Although it was bitterly disappointing not to at least cash in the WPT World Championship at the Wynn Las Vegas, busting on Day 1 freed up four days to explore and enjoy Las Vegas. Across the 12 weeks I spent there in 2013 and 2014, I had neither the time nor the money to be able to experience “Sin City” as a tourist, so the Mrs and I set about exploring.
The day after busting from the tournament, a little investigative work helped me discover who the strong players were at my table. The guy I called a strong Estonian in my previous update was Ilya Nikiforov, while the young Canadian lad who knew what he was doing was Justin Ouimette. Mr $100K watch was none other than Ilyas Muradi, a recent champion of a $3,500 WPT Championship event. Their Hendon Mob profiles confirmed my suspicions that they knew what they were doing.
Knowing that I would not be featuring in the tournament freed up the final four days of our trip. We headed to Gordon Ramsey’s BGR at Planet Hollywood; although the little lady wasn’t feeling great, I crammed some tasty goodness into my chops. I would have liked to have tried one of the more fancy restaurants, but it seems like a waste because the Mrs lost her sense of smell and taste when he suffered a severe head injury a few years ago; everything either tastes like water or nothing for her, although she does get a sensation if something is sweet or spicy!
The Mob Museum and Coyote Ugly on Crack
The Mrs went on a reconnaissance mission to Downtown while I was grinding Day 1B. She’d scope things out so we wouldn’t waste time hunting down the various locations. Weirdly, she almost accidentally bought crack cocaine from a guy on the bus! A bloke carrying a stop road traffic sign struck up a conversation with her, and she told him she was off to buy some crap from Downtown.
Anyone who knows us is aware that she loves weird and wonderful trinkets and ornaments that she affectionately calls “crap.” Mr Road Sign didn’t know her, which, coupled with our northern accents, made him think she was looking to score some Class A drugs!
He said she’d likely get mugged buying it herself, but he had a mate he could call to sort her out. Confused, she asked why his mate would have keyrings and magnets, which is when the penny dropped for our peddling friend—no drugs, but something to laugh about.
We headed Downtown the following day and visited the Mob Museum. I love the naughty side of Vegas, and the Mafia stories, so it was the perfect tourist trap. At the end of the Mob Museum tour, you head into a speakeasy in the cellar. We bought four prohibition-style cocktails between us, which were strong as fuck. Three of them were excellent, although the fourth was that bad even the Mrs couldn’t drink it; it was like petrol.
Possibly slightly buzzed, we stumbled across a biker bar called Hogs and Heifers Saloon. Let’s say the place is a little different. Think Coyote Ugly on crack, probably bought from Mr Road Sign on The Deuce, and you are somewhere near. Young, scantily clad lasses stomp on the bar, shouting and swearing over megaphones and drinks strong enough to neutralise your typical hog or heifer. Obviously, we ended up worse for wear, but it was a fantastic night.
Moving to Treasure Island
After a day of recovering from our biker bar exertions, we had to pack up and move to Treasure Island because our freebie at the Wynn ended. Treasure Island is not a patch on the Wynn, but it was spacious, clean, and was the only hotel not totally taking the piss with its prices.
We booked a trip to the Grand Canyon, which was quite spectacular. We stopped off at the Hoover Dam on the way, another modern marvel, before spending a few hours at the canyon. Jesse, our tour guide, was incredible. He knew everything there was to know and delivered his facts with plenty of humour, which was funnier because he sounded like one of the stoned turtles from Finding Nemo!
Seeing the Grand Canyon in the flesh makes you realise how small and insignificant we are. We now have plans to visit the other Wonders of the World.
We did have plans to see a Vegas show but they fell flat. Every fucker selling discounted tickets was doing so under the premise that you visited a casino a billion miles off the Strip where they were evidently attempting to sell you a timeshare or similar, so we fucked them off. Instead, we bought tickets for The Sphere.
The Sphere is incredible. The $54 for two Miller Lites was less memorable. At least I got to drink them both because the ridiculously steep seating position coupled with no safety rails in front of the seats, meant it was a no-go for my other half, and she went back to our room, stating I should stay and watch the movie. Postcard From Earth was brilliant. It is shot and shown in 18K resolution and 60 frames per second, which is mind-boggling. I did have an ironic smile to myself at the film’s message that we’ve decimated the planet through excess mining, etc., when I watched the movie in a venue that cost $2.3 billion to build and features a domed roof containing 13,000 tons of steel!
Lucky Number 14
Aside from the odd blast on video poker machines, virtual horse racing, and video roulette, we stayed clear of gambling, mainly because the robbing bastards have ramped up the minimum bet size to $15 or more. We found a $10 minimum roulette table Downtown where you could place singular $1 bets but had to gamble $10 per spin. A cowboy and his wife were leaving the table and said theirs was a lucky seat, so we plopped ourselves down.
After burning through $100 faster than a smackhead at Christmas, we bought another $100 worth of chips. Finding ourselves down to our last $17, I told the Mrs to think of a number, put the $7 on a single number, and then make our usual bets with the remaining $10. Lucky number 14 was the number plucked out of thin air. You know what number the ball landed on! Yep, lucky number 14! A quick $245 payout and we were out of there!
A final visit to Hogs and Heifers was on the cards, although the bouncer charged us $20 to get in because the little lady didn’t have any ID on here; a nice little racket for the door staff. We bumped into the cowboy and his wife from earlier and ended up having another good night, with the Mrs being forced to dance with the cowboy and us both teaching our cattle-loving friends many Yorkshire phrases and swearwords! We even managed to get the cowboy to pose for a photo with Beryl, the Mrs’ rubber chicken bag; told you she loves crap (not crack).
The Long, Long Journey Home
The journey back to God’s own county of Yorkshire took about three years, or so it felt. First, our flight from Vegas to Salt Lake City was delayed by 45 minutes, and then the flight from Salt Lake City to Heathrow was delayed by a similar period. We sailed through customs back home but then had to get the Tube to London Kings Cross, where we discovered the trains to Leeds were either cancelled or delayed thanks to an earlier broken down train.
Thankfully, we managed to find a seat on the train, and we made our way north, absolutely shattered and with a giant Cornish pasty in tow! All that was left was a 15-minute taxi ride, and we were home.
My sleep has been terrible since returning home; sleeping for four hours and being comatose for ten. Things are much better than they were, although I’m glad I have used up some annual leave, so I don’t officially have to work until January 2.
I’ve not played any poker since returning home, mostly because I’ve felt knackered and also been suffering from a heavy cold, but I will be hitting the tables with renewed vigour in the New Year, so watch this space.