For those of you who didn’t vote early — Tuesday, November 6th becomes your last chance to vote in this year’s election.
I live and vote in Nevada, which is considered a “swing state.” This year Nevada residents have the added motivation of casting ballots that could actually make a difference in the presidential election. But even those who reside in less-competitive states should vote, as the ballots cast in other races (especially House and Senate races) will go a long way towards determining the direction of our country.
I’ve written extensively about my struggle to stay in shape. Well — this past week was a very bad week.
Do you know how difficult it is to work out every single day of the week? Can you picture the drudgery of hoofing five fucking miles — no matter how hot it is outside or how few hours you slept last night? Well, I did it. 60 straight days last summer working the World Series of Poker from noon until 3 am every day — and I was up at 10 am every single morning to run in the 108-degree heat. The sweat was like a baptism.
My diet plan worked. In fact, it didn’t just work. It kicked fucking ass.
Ten months ago, I started out as a 262-pound blob of laziness and worked it off one grueling step at a time. Make no mistake. I don’t like to run. The pain was often intense. I had plenty of excuses to skip days, but never did. I had good reasons to cut my workout, but never took a shortcut. I was determined to stick to the plan. My idea — and it worked like magic – was to eat and drink myself silly, but then to work off every pound by pummeling the pavement five miles per day, seven days a week. I’m not religious. But if I have a belief, it is in the power of human willpower. If I can do it, anyone can.
It’s no mistake that the very first blog post I wrote some four months ago was about running. For me, it was a mental and physcial challenge to do someting I had never done and then stuck to it. It was — a life transformation.
And so, I proudly reported that nine months after my workout ritual began — I managed to drop from 262 all the way down to 215. That’s an astonishing 47 pounds, or about 17 percent of my total body mass. Incredibly, I never missed a meal. I never missed a drink. I ate WHATEVER I WANTED. I drank two cocktails and a bottle of wine a day — more when someone else was buying. Warren Lush comes to mind. I ran those meals and manhattans off and fucking loved living life.
Well, all journeys worth taking have bumpy roads and detours. I’ve just taken one. And now, I need to get back onto the highway.
It all started out five weeks ago when I worked two weeks at Bossier City, Louisiana. A grueling schedule caused me to shorten my run route down to just two miles per day. Then, it was off to France for ten more days and nights. I drank and ate even more than normal in Cannes — while averaging just three miles per day, instead of five. Next, my journey took me to Hammond-Gary, Indiana where the nauseating oil refineries and an exhausting schedule caused me to totally abandon my workout program for ten straight days.
So, according to my estimate — I have departed my ritual for 35 days. I have run an estimated 100 less miles than would have been normal.
What do you think happened to my weight during this time?
As I stated previously, my low number was 215 pounts, which I proudly carried in early September. Life was so good, I was eating quarts of Baskin-Robbins and washing it all down with Malbec. Goddamn, what a statement of pride — 215 pounds, down from 262.
Upon my return from five weeks spent on the road, I stepped on the scale. I feared the worst. Like some kind of ashamed addict that had relapsed, I looked down over a jello-like gut. The number was a kick in the groin.
228!
Fuck!
I gained 13 pounds in just over a month.
I have written about this before. I could not give one flying assfuck about the number. I have no numeric goal. For me, the diet and the commitment to health is a statement. It’s a demonstration of mind over matter. It’s a personal conquest over the forces from within. It’s showing everyone that might be watching that one need not sacrifice nor be denied of life’s greatest pleasures. The answer is simply to work it all off with a dedicated ritual of running and exercise.
I had lost it all, or should I say, gained in all in one utterly detestable period of dishonor.
Fortunately, I’m now back to my ritual of running five miles — up the hills and through the searing heat. Once again, I flip off the jackasses that drive in the right-hand lane oblivious to my struggle on the sidewalks, sreaming profanity at the lazy-ass motherfuckers in their speeding Benzes and BMWs who come within inches of ending my life with the indifferent arrogance. My ankles are sore. I have cramps in my thighs. I was desperately out of breath. But my will stays strong. There’s nothing I look forward to more than the next trek around The Lakes, the next five mile circle.
I am back. With a vengeance. I am going to get rid of these 13 pounds.. And then more.
And after that, I’m eating a 16-ounce rib-eye and loaded backed potato. Don’t bring me margarine. I demand real butter.
I’m in the zone, and when I’m in the zone — it’s always happy hour.
43 WINS – 38 LOSSES – 2 PUSHES —– (+ 7.55 units / 1 unit = $100)
STARTING BANKROLL: $10,000.
CURRENT BANKROLL: $10,755.
BEST BETS OF THE WEEK: 5-3-0
Coming off my worst week of the season, going 3 wins and 6 losses for a net loss of -8.2 units. My overall record remains in the black in all categories, but need to improve. Looking to turn things around in Week 9 in what looks to be the best lineup of games I have seen all season. Great slate full of live home dogs.
Making 16 bets (season high) and wagering $8,000 (season high).
Note: All wagers are for amusement-purposes only. I bear no responsibility for those who may decide to follow my plays.
Imagine real-life hero pilot “Sulley” Sullenberger with a severe drug and alcohol problem and doing a few lines prior to taking controls in the cockpit, yet still managing to land his packed airplane with absolute precision on the Hudson River. Would he still be a hero? That’s the dilemma of the new film, “Flight,” which just hit theaters this week.
This is a difficult movie to sit through. Yet it’s tough to decide which is more gut-wrenching — watching a doomed airliner packed full of passengers buckled down in a nosedive headed for near-certain death, or the central character played by Denzel Washington, whose personal life is just as out of control.
While Washington’s character nicknamed “Whip” manages to miraculously maneuver the aircraft towards a crash landing that undoubtedly saves lives, the captain comes under increasing scrutiny once the post-crash investigation begins. Conducted by the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB), the investigation begins to reveal some troubling revelations about Whip and his conduct. Every second of the pilot and crew’s lives are scrutinized, which uncovers some ugly secrets about how Whip spends most of his free time. His best friends are bottles with names like Jim Beam and Jack Daniels, with a few lines of cocaine to add a little spice.
The hero-addict dichotomy is a marvelous dramatic device which helps to sustain a longer-than-average 2.5 hour movie. The audience faces a real conflict here. We don’t know whether to cheer for Whip to beat the rap and move on with his life (after all, he heroically saved lives), or be exposed as the fraud he is so the healing and recovery process can begin.
Note: Melissa Hayden took this outstanding photograph of the late Sailor Roberts just before he passed away in 1995. It is believed to be the last photo of the 1975 world poker champion. Thanks to Melissa for providing this photo.
What follows are my remarks given at Sailor Roberts’ official induction ceremony, which took place on Ocober 30, 2012 at the Rio Las Vegas.
Just prior to the conclusion of this year’s World Series of Poker Main Event Championship, I had the great honor of introducing poker legend Crandell Addington, who accepted the Poker Hall of Fame trophy on behalf of his freind and colleague, the late Sailor Roberts.
Roberts, who won the 1975 world poker championship, was posthumously inducted into the Poker Hall of Fame “Class of 2012.” The other inductee this year was Eric Drache.
The ceremony was held at the Rio Las Vegas. The Poker Hall of Fame now has 44 members. Congratulations to both Sailor Roberts and Eric Drache.
Photos are courtesy of Joe Giron and Joe Giron Photography (LINK)
To those of us who remember going to bed each night serenaded by Ted Koppel’s voice on ABC’s “Nightline,” the latest film by Ben Affleck will bring back vivid memories.
Yet remarkably, even though we remember how the Iranian Hostage Crisis turned out, the personal stories and occasional acts of heroism behind the daily headlines remain mostly untold and little known.
“Argo” tells the griping story of a secret CIA-led mission to rescue six American hostages who managed to escape the doomed American Embassy on the day it was swarmed by an Iranian mob, which eventually led to a 444-day stalemate for those left behind who remained trapped in captivity. The six consular workers who managed to slip out a side door, just as the Embassy compound was being stormed, hid away for more than two months. They were housed at great risk inside the Canadian Ambassador’s residence, in Tehran.
Unfortunately for the hostages, the time clock is ticking. The Canadian Ambassador receives word that his mission is to close, leaving the hidden Americans in a proverbial lifeboat, now suddenly taking on water.
This sets into motion one of the oddest alliances ever for a clandestine operation, bringing together intelligence officials working alongside Hollywood insiders who must concoct a phony film as a cover story. The wacky idea is to pretend to make a movie in Iran, and smuggle out the American diplomats.
Here’s the final video I took on the night of Greg Merson’s amazing victory in the 2012 world poker championship.
We are arranging for Merson to pose in front of ESPN cameras and photographers in front of $8 million in cash. I am caught handing over the WSOP gold-platinum-diamond bracelet designed by Jason of Beverly Hills to Merson has he strikes the champion’s pose.
Congratualtions to Greg Merson, the 2012 WSOP Main Event champion and WSOP “Player of the Year.”
This short 80-second video was taken just moments after Greg Merson, a 24-year-old poker pro from Laurel, Maryland became the 2012 world poker champion. His victory took place on the Penn and Teller Stage at the Rio in Las Vegas.
This vantage point shows ESPN cameras and some stage direction in the show’s closing moments, following a record-setting final table that lasted 399 hands.
Jake Balsiger, a 21-year-old college student at Arizona State University, had a chance to become the youngest world champion in poker history. However, he ended up finshing in third place, which paid a nice consolation prize of nearly $4 million.
Balsiger lasted nearly 11 hours in a three-handed marathon that set the record as the longest span ever recorded without a bustout in the Main Event Championship.
After he was eliminated at 5 am on October 31, 2012, I shot this short video of Balsiger at his press conference at the Rio in Las Vegas. Considering the battle he’d endured and the disappointment he must have felt at having played so long, and still finished third (he actually had the chip lead at one point), Balsiger appears remarkably positive and upbeat.
I think this video is the perfect testament to a remarkable young man who enjoyed an incredible once-in-a-lifetime run at the World Series of Poker.
