So far in my recollections of the last Grand Prix tournament held at the Golden Nugget, it’s one long, dark tunnel that appears to end somewhere, but where? It was the beginning of two years of intermittent tournament dealing.
I still can’t think of one time during the last Grand Prix at the Golden Nugget in 1987 that felt good, upbeat, happy, warm, or comfortable in the three weeks I dealt through it. I know a big part of the problem was me. If I had been comfortable dealing those games it would have been much easier, as it was, I hacked myself to pieces in rewind every chance I got because I felt horribly inadequate for the job. Continue reading New day, same agony
the time pot. Dealers changed every 20 minutes at the Grand Prix at the Golden Nugget. Every time we slid into a new table full of
bright, smiling ‘I’m gonna die if I don’t win the next hand’ faces, we collected time. Continue reading The rake, the drop, the drag…
Of course the majority of the three weeks of the Grand Prix Tournament blended into one
shift nightmare after another – probably best described as one long, square needle to the frontal lobe. We had a short meet before each shift to get our line-up set and if anything new was in the works we were informed about it then. I don’t remember crap about anything new coming up. Some dealers quit, new ones came in, and on it went.
My life was on a roller coaster ride straight into hell and the fiery inferno picked up a wicked smile each time the car I was in hit an all time low. My relationship with Rod was as sick as it could get, and for some reason, I tightened up the seat belt and hung around for the ride. In retrospect, I could never be where I am today if I had cut the seat belt loose and dove through the window to the light. Continue reading Dealing the last Grand Prix at the Golden Nugget
I admit to not liking all the recaps that are going on about the year 2011. Droll. Boring. We’ve read it and lived it already, let it disappear into the past. Continue reading Two days into the New Year