AC

AC: Atlantic City. Call it what you will. A poor man’s sin city, New Sodom, whatever, everyone knows the roots of this marina in the pearls of the Jersey shore were built on sin, gambling and booze. Three of my all time favorite things, hands down. The other week, I was propositioned by Ethan Schapira to join himself and Scott “The Shark” Spivak for a few days of fun and no sun in the poker room at the Borgata. I had a few days to roll over so I decided to join along for the shenanigans. We decided to add Mad Maxx to this roster, partially because he has a car, mostly because he’s trying to make a living playing poker professionally. Regardless, we had our roster formed. The finest of the finest. When I jumped in the car, I felt like those kids from MIT who took down the entire blackjack game in Vegas. 10 minutes into the trip, we found ourselves in an intense conversation debating the moral ethics behind the “seat belt” law. Why are all four of us single again? After one chicken salad sandwich, three menthol smokes, an obligatory hour long conversation about poker philosophy and an attempted nap while Max’s CD’s were blaring, we pulled into the Borgata and high tailed straight to the poker room. For Max, Ethan and Scott, they all seemed like they had just come in for their homecoming. It was like they came back to the place that shaped them as men with a new outlook on life and a whole head full of knowledge to bestow on the feeble minded. You could have blindfolded those three and not only would they have found their way there, they would have been able to do it while mildly sprinting. We got down to the poker room, and Ethan acquainted me with all his spots he knew too well. Where the snack bar was, how to get a Borgata card, which floor waitresses put the most glitter between their boobs. Eventually I got some chips, and sat down at the $3-$6 Limit Hold ‘Em table. I flopped a full house, Jacks over Aces on the first hand and slowly built up my stack. I don’t know what happened, if it was the 40 or so Corona’s I had, the oxygen pumping in the casino or just the utter awe of how bad players were down there, but I didn’t move for about 14 consecutive hours. I sat next to some dude named Ken from Oklahoma for about 13 of those hours. He was nice guy, but horrible player, which further proved the theory that the nicer the guy, the worse the poker player. Finally, around 4am, we retreated to our palace room in the Borgata. It’s amazing, they have a poker rate if your party logs 8 hours of play, where you get the $200 room for $40. Lets just say we had that covered between the 4 of us 8 hours into the trip. Now, I have often wondered, what is it about Atlantic City that keeps drawing me back? The last time I went, I lost $700 playing craps and witnessed Paul wake up butt naked next to Jay Camhi the next morning. Gambling is like the mafia, once you’re in, you can’t go out. I don’t know who I was fooling when I proclaimed I was never going to AC again after the previous debacle. It’s like I’m Matt Damon in Rounder, where I think I’ve kicked it, but really I had no chance to beat it totally. And it’s not like I’m sort of gambling addict. I just enjoy the bright light, the service, taking down a huge pot that the next time you raise a bet, everyone folds out of respect. I enjoy the kinship, of watching Ethan and Scott and Max on their A game and how they approach it. Max and I sat next to each other for about 12 hours the next day, and basically played each other hands when one was out. The one thing I didn’t enjoy was sharing a bed with Spivak the second night where he basically slept diagonally on the bed while I had to implement the one cheek on, one cheek off approach. Ohhh, almost forgot, I won $400 there mostly from placing in 6th place in the tournament I entered. That on top of the $650 I won for finishing 3rd at the Ace Point club tournament the previous week (which both victories earned me the nickname “Mr. Thursday Night”), I think I’ve justified a few more AC trips in the near future…