#250C - London Journal #16C - Million Dollar Cash Game #17 - The Continuing Saga of Uncle Tilty vs. Phil Ivey, or Das Bus

The action has been slow thus far. (It’s 1:45 PM, one hour in on Day 2.) Chris Ferguson has been reraised out of a couple of pots, the latest being one where he was re-reraised out preflop by Allen Cunningham moving all-in. It was the first all-in of the day and Allen took it when Ferguson folded.

The pace of play has allowed me an opportunity to share a great exchange that took place off camera yesterday afternoon.

It’s clear that Phil Ivey is going to do his duty and go to Germany for the series of tournaments Full Tilt is running in different cities right after this Game end, but he is going to make Uncle Tilty pay, even if the only currency available is the currency of endless complaining.

Periodically, Ivey has been leaning back between hands and giving Uncle Tilty the business. So at one point yesterday, he told Tilty that he expected a chartered jet for the flight.

That’s when Uncle Tilty said something about a bus.

“A bus? We’re taking a bus? Isn’t there WATER between here and Germany?”

Uncle Tilty explained how, once they were in Germany, chartering a luxury bus was going to make it a joy to travel from city to city.

Ivey wasn’t hearing any of it. “I’m not going to Germany if I have to ride a bus. When I was younger, for two years, every day I rode a bus two hours to Atlantic City. Then I’d play for six hours and ride two hours back on the bus. I swore I would never ride a bus again.”

The first time I traveled to New York on legal business, I had an opportunity to take a bus to Atlantic City and check out their casinos. My flight at LaGuardia was canceled so I bought a ticket and took the 2 ½ hour ride, arriving at about 10:30 PM. The bus was just about empty, I napped, I got some work done, the fare came with a meal ticket in A.C.

They didn’t have poker then so I played blackjack for several hours and went where I was directed – downstairs – for the return trip.

The casino bus terminal at 3:30 in the morning was like the Black Hole of Calcutta. It was jammed with every sort of hustler, beggar, and bag person.

I was one of the first on the bus and figured there’s no way I could sleep in this environment. But then the bus filled and they took up every single seat – except the one next to me. So I was weirdly insulted that out of this crowd of the unwashed masses, I was somehow The Undesirable.

I had just about dozed off when I heard an argument several rows behind me. There was screaming in an unfamiliar language and a deep voice in broken English yelling, “You put your shoes on or I kill you!”

The bus skidded off the road and slammed to a halt. The bus driver marched back to the two, pointing, “You shut up. And you, put your shoes on!”

Uncle Tilty is talking about the ten plasma screens on the bus.

“Oh, that’s even worse. If I watch TV, I’ll get motion sickness. Then there are the bus fumes.”

Uncle Tilty cuts him off and tries to explain the luxuries of these buses, but Phil isn’t listening, and neither am I.

I know those fumes.

Fight the power, Phil!