This Sunday, the Patriots will begin their two month march to redemption with a no-nonsense drubbing of Roethlisberger and his backup band of defensive wannabes. From there, the Pats will have four easy games (Seattle, Oakland, Arizona and Buffalo) enroute to their 6th straight AFC East title. The Jets have a similarly cake schedule, but they'll find a way to seize up and maybe blow a wild card spot--a late fumble at Candlestick, an ill-advised pass turned pick against Miami--even with 3 of their last 5 at home. After a quick playoff wins against the Squealers and the Titans (another AFC sham), the Pats will savage the Giants in SuperBowl 43 so badly that the only reason there will be any spectators lingering in the 3rd quarter is that Springsteen headlined the halftime show and they're stalling to avoid traffic.

Sure, the NFL is filled with feel-good stories this year--Collins and the Titans, Warner and the Cards, hell, even Favre and the Jets is fun to follow--but none will be as satisfying as watching Belichick, Cassel & Co. expose the poseur Manning, that troll Coughlin and their Giants "legacy" as a complete fluke. The only nervous part of the whole run will be the 10-15 minutes of the Cowgirls leading the Giants in the NFC Championship game until Manning's ritalin kicks in. Even that game will end predictably--with a vacant look on Romo's face and tears streaming down Owens' cheek.

Patriots at 19 to 1 to win the SuperBowl from here? Are you kidding me? Easy money, IMO.

Edmond

In the mid-1900s, Abraham Maslow put forth a theory of human motivation in which he hypothesized that humans have a pyramid of needs—a “needs hierarchy” in his terms. Put simply, he said that before people can be creative, their food, shelter, love and self-esteem needs must be met. His model has flaws—I know plenty of starving artists—but for me, it’s a good fit. Despite being short the financials and long gold for most of the year, the bear market has left my balance sheet in tatters and me speculating how to finance my next meal away from Club One. Ergo: it’s been six weeks since my last post. That said, others on this site have managed to make regular entries despite public setbacks in bankroll, love and self-esteem. Faced with this, I realize that I’ve shamed the site by not remaining current, and resolve henceforth to post more regularly. Maybe even about something poker-related.

So what’s happened over the last six weeks worth noting? Well, I crashed my Lexus on the Pacific Coast Highway while…how shall we say?...multi-tasking. Given that every insurance company in the world is looking for reasons to kick customers to the curb and de-lever, I wouldn’t suggest the practice or document it on a public blog, for that matter. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but it did set me back a few hundred bucks (deductible, car rental, time value) and resulted in a mild scare when the DMV canceled my license (for a day) for lack of a timely accident report. Oh, that? Sorry, ma’am. I’ll get that right out today.

On the Club One Casino front, we’ve held two radio-sponsored free-rolls each of which drew over 400 new faces into Club One. We ran radio ads, gave away several thousand dollars in cash, DVDs and gift certificates and generated lots of new blackjack and poker trial. The response has been great given the local economy (11% unemployment and retail and restaurant traffic down double digits), but then again, maybe not. They were free-rolls after all.

Fortunately for us, radio stations are practically giving away time now with other advertisers pulling back in the recession. Never one to run with the herd, I’ve tripled our radio ad efforts. I firmly believe it’s the most cost-effective way for us to reach targeted groups. The only problem for me personally is that the stations on which we advertise make for horrible listening, so policing the ad placements is torture.

I’m not a music snob but the classic rock, alt rock, talk radio, etc. stations of today are all pretty bad. Uh, no. Nickelback is not comparable to Nirvana and a male talk show host gushing about changing a kid’s diaper does not make for good drive time radio. And when did weeping over how your daughter looks in a prom dress make the county music cut? In the words of LakeofFire, country music is supposed to be about pain and jail and killing a man in Reno just to see him die. Mr. Cash would be beside himself if he were alive to hear some of this crap. RIP, sir. Some of us still believe.

What else? Last weekend, we held the first annual Fall Classic at Club One Casino which drew 280 players at $345 per and set a high water mark for a tournament attendance and sick side game action. Given the turnout, we immediately set plans for a Winter Deep Freeze, pretty much the same tournament with a different logo. Those of you stuck in cold climates should make arrangements to attend. The side game action, while not as deep as in Vegas or So Cal, is equally clumsy. AK893, three heart board with capped action on the turn and river? No, sir. Your queens aren’t good.

Speaking of which, I’ve become sort of a happy hour prop in our 15/30 kill game. The game, a staple for us, tends to play in shifts during the week. There’s a group that plays 9-5ish and another set of customers that come in around 8p or so. To bridge the gap, I’ve taken to sitting in the game during the shift change. Unfortunately, most days I end up stuck or lit or both and end up camped out until last call. I’m told it’s “good for the game” which means that I’m the fish, obv, and it’s probably not the most effective use of management resources. It’s like feeding a stray cat, though. I’m sort of stuck with it until a larger predator shows up to clear the property.

On a side note, when we’re considering the card-room purchase, I have to admit I underestimated the 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year nature of a casino gig. My day comprises the following: wake-up around 9a, trudge downstairs, commandeer the Club One van, hit Starbucks and the gym, shower and suit up around 11a or 12p, eat, deal with vendors or other casino-related nonsense until 5p or so, play 15/30, wrestle the floor-staff over being pulled from the game stuck (“But Kyle, the list is five deep!” “I want my chips back, dammit!”) eat, deal with other casino nonsense until 1a. Drink until last call. Trudge back to the hotel room. Repeat daily. Mix in trips to Los Angeles, New York and Sacramento to taste.

The “casino-related nonsense” referenced above includes reviewing daily numbers, looking for staff efficiencies, pushing and reviewing promotion ideas, comparing ATM contracts, weighing Coke vs. Pepsi or Red Bull vs. RockStar, attempting to comprehend pai gow tiles, reviewing food costs and menu pricing, providing ad hoc IT support, updating LED signs, helping police the casino floor for trash (human and otherwise), providing cogent updates to partners and lenders, greeting customers, managing the staff, teaching poker classes, updating the website, etc. I like it—a lot—but still, it would be nice to have a break to hose the place down and grab 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

On the other hand, it could be worse. For the last two months, my friends in the finance community have been getting pummeled relentlessly like a fleet of racing yachts attempting to round Cape Horn in the middle of winter. Everyday there’s a new story of carnage with a friend being wheeled out, catatonic, mumbling about a thoughtful investment position that was demolished by forces out of his control. None of us ran the “Ok, let’s say the financial system collapses. What’s that do to the model?” downside case.

Of course, there’s not a lot of sympathy out there for guys making strong six figures now making nothing and deci-millionaires back in single digits, especially since the typical American came to grips with his job insecurity and housing value months ago and is now high-fiving himself that gas is back to $2/gallon. But it is sobering. As one of my friends put it, “It’s worse than a divorce. I’ve lost half my net worth and I’m still married!” Ouch.

Edmond