geev that meyn his mahny

Of the 6,494 who plopped down 10K to participate in 2009's WSOP (World Series Of Poker) Main Event, only nine remain. Phil Ivey is still in the mix.

I've been following this guy since college. Many consider Ivey the greatest player in the game today, which ain't loose talk when you consider both his sterling tournament resume and his performance in high-stakes cash games. (I tend to agree with that "greatest player" assessment, though Canada's Daniel Negreanu is a verrrry close second in my book.) Ivey's a Rembrandt at the card table, but has never won the Main Event. He placed 10th in 2003.

[For some reason, the tournament directors pushed back the final stage of this year's Main Event to November 9th, so we'll have to wait 'til then to see how it all plays out. Of the nine finalists, Ivey is third-to-last in chips.]

It's harder and harder these days for a professional player to make it to the WSOP final table, seeing as the # of entrants has spiked dramatically since the fall of 2003 (<--link), when ESPN introduced Hold 'em Poker to the public en masse. In '03, 839 people--mostly poker pros--signed up for the tourney. By 2006 that number had ballooned tenfold, to 8,773.

Anyway, without further ado, let's cut to an Ivey clip. Check out this bluff:



Go get 'em, Phil.
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high praise

In this week’s Village Voice, Mike Powell reviewed Wilco’s Wilco (The Album) and made me laugh so hard I damn near soiled myself. You, sir, are an entertaining read.

Here’s a few excerpts from the review:

“Wilco” is a five-letter word for the quiet slaughter of all that is elemental, passionate, and reverentially stupid about rock ‘n’ roll.

Their peak party moments sound like a good time as described by someone who hasn’t actually had one.

Wilco: The Band That Rocks, Within Reason.

I also didn’t understand what critics and friends meant when they would say things like, “Wilco are the American Radiohead.” Wilco are not the American Radiohead. Wilco are maybe six weary Jackson Brownes. Or what sandblasted jeans would say if they could talk*. Listening to Wilco is like finding a rainbow between gray and tan.

*great sentence.

My sentiments exactly. I’ve spent four or five years scratching my head over Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002), wondering how oh why that record achieved a perfect 10.0 rating from Pitchfork and countless “Album of the Year” honors.

That’s not to say it’s a shitty record. “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart” and the immaculately produced “Jesus, Etc.” are both brilliant, brilliant tracks, and the other nine--though quite boring--won’t harm you. No true gaggers to speak of. But I fail to understand why critic after breathless critic tripped over their own laces penning adulatory, idolatrous reviews that oughta be reserved for the Radioheads and, say, Will Oldhams of the music world…

…which set me to thinking about other grossly overpraised records. Here’s a short list of recent titles:

1) Portishead’s Third (2008)

2) Peter Bjorn and John’s Writer’s Block (2006)

3) MGMT’s Oracular Spectacular (digital release: 2007; physical release: 2008)

4) TV on the Radio’s Dear Science (2008)
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