The World Series Main Event is now every week away. Ordinarily that may make about now the time after I get office based work wrapped up and a bag packed in preparation for a two week trip to report at the closing stages of the WSOP.

But this summer, for the primary time in ten years, I won't be in Las Vegas. My family, used to waving me off, has earned a summer break with me at home, appearing on a daily basis in person in place of on Skype. 

But while the chance of swapping poker men in Las Vegas with games of Pokémon with my son at home feels pretty good right now, I HAVE NEVER been capable of entirely shake off thoughts of what I'll miss. Cold turkey for the Vegas fan isn't easy, particularly when over ten years you've grown used to having it served to you on wheat, with American cheese, and a Keno ticket. 

So while my colleagues Brad Willis and Howard Swains can be in country to bring the entire action, I'll use the British summer to position out of mind a few of those things I'll miss.

There's the smell, which hovers somewhere between the kinds of food rich in saturated fat and robust detergent. But additionally the sound, the unmistakable lullaby of the casino floor and the tide of riffled chips from one end of every tournament room to the other. 

I'll miss asking myself--for the fifth and sixth time--whether the poker kitchen burrito is a more healthy choice than the poker kitchen tacos. 

I'll miss the blast of impossible heat as you step out of the service entrance of the Rio and into the carpark, heat that turns a gloomy haired man right into a mess and a red haired man into dust. 

I'll miss the Brooks Brothers sale on the Forum in Caesars, the Cadillac margaritas at Bonito Michoacán, the inevitable defeat after half an hour on the Gold Coast Pai Gow table; after which there's that yearly reminder--as life-saving is it's disappointing--that normally I'm a dreadful poker player.  

But then there's the job itself.

That always starts with the long walk along the exhibition centre, past the children happily tapping the glass of the Buzio's lobster tank; past the Starbucks filling station and down towards the atrium selling souvenirs to the defeated; then straight ahead into the Pavilion Room, that cavernous overspill hanger running at permanent full speed.

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It gets second billing to its Amazonian cousin, but while there's great joy to peer it full, in turn there comes melancholy when, midway during the Main Event, its tables start to be packed up, loaded onto articulated trailers by workmen in overalls desperate to make room for a name-badged middle management conference of slots players who won't ever remember the fact that their muffin tray is perched upon hallowed ground. 

Out of the Pavilion and passed the Brasilia Room in your right, and now you're right into a great current of poker players making their way towards their seat. 

Time this wrong, like during a tournament break for instance, and a five minute walk will take your 3 times that as you are trying to swim upstream. But here you're together with your people, whether they're familiar faces from the feature tables of the EPT, the yank guys in shorts and army caps desperate to make friends, or the more youthful wannabes in sports gear, living on what's of their pockets.  I can't remember any in their faces, but weirdly I DO KNOW what they give the impression of being like. 

The people I KNOW are within the press room, familiar faces all, and last seen one short year ago. The similar goes for the tournament staff, never more primed than through the bubble, as I wrote last year, which individuals like me are permitted to absorb with glorious access; the appropriate to stroll some of the tables, to listen to the staccato instructions of the ground staff, and spot everything closer than even the players, right until the tournament clock stops at nine. 

 

All of with a view to pass me by as I relax, feet up and 8 hours ahead, endlessly pressing "Refresh" at the PokerStars Blog. 

Because whilst you and that i will not be there this year, the PokerStars Blog coverage guarantees you do not really need to be, publishing the most efficient writing from Las Vegas all through the arena Series of Poker Main Event. 

All of that is now just a bit greater than per week away. Enough time to search out a fair burrito recipe, maybe some detergent for atmosphere, and atone for the entire big WSOP stories to this point on our coverage pages. 

It used to be said that a bit of Las Vegas goes some distance. And it does. But I'll miss the place.

WSOP Photos by PokerPhotoArchive.com

Stephen Bartley is a staff writer for the PokerStars Blog.

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