Friday at the WSOP

10am: At the spa with Mad Marty. There’s a bowl of ice outside the steam room with sliced cucumbers in it. “Now tell me one more time,” he says to me, “what am I supposed to do with these cucumbers?”

11am: Coffee at the Starbucks with Padraig and Julian Gardner. I ask Julian what events he’s playing. “You know,” he says, “I haven’t even looked at the schedule yet!” Talk about a man well rested. He’s seen more of Man United this year than Alex Ferguson and because of that has a smile that a month of bad beats will never dent. I’m guessing he’ll be over the jet lag and ready for action about Tuesday. At that time the field better watch out.

12:30pm: Watching Holland v. France in the sportsbook while discussing our golf action for the day. We all like Tiger. Mostly because if we bet him then we get watch every shot.

6:30pm: Off to the Venetian to eat dinner in the Italian restaurant. It’s overpriced and the menu is in Italian. The waiter has to stand there and with a fake Italian accent translate it for us. It’s clear that the closest he’s ever been to Italy is Kansas City. There’s no chicken parmigiana. We spend a fortune and manage to enjoy ourselves immensely anyway, as the company was good. Things are hazy from there.

Nobody’s really ever seen Phil Ivey go on tilt before. But they seem to have him on the hook now. I wish somebody would open up a market on whether he’ll win a bracelet or not. I don’t like his 2-1, but it sure would be fun to back him at about 15’s right now while the wolves are circling. I must try and get a look at him today. I’ll bet he’s not talking much.