It's late. I've been up for at least 2 days. It's cold, like that stale, dry, cigarette-soaked air that surrounds you late night at the Vegas casinos. I'm tired and hungry, but the adrenaline is seeping through my veins. I'm sitting behind a massive chip stack at the head of the table, seat 7. We're short-handed. It's at least 3 a.m., and we're all bum tired but playing through it. To my right is a husky asian guy, great guy, named J.P. Across the table is Mr. Hyper Aggression--Amir, we'll call him. Wearing dark Oakley's and a white t-shirt, he stands out from the crowd. A dangerous man at the poker table and an obsessive chain smoker off the felt; he likes to gamble. A few other faces scatter the table, and we're maybe 5 or 6 handed at this point in the night. The cards don't sleep, so neither do we. <READMORE>

I came into the Wynn cardroom for the first time ever earlier in the day with a friend of mine, Justin. A nice kid from Georgia, with budding potential in the poker business. Smart and business savvy, he had been in Vegas for over a month now, and had been playing day in and day out, making that money. It was early afternoon, summer, Vegas. The heat you can't believe, but when you open those big double doors to the casino floor and you step inside, the air is like a beautiful breeze you've never felt before. The casino floor a dimly lit orange with gorgeous women everywhere, grandmothers in wheelchairs, kids running around, families, and us, rounders, coming to take your money.

Amir is scooping in a monster pot with his clammy paws when I look up and see a connected board of all little cards and a guy's KK laid face up in the muck. Amir's cards, a deuce and a five offsuit, lay next to the community cards, all five spread across the middle of the felt. I see he made a straight on fifth street. He shovels the rest of his chips into his little corner of the table as the dealer instantly puts the cards back together, puts them into the automatic shuffler, and grabs the other deck which has been laying in anticipation for its depature to the felt, this all in an instant.

I receive my holecards and peek down at ace seven of hearts. I look up to see Amir throw one grey $20 chip in the middle, an UTG (under the gun) limp. The action is on me, and I make it $100 to go from the cutoff. I got position, I got heart, I have the will to win this hand right now. Both blinds throw their cards at the dealer, Amir reraises. It's $200 more to me. Fuck it, I'm suited! We're both pretty deep, about 9k apiece in chips. I know if I hit a monster flop, I'm going to stack Mr. Hyper Aggression. The dealer peels off the burn card and places a jack, a nine, and a seven on the felt.

Justin and I had gotten the buffet earlier in the day. We both took a break from our games, him at 2-5 NL and me at the 10-20 NL game. It's good to step away from the table sometimes, just to clear your head, inhale the casino floor air, and grab food, which for the most part, in the big casinos on the strip, is usually amazing. We grub hard; it's a little past dinner time and I know that I probably wont eat again until the next day, so I fill my buffet plates up like I've been starving in Ethiopia for the past five years. We chat, we eat, we roll back to the cardroom. I sit down at the table to see some new faces. Most of them are serious players--I can just tell--and one of them is our hero, Amir. I see Justin from the rail, he's motioning to me. "Dude, you see that Middle Eastern dude over there? He is a nut job, orchestrates crazy ass bluffs, just been weary. Becautious." I sit back down at my seat. Wow, this could be fun.

Our hero is first to act. He bets $500. The pot is now at $1100, and I have a pair. Can I fold? Fuck no. Call. The turn card falls, a five. Abeautiful card. He bets out again, this time a thousand. A grand. C'mon bro, what are you betting a grand with? I look at him, study him, and before I know it, I'm in his head. I declare a raise. "$2200 total." Amir flings in a pineapple and drops another ten $20 chips on the felt. A smooth call on my questionable raise. Hmm, what does this mean? Who does he think he is? Wouldn't he have gone all in if he had the made hand?

I'm confused, I'm tired. I have no idea where I'm at here. I stay motionless, but my mind is racing a million thoughts. The pot looks to be about $6,000. Mounds of chips and cash, beautiful clays discs strewn across the felt. The dealer peels the burn and drops a queen. We have a river. The board reads jack, nine, seven, five, queen. My heart's pumping, my mind is racing. What on earth is going on here? I see about 6k in the pot. I know I have about 6k in my stack. Amir is sitting on about the same amount. Jesus Christ, ten days ago, I was playing $20 buyins at my buddy Dave's house, and now this? What have I gotten myself into?

"All-in."

All-in? Wait, what? Did he just say "all-in?" Ok, ok. I look at him, study him. He is a rock, a brickbuilding, Fort Knox. I stand up, I sit down, I lean my knees into the chair. I sit, still. I look at him. This man, this, this.....this creature, who has just put $6,000 more of real money into this already tremendous pot. I have fourth pair on the board. I can't beat anything. I mean, I can beat a bluff. That's about it. Is he really orchestrating this crazy of a river bluff. A 6k bluff at the end? Is it possible? I am staring at him. I rethink what Justin had told me earlier in the day about his playing style. "Dude, you see that Middle Eastern dude over there? He is a nutjob, orchestrates crazy ass bluffs, just been weary. Be cautious." I take off my hat, I stand up, I look at him again. He is still frozen. I think I have the best hand. I mean, I can't be completely sure, but I get inside his head, I think his thoughts; I know him better than he knows himself.

"I call."

Amir slowly takes off his black, piercing shades and flips over two black threes. I slam my Ace Seven on the felt! I get up in triumph, walk around the poker room floor, catch my breath, take a look at the numerous people standing around the table in awe. I see the dealer shovelling the $18,000 pot in my direction. I am in shock. I see the back of Amir's head as he walks out of the cardroom, cigarette in mouth, cellphone dialing in disbelief. I receive a few handshakes, a few "how the fuck can you call that bet" comments, and a bunch of pats on the back.

That was the defining moment of my poker career. I knew, after I played this hand, that this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
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