else here, they are awestruck at its beauty. All I've done thus far to earn my money is sit around and admire the scenery. Finally, as the afternoon light begins to glow, it's our turn, and Sally St. John and I are filmed against an azure sky and brick-red rock formations, all lit in relief by the day's golden light, the last reddening light of the afternoon before the sun ducks behind the mountain and filming is called for the day. I've been to Valley of Fire before and even have the refrigerator magnet to prove it, but both times I've been there, people were in short supply. If you're in Las Vegas and have a car at your disposal, take a 50 minute drive north on I-15 and plan on spending at least two hours in this primal, exquisite solitude. It stands in stark contrast to the man made glitter of Las Vegas, but it stands on its own, too: an attraction that too few see though it's well worth the trip. Day 4, February 1, 2005: Today is going to be a long one. It's 8:00 AM, and we're in Nelson, NV, a little hamlet stuck in the mountains and stranded in time between Las Vegas and the Colorado River. Cast and crew are on-site at the Navy Graveyard, a place where some 50 old Navy trainers and fighters, some land based, others from carrier groups - complete with tail hooks - are sitting up against the side of a mountain with engines missing and the wings and tail assemblies removed and stashed in a corner. Midway down the surreal walkway where planes sans noses sit facing each other is rigging composed of a walkway and seven foot-spas. The spa in the middle is communal, and the idea of this task is that pairs of contestants face each other, and on command step into a foot spa where they remain until commanded to step out, and then down into the next one. The first spa is filled with icy water, the second with runny eggs, the third contains cow tongues, red dye that looks like blood, and other ersatz gore. The communal spa in the middle looks benign. It contains only sand, but when contestants step into it they're in for a surprise. The compressor hisses like a snake and sends sand blowing into the air. Sally and I are judges. Each of us is assigned to concentrate on the face of one contestant in a pair. If they break their poker face at any time, we are to yell, "fold," which terminates that part of the challenge. Contestants who complete the task win bonus chips for the first poker tournament, which will be played tonight at the Orleans. Only two contestants fail to maintain a poker face, and the eight players who succeeded move on to a second challenge, in which they are individually seated and blindfolded. When the blindfolds are removed they are face-to-face with a series of bizarre circus acts including a woman with live snakes and a guy who is able to tie his you-know-what into a knot. One player fails task, and the chip distribution is set for the night's first poker tournament, when an American will be evicted from the competition. By the time cast and crew stumble back into the Orleans, everyone is tired, and a bit wind burned from the day at the Navy Graveyard, and the night's tournament slides back to the next day. But I'm not done with my day. After dinner we grab some tournament chips and a deck of cards from Bryan, the Orleans' tournament director, and I begin dealing cards to all the contestants who are seated around a poker table. Some hands are pitched face down and others face up in an attempt to get this group, none of whom have ever played a poker tournament, familiar with the mechanics of live poker and provide some basis for making decisions in tomorrow's event, in which the winner will have the honor of evicting a Yank from the competition. Day 5, February 2, 2005: The plan for the day involves holding the tournament originally scheduled for last night's tournament in the morning, along with another task in the afternoon. We think the tournament will last three hours. After all, it is a one table, ten-player event, and we've decided to escalate the blinds fairly quickly to get through it in time to keep on schedule. The tournament, however, lasts almost all day, far too long to get the players to the second task site. Considering these contestants had never played poker until two days ago, and have had a grand total of one class, one practice game, and some Q and A with me in the interim, they played fairly well. While they made beginners' mistakes, such as not raising with big pocket pairs, they managed to figure out that attacking small stacks when the game was shorthanded and the blinds large in relation to each player's chip count, was the way to stay in charge of things. They kept their emotions in check and handled bad beats well. Brent, who wound up winning the event, suffered a horrendous beat when his K-K was beaten by K-J - a dominated hand that slipped the noose courtesy of a J-J-7 flop. The fates smiled on Brent later in the event, when, three hands from the end, he caught two perfect running cards to make a straight and flip-flop chip leadership with Terri, the gal who had beaten Brent earlier in the event when her K-J crushed his pair of kings. During the lunch break I see a new face on the set. It's Bree Cooley. She's the Exit Contestant Coordinator, and I immediately nickname her "the undertaker." Bree coordinates the daily departure of the player who is evicted in the previous evening's tournament. That might involve anything from making flight arrangements for the exiting contestant to treating and pampering the evicted player to one, last, final fling before departing Las Vegas the next day. Sometimes it also involves providing a shoulder to cry on too. But Bree has a sunny disposition and a smile for everyone she sees, and seems the perfect person for what otherwise might be a distinctly unpleasant task. Brent had to evict a fellow American, and Charles was sent packing. Charles thought he'd be the first one picked. Not because he wasn't a likable guy; he is extremely personable, but he just comes across as so very competent and he knows it. Charles is the kind of guy who can open a box of knock-down furniture made in Korea, follow the instructions written by someone to whom English is a second or third language, and assemble the furniture before dissembling - as I know I would do - into a screaming, dysfunctional mess. Charles is so confident of his own abilities that he left his job as a banker to give it a go in Hollywood, and is now in the process of getting his short film through some festivals in order to raise financing for a feature film. But it was his air of confidence that proved his undoing, as he predicted to me in an interview prior to the first game. Ten minutes after the end of the tournament I saw him interviewed on camera for his reaction to eviction. Later on that evening Bree told me that Charles had not wanted to spend one last night partying in Las Vegas, and she had been able to get him a dinner reservation along with a flight back home that same evening. While Bree was explaining that to me, Charles was in the sky and on his way back to Los Angeles. With the delays, the production staff revises the schedule again. Instead of a poker class in the morning followed by a tournament that evening, yesterday's task will be completed during the morning, my poker class will start mid afternoon, and that night's tournament will begin at 7:00 PM. Day 6, February 3, 2005: No task was originally slated for today, so yesterday's task is slotted into what was supposed to be a free morning, and nine remaining players are whisked away to the Sapphire's Gentleman's Club, where they will audition for the role of exotic dancer. At stake are additional chips in tonight's tournament. Professional dancers are on hand to give some tips to the nine players. The ladies will be dancing in a sequined bodice while the guys will be attired as minimally clad gunslingers with a holster, cowboy hat, boots, and jockey shorts. Once attired, they are led into the wings while a crowd is ushered into the room. Each player has one minute to shake their thing and prove themselves to the professional dancers judging the performances. How does this relate to poker? Well, there are times when you have to sell a hand you don't really have, and convince your opponent that you've got the real goods when all you really are is a pretender. For most of us, this is one of those moments, and I'm skeptical about how well I'd perform this task. While I like bluffing as much as anyone, I prefer semi-bluffs myself. They're the kind of hands when you have two ways to win: your opponent might fold to your bet and you can win if you improve to the best hand. Since you shouldn't bluff too often anyway - your opponents will quickly catch onto your act and call whenever you bet - you might as well reserve your bluffs for those times when you flop four-to-a-straight or a four-flush, or even two big cards, because your chances to win are a product of two possibilities, and not the kind of naked bluff that looks good in the movies and on those very rare occasions when it actually works in a poker game instead of crashing to earth with a thud. The chips don't play too big a part in the evening's poker game, but alliances do and they always seem to lie at the heart of reality shows. Lynda, who held the chip lead most of the tournament is sent packing at evening's end. She is collected by Bree, who whisks her away from the Orleans to a room at a hotel on the strip, there to spend one last night enjoying herself in Las Vegas before catching a transatlantic flight to Heathrow the next day. Day 7, February 4, 2005: Eight players are still alive, but another Yank will be evicted tonight. The players gather at the Neon Graveyard off the strip, with each of the remaining Brits standing in a line while the four Americans are told to stand next to their preferred UK partner, and are asked why they chose that player. If more than one US player wants the same UK partner, the Brit has the final choice on who partners them and the psychological gaming continues until all players are partnered. Each player has to answer general questions about each other's country, such as, "Is an English King allowed to marry someone form any religious background?" (Answer: No. The king is the head of the Church of England.) Additional chips are awarded for each correct answer and the penalties accrue for wrong answers. The game challenges knowing when to stop, nerve, raising the stakes, as well as player allegiances and solidarity. The evening's game is fairly straightforward, but the decision at game's end is not. Her fellow American, Jeffrey, evicts Terri, the psychologist from Northern California. The smart money was elsewhere, and so Terri, somewhat grief-stricken, is led away from the set by Bree to follow the now familiar routine of checking into a different hotel, away from the remaining Vegas Virgins, to enjoy one last fling prior to catching a flight for home. Day 8, February 5, 2005: Seven remaining players leave the Orleans dressed in swimsuits covered by robes. They are told nothing about the task awaiting them. But it's not about swimming. Instead they are taken to a tattoo parlor where they are asked which player they most like and which they like least. These player's names are tattooed on their arms - a love arm and a hate arm. They are then asked to state their preferences publicly. They may lie if they'd like, and each player is told how many players "love" them and how many "dislike" them, but they are not told who expressed each preference. So Player "A" may know that three others dislike him, but is told so by only two players. He knows that three dislike him, but he's not even sure if the players who tell him they dislike him actually do. Players may reveal their choices by showing the others their tattoos, or they may choose to keep their tattoos concealed. Brent actually hedged his bets by having Danielle's name tattooed on his "love" and "hate" arms. Like poker, this task deals with incomplete information, and players who do the best job in assessing how others see them begin the night with the most chips. The night ends with Danielle's eviction from the tournament. And now we are six. The next day is Superbowl Sunday, a day off for cast and crew, but we were forced to move from the Orleans to another hotel for the day and then move back into the Orleans on Monday. When Saturday's filming ends at around midnight, I head for home, planning to arrive in Palm Springs at about 3:45 AM. But I'm so worn out from the long days that I cruise into an empty restaurant parking lot next to a gas station in Barstow to snooze for 45 minutes. So I arrive instead at about 4:45 AM, crawl into bed for a few house sleep and wake up at 10:00 AM - plenty of time to take Deirdre to breakfast, answer my email, and watch the Superbowl before going to bed in time for a 6:00 AM drive back to Las Vegas. Day 9, February 7, 2005: I'm in the middle of nowhere, literally. There's not a soul to be seen for miles here at the intersection of the National Trails Highway and Kelbaker Road. The nearest town is Amboy, population somewhat less than 100, although it does have an old motel and post office. I was going to take the freeway back to Las Vegas that morning, but when I reached the intersection of Highway 111 and Interstate 10 the backup was enormous, and a quick call to 1.800.427.7623, the toll-free Caltrans road information hotline, gives me the scoop I did not relish hearing: The freeway is backed up in both directions, a big-rig crash in the Eastbound lanes and a construction closure on the westbound lanes where CA 60 splits off from the I-10 and heads off through the badlands to Moreno Valley has everything tied up for miles. But I have an out. I hang a "U-ey," return to Palm Springs and head out Indian Avenue to Highway 62, which takes me through Morongo Valley, Joshua Tree and Twenty-nine Palms where I aim my car through the middle of the Mojave desert toward Amboy, Ludlow, and Baker, where I plan to pick up I-15 and cruise the rest of the way into Las Vegas. Driving through the desert is 50 miles shorter than the freeway, but it doesn't save any time because it is a two-lane back road that looks like I imagine all the roads did back before the coming of the Interstate highway system. I have a particularly bad memory of this route too. The last time I traveled it, a Ranger stopped me and I must have made his day. They don't see many cars out here, and he ticketed me for doing 103 in a 65-mile per hour zone and wrote me up for reckless driving too. I had to appear in a magistrate's court that's held once a month at the marine corps logistics base in Yermo, a wide spot in the road outside of Barstow, about half way between Palm Springs and Las Vegas. I was able to get the magistrate to drop the reckless driving charge since it appeared to be two tickets for the same offense, and he allowed me to pay my fine and attend traffic school, where I wasted an entire Saturday but came away without any of those dreaded points added to my license and no resultant increase in my insurance premium. This time I drove more conservatively: 10 mph above the posted limit, which will usually prevent you from getting ticketed in California. We're filming in a studio tonight. It's called Media Underground and it's just a mile or so from our host hotel, the Orleans. The crew has rigged, lit, and draped the sound stage with a poker table, chairs, and all the accoutrements you'd find in a real casino. From the producer's perspective, it's vastly superior to filming on the floor of a casino because there's neither ambient noise nor other distractions caused by curious bystanders and occasional drunks who inevitably poke a nose inside the shooting area to find out what's going on. Sally St. John and I are in another studio, just down the hall from the poker game, where we are connected via microphone, headsets, and four monitors that allow us to keep an eye on the action and report on it. Tonight we've have visitors, Mark Yoseloff, CEO of Shuffle Master and Brooke Dunn, the firm's Senior Vice President are on site, as are Todd Jackson and Greg Hampton from the Casino and Gaming TV Media Group. They scurry about the set and spend some time watching the players in action and chatting with Sally and I while we broadcast the tournament's "play-by-play." All of this is good news, because it probably means sponsorship for the show and distribution in the US as well as in the UK. I'm a big fan of the Shuffle Master's technology because it allows a dealer to pitch about 25 percent more hands per hour. With the plethora of break-in dealers who have been hired in the past two years to support the growing interest in poker, many of new dealers are less than proficient at shuffling cards and tend not to shuffle the stub of the deck proficiently, and Shuffle Master's technology obviates any form of shuffle-tracking at the poker table. With speed and proficiency enhanced courtesy of modern technology, I'm a big believer in using this kind of tool to make the games better as well as faster. The Bicycle Casino uses Shuffle Master and after a weekend of almost non-stop poker at the recently concluded ESCARGOT event that was held there, Shuffle Master made a believer of me and I came away convinced. As is the case in so many tournaments, it all comes down to one or two key hands. This time Edward is sucked into a big pot with a straight draw that he probably shouldn't have played, but there's dead money in the pot and he is committed to it. He completes his straight when a king falls on the river, takes a large portion of Brent's chips, and uses his commanding chip lead to bludgeon everyone else into submission. At the end of the night, Jeffrey, who brought Batman, Wonder Woman, Superman, and other superhero costumes to this event, is stripped of any super powers he might have by Edward and sent home to New Jersey. At this point, half of the ten Vegas Virgins were sent packing, evicted from the competition in this poker-meets-reality show TV program. Now we'll see some really interesting turns and twists and see who wins this event. . Day 10, February 8, 2005: Now we are five, and with a Brit facing eviction tonight there will only be four remaining players going into our day off on Wednesday. Today's task is called "Sucker's Tucker" and it's all about blind betting. A canteen is set up in Boulder City, with five foods of varying degrees of unpleasantness. Each food has a monetary value; the higher the value, the worse it is. The waitress supplies a list of these horrid specials on her blackboard. Players begin by sitting together in a pink Cadillac, and each must enter the canteen alone and decide the worst dish they will eat. Do they choose the worst of the lot, or will they only need to eat the third worst to beat their opponents? Like poker, this is a game of limited information. Players won't know what the others have chosen. Each player has a certain amount of time to eat his or her meal. Did they bite off more than they could chew? Did they go too far to win, while others settled for middle of the road fare? Any player who cannot finish the meal or becomes ill is eliminated. The American contingent is not too keen on the chow, but then none of them are facing eviction at the end of the night. For Edward, not even duck embryo or pig brains are too difficult to scarf down. He is in need of chips for tonight's tournament and figures that he's marked for eviction unless, somehow, he can win. For his cast iron stomach's performance, Edward begins the evening with 4000 chips, far more than any of his competitors. Not only that, but he bolts into a big lead when the deck runs over him at the beginning of the tournament. But somewhere in the middle stages, he runs into a bad beat or two as Allison catches a few key hands and overtakes him. Meanwhile, Donald, another Brit is slowly bleeding to death, and has to fold one incredibly weak hand after another until he is finally eliminated after going all-in in the big blind with a trey-deuce. Brent and Marilyn, two Americans who are not in jeopardy tonight, are still hanging around, with Marilyn's stack slowly growing and Brent's slowly shrinking. Then Brent is eliminated and suddenly Edward is out too after losing a hand to Marilyn. Now it's girl's night out as Marilyn and Allison play for the right to evict a Brit. Edward sits there suffering and wondering why in the world he made a sexist remark that angered both Allison and Marilyn the night before. He feels like he's all but on the plane for London. Marilyn slowly builds a small chip lead until the climactic hand occurs when Marilyn goes all in with a big pair and Allison calls with 5h-4h. Marilyn is a huge favorite but the flop turns everything topsy-turvy when three hearts fall giving Allison a flush. Marilyn is now all-in in the big blind. She survives two confrontations and chops a third pot when neither player makes any sort of hand and the board plays for a tie. But finally, almost inexorably, Allison's chip advantage takes its toll and Marilyn is eliminated. In the shocker so far, Allison, rather than eliminating Edward, who angered her with his off-the-cuff sexist remark, thinks with her head instead of her heart and evicts Donald. Everyone regarded Donald as a better poker player than Edward, and a better ladies' man too, because Donald seemed to be involved in a budding romantic relationship with Allison. Donald is shocked at Allison's decision and devastated as Bree the undertaker leads him immediately away to another hotel, there to while away the night doing whatever he wants except for having any further contact with the remaining players. He's free to enjoy Las Vegas until tomorrow, when he catches the flight to London that Edward was imagining he'd be on. Day 11, February 9, 2005: Today is a rest day for players, cast and crew, all of whom look haggard and in need of a decent, stress-free night of sleep. But it's no rest day for me. The demands of Vegas Virgins not withstanding, Deirdre and I are in the midst of buying one house and selling another. Today is the day we're supposed to sign loan documents and I had planned to fly to Palm Springs, sign on the line and fly back to Las Vegas, but instead, I let my fingers do the flying and discovered that the title company handling our escrow also has an office in Las Vegas. The title company overnights our paper work to Las Vegas where I sign them. Then they stuff the signed documents into a Federal Express package so Deirdre can sign them the following day in Palm Desert. If all goes well, we'll be the owners of a newer, bigger house in about five days time. While all of this is going on, Sherry the realtor calls to tell me she's had an offer on our condo. We're overjoyed, but propose a counter offer, which the potential buyer counters back to us. He's asking us to carry financing on ten percent of the sales price, but proposing that we do so at five percent, amortized over thirty years. We counter by suggesting a five-year loan with eight percent interest, since we're not interested in giving him what amounts to free use of our money for a long, long time. We also suggest that if he can arrange his financing elsewhere, we'll knock a few grand off the purchase price in exchange for an all-cash offer. I like our counter offer, and don't care which one he chooses. If he decides on an all-cash offer, we'll have an additional chunk of change in our hands and if we wind up acting as his bank for five years, his payment will more than cover the lease on our new car, so we're happy campers either way. I finally get to play a little poker after returning from the title company, but I spend most of the time between hands phoning all the utilities that need to be switched into our names once we take possession of the new house. After the eternal waiting times to be connected to customer service representatives at the Time-Warner cable, the electric company, Southern California Gas, Verizon, Waste Management of the Desert, the local water district, the homeowners association, Kevin the pool guy, Urbano the landscaper, and Jeff the guy who's going to paint the house after we take possession of it, I feel like I have a cell phone growing out of my ear. I'm dead tired, and the $120 I managed to win at the table feels like unjust compensation for all the time spent navigating through a half-dozen automated answering systems and the long waits that invariably ensue until you're able to talk to a real person who can take your service order and answer such routine but critical questions as, "What day to they pick up the trash? Day 12, February 10, 2005: With four players remaining, the alliances that have been made over the past week or so have all crumbled. An American will be sent packing tonight, which means that the element of choice is obviated if a Yank wins the tournament. After all, if Marilyn wins then Brent goes home, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Two Americans remain and if one wins the other goes home; it's short, sweet, and simple. But if a Brit wins, that's another story, and the winner will have a decision to make. Today's task finds the players at the Fremont Street Experience, the pedestrian walkway that links all of the downtown Las Vegas casinos with a lattice-like canopy which is the site of a massive electrical light show every evening. It's a big tourist attraction and today it's a bigger one because a tightrope has been stretched across the width of it and the four remaining Vegas virgins will have to walk across it to garner more chips for the evening's event. The farther one makes it without falling, the more chips they accrue, and if they are able to do it carrying a big medicine ball, they'll win even more chips. Instead of a net, each player is attached to a rigging that looks like a bungee cord, so if - "when" is a much better choice of words since falling is inevitable with people who have never walked a wire - they fall, they will drop about fifteen feet before the cord catches and prevents them from touching the ground. Crowds of tourists gather and begin rooting for each of the four contestants, two Brits, two Yanks, two guys, two gals. Edward, who emerged victorious in the sucker's tucker task is back at it again, and is the big winner on the wire, with Marilyn, who claims to be afraid of heights, gutting it out to finish in second place. The tournament is eventful not so much for the poker, but for the way the hands were won and lost. In about five instances the player who was in the lead on the flop and turn was run down on the river. The pivotal hand occurred after Marilyn had been eliminated by Brent who then had approximately half the chips in play. Edward was all-in when he raised before the flop with Tc-9c, Brent, who had 7c-7s reraised and was called by Allison who went all-in with Ks-8. The flop was Jh-Qh-2d, giving Edward a straight draw and Allison had two overcards to Brent's pair. With Edward and Allison both all-in, the cards are turned face up for all to see. If Brent wins, it's all over for Marilyn, because he can eliminate his two remaining opponents on the same hand. But he has some cards to dodge before he can lay claim to victory. The turn card is the Qc, which helps nobody, and thereby helps Brent by default. But the river card, the dramatic, fickle, chaotic river card, is the Kh. This miraculous card gives Edward a straight and he wins the main pot. Allison pairs the king in her hand and beats Brent for the side pot. Brent, who was one card away from victory in tonight's event has his chip count cut in two, and it's all downhill from there. A few hands later he's all-in and loses, and Edward and Allison play for the honor of selecting the Yank to send home. When Edward wins the last hand, he cannot make a decision and calls for the dealer to deal two cards each to Brent and Marilyn. The best starting hold'em hand will be the winner. Marilyn turns over her cards to reveal K-Q. Only an ace or a pair can save Brent's bacon now, but he flips over a measly 5-4 and he'll be whisked away by Bree the Undertaker, to fly back to Huntington Beach in the morning. Day 13, February 11, 2005: Today figures to be similar to last night, except this time it's a Brit who'll be leaving Las Vegas in the morning, and Allison and Edward are tense and nervous, while Marilyn is calm and relaxed. If Marilyn wins, she'll decide who goes and who stays. If Edward is victorious then it's Allison who'll be winging her way back to Leeds. If Allison holds the cards tonight Edward will be heading home to London in the morning. Marilyn has no worries. She'll play the surviving Brit tomorrow for a chance to be the winning Vegas Virgin and compete in a real poker tournament against some name players for real money the following day. But there's always another task to complete and chips to win in preparation for tonight's tournament. I'm free this morning which gives me a chance to record my weekly radio show and hold a twice-postponed interview with a newspaper reporter who's doing a piece on the explosive growth of poker. The radio show - which is a new thing for me - is a segment sandwiched into a syndicated sports-betting show called "Tipshop" that's broadcast in a number of markets nationally. The hosts talk sports for the first hour and then talk poker with me before returning to sports. Most of the talk centers around questions sent in by listeners and I'm really enjoying appearing on this show each week. The station usually calls me Thursday morning to tape the show - they can't really do it live since it's syndicated into approximately 40 markets and is aired at different times and dates, as well as streamed on line at www.tipshop.com - but since I've been away, they've had to call me in hotel rooms and on my cell phone to complete my weekly segment. After the show is taped, I've got a few hours to do something I've not had much opportunity to do since I've been in Las Vegas - play poker. The largest poker room in Las Vegas is here at the Orleans, so I walk for what seems to be an eternity, from the hotel tower to the far end of the casino to the poker room. Just as I put my name on the lists for $10-$20, $15-$30, and no-limit, I hear a lilting, Irish brogue calling out, "Lou, I'll wager you have no idea who I am." The speech is more accented and with more of a rhythmic cadence than the Dublin accent of Rachel O'Connor, so without even turning around, I say, "Seamus, if that isn't you, I'll eat my hat." I spin around and introduce myself to Seamus Hoban, whose life took him from the west coast of Ireland to the west coast of North America and now to Las Vegas, where he plays poker most days. Although we've never met, we're friends of sorts, courtesy of the Internet and lots of email conversation about poker and everything else under the sun. With a deep, warm baritone voice that would have been the envy of many an old-time radio announcer, a penchant for quoting Yeats at the drop of a hat, an ability to converse intelligently and with feeling on any number of subjects, Hoban would have made an ideal pub man, and I tell him so. He informs me that two of his sisters own a bar in Westport, Ireland, and then adds, "If you go there, you'll not have to pay for food nor drink the entire evening." Seamus had played in one of the Orleans' daily tournaments yesterday, and the guy sitting next to him was one of the Vegas Virgins, who told him that I was in town. When I asked him how the Virgin did, Seamus told me that he played too many hands and was eliminated about one hour into the event. I agreed with Seamus' assessment of his play, and told him I'd been coaching Edward about that very tendency all week, but to no avail - at least not thus far. I'm playing in the $10-$20 game not 30 minutes when my phone rings with good news. It's Sherry the realtor telling me the sale of our house is almost a done deal but the buyer hasn't yet decided which of the two alternatives he wants. I go back to the card game and am never up more than $200 or down more than $300 until I finally have to leave a small $90 winner. It doesn't seem like anything at all, after tossing around inflated house prices in my mind. At the tournament that evening, Marilyn tells me she'll try to win, but more important to her is the opportunity to scrutinize the play of Edward and Allison, since she'll face one of them in the Vegas Virgins final. The day's task took place at a Las Vegas wedding chapel. Each of the contestants speed-dated some unlikely folks: a seven-foot tall transvestite, a guy the size of Mini-Me, and a few other circus acts. Points were awarded for an ability to recall facts learned about each of them, and then there were mock wedding ceremonies conducted by an Elvis impersonator. Edward, who has become the king of tasks, racks up the chips today and starts the tournament with a nice lead over his opponents. Marilyn doesn't appear into the game tonight and is eliminated early, which gives her exactly what she wants: a chance to hone in on the play of Allison and Edward. The pressure is on the two Brits. Allison, who has an initial chip lead reverts to her earlier style of play: she is not as aggressive with her good hands as she ought to be and doesn't force Edward to make a decision for all his chips. Edward plays lots of hands, too many for his own good, because he likes seeing the flop. While Daniel Negreanu has lots of success with this style of play, Edward is more like a minor leaguer emulating the batting stance of Barry Bonds. He might hit the ball, but not as often and it's not going nearly as far. Still, Edward wins a couple of crucial hands and eliminates Allison, who is collected by Bree the Undertaker, whisked away to a hotel on the strip and a flight home to Leeds in the morning. Day 14, February 12, 2005: Wow! A day off. The phone rings early in the morning and it's Sherry the realtor telling me the prospective buyer will take our counter offer as long as we agree on a 45 day escrow period and give him eight days to decide whether he wants to bring an all-cash offer to the table or would prefer that I carry ten percent of the purchase price for five years. I call Deirdre and wake her with the good news. She agrees with that the price is good, better than we expected, and the terms are fine regardless of whatever option he selects. Now I can play poker with my head free. But not until after I run down to the Orleans business center, pick up a 17-page fax which I read, sign, and initial in a gazillion places and fax back to Sherry the realtor. It's the buyer's offer to me, and my signature is the acceptance. Deal done. This has been pretty cool, if you ask me. We buy and close on one house and sell another one all in the same week. Fellow author Jim Brier is in the cardroom and we play $15-$30 hold'em - the biggest game spread at the Orleans - until it breaks, go have lunch, and return to play $10-$20 with a half kill. Jim and I both walk away winners and I decide to buy into the nightly no-limit hold'em tournament, with horrible results. Midway through the second level I go all-in with a set of queens and lose to a straight on the river. I take the one rebuy and an hour later I'm short stacked with blinds of $150-$300, an A-9 in hand, and a board that's J-9-6 of mixed suits. A guy to my right makes a small, probing bet that has "steal" written all over it. I decide it's now or never and push my $1,500 all-in, where I am cold-called by a guy two seats to my left. I'm dead, I say to myself. While the guy who made the probing bet could have hand anything, anyone cold calling a bet and an all-in raise must have at least A-J, wouldn't you think? My two opponents check to the river, and I'm eliminated. But not in the way I reckoned. The guy who made the probing bet did have a lesser hand than mine. He was holding 9-8. But the guy who cold called my all-in bet held K-T and won the pot when a king fell on the river. He was actually in there against a bet and an all-in raise with an inside straight draw and two overcards. Not only that, they initial bettor was not all-in, and he could have punished the K-T had he a stronger hand. And I wasn't going anywhere either. I was all-in and was going to see all five cards with a chance to improve too. But that's poker. I was eliminated and trudged off to my room to watch Sports Center and go to sleep. The long days of filming, buying and closing on one house, selling another and dealing with innumerable phone calls as well as offers and counter-offers flying back and forth over the fax machines, and even some poker, are beginning to take their toll. I'm a whipped puppy right now and intend to sleep like a corpse. Day 15, February 13, 2005: Two players remain. Neither Edward nor Marilyn wanted a "class" because they each thought that the questions they'd ask would give away too much information about their plans and strategies for tonight's game. I suggest meeting with each of them individually, and promise not to reveal either player's plans to the other. I also plan to talk them through a few nuances of head-to-head competition. We've been filming the poker master classes at a third site, the Gold Coast, where we have a small room set up for us in the hotel's convention center. All that's required on that location is for me to be wired with a clip on microphone. There's also a table and flip chart for my use. A cameraman, sound guy, Sean Kneale, the Director, and occasionally Executive Producer Paul Gilheany complete the staffing. Players are met individually and I ask them to characterize their opponent's playing style, which we briefly discuss. Then I ask them to design a strategy to use tonight, and each player does a pretty good job of coming up with a game plan for the evening's tournament. Marilyn is beginning tonight's event with fewer chips than Edward, but in a critical hand she ties Edward to a flop where he picked up bottom pair while Marilyn holds top pair and Edward pays the price for it. Now essentially even, the tournament is a sew-saw battle with neither Edward nor Marilyn gaining an edge, although Marilyn retains a slight chip lead. The critical hand occurs when Edward is dealt Q-T and Marilyn plays J-7 in an unraised pot. The flop is J-J-T and Edward bets. Marilyn comes over the top and Edward reraises all-in. The uneventful turn and river cards bring no relief and Marilyn is the Vegas Virgins champion. It's Edward' birthday, so rather than having Bree cart him off to the other hotel, a bunch of us meet at the Alligator Bar to celebrate, and to toast our new champion. Day 16, February 14, 2005: I meet Marilyn early in the morning to help her plot some strategy for her tournament debut against a coterie of really good, really skilled, knowledgeable poker players. There's no way she can hope to match them in skill, experience, or know-how, but she does has one open door to try and wedge herself through, although it is admittedly a slim opening. I suggest to Marilyn that her opponents will probably underestimate her, and will see her as a complete newbie who is lucky to know one card from another. In her opponents minds, that probably means they will view her as someone who seldom if ever bluffs, plays too many hands, is passive with the hands she plays, and goes too far with weak holdings. Because they are likely to view her this way, Marilyn has a license to bluff, at least a chance to get away with a bluff once or twice as long as if she picks her opportunities propitiously, and does so after establishing an image as a player who would never bluff - in other words, if she plays into her opponent's preconceptions of how most beginners play poker she might have a license to steal - at least a pot or two. She'll need to do this and have a little short-term luck to stand a chance, but at least we've established a game plan she can follow. The rest of the day is a "pamper day" for Marilyn. She's moved into a penthouse suite, sent via limo to the Forum Shops at Caesar's Palace, followed by a trip to the spa. Dinner that evening is at the Eiffel Tower restaurant at the Paris Hotel and Casino. Marilyn, Sally, and I are seated near a window that provides a terrific view of the Bellagio's dancing waters and the crew films us having dessert and toasting Marilyn's victory as the Vegas Virgin champion. Day 17, February 15, 2005: The tournament in which Marilyn will confront real poker players for the first time is this evening, and as I walk through the Orleans casino, I see the crew putting the final touches on the set they've constructed. There's a poker table for the contestants along with various lighting rigs and sound booms, a production control area, and a table with four monitors about 45 feet away, where Sally and I will comment on the game. I meet briefly with Marilyn and give her a pep talk. I suggest playing cautiously from the outset unless she's dealt a really big hand, and just try to survive until she finds a good spot to run her bluff. Then I meet up with Matt Lessinger and Amy Calistri. Matt and Amy are friends of mine as well as outstanding poker players and terrific writers, and they'll be two of Marilyn's competitors in tonight's tournament. We have lunch and talk about our lives and poker, and swap whatever dishy rumors we've heard recently over the poker tables. It's great to meet Matt in person. Although we've talked on the phone and both play in Royal Vegas Poker's weekly "experts" tournaments, where players can win cash bonuses for knocking out either Matt or me, or any of the other five experts, we've never met. Amy and I are old friends from Poker School Online. I used to be the Dean of that online learning academy and Amy is still on its faculty. Both of us also write for Canadian Poker Magazine and will be conducting poker a series of poker seminars in a few weeks time in Toronto, Edmonton, Calgary, and Vancouver. At this point, I'm more than ready for tonight's event. Two feelings consume me. I hope Marilyn does herself proud, and I can't wait for this shoot to be over so I can leave for home tomorrow morning. Marilyn plays well, but our plans founder. She picks up a big part of a flop, but Amy picks up a bigger part of it, goes on to make a full house, and takes a substantial portion of Marilyn's chips. Against a group of experienced players, she's first out, although to her credit, none of her competitors can believe she's only been playing poker for two-and-a-half weeks. She played well, made terrific decisions, got caught with two hands you're guaranteed to lose some money with, and was eliminated. Nevertheless, she's overjoyed when I present her with a big check for winning the Vegas Virgins competition. I'm "pokered out," and the long days and long evenings filming, while buying and selling a house in my spare moments are enough for me. Still, I know that if the show is successful and I'm asked back for a second season, I'll be there in a heartbeat. I might even get a chance to play more poker next time. Afterword - December 2005: In the 10 months since Vegas Virgins was filmed, it's aired in the United Kingdom, but has not yet been seen in the USA or Canada. Because of that, the names remain changed because I'm assuming that most of you reading this will not have seen the show. If you have, you should easily be able to correlate the real names with the pseudonyms I've used here. Here are some other updates that occurred between February and Christmas 2005.
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