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After zipping through two other books at the lake I spent the bulk of the weekend immersed in a book from my Casino City days that I had apparently picked up at Midtown Scholar in Harrisburg, PA: Paul J. Vanderwood’s Satan’s Playground: Mobsters and Movie Stars at America’s Greatest Gaming Resort. During Prohibition, it turns out that for legal reasons America’s greatest gaming resort was actually in Mexico–specifically in the border town of Tijuana, just a few miles from the supposedly respectable city of San Diego. This book is a little bit a history of Tijuana and a little bit a history of San Diego, but mainly it is a history of the short-lived but majestic precursor to the great Las Vegas casino resorts: the Agua Caliente.

The incident that forms the structural backbone of the book is an attempted stickup of the Agua Caliente money van on its way back to a San Diego bank, in which two small-time mobsters with machine guns get into a shooting match with the drivers of the money car, even though–according to the mobsters–the job was supposed to be ‘fixed.’ The robbery thus escalated into a double homicide, shocking San Diegans and kicking off a massive and sometimes embarrassing manhunt and investigation. This was the first and most infamous but not the last of a series of attempts by organized crime to get money out of the very profitable Agua Caliente without doing the thing you ordinarily needed to do to get money out of the Agua Caliente, i.e., be on the business end of it and skim.

Along the way of this nearly 400-page book (it could have been a little shorter, frankly), we get to meet the Agua Caliente’s owners, patrons, workers, government enablers, enemies, and even some of its horses. There are plenty of pictures, both of the over-the-top Spanish Mission Revival-style resort itself and of the various people profiled. Could I keep them all straight? No. Did that matter? Probably also no; I could usually follow what was going on. My biggest criticism of the book is that sometimes the author’s opinions were a bit intrusive, but mostly it was a fun read.
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A friend sent me a copy of Dead Letter Society, an epistolary RPG about vampires. It involves writing letters back and forth and also using Tarot cards instead of dice to determine your plot events and bits of worldbuilding. I’ll have to wait until I actually play it to deliver a final verdict but it sounds like a lot of fun and certainly relevant to my interests. The gameplay revolves around a mysterious vampire society called the Dead Letter Society, which basically exists to facilitate vampire networking, so the first letter in the game is to the Society, who then matches the player vampires together toward whatever end they may have in common. It sounds like a lot of fun and I will have to set up a game soon!
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 Covering gambling news on the day-to-day, I sometimes feel like the industry doesn't change nearly fast enough. It's been almost seven years since Black Friday, and only three U.S. states — Nevada, New Jersey and Delaware — offer regulated online poker. (Soon to be four, thanks to Pennsylvania, but not soon enough.) Some states, like California, seem to bang their head against the same wall every year and get nowhere. And of course, we're all biting our nails waiting to see what the Supreme Court decides about PASPA, and when they'll get around to deciding if legalized sports betting could actually become reality in the U.S.

But, despite all of the above, it's actually quite a rapidly changing industry. It's worth it, every now and again, to look back at how we got where we are and appreciate just how much batty stuff has happened over the course of gambling's establishment as a legitimate entertainment industry.

Enter David Clary's Gangsters to Governors: The New Bosses of Gambling in America, which was published in October from Rutgers University Press. Clocking in at about 250 pages (plus a lot of notes), this new history of American gambling focuses first on how gaming fell under the control of crime syndicates, and then on how the state drove those elements out, turning control of the industry over to "clean" private corporations, Indian nations and the states themselves. Clary also provides a nuanced, even-handed analysis of the pros and cons of states' use of gaming revenues to balance their budgets.

***

I
 posted a book review over at the day job
bloodygranuaile: (oh noes)
I read and reviewed Alexander "Assassinato" Fitzgerald's new book The Myth of Poker Talent: Why Anyone Can Be a Great Poker Player over at the day job.
bloodygranuaile: (oh noes)
On my managing editor's advice, I decided that the next step in my poker education would be losing a chunk of money to Ricky and Alexis on Friday reading James McManus' Positively Fifth Street: Murderers, Cheetahs, and Binion's World Series of Poker, a journalist's account of playing—and final tabling—the World Series of Poker in 2000, just a few years before the Chris Moneymaker thing happened.

The story in brief: James McManus was assigned by Harper's to cover women players in the 2000 World Series of Poker, and simultaneously to cover the trial for the murder of Ted Binion that was going on at the same time. McManus instead spends a big chunk of his $4,000 advance on satellites for the Main Event, wins one, then plays the Main Event, where he somehow lasts all the way to the final table, ultimately coming in fifth. Then he has to scramble around squeezing all his journalism-ing into a very short period of time when the verdict comes down, before taking his almost $250,000 and going home to the Midwest, where his wife is justifiable pissed off at him for getting a lap dance while he was in Vegas.

Obviously, that is the wildly oversimplified version.

The book is a rich, sprawling 450-page saga, colorful to the point of being lurid, that pulls together a wide variety of topics—the histories of the Binions and the game of poker and McManus's own family; the endless development and redevelopment and reinvention of Las Vegas; the ludicrously colorful people who populate the gambling world, both at the table and in business; advice on poker strategy and the effects of easily available strategy advice on the evolution of the game. He ties poker into just about every aspect of life, the universe and everything that one could plausibly tie poker into, which is quite a lot of them. (Regrettably, this leads him down the tiresome evo psych path more than once, but as far as evo psych explanations for stuff go it could be a lot worse.) The book starts off with a reconstructed account of Ted Binion's murder, which despite being as factual as the author could make it, reads like a scene from a Tarantino movie. I was a little surprised at first because all I knew about the book going into it was that it was about poker and then it was apparently about HEROIN STRIPPER MURDER instead, but it all comes back around by Chapter 2.

The anchor point of all these disparate threads is McManus himself, which works both because he is attempting to do at least four things at once for most of the book, and because he's really not afraid to put his own personality front and center, eschewing the practice of being just a cipher/viewpoint into the action for the reader. McManus uses the slightly goofy conceit of there being two of him, Good Jim and Bad Jim, but overall he is STRONGLY of the Cranky Old Man Journalist character archetype. I generally enjoy this character type (and I do aspire to be Cranky when I am Old—and possibly even a Journalist—but I am not there yet), although since I am at the moment also reading Dan Lyons's Disrupted (the one about working at Hubspot) and Dan Lyons is also a Cranky Old Man Journalist (this is one of the central conceits of Disrupted), I could do with a bit less of it from both of them. Overall, though, I think McManus makes a strong, root-for-able protagonist—driven, flawed but self-aware, and definitely the scrappy underdog, considering he was facing down players like T.J. Cloutier, Daniel Negreanu and Chris Ferguson.

All the stuff surrounding the poker action is pretty good reading, but I think the strongest aspects of the book are the character profiles and the accounts of the actual poker play itself. Bad poker prose can be almost as boring as bad televised poker (and boring televised poker is stultifyingly boring), but good poker writing that properly balances all the important bits of information we do and don't have can be as exciting as a well-choreographed fight scene. In some ways, a hand of poker essentially is a fight scene, so I suppose it's not all that surprising that the practices for doing them well are similar. (I'm pretty sure I still have my notes from that Readercon panel about fight scenes and sex scenes somewhere; I should dig them out and see how well they apply.) The action is used to illuminate character and the characterization is then used to drive the action, which is how poker works anyway when the players are actually good. McManus is apparently pretty good, although the poker scenes often pick up a level of internal conflict to add to the competition at the table when his brain tells him what the correct play is and then he goes and makes the stupid one anyway. (I was glad to read this because I've played all of nine games of poker in my entire life and I've already found that happening to me, so it made me feel a bit better to know it's not just me being uniquely dumb.) (This is also about the only thing I found myself to have in common with the author, since he is different from me in pretty much every material aspect of life, being a middle-aged man with a wife and kids and house and an established career as a teacher and a journalist, whereas I am a single young lady and perpetual renter who decided to become a journalist all of last week.)

One thing that surprised me was that even with my extremely weak understanding of poker strategy, there were times when I couldn't help but feel that some of the plays and strategy advice were kind of dated? I'm watching a lot of current pro poker on Twitch these days and I can tell that it tends to be a looser game than what I'm reading about when I'm reading what are now considered the most "classic" poker books that are still recommended as helpful—meaning Phil Gordon's, mostly—which were still written after 2003. The books McManus is studying from were written, um, before that, obviously. I kind of want to read Super/System now, though, because it sounds pretty interesting from a copy editing perspective, or more precisely from a lack of copy editing perspective. (What is with poker books and under-editing, anyway?)

My biggest issue with the book was that the topic McManus was ostensibly sent out to cover—women in poker—got relatively short shift due to McManus's decision to instead occupy himself with playing the tournament. The women we do meet are pretty interesting, but I'm sorry, it is SUCH AN OLD WHITE DUDE thing to be like "Poker is great because ~all sorts~ of people play it these days!" just because you've gone from like, 100% dudes to 95% dudes. It is possible that this was extra visible to me right now because apparently poker is having a Moment about women and sexism and the like, and it is an infuriatingly low caliber of discussion compared to what's going on in every other geeky space I keep tabs on. Apparently, I'm gonna have to scrounge a trip to Las Vegas out of my employer and go interview all the women in poker myself.

Anyway, if you're at all curious about poker and/or poker history but don't want to sit around reading jargon-laden strategy manuals, Positively Fifth Street is an entertaining, vivid look into poker's awkward transition period into semi-respectability.
bloodygranuaile: (oh noes)
Sometimes I get days where I have nothing to do but read, and I get to sit around and devour and entire 500+-page book in a matter of hours, make myself a cup of tea to clear my book hangover, and pick up the next one.

I hope I get another one of those days at some point this summer because my last one was in January.

Sometimes I get entire weeks and months of running around with ten million things to do, working my way through whatever poor book I've been lugging around in fits and starts, stealing a page here and a chapter there, ten minutes of reading in the car before going into work, five minutes before bed because it's actually past when I'm supposed to go to bed and I'm exhausted. The biggest chunks of time come when showing up to dinners 45 minutes early because I don't really have enough time to go anywhere or do anything else between where I was before and when I'm meeting people, so I get a drink alone at the bar and try to make a dent in my reading.

May has been like that, which is how it took me more than two weeks to finish reading Phil Gordon's Little Green Book, a volume considered a classic of poker strategy books precisely because it is short and easy to read.

In retrospect, I think it's a pretty good book to have been forced to read in fits and starts, since by design it is broken down into lots of little short sections, and it's nice to be able to read a handful and let 'em sit in the back of your brain digesting for a bit before biting off the next few.

The Little Green Book is not a "What even is poker" book, of which I have already read two this year, both by guys named Phil. The better one was Phil Gordon's Poker: The Real Deal, which is part of why I bought the Little Green Book when I decided it was time to learn more. The Little Green Book is a proper strategy book, complete with charts and math and things. There are separate chapters on each round of betting. There is advice on how playing tournaments differs from playing cash games. There is a section on math and a section on psychology. There are some good digs at Phil Hellmuth, including the sentence "Phil wins a lot of chips because of his obnoxious personality at the table."

I'm glad I actually went out and proper bought a copy of this book instead of borrowing it off somebody, because I'm sure I'll be going back and rereading sections multiple times as I try to remember things while actually playing. Although one or two friends have expressed interest in borrowing it, which is acceptable as long as they give it back in a timely manner. I will be keeping records. Or perhaps I will stick a "for reference only" sticker on it and then people can only read it if they come to my house.

I'm absolutely not ready for the Little Blue Book yet, but I might buy it anyway just so I don't waste patio drinking season, and I can truly make 2016 my Year of Reading Poker Books at Bars.
bloodygranuaile: (oh noes)
Lately I have been trying to learn more about poker, and while I'm practically swamped with Twitch coverage, I'm reading books on a "whatever's most easily available" basis—and not that much is easily available; the BPL has been letting me down on this front. I'll have to start asking real people if they've got books.

One book that was immediately to hand for me was Phil Hellmuth's Play Poker Like the Pros, which my cousin lent me. Phil Hellmuth is the all-time World Series of Poker bracelet winner and has won nearly $20 million in live tournament cashes, plus God knows how much money in cash games. In theory, he should be a pretty solid person to learn poker strategy from, which is probably a large part of why he gets book deals.

There are, however, a number of problems with this theory, which become apparent when you read the book as an actual thing that exists now. They fit into roughly three categories: 1 is datedness, 2 is questionable editing, and 3 is Phil Hellmuth. Many of the criticisms I have of this book could be considered type 2 or type 3, in that I think I a tighter editorial hand could have done more to rein in the Phil Hellmuth-ness of the book.

The dated stuff couldn't possibly have been avoided, considering that the book was written in 2002, and back in 2002 that was about as modern as you could get. That said, 2002 is a really hilariously bad year to be dated from, since 2003 was the year Chris Moneymaker won the World Series of Poker Main Event and the "poker boom" went into overdrive. A lot of the numbers Hellmuth throws around look adorably small, and a lot of the people he mentions, while still highly respected, are undoubtedly the "old guard" of poker now. There are also a couple of people he mentions who are, uh, less highly respected now than they were back then (you can probably guess who they are if you know about the Full Tilt scandal). Most cringe-inducingly, Hellmuth spends a fair amount of time plugging Ultimate Bet, one of the online card rooms at the center of the "superuser"/"God mode" cheating scandal. And it's sort of sad how confident the book is that easily accessible online poker will only ever grow more popular and widespread, because what a wonderful thing is the Internet.

(Man, I still can't believe I missed the entire poker boom. It sounds like a fun time.)

The second class of errors I cannot blame on 2002. Editing existed in 2002; it was probably in better shape as a field than it is now. AND YET. There are about eleventy billion exclamation points in this 350-page book. There are way too many parenthetical asides. There is a GLARING mathematical error on page 63, in which a percentage is calculated but the "convert to percentage" step is skipped. (It is a copy editor's job to double-check arithmetic, alas, even though most of us are English majors.) On the upside, I did not catch any hand histories/examples in which the card notations were wrong, which is not necessarily true for all poker publications, I have found. There is a misnegation on page 200, which, considering it is right in the middle of explaining starting hand strength in Omaha Eight or Better (High-Low Split) to an audience who has presumably never played Omaha Eight or Better (High-Low Split) before, is extremely confusing. (After rereading the paragraph I am sure he meant to say that A-2 as a starting hand can't be overstated and shouldn't be underestimated; i.e., that is is an extremely strong hand; not actually that it cannot be underestimated, i.e. that it is a garbage hand and the proper estimation of its utility is zero.)

Bridging the gap from error class 2 to error class 3, it appears that Hellmuth either convinced or stetted his editor into accepting his own personal, idiosyncratic definition of the word "megalomaniac." In the book it is defined as "poker slang" for an extremely "maniac" type of player ("maniac" actually does seem to be a term for people who raise all over the place). Fourteen years later, Phil Hellmuth is still the only person in the poker community I have heard use the word "megalomaniac" in that way, and poker editors far more veteran than myself have grumbled that that is not what that word means, dammit. My guess is still that somebody called Hellmuth that way back in the day and he decided something self-serving about table image instead of looking it up in the damn dictionary, and has just stuck with it ever since.

Error class 3 consists of things that are not really errors so much as reasons Phil Hellmuth is annoying. His nickname is "the Poker Brat" for a reason, and the reason is that he is egotistical to the point of comedy—if you have not already had your lifetime fill of male egotism being passed off as cute and funny, a point that I and every other woman I know has passed by the end of our first year of college at the latest. Anyway: Phil Hellmuth likes to drop names about all the cool people he hangs out with and brag about how much money he has won and lost. He likes relate his internal monologues to himself a lot—and while he usually refers to himself as "Phil," there is at least one occasion where he addresses himself as "baby." He's made up his own system of "animal personalities" to refer to different types of players instead of using existing community terminology, which might not necessarily be a terrible writing crime in and of itself, it's just that the result sounds really freaking goofy.

As far as being an introduction to the games goes, the book is just fine. It introduces a number of different games on a basic level, first the rules, then a little bit of advice on approaching play. This is good if you're totally unfamiliar with the games. The most attention is given to various forms of Hold'em, both limit and no-limit, which also makes sense. The more basic Hold'em strategy given is pretty easily actionable—like, "Here are the 10 best hands"—and it's pretty light on the math, which is probably OK.

The more advanced strategy given seems like it'd be more useful for following the action when watching poker on TV than actually playing, since a lot of it basically comes down to "this works great when you do it right," and in order to get to a point where you can do it "right" you'll probably need to either do a lot more reading or play a lot more poker, or most likely both. Frankly, the "advanced" section is largely just an excuse for Hellmuth to tell stories about tricky plays he's pulled off or witnessed. It is even lighter on the math than the basics section.

I would be unsurprised if some of the strategy advice isn't actually somewhat dated by now too, since the game has evolved so much since 2002, but I'm supremely unqualified to comment as to how. For me, the most useful portion of the book was probably the bits on Hold'em strategy that overlapped with the material covered in Phil Gordon's Poker: The Real Deal, so I could get a sense of what's the same and what was approached differently. For example, the Phils group what they consider to be "playable hands" differently, but overall there's not much disagreement over how strong various starting hands are. It would have been interesting to look at the advice side by side, but I gave the Gordon book back to the library.

To be frank, for me, the most enjoyable aspect of the book was reading the section about playing in fancy high-roller tournaments while simultaneously watching Hellmuth lose his shirt to Cate Hall on Poker Night in America's Twitch channel. I would read the hell out of a poker book by Cate Hall, by the way.

I think this book may be interesting to people for whom poker is an entirely foreign country that they're curious about (and who have a high tolerance for gregariously smug tour guides). But I think my next poker book is going to have to be something a bit more in-depth—and, alas, probably much heavier on math. Recommendations and/or things I could borrow would be most welcome.
bloodygranuaile: (oh noes)
A few weeks ago I wrote a piece for President's Day at work about Presidential betting (you can read it here) and I referenced Stephen Longstreet's Win or Lose: A Social History of Gambling in America, which had been quoted in another source. This, however, is not the best research practice ever, and also the tidbit quoted was interesting (it was about T.Jeff), so I checked out Win or Lose from the Boston Public Library.
This book, I found out, was published in 1977, which is almost forty years ago now. So it covers a period of time from the mid-1500s up through "the present," except "the present" is the late '70s, and things in the late '70s were very different from how they are now, and it's kind of hilarious to read, at least if you are as easily entertained by historical change as I am. I think I now need a book more thoroughly covering the time from the 1970s to the present, but Win or Lose does a reasonably thorough job of getting the lay reader up to speed with the first 400 years after Columbus' men rolled up on shore after pitching their cards overboard in a fit of piety.
The book can be a bit disjointed, progressing in more or less chronological order except when it is progressing by subject, where the subject can be either a type of gambling or a specific location or something else. The bulk of each chapter is mostly stories about individual gamblers who were very important or interesting within the given context; they're usually pretty entertaining stories even if they do seem to jump around with little in the way of transitions. But there's also time devoted to explaining how different gambling scenes worked overall, and the rises and falls of various big gambling resorts (there's an especially big section dedicated to Saratoga, New York).
The funniest bit for me was the chapter on how horse racing is far and away the most popular type of gambling in the U.S., because it really, really isn't anymore. When this book was being written, states were just starting to implement lotteries and Atlantic City was just beginning to be revived as a gambling destination. How things have changed!
Anyway, the books is nearly as good a primary historical resource about gambling as it is a secondary one, but I'm OK with that. I'm not sure I'd really recommend it to someone who only wants to read one book about gambling in the U.S. though; there's got to be something more current out there.

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