Poker: Living with high stakes:
Behind the lights of "Celebrity Poker Showdown"

Disclaimer: If you're looking for spoilers for Tournament 4 of "Celebrity Poker Showdown," you won't find them here. Out of respect for everyone involved, I won't be making public any results until my regular recaps resume on October 10. You'll just have to wait and see what happens...

It was the phrase from Jon Favreau's cult hit Swingers: "Vegas, baby, Vegas!" Not only was it running through my head for the last two months, but I had occasion to say it, because I was on my way to Vegas for the first time and for the experience of a lifetime.

I still remember very well the morning of June 28 (yes, the date is burned into my brain) when I checked my e-mail just before work to find out that my poker hero, Phil Gordon, agreed to do an interview with me. I read the e-mail twice to make sure I wasn't seeing things, then I remember screaming out of pure joy and repeating, "Oh, my God, Phil Gordon is calling my house!" some half-dozen times. That shift at work was the hardest fight I've ever had to stay interested in price checks and recovery.

Finally, we did the interview which you all know as "Aces Up." In the course of that lengthy and amazing interview he suggested I should come out to Vegas for the taping of "Celebrity Poker Showdown." Originally I just thought it would be cool, but I had no idea how we would swing it. Almost two months of e-mails, discussions and plotting later, my best friend Leticia and I left on August 17 for my rendezvous with my second sport, my hero and maybe a moment or two of grace.

This is the story of four days in Las Vegas -- the good, the bad, and the just plain ugly, but also the breathtaking, the brilliant, and the so beautiful that it made me actually cry. I'm the luckiest person in the world sometimes, I think, and this is one more reason why.

To paraphrase Swingers, I'm so money, and I know it.

August 17 (Day 1) - From The Inside Too much inside, too much in line It's all very deep inside so it Found a way to reach my heart Take it right back to the start of this 'Cause I'm sure it has a meaning A million miles from home - Lostprophets, "A Million Miles"

On face value, as I walked out of my house at eleven, I was put-together, polished and ready to go, with the same optimistic smile and attitude I always seem to have. If you looked into my eyes, you'd have seen differently though: there was a storm in there, hope mixing with anticipation, obligation, fear and so much more. I knew I was facing my potential, taking my future into my own hands, and four days from this moment I would return home a completely different person either broken or risen. I wasn't taking a vacation, I wasn't taking a business trip, I was taking complete control of my destiny.

And it scared me.

I had told myself that if I were going to consider sports writing as a career avenue, I'd use "Dream Job" auditions and "Celebrity Poker Showdown" to evaluate my fitness. These two moments in time would show me if I had what it took to follow through when I didn't have a keyboard to wield or hide behind. The "Dream Job" auditions had failed to give me a callback, but they had given me some compliments, so they were largely inconclusive. This would complete the evidence and force me to make a decision.

Not to mention that for the first time in my life, despite all the people I've met, I was actually going to meet someone I considered an actual hero of mine, with the potential to meet more important people, and I knew that one of my longtime other heroes would also be present. Never before would there be so much respect and dignity riding on my presence. Fail at this, and I might shatter myself to the point where there might not be a chance at coming back.

No one had to tell me it was so much more than drawing lines in the sand. I'd taken care of that for myself with plenty of sleepless nights and internal dialogues warning me not to screw this up.

The drive to Las Vegas was then understandably five hours for me to have it out with myself and get straight. I know I was having the world's longest conversation with Leticia and looking for which CD to play next, but part of my brain was always focused on what was waiting for me. When life gets tough, I tend to regress into the part of me that always wanted to be a hero, and I act with that same kind of deliberation. I'm thinking about what I should say and what I should do, probably going over the situation way too many times for my own good.

We make it to Bally's not too long after check-in time, haul all our luggage out of the car and start walking it in. Hilarity ensues when we go back to the car five minutes later, convinced we're mistakenly in Paris before we realize that Bally's and Paris are in fact connected. Finally, on the second attempt, we make it down to the registration line, where I call my paranoid parents and then we kill twenty minutes before we're officially registered in Las Vegas.

Another return trip for the rest of our luggage ensues, then we crash in room 6707, which happens to be about twice the size we expected it to be. I don't even really bother to unpack, just throw myself on the bed. The "World Series of Poker's" main event hits ESPN at 7 p.m. and I intend to give it my full attention. I have one focus: poker and everything it means in my life.

(Okay, two: poker and my Padres. You can't blame me, though, they're hanging on in two pennant races.)

No one on the Palms night shift knows anything about the next day's "Celebrity Poker Showdown" rehearsal, so Leticia and I decide to head down first thing in the morning. There's nothing we can do now.

So I spend the evening sitting on my hotel bed, lit by the lights of Bellagio as I eat a pizza from the downstairs eatery and watch the WSOP's first half of the first round. I give a little girlish squeal when I see Howard Lederer, but I'm fixated on Danny Negreanu, who doesn't last as long as I'd like him to. I toss him half a salute as they show him leaving the table. He's got a lot of potential. I guess so do I. People talk, but the evidence has never convinced me.

I suppose it's time to find out who's right.

August 18 (Day 2) - We Still Kill The Old Way Make your way, it's time to choose They think you'll lose For all this to mean so much For all this, you make a move It's all in this life you have Time will tell, it's hard that the way you feel Means you always seem to lose Win or lose, it's time to choose - Lostprophets, "Start Something"

Wednesday is my first full day in Vegas, which means it's time for the sparks to start flying and time for me to do my end of the work. It's with some excitement that I pull my suit out of the hotel closet, fix my makeup and prepare my professional image. This is what I'm here for, and it's time to make it real.

We head straight over to the Palms to see what time rehearsal is. Understandably, the concierge doesn't know anything, but she helpfully refers me to the house phone. This is where things become interesting. The operator connects me to public relations -- which ends up being somebody's voice mail. I call back to the operator, who sends me to somebody else. Of course, that somebody else doesn't know anything either, but they give me the number for Dan Silverman, a publicity exec at Bravo. Okay, that's a start. I've now played tag with about five people, but at least I have a lead. Hey, if I hated detective work, I wouldn't have wanted to become one.

Leticia and I take this opportunity to scope out the Palms, walking all the way around the casino. I check the odds on the Padres game, laughing cynically that they're taking the Braves over the Friars, as if I expected anything else. We figure that the show has to tape in the Palms Ballroom, but when we go there we discover a pharmaceutical convention has the room until 5 PM. That's good news for us, we deduce, because it means the rehearsal can't start till the evening and so we can spend the day seeing the few other things I wanted to see (a grand total of two, showing you where my head was).

Exiting the casino, I call Silverman's number in the parking garage. I get his voice mail, which tells me to call somebody else. I leave a message and then dial that person, only to get yet another voice mail, for which I leave another message. It's obvious I'm not really going to get to talk to somebody's face anytime soon, which puts us in a problematic spot. We're going to have to figure things out on our own if this is going to work the way it's supposed to.

We decide to swing over by the Hilton, so I can see the Star Trek Experience, then maybe we'll swing back by Club Palms later to see if the situation's changed or at least to get tickets as a backup insurance policy. Thank God for my improv comedy background, which allows me to make plans in strange situations like this and not freak out.

After a trip to the Star Trek Experience -- where I spend way too much money than I should but it's worth it -- Leticia tells me M&M's World is actually close by so we can do that and then return to the Palms. That's how I end up standing in the middle of the M&M's World gift shop looking at mugs to bring back for my co-workers when my phone rings.

I snap it off my belt and check the number, but I don't recognize it. I figure that I left two messages, though, so I'd better answer the damn phone. It is not, however, anyone I expected.

It's none other than Phil Gordon, calling me personally to ask after me. He asks if I'm in Vegas and how I'm enjoying myself, and we're talking like old friends, which is surreal. Then he tells me rehearsal is at the Key West Ballroom in an hour and that there are passes at the door for us. I tell him dutifully I'll be on my way and click off the phone. I can't believe Phil Gordon just called me personally, but despite that, it's now show time. The fun vacation part of this is over.

I inform Leticia -- who thought I was actually talking to my best friend Chris, as casually as Phil and I were talking -- and we turn around and head out after about three minutes of being there. I have time to run next door, scope out Coke World, and then run back through the MGM Grand to get to our car. We go straight to the Palms while my hands are shaking and I'm still awed that Phil actually phoned me. I need to think about what I'm going to say when I meet him, how I'm going to need to conduct myself. The whole playbook is being run through in my head in the short drive over.

We make it to the Palms with about half an hour to spare and though we haven't had lunch yet, I head right over because I don't want to be late in the slightest. I stride right in like I'm not nervous - I'm trying to work on that - and ask a PA where I check in. He directs me over to the desk, where I explain the situation to another PA, who's perfectly friendly and helpful. I think to myself that hey, we're doing good, and that this is really happening. I should be proud of myself.

That's when a female producer walks over and intercedes, proceeding to bring the sky down around me in about three minutes.

From moment one, her ice-cold demeanor makes it clear to me that she doesn't really care for me. I don't know if it's my youth -- I've had a lot of people think they can blow me off because I'm young and look even younger - but this woman could care less as I explain the situation patiently to her. She tells me that she's the one who gets to make the final decision and doesn't know anything about me. I give her my business card, and she tells me she'll set me up with Dan Silverman (the same guy I called earlier) and that even if they did need me, they're just doing wardrobe checks and wouldn't even need me until 5:30. I should show up then or they'll call me around that time.

In retrospect, this was my first mistake. I don't want to cause a fight and alienate anyone, so considering I haven't had lunch, I agree to show up at 5:30 and walk out. If I'd been thinking on my feet I would've called Phil right then and told him what happened, but I figure I won't mind if I miss some of the small stuff, and it'll be good that I'm copasetic with the staff. We head out to lunch at Black Angus and then back to the hotel room to kill some time.

As it turns out, the only thing getting killed on Wednesday is my hope.

Around four o'clock, Dan Silverman calls me back and proceeds to interrogate me just like the producer. I'm getting terribly sick of being interrogated, but I try to remain patient. He goes through a whole long spiel about how I'll have to sign a confidentiality agreement, and then tells me, quote, "You will not be able to get into the rehearsal." I protest that this is contrary to what both Phil and the producer have told me, but obviously he doesn't care. I get terse instructions to call him at noon the next day so he can get me into the taping, and that's the end of a frustratingly cold conversation.

I have now been flipped the metaphorical finger by two separate Bravo staffers, who were both condescending, terse, exceedingly cold, and who couldn't have made it more clear that they didn't feel like taking me seriously and couldn't care less about me. The immense disrespect I have been shown upsets me a great deal and strips me of my optimism about this excursion.

I'm standing by the window with my hands balled into fists, the phone thrown down on the end table, and when I turn around to Leticia, I want to scream or cry or hit someone. My voice breaks as I tell her, "We're done."

She's just as stunned as I am, and bless her heart, starts scrambling to find me something we can do so I won't be sitting in a hotel room seething. Her solution: we go walking through some of the nearby casinos. It sounds fine to me, given that, as she reminds me, I wanted to see the Bellagio, home of the World Poker Tour Championship and also right near Bally's. Still upset as all hell, I tear out of the hotel room and over to the legendary casino.

Bellagio's a huge casino, and we get completely lost in it. I have a moment of odd fun singing along with Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes' rendition of "Time of My Life," which I'd earlier been playing in the car, but mostly we wander all the way through with no clue where we're going. Finally, on what's supposed to be our way out, I detour to the world-famous poker room. I can't resist taking a picture there, knowing all the poker history that's taken place there. That's what I came here for, not to be frosted out by close-minded people.

That's when I notice a nearby sign that says there's World Poker Tour merchandise in one of the gift shops. I'm determined to go find it and buy something; that should cheer me up a bit. Of course, I forgot that we didn't know where the heck we were going, and we end up lost again. Finally, on the second trip, I find the store, which we happened to walk right by the first time we got lost. I pick up a T-shirt, which does make me a little happier, and then we actually have seen enough of the casino to figure out our way back to the concourse we came in through. It's the kind of odd escapade Leticia and I are prone to having and does lift my spirits a bit.

From Bellagio we wander around Caesar's Palace for a bit, but by then we're tired and make it back to the hotel room to watch TV, snack on food from the cooler, and generally remain bitter. I'm not really that disturbed anymore; as I lay there watching TV and listening to Leticia tell the story to her mom, I'm just pissed off. This is not what I came here for, and if it happens again tomorrow and lays waste to this vacation, I wouldn't want to be near me. I feel my blood running hot in my veins and decide there will be hell to pay.

If I want this as badly as I say I do, as much as I feel it, I'd better get in there and fight for it. I should show those two executives that they can't just write me off. It's time to throw a few punches, and if I end up in trouble, so what? At least I'll have a beautiful disaster and know I did the right thing.

That's when I make my mind up: I'm going to have the last strike. I'm going to get back in this. I don't just want success; I want to prove them wrong. Revenge will be sweet, indeed. It'd be stupid to give up now.

So I take my anger and I hold it in, knowing there will be a time and place when it will have its purpose, and that day is coming. Then we'll see what kind of woman I am, and furthermore, what kind of world that thinks it can hold me down.

I'm not done yet.

August 19 (Day 3) - Destiny Complete It takes a lot to get home but it's okay You know you could be, you could shine Tonight you'll get it right You'll make a difference It's all you need - Lostprophets, "Goodbye Tonight"

I'm no less jaded when the alarm goes off and I roll out of bed to start my last full day in Vegas. I take a long moment to stand by the window and look across at Bellagio, taking mental inventory of my emotions. I find myself still stung by the bitterness of yesterday, but it's not a disappointed bitterness, rather one that is dead-set in its ways. All I feel is a cold fire and the knowledge that I have twenty-four hours to accomplish my mission.

I won't be denied.

You see, I'm not an imposing person, as was reaffirmed to me the day previous. At 5'1" and 106 pounds, I'm also not a physical person. I won't win my battles by scaring somebody or beating them up. I possess one quality that turns the scales in my favor: my relentless determination. In any confrontation, I cannot be stopped. I'm not scared of threats and even if my blood gets spilled, I will keep on coming until either I win or I die. I'm not sure why I'm like that, but I just am, and especially when I'm as upset and edgy as I am this morning, I'm certainly in that state of mind.

It's that old familiar phrase: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Leticia and I go out for breakfast at Carrows, and as I'm poking at my food I find myself explaining my whole rationale to her. I'm no longer starry-eyed and excited, I tell her. I'm just bitter, anticipating another fight and not particularly wanting to get into one. But I will give a fight, I insist, even if it lands me in trouble -- at least then they can't write me off like they undoubtedly did the minute I walked out the Key West Ballroom door the afternoon before.

I'll need a plan first, though, and it's a simple one: I'll call Phil before I call Silverman, so at least Phil knows I'm in the building and if he can't find me, he'll know exactly why. Then I'll call Silverman back and deal with him, but at least I'll play my ace beforehand and then we'll see what they think they can do to me.

That said, we make our way back to the Palms for the third time in two days. Waiting for noon to roll around, we circle the casino again. I check odds on the Padres game, only to figure out it's an off day, which therefore means I won't see Adam pitch like I thought. I make my way to the Palms gift shop, where I buy myself a T-shirt and explain my story to the cashier, who gives me due sympathy and kudos for being where I am at the age of 19. Then we head to the food court and make idle talk for a while. I keep checking my cell phone, and as the time draws near I feel myself tense.

As my friend and sports writing hero Casey would tell me, It's go time.

I step outside the building, take a deep breath, call up Phil's number in my phone and dial. It rings once, twice, three times - and then he picks up. I keep myself focused (despite the fact I can't believe I have my poker hero's cell number on speed dial) and tell him I'm in the building but got shut out by publicity the other day so if he's looking for me, I'm here but he'll know why I'm MIA. There's probably some bitterness sneaking in as I get to the end.

Phil tells me it won't happen today and does me one better than my plan: he tells me he's in wardrobe and makeup and will be down in 30 minutes, and we agree to meet outside the Key West Ballroom in half an hour. I click off the phone and take a long, shuddering breath. On one hand, he just took my game to the next level -- on the other hand, that means in 30 minutes I have to look him in the eye. I can only hope that I look as professional and composed as I'm trying to be.

I walk back in and inform Leticia, who also understands the importance of the moment looming on the horizon and who can tell the extra half hour will only give me time to drive myself further nuts. At least I don't have to call Silverman back and jump through his hoops, which makes me feel pretty good about myself.

Looking for something to do, I wander into the nearby arcade and step up to the updated version of an old favorite, Time Crisis 3. I used to want to be a homicide detective, and the jacket comes off as I grip the handgun and step up to the pedal to take my shots. Time Crisis is basically the same thing as a firearms training simulator, and I used to spend a lot of time playing Time Crisis 2 while I was testing out. I've never played the third version, but I'm pretty good at it regardless, mowing down the opposition with a relentless precision. Finally, by the time I die, I've worked out a lot of that hostility towards the executives. The jacket comes back on and now there's just anticipation in my veins.

I make my way to the Key West Ballroom, where there's already a line for the taping despite the fact that it doesn't start until 2:30. Several people are glaring at me, wondering why I'm hanging out over by the slot machines to the right of the line, but I play it off. When Phil shows up I'm not even looking in the right direction, and Leticia interrupts our conversation to nod over my shoulder. My heart literally stops dead as I get my first glance at him in person. I'm sure I suck in a breath as the fans mob him, and as my brain kick starts itself again, I tell Leticia that we should just relax and not get involved in that. Of course, it could be because I'm still trying to compose myself.

Everything dies down in a minute or two, while I'm still double-checking my image, and that's when it happens: Phil comes over and asks me if we're the two he's looking for. I tell him that we are and shake his hand, saying how good it is to finally meet him and quite happy that I don't start rambling. He meets Leticia, who has taken up her job as my "assistant" quite readily, then gives us our guest passes and has us walk with him a little bit down the way, telling us we're headed for the practice room.

(In all seriousness, I'd love to know what all those people glaring at me were saying and/or thinking when we walked away.)

I'm going on somehow about pointless things that really don't matter, like my run over to check the odds the Palms had on the Padres game, only to find out it was an off day for the Friars. Mentally, my brain is on overdrive. I have this professional image I try to project, but at the same time, at heart I'm very much a fan and my heart has always ruled me. Basically, I spend so much time over thinking and trying to make sense of things that somehow nothing ever quite goes perfect.

It really doesn't matter, though, as we get our first look at the "Celebrity Poker Showdown" practice room, where we hang out at a second-tier table while Phil goes to give his tutorial to the celebrities. It's shock and awe time again as the man I've come to call my favorite poker player and personal hero refers to us as his friends. Hey, I'm still stunned that he called my cell phone the previous day. I'm a simple person.

I lean back in my chair and hang on every word he says, knowing most of it already -- after all, this is the guy from whom I learned the sport - but wanting to get as much knowledge as possible, still considering myself a student of the game.

Leticia and I banter about the World Series of Poker, the World Poker Tour and other things, but I'm not really paying attention, just trying to work the nervous rambling out of my system and she's a wonderfully patient sounding board as I do so. If I may take a moment, I must confess to you, dear readers, that I adore Leticia very dearly. She is the sweetest, most shy, quiet and unbelievably smart and together young woman, and no matter how crazy I get, she's always there for me, even when I insanely ask her to go to Vegas with me so I can chase my future and meet my hero.

I take a long, deep breath when I recognize the voice of Josh Malina. A quick refresher course: I never thought the television medium could do what I wanted to do with it until I saw Aaron Sorkin's "Sports Night," which blew my mind and made me the writer I am today, not to mention starred Josh Malina as producer Jeremy Goodwin. Josh is now the executive producer of "Celebrity Poker Showdown." I'm now in the same room with him, reminded that my principal life goal is to meet and/or work with as many "Sports Night" alumni as possible. He's playing with the celebs, though, and I'm petrified, besides I'm thinking about poker.

A little while later it's time for Phil to head back to the ballroom, and he invites us along with him to take a look around. There's a slight laugh in the back of my mind as we reach the ballroom door and he tells security we're with him, which of course is a hell of a lot different than the other day. This time, when I step behind the scenes, no one's going to tell me off. It also allows me to let down my guard, because now I won't have to tell anyone off myself. The bitterness has peeled back and the energy is in my veins.

If I needed any further indication that I'd made it, I get that when I step into the Losers' Lounge. Phil asks me if I brought a camera, and I toss my backpack to Leticia, who has it at the ready in split seconds (told you she was taking to the role well). We get pictures of me and Phil on the Losers' Lounge couch, which is quite comfortable, and behind the infamous hosts' desk.

Standing there, Phil also gives us a crash course on his job and the functions of the three monitors they have in front of them. I know my fair share about television production, which is why this kind of stuff has always fascinated me. Strangely, my affinity for the behind-the-scenes work of media extends even to the mundane like meetings and writing paperwork. Don't ask me what hit me upside the head. I'm blaming it on having stolen my inspiration from crazy people like David Mamet. Anyway, it's all good.

From there we head out onto the main floor, and I almost get to go see the table itself, but they're using it for promo filming, so it's time to get our seats - way ahead of anybody else. We get two prime ones on the end of the left aisle, second row up, which will be important later, but I don't know that yet. Phil gives us final instructions before he has to go and do his usual genius thing he does, so I just stare at the giant "Celebrity Poker Showdown" logo and take a deep breath. I've made it; I've won. Somewhere, I hope Dan Silverman is wondering why I never called him back. I don't intend to now - if I did, all I'd say would be something not very nice at all.

We kick it for a while, watching all of the celebrities come in to film their promo spots and then their final pre-game huddle with the show's producer, where he explains all the fine details to them, like to make sure to show their hole cards to the camera even if they fold. Then there are more interesting ones, like not to mention what month it is and to pretend it's evening even though it's afternoon. I can understand why, but still it's quirky, the things I think but I didn't think they'd actually say. I get to chat with the audience warm-up guy and I feel strange when he asks me if I'm there with anybody and I get to tell him we're there with Phil. I still sometimes feel a Southern California teenager has no business saying that.

At about 2:30 they start loading the audience in, which means it's time for me to drop the facade and just enjoy the evening. There's a lot of warm-up and audience instruction, et al, and I'm just taking everything in. I'm a lot less wound now, able to be a poker fan and not a professional analyst for a little bit. (There's nothing for me to analyze, given that the audience, for obvious reasons, can't see the celebrities' hole cards.)

Of course, that's when other weird things start happening to me. I realize the woman sitting next to me is Phil's mother, and his sister is not too far down from me. And in front of Leticia is none other than WPT player Andy Bloch. Not to mention Adam, the director, tells our section that we're in pretty much every single shot of the evening. Talk about a lot to process.

Actually, it's a lot less daunting than I think. I get to talk to Andy when he asks me how I know Phil, and I'm surprisingly not scared when we have our conversation. Phil's mom and I have a running dialogue through the night, where we talk about a lot of things, and she is positively wonderful. In fact, she gets one of the best lines of the night, when she orders a pina colada and I order a virgin pina colada and she tells the waitress, "Do not get those two mixed up." I crack up laughing.

Meanwhile, Phil's sister does an Elvis impersonation and a text message gets sent across the room to inform Phil that we can all hear him on this side of the curtain. In other words, these guys are a pretty fun bunch. I'm in elite company and I'm not daunted at all, which is great because I can only imagine how it might make me hideously nervous otherwise.

Bobby Cannavale ("Third Watch"), Tony Hawk, Cheryl Hines ("Curb Your Enthusiasm"), Ryan Stiles (one of my favorite comedians ever) and Dennis Rodman are the celebs of the night. Cheryl's buddies are in the row above us, as she comes over during the frequent breaks to chat with them. When one of them tells her we haven't gotten the waitress over yet, she says she'll see what she can do, and lo and behold shortly thereafter the waitress shows up. It's really humbling to be surrounded by all these cool people.

Dave Foley is so much funnier in person than it appears on TV, probably because they cut a lot of dialogue, and I feel bad for wanting Kevin Pollak back originally ("Kevin Pollak's still waiting to bump me off," he quips). The natural rhythm he has with Phil is evident and hilarious to the audience, as we get to see the Losers' Lounge segments on our monitors. Since I can't tell you anything about the game itself, I'll leave you with some of the best lines of the night. We'll see how many of them make the cut.

Dave: ...Remember, we're in Nevada and you're at home. That means prostitution is still illegal where you are. Phil, after Dave subsequently asks him for a chip count: I'm like the chip count prostitute... Me, on the other side of the curtain, to Leticia, after spitting pina colada: Great, now that phrase is going to be stuck in my head all night.

Phil, during another chip count re-take: [throws the piece of paper at Dave] You look at the chip count.

Dave: I was just getting used to saying 'Cingular Wireless.' (This is a reference to the show's former sponsor, which pulled its advertising for the stupid reason that people were drinking, and now has been replaced by NetZero. Dave also took some very good shots at Cingular that I doubt you'll ever see.)

Ryan Stiles is eating a cookie when the director tells everyone they'll need a retake. His next words: Great, now I have to get another cookie. I'm diabetic, I'm not even supposed to be eating this thing!

Dave's been asked for about three or four retakes of his heads-up intro when he finally says to the producer: You're just [screwing] with me, aren't you? (She tells him they're good to go.) Do I believe you this time?

The best moment, though, comes when during the audience singing contest, somebody wants to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner." He gets cut off in mid-line when the audience warm-up guy has to take the mic from him because we have to go back to taping. Someone in the truck, apparently having a little fun, cues up the grand instrumental of our National Anthem and proceeds to blast it in the studio.

When we get to heads-up play, of course, there's a lighting change. Except for some reason, the lights won't stay, and keep coming back up to full lighting. This happens on and off for about 20 minutes. Robert Thompson, better known to you as Tournament Director Bob, wanders over to talk to the guys in the front row of our section in the meanwhile. I, of course, can't resist and yell, "You rule, Robert!" It gets him to smile at me. I feel happy now.

Things finally come to a conclusion somewhere between 6:30 p.m. and 7 p.m., and of course everyone rushes to meet the celebrities. I tell Leticia let's not be involved in that and we walk over to hang out by the end of the stage, well away from the mob. I don't want to leave without saying goodbye to Phil, but I want things to calm down first. I end up in a crowd, I'm going home with a tenth concussion.

Standing there, that's when I notice Josh Malina is sitting over with some production team members. I think he's probably busy, but it seems they're just talking. I want to go over there so badly, except I don't know what I'd say and I don't want to interrupt him if he is trying to get something done. I know this is my window of opportunity, but just like running into Zach Selwyn at "Dream Job 2" auditions, etiquette is getting in my way. Fate gives me a slap upside the head when Josh walks toward my end of the stage, and when another audience member who's a "Sports Night" fan approaches him first, I bite the bullet and make the leap.

I go over and introduce myself to Josh, who is the most personable guy, reminding me of "Monk's" Jason Gray-Stanford (I met Jason at a seminar in May and he was the nicest person I've ever met -- Josh definitely reminds me of him). I figure there's no way in hell he'll remember me, but I explain that I wrote him an e-mail two years ago, after I had an emotional episode during a Josh Charles movie when I realized how much I missed "Sports Night." To my complete shock, he says, "I know exactly who you are." (This is the guy who owned "Celebrity Jeopardy," so maybe I should've expected this.) I tell him that without "Sports Night" I wouldn't be there, which is God's honest truth, and we have a lovely dialogue before, of course, I have Leticia snap a picture. There are butterflies in my stomach - I've met two heroes of mine in one night.

What did I ever do to deserve this? It's a question I can't give myself a satisfactory answer to.

I catch up with Phil and give him back the guest passes, thanking him again for having us. He invites us back to the early show the following day, but we'll already be on the road, so we leave it at final handshakes and promises to keep in touch. I'm heading out the door when somebody calls Dave's name and I realize I'm standing right next to Dave Foley. Given that I once had a tiny crush on him in the "NewsRadio" years, I can't resist. I introduce myself and quip that I survived the day without any "NewsRadio" jokes ("So did I," he quips back), then ask if we can take a quick picture. Dave is unbelievably gracious, worrying about the lighting, but Leticia gets it on the money (this is why I asked her to be the photographer on this trip). Dave and I talk a bit, and I thank him for making it such a great night. He really is hilarious and a great guy.

Having met the heroes I came to meet, having done the work I came to do, having won my battle, it's time for me to call it a night. I'm in complete denial as we walk back to the car. I wait just long enough to get a cell signal in the parking garage before I call home, already starting to cry, and tell my parents a quick version of what happened. By the time my mom calls me back, I'm still crying. I'm the guy behind the guy -- I'm not supposed to get moments in the spotlight. However, thanks to Phil Gordon, that's exactly what I've got.

When we make it to Bally's again, Leticia senses I need some time to come down from the high and offers to go get dinner, leaving me alone in the room. I leave a voice mail on Chris's phone because I know he'd want to know what happened, and then I just stand by the window, watching the view. How in the hell did I go from watching "Dream Job" in January to writing in March and now being in Vegas on top of the world in August? It's just surreal. It's humbling enough that although I'm not religious, I say a quick prayer of gratitude for what's been given to me on this day.

Eating more pizza and watching a "Family Guy" marathon, the wave of emotion gives way to a more sophisticated analysis. I realize that, while I've met a lot of really great people thanks to the seminars and events I've been to, this one is special. This is something I earned. Phil saw something in the work I was doing, enough to make the effort to put this thing together. I can count the man who taught me about poker and who has more money than I'll ever see as a friend. That's something I earned through the work I've been doing. Maybe that's something I need to think about a little longer.

I know how much it's hit home when, despite having tickets to the Padres-Marlins opener, I'm tempted to stay around just one more day. Maybe then it'll finally all sink in. But when I finally go to bed after a rerun of "Without A Trace," what I think about is how honored I am, and how it's going to be up to me to make something of that. And who knows, maybe Phil and I will cross paths again someday. Maybe this is just the first moment of the rest of my life.

August 20 (Day 4) - Legacy If you think there's hope from here And there's a life you should now have It just doesn't seem that easy All I know is gone - Lostprophets, "I Don't Know"

There's awe when I wake up in the morning and remember all that happened the night before. It's not a dream - it happened and it happened to me, a small-town girl who wasn't supposed to live this long. I smile at the sun rising over the Strip and I feel that I just might be living for something important now.

We hit the road just after seven so we can make it home by about one. The first stop is a Starbucks for the necessary caffeine. Sitting in the car sipping my double chocolate chip frappucino and listening to Laura Pausini, I take a long look back. I might still look pretty much like I did in elementary school, much to my chagrin, but I'm now a coffee-drinking, poker-playing senior sportswriter with plenty of things to write, plenty of respect, and some good friends.

I think over that last one for a couple of moments. That's what really gets me. I haven't had a lot of friends over my lifetime. There are acquaintances that come and go, but as far as loyal friends go, I can count them on one hand. Chris is in Sonoma, Allison's at Davis, and Leticia's sitting right here with me, give or take maybe one or two more. Phil Gordon's my poker hero, that's for sure, but I'm much more honored that I can count him as a friend now. That may not mean we'll be coffee buddies, but if there's ever anything I can do for him, he can count on me. He's done enough for me already.

And what about Leticia? She didn't have to do this. I told her up front that this was a business trip, that I knew I'd be in Vegas to meet people and to work, not to have a lot of fun. She knew she'd be taking backstage, and yet she still agreed to come. She put up with my anxiety, my emotional fits, and all my fears. She handled a role as my assistant with class and grace. I respect her immensely and even more so now that she let me take center stage and never said a word.

I'm lucky, not just because of all the things I've done, but because of the people I have by my side.

As for my future, I never do quite make up my mind, and I realize it's crazy to figure out destiny at 19. I may as well just stay on the path I'm on - heading towards what I want to do in life, but not closing any open doors, either. I don't know what sportswriting will offer me in the future, but that's true of filmmaking as well. On days like yesterday, they may even come together. Besides, when I have a good thing, I may as well stay with the good thing. I wouldn't give up what I've just done for the world.

There's time for me to come home, unpack, catch up with a father I haven't seen in something like a month, and then turn around, throw on my jersey and get back in another car to make my way to San Diego. Still amazed by my uncanny luck, that I can have heroes that I can call friends and a future still full of promise, I wouldn't want it any other way.