The Hall Pass

You bring something nice to wear...

As a newlywed, I have learned that there are three special words I can say that will send my wife's heart aflutter. No matter what time it is, where she is, or what she's doing, she will always stop in her tracks to hear me say, "I love you."

I know it's incredibly sappy, but I am the same way.

There are three words that will turn me to complete mush, and no matter what time of day it is, where I am, or what I am doing, I will stop dead in my tracks. Of course, I am referring to the three most magical words:

"Vegas, baby, Vegas."

Las Vegas: The Ultimate Hall Pass Destination.

I have always loved Vegas and have probably spent entirely too much time there for someone who has never lived within a thousand miles of the city limits. Like many of my friends, I never really need to be convinced to make a pilgrimage to the Nevada desert. In fact, I can remember past conversations with my friends going something like this:

Friend: We should do something next weekend.
Me: I am going to be in DC for work next week.
Friend: How about Vegas?
Me: Hmm... I am flying from Memphis to DC, but I am pretty sure we have to fly through Las Vegas - I'll be there!

So, imagine my surprise and joy when my wife came to me a few weeks back and said "My cousin is getting married at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas and I think we should go."

Twist my arm.

Within minutes, I had booked two tickets to Vegas and a hotel room for three nights. I am not even sure she had finished talking.

Seriously, is there anything, other than the immediate potential for sex, that motivates a guy more than arranging a trip to Vegas? And, is there anything a guy is more proficient at than planning a trip to Vegas? I mean, most of my guy friends have trouble putting one foot in front of the other, but if you give them five minutes to plan a trip to Vegas, they'll have everything booked and be at the airport in four.

So, last Thursday, I headed out to Vegas with my wife, who had never been to Vegas before, and her entire family. I couldn't put my finger on it exactly, but something told me that this would be a slightly different trip than my last trip to Vegas in February, when I had my bachelor party weekend. A weekend, by the way, that left me completely incapacitated for the entire following week.

I was excited, though. It's not often you get to go to Vegas with someone who has never been before. Sure, it means less gambling time and more time walking around the strip, but I was cool with that. And going with my wife? Sure, it meant less gawking, less debauchery and more time walking around the strip, but I was cool with that.

My plan was simple - fly out about 12 hours earlier than my wife, play in the Mirage's Thursday poker tournament and get my poker fix for the trip, and then settle down into host mode for the weekend, which is how, for the most part, the weekend played out.

I was bounced from the Mirage tournament around 10pm on Thursday when my ace-king was outdrawn by a guy's ace-five. As an aside, I heard a funny new name for the starting hand of Ace-King. Most poker players know it as “Big Slick” but a friend of mine told me last night that he heard it called “Anna Kournikova” because it looks great but doesn’t win that often.

Following the tournament, my wife met me at the Mirage and, after checking out the white tigers, we began cruising the strip. Though irritated by the bad beat and the 100-degree weather, I was intent on showing my wife the absurdities of Vegas (well, at least some of them).

We began with the basics - a walk down the strip to see the erupting Volcano at the Mirage and the Pirate show at Treasure Island. The volcano is a staple of Las Vegas and is always great to watch, but have any of you seen the newly re-vamped Treasure Island show?

For those neophytes out there, Treasure Island made its mark on the strip years ago by creating this large-scale pirate ship battle in front of the casino. It used to be fairly entertaining - lots of explosions, actors diving into the waters below and a finale that included sinking one of the pirate ships. Well, about a year ago, Treasure Island was essentially re-branded, as the marketing department apparently wanted to "sex" the place up a bit.

So, like an NBA player searching for a nickname, Treasure Island became "T.I." and the pirate show became a siren show, in which a ship of hot women seduce a ship full of hard-up pirates before ultimately sinking the men's ship with their gift of song. No, I am not making this up.

As soon as the show ended, my wife looked at me and said, "That's one of the worst things I have ever seen." And, she was right. It's absolutely horrible. In addition to just sucking in general, one of the songs the sirens sing gets stuck in your head like Suzanne Vega's "Tom's Diner". For those of you who have endured this show, I am confident that "you take a little bit of honey and a whole lot of sugar and you shake it, shake it up," is running through your head right now.

We spent some more time walking around the strip, checking out various casinos, and then ultimately went to bed fairly early (by Vegas standards) to be ready for the following day. Now, as an avid sports gambler, there is one drawback to Vegas - its presence on the West coast. That means, in order to bet the early baseball, football, or basketball games, you have to be up by 9am, or earlier.

Fortunately for me, my wife was more than willing to wake me up at 6am because she couldn't sleep. So, I went down to the sportsbook and put my bets in for the day. I bet on a couple of baseball games and spent most of the day playing in a soft no-limit poker game at Harrah's. The day was largely uneventful, as I was even on my baseball bets and was card-dead at the poker table.

Friday night, we joined the rest of my wife's family for the rehearsal dinner at the Venetian, which was a lot of fun. I have to say, though, that being in Vegas with your in-laws is an interesting dynamic. I love my in-laws and we get along well. But, as the conversations about Vegas arose, it's hard to know just how much to share. More thought has to be put into questions like, "Have you been to Vegas before?" (far too often) and "Do you like to gamble?" (umm, a little).

Following the rehearsal dinner, I did experience a Vegas first. My wife's younger sister wanted us all to take a gondola ride at the Venetian. I tried to avoid this event, but I ultimately sucked it up, got in the boat and silently prayed no one I know was at the Venetian that night. I seemingly emerged from the ride unscathed.

Rather than bore you with a play-by-play of the rest of the weekend, let's look at just a few final thoughts/observations about Vegas:

1) For men, normal sleep/rest requirements simply do not apply in Vegas. Remember in Superman II, when Superman enters his Fortress of Solitude to regain his strength and become immune to the weakening power of kryptonite? That's Vegas for guys. On every trip to Vegas, when my flight touches down, something triggers in my brain that I am not to sleep for the next 72 hours, and my body acts accordingly. I've known guys to make it in Vegas for five-straight days on less than five hours of sleep - total. Women, for the most part, are largely unable to do this - normal sleep patterns apply.

2) The only thing worse than getting killed on a craps table is getting killed on a craps table while you are listening to people at the table across the casino screaming and cheering.

3) Is it a law of mathematics that, when you're holding a 17 in blackjack against a dealer showing a six, and the guy at third base hits his 13, the next card will always be a ten, and the card after that will always give the dealer 20? I think it is.

4) The most difficult thing about going to Vegas with my wife, other than waking up at the crack of dawn (remember, normal sleep rules apply to wives in Vegas), is keeping my eyes forward at all times and my head off the swivel when walking up and down the strip. I mean, let's face it, Vegas is packed with insanely hot chicks. As my friend McNeal says, for a married man, it's like the world's greatest museum of women - beautiful things everywhere to look at, but not to touch. As a married man in Vegas with my wife, it's torture. While walking the strip with my wife, I am taking part in conversations with her, but the entire time, my brain is issuing a constant warning of "Eyes front. Eyes front. Eyes front," with the occasional addition of "Don't stare at those breasts. Don't stare at those breasts." It's like a civil defense warning going off in my head. And, on occasion, when I do get caught staring, I am forced to say things like "Can you believe how trashy that woman looked?" Of course, my fingers are crossed behind my back.

5) Reason #567 that I love my wife: We were walking back to the hotel on Saturday night when we came across this dude outside of The Barbary Coast, apparently engaged in some sort of hazing activity for a frat. His task was simple: get as many chicks to sign his shirt with their names and phone numbers as possible. My wife looked at me and said "I have to go put Alon's (one of my friends) name and number on that shirt. So, Alon, if you're reading this, tell Chad "Hi" when he calls.

6) The only good part about taking the red-eye back from Vegas? Seeing all the strippers flying home in their sweats and low-cut t-shirts, with no makeup on at all (Note: some need the makeup. I am simply referring to the hot strippers who can also pull off the baseball cap and no makeup look). I am not a fashion expert by any means, but thank goodness for Juicy Couture and their low-rider sweats for stripp, umm, women. Seriously, a great way to pass the time in the airport is to play the "Stripper/Not a Stripper?" game with your friends and family. Not that it would ever apply to me, but I wonder if any of my friends have run into a stripper at the airport that they had seen out the night before? If so, feel free to post the story anonymously. 

Well, that's all I have for now. I need to go take a 30-minute shower to wash the Vegas off of me and think about my next trip to Vegas.

Which is in two weeks.

Anything that flies that far oughta have a stewardess on it, don't ya think?

It seems that a day can't go by in the sports world without some sort of major controversy that is accompanied by an avalanche of sportswriters and bloggers getting on their respective soapboxes and bitching and moaning about said controversy.

Yesterday, we had a host of these controversies that seemed to hog precious minutes of SportsCenter:

• The 19,000th "Lance Armstrong definitely used steroids" story, this time with the lovely and very descriptive accounts of how the French are now testing his frozen urine from back in 1999. I mean, I am all for testing, but come on, we freeze urine now?
• The second or third story about how Jeff Kent allegedly hates black people, this time coming from current teammate Milton Bradley (not of board game fame);
• The first-ever story about the Louisville football Cardinals receiving a first-place vote in the preseason AP poll from Joe Giglio, of The News & Observer of Raleigh, NC. Not to take anything away from Joe (or Louisville), but when he squared off with Trev Alberts on the Dan Patrick Show yesterday, I found myself completely agreeing with Trev. I then questioned my entire value system as a rational human being, but ultimately came to the same conclusion – Trev was right, which can’t bode well for Joe.
• The 23,000th story about whether Terrell Owens will play hard for the Eagles this year or whether they will bench him, trade him, etc. I have to say that, even though T.O. was responsible for the greatest sports moment I witnessed in person (game-winning catch against Green Bay in the 1998 Playoffs, he needs to just shut his mouth, play hard, and quit being such a baby.

Anyway, with all of these controversies and opinions floating about, I thought it was time for me to get on my soapbox and bitch and moan about an issue that has been plaguing major league baseball for some time now.

I am talking about major league managers and their respective “closers” blowing saves to cost me my sports bets. (Thought it was gonna be about steroids, didn’t you?)

Editors Note: The following is the first segment of The Hall Pass to deal with gambling. As football season approaches, there will undoubtedly be more postings about gambling, including “Picks of the Week.” Please keep in mind that all information is for entertainment purposes only, and if you think you have a gambling problem, you’re probably right and should either seek help or find a bookie. And don’t forget to eat your milk, drink your greens, get eight hours of drugs and don’t do sleep.

I have long maintained that “the closer” has become one of the most overrated positions in baseball. I believe this for a few reasons:

1. The “save,” which only became a statistical category in 1969, has become vastly overrated by managers, players and fans as a primary indication of a pitcher’s dominance or skill, and as a necessary component of winning each individual game;
2. With 30 teams in MLB today, pitching has become diluted. Most people focus on the weakening of each team’s five-man starting pitching staff, but I believe the dilution has significantly affected bullpens as well; and
3. If you are to argue that “closing” a game is a specialized skill, then you have to consider that few pitchers are groomed as closers these days (notable exceptions: Chad Cordero and Huston Street). Many closers are converted to the position after struggling as a starter (Jason Isringhausen, Dustin Hermanson) or are coming back from a surgery or injury (John Smoltz (a success story), Curt Schilling).

So, why do I care about this so much? I am tired of watching managers blow games just because they feel compelled to bring in their closer, even if the circumstances dictate otherwise. And yes, I care because, in many situations, the blown save has cost me money. Let’s look at a particularly painful loss from last night:

The Toronto Blue Jays, riding a four-game losing streak, invaded the Bronx last night to take on the Yankees in the first game of a three-game series. Josh Towers, who has pitched well this year for the Jays despite his 10-9 record, was squaring off against the newly-rejuvenated Al Leiter, whom the Yankees picked up a few weeks back.

The Yankees went into the game as a sizable favorite (-160) given their recent run, during which they’ve won nine out of their last 12 games. Though it’s difficult to tell these days which Al Leiter will show up, I thought there was good value in taking the Jays at +150, given Leiter’s inconsistency.

The game was a close one and I could tell that, by the fifth inning, it would come down to the bullpens. For the first seven innings, Leiter and Towers engage in a “classic pitching duel” (by the way, has anyone else noticed that announcers can never just call it a pitching duel? It always has to be “classic”), in which Towers marginally out duels Leiter and leaves the game in the eighth with a chance for the victory, as the Jays cling to a 3-2 lead.

To summarize, both bullpens give up some runs in the eighth, and the two teams head to the ninth inning deadlocked in a 3-3 tie. So what happens? Cue the music…bring in the closers.

The Yankees turn to Mariano Rivera in the ninth (the best closer of the past 10 years, and, some would argue, the best of all-time), in a non-save situation. Inexplicably, Rivera has struggled of late, and his troubles continued last night, as he gave up a run on a two-out single by Reed Johnson.

So, the Jays head to the bottom of the ninth inning, with victory in sight. As expected, Jays manager John Gibbons makes the call to the bullpen and summons his closer, Miguel Batista. Batista, a former starting pitcher, was converted to closer this year and is known for having an extremely wide variety of pitches and arm angles and for blowing every game in which I bet on the Blue Jays.

I see him come into the game and I know the game and my money is severely at risk. To make matters worse, the first batter Batista is going to face is Hideki Matsui, who is 6 for 10 lifetime against Batista. Six for 10!!!!!!!! That’s not a batting average – it’s a shooting percentage in basketball or a QB completion percentage in football!

Now, I am 100% confident that Gibbons had this information at his disposal – he HAD to have known that Matsui owns Batista. So why not leave in Justin Speier, who had struck out 2 of the 4 batters he faced in the 8th to face Matsui????? Or better yet, because Matsui has had previous some success against Speier, bring in reliever Vinnie Chulk, a reliever who retired Matsui in Monday’s game and against whom Matsui is 1 for 7 lifetime????

Instead, Gibbons looks to Batista – the human match to Matsui’s gas can.

Why, you ask? The answer, of course: “Because, he’s the closer.”

And, sure enough, Matsui takes a 1-2 pitch from Batista and absolutely drills it into the right field stands. The ball got out so fast, I thought time was going to reverse. Game tied - now it’s time for Batista to really get down to business and blow the game.

After retiring Jason Giambi, Batista walks Jorge Posada. I can actually here the music staff at Yankees stadium cueing up “New York, New York.”

After actually coming back to strike out Tony Womack, Batista walks Robinson Cano. The announcers start prepping their notes for the post-game wrap-up.

Gibbons then decides to load the bases by intentionally walking Derek Jeter, and thus, the stage is set: bases loaded, two outs, tie ballgame, and Batista staring in to face Felix Escalona, a lifetime .205 hitter.

Batista gets ahead of Escalona 0-2 and it’s looking like he might get out of the inning. That was, until a good friend of mine from New York, whom I had been on the phone with since Rivera gave up the lead in the ninth (and who was also watching the game), chimes in with: “Who the hell is this Escalona guy? Are you telling me the Yankees couldn’t find anyone else to pinch hit in this situation?”

Needless to say, I didn’t need to watch anymore. I thanked my buddy for putting the hex on the game and asked him to reimburse me for my wager. He apologized for the comment, but refused to repay me. And, of course, as I was bitching at him for the comment, Batista gives up a line-drive single to Escalona, and the Jays lose the game.

I cannot tell you how many times this seems to happen. Managers go to their closers in the ninth, regardless of the game situation, just because that’s become the right thing to do. Sure, there are some closers who have earned the right to close every game – but there aren’t many of them.

So, the next time you see Batista or Chris Reitsma or Braden Looper blow a save in the ninth, check the box score and see if it made sense to actually bring them into the game. And also keep in mind that yours truly probably lost money on the game.

The Summer of George Rolls On...

A LAST LOOK BACK AT MADDEN 2006

Let me start this week by saying thank you to those of you who posted comments last week or emailed me with feedback about the first posting of The Hall Pass. The responses ranged from “you have way too much time on your hands” to “no wonder you don’t have a job right now.” However, the most common question I got was “Well, how was the actual game?”

Well, sadly, Madden 2006 was the first sports video game that made me feel old. Many of you may have already read reviews of the game that specifically refer to this year’s new feature, “QB Vision Control”, which requires you to actually manage each quarterback’s field of vision while performing all of the other functions you are required to master for each play.

Why did it make me feel old? It was just way too complicated. I am a big fan of realism in sports games. With Madden, I simply want the graphics to look as real as possible, the updated rosters and skill levels of the players and teams to be as accurate as possible, and the game play to be challenging enough that each game doesn’t end in a 98-91 overtime thriller.

EA clearly thought the new “vision control” would add a dimension of realism to the game – the same type of realism that the incredibly flawed “Hitter’s Eye” was supposed to add to MVP Baseball 2005. In both cases, the new functionality was just too much. Moving forward, EA just needs to keep it simple: updated rosters, better graphics, and occasional hall-of-fame add-ons like making Gretzky’s head bleed in NHL ’96.

Fortunately, for me and the rest of the Madden purists out there, you can turn off these new features in each game and enjoy them as they were meant to be played.

THE WORLD SERIES OF POKER...SORT OF

I am sure that many of you thought that, when I started my own blog, there would be an inordinate amount of poker talk, especially during my Summer of George, to correspond with the inordinate amount of poker I have been/will be playing during my time off from work. Well, you are partly right, as poker will be the focus of today’s posting, but probably will not be a core subject of any future postings, unless of course, it’s to let you know when I have made a final table that will be aired on ESPN.

Regardless of the planets aligning to give me my Summer of George, I had always planned to take some vacation time in August to play in the World Series of Poker (WSOP) Circuit Event in Tunica, MS (about one hour from my house). For those neophytes out there, the WSOP is a month-long series of tournaments held in Las Vegas every year (usually in April) that culminates with the main $10,000 buy-in, no-limit hold’em poker event. Each year, the winner of the main event is crowned “World Champion” and is awarded the coveted championship bracelet and a boatload of cash (this year’s winner took home $7.5M).

Due to the recent explosion in popularity that poker has seen, the WSOP organizers decided to take the show on the road this year and have a series of “Circuit Events” – two-week events that take place at various Harrah’s casinos throughout the country (Reno, Tahoe, New Orleans, etc.). These events, which usually are comprised of about 12 smaller tournaments, also culminate with a $10,000 buy-in, no-limit hold’em championship. The prize pool for the championship event is significantly smaller than the main event at the WSOP (about $500,000) and the winner receives a championship ring instead of a bracelet.

Last Thursday at 12 noon, the WSOP Circuit kicked off in Tunica, with a $300 buy-in, no-limit hold’em tournament. With my entry ticket in hand, I entered the tournament floor (yes, the Grand Casino has devoted almost an entire floor of the casino to this event) at 11:45am on Thursday to find 872 others vying for a share of the $254,000 prize pool. I knew that, in order to finish in the money of this tournament (they were paying 81 players) it would take a lot of energy and patience, neither of which I was long on, as I had gotten a horrible night’s sleep the night before.

I began the tournament seated at a table in the back of the main room, which was a good thing for two reasons: 1) It was freezing cold in the back room, and thus easier to stay alert/awake, and 2) my table wouldn’t break for a while, which meant that, if I could get good reads on the players at my table, I might be able to use the information against them for a while.

When I got to my seat, I quickly recognized two of the players at the table, both of whom are very aggressive players and neither of whom I enjoy playing against. I had decided my strategy for the day would be to play as few hands as possible early in the tournament, let the bad players eliminate themselves for a while, and then play solid, aggressive poker as the tournament progressed.

As an aside, I decided to try listening to music during the early stages of this tournament – a tactic I had never tried before. Usually, I subscribe to the theory that you need to be able to observe all sights and sounds at a poker table, but, given how tired I was, I thought that listening to music might actually help me stay alert.

The cards went in the air at exactly noon, but I didn’t play a hand until I had my first big blind (by the way, I am writing this as if you understand the basics of poker – if you don’t and you don’t care about poker, I suggest you probably stop reading this article. If you don’t and you want to learn, I suggest you pick up one of David Sklansky’s hold’em strategy books). Anyway, back to my big blind hand:

I am in the $25 big blind with a pair of queens. The player in first position calls, the player in second position raises to $125 and everyone else folds to me. Now this is an interesting situation. I have a premium hand, so I might not want to run either of the players out of the hand at this point. I don’t necessarily want them drawing at aces or kings, but because I thought they might be sharing overcards, (thus making my hand even stronger), I decided to call. The player in first position also calls.

The dealer flops K-Q-7 with two diamonds on the board – a great flop for me. I check and the first player bets $200. The second player folds and I, content to win the pot right then in case the guy who bet had a flush draw, raise to $700. The original bettor debates and then mucks his hand.

I am off to the races.

I will not bore you all with a hand-by-hand recap of my entire tournament, but I must highlight one more hand and then, of course, tell you how it all turns out. Let’s look at the second big hand of the day for me, though:

I am on the button (meaning, I am last to act after the flop), with the A-6 of hearts. Not a great hand, by any stretch, but given that five people limped into the pot in front of me, I decided to call, as did the two blinds. The flop comes J-10-3, all of hearts! I try not to react, given that I have just flopped the nuts in a seven-way pot and am simply hoping that my monster hand will get paid off by one of the other, unsuspecting players at the table.

As expected, everyone in early position checks. The action falls to the seven seat, which is occupied by a younger kid, who looks like he’s playing in one of his first tournaments. He decides to bet $200. Given that I have the nuts at this point, it’s now my job to figure out how I can get the rest of his chips.

I can only put him on one of three, maybe four hands that would enable him to make that $200 bet. He’s either:

• Got a small flush already (which would be great);
• Flopped a set (three jacks, 10s or 3s – all possibilities, with the 3s really the only strong possibility because he would’ve raised pre-flop with the other two hands);
• Has two pair and he was just taking a stab at the pot; or
• On a complete steal.

In any situation, the only thing I would remotely be scared of was the board pairing and putting a possible full house on the board.

I decide he has a small flush or a set, and decide to call his $200 bet, with a little acting involved, to make it look like I was still on a draw (to him, I wanted it to look like I had a smaller flush or, even better, that I had the ace of hearts “dry” – meaning I needed another heart to make my hand).

The turn card is a 10 of diamonds. The kid bets $300 this time. I decided it was time to raise, mainly because if he was on some sort of draw, or had flopped a set, there was no way I’d get paid off on the river. So, I raise his $300 to $800 and he immediately goes all-in! I double-check my cards, and push in all my chips. He had the KQ of hearts and my play had worked – he had put me on the ace of hearts dry, and he was now drawing dead.

The kid looked heartbroken, as he became the first casualty of our table. The funniest part to me, however, was the song playing on my I-Pod during this hand. Though it’s hard to even type because it seems too ridiculous, the song was L.L. Cool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out.” I swear I did not make this up.

I won another huge pot about an hour later, and then, really didn’t play many hands for the next few hours. I basically sat back and waited for opportune times to bluff – all of which were successful, as I never had to show down a hand.

As the hours went on and we were nearing the dinner break, I began to realize that we were getting close to the money, and that, if I could have $15K-$20K in chips before the dinner break, I’d have a great shot at finishing high in this tournament. However, I lost a medium-size pot right before the break (my A-10 suited lost to pocket 5s) and I went into the dinner break with about $12K in chips, with only 115 players remaining.

After a quick meal, we returned to our seats. I really felt that, even with only $12K in chips, I was in a good situation, as all of the players at my table, except one, were easily readable. One guy was a bit crafty, but the others (especially the chip leaders) all looked at their cards before it was their turn and all had demonstrable tells that gave away whether they had good hands or not. The problem was they kept being dealt monster hands! One of the guys, in particular, seemed to catch every break, as he once was caught bluffing with the 4-7 of spades and ended up catching a flush on the river to eliminate a gentlemen who had called the pre-flop bluff with pocket kings. Ouch.

For the record, Mr. 4-7 of spades ended up winning the tournament and $66,000.

It didn’t take long before we were down to 81 players and “in the money.” I definitely was excited when we got to that point, as this was the first major tournament (500 people or more) in which I had finished in the money. I have made some good money over the past few years winning or finishing at the final tables of smaller tournaments, but never anything big.

I hovered around $20K in chips for a while by stealing a few sets of blinds and by bluffing one medium sized pot. But with the blinds at $1500/$3000 and the antes at $400, I was rapidly running out of time. Finally, at 11pm, after 11 hours of play and, with only $10K in chips left, I went all-in with the J-8 of hearts when I was in the $3000 blind. I was called by one of the chip leaders who had an unsuited Q-10 – a weak hand, but certainly better than my J-8. The board missed us both, and I was eliminated in 41^st place.

For my troubles, I received $735. Sure, it’s a small amount to win for outlasting 832 other players during an 11-hour tournament run, but it’s still a nice chunk of change. I have definitely won more money in smaller tournaments, but for me, it was like one of those Mastercard commercials:

• Buy-in for your first World Series of Poker Circuit Event: $300
• Outlasting 832 of the 873 players in the tournament: $735
• Getting listed on cardplayer.com for your finish: PRICELESS

Seriously, check it out:

http://www.cardplayer.com/poker-tournaments/event.php?id=2596&screen=result

Welcome to The Hall Pass...

Welcome to The Hall Pass! Over the coming months and years (at least until I get a book deal or my wife kills me), I will be writing about nothing but "guy" stuff: sports, poker, gambling, movies ("guy" movies), video games, and more. I hope you find the content funny, educational, and in some cases, profitable (although all information pertaining to poker and gambling are for informational purposes only). So without further ado, let's see where today's Hall Pass takes us.

SUMMER OF GEORGE

Before I dive into the heart of today's column, let me provide a little context around why today is the day I chose to begin my blogging career. Though confidentiality prohibits me from releasing all of the details, let's just say I was a little surprised two weeks ago, when my boss called me and said, "Todd, I have great news...we've discussed it during Executive Staff, and we've decided that it's time for you to start working on your blogging career."

Now, you might think that, as an aspiring writer, I would have been psyched by this news. However, since I was working at a software company that, upon searching the corporate directory, did not have any departments listed as "writing" or "blogging," I was none too pleased.

So, after doing a little more analysis of my manager’s comments, I quickly realized that, for the first time in five years, I was unemployed. And, I was pretty damn psyched about it, for, I had a plan: I would take a month off before beginning another job, and, like our friend, George Costanza, I would embark upon my Summer of George!

As a service to those non-Seinfeld fans reading this, the Summer of George refers to the Seinfeld episode in which the Yankees fire George and give him a 3-month severance package. He then informs Jerry that he is going to spend the three months really doing something with his time off: reading a book from beginning to end (in that order), playing "Frolf" (Frisbee golf), etc. He summarizes his plan by exclaiming to Jerry, "This is gonna be my time. It’s time to taste the fruits and let the juices drip down my chin. I proclaim this: the Summer of George!”

I have to admit, though, that my Summer of George had a small catch. Because I am now a 30-year-old with a wife and a dog to support, I felt I needed to limit my time-off to about a month. In essence, I needed to lock down another job, with a September start date, before fully-embarking on my month of sleeping to 11am, working out, playing poker, going to baseball games in MLB stadiums I hadn’t crossed off my list yet, and just doing relaxing “guy” stuff without a care in the world.

So, why launch The Hall Pass on this very day, August 9, 2005? Three reasons:

1. My future job has been secured, with a September start date;
2. At 12:01 this morning, Madden 2006 was released by EA Sports; and
3. My local video game store, GameStop, was having a Madden “release” party.

Yes, a Madden 2006 release party.

And, yes, I have a local video game store.

IT’S IN THE GAME

Before I begin my account of this epic Madden event, please know that I have a hard time not laughing every time I type “Madden Release Party.” I mean, I live in a suburb of Memphis, TN. It wasn't as if, at any point during the party, the Madden Cruiser was going to pull into the parking lot, and John Madden, himself, was going to pop out of the bus and award me the "Horse Trailer Player of the Game" award.

Also, just to give you a sense of the demographics of my suburb - if my suburb was a state, it would’ve been colored bright red in the last election (a fact of which I am not that proud, but this isn’t a political blog). It’s a suburban community with a healthy mix of retired people, newlyweds, and new parents. I actually figured the party might not be all that interesting – maybe a few parents with their kids, maybe a few hard-core gamers, maybe some of my unemployed brethren.

So, imagine my surprise when, at 11:45pm, I rolled into the GameStop parking lot, barely awake, to find a line of about 30 people patiently waiting for the clock to strike 12:01am, so that they could gain the competitive advantage of having eight more hours to practice the game than their friends who will pick it up later today, during normal waking hours.

You know what, though?

I somewhat mock the effort, but it’s a shame more athletes don’t take the approach of this 30-person strong, dedicated, motley crew. I mean, do you think that, in the past few weeks, it ever crossed Terrell Owens’ mind that “hey, I might want to get into camp early, work a little harder than my competition, and get a leg up on some of the other guys in the league?”

Me neither.

Anyway, I immediately went to the front of the line to begin interviewing people. I have to say that I am continually amazed by the extent to which people will talk to you because you tell them that you are a reporter. Who would've thought that just telling people that I was doing a story for The Hall Pass, a newly-launched web magazine (circulation at present: zero), would've gotten me anywhere with anyone? At first, I thought that maybe I had gotten some advance publicity or something, but, after noticing that one of the guys actually was bummed when I didn’t ask him for his name, I realized that some of these guys were just really excited about the game, and were willing to chat about Madden with anyone who wanted to listen.

I approached the first guy in line, who indicated that he had secured pole position by getting there an hour early. Contestant number two was a 30-something year old man who had been there since 11:05pm and seemed somewhat disappointed that the kid in front of him had snagged the top spot just five minutes before him. I asked the salutatorian if he had a job to go to in the morning.

He replied, “Yeah, man. I am thinking of calling in sick, though.” I looked at him and said, “Of course you are! How could you not? You can’t be the first to get the game, and then waste eight hours at work while everyone gets better than you – are you crazy?”

Standing in stunned silence, he seemed to move through a range of emotions:

1. Anger – “Damn, he’s right.”
2. Sadness – “I can’t believe I have to go to work tomorrow.”
3. Denial – “Maybe they won’t notice if I am gone."
4. Acceptance – “Most people have to work tomorrow, so I do, too."
5. Refusal – “Nah, I can skip. I won’t get caught.”
6. Change of Heart – “I might be able to pull this off.”
7. Commitment – “There’s no way that I am going to work tomorrow.”

Quite simply, my interaction with this man made the trip worth it.

I quickly found the store manager, who informed me that the store expected between 50-60 people for the party. His estimate was based on the number of people (including yours truly) who had, at some point in the past few months, put down a deposit on the game, or prepaid for the game in full. I asked him if he was surprised by the turnout and he said, “Not at all. We had three times as many people when Halo 2 came out.” Yikes.

After wrapping up with the manager, I took my spot in the back of the line, behind approximately thirty 20-30 year-old men and one woman. Then, promptly at 12:01am, the store manager began letting people into the store, 10 at a time, to pick up their game. As the line moved and I was approaching the front door, I learned that there was a little wrinkle to this party.

Just like the velvet ropes outside of your favorite nightclubs, there seemed to be a pecking order to this party as well. I learned this after the manager, holding his hand to my chest, as if to block access to the store, asks, “Are you a VIP?”

“In some circles,” I replied.

“Well, have you prepaid for the game in full?” he asked.

After explaining that I had only put down a $5 deposit on the game, he informed me, “Well, then you are not a VIP.”

Damn, that’s cold.

I paused for a moment to process this information: Because I have traveled so much over the past few years, I have elite status on many major airlines and hotel chains. I don’t ever have to wait in the main security line at the airport. I usually get free first-class upgrades. I don’t have to wait in the long check-in lines in hotels. Hell, if I am with the right friend, I get to sit in the owner’s box at a Washington Nationals game or jump to the front of the line at Drei’s in Vegas.

But I am not a VIP at the local GameStop? Upon reflection, I decided this wasn’t so bad, given that I am 30. And married. For now.

With head held low, I entered the store and joined the rest of the scrubs in the non-VIP line, which, to my amusement, was ½ the length of the VIP line, and closer to the “refreshments.”

Now, I have been to a few swanky galas and theme parties in my day, and occasionally I will notice that a great amount of thought and effort is usually given to the catering of these events. For example, a Hawaiian luau might have roasted pig, or a “BBQ and Beer” party might have, everyone together now, some BBQ and beer.

So, what would be the absolute perfect catering for a midnight, video-game release party? Well, the catering consisted of one table, with nothing on it, except 20 grab bags of Doritos. Underneath the table there was a tub filled with ice and cans of fully-caffeinated sodas. I am not sure whether it was intentional or not (actually, I am sure it wasn't), but, come on! They should’ve just divided us into three lines upon entering the store: VIPs, non-VIPs, and Stoners.

Around 12:20am, I finally received my game, paid the balance I owed, thanked the manager, and headed home to write this, my first issue of The Hall Pass. And though I can barely keep my eyes open because I am too old to be doing stupid stuff like this, I will now open the game, log-on to the Madden 2006 online game server, and get my ass kicked by a 10-year old in Kansas.

Let the The Summer of George begin.