Another beautiful morning in Las Vegas, and I'm up early to beat the registration queues that have become a regular sight in the MGM since the new poker room opened back in March 2005. Sure enough I'm one of the first few to be bothered at this ungodly hour (it's not even nine o'clock for Satan's sake!) and I swagger from the line, waving my registration form for all to see. Aha-ha-ha! I return some 35 minutes later - from a ludicrously massive breakfast at the New York New York – with my stomach full of various eggs (my guts churn as an epic battle takes place between three embittered factions; Sunny-Side-Ups, Scrambled and Over-Easy). Happy in my egg-bound way (no toilet breaks will be necessary for at least 16 hours) I sit myself down at a $4-8 Limit cash game to kill time before the tourney starts at 11am. It's a decent start for me, with an early slow-played straight raking decent money from pocket AA and pocket 55. Both of these pocket pairs make 3-of-a-kind on the flop and keep pumping their chips into the pot like haemorrhaging Hungry Hippos. Bingo! The rest of this cash session is actually quite boring, until one hour later when the poker room manager starts calling for the tournament to begin, and I play one last hand in a "getting-up-stacking-my-chips" fashion. I finance a ludicrously loose unsuited 78 for no good reason whatsoever other than it's my last hand, and *POW* hit two pair on the flop. I believe I'll sit back down again, thank you. Now I've not mentioned him yet, but considering it's only just coming up to eleven o'clock in the morning, the Vietnamese guy to my left STINKS of booze and is already on the 5th Corona that I know about. He is also one of a common and annoying breed of player that have mystic psychic powers; magically able to tell you exactly what hand you had once you've actually shown them. "I knew you had the straight," he reveals with all the impressive gravitas of Darth Vader with his hat off and a painted wooden duck balancing on his head. It's hard to take him seriously. It's also a pain in the arse, but as his amazing powers don't seem to be able to stop him from financing my own personal rampage, I'm prepared to let him dazzle himself with these Derren Brown flights of fancy while I steal his beer money. The hand plays out as far as the turn card and becomes surprisingly expensive; with my psychic chum and a solid player opposite raising and re-raising anything I seem to throw at them. The board has become, frankly, fekking scary, with both flush and straight possibilities starting to make my two pairs look wobbly, but I stick in there, praying to each of my many poker gods in turn. Miracle of miracles, the river sends another 7 my way for a full house, and I know for a fact that Mystic Ming hasn't even vaguely got a read on me, despite his obvious Jedi mind-powers. Anyway, I play for maximum chips and push as much in front of me as the limit will allow. The smart guy opposite gets out of the way to let me and Brainiac get on with it; handbags practically on the table at this point. I can't help but smile my absolute arse off when he shows me his nothing of a hand. I drop the bomb on him to the obvious and expected tune of "I knew you had the straight". "Look again Mesmo!" I spit with venom, pointing out that he's actually taking a damn good thrashing at the hands of a full house. "Yes, I knew you had that". So why did you say you knew I had a straight just three seconds ago, you clown? Anyway, suffice to say I rake up a lovely little pot that takes me well into the positive, and arrange my rack lovingly and deliberately for all to see, before heading off to the tournament with my arse sticking out, pointing in his general direction. Behind me I hear another Corona being ordered. No doubt he'll be opening it using only the power of his awesome mind.