The Bike is run by fascists and sex offenders

by , Apr 27, 2007 | 12:46 pm

LOS ANGELES–It’s true. I got booted from the Bike last night. This likely won’t surprise those of you who know me. As for those of you who don’t know me: Hey, I’m Gonz. Here’s what happened:

Yesterday afternoon, Dan and I ventured to the Bike to play some cash until the $300 + 35 NL tourney was set to go off around 7:15. We both sat $2-3 NL, which, oddly, had a max buy-in of $100. Dan killed the game. Meanwhile, the game killed me. I ended up skipping the tournament in an attempt to work back into the black. I won’t bore you with bad beat stories, but the true nut-kick came when my bad beat jackpot was counterfeited on the river. So I went to the bar …

Now, at that point, I had already been drinking Heineken. But, given the special circumstances/extreme disappointment, not to mention some encouragement from Tiny B, I decided to kick it up a notch and drink vodka while watching the Lakers-Suns game. Lots of vodka.

Thereafter, I wandered over to the banquet room to check on Dan. At that point, there were about 75 players still left in the tournament, and someone had put a rope up–presumably to keep spectators away from the tables. Here’s the thing, though: The rope only extended about three-quarters of the length of one side of the room. The other side had no rope. More importantly, there were several people sweating players from just feet away from the tables. So I naturally assumed that the rope was no big deal and started watching Dan. And not from a very close distance, mind you; I was actually inches away from the rope–I just wasn’t behind it, which turned out to be the rub.

For a while, no one bothered me. Then, somewhere around vodka-soda No. 10, a small little balding man came up to me and told me to move behind the rope. He looked like a pedophile (it’s so true; just saying). I couldn’t understand why the little balding pedophile (henceforth known as LBP) wasn’t asking the other spectators to move back. One “railbird” was literally seated over his buddy’s shoulder, eating a sandwich and peeking at his friend’s hole cards. And yet he went unmolested by LBP. Meanwhile, I was far enough away that the cards were a blur to me. (Then again, my eyesight isn’t so good, so who knows?) LBP was singling me out. Now, this may shock some of you, but I don’t do well when people pick on me, and this dude was clearly singling me out. So I argued with him. Some may say that I made a scene, but I think I handled it well. OK, OK, maybe telling him that he was a racist gimp on a power trip was a bit over the top. Still, I made it clear that I wasn’t going anywhere until he was prepared to move everyone behind the rope.

He left. I smiled.

Unfortunately, I misread LBP’s resolve (one of my many poor plays from the evening). After a short while he returned, and we resumed our move-back/fuck-you-Hitler dance. Finally, he had security escort me from the building. I tried to convince security that I was being unfairly persecuted. No go. Not only did they tell me that I had to leave the casino, but I was also instructed to leave the property. Problem was, I was really drunk, and I couldn’t drive. So I snuck back to the car, hunkered down in the backseat, and tried to get some sleep.

Approximately 35 seconds later, security knocked on the car window. (They have cameras at casinos now? Who knew?) They wanted to know why I hadn’t left. They told me that, if I didn’t leave, I’d be banned for life. Luckily, I struck a deal with one of the guards: I would promise not to try to re-enter the casino and would restrict myself to the backseat of the car–even though that arrangement potentially meant pissing myself, since, by that time, I had to use the bathroom badly (see alcohol consumption above). See that you do, he said, and walked off. And that was it. About a half an hour later, right around the time I was thinking about urinating on the floor of the rental car (I was afraid to even walk across the street to use the bathroom, because I thought they might arrest me on sight), Dan busted out of the tournament and drove me home.

For the record, I would like it noted that I love LA. I just don’t like the Bike. Soon, though, I will return there with a disguise. I will go looking for LBP, and we will resume our discussion.

I can beat this game–I know it.


9 Comments to “The Bike is run by fascists and sex offenders”


  1. DanM
    says:

    It really was a perfect storm of bona-fide tilt, a little alcohol, and a run-in with a low-on-the-totem pole dipshit.

    = Gonz at his finest.


  2. snake
    says:

    Just a guess but you’re not Vietnamese right?


  3. Gonz
    says:

    No. But I’d like to be.


  4. osinsh
    says:

    meeeh!

    I was escorted from the casino, too, once. when, while walking to the poker table, I said to some people ar carribean stud table not to play that fuckin’ crap. loud. very.

    I was totally drunk, too, hah.

    Keep it up, Gonz! Fight the bitches!


  5. Fresh Princess
    says:

    What a pisser.


  6. Change100 at PokerWorks
    says:

    […] and if you want to find out how to get ejected from the Bicycle Casino in L.A., read Gonz and Michalski’s account of their trip to the City of Angels over on Pokerati. I’m sorry […]


  7. Pokerati | Texas hold’em blog » Blog Archive » My dream come true
    says:

    […] stop thinking about Cali (maybe because it’s typically cold and rainy here?). There are a lot of crazy-ass stories from the trip Dan and I took to the City of Angels, and we might even tell you some of them one day […]


  8. Jordan from HighOnPoker
    says:

    It is always a shame when fucknuts like the little pedophile have to go abusing the minimal amount of power afforded to them. Fight the Power!


  9. DanM
    says:

    ALT HED: California Steamin’