Monday, December 31, 2012

Last Cash of 2012

2012 was marked by great[er] tournament success.  I had numerous cashes, most of which were in deepstack tournaments at Del Park and The Nugget -- tournaments with relatively good structures.  One tournament I was not, however, able to crack was the daily tournament at the Showboat.  I've mentioned it before, but I'll write it again -- the Showboat is generally a giant donkfest -- $65 buy-in, $20,000 chips, 20-minute levels, no antes.  It does not attract the best of the best.  Yet, it's a hell of a lot of fun.  I bubbled it once in November, busting 8th with 7 spots paid.  I just could not break through . . . until Saturday.
The Saturday 2:00 pm drew 76 runners.  I finished 4th.  The tournament came down to a handful of big hands played, a few well-timed lay-downs, and my ability to overcome mega-tilt after squandering $90,000 chips in a ten minute stretch.  Here are some highlights.  
The first few levels passed relatively quietly.  I was getting nowhere fast.  In level 5, with my stack down to $15,000, I caught a two-hand rush:
HAND 1: 
I was in the small blind with 3 5 off.  After 4 limpers, I completed.  The flop came out a delightful 4(d) 6(c) 7(d).  Bingo.  I checked.  Middle position bets $5,000; the cutoff raises to $10,000.  I shove.  Middle position goes all in for about $4,000 more, and cutoff calls.  MP tables a diamond draw.  Cut off tables 6 4 for two pair.  And I need to dodge a shitload of cards.  I do, and triple up. 
The very next hand, I'm sitting on $45,000 and look down at KK.  I raise to 3.5X and get a call.  Flop comes down A 4 K rainbow.  I check.  Dude shoves his last $12,000 or so, and I snap call.  He tables A4 and starts to celebrate when a 4 hits the turn.  Sadly for him, my Kings full beats his 4's full.  And, just like that, I'm sitting on approximately $61,000.
After a table change, I take down a few more pots (mostly uncontested preflop raises, or C-bets), and work my stack up to about $90,000, when HAND 3 hits:
I open-raise to 3.5x with AK sooted.  The player immediately to my left (a very capable player) shoves for $60,000.  I snap call.  He flips 77 and I catch a K on the turn.  $150,000 chips.
After another decent pot, I worked my stack up to $185,000:

Barring disaster, I'm looking very good to money.  But, I tell myself to keep the pressure on.  No min-cash.  Not today.  Of course, 10 minutes later, my stack was under $100,000.

HAND 4 was played against a TAG gentlemen, who was at my initial table, and who shoved the river on an AKT board with absolute air (76 off).   He played very few hands those first 4 levels we were together; but when he entered a pot, he entered strong.  He was on the button on this particular hand.  I was small blind.  Blinds were $2,000 / $4,000 if memory serves correct.  He limped and I completed with J2.  The board ran out 233, and the gentlemen leads for $6,500.  Sensing my hand was good, I decided to take it down with a raise to $22,000.  The gentlemen says, "Ugh.  Why did I bet that?!?!?!?"  And then proceeds to SHOVE his last $85,000.  Wow.  I still think my 2 is good.  But he could easily be shoving here with any small / medium pocket pair.  I fold.  He shows me a 5 . . . and a 2.  Fuck. Me.  Minus $26,000 chips (not to mention the nearly $100,000 chips I would have won with a call).  Tilt initiated.
A few hands later, I raise to $14,000 from middle position with KJ hearts.  It folds to the big blind who shoves her last $26,000.  I call.  She tables A9 off and neither of us hit the board.  Minus $52,000 chips.   
A few hands later, the small blind reaches me.  It folds around and I complete with K6 off.  Big blind checks his option.  The board comes down all rags.  We check.  Turn is a rag.  I bet $5,800 into $8,000.  Big blind tanks and calls.  River misses everything.  I feel like I can take this pot ($19,600).  I fire $12,000.  Big blind again tanks, and calls.  He tables K7 and his 7 kicker plays.  Unreal.  Great call, I guess (he claimed to put me on a missed draw . . . fair enough).  Minus $73,000.
The very next hand middle position shoves for $11,000 or so and gets two callers.  I'm in the big blind with 8 9 clubs.  There's $33,000 in the middle, and it costs me another $7,000 to see a flop.  I have to call here.  I miss everything, and fold to a flop bet.   Minus $85,000 . . . in basically a single orbit . . .  Mercifully, the 4th break hits and I'm able to walk the boardwalk to cool off.
I returned from the break, still sitting on approximately $100,000.  Plenty of chips to regather my composure and make a run....  I play tight, taking down blinds with positional raises.  Near the bubble, with blinds at $8,000 / $16,000, I steal the big blind twice with raises.  Both times, I had air, and told the big blind: "sorry; decent pocket pair . . . had to raise . . ."  Doubt he believed me; but who cares.
Twice I actually folded pocket pairs to opening raises.  Once 44, and once 77.  On the 44 hand, the original raiser had AQ and got called by 88.  Good fold . . . until a 4 hit the turn.  Oh well.  Better spots would come along.
Ultimately, I hit the final table with $150,000 or so.  An average stack.  6 spots were paid, and players started falling fast.  We got down to 4 players, and I was up against 3 fairly large stacks.  I had about $160,000 left, with blinds at $12,000 / $24,000.  I played my small blind with 8 T and caught top pair on a 4 6 T board.  Big blind bet, I called.  Turn was a 7.  Big blind bet, I shoved, he snapped and tabled the straight.  So be it.

It was a nice end to 2012, and felt good to finally get the "Showboat Monkey" off my back.  I finished 2012 with a slight profit over the course of 205 hours of cash.  A disappointment; but better than finishing the year in the red.  Unfortunately, I did not keep track of tournaments.  I suspect that, despite my numerous cashes, I was probably a bit in the hole at MTT's.  My resolution in 2013 will be to record all my tournament play as well.       
 Happy New Year,

Triple P

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

Happy Holidays From Pete

A Merry Christmas to fellow bloggers and readers!  Hope everyone is having a fun holiday.
Yes, it's Christmas.  I'm at my parents house in an undisclosed location in Jean, Nevada (I mean, Long Island . . .).  It's 3:00 pm.  I'm trying to finish a memo that's due this week (client wants it billed during 2012 . . .) so I can head to Harrah's tomorrow for 4 days of poker with nothing hanging over my head.
I stopped by AC for three days on the drive up from D.C. to spend the weekend at Borgata.  I really only got in one good session of $1/2 NL -- an 8 hour run Sunday afternoon/evening, in which I dropped $57.  It was one of those sessions where nothing really went right.  I was in the 7 seat.  Across the table from me, in the 2 seat, was perhaps the biggest luckbox I've encountered.  Over the course of the afternoon, he flopped sets/boats/trips at least 15 times.   He drew to flushes/straights repeatedly as well.  If ever the board was paired, he'd turn up with trips.  It was just sick.  He built his stack to over $1,200 during his heater.  He showed just about every hand, as his flopping the nutz over and over and over had apparently become a running joke (funny to no one except said luckbox, of course).
For my part, I hit very few hands.  And, when I flopped a rare hand, and bet it, I was re-raised.  Every Time.  Nothing was easy.  The first instance was a hand against Luckbox.  He limped in from middle position along with the cutoff.  I checked my option in the big blind with Q 9 off.  The flop came down QK9 rainbow.  I checked.  Luckbox bet $15.  He bet everything.  $15 into a $7 pot was not uncharacteristic of him.  It also had no rhyme or meaning either.  Cutoff folded, and I just called.  The turn was a meaningless 7.  Luckbox bet $25.  I raised to $85.  He re-raises to $175.  Huh?  Really?  What?  Again?  Can he have it AGAIN!?!?  Luckbox has shown down nearly every hand he's won, and has always had a monster.  I say to him, "JT?  Really?  OK.  I'll give you credit for the str8t . . ."  I muck and he replies, "how about KT?".  Um.  Top pair, shitty kicker and a gutshot draw.  Nice one.  I folded the 73% favorite.  I told him, "Nice Bluff . . ."  He stared back blankly, not grasping the implication.  If I thought for a moment he was representing the straight and trying to push me off a hand, I'd give him credit for his play.  I'm confident he wasn't.  Just sickening. 
A little while later, I again limped in, this time from the small blind, with A7 off.  The flop came down 5 A 7.  It checks to me and I bet.  Young kid calls.  Turn is a 2.  It checks to me and I bet again.  Kid raises me 4x.  Great.  Did he limp in with 34?  Or is he protecting his hand?  This time I call.  We both checked the river, and he shows down 57.  Nice.
An hour later, I again get into it with the kid, just as I'm about ready to call it a day.  This time he again limped in and I raised to $12 with KQ from the hijack.  He calls the $10 on top.  Flop comes out K 7 4 rainbow.  He checks.  I bet $17.  He raises to $65.  Huh?  What?  Again?  What's he doing?  Does he think I fired a C-Bet and he's trying to steal?  Or is he trying to protect his hand from some phantom monster?  I had seen this kid attempt to protect a flopped set earlier on in the session on a fairly dry board.  In my mind, he had made his raise a street too early, and I recall thinking he lost some value.  Was he again overplaying a big hand?  In the end, with only top pair, and with my chips nearly in the rack already, I folded . . . face up.  Kid said, "do you want to see?"  I told him I didn't care (and I really didn't at that point).  He showed anyway . . . pocket 44's.  Thanks, I guess. He certainly lost some value as I was good for at least one more bet . . .
In the end, based on the way the cards fell for most of the day, a $57 loss was a huge win in my mind  . . .          

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Someone Has Got to Go!

The old J -E -T -S . . . JETS, JETS, JETS chant make me want to punch someone in the face.  Just shut the fuck up.  This season has been an abomination.  Utterly and completely.  No one has any reason to be chanting anything.  And, someone has got to be fired.  And that someone's last name begins with a "T" and ends with an "M".  And, also a big "Fuck You" to Woody Johnson.  Perhaps Woody deserves the most blame, but you can't fire the man with the checkbook.
It seems like just yesterday I was a recent D.C. transplant.  I moved to D.C. to attend school with little more than a student loan, an old beat up Chrysler and a spot on the Jets' Season Ticket Wait List.  Of course, this was more than a decade ago.  The Jets still couldn't win back then.  But there was a 10-year wait to purchase season tickets.  In fact, the demand was so high the Jets actually CHARGED YOU A FEE simply to maintain your spot on the list.  And I, like so many others, actually paid the fee . . . annually.
Then, four seasons ago, everything changed.  It was the last season of the old "Giants Stadium."  Perhaps it was part the economy.  Perhaps it was partially due to the expanded size of the proposed New Meadowlands Stadium.  But, whatever the cause, suddenly, overnight, there was no more wait list.  We immediately became "season ticket holders."  The Jets, for their part, continued to be mediocre.
The new stadium ("Metlife Stadium") opened in 2010.  We bought four seats, second level, corner of the end zone, four rows back, on the aisle.  For the privilege of committing to spend several thousand dollars a year on tickets (year, after year, after year), the J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS made us pay thousands more (like, a number with four-zeros) for "seat licenses."  We could finance the licenses if we wanted . . . with interest, of course.  Pass.  We paid up and tried to forget.  In return, we received a contract which affords us the honor to sit in our seats for every Jets home game.  The contract requires . . . obligates . . . mandates . . . that for as long as we hold those licenses, we MUST spend thousands each season on Jets tickets.  The licenses also require us to spend hundreds of dollars on useless preseason tickets, but provide us only a right-of-first refusal should the Jets ever . . . ever . . . play a home playoff game, tickets for which would cost even more money.  The contract also purports to make us responsible for the condition of said seats.  In other words, if I break my seatback in a fit of rage, I'm liable to pay for a replacement (yeah, just try and get that money from me).  Also, as one final perk, the contract grants me a right-of-first refusal to purchase tickets for other events held at Metlife Stadium -- concerts and sporting events.  Numerous times a year I get an email providing me with a "pre-sale passcode" for an event.  Twice, I've tried to purchase pre-sale tickets -- once for U2 and once for Bon Jovi.  Both times, I got a message that my pre-sale code was invalid.  J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS.

Shortly after we paid our license fees, ownership, realizing no one was buying season tickets, reduced the price on most PSL's.  But we, having already paid, got no partial refund.  J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS!!!
Ten years ago, you could not buy Jets tickets.  Since 2010, I'm not sure they've sold out more than a single game.  The upper deck is often half-full, and the lower level premium seats (the "license fees" for which were $50,000 a seat) are typically empty.  You could pick up your phone right now and order season tickets for 2013.  I've tried to sell tickets for games I can't attend, and the take has been marginally worth the EBAY fees.  My "seat licenses," which can be sold on the open market for whatever price said market will bear, are essentially worthless.  I attended only three games this season and, at those three games, was privy to some of the worst football ever played.  At the most recent home game, myself and those around me occupied our time on our cellphones trying to determine the record for most INT's from a QB in a single game, because Sanchez was well on his way to breaking whatever that record was.  J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS!!!!

There will be no home playoff game for us Jets fans next month.  However, in March, we'll receive a bill for several thousand dollars to secure our attendance at the 2013 version of the "Shitfest in the Swamp."  I'll grimace and write the check.  I have no other choice.  So, there's that to look forward to.  J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS!!!!!!!!!!

Don't get me wrong -- I can stand losing.  Hell, I've been a Jets and Mets fan all my life.  I've got a world series in '86, and then  . . . . zip. zilch.  nada.  I know what I signed up for.  But this season has been particularly trying.  Hell, this season actually the impossible possible -- it made me feel bad for Tim Tebow. 

Is Mark Sanchez a legitimate NFL quarterback?  Perhaps.  Or, at least he may have been.  Three years back, when the Jets defense gave up 17 or so a game, and the offensive line could do its job, and LT was LT, and Shawn Greene was a decent back up, Sanchez could run the offense and control a game well enough to win.  2009 March Sanchez was 2011 Alex Smith (with better hair).  OK; maybe that's a bit overstated.  But you get the point.  Two consecutive AFC championships are testament to this fact (although, neither year did I really consider the Jets to be a real Suberbowl contender).  But Sanchez clearly regressed in 2011.  And in the off-season, the Jets explored their options with Payton Manning.  And then someone felt bad for Sanchez and, to make amends and to protect his fragile, pro-athlete, millionaire ego, signed him to a nice fat extension.  And then someone signed Tim Tebow -- a move that, in retrospect, was a pure, unadulterated marketing move designed to sell those outstanding seat licenses.  And then came along 2012.  And, maybe Sanchez's ego was still hurt despite his big fat extension.  Or, maybe he felt no pressure or motivation to excell in the absence of any legitimate threat to his job.  Who knows.  But it was clear that whatever talent Sanchez intially brought to the field had vanished along with any semblance of confidence he may have had.  And, it also became clear that Rex Ryan's perspective of Tim Tebow was the same as mine (and, pretty much the same as anyone else who was neither born-again nor a Denver resident) -- Tebow cannot play QB.  And, it became clear that Tony Sparano was not the "master of the wildcat" as we were all lead to believe.  Rather, Sparano was the genius behind running Tebow straight ahead into the line . . . for 2.5 yards... again . . . and again . . . and again.  Our preseason scoreless draught was not an aberration; rather, it was foreshadow. J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS!!!!!

Sanchez dated actresses and got paid millions.  Tebow dated actresses and got paid millions.  Rex got his stomach stapled, lost 100 pounds, but remained utterly delusional: "We're still a playoff team . . ."  And, every Sunday we got to see more turnovers than touchdowns -- some of the worst offensive football anyone has ever witnessed.

Was it all Mark's fault?  Shit no.  When you can't run the ball, and your o-line can't pass-protect, and Plaxico Burress is gone, and Santonio Holmes is out for the year, and Dustin Keller is injured, and your main target is rookie Stephen Hill and even he's battling a sore hamstring most of the year, and . . . well, there wasn't much left for Sanchez to work with.  But, as Greg McElroy seemed to be instinctively aware during his brilliant-touchdown-leading-first-drive as Jets QB (yes, there's a hint of sarcasm hidden in there), that's not an excuse to lose your fucken mind and toss the ball around the field haphazardly like a drunken fratboy. 

So now, it's December 2012.  No more playoff talk.  Rex's delusion has finally been thwarted.  Both Sanchez and Tebow will be sitting on the bench next week in favor of Greg McElroy, who himself has little business starting an NFL game behind center.  Tebow wants to be traded.  Apparently, he still believes he's an NFL QB . . . blinded to the fact that the J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS completely crushed whatever hype / value previously surrounded him.  And Sanchez, for his part, has less confidence than a three-hundred pound kid with raging Tourretes at a junior-high dance.  And, thanks to that fat extension, the Jets can hardly afford NOT to start him again next season (they take a $17.5 million cap hit if he's released). 

So, where does all this leave me?  Depressed.  Very depressed.  And, I guess, looking forward to seeing this guy:


Call me delusional . . . but I really, truly think the Mets can maybe, possibly, play .500 ball next year.  And, yes, thanks to the Marlins, I really, really, really think the Mets have a real shot at 4th place in the NL East this year. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit back and wait and see if that sushi I just ate for lunch gives me food poisening.  Happy holidays, and FUCK YOU Mike Tannenbaum!!!  

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Charm City Tuesday

I'm closing in fast on forty.  I'm old.  And usually tired.  I don't go out during the week.  Ever.  Last night was the exception.  DMB Baltimore.  My third show of the month.  As good as ever!


Now, Wednesday morning, sitting in the office, I'm (shockingly) exhausted.  Fortunately, not much needs to get done today.  But, on the other hand, there's always the almighty billable hour.  Much like the tree falling silently in the forest . . . if a lawyer sits in the office and isn't billing time, was he ever in the office at all? 

Sunday, December 16, 2012

'Tis the Season . . .

. . . the season for some DMB! 
It's Sunday.  I'm procrastinating before hitting the gym to lift some (relatively) heavy things.  I'm in recovery mode after two nights of awesome live music.  Friday night, O.A.R. played a benefit show at Strathmore Center for the Performing Arts.   O.A.R happens to be one of my favorite bands, and Strathmore happens to be less than a mile down the road.  So, after work, I pocketed a few road colas and headed towards the show on foot. 
The seats were OK.  Front row is good, but it would have been nice to be a little more dead center.  Live and learn.
The band played the second half of the show with the Beethoven Founds Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra which was an interesting change of pace.  The show benefited the Wounded Warriors.

Saturday morning, it was off to DMB Mecca, otherwise known as Charlottesville, Virgina.  The band was founded in C-Ville in the early 1990's, when Dave was a bartender at the local dive bar, Millers.  The band's stops in Charlottesville turn the entire UVA area into a giant party.  This weekend was no exception.

Who doesn't love a little Watchtower to end an evening?
DMB has been/is touring most of December.  Last night's show was my second of the month.  The third will be Tuesday night when the band hits Baltimore.  And, of course, I can't pass up the show at Wells Fargo Center in Philly on Saturday.  It will suck to have to leave the poker room at Borgata for a few hours over the weekend.  But, in the end, life is all about sacrifice, isn't it?      

Monday, December 10, 2012

The Look that Said it All

Maybe it was just Pete being a nit.  But I'd like to think I picked up on a nice tell . . .
It was Friday night at Harrah's AC.  The Circus(it) is currently in town, and the poker room has been packed the past two weeks.  It was a one of the worst tables I'd ever played at Harrah's.  And, by "worst," I mean filled with at least eight decent players.  There was very little money changing stacks.  I had been seated for just over two hours, and my stack was still hanging around $300.  Every one else at the table also had approximately a full buy-in behind.  
Then, finally . . . AA.  In middle position.  Under the Gun +1 limps in and gets a caller.  I raise to $12.  UTG+1 calls and we go heads up to the flop.
FLOP:  [Pot $29] -  6 2 7 rainbow.  Villain leads for $20.  Interesting.  I just call.
Turn: [Pot: $69] - 8.  Villain bets $55.
I fold.  AA face-up into the muck.  
Villain is incredulous.  His tables is 66.  Aces cracked, and it only cost me $32.
Now, back to the question posed in the opening line -- super nit or good read?  Here was my thought process:
1.  Villain struck me as competent - no more, no less.  He wasn't a donk, but he wasn't brilliant, either.
2.  Villain limp-called $12 from early position.  He could have done that with A7 or A6 suited.  Of course, my pocket pair made that hand less likely.  76, 66 or 77 are squarely in his limp-call range.    
3.   Villain's $20 donk on the flop gives me some information.  It leads me to believe he is on the weaker end of the range.  There are two cards to the straight on the board.  But there are not many hands in my range that give me the straight draw.  What hands am I raising to $12 from middle position that include a 4, 5, 8, 9, etc.?  If he flopped a monster, why lead out?  It's doubtful he is protecting his hand from a draw.  His $20 bet tells me he as a 6 or a 7 or a hand of similar value.  Of course, it's also possible he's put me an a big over pair, knows I'll call, and is trying to build the pot . . .  At this point, I'm not all that concerned; but I'm curious.
4.  After my $20 call, I see Villain staring at my stack.  I'm not quite sure what it is about the look;   but something strikes me as funny (and, not in the "ha-ha-funny-like-a-clown" kind of way).  It wasn't the look of a guy on a draw sizing up his "implied odds" . . .  My initial, gut reaction:  "this dude is looking at my chips, just thinking about how many of them he is gonna pull across the table on this hand . . ." 
5.   The eight falls on the turn, Villain thinks deliberately, and bets out $55.  OK.  Now I'm no longer curious.  I'm concerned.  The pot is getting bloated.  A call here and I'm into the hand for $82.  There would be $179 in the middle when the river peels.  It would be hard to fold to a river bet.  I mean, on this kind of board, the river is not going to change anything.  So, if I'm confident enough to call the turn, how can I fold to a river bet?  I could save a bit of money by raising the turn, I guess (and seeing villain's response).  But I'm not in love with that idea.  Perhaps I should have raised the flop to $60; but that decision has come and gone.         
My thought process turns to my old fall-back -- what am I beating?  I'm less convinced I'm looking at a pair of 6's or 7's or some medium pocket pair -- villain is creating a big pot here, and the table (including villain) had been playing somewhat tight all night.  Really, the only hands I'm ahead of are TT-KK.  Maybe Villain limp-called from early position with TT or JJ -- statistically unlikely.  But, at the same time, there are only three hands I'm realistically behind -- 66, 77, 67.  In the back of my head, I hear Poker Grump -- "don't be scared of the monster under the bed . . ."
But, my mind keeps going back to "the stare" . . .  Something about this hand just doesn't feel right.  I think I'm beat. In fact, I'm actually sort of confident I'm beat.  So much so that I decide to muck my AA face up and risk Villain showing 99 or the like and the humiliation of being utterly outplayed, in position, on the hand.
In the end, I got this one right.  A $32 loss with AA is a win (villain, by the way, claimed he put me on QQ or KK).  And I'm not sure I make that lay down if I'm not paying close attention to villain's demeanor during the hand.
Saturday, I played the 11:00, the 2:00 and the 7:00 tournaments at The Showboat.  Quite clearly, I didn't run very deep in the first two.  In fact, during the first two levels of the middle event, I was dealt AA, KK, QQ, TT and AQ . . . and lost each hand, sending my stack from $20,000 to $7,000.  I three-bet each, and made it to showdown only on the AQ hand.  The table must have thought I was fucken nutz (three-betting every other hand, only to lay down . . .).   Yes, I realize that may make me appear "exploitable," but I am nearly certain I was beat with each pair.  On the AA hand, the flop was Q-high.  Villain led the flop, I raised, she called.  Turn was another Q.  She lead with a sizable bet, I folded (if she didn't have a Q, then well-played on her part ... ).  Overcards hit the flop on the KK, QQ, TT.  Each hand was multi-way (despite my preflop three-bets) with action on the flop (only one of the hands made it to showdown, and both had an A).  And, on the AQ hand, I lost to A 4 on a K 4 8 J 2 board.  I continued my preflop aggression with a bet on the flop and got called.  I checked the turn and bet the river and got called.  Woman claimed she "knew" I had overcards . . .  It was the worst "heater" in memory.
And, finally, here's some photographic evidence that non-casino companies should not operate casinos.  It's The Revel at 11:00pm Saturday night:

There were also plenty of $15 black jack tables with multiple empty seats.  One would have thought Revel would have paid attention to The Cosmo....  It's Atlantic City in December and you stick with your philosophy that you are a "Destination Resort" and refuse to comp (or discount) rooms?  Really?  I can stay at Borgata for $115 (and Harrah's for free) on a Saturday night and you want to charge me $375?  Really?  Really?  I guess I'll just wait until after the court-supervised reorganization.  Yes, Revel is a really cool casino; but I can wait a year to bring my business over . . .