Journal - 2/10/09

We made it to the Bahamas: feelings of jubilation mixed with post traumatic stress.

I can imagine a casual 30 min plane ride from West Palm Beach to Freeport. We chose to sail-- 60+ miles ocean...

At no point did I fear for my life; the crossing was more like a 16hr bull ride with somebody occasionally hosing you in the face with salt water. When we arrived at West End I hadn't slept for about 24hrs and had flecks of salt caked to my skin and clothes... Upon stepping onto land I couldn't help but bust out a jig/crip walk with my remaining energy.

Probably the scariest moment of the trip was when we were floating 25 miles off shore and lost both power and the engine for about ten minutes... That and the first time we lost sight of land in all directions... and it being night time... Or the huge waves in general.

The best part of the trip besides stepping onto land again, was when we saw land for the first time. I've always wanted to yell, "Land Ho!" under it's intended definition and really mean it (almost tears of joy).

There were also a few moments when we took a breath to enjoy the surroundings: the night sky, the sunrise, or being the only people in sight.

When we asked about the current conditions most experienced sailors said, "I wouldn't do it." We were also told it would be a good idea to go with other boats as a safety precaution.... But after a chat with one brazen sailor who had crossed from the UK, we felt inspired. "Let's do this!" (He said he might cross if he were younger.)

All in all, the crossing was one crazy trip, but we survived. Now time to cruise the shores of the Bahamas...

Oh, and probably the craziest piss I've ever had to take... probably.

-Ian Graham, February 10, 2009

"Whisky Deck, hasn't sunk yet."

Journal - 11/09/2008

For the last two months I've been elbows-deep in my ship's engine... when I'm not in front of my computer playing poker. My lifestyle is not the greatest at the moment (I have zero social life here in Florida); but hard work is the yeast that raises the dough--so I tell myself.

Let me rewind a bit for those friends I haven't spoken to in awhile. Firstly, I just bought a sailboat with money I've made playing poker (glorified word for working in front of a computer). And for those friends I haven't spoken to in a really long time, I am currently working as a poker player-- a professional poker player, if you will... if you must.

The plan is to sail around the Caribbean from January until May and live off the seas! A pretty idealistic and shoddy plan but a plan nonetheless. When the trip is over my crew and I will sail triumphantly into New York City where I will dock for the Summer season (May 1st to Oct 31st). We will celebrate into the night armed with tales of wild adventures and thick beards to boot... on. That is, if the plan goes accordingly.

I'm not quite sure where this idea of sailing came from. But one day, while sitting in my apartment in Boston, I started looking at sailboats online. I glanced up at the brick-wall-view from my window, and for some reason, the idea wouldn't leave me alone. A long dormant dream had awoken.

So before I set sail I need to take care of a few details: First, I had to find a boat. Basically, I got lucky. After an unsucessful month of seaching online; e-mailing contacts; and a few games of phone tag with hard to contact sailor-vagabonds; I decided to walk around a local marina two blocks away as a last-ditch effort.

I see a boat with a 'for sale' sign on it. My first thoughts: no way I will be able to afford this boat--too nice, too big. I called the number listed and the broker said the owner's of the boat had been trying to sell for over a year. Their asking price was already relatively low, but still pretty damn expensive. So I took a chance and made an offer: 65% of their asking price. Two days later, I received a call back from the broker: "the owner's accept your offer..." Shit. Now I actually have to go through with this!

I will write more about the last couple months, but to give you an idea of what I've been up to... A good friend recently asked me, "Do you even know how to sail?" To which I replied, "There's only one way to learn."

-Ian Graham, November 9, 2008


"Who is staring at the sea is already sailing a little."

-Paul Carvel

Poker - WSOP '08 Event 43

This June I sacked up and went out to Vegas to play in my first World Series of Poker event: Event #43, pot limit omaha high/low.

I wasn't sure if I was ready to play in the world series--yet-- but I found a letter in the mail that Spring that made the decision pretty easy. The Wynn casino and hotel offered to put me up for three nights anytime in June--free... I knew that $2 blackjack we played piss drunk at 4am last New Years would pay off someday! Good work, friends.

I booked my flight and got my tournament buy-in ready...

Three days into the trip, I am middle of the pack in chips, and I am one table away from an ESPN televised final table. I've spent the last two days playing next to (outplaying :D) some of my favorite poker players. And I've even knocked out a couple of them--something I hope to get used to. Of the original 720 players, 18 are left.

Shit is getting real: winner gets $220,000, and I am guaranteed $7,500, if I happen to get knocked out anytime soon. The first big pot at the table I flop a fairly strong hand and the guy first to act goes allin... My mind starts racing. All I can think about is that if I win this hand I will be the chip leader and have a great chance at winning the entire tournament. I play to win and make the call............ and miss my hand completely. It's all over with the turn of a card. No final table, no massive cash prize. Done. I never thought I'd see the day when I was upset about making $7,500. Of course, after collecting my winnings in cash, I was a little less upset. That night I went to sleep replaying that last hand, over and over.

Now I had a day to kill before my plane left for Boston. So I did what any self-disrespecting poker player would do: I sat down in a cash game with everything I'd just made--yep, all $7,500. I was taking a page out of my friend Egizi's poker book, "Bankroll Mismanagement." It was only a $5/$10 no limit game and the next biggest stack had $2,000, so I wasn't truly risking it all--so I'm not really that reckless.

Wearing my nicest suit, I sat down at the poker table and told the waitress to keep the whisky on the rocks flowing. I bought in for $2,000 in chips with a $5,000 brick of $100 bills nestled behind. My goal was to play the part of a guy who was having a good time and who didn't care about the money. I played for a couple of hours, made some money, and got up for lunch before the drinks affected my poker game negatively.

Red wine and filet mignon poolside followed by a sobering read in the sun for a few hours--this too, I could get used to. After lunch, I went back to the cash game and mopped up some more loose action before calling it a day. Walking through the airport I felt pretty bad ass not declaring the $10,000+ in cash on my person. All in all, it was a good trip, but you ain't seen nothing yet.

-Ian Graham, August 8th, 2008


"Do not repeat the tactics that have gained you one victory, but let your methods be regulated by the infinite variety of circumstances."

-Sun Tzu

Beirut- WSOBP '07

I know this happened a couple years ago, and not to dwell on past defeats, but I wanted to put the general story in print...

One day I received a call from my friend Mason who was busy doing some serious online research. He told me of a beirut competition called the World Series of Beerpong, which was held yearly in Las Vegas (this would be the second year). Not only did the tournament exist, but the winning team would recieve $20,000... This was great news.

(If you've never played beirut: go look up the rules online; call up a couple friends; and then have them help you move the rock you've been living under. Except you, mom. Yes, we are bowling.)

Mason and I booked our flights for Vegas and continued our regular routine of playing beirut on weekends and the ocassional weekday afternoon...

At the airport in Vegas we met up with a group of fellow teams, and borded what was technically a limosine, but perhaps more accurately described as a stretch station wagon. The burly driver looked like he'd be good in a fight, except for his right hand which was wrapped in bandages. He seemed like a nice guy.

Turns out the actual tournament was held in a place called Mesquite, Nevada, just outside of Las Vegas. A quick 45 minute drive through the desert and one arrived at our hotel called the Oasis. The slogan for Mesquite on our hotel brochures read, "It's Mesquite!"--nothing dishonest about that. We came up with our own slogan, "Reno's Reno..." At least the complete lack of anything to do helped us focus on what was important, and that was winning the national competition of our favorite drinking game.

The actual World Series of Beerpong was held in an event tent in the vacant parking lot behind the local McDonald's. And after three hard days of waking up at 9:00am and then promptly drinking all day, we found ourselves at the 2007 World Series of Beerpong final table.

As the final tournament wore down, Mason and I were focussed on our game. We shut out any distractions and simply outplayed the competition. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by rows of rowdy fans, multiple television cameras, and were playing a game of beirut for $20,000--the highest stakes on record in the history of the game. Oh, and were we pretty hammerslammed.

Bottom line, we lost. One of the opposing players had a perfect game and didn't miss a single shot (the beirut equivalent of pitching a no-hitter.) Mason and I still received a check for $2,500 for our efforts, but essentially we spent the rest of the day in complete silence spare intermittent four letter words.

Our team name was "Pwntrain" and we got owned. Youtube it.

- Ian Graham, December 12, 2007

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"It's a sport-- it just happens to involve alcohol."

-Some dude