Let me beat the rush and be among the first to complain about the 2006 World Series of Poker in Las Vegas. The 36th edition of the WSOP is sure to come in for some serious criticism this summer, and I would like to take this opportunity to cast the first stone. So, here goes. The WSOP is an overpopulated and absurdly long poker festival that has clearly traveled too far, too quickly, expanding to become a bloated victim of its own success and vaunted overambition. The field growing 1,000 percent in five years? It's just absurd. How many will there be this year – 7,000, 8,000? More than 500 players qualified on PokerStars, and the ski season isn't even over yet. Enough, already! Binion's Horseshoe, the traditional home of the WSOP, has been ditched in favour of the giant Rio casino, and the true spirit of the event has disappeared with the tumbleweeds across the Nevada desert, only to be replaced by a global poker marketing conference. As Sam Goldwyn would say, "Include me out."
So, where am I planning on being at the end of July? Las Vegas. What for? The World Series of Poker, of course. Yeah, yeah, I know. It'll be crowded and busy. The Rio conference facilities have all the charm of a refrigerator stuck out in the desert. But while we try to hate it, we just can't, because the WSOP remains the biggest and the best, the place where champions are made. If you're even half-interested in poker, Vegas in August is where you have to be.
I was lucky enough to catch the tail end of the Binion's Horseshoe glory days, and have fond memories of the WSOP back when you could still count the field in hundreds. I bought Binion's playing cards and the T-shirt, and stood in line to have my photo taken in front of the million-dollar Horseshoe display (an image I still treasure, along with my 1998 WSOP press pass). The slightly worn-out feel of the downtown area, the historical association with the Binion family, and the friendly waitresses all added to the sense that this was one casino where the theme was simple and unambiguous: gambling.
When I returned to Fremont Street last July, the Horseshoe branding had been extracted as the result of corporate machinations following the sale of Binion's and the WSOP to Harrah's. The casino looked its age, and the magnificent Binion's Horseshoe illumination had been ripped out, leaving an empty space of exposed concrete. It was like seeing a much loved great aunt with a black eye.
We Brits get quite sentimental about this kind of thing. We have a weakness for tradition and heritage which the Americans just don't have. In the late 1990s, the legendary Sands Hotel and Casino on the Strip – once owned by Howard Hughes and favoured by Hollywood stars and American presidents – began to outlive its usefulness. If the Sands were in the UK, we would have stuck a blue commemorative plaque on the front ("In 1966, Frank Sinatra recorded the legendary Live at the Sands here with the Count Basie Orchestra"), and applied to have the 44-year-old behemoth registered as a historic monument. Instead, seven sticks of well-placed dynamite reduced the Sands to rubble, and before you could say "Sammy Davis Junior," work was already under way on its replacement (The Venetian). That's the American way, and whatever you think of it, you had to admire the cool-eyed ruthlessness of the operation.
Going back to Binion's Horseshoe, it was plain to see that the 21st-century version of the old casino was no longer fit to hold the WSOP. Romantics can read all about the old days in The Biggest Game in Town, by Al Alvarez, or Anthony Holden's Big Deal, two great books that lovingly portray the world of Benny Binion, Jack Straus, Amarillo Slim, and Stu Ungar. The post-poker boom WSOP, with its increasing prize pool and volume of players, demanded better. It was time to move on.
The event has lost some of its magic, but it has gained a lot, too. The WSOP began as an annual get-together for friends of the Binions, and its grandiose title was hardly justified by the level of international participation. Gradually, over the 1990s, that began to change, and now the WSOP has become what it always should have been, a globally popular poker competition that attracts thousands of pros and hometown champions from across the world.
A friend of mine from London, a gentleman amateur rather than a pro, just qualified online for the $10,000 main event, and his joy is unconfined. Every day between now and day one, he'll be going over his tournament strategy, and preparing his excuses ("I was pot-committed!") and his victory speech. All over the world, there are hundreds and thousands of players – pros and amateurs alike – eagerly anticipating their chance to win the biggest prize in poker. And when they all come together to do battle at the end of July, you will once again see the true spirit of the WSOP. 
Conrad Brunner works for PokerStars.com.