Garry Gates

I hope everyone is enjoying a safe and happy holiday season! On Thursday I returned to Las Vegas after a nine day trip to my hometown of Titusville, PA, courtesy of my thoughtful and amazing girlfriend Beth! Those who know me know that I absolutely despise Las Vegas during the month of December, with the exception of New Year's Eve of course; the novelty of toothless drug addicts in Santa hats, $400 Christmas trees and decorative lights on palm trees and cacti has simply worn off. I needed to be home for Christmas and thankfully I was.

My stay in T-Vegas, a nickname given to Titusville by its most recent generation of young adults due to the city's dissimilarities to the real Vegas, was loaded with good food, family, board games, bad weather, a lot of laziness, and as always, a poker game with the usual suspects. My dad summoned the old crew, and we played a $40 sit'n'go on Thursday night - I took third. It was great to spend some time reminiscing with the guys who sparked my enthusiasm for the game of poker. Imagine a home game filled with guys toting nicknames like MamaLuc (pronounced ooch), Raymone, Edgar or "The Lawyer," Junior, Senior, The Banker, and the Fonz. I promised them that if I ever make a final table at the World Series, I'd fly each one of them out to Vegas for the occasion - the producers at ESPN would be glad that I did.

Now that my vacation from Vegas is over, I'm getting ready to get back into the swing of things. Check back soon for more dirt direct from Sin City as I brush the dust off my keyboard and get back to work.

Be safe and enjoy the new year!

GG

I like the recent buzz emanating from my hometown state of Pennsylvania. Rep. H. William Deweese, current Democratic leader of the Pennsylvania House, has resurfaced with ambitious talk of plans to propose a bill that would allow licensed gaming facilities to offer poker and other tables games in an effort to reduce state property taxes. Phew, what a mouthful. In short, Mr. Deweese wants poker for sheezy! (Yes, I know… corny, but effective).

Citing the increasing population of poker players in the United States, Deweese expressed desire to compete with neighboring states for consumer gaming dollars. Both New York and New Jersey currently offer Las Vegas style gaming facilities, while other states like Delaware and West Virginia are making rapid progress en route to adopting more liberal policies toward gaming operations.

Slot machine parlors were legalized in Pennsylvania in 2004. Since then, only one has opened for business, though the future remains bright for the industry in the Keystone State. On November 14, the Mohegan Sun at Pocono Downs near Wilkes Barre, PA celebrated its grand opening, officially becoming Pennsylvania’s first casino. Previously established racetracks, as well as a few newcomers to the game are currently fighting for rights to the remaining 13 licenses allotted by the state.

Realizing the potential for a new breed of customers with the addition of table games, Deweese argues, “we started with slot machines and now we should complete the job because there is no practical difference between putting $10 in a slot machine and putting $10 on a blackjack or poker table." Specific details of Deweese’s plan remain unknown, as the bill is still a work in progress.

Regardless, people are finally starting to talk poker in Pennsylvania! I made the move to Las Vegas in September of 2004 with aspirations of taking my poker game to the next level. Prior to then, the only “brick and mortar” venues close to my hometown were a collection of Indian casinos situated in upstate New York near Buffalo, a lengthy and inconvenient drive from my residence in northwestern Pennsylvania. My friends and I, including my dad who introduced me to the game, made the drive when the itch became too great to scratch, though we logged the bulk of our hours online.

Pennsylvania’s Liquor Control Board also contributed to the lack of a poker presence in the state. Horror stories of LCB busts of private poker games spread to high-ranking members of our local Elk’s club, hosts of our weekly game, who in turn expressed concern that we might be next. We managed to hold one highly successful multi-table tournament before the club decided we should play it safe and limit our use of the club to a smaller contest. Our weekly game was eventually moved upstairs into the confines of an old kitchen, crammed with junk that nobody used nor wanted, but we embraced our new space and made it work.

Now that I’m living in Las Vegas, I don’t have to worry about not having a place to go and play. I can find a game at any hour, both night and day, big or small, and I don’t have to drive two or three hours to get there. For the sake of my poker-playing cronies back in PA, and for the general well being of the game, I’m rooting for you Mr. Deweese!

There are few things that are so unpardonably neglected in our country as poker... Why, I have known clergymen, good men, kindhearted, liberal, sincere, and all that, who did not know the meaning of a 'flush'. It is enough to make one ashamed of one's species.

- Mark Twain

Contact Garry at garry_m_gates@yahoo.com

At 4:53 a.m., I find myself sitting at my computer desk still wide awake, and for the fourth night in a row I probably won't get any sleep until the sun comes up.

My first column for WHP debuts tomorrow (today if you're the "it's already after midnight" type), so I'm excited about that. Coincidentally, Wednesday was my favorite day of the week even before I found out that my weekly column would be published every Wednesday.

I am particularly excited for this Wednesday, Thanksgiving Eve, because my homegame officially welcomes its newest regular - one of the original poker tables from the now extinct Stardust Hotel & Casino. My roommate Brian participated in the auction held by the casino's owners, during which thousands of priceless items from the casino were sold for a pretty penny. Brian put together some serious dough to land this monster pick-up and I look forward to its initiation later tomorrow night.

I also enjoy Wednesday because it is the one day of the week I actually put my body to work, in the form of an indoor soccer team I play on with a small group of poker players. One of my teammates is Joe Tehan, high stakes tournament player and winner of the inaugural WPT Mandalay Bay Poker Championship, cashing for over 1 mil. I watched Joe earn a spot at the TV table live at Mandalay Bay and was surprised to hear he would be playing on our team. He's missed a few weeks traveling to and from various poker tournaments, but I'm happy to report that he scored his second goal of the season last week in our dominating 8-4 victory over the last place team in the league. High five, Joe!

I'm going to try and get a good night's sleep before what should be a great day tomorrow. Take a minute to read my first WHP column - feedback is always welcomed.

Goodnight for now,

Garry (with 2 r's)

My search for an inaugural blog topic ended abruptly today around 1:30 p.m. at Style America. One of the hassles of moving to a new city is having to replace the people you used to rely on to perform services that are commonly taken for granted; doctors, dentists, veterinarians, etc. I have been in Las Vegas for two years now and fortunately I have yet to require any of the aforementioned, though every three weeks or so I pay someone an absurd amount of money to cut my hair. I will talk about poker soon; I promise.

As a matter of convenience, (no need to mention my receding hairline, right?) I started shaving my head about the same time I relocated to Vegas. For the first year and a half I lived with a roommate who owned a set of clippers, which in turn meant haircuts were fast and free. When I moved out of that house and into a new one near Green Valley Ranch, it was time to find a new place for haircuts.

Enter Style America, a franchised hair salon owned and operated by the Regis Corporation, which also owns Cost Cutters, MasterCuts and SuperCuts to name a few. My first visit was relatively painless. Though I did think that $12.95 was a bit much for a five minute job, I was pleased with the results.

The woman who cut my hair that day was named Lucy. She was a very pleasant person. We had an enjoyable conversation about Lucille's BBQ, my hometown, and Cedar Point - the best amusement park in the world (if you think otherwise, come see me). The best part was, she gave me the shampoo, which normally would have cost an additional $2.00, for free! Now, fellas... if you've never had your head shampooed by a woman after a haircut, you're missing out. The experience is euphoric; I highly recommend it. My decision was made - I would return to Style America for my next haircut.

For whatever reason, I guess I just assumed Lucy would always be there ready and waiting to cut my hair. But much to my surprise, on my next visit she was nowhere to be found. I decided to try my luck with one of the other hair stylists, a rather large and stingy looking woman by the name of Cheryl. Cheryl had short, dyed-blonde hair that did not move when her head moved because of all the hair products she used. She wore thick, pink colored glasses that filled up the top half of her face. During my haircut she wanted to have a conversation with me, but I wasn't really in the mood. I responded to most things with an uninterested "yeah," "ok," "uh huh," "no way," "really?" although later I would regret replying with "really?" because she must have assumed I was interested and wanted to know more. Imagine Roseanne Barr talking to you in a southern accent and twice as fast; that was Cheryl.

The actual haircut was the worst part. Not the result, mind you. It's kind of hard for anyone to mess up a simple head shave. I'm referring to the process. First, she snapped one of those black hair cutting capes around my neck so tight that I'd bet you couldn't squeeze a nickel inside. Next, she took the clippers to my head and it was the first time in the history of getting my head shaved that I experienced pain. I was literally in tears at one point as she worked near my forehead, slamming and scraping the clippers off my scalp in one thudding maneuver. When the haircut began, I had both of my arms resting on the armrests of the swiveling chair, and toward the end I found myself sitting with both arms pulled close to my sides. Every time Cherl did a lap around my chair, her belly slowly grazed my elbow underneath the hair cut cape; each occurance gave me the feeling of baiting a fishing hook with a giant earthworm for the first time. Maybe the shampoo would be better?

No. Seeing that woman hovering over me, still rambling on about her niece with a rash, and feeling tiny drops of saliva land on my face was enough to ruin one of life's finest simple pleasures. After what seemed like an eternity, she was done. I didn't care what I looked like, I wanted out of there. We proceeded to the cash register where she informed me that their pricing system had recently been updated and now all buzz cuts included a shampoo and cost $13.95. I handed her a $20, asked for two back (I wish I had a soul), and left. "Never again," I thought to myself.

Three weeks later it was time for another haircut. My girlfriend Beth is the world's best haircut alarm clock. Without fail, every three weeks she runs her fingers through my hair and says "you need a haircut." Most people would laugh at the idea of a haircut after seeing the length of my hair, but she can always tell when it's getting "long" for me. I arrived at Style America and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Lucy, who was busy with another customer. I walked over to the sign in sheet and from the corner of my eye, I noticed Cheryl, who was not busy at all. "Need some help, hunny?" she asked, as I quickly scribbled "Lucy" in the preferred stylist space on the sign in sheet. "No thanks, I'll wait." I probably sounded a bit rude, but quickly forgave myself and sat patiently, reading an old issue of Time magazine. When it was my turn, Lucy called me over and it once again felt good to be getting a haircut. After another flawless operation, I was sure to ask her for her weekly schedule before I left to avoid another 30 minutes in the chair with Cheryl.

Two months had passed and the dust had settled at Style America. I was a loyal customer to Lucy and happy that I had found a new place for haircuts. Armed with Lucy's work schedule, I would never again be subjected to Cheryl's wrath... until 1:30 p.m. this afternoon.

When I opened the door to Style America, I immediately noticed Lucy's absence. I was sure she worked on Mondays. Against my better judgement, I proceeded to the sign in sheet and left the preferred stylist section blank, deciding I would try my luck, in hopes that I would get someone other than Cheryl, who glanced my way as I took a seat in the waiting area. I sat helpless, watching the other two stylists working that day, praying that one of them would win the race they didn't even know they were in. "Garry," Cheryl called out. I slid out of my seat and slowly made my way to Cheryl's station. I gave her the same brief instructions I give to anyone cutting my hair - "just use a 1 all over, leave the sideburns, and clean up the back." She immediately began talking about her apparent dislike for a new employee. "It's not like we don't like her," she began. "It's just that she acts like the Tazmanian Devil around here, always panicking about everything. If she doesn't slow down, she's gonna drive me to drink. Take a chill pill, girl. My God..." The first five minutes of my haircut consisted of listening to Cheryl complain about the new girl. She hadn't even started any actual cutting yet.

She continued, "we had to replace one of our old girls. That's why we hired this new girl so fast." I swallowed and immediately assumed the worst. "Who left?" I asked. "It was Lucy," she answered, as the clipper guard ripped across the top of my head. My worst fears confirmed, I replied "wow, that's too bad. I loved Lucy - she always cut my hair." Cheryl stopped dead in her tracks and gave me a look I'll never forget. She was half smiling and half scolding. I could tell my comment struck a nerve. Her voice softened as she informed me that Lucy filed a harassment suit against both Cheryl and Style America. "What for?" I inquired. "We were talking about religion one day, and I told her that anyone who lies is not a Christian," she explained. At this point, I forced myself to fight the urge to start laughing, as half of my head remained unshaved. "Really?" I said, convincing enough as to appear shocked. "Yeah, the company spent a TON of money on an investigation and decided that I didn't do anything wrong. It's hard to keep good people, you know?" "Tell me about it," I thought to myself. I knew there had to be much more to the story than this, but I certainly didn't want to hear it from Cheryl.

I was stuck in a chair with my hands in my lap, hair cut cape tight around my neck, hearing from this babbling idiot that Lucy...sweet, charming, wouldn't hurt a fly Lucy, no longer worked for Style America. Whatever really happened that day, I'm convinced it merited a lawsuit. Hell, every haircut I got from Cheryl merited a lawsuit. Now I will probably never know what really took place, and more importantly, just when I thought I'd found a great new place for haircuts, I'm back at square one.

Angry, saddened, and once again experiencing trauma to the head thanks to Cheryl's disregard for customer comfort, I glanced up at the mirror. To the left of it, I noticed a sign printed on purple paper that read "Congratulations - your stylist has been promoted to Master Stylist!" It took me a second to read the fine print at the bottom... "Your next haircut will cost an additional $1.00." Oh the irony.

We moved over to the sink, and Cheryl began scrubbing my head with the same lack of grace she applies to her technique with the clippers. Next I hear the phone ring. One of the other stylists answers and walks our way. "It's for you," she says and hands the phone to Cheryl. Is this woman really going to talk on the phone while she shampoos my hair? When it rains, it pours I guess. As I sat there getting roughed up by big Cheryl, the monster responsible for causing Lucy to leave, and my having to search for a new hair cutting place, I considered writing a letter to the head honchos over at the Regis Corporation. I planned to fill them in on what a great experience I'd had with Cheryl and recommend that their employees cease the practice of speaking badly about other employees in their absence in front of customers; not to mention all the talk about company lawsuits and other matters that I'm sure Mr. Regis would love to hear his employees are sharing with patrons.

Instead, I decided that my Style America experience would serve as an entertaining topic for my first blog at WiseHandPoker. I could make the claim that this story provides many valuable life lessons that can be applied to your poker game... Such as, avoid getting all of your chips in on a coin flip early in a tournament... or, fold marginal hands before they get you in trouble... or, OK, I'm stretching it. My story has absolutely nothing to do with poker. However, I guarantee that my first WiseHandPoker column (scheduled to make its debut Wednesday, November 22nd), will be loaded with the stuff we all seem to find ourselves fully submerged in each day... the stuff of tournaments, flopping hidden sets, check raising, the 24-hour sessions, the array of characters, the painful bad beats, raking huge pots, nailing your reads, and the bluffs that get your blood pumping as you pray your opponent mucks his hand... the stuff that makes poker the great game that it is. Let's have some fun.

Oh, and for the record, perhaps there is one bit of advice you might take from my story and apply it to your poker game. Tip appropriately. As I walked over to the cash register, still steaming about the extra $1.00 I was being charged by this "Master Stylist," Cheryl announced "that'll be $14.95." Now, don't get me wrong - I'm typically a very generous tipper, as I spent many years in the customer service industry and know what it's like to work for tips, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I handed Cheryl a $20 bill and she placed my change, a $5 bill and a nickel, on the counter while she waited for my receipt to print out. "Need me to break that down for you, hunny?" she asked. "Sure," I said, producing a smile like the Grinch after stealing the roast beast. She handed me five $1's, and as I tucked each one of them neatly into my wallet, I said "have a great day!"

Let's play some cards,

Garry Gates
garry_m_gates@yahoo.com