After 37 years and 14 concerts, Bruce Springsteen finally gave me Incident on 57th Street

Having been blown away by the first Los Angeles show on this tour back in April and knowing that this was the last North American show on the tour, I didn't know what to expect from Bruce Thursday night in Glendale, Arizona. So, when he started off with his acoustic guitar and played "Surprise, Surprise" solo, my reaction was WTF. Why that song? Was Bruce trying to tell us something? We got our answer right away.

Next came an energetic version of "No Surrender", again somewhat of a surprise. Definitely one of the better songs from Born in the USA, and immortalized for the line "We learned more from a three minute record than we ever learned in school", the band absolutely nailed it. It became obvious that Jake Clemons has definitely become more relaxed and confident and the entire band was clearly into it. I realized that on this night anything might be played.

As if to prove my point, next up were two back-to-back River songs, "I'm a Rocker" and "Hungry Heart." Really? I don't think I've heard "Hungry Heart" in the main set since The River tour, it's always been one of the encores, if played at all. And "I'm a Rocker?" I know I haven't heard that since The River tour. Once again, they were both absolutely nailed by the band.

Then came the '78 version of "Prove it all Night," which I guess Bruce has been playing regularly lately. It was great hearing the piano intro from The Professor, and the only word to describe Bruce's playing of the solo is "blistering." I can't remember hearing Bruce play a solo like that before, it's almost like Tom Morello has rubbed off on him. It was incredible. At that point, I was simply in awe, dumbstruck at the setlist so far (this was a show on the Wrecking Ball tour, right? Where the hell were those songs?), and giddy with aniticipation of what might come next.

Next came "Trapped," which I always love to hear in a show. I was lucky to get that on one of the "Magic" shows I saw in Anaheim and it was a major highlight that night. It still amazes that Bruce can nail this difficult vocal, he is 63 years old, after all. When the song ended to the roar of the amazed crowd, I thought now we have to get some Wrecking Ball tunes. Right? I mean, we're six songs in now.

I expected to hear the percussion beginning of "We Take Care of our Own," but instead heard another piano intro from The Professor that seemed vaguely familiar. And then it hit me, and I turned to my brother with a look of shocked wonder, which was mirrored on his face, as I said "Are you fucking kidding me? Lost in the Flood?". Well, I haven't heard that one live since 1975 at my very first Bruce show. What I got in Glendale was a powerful, passionate, explosive and absolutely mind-blowing version of one of Bruce's best and hardly-ever played songs. Once again, the band was nails, they were perfect. And when the song ended, I was completely fried. Blown away. I couldn't believe what I had seen and heard. I started to wonder: could this be the night? More on that later.

The next four songs were standards for the tour: "We Take Care of our Own," "Wrecking Ball," "Death to my Hometown," and "My City of Ruins." All of them great, all of them played with passion and emotion. Bruce then took requests and surprised us once again with "Be True" (did someone really request that?) and "Light of Day." I seem to be on the "Light of Day" track because I get that a lot at the shows I attend. "Darliington County" would have been a good bathroom song, if I had needed to go. It was well done, but I've never cared for it all that much. "Shackled and Drawn" came next with all its power and emotion. Bruce lightened the mood after that with "Waiting on a Sunny Day" and the Apollo medley. Sam Moore of Sam and Dave fame was at the show, and he joined Bruce briefly during "634-5789."

Next came "The Rising," which I have never gotten tired of, and then "Badlands." I've heard "Badlands" so many times that I should be sick ot it, but clearly, I'm not. When Bruce sings that "it ain't no sin to be glad I'm alive", he does so with such passion and joy in his voice that it is contagious. I was singing my guts out, as was most of the crowd. I knew we were getting close to the end of the main set and I wondered what song he would finish with. I know what I wanted. And as Bruce played the harmonica intro, I knew my wish was fulfilled. Many people have written on this site and others that "Thunder Road" has become tired and plodding live. I have no clue what they are talking about. On Thursday night in Glendale, it was joyous and triumphant. As I stood there, singing and dancing along with the band, I looked around and saw almost the entire crowd on their feet. I will never get tired of "Thunder Road" live.

As the main set ended, I was clearly exhausted and enthralled. The setlist had been diverse and exquisite. This was my 14th concert of a journey which began 37 years ago when I was a freshmand in college. The one song which I had never gotten from Bruce just happens to be my favorite, "Incident on 57th Street." I've heard many different versions on many different boots, but it had never been performed at any show I had been at. I had resigned myself to the belief that I would never get it. But this concert seemed different. After "Lost in the Flood," it seemed anything was possible.

And so, the encores began with Bruce going over to the piano, giving Roy a break. Everyone around me was breathless, what was he going to surprise us with now. And then came the piano intro, and I suddenly knew my moment had finally come. Bruce began singing the words I knew so well, and I swear, I had tears in my eyes. It was just Bruce alone on the piano. He sang with emotion and power. He sang with longing and tenderness. The crowd was swept up in this amazing ballad writen almost 40 years ago and you could hear a pin drop in the arena, it was so quiet. And when it was over, I was simply overcome with joy. I was drained with emotion and felt a feeling of fulfillment and satisfaction that mere words can't describe. And I can never again say I've never had "Incident" played at a concert I attended.

The rest was anticlimactic for me. Oh sure, "Born to Run" was great as always, "Santa Claus is coming to Town" was fun, and "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out" was joyous and tender with its tribute to the Big Man. And then it was over. I don't think I could have taken much more.

There's not much else for me to say. The first time I saw Bruce in 1975 at my college in Oswego, New York, was probably the best concert I ever saw, and a life-changing event for me. Other shows I've seen have been almost as great, some may even have been better. But I don't think any of them since that very first time have been as special for me as Thursday night in Glendale was. I didn't know I could still feel that way at the ripe old age of 54. But I was wrong. Thank you, Bruce.

  

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The World Series of Poker

It was seven years ago when I first went to the World Series of Poker.  I played in one of the early events, a thousand dollar buy-in.  I lasted 15 minutes.  I was obviously clueless.  But I knew two things:  I could become a much better player, and I wanted to return.

Since then, I've read poker books, attended poker boot camp, played endless hours online (back when Americans could do that) and I played scores, perhaps even hundreds, of poker tournaments in numerous casinos in Arizona and Nevada.  I'm a much better player than I was, and over the years, when I cashed in tournaments or won money in cash games, I saved some of that money to someday fulfill my dream of returning to the WSOP.

This year, I finally fulfilled my dream.  I went back to the WSOP.  I once again bought into a thousand dollar buy-in no limit hold em tournament, event number 44.  The World Series has changed a great deal since then.  In addition to the bracelet events, there are satellite events, and three different deep stack tournaments every day.  They all qualify as WSOP events, and they are all filled with hundreds, even thousands, of poker players from all over the world.

I had several goals for this year's WSOP.  Goal number one was to last longer than fifteen minutes.  Goal number two was to make it to the first break, two hours into the tournament.  Goal number three was to play smart, but aggressive, poker.  The idea is to accumulate chips, make moves at the right times and when in the correct position, and try to win the tournament, not just survive.  Goal number four was to survive the first day.  Goal number five was to make it into the money, and goal number six was to win the bracelet.

I got to the Rio Hotel in Las Vegas (the permanent home of the World Series of Poker) at about 5:00 Saturday night.  I got settled into my room and went down to do the final registration for the tournament.  I also saw that a Deep Stack tournament was beginning at 6:00.  The Deep Stack tournaments are new events they have at the World Series.  You start off with either ten or fifteen thousand chips, depending on which tournament you play, and the tournament is completed the same day.  I decided to warm up for the big one on Sunday by playing in the 6:00 Deep Stack.  That turned out to be a major mistake.

For some reason, I don't remember much about the Deep Stack, except that I played very badly and had terrible luck.  If I had a pair, someone had a bigger pair.  If I had a big ace (that means an AK or AQ), someone else had a big pair which held up against me.  I chased hands, refused to lay anything down, and before I knew it, I was short-stacked.  I managed to hang on for a while, but I was knocked out at about the three hour mark.  It was a terrible showing, I played like crap and had no luck.  To make matters worse, my confidence was shot.

There was another tournament at 10:00, but I thought it was more important to stay in my room and study my poker boot camp material, and try to refresh myself with everything I had learned with the hopes of playing better on Sunday.  After several hours of study and serious meditation, I once more felt confident the next morning, and I was ready to go to war.

I played better on Sunday.  I waited for big hands and the right moments to make moves.  We only began with three thousand chips (unlike the Deep Stack tournaments where the smallest starting stack was ten thousand chips).  I easily attained my first goal.  I lost a pretty big pot with pocket queens, when a calling station at the table (a numbnuts who will call every hand and never fold even when he has crappy cards) called my preflop raise with just 8-4, and then got two fours on the flop to give him three of a kind.  I lost half my stack there.

I made it to the first break, two hours into the tournament.  I had about two thousand chips.  After the break, there was a hand where the calling station was in the big blind.  Everyone else had folded to me.  I looked down and saw pocket eights.  I figured I would make a move to take the blinds, so I went all in, expecting the two blinds to fold.  The small blind obliged, but the calling station in the big blind called the all-in.  I held my breath, and prayed.  I turned over my eights and he turned over Q-9 suited in diamonds.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  He had no pot odds whatsoever to make the call and yet he still did it with only a Q-9.  The worst thing was I was positive he would hit either a queen or a nine.  I didn't begin to breathe again until all five cards on the board were turned over and there was no queen or nine, and I had doubled up my chips.

A couple of hands later, the guy on my left had to make a move as he was down to almost nothing.  He went all in with about 850 chips.  Everyone else folded and it came back to me.  I looked down at A-Q, a hand that was to become one of my nemeses during the weekend.  However, at that time, I thought I was in the lead, so I called.  He turned over A-10.  He didn't get his miracle ten, and holy crap, I had actually knocked somebody out of a WSOP event.  I finally started to feel good about my play and settled down.  My goal was to concetrate, be patient, and play smart poker.

I made it to the end of the third level.  We were three hours into the tournament.  I was on the button for the last hand of the third level.  The big blind was 100.  The guy after the big blind did a minimum raise to 200.  Almost everyone called the raise.  When it came to me, I looked at my hand and saw AK, the dreaded Big Slick.  It's a hand that can be a monster, if you hit an ace or a king.  If you don't hit, you can lose an awful lot with it.

I re-raised to 850.  The big and small blind both folded.  The original raiser re-raised me to 1800.  Everyone folded to me.  What the hell do I do now?  I was torn.  If I folded, I would have lost about one-fourth of my chips.  I also hated to just lay down the AK without at least seeing the flop.  But if I just made the call. I would have less than half of the chips I had at the beginning of the hand.  Calling made no sense to me.  My choices were fold or go all-in.  I should have just folded.  Of course, I'm saying that now knowing what happened.  At the time, however, I wanted to make a move to try to win.  And I stubbornly thought I had the better hand and he was trying to bluff me off the pot.  I went all-in.  He called.  He turned over pocket jacks.

This is the classic "race" in poker tournaments, a big pair against a big ace.  The player with the big ace either hits or he doesn't.  It's what they call the "all-in moment."  The flop came with a big, beautiful king, and suddenly I'm looking at doubling up in chips and putting myself in a position to go deep into this tournament.  The turn was inconsequential.  And then came the river.  The other guy had only two outs, meaning there were only two cards left in the entire deck which could help him, the other two jacks.  That's it.  And, son of a fucking bitch, one of those two damn jacks showed up on the river, giving the other guy three of a kind, and knocking me right out of the tournament.  I was in shock.  And that, my friends, is what is called a brutal bad beat.  I wanted to cry.

But there's no crying in poker.  I uttered a favorite profanity of mine, and then got up and left.  I was sick to my stomach, disappointed beyond belief.  I could hear one of the faculty at the Poker Boot Camp I did in February saying in my head that if you bust out making a move to win, that's OK.  You've got to do that to win, and you're going to lose 85% of the time, but you will be in a position to win more often.  It's the right way to play.  And after the voice in my head told me all those things, I told him to shut the fuck up.

There was nothing to do but play another tournament.  I signed up for the 6 p.m. Deep Stack.  I won't go into a whole lot of detail.  There were 480 players, and I made it to the six hour mark.  There were about 90 players left.  I had already lost with pocket aces, beaten by pocket tens when a third ten hit the board.  I lost almost every time I had AK or AQ.  But I still managed to hang on.  I won some hands with middle pairs, and just managed to hang in.  I was short-stacked and needed to make a move to hang on.  The guy who had previously beaten my pocket aces (a very nice guy from England) pushed all in about an hour or so later and I looked down at pocket kings.  Time to make my move.  I called the all-in.  He turned over AQ, a hand that I had been losing with all day long.  But not this guy.  He hit his ace.  There was no miracle third king for me, and I was knocked out yet again.

The next day I was ready to put all the disappointment behind me and start fresh in the 2 p.m. Deep Stack tournament.  I thought all the bad beats were behind me and there was going to be nothing but good luck ahead.  Yeah, right.  I was now playing well, making the right moves at the right time.  If I could just avoid bad luck, I would be OK.

About three and a half hours into the tournament, the blinds were 300-600.  I was the big blind with a stack of about 18,000 chips.  I put my 600 in and watched five players call the big blind, or limp in as poker players say.  No one raised.  I looked down at 10-3 offsuit and checked my option.  The flop was J-10-3.  I had flopped two pair.  The small blind checked and I bet out 5 thousand chips.  There were two callers.  The turn was a 3.  I almost jumped out of my chair.  I now had a dominating full house.  Time to make a move and build my stack.  I went all-in, hoping that someone would call.  Someone did, the most obnoxious, arrogant player at the table.  And I was about to put a hurt on him.  We turned over our cards and he was deflated when he saw my full house.  And then came the river.

Somewhere in the poker world, there are poker players who had worse luck than I did over a three-day period.  But I don't believe it.  I've never been so unlucky at any time at any place during my poker career.  The hand that the guy turned over was KJ, meaning he had two pair with the two threes on the board.  The guy had only two outs, only two cards in the whole deck which could beat me, the remaining two jacks.  Does that sound familiar, or what?  Guess what card came on the river.  I couldn't believe it.  He actually hit a jack, ended up with a higher full house than me, and knocked me out.  With a full freaking house.  I lost a hand and got knocked out of a tournament with a freaking full house!  That had never happened to me before.  I was totally crushed.

Oh, I played in one more tournament.  I actually shook off my depression and played pretty well.  I lasted six and a half hours, and finished 72nd out of 460.  I had AQ suited twice within a ten minute period and lost both times, the second time knocking me out.  I was 26 places from making it into the money.  I had played a grand total of 21 and a half hours of poker over five different tournaments, and didn't win a damn thing.

Heading out of the tournament area and back up to my room, I ran into Greg Raymer.  Raymer used to be an attorney like I am.  Seven years ago, he came out of nowhere to win the Main Event of the World Series of Poker and forever end his legal career.  He is my favorite poker player, my poker God.  I asked him if he would take a picture with me.  I had earlier asked the same thing of the great Doyle Brunson, who basically told me to get lost.  But Raymer is a gentleman.  We took the picture.  We chatted for a while.  I told him my name and that I was an attorney and that he was my favorite poker player and that I wanted to do just what he did.  I hope he enjoyed our few moments together as much as I did.  At least I was able to stop thinking about all my bad beats.

Being at the World Series of Poker this year was a dream come true.  I loved every minute of it, even with the bad beats.  I'm ready to get back to the tables as soon as I can.  I'm going to stop over-playing AK and AQ.  I'm tired of those hands killing me.  There's something called the Arizona State Championship, which is played at the Talking Stick Casino in Scottsdale in August.  I think I just might try my luck there.  What do you think?