A Tale Of Two Sisters

In which we discover why Ultimate Poker retained its player base and what WSOPcom might learn as a result

In April 2013 Ultimate Poker rolled out the first legal, albeit bare-bones, real-money online poker site in Nevada. WSOPcom, who [1] in my previous post I characterized as Ultimate's herpetic younger sister, flashily appeared on the scene later that summer, with off-the-shelf software that had been battle-tested and refined in the European market, and the commercial power of the mighty World Series of Poker brand.

Everything associated with the WSOP is, of course, owned [2] , trademarked, exploited, and generally sold down the river by Caesars Entertainment Corporation [3]. However, even detractors would agree that the corporation's marketing division has an absolutely enormous budget that is more than sufficient to overcome the lack of imagination of its management and staff.

WSOPcom promotional material was suddenly everywhere. The stained and thinning felt on the poker tables at CET properties was somehow scraped off and new coverings appeared, gaudily bedecked with the WSOPcom logo and cunningly designed to camouflage blinds posted by players in the end seats.  New swivel chairs sprung up, again sporting the online site's logo, that crashed into adjacent ones whenever a player left the table. Pamphlets were distributed by attractive young women in fishnets and bustiers, who set a trend for all future WSOPcom employees by having virtually no useful information about the site when quizzed on the topic.

As the PR juggernaut rolled through Nevada, I revised my estimate for the survival of Ultimate Poker from months to weeks.

And I was completely wrong.

Poker players, mostly out of necessity, rarely exhibit loyalty to anyone but themselves. Many, I am glad to say, have a respect for The Game and for honesty that keeps the ecosystem functioning and has the added benefit of avoiding unpleasantness late at night in parking lots. But loyalty is something that casinos have long known is a commodity that typically has to be paid for. Hence loyalty programs.

Casinos and their online spin-offs all offer some kind of kick-back to players in order to keep those players on their bricks-and-mortar or virtual premises rather than those of their competitors. A standard method employed by online poker sites involves deposit bonuses. At certain times, players depositing money on a site will have that deposit matched at some percentage and up to some limit by the house. The player releases that bonus by playing on the site. The more you play, the more the house makes in rake, and the more of your bonus is released. In essence it is one of those symbiotic relationships that real journalists usually illustrate with small birds removing food lodged in the teeth of alligators.

A few weeks after launch, WSOPcom announced a deposit bonus. I immediately flapped over to my computer, pulled up the client, and after a few minutes pecking at the keyboard had successfully transferred a few hundred dollars from my bank to the site.

A great deal more pecking through the snarling maw of the cashier page [4] provided no evidence that my bonus had been registered by the system. I reread the e-mail announcing the program and noticed at the bottom that I should have included a bonus code.

Bonus codes have been a feature of these bonuses even at real sites like PokerStars and I have never fully understood them. They are not used to track how a player learned about the promotion and thus serve no purpose other than additional keyboard pecking. However, since I rarely read instructions carefully [5], I had forgotten to enter such codes on multiple occasions before Black Friday. The problem had always been quickly rectified by telling support I was a dummy and could they please manually activate the bonus.

I should remind readers at this point that I grew up in London and consequently am more comfortable with accented English spoken by Sunil from Sasaram than Sully from South Boston. Nevertheless, I was a little perturbed to find that my "problem" as it had now become was to be handled by someone twelve time-zones from Las Vegas. I was more than a little perturbed when I was informed by e-mail that my bonus could not be activated.

Now I suppose it is just about conceivable that the oversight of the Nevada Gaming Commission is so stringent and repressive that it bars any agent of WSOPcom from manually flicking a switch to trigger a bonus. Far more likely, however, is that in outsourcing customer support to some third party with employees sitting on another continent, the system is unable to handle the slightest deviation from an absurdly rigid process.

Or it could be that nobody gave a rat's ass about my deposit bonus.

I'll return to WSOPcom's almost unique views on customer service and support in the next installment, but for now I leave you to contemplate this. I am not the only idiot who forgets to enter bonus codes. I checked. Further, and as explained above, the reason online poker sites offer such bonuses is because it benefits them. Thus the fact that WSOPcom would not or could not activate this bonus suggests a hole in their understanding of the business they are in.

More importantly, at least to me, was that this episode alerted me to the fact WSOPcom outsourced its customer support. Ultimate Poker had its support right here in Vegas. I realized that I didn't care that WSOPcom's software was miles ahead of the Ultimate product. I would rather give my action to a company that created local jobs and generated local revenue.

Former readers of my Blind Straddle column may recall my ground-breaking article on table image inspired by a young lady named Hope. I once remarked to Hope that "if you don't have herpes by the time you're thirty-five, you're sleeping with the wrong people." I mention this because my characterization of WSOPcom as the younger sister with herpes would not, in itself, be a deal-breaker for most poker players, particularly given she was prettier and faster [6] than her older sister Ultimate.

But you really have to re-evaluate the situation when you realize the younger sister is both obstinate and as dumb as a rock.


[1] If corporations are people, grammarians better get used to these kinds of constructions.

[2] Technically dependent on the current status of CET debt restructuring, the merry-go-round of subsidiaries and holding companies, and a bunch of other financial wizardry that would require far more research on my part than is likely to be supported by my latest royalty check from Kendall-Hunt for $11.49.

[3] When the company changed its name from Harrah's Entertainment in 2010 - a move usually made for PR reasons by nuclear waste processing facilities such as Windscale - the new corporation lost staff, credibility, and - for reasons that are mystifying even to Chapter 11 legal specialists - its apostrophe. 

[4] It is traditional for the cashier area of online sites to make deposits extremely simple. WSOPcom adopts the philosophy that any other information relating to player bonuses should be part of an amusing game of hide-and-seek.

[5] The exception being high-amperage household appliances since the incident in 2005.

[6] I am told this usage of faster will confuse anyone under the age of fifty. Boo hoo.

Let Sleeping Cats Snooze

In which we begin to uncover how a license to print money turned into a 28 billion dollar deficit.


As will be apparent from the frequency of posts on this blog, I have mellowed since turning fifty to the point where the stupidity of background events rarely causes me to comment. But just when I felt confident that intellectually I had curled up on a cushion, some damn fool came along and poked me with a stick.

The damn fool in question is slightly amorphous, but since I live in a land where corporations are people, it can be roughly identified as WSOPcom.

I'll use that rather ugly string when referring specifically to the online poker site. Not the website of the online poker site, because wsop.com, while sometimes appearing to be the site that you'd want to consult with queries about WSOPcom, will, at the press of a button, suddenly transform to the website covering the WSOP. And by WSOP I don't just mean what the WSOP meant for decades - a tournament series held in Las Vegas before it got so damned hot everybody wanted to stay inside - but also WSOP-C, WSOP-E, and WSOP-WTF.

The point being that one can be attempting to ascertain the e-mail address for Nevada support for WSOPcom and seamlessly get transported to a list of chip counts for a tournament in Prague. The wonders of modern technology.

When online poker returned to Nevada, I was one of the first to sign up at Ultimate. It was exciting. It was slightly less exciting when the game client showed all the sophistication of PokerRoom.com circa 2002. When it became apparent the traffic at the site was never going to crawl above horse-and-buggy status the word "exciting" became pretty much surplus to requirement, but I won a few tournaments and played some PLO8 cash and generally it was better than nothing.

Then WSOPcom launched. Ooooohhh. Shiny shiny!

I confidently predicted on one of those poker forums where 95% of the posts are "+1" "in before 'Doug Lee is a tool'" and "HU4rollz!!!" that the superiority of WSOPcom's software would bury Ultimate in a matter of months.

Eventually Ultimate did go tits up for a variety of reasons, but before that occurred many of us played there exclusively, shunning her prettier, younger sister like she had herpes.

Why?

Stay tuned.

Choices

When I first moved the Land of the Free I had to answer a lot of questions. See there's this visa form, where they try to trick you. The most cunning question is: "Do you plan to overthrow the government of the United States by force?"

Understand this is one of those small forms. There were boxes to check.

A checked box did not offer the option: "I approve of this sentiment."

It didn't offer: "Damn skippy!"

It gave me:

YES

or

NO.

I checked "NO."

My plan has always been to accomplish the task with flowers.

Leaving Again

I don't know if you heard
But that's the girl
Who's always leaving again
I find it so absurd
But that's her way
She's always leaving again

And she says:
"Keith, don't take it personally."
But what else can I think
When it's me she's leaving?

And she says:
"Stop! Why must you make me cry?
I found love a hundred times
It's a lie."

But I can't believe you're that cynical
You're not that clinical
Although I'd like to dress you up as a nurse
Of course

If life's that bad why get out of bed?
Sara, don't shake your head
You still fix your lipstick
When you see me

I don't know if you heard
But that's the girl
Who's always leaving again
I find it so absurd
But that's her way
She's always leaving again

F1 2014 Predictions

Red Bull.

Massive quantities of K-Y Jelly delivered to Milton Keynes spark rumors of something "not quite British" going on, until it is revealed substance serves dual role of easing ERS and Ricciardo's ass into RB10. An exasperated Adrian Newey writes to FIA protesting McLaren's rear suspension, the Lotus nose, Ferrari's engine, and the ongoing and unnecessary presence of drivers in F1. Sid Watkins comes out of retirement to certify Helmut Marko undead.

Mercedes.

Statistician Sean Kelly stuns the F1 world with a multivariate analysis of Hamilton's results. Five-sigma correlation between WDC points scored and scoring with Nicole Scherzinger leaps out of data like Vettel escaping an electrified and stationary RB10. Result prompts Lewis to "mend fences" with the former Pussycat Doll and Walmart manikin, but reconciliation thwarted when Roscoe pees on Nicole's daily branflake. Incident inspires Pussycat Dolls to reform. New tour delayed until December after it is revealed Ashley Roberts and Nico Rosberg are the same person.

Ferrari.

Leaked internal Maranello memos reveal Luca di Montezemolo's prohibition on any mention of wind tunnel calibration and an invoice for nineteen wide-screen plasma TVs. Horse Whisperer refuses to deny reports massive sensor array stretching from Milan to Messina is tuned to detect any movement made by Ross Brawn. 

Lotus.

Revolutionary tuning-fork nose found to resonate at exact frequency of death rattle of a bankrupt F1 team. In the wake of team folding, Maldonado and Grosjean pursue careers in resurgent TV series "Battlebots." 

McLaren.

Despite awesome power and reliability of Mercedes PU, MP4-29 proves mediocre. Shortcomings eventually attributed to technical limitations of Woking-area photo-copying outlets. Magnussen's ability to reproduce lap-times to within one thousandth of a second amazes paddock until Ron Dennis's e-mail account is hacked and references to "MagBot 2.0" discovered. McLaren's second driver still unable to find front grip.

Force India.

Team consistently late for FP1 due to "taking the long way round" to avoid arrest warrants. As financial strain ceases all car development, team-hopping Nico Hulkenberg asked by President Obama not to participate in COTA race on the grounds it might trigger another recession.

Sauber.

First four races marred by bizarre pit-stops, largely because all but three drivers on the grid have driven, are driving, or will drive for the team. Legal battle erupts with Force India over royalties deriving from new "Ger-Mex" cuisine fad. Both teams sued by Pfizer citing topical ointment "Germ-Ex" patent infringement. 

Torro Rosso.

Vergne and Kvyat repeatedly stop on track with no apparent mechanical problem. The mystery persists until June when Renault technician spills les haricots: Marko will "convert" any STR driver who finishes ahead of the RB10. 

Williams.

Punters are surprised by SkyBet's opening line of 33/1 for WCC until it is discovered the price is for Claire Williams in the 2014 Grand National. Monisha Kaltenborn seen in the paddock wearing huge smile and "Who's pretty now, bitch?" T-shirt. 

Caterham.

Team dominates Renault-powered runners until May when Marko sinks his teeth into it. Green livery gradually fades to a sickly purple.

Marussia. 

Bianchi continues to impress while Max Chilton's interviews increasingly appear to be an audition for presenter of Blue Peter.

Anniversary

A year ago today, an obviously unimpressed and scared cat moved in with me. You can read about my adoption of Louis the Maine Coon mix in a previous post. As I type this he is hanging out behind me, as is his habit when I'm on the computer.

(Apparently he knows I'm typing about him; he just trundled over and made a "pet me" noise.)

The last year has seen slow but steady changes in Louis. He's still nervous of strangers, and on the rare occasions when someone rings my obnoxiously-loud doorbell, Louis scuttles to his safe place under the bed. The combination of his fluffy coat and the low-riding gait used in such circumstances always reminds me of an over-sized guinea pig riding a tiny tandem.

Three months ago we moved apartments. Louis didn't enjoy this at all, and the first few days in the new place saw him firmly camped under the bed until I'd turned in. Apparently the cover of darkness made him more confident and I'd hear him investigating and sniffing his new environment. He has now come to appreciate the better location and view, and is particularly fond of watching SouthWest 737s on final approach into McCarran.

When I chose to adopt a traumatized cat, I realized it would take a while for trust and affection to develop. It's an ongoing process, but a rewarding one. Over the last year Louis has incrementally become calmer and more desirous of interaction with me.

Fortunately he seems to approve of my late schedule. I usually wake up mid-afternoon. As I'm making coffee, Lou emerges from under the bed. After a yawn and a stretch he hops onto the bed to be petted and sometimes brushed. Then he waddles off for breakfast.

On days that I'm home he tends to hang out wherever I am, except during his many naps that he prefers to take under the bed. He has an arsenal of toys, but in accordance with YouTube tradition he is obsessed with chasing the Red Dot.

If I leave the apartment to work, he's invariably waiting for me when I get home. As I walk through the front door his usual greeting is to poke his head around the wall of the short corridor to the bedroom, presumably to make sure it's me. He then dictates the proceedings by either running to the bedroom and onto the bed for petting, or towards his food-bowl for dinner.

Around 4 a.m. he gets restless. Time for bed. I usually read for an hour while he curls up next to me purring. He'll stay with me for a while after lights out, but then he has to fulfill his role as a cat and tear around the apartment as fast as he can, stopping only to play with his favorite toy, the Turbo Scratcher.

So wouldn't it be more fun to have adopted a kitten? Or perhaps a "normal" cat without Louis' traumatic past and resulting nervousness?

Well... kittens are fun, sure. I've had the pleasure of adopting several over the years, developing a remarkable bond with them. And, yes, an adult cat with a calmer past would likely sit on my lap within the first week of adoption and not require this long process of earning trust.

But adopting a "special needs" cat like Louis brings special rewards. He needed a quiet environment where he could feel safe, and a human with patience who would let him define the boundaries of the human-cat relationship, free of prejudices about how a cat is "supposed" to behave and interact.

Louis is always going to be a little different. I imagine that he'll do his guinea-pig-on-a-tandem routine whenever a sudden noise or strange voice startles him. But as I look at him now a couple of feet behind me, laying on his back with all four paws pointing at the ceiling, I am convinced that Louis is pretty pleased with the way things have turned out. And so am I.

2013 Formula 1 Predictions

Red Bull. To enhance aerodynamic efficiency, Newey replaces mini-KERS with four AAA batteries. Webber's inexplicably fail. Marko issues statement claiming problem a result of Webber being "too Australian" and is later discovered with boomerang lodged between shoulder blades. Scandal nearly wipes smug grin off Horner's face.

Ferrari. Luca di Montezemelo petitions FIA for reduction in number of tires allocated for each race. F1 community puzzled until Adam Cooper finally gets a story right, reporting Ferrari needs more space for Alonso's new throne. Massa spends summer break in Australia learning to throw boomerang.

McLaren. Out-qualified 10-0 by Perez, Button quits team mid-season to pursue musical career. "I've got no front grip," tops Billboard and iTunes charts, sparking "Whine Rock" revolution. Ron Dennis demotes Whitmarsh to assistant gravel washer.

Lotus. Kimi arrives in Melbourne seventeen minutes before FP1 wearing battered Napoleon hat on top of traffic cone. When quizzed by Will Buxton, replies: "YeahwellyouknowIwassomewhereorotherandthisandthatleavemealoneIcollectwalnuts." Grosjean relieved to have attention drawn away from new Buddy Holly spectacles.

Mercedes. Pre-season additions to technical team include Flavio Briatore, Eddie Jordan, Murray Walker, AJ Foyt, Harry Redknapp, Vladimir Putin, and Beyonce. Hamilton denies rumors of talks with Sauber, Force India and Caterham. Autosport posts video of Lauda dressed as Napoleon minus the hat being spanked by Max Mosley's hookers.

Sauber. Monisha Kaltenborn hailed as first woman in F1 to be Monisha Kaltenborn. Adam Cooper refuses to mention her on grounds he cannot spell her name. Hulkenberg admits he cannot spell Esteban Gutierrez's name. Gutierrez admits he has a shitload of money.

Force India. In an attempt to calm fears team is facing severe financial problems, Vijay Mallya hides behind cardboard cut-out of himself at all official functions.

Williams. Team narrowly survives attempt by Mercedes to hire entire technical, catering and laundry departments. Adam Cooper notches up 29th season as a fuckwit firmly believing Pastor Maldonado is a clergyman.

Torro Rosso. STR8 breaks new ground with inclusion of proximity detectors. FIA scrutineers determine detectors linked to brakes and steering and take car swiftly off racing line when approached from behind by a Red Bull.

Caterham/Marussia. Assimilated by Mercedes Borg collective.