Boiyoiyoinnng…

That’s the sound of my confidence bouncing back from the subterranean level.  The last two weeks have left me feeling like I’m really on my game.  When I analyze my play, I either end up feeling sky high or miserable about it.  I think the absence of any middle ground (where the truth likely resides) is due to the relative youth of my poker career.  I’m still not used to the swings, so my self-confidence gravitates in the direction of my most recent results.

I finished exactly 100th in Event #38, which was about as good as was possible with the cards I was dealt on Day Two.

Boiyoiyoinnnnng…..

That’s also the sound of a basketball being bounced.

You see, during the tournament, something occurred to me.  I realized that in these $1500 events with 3,000 person fields, I have way more tricks up my sleeve than the average player.  My experience and study has enabled me to understand how relative stack sizes, position, stack-to-blind ratios, table image, table dynamics, and other factors all combine to create a good strategy for each hand.  In short, I’m a better preflop player than at least 90% of these fields.

It reminded me of something that really has nothing to do with poker:  playing basketball.  When I was a lot younger–throughout high school, and when I came home on breaks from college and law school, I used to play a lot of pickup basketball (also stickball), usually at an outdoor court in Sea Cliff, New York.  The participants varied widely in age, size, and skill level–you were equally likely to encounter an old fat guy wearing kneepads and smelling like Ben-Gay as you were a senior on the varsity team–but any group of three was welcome to play halfcourt ball, provided they called out that they “got next.” 

This was not West 4th Street.  These games were pretty novice, and there was one thing separated the good players from the hopeless ones:  the ability to dribble the basketball.  I don’t mean to say that this was a game full of bozos bouncing the ball off their own legs; most of us were pretty decent.  But there were a couple of guys who really had a “handle.”  That is, they could dribble out of trouble and create opportunities for themselves, even when it meant going between their legs, behind their backs, using a stutter-dribble, a yo-yo dribble… whatever the situation required.  These players, even when they were very small or terrible shooters, usually ended up on the winning team in our little three-on-three games.  There is only one way to acquire the skills these kids had:  combine a modicum of talent with a whole lot of practice. 

That’s me in a No Limit Hold-Em tournament with a massive field.  I can dribble circles around the average clod.

I’ve made it to day two of Event #38, $1500 NLHE.  We’re down to around 180 players out of 2,778, well into the money.  I’ve got a medium/shortish stack of 38,100.

I’ll update this post with more specific information when I get up tomorrow.  Cards are in the air at 2:00 p.m. PST.  It’s been a really nutty tournament for me, I’ve withstood some very nasty hands to somehow stay on my feet at this point. 

This also means that I’m batting a downright silly .500 in WSOP tournaments.  I’ve cashed in half of the ones I’ve entered. 

Sunday Update:  There’s not really much to update.  There are actually 170 players left, and I’m sorta near the middle of the pack.  There were two occasions yesterday where I got into big hands that would have made me a serious force in this tournament and significantly increased my chances to make another massive score.  On one hand I lost a race, and on the second I flopped bottom set when my opponent flopped middle set.  I’ve done well to make it as far as I’ve come. 

I will be moving chips today.

When I left off, I had just made the final table of Event #12 of the 2007 WSOP, and I was pumped.  High stakes poker competition really increases the amount of adrenaline in the system—I had no idea how much was coursing through my veins last Friday until play finished for the night.  I was wired.  It was very late on the East Coast, but Janeen was wide awake too, fully aware of what I had accomplished and possibly more excited than me.  We had a breathless, excited phone conversation, and then I also phoned my parents.  News of my final table was on the short list of things big enough to bother them about at 3:00 am.  I also posted news of my accomplishment on this blog and on the message board at rhythmism.com, a NYC-based internet community that I’m a long-tenured member of.  I once again struggled to sleep as I considered my final table strategy.    

This may seem odd to some of you, but making the final table of the Six Handed event was the hard part.  Sitting down and playing out the final table was going to be relatively easy for me.  Although I was positively thrilled to have gotten there, and although it was going to be the highest stakes poker I’d ever experienced, the strategy at the final table was going to be both simple and familiar.  The reason:  I have played thousands of online sit –n-go’s. 

Over the past year, I have bitched a good deal about sit-n-go’s on this blog.  I have called them pointless and equated playing them to beating one’s head against a wall.  But as I mentally prepared myself for the Six-Handed final table, it occurred to me that perhaps all those sit-n-go’s were about to pay dividends.  This is ironic, since the only poker that ever gets televised is at final tables, but I realized that the following day’s final table was nothing more than a glorified sit –n-go with half a million dollars at stake. 

My precise strategy was based on what I knew about the players and those players’ stack sizes.  And here’s what my scouting report said:

I was in the 1 seat with 899,000 chips. 

In the 2 seat was Matt Brady with the shortest stack, 381,000 chips.  This player/stack size combination completely dictated my strategy.  Matt is a strong player and he had a “reshove” stack.  This means that his stack was too big for openshoving, but too small to get really fancy with.  His obvious best play was to reraise someone all in preflop.  If I were to raise on the button or in the cutoff, I knew that he would not hesitate to move all in with hands as weak as A-x or K-J and the like.  If I raised with garbage and he did this, I would find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to either lay the hand down or make a risky “math call” with a hand that I knew was an underdog.  This meant that I absolutely could not openraise light when Matt had yet to act.

In the 3 seat was Brian Miller with 831,000 chips.  This was another good player who had position on me.  I felt that if anyone at the table was going to pull something tricky, it was this player.  The combination of Brady and Miller to my left was bad; both of these players would make me pay for any foolish steal attempts.

In the 4 seat was Steve Olek with 484,000 chips.  I didn’t have a really good feel for this player’s game, but my sense was that he’d play a good, solid, smart game.

In the 5 seat was Jason Warner, the chip leader with 945,000 chips.  From observing him, reading the recaps of Day 2’s play, and from a conversation I had with Brady, I had a full scouting report on Jason.  I knew that he was very aggressive and completely unafraid to make big calls.  There were several instances from Day 2 where he picked up a hand and went with it in the face of heavy betting from his opponent.  I was going to have a hand if I ever went to war with this player.

Finally, in the 6 seat was David Mitchell-Lolis with 736,000 chips.  I didn’t know a lot about David, so I pegged him as a classic TAG player and would proceed under that assumption until I had reason to believe otherwise.

The bottom line was that the player to my left would be itching to move his chips in whenever I raised, and the player two seats to my left was capable of doing something crazy.  So at the outset, I really had no choice but to openraise only with very strong hands and pass on everything else.  Having determined this, I continued to lie in bed waiting for my adrenaline rush to subside.  I managed to get maybe four or five hours of fitful sleep.

When I awoke, I took a shower and selected my clothes:  my favorite jeans, a comfortable blank army green t-shirt, pumas, and of course, my “Sug D’s” sweatshirt.  I repeated my routine from the day before.  I ate breakfast and took a long, hot walk.  Then I sat in my room in a semi-meditative state waiting for the minutes to pass by.  My cell phone was exploding with text messages, and both this blog and rhythimism were filled with messages from well-wishers.  I was proud to have such a big support network and it really charged me up.  I eventually managed to kill off enough time, and it was time to go.  I headed over to the Rio.  I felt exactly the same as I did 24 hours earlier:  excited and nervous, but unafraid.

When I arrived in the poker room, I found the rest of the final table participants grouped together awaiting instruction from the floor personnel, who were conspicuously absent.  We had an open discussion about how charged up we all were.  It was my first real interaction with everyone besides Brady, and all of them were nice guys.  Even though we were about to enter a competition for huge sums of money, there was a collective sense of accomplishment amongst us which created some camaraderie.  Then someone, I believe Mitchell-Lolis, indicated that he was amenable to dealmaking.  The others agreed that the prize structure (481k for 1st, 269k for 2nd, 186k for 3rd, 123k for 4th, 92k for 5th, 61k for 6th) was alarmingly steep.

I was probably the second most accomplished live tournament player in the group behind Brady.  Since he was the shortest stack, I took the lead and proposed a new payout structure.  I took $81,000 off of first place and redistributed it, proposing a 400-294-206-138-102-72 arrangement.  It seemed to appeal to everyone, but after a couple of minutes, Miller demurred, requesting that we play through to the first break and revisit it at that point.  And then the tournament director appeared.

We were led to an area away from the commotion of the main floor, towards a small area encircled with a curtain.  Our final table was not an ESPN final table.  Instead, it was scheduled to be part of a new WSOP feature for 2007:  a webcast aired on a one-hour delay, with holecard cameras and analysts.  Worldseriesofpoker.com had exclusive rights to both the webcast and updates.  This meant that we would play in complete seclusion, and that special precautions had to be taken.  All six of us were ordered to hand over our cell phones and any other electronic equipment on our persons, and then we were all frisked to ensure that we hadn’t smuggled any communications devices in with us.  Then we entered the final table area and had microphones attached to our collars.  We were informed that we would be sequestered on all breaks.  If any of us wished to go to the bathroom, we would be accompanied by a security guard. 

I walked into the little makeshift room.  The black curtains were only a few feet from the table.  There would be no spectators; only the six players, a dealer, the tournament director and a couple of production people.  I found my seat and unbagged my chips.  The production folks made some last minute adjustments as we all nervously waited.  Then it was finally time to get the cards in the air.

Many of you have already watched the webcast, and most of you are already aware of the key hands.  I’m going to try and focus on my reasons for making certain plays and my emotions in the following recap.  It was pretty cool watching the webcast after all was said and done.  I was able to really analyze my decisions and pinpoint my misplays.

As soon as play got underway, I noticed two things:  first, the tournament director was doing play-by-play on a microphone.  This was cool, but it also seemed unusual since there was no audience.  Second, Warner was on a big heater.  Right out of the gate, he won several large pots and emerged as the unquestioned chip leader.  The players he took chips from at first were Miller and Brady, which was a good development for me.

The first hand I played was, in my opinion, my biggest misplay of the entire final table.  It was the very first hand of the final table and I was in the big blind.  The action was folded to Mitchell-Lolis in the small blind.  He raised to three times the big blind and I defended my blind with A-6 offsuit.  The flop came a very dry 10-5-2 rainbow, and he made a standard continuation bet of around two-thirds of the pot.  This was a great spot to either raise, or even better, float (call) and take the pot away on the turn.  Under normal conditions I would float this flop, but instead, I meekly folded. 

I am ashamed to admit that the reason I folded was that it was the first hand of a huge final table and I wasn’t in the flow just yet.  Plain and simple, I tightened up.  I was unhappy with myself, but did not lose focus.  I later learned that Mitchell-Lolis had A-J.  I could have won that pot.

Soon thereafter a huge hand developed.  Warner raised with Kc10c, and Miller defended his blind with Ad-6s.  The flop came 7-8-7 with two clubs, giving Warner two overs and a flush draw.  Miller took a stab, and Warner flat called.  The turn was an irrelevant three of diamonds, and both players checked.  The river was the king of spades, giving Warner top pair.  Miller checked and Warner made a small value bet.  Miller then went into a long period of contemplation before pushing all in, a big bet.  Warner considered for a very long time and made a huge call, busting Miller.  I don’t love the way Miller played this hand, and I believe it might have been one of the only hands he misplayed the entire tournament.  The really important aspects of this hand, from my perspective, were:

-I had just made $31,000.
-A dangerous player who had position on me was gone.
-The rumor about Warner was confirmed:  he calls light.

The next hand busted the shortstacked Brady.  He openshoved K-6, and Warner, still busy stacking his chips from the previous hand, called with A-6.  Again, from my perspective:

-I just made another $31,000.
-A dangerous player with position on me was gone.
-Warner had all the chips.

On his way out the door, Brady, who I am happy to have befriended during this tournament, whispered in my ear a huge compliment:  “You have a great chance of winning this thing.  Go get ‘em.”  Translation: you’re the best player in the room. 

I am not arrogant enough to say that he was right, but I am comfortable admitting that I was quite happy that he and Miller were the first two to go.  My three remaining opponents were all excellent players, but I felt that I had a good read on them.  Namely, this read was that Olek and Mitchell-Lolis were cautious and bluffable while Warner was very dangerous and had neither of those characteristics.

Meanwhile, the tide was about to turn for the previously shortstacked Olek.  After losing another pot to Warner when Warner hit a gutshot straight on the turn (the kid was on fire), Olek began to make up ground.  First he doubled through Warner, JJ over 99.  Then he shoving all in when I openraised on the button with A-10, forcing me to fold (he held pocket sevens). 

My next stab at a steal was a few hands later with K-7.  Once again, I was foiled by Olek, who shoved all in, and again I folded (he had pocket aces).  Things were not going well.  Yes, I had crept up the prize ladder and was now guaranteed $123,000, but I was now the shortest stack left.  I had made zero impact on the final table thus far.  And then things got even worse.  I went card dead.  I tossed away trash hand after trash hand as my three opponents traded blows.  The blinds were $15,000 and $30,000, and I had only about $350,000 in my stack.  I found one spot to openshove, which allowed me to pick up some antes and blinds, but then went right back to being card dead. 

Right before the first break, Olek won a strange pot from Warner.  Warner openlimped under the gun for $30,000 with pocket fours.  Mitchell-Lolis called from the button with J-10.  I completed from the small blind with J-6.  Olek, sitting in the big blind with A-9 of hearts, chose to raise the pot to $155,000.  Warner, possibly sensing weakness, reraised to $350,000.  Mitchell-Lolis and I folded, and Olek, sitting on only about $700,000, must have sensed that Warner wasn’t that strong, because he called the reraise.  The flop came 10d-9d-2h, and Olek moved in for his last $400,000.  Warner must have felt committed to the pot, or perhaps he was just continuing with his serial calling.  In either event, he immediately called with his underpair.  I sat there dumbfounded, as I could neither understand the way the hand was played preflop nor comprehend how they both accurately sensed weakness in one another.  Then Warner hit another miracle card:  a two-outer on the turn– the four of hearts–which put him in the lead but also gave Olek a flush draw.  Upon seeing the four, Olek understandably recoiled from the table in horror.  And just when it looked like I was about to guarantee myself another $53,000, Olek re-sucked out on Warner as the five of hearts hit the river giving him a flush!  Olek celebrated, and Warner shrugged.  Whoa.

When went to break, the chip counts were as follows:

Warner:  1.6 million
Olek:  1.4 million
Michell-Lolis:  970,000
Me:  305,000

After the break, the blinds were going to be 20,000-40,000 with a 5,000 ante, putting me in full-blown desperation mode.  Where was I at emotionally?  Nowhere, really.  I recognized that I was playing correctly (with the exception of the very first hand), and that this was not foreign territory for me.  I knew how to pick my spots to push all-in.  I would pick a decent spot and hope for things to fall my way.  I would continue playing my glorified sit –n-go.  Simple as that.

Meanwhile, my three opponents were anxious to work out a deal.  On the break, which was chaperoned by two security guards in a small quiet room in the bowels of the Rio’s convention area, a deal was hammered out.  It seemed that everyone wanted to lock in as much prize money as possible, which was understandable in light of the amount at stake. 

The initial proposal, made by Mitchell-Lolis, was to give the fourth place finisher an additional $26,000, then make the top three spots an even split, with the final two players playing only for the bracelet.  I rejected this idea, saying that I’d prefer that first place make more money than second.  I also prefaced my comment by mentioning that I would likely agree to any deal that included at least $26,000 more for fourth place.  I am a realist, and I knew that my likely destiny at this point was fourth.  I was a big underdog to finish in any other position.  In the end, the four of us agreed that fourth place would be bumped up $29,000 to $152,000, and that second and third would each earn $275,000, with the bracelet and $350,000 going to the champion.  On the walk through the Rio’s catacombs back to the final table, we all shook hands on this arrangement.  I was very happy, as I had just locked in almost $30,000 on the mere fortuity that we happened to go on break at that time.  I was also happy because I understood that we were on a massive bubble right now, since the deal we had brokered significantly widened the gap between fourth place and third place.  I knew that if I got my hands on some chips, I would begin to wreak havoc.

When we got back to business, I was forced to fold the first few hands, knocking me down into super-desperation mode, around $250,000 chips.  Then, at last, I turned up the heat. 

The first shove was with the A-6 of hearts and went uncalled.  Stack. 

Thee second time, Michell-Lolis made the mistake of limping into my big blind, and I shoved with K-3.  He folded.  Stack, stack. 

The third time, I had Q-J in the small blind and Olek didn’t call.  Stack, stack, stack.

The fourth time, I had A-3 on the button.  No customers.  That was four in a row.  Now I had over 400,000 chips.  Stack, stack, stack, stack.  Then came a bunch of folds.

The fifth time, Michell-Lolis limped into my big blind again, and I shoved with K-4.  Staaaaaack.

The sixth was another Q-J in the small blind.  Staaaaaaaaaaack.  Around 360,000 chips.

The seventh was a reshove with AK against Mitchell-Lolis’ raise.  Up to around 600,000.

Then came something special:  the best hand of my life.
  
I was in the big blind, and Olek started the action by raising under the gun to $100,000.  This was a very small raise, only 2.5 times the big blind.  Mitchell-Lolis called from the button, and I looked down at the 6-4 of diamonds.  I was getting very favorable odds and made a speculative call, hoping to flop something big.

I flopped something big:  it came 6-4-3 rainbow.  Yes!  I successfully concealed the excitement brewing inside me and checked.  My heart raced as Olek led at the flop for $200,000.  Then Mitchell-Lolis called very quickly, swelling the pot to over $700,000.  What the hell did that smooth call mean?  Very ominous.  I didn’t like it one bit, but there was a 0.00% chance I was doing anything but shoving all in.  So with my top two pair, that’s exactly what I did.

The next two minutes were bizarre.  Olek took a very long time to make a decision.  He counted his chips, put his hands to his face, he muttered to himself a bit, then he recounted his chips, then he rested his face in his hand and continued to think.  A photographer took several shots of all three of us during the delay.  I realized that I definitely had Olek crushed, but I wasn’t too sure about Mitchell-Lolis.  Even though my action was complete, I took the opportunity to stare Mictchell-Lolis down while Olek deliberated.  Our eyes met a few times, and the conclusion I drew was that I had reason to be worried.  I thought there was a very good chance that I was up against a set of threes.  After what felt like an eternity, Olek folded.  At that point, Michell-Lolis immediately said “easy call” as he pushed his stack in.  “I got the nuts.”  Fuuuuuck.  He turned over the 7-5 of hearts.  Yup.  He had flopped the nuts.      

Televised poker makes a big deal out of the “all in moment.”  While I’m not necessarily sure that all-ins deserve their own sponsor, it is true that when someone moves in and is called, the game changes radically.  When you’re all in and have been called, the poker strategy, which you’ve usually spent many hours and sometimes many days enmeshed with, suddenly ceases to exist.  Your destiny now rests in fate’s hands.  Having no more reason to posture, the player melts away and is replaced by the person.  From behind the emotionless façade that poker requires, the real true-to-life “you” emerges for a few seconds.  Therefore, some people use this time to berate their opponent.  Some use it to berate and punish themselves.  Some use it to exalt themselves.  Some–typically the player who is a statistical underdog–use their few seconds to ask a higher power for help. 

Now, as three days of hard work culminated in an all-in as a 5-1 underdog, I didn’t feel the need to do any of these things.  My player melted away and was replaced by a person who was dejected, to be sure, but also one that was satisfied.  It wasn’t a misplay that got me here.  I had to move in with top two pair.  I was going to win $150,000 even if the board bricked out.  I stood up and turned in my resignation in the form of a handshake with Mitchell-Lolis, then stood and watched as the dealer burned and turned….

The six of clubs!!! 

Holy shit!  I instinctively clapped my hands, wheeled around, away from the table (where an irrelevant river card was being dealt), took a few steps and pumped my fist triumphantly in the air.  I bellowed “ship the money!” as I turned back towards the table with a look of determination fixed on my face.  Not a look of surprise.  Not a look of happiness, but one of determination.  I stood and admired my full house for a moment, then I (literally) rolled up my sleeves and began stacking my suddenly bountiful chips.  Poor Mitchell-Lolis was left with only crumbs.  It dawned on me right then.  I was going to win the bracelet.  We were still playing a sit-n-go, but I had just gotten lucky.  Now we were on a bubble and I had a lot of chips.  That was a horrible state of affairs for these other guys.  Watch out.

I’ve heard numerous accounts of the scenes–at my parents’ house, at Janeen’s apartment, and at Kevin and Carrie’s apartment—where friends and family were watching on the internet when the six hit the turn.  It fills me with a lot of happiness to think about so many people rejoicing in my good fortune, and I’m proud to have provided such a great moment for people who care about me.

Now Warner and I had the most chips.  On the very next hand, I picked up pocket queens in the small blind.  The pot was raised to $100,000 under the gun by Warner, and I chose to flat call.  The reasons for my flat call:  I wanted to proceed cautiously against the other big stack, who was a player I thought was likely to call a reraise, and we were on a big bubble, with the gap between fourth and third place being a whopping $125,000.  Olek called in the big blind and we saw a flop three handed.  It came 9-7-5 rainbow, which was very favorable for me.  I checked with the intention of putting in a checkraise.  Olek also checked, and Warner made a curiously small bet of only $150,000.  I immediately raised to $475,000, and both of my opponents went away.  I showed them my queens and raked the pot.  I was off in first place now all by my lonesome, with over 2 million chips in my possession.  Stack, stack, stack. 

Watching the tape after the fact, I learned that Olek flat called from the big blind with AK suited.  This was a curious play, but it was likely made because of the aforementioned bubble we were on.  Mitchell-Lolis was extremely short, and Olek didn’t want to forfeit the $125,000 that he stood to win by outlasting him.

My strategy now was obvious.  Raise any two cards into Olek and Warner.  I was going to abuse this $125,000 bubble.  I stole the blinds on the next hand, then found pocket 10s on Mitchell-Lolis’ big blind.  I openraised, and he called all in with K-J, then flopped two jacks to stay alive.  Undeterred, I continued to raise every hand, once stealing the blinds, then losing a pot when Warner defended his big blind and made a nice checkraise on the flop.

I then raised A-3 suited on Mitchell-Lolis’ big blind, and he pushed all in with K-7 for not much more than my raise.  I instacalled, and again was outflopped as he hit a seven.  I no longer had the chip lead.  It once again belonged to Warner.  Doh.

The next hand of note was another huge one.  At the start of this hand, I had around 1.3 million chips and Warner had about 1.6 million chips.  I openlimped on the button with the Q-9 of diamonds.  The reason for the limp was that Warner was in the big blind, and I felt he was prone to call lightly on any stealraise attempt I might have made.  Now that he had me outchipped, I wanted get into a pot cheaply in position and outplay him postflop.  He ended up raising to $150,000, which was a small raise from out of position, giving me obvious odds to call, which I did.  The flop put me in a great spot.  It came down Q-Q-J with two hearts, giving me trip queens.  Warner made another small lead bet of $150,000, leaving me with a big decision to make.  How to extract the most value?  I wanted to double through here. 

I wasn’t going to flat call, but how much should I raise?  I thought it over for awhile, but in the end the decision was an easy one.  I made a huge overbet by moving all in.  The announcers on the webcast were initially very critical of this play, but it was the right move.  Here’s why.  First of all, the board was very coordinated.  That meant that it was possible that my opponent could have a draw, and possibly a very powerful one such as the A-10 of hearts.  A small raise could never price out a big combination draw, but an overbet would at least take away his perceived three-bet fold equity.  The coordinated board also meant, that if he held some kind of made hand, that an overbet on my part would look like I held a draw, when I in fact held a made hand.  The other major factor, the one that clinched my decision, was opponent-specific.  This guy was a light caller.  He loved to make the big call.  I knew he’d call my shove with any jack and most pocket pairs.  So it honestly was a no-brainer:  all in and pray for a call.  That’s what I did.  Conjuring the most desperate-looking way of doing it, I thought for about 20 seconds then blurted “all in” with a wave of my hand.  Then I sat back and prayed.

Warner reacted by leaning backwards and saying “flush draw?”  Then he went into a very, very long period of deliberation.  I sat there trying to look as scared as possible, but Warner wasn’t looking for any kind of physical read.  His sat very still, with his head down.  He was thinking things out for himself.  Then he asked for a count, and spoke. “It’s either gonna be a great call or a horrible call.”  Wow.  Then another ten second pause before he said “I think I got the best of it.”  Wow.  Then, thirty more seconds before he pulled his cap down over his eyes.  Then another sixty seconds of silence, followed by a pronounced exhale.  I shot him a glance which I hoped might convey that I was scared, but I don’t think it registered.  And then, after what was probably a four minute delay all tolled, there it was:  “I call.”

I turned over the Q-9 and waited anxiously to see exactly which cards I would have to dodge, and was shocked to learn that the answer was two sevens.  I stood up and clapped my hands.  Then I nervously watched the turn and river cards:  both fours.  Yessssss.  I slowly pumped my fist.  I had just won a HUGE pot from the other big stack.  Holy crap.  I had all the chips.  I was over 2.5 million chips, and no one else had 600,000.  It was pretty obvious now:  I was going to win a goddamned WSOP bracelet.

A few hands later, Mitchell-Lolis moved all in under the gun, and I made an isolation raise from the button with A-6 offsuit.  He had K-5.  The A-6 held, and we were down to three.  A short break was taken, during which I went to the men’s room, accompanied by a security guard.  During the break I neither celebrated nor strategized.  There was no need for either.  I was in the zone, on autopilot.  I’d been the monster stack three-handed in a sit-n-go hundreds of times.  Since both second and third place were guaranteed the same prize money, I knew that my strategy was now to only openraise with value, since Olek and Warner would be looking to reshove with almost anything.  From watching the webcast after the tournament, I know that Olek spoke with Warner, resignedly saying that they “had their work cut out for them.”  They certainly did.

Soon enough, I’d have my opportunity to get rid of another player.  I woke up with A-K on the button and made a standard raise.  Warner moved all in from the big blind, and I snap called.  He had K-8, and he got out of his chair, ready to depart.  If my heavily favored big slick held up, the tournament was all over but the cryin’.  I had it in my grasp, it was time to deliver two to coup-de-graces.  This was going to be the first.

No, it wasn’t.  The flop came J-8-7 and K-8 was good.  Sigh.  Warner was back over a million chips, and my lead over him was only roughly 2-1.  Olek was now the clear shorty, and the landscape had changed.  I once again had to contend with a stack that could seriously hurt me.

I finally put Olek away a few hands later, when I openraised with A-10 and he shoved with K-10.  Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have Warner’s magic touch, and I sent him to the rail.  I was heads up for the bracelet with a 2-1 chip lead.

A very long delay ensued, while the WSOP people brought the requisite bracelet and massive pile of cash to the table.  I considered my heads up strategy.  There was only one against Mr. Warner.  It was so obvious that it barely merits saying:  play smallball and value bet all made hands.  He’ll give me action. 

It was during the long break that I noticed something odd.  The dealer, a bald guy of Middle Eastern descent, was stealing glances at me and tapping the table.  Huh?  I looked up and realized I that I knew him.  I had played poker against him in Atlantic City.  Yes, I remembered him.  He told me back then, probably 18 months ago, that he was not only a player but also a dealer.  I looked at his name tag:  Bassam.

“Hi Bassam, how you doin’?”

“I’m good,” he replied.  Then, in a hushed tone, he smiled and said “way to go, buddy.”  I smiled too, and thanked him. 

After possibly twenty or thirty minutes, the bracelet and the cash arrived.  I was so dialed in that I hardly noticed.  It was time to bring this thing home.

The heads up match opened without any real fireworks.  Warner’s standard openraises were very large:  $300,000–five times the big blind.  It was evident that he was trying to force me to gamble.  But I stuck with the plan and started to grind him down.  Then, with me sitting on around 2.4 million and Warner 1.2 million, on perhaps the seventh or eighth hand of the heads up match….

Warner openlimped on the button.  I had pocket sevens and raised to 300,000.  Warner responded by immediately moving all in.  I shook my head and stood up, leaning over the table.  I really didn’t want it to go down like this, to be forced into a big call, but he was forcing my hand.  I was ahead of his range, which included many combinations of overcards and all the underpairs.  So much for smallball.  If this was how it had to be, this was how it had to be.  This was it. 

“I call.”

Our face-up cards hit the table at the same time.  He had pocket fives and I had pocket sevens.  Fives against sevens.  I loved my hand!  I loved my pocket sevens!  They had landed on the table right on top of one another, so the second beautiful seven was obscured.  I leaned over and separated them with my fingers for the world to see.  Pocket sevens.  Pocket sevens dominate pocket fives!  Holy mother of God.  All in for the bracelet.  I clapped my hands, happy with my call.

I stood at the side of the table.  The weight of the moment took a literal toll, so I leaned forward against the table’s padded rail for support.  All in with a call.  The player melted away, leaving only the person.  The player David Zeitlin slipped away and became the person David Zeitlin.  And the person David Zeitlin wanted to remember.

I remembered what brought me here—not all the hands I’ve analyzed in the space above, but what really brought me here, the real roots of my love.

I remembered discovering playing cards.  As a young child, I loved to touch them.  All alone in my room, I’d sit there touching them.  They were fascinating—their backs with their dizzying innumerable lines that formed a special pattern, fascinating in their complex uniformity. 

The fronts were still more wonderful.  The aces, in their simple solitary omnipotence.  The ace of spades said “Tally-Ho.”  The kings, queens and jacks.  A royal painted family sitting there in their strange, colorful two-dimensional portraits.  And all the other cards, down to the lowly treys and deuces, which when put together in the right combinations, could form powerful alliances capable of destroying the aces and royal paints.  Magic.  I would look at them, shuffle them, turn them, touch them for hours.  All in preparation for this moment.

The flop was the king of spades, nine of spades, ten of spades (no spades in either of our hands).

I remembered poker theory—how, starting in the year 2001, I’d tirelessly studied poker theory, committing it to memory, then applying it in practice, just as I’d done with very different theories for as long as I could remember, first in school and then in my prior profession.  All in preparation for this moment.

The turn was the queen of clubs.

And finally, I remembered the man who hatched my love for poker almost thirty years ago, my Pop-Pop.  I remembered that my training ground, the scene of my very first heads-up matches, was the kitchen table in my grandparents’ row house in Douglaston, Queens.  We used pennies as chips.  I thought about how unspeakably proud he’d be right now if he were watching his grandson.  Watching his grandson not only earn a living at the game he loved, but watching his grandson on the verge of achieving one of the game’s highest honors.  My mind was spinning out of control, spinning through these memories, but it came to rest on a sainted image of my Pop-Pop’s face smiling a placid contented smile.  I missed him.  I was about to cry.  No, I wasn’t.  Yes, I was.  I wasn’t sure.

And then, like a gunshot piercing the quiet of a still night, it came to a sudden halt.  Bassam only had to peel the card off the deck and turn it upward, like the millions of other cards I’ve seen the same thing done to before.  Five pips.  I didn’t need it to be placed on the felt and slid into position.  I already knew it was the dreamcrusher.

Five of diamonds.

I wailed “OHHHH NOOOOOO!!!” and doubled over in pain.  It wasn’t meant to be.

I’m sure many people assume that I was unable to recover emotionally from the beat, and with the chip lead lost, that I played horribly from that point forward.  Quite the opposite is true.  I regrouped and played well.  In fact, I’m very proud of the second to last hand, on which I held pocket aces, but mystified the webcast announcers by not going broke. 

But it was Jason Warner’s day.  On the final hand, I once again led on the turn, only to be rivered one more time.

I was in shock, but I gave a classy exit interview.  When I went out into the hall, I was greeted by Olek and Mitchell-Lolis, who were both ecstatic.  In fact, the entire final table was composed of very classy, nice guys.  I slowly began to come around as well.  $274,000 is a lot of scrilla, and I really should have finished fourth.  In the end, I have nothing to complain about.

The aftermath of the tournament was the best.  I received so many nice messages that I don’t even know where to start.  People with whom I haven’t spoken in years got in touch with me.  I was a mini-celebrity for a week.  I happily wrote a check to Kevin for over $27,000, his fair share of the winnings, then surprised him and Carrie by triumphantly throwing it on the table in the middle of a betting round at our old home game.  My parents, sister, girlfriend, and entire family are proud of me.  I am walking with my head held high.  Second place in a World Series of Poker event. 

If you look at my live tournament resume, there are several serious cashes on there.  One would get the impression by looking at it that not only do i know what I’m doing, but that I’m a closer.  And maybe both of those things are true.

I’m a happy bridesmaid.

. 

I’ve been asked the same two questions many times in the last few days.  The answers are:  1) yes, there are many important hands I skip in my tournament recaps; and 2) yes, I do bluff.  As a matter of fact, I intentionally chose not to mention a couple of hands from Day 1 where I was completely snowing someone.  Part II…
 

In my previous entry, I admitted that my emotional well being was in question at the start of Event #12.  On the morning of Day 2, any emotional weakness was a distant memory.  My Day 1 performance was the elixir.  I had pulled a 180-degree turnaround.  Yes, I had gotten lucky in a couple of spots, but mostly I had outplayed nearly everyone at my tables on the first day, and looking back the morning after, I was quite aware of it.  I had emerged from a morass of self-doubt, my confidence was cresting, and I honestly sensed that I was on the precipice of something big (hence this blog entry).

There would be 62 players left when Day 2 started, and I was sitting in 14th place with 96,000 chips.  At the top of the leaderboard were the monstrous J.C. Tran and a player I respect and have learned a great deal from, Eric Haber.  Was I nervous?  Yes, a bit.  But was I scared?  Hell no.  I resolved to play like a dangerous guy, to take on the role of that player that no one really wants to tangle with.  And that is the correct way to handle the vital stage of the tournament I was about to jump into.

When there’s 62 players left out of 1,400 in a $1500 bracelet event, you’re in rarified air.  Many players freeze up under those conditions, which is a natural reaction with so much money on the line.  But the steep prize structure (almost half a million for first, $62,000 for sixth, much less for positions 7 through 62) and the very fact that many players are naturally constricting their play mean that this is actually the time to accelerate.  I am so well schooled in this important concept that I went into Day 2 without fear.  It was final table or bust.  I would not bother to second guess myself if I kamikaze’d my way to the rail.  It was important, in order for me to summon the guts to make daring plays, for me to feel dangerous going in, and I did.

Play was scheduled to begin at 2:00 pm, but I was ready to rock by 10:00 am.  I killed some time first by eating breakfast, then by websurfing in my hotel room, and then finally by exiting my hotel and talking a long, destination-less walk up Tropicana Avenue.  If you’re anywhere but the center of the Strip, taking a stroll in Las Vegas is virtually pointless.  The place is simply not built for pedestrians:  every building is at least a half mile from the next one, on many roads they don’t even bother providing sidewalks, and within five minutes your throat and clothes are both coated with a thin layer of dust and you’re pouring sweat.  But if your only goal is something inane like killing time and getting some blood flowing, then taking a walk in Vegas can do the trick.

When play began, I discovered that there were a surprising number of railbirds sweating the tournament, the most I’d ever witnessed from inside the rail, except for when I’ve played the main event.  There was a silent acknowledgment of how much was at stake, and the crowd, like the players, was surprisingly pensive.  That was fine by me, since my intention was to immediately start making a lot of waves in an otherwise quiet pond.

Once the cards were in the air, however, it quickly became apparent that I would be doing no such thing.  The reason was a fellow New Yorker in the 1 Seat by the name of Alex Balandin.  Alex started the day with only 14,000 chips but was taking the play away from the rest of the table by relentlessly shoving all in.  He rapidly chipped up to around 40,000, and then when someone looked him up with A-7, his A-4 sucked out.  And he didn’t stop there, he continued to mercilessly raise one hand after another.  I openraised once on his big blind, and he promptly shoved all his chips in, forcing me to fold.  Hmmmm. 

Out of nowhere, Alex’s maniacal play had pushed him up among the chipleaders with around 50 players remaining.  I languished around the middle of the pack with 80,000 chips.  The field thinned to 45, then 40 players as I bided my time, watching Balandin gobble up every chip in sight.  I was card dead; all I could do was sit back in a sleepy-looking state and wait for a good spot to finally tangle with him.

And then, for the first time in the tournament, when I looked down at my hole cards I was greeted by pocket aces.  I was in the small blind, licking my chops as the action was passed to Balandin, but he folded his hand.  It got folded all the way around to me, and I chose to simply complete the 4000 chip big blind.  This was par for the course for me, as I had been willing to play small pots out of position in blind-vs.-blind confrontations all tournament.  The big blind, a very nice guy (with impeccable jewdar) by the name of David Slan, shoved all in for around 40,000 and I immediately called.  He had 10-7 offsuit and my aces held up, giving me some more chips to work with.  Into Slan’s vacated seat was moved the aforementioned Garrett Beckman.

Next, I finally got involved with Balandin.  And to be perfectly honest, I have no idea what I was doing on this hand.  I raised to 11,000 from the cutoff with Ac8h, and Balandin protected his big blind.  The flop came K-J-8 with two diamonds, giving me bottom pair with no draw.  Balandin checked, and so did I.  I did not like my hand, and my first instinct was to just try and show it down.  The turn card was the 10 of diamonds, completing about 50 possible draws.  I still had bottom pair, i.e., dogshit.  Balandin checked again, and since he had shown no aggression so far, I fired a 20,000 chip bet, leaving me with 90,000 behind.  Balandin called without any thought.  Ugh.  The river was a black seven, creating a very messy board that included a three-flush and numerous connected cards, a myriad of possibilities.  I still had dogshit.  Balandin considered for a moment and checked.  I was in the middle of nowhere with this hand and faced with a choice:  concede the hand and work with my 90,000 chips or take another wild stab and pray for a fold.  For reasons I’m not sure of, I chose the latter, pushing two full 20,000 stacks forward and announcing “forty thousand.”  I maintained my sleepyfaced exterior, but several internal organs were doing cartwheels as I prayed for a fold.  My opponent considered for a little while, then folded and said “I either completely botched that hand or I got away cheap.”  I exhaled and gathered enough composure to tell a bold-faced lie:  “you lost the minimum.”  I was up to around 140,000 with about 30 players left.

Next came a really pivotal hand.  I mentioned in the previous entry that Beckman would “come in handy” later in the tournament.  I discussed his habit of making very small preflop raises to entice action, and that is exactly what transpired next.  It was my big blind and I held a monster:  the 8-2 of diamonds.  Under the gun, with the blinds at 2000-4000 with a 500 ante, Beckman raised to just over 10,000.  He got called by Balandin on the button, and the small blind folded.  My hand was total garbage, but I was getting very enticing odds.  Plus, it was sooooted garbage.  If Beckman had raised just one thousand chips more, or if Balandin had folded, or if my 8-2 was unsuited, I would have passed on this hand.  But under these exact conditions, against two deep stacks getting favorable real and implied odds, I chose to toss another 6000 chips in and look at a flop.  And it was a dream flop:  jack of diamonds, ten of diamonds, two of clubs, giving me bottom pair and a flush draw. 

My turn to act.  How to proceed?  I figured that my hand was unlikely to be currently winning, but I couldn’t have hoped for a better flop with 8d-2d.  I had too many outs.  The hand needed to be played aggressively.  Since both of my opponents had me easily covered, I decided to lead at the pot, with the intention of three-betting all in if I got raised.  I bet 30,000.  Beckman folded, but when the action got to Balandin, he foiled the possibility of a three-bet by simply shoving all in.  Sheesh.  It was time for a big decision. 

A few years ago, when I was just beginning to play no-limit hold ‘em at an advanced level, I had a huge leak in my game:  I usually folded in this situation.  When I held a draw, even a powerful one such as a pair + flush draw, I tended to give up in situations where my fold equity was taken away from me, regardless of the odds the pot was laying me.  In other words, my game had no “gamble” to it.  But a fold here is usually incorrect.  My opponent either had a made hand without a draw, in which case I am about 50% to win the pot, or a weaker draw such as a straight draw or a flush draw without a pair, in which case I am in the lead with a better than 50% chance of winning.  Sometimes you just have to call even when you think you’re behind.  With the 60k already in the pot, my decision was easy.  Call and turn my fate over to the poker gods.  And that is what I did.  Balandin had QJ with no diamonds.  My nerves from my previous confrontation had faded.  I felt remarkably calm and remained seated as the dealer revealed the turn card:  the nine of diamonds.  Hand over.  I win.  For some reason, I just sat there in a state of complete zen-like tranquility, even as everyone at the table had just finished saying “nice hand,” and a mountain of chips was collecting itself in the center, in preparation for shippage in my direction.

It was at that exact moment that I first noticed that Kevin’s face was among those in the crowd on the rail.  We made eye contact, then he shrugged and turned his palms upward with a resigned look on his face.  Likely because I was sitting there looking practically comatose in the wake of a big hand, he thought I had lost.  No sir.  I disavowed him of that notion by giving him a subdued ‘double thumbs up,’ and then confirmation arrived in the form of a fat pile of chips being shoved in my direction.  Kevin’s look abruptly changed to one of wide-eyed excitement.  He silently mouthed “three hundred?” and I nodded, then Kevin started busily texting someone.  I was indeed over the 300,000 chip mark, way up near the top of the leaderboard.  Woot!

My strategy at this point became selective aggression.  There were two very dangerous players whom I respected at my table, two guys that would not hesitate to reheat me.  So I decided not to take any unnecessary risks and try to remain up in the top 5 as the dinner break approached.  But sometimes my competitive spirit takes over. 

With the blinds at 3000-6000, a hand was dealt in which the dealer accidentally exposed a ten while distributing the hole cards.  He announced that the exposed ten would be the burn card, and we proceeded in the customary fashion.  I then picked up pocket fives under the gun and raised to 17,000.  It was folded to Balandin, who had quickly regrouped to around 300,000 chips, and he reraised me to around 60,000.  For some reason–likely his overall level of activity at the table–I felt like he was just fucking with me, so I announced that I was all in.  His reaction really startled me:  he fired his cards, face up, all the way across the table, in my direction.  They slid all the way across the felt and came to rest less than a foot from my cards:  pocket tens.  Gulp.  My heart fell as I realized I was way behind.  It was only after about three additional seconds elapsed, and Alex started bitching, that I realized that his card-fling was a frustrated fold—the exposed ten took away one of his outs and he had chosen to throw his hand away.  Yikes.  Carry on…. Stackity stack stack!

And with that, we broke for dinner.  There were only 20 players left, and I was cruising along in third place with 381,000 chips.  As we left for dinner it dawned on me that my guaranteed take was now approximately $12,000.  Enough for a haircut, no matter what my fate!  But I had my sights set much higher. 

The dinner break was a little odd:  Not only had my ability to sleep deserted me during this tournament, but I found that I had almost no appetite.  Kevin and I went to a restaurant on the other side of the Rio, where I picked at a salad.  Our conversation was sparse and subdued.  Kevin was treating me with the same way that a teammate treats a pitcher who has a no-hitter in progress.  There was no need to disrupt things, and I appreciated it.  This would all change after the dinner break, as Kevin was joined on the rail by my good friend Jonny Y and his girlfriend Jen.

For a few years now, Jonny Y has been my primary partner in crime.  Almost all of my good friends have long ago given up on the idea of going out late at night, which has always been one of my favorite pastimes, and one that I’ve yet to outgrow.  Jonny Y is a notable exception.  He and I share a particular characteristic:  once we are out on the town with a few drinks in us, we’re getting silly and we’re not going home.  Jon and I have had more wacky late nights in NYC together than we can possibly count.  And this unhealthy fact is probably part of the reason that he’s moving with his girlfriend to Las Vegas, which is what brought them to the rail on Day 2 of the tournament after a long day of apartment hunting in their new home town.  If Las Vegas strikes you as an odd location for a person who wants to stop partying so much, you’re not alone.  But I think it’ll all work out for Jon and Jen.  I’m gonna miss me some Jonny Y.  Cheers to you, buddy!

In any event, Jon’s style on the rail differs markedly from Kevin’s.  After the dinner break, when I looked over to the rail, I saw two contrasting images:  Kevin, anxiously but inconspicuously peering down at all the action, and Jonny Y, wobbling around double-fisting two cups of free Milwaukee’s Best Light and belting out “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhooggrrrrr Deeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!” every time I raked a pot.

Unfortunately, my first step after dinner was really more of a stumble.  We redrew for seats with three tables remaining, placing me at a table full of players with whom I was unfamiliar.  With the blinds now a lofty 4000-8000, my small blind was raised to 30,000 in late position by a player in a University of Miami cap named Steven Olek.  I looked down at pocket nines and reraised to 100k, and he immediately went all in for 120,000, which I of course called.  He had pocket queens and they held.  I tumbled down from the top of the leaderboard to a spot closer to the bottom.  Then I blinded away chips until I had only around 130,000.  I was in a bad spot (with a chip stack that can’t really openraise light but can put in the second raise) and needed something good to happen soon.  Fortunately, a good old fashioned heater was neigh.

Just as I was beginning to feel desperate, I looked down at A-8 offsuit in the small blind, and it was folded around to me.  The big blind had me covered, and as mentioned above, I had an awkward-sized stack for the 4000-8000 blinds.  If I raised to 30 or 40k, I would not feel comfortable calling a shove.  So instead, I limped with the intention of reraising all in if I got raised.  All this strategizing proved to be moot, as the big blind chose to see a cheap flop and checked behind.  The flop came a pleasing A-4-2, and I had to figure out a way to get all my chips in.  I knew that the big blind did not have an ace (he would have raised), and I knew that he could not put me on an ace (I did not raise).  So how best to get my chips in?  I started the action by checking, and the big blind bet about 12,000.  Knowing that he could not put me on an ace, I decided to checkraise in an effort to  represent a bluff and induce a three-bet shove.  I deliberately announced a raise, and slowly counted out 35,000 chips and pushed them forward.  I got exactly what I wanted:  the big blind moved all in!  It occurred to me that I might be beat, but folding was obviously not a consideration.  I called, and showed my A-8.  The big blind turned over the 5-2 of hearts, bottom pair with a gutterball wheel draw.  He picked up some heart outs on the turn but bricked the river, and I was back over 250,000.  Once again, I surprised myself with a completely impassive reaction.  Stack, stack, stack.  Shhhhhhhhhhhoooogrrr Deeeeeeee!!!

Now, finally, well into the night, I found a good spot to turn up the heat.  I began to liberally openraise, and no one seemed to be in the mood to put up any resistance.  My stack began to grow in 20,000 chip chunks.  Then, before I knew it, I found out that J.C. Tran had imploded and was out of the tournament.  All of the sudden we were down to about fifteen players, and I was moved to a different table.  As I racked up my chips and walked over to my new seat, it finally occurred to me:  I was having my way in this tournament.  There were only fifteen players left out of over 1,427 and I was one of the favorites to win the damn thing.  I’m happy to report that having this epiphany did not decrease my focus one iota.  I went right back to work.

My next biggish hand found me in second position with AQ offsuit.  The blinds were now 6,000-12,000.  The player under the gun, who had plenty of chips, limped, a very strange play at this stage of the tournament.  I chose to flat call and see a flop.  Once the big blind checked his option, we were three handed to the flop.  The flop smashed me:  A-A-10.  The big blind checked, the second player checked, and I also checked.  The turn completely locked my hand:  the case ace.  Now the big blind led at the pot for 20,000, and the under the gun player called.  Rather than do anything fancy, I chose to get more money in the pot and raised to 60,000.  This drove the big blind out of the pot, but the original limper called.  The river was a small card of some kind, and the under the gun player checked.  I had quads and knew my opponent had a ten.  I had three choices and was unsure of which would extract the most value:  a small bet of around 80,000, a medium sized bet of 150,000, or shoving all-in.  I went with the medium-sized bet, and my opponent made a very nice laydown, flashing a ten as he folded.  Still, I was in second place with 13 players left, sitting on over a half million chips.  Again came the cry from the rail:  Shhhhhoooooogrrrrr Deeeeeeeeee!!!!

With twelve players left I was firmly in charge of my table.  I continued to pile up chips, and then won a bunch in a blind vs. blind confrontation:  The small blind, the same player who openlimped when I turned quads, completed.  I checked my option with 10-9 offsuit.  The flop came Q-10-8 and we both checked.  The turn was the ace of hearts, putting two hearts on board, and my opponent bet about 20k.  I didn’t believe him, so I called.  The river was the nine of clubs, giving me two pair, but created a very coordinated board.  The small blind fired 46,000, and I still didn’t believe him, so I quickly called.  He said “you win,” as he very slowly revealed the 6-3 of hearts and I tabled my two pair.  I was pushed a pot that made me a prohibitive favorite to make the final table.  On cue, Jonny Y let loose with the loudest one yet:  SHHHHHHOOOOOOOGGGRRRR DEEEEEEEEE!!!

The next few eliminations happened quickly, as two or three coolers (e.g., AA vs. KK) took place at the other table, and incredibly, after a few more minutes all that remained in the field was two four-handed tables.  My table consisted of myself, a good young pro (and very nice guy) with a big contingent of railbirds named Matt Brady, professional veteran Joe Awada, and another player.  I had the most chips on the table and was openraising a lot of hands for just over 2x the big blind.  By succeeding in these steal attempts a few times, I moved into the chip lead.  And then came a hand which really encapsulated the day.

With the blinds at 8,000-16,000, I raised to 42,000 on the button with the Q-10 of diamonds.  Joe Awada, in the small blind, sitting on around 500,000 chips, reraised to 120,000.  It was gut-check time, as this was a perfect spot to three-bet all in.  Did I have the balls to do it?  Numerous factors were converging to make this spot perfect for a reshove.  First, we were 2 eliminations from the final table, with the massive monetary jump that went along with it.  Eight place paid $46,000, and sixth place was the final table and $61,000.  A reshove all in was essentially a $15,000 bet.  That’s a lot of pressure, even for a pro.  Second, Awada had a lot of chips, but not quite as many as me.  A three-bet under these conditions represented a very tight range, likely only QQ-AA and AK.  It was just too big a bet (from an unknown player) to be anything less.  Third, my very limited knowledge of Awada came from ESPN coverage of a final table at which I saw him make shorthanded reraises with ace-rag.  He could have been reraising light after getting sick of my constant activity. 

Still, it is pretty crazy to move all in with a trashy hand with a half million dollars on the line.  Did I have the balls to do it?  I honestly wasn’t sure until I heard myself announce “all in” with a backhanded wave of my right hand.

A hush came over both the table and the rail as Awada considered my massive bet.  “I got a real hand here,” he said as he turned and looked right at me.  I just sat there looking bored.  “That’s a big bet, buddy.  You must have a real big hand.  But so do I.  Could this be another cooler?”  I don’t know how I accomplished it, but I remained completely emotionless, looking utterly disinterested, like I was sitting through an interminable Contracts lecture in law school.  Awada’s time in the tank lagged on, surpassing a minute and a half.  Eventually, he stopped trying to elicit information from me and began muttering to himself.  I could tell he was about to fold.  Then decisively, conclusively, he did it.  He folded pocket jacks face up.  I was in such a zone that I’m not sure I even felt relief.  I gave a slight shrug as I tossed my cards in face down and stacked my new chips.

Hands like the one I just described seem like they don’t offer sufficient reward for the risk taken.  But this is not true, these hands are essential to winning poker tournaments.  Every chip counts, and the really great players acquire chips every time there is an opening.  They don’t pass any of them up.  That’s what I had just done.

At the start of the day, I vowed that I’d be dangerous.  At that moment, I didn’t feel merely dangerous.  I was lethal.  I was the clear chip leader, a mercenary and a stone killer.  Fuck with me at your peril.

“What did you have?” Joe asked.  The truth felt like a very unappealing option.

“Ace-King.  We were racing.”   

When Awada ran AK into KK and busted two hands later, there was a short break as the tournament was condensed to a single seven-handed table.  I finally let loose, strolling over to the rail and high-fiving Kevin and Jon, who were both ecstatic.  As I walked back to my seat, Brady’s railbirds asked me what I had against Awada and I couldn’t resist telling the truth.  When I told them, they loved it. 

“You’re so sick!” one of them said. 

That is very high praise in pokerland.
  
When we reconvened, the short-stacked Brady shared a valuable piece of information with me. 

“You see the big guy with the Yankees hat?”  He was referring to a player named Jason Warner, who had a medium/large stack and was sitting across from us.

“Yep, what about him?”

“Be careful with him.  He’s a caller.  He doesn’t lay down hands.  He busted Sheets (Eric Haber) when he couldn’t lay down aces on two-suited jack/ten/nine board.”  I nodded and filed that information away.  Brady also told me that my reraise against Awada was crazy, as Awada, contrary to what I believed, is a very tight player.  Oops!

Before we started to play again, the tournament director handed out some paperwork for us to complete.  All of the questions pertained to our backgrounds, so that the final table announcers would have something to tell everyone about us.  I had only one item that I really wanted to share:  my grandfather, my Pop-Pop, taught me how to play poker at a very young age.  I’m not a very spiritual person, but he has always been and remains my guiding light, both in poker and in life itself.  Outside of the essential biographical information, that is the only thing I deemed important enough to share about David Zeitlin.

Our seven-handed table had two short stacks.  Brady survived his all-in shove, leaving another player as the lone short stack.  The other player gamely survived for quite awhile before finally shoving pocket sevens into Jason Warner’s aces, creating our final table and ending play for the night.  We were told to be back for the final table at 2:15 pm the next day.  At that time we would be wired for sound, and the final table would be filmed with hole card cameras.  The final table was not on ESPN’s schedule, but there would be a webcast.  I was second in chips.

Kevin and Jon were more intensely aware of what I had just accomplished than I was.  It took awhile to sink in, but when it did, I realized that I had just notched my greatest accomplishment in poker to date and had my finest day as a pro.  I called a select few to tell them the news, and then Jon gave me a lift back to my hotel.

I was too wired to sleep, so I got in bed and took stock of my feelings.  What were they, exactly?  There were a lot of them.  I was definitely happy.  I was pretty excited.  There were more, but I wasn’t precisely sure of them all.

Oh yes… I still felt dangerous. 

I’ll start this with an admission:  Before I played Event #12 at the WSOP, my poker year had gone horribly, and I was fucked in the head.  Nobody really knew, because I didn’t feel comfortable telling the world how frustrated and scared I was.  Only Janeen (poor girl) knew how tormented I was. 

Acknowledging your lack of progress by making a joke out of growing your hair long is one thing.  Admitting that you’ve lost your confidence, that you are having trouble sleeping, and that you’ve begun to think about alternate ways of making money is quite another.   And I’m only comfortable admitting this publicly now, in the wake of a very large win.  But that’s where I was before this tournament.

I lost at poker consistently from January through April.  Continuous, monotonous losing with a few isolated moments of success.  Then sometime in mid to late April, I began to also lose my mind.  Part of me felt like I was just experiencing a very ugly, unpleasant downswing.  But a growing part of me felt like I was a break even player who fluked his way though 2006.  And that idea was really eating at me.  Each losing session was becoming more and more painful and creating more and more self doubt, so I decided to do something about it. 

At the beginning of May, I decided to drop down in stakes and establish that, at the very least, I could beat lower limit games.  I set out to prove that the worst case scenario for me was grinding out a living in small games.  So if you looked for me online during that month, you probably found me sitting in $30 sit ‘n go’s or shorthanded 1-2 NL games.  At the end of the month, after logging hundreds of hours of play, I was barely above break even.  I had not earned enough to make a decent monthly wage.  My income for the year was negative, and I became even more anxious and unhappy.  At this point the World Series of Poker was right around the corner, and although the thought of putting together a hot streak seemed farfetched, I decided there was no turning back.  A professional poker player does not skip the World Series.

So I decided that June would be a true make-or-break month, and possibly a determining factor in my future (hence my “Month of Reckoning” blog entry).  Even Janeen, whose stock response to my whining had always been “you’re a poker player, period,” changed her tune to “see how the World Series goes and reevaluate from there” when I talked about my uncertain future.  In my mind, my five month losing streak had grown to the point of statistical significance.  I adopted a Parcellsian “you are what your record says you are” view of my 2007 results.  And the results said that I was a bum.  It wasn’t really about going to the barber.  It was about proving to myself that I’m not a joke.  This might sound like an overdramatization, but it isn’t.  Only Janeen can corroborate how crappy I was feeling.  Craptasticly crappy.

June started with a stop in Chicago for Janeen’s brother’s 40th birthday.  It also served as a pre-World Series rest period for me.  The birthday party itself was a fun backyard affair, like a grown up kegger.  Nice party.  And once that was over, I was off to Vegas for the beginning of my self-imposed trial by fire.

There were no affordable hold ‘em WSOP events planned for my first several days in town, so as mentioned in this blog, I played one Venetian tournament and a ton of single table satellites.  I had a solid but unremarkable showing at the Venetian and was a net loser in the single table sats.  For the trip, I had turned about $4000 in cash into $2500 in tournament lammers.  The single table tournaments were particularly vexing.  I continually worked my way down to the final three or four players only to get drawn out on in some kind of all in confrontation.  I was playing poker for at least twelve hours a day and was getting nowhere.  This went on for three full days.  At the end of each night I shuffled out of the Amazon Room, through the Rio, down the block to my discount room at the Gold Coast and crawled into bed, profoundly depressed but hopeful that I’d turn it around the next day.  But each day turned out the same.

On Wednesday I played my first bracelet event, $2000 NLHE.  It was also a disaster.  There are three things worth noting about my experience in this tournament.  First, the dealer at my first table was a nice woman I befriended in a 2-5 NL game at Foxwoods last fall (hi Claudia!).  Second, my opening table had Chau Giang, Tom McEvoy, and one internet superstar whose name I don’t know at it.  Third, I was out before the first break.

I went and played more single table sats.  I acquired two $500 lammers but spent over $2000 trying to get them.  Blah.  I felt like complete shit.  The losses were piling up too high and influencing my mental state too severely.  So before I went to bed, I decided to skip the $1500 Six Handed NLHE bracelet event the next day in favor of the $500 event at the Venetian, thus saving me $1000.

And thus ends the negative portion of this blog entry, and begins the portion where the fickle hand of fate intervenes.

I woke up late on Thursday in the same dejected mood and began to get ready for the Venetian tournament.  I turned on my cell phone and found that I had a text in my inbox.  It was from Kevin, who was in Vegas for a bachelor party but intended to play some poker first.  We had discussed both playing the Six-Handed Thursday event back in New York a week or two earlier.

Kevin:  Playing 2day right?  I’m here, wheeeeeeeeee.

My response:  Maybe.  Might play Venetian.  In actuality, I had already decided to skip the WSOP event, but I was leaving the door open to be convinced.

Kevin:  6 handed equals good times.  Come get your bracelet. 

The concept of me winning a bracelet was hilarious.  But still, I thought about it a little and realized that he was right.  I was in town to play the World Series, not $500 tournaments at the Venetian.  What kind of professional poker player skips a $1500 WSOP event?  If this was the month of reckoning, I had to stay somewhat positive, gather up the energy every day, and go full speed the entire time.  Plus it would be nice to see a familiar face after spending four days alone.  I went over to the Rio and registered.

The tournament area was totally rammed, and in the minutes before the tournament began, I found Kevin outside the auxiliary tournament area (basically a huge tent full of poker tables set up in the parking lot).  We made some small talk.  I neglected to mention how lousy I was feeling about my game.  And then, with just a few minutes to go before the tournament kicked off, I finally got around to asking him if he wanted to do a swap.
Kevin and I have established a tradition of swapping a percentage of one another in all the tournaments in which we’re both participating, both live and online.  I like Kevin, and I like the way he plays, so it’s a no-brainer for me.  For the year 2007, I was ahead on this arrangement, as Kevin has had more cashes in the Pokerstars Sunday Million than me.  On Thursday, I actually hesitated to ask Kevin if he wanted to do the swap because I was so down on myself and secretly afraid of being rejected.  Kevin pays attention to my results and knew that I had exactly one solitary small cash in all my live events this year.  So I had to muster up the courage to ask him for the swap.

“You wanna do a swap?” 

“Sure,” was his reply.  “How much?  Five?  Ten?”

“Let’s do ten percent,” I said, figuring that the more Kevin I owned, the better off I would be.

And with that, we went off and played. 

I am now going to try and provide a good recap of my tournament, but I’d like to mention in advance that I spent much of this tournament in a strange mental zone.  I was quite focused on the tournament as it took place, but I am lacking my usual ability to recall hands with clarity.  Even on the breaks between levels I was often unable to remember how I acquired chips.  I’ll do my best here.

My first table was a very easy draw.  There were five inexperienced, tentative players and me.  I resolved to play the opening levels the same way I play shorthanded cash games:  fast.  I was going to openraise a lot and reraise the other fast players a lot.  We only had 3000 chips in our stacks, so it was risky, but screw it.  If playing fast busted me early, so be it.  Gimme chips or get me out of here.

Within the first twenty hands, at 25-50 blinds, I picked up the K7 of spades in the cutoff and made it 150 to go.  The button called and the flop came down K-Q-x with two spades.  With top pair and a flush draw, I led at the pot for 300 and the button called.  The turn was the jack of spades, completing my flush draw.  I led out again for 450 and the button immediately shoved all in for about 2500.  I expected him to turn over an ace high flush, but there was no way I was going away with the second nuts, so I called.  He turned over A-10 with the ten of spades, having turned the nut straight, but he was drawing dead.  I had eliminated my first player, doubling up in the process.  So I began to openraise roughly every other hand and soon busted another player, but I have no recollection how.  Then they broke my table.

I was moved to another good table, with only one player I recognized (he had won a satellite I played in the night before and was solid).  Soon I picked up more chips:  At the 50-100 level, I was on the button.  The cutoff, an active player sitting on around 4000 chips, raised to 300.  I reraised to 850 with A4 offsuit and he called.  The flop came down 9-4-4, and he checked to me.  I bet 1200 and he immediately checkraised all in.  I called, he turned over 10-10, and I busted him.  At the first break I was among the biggest stacks in the room with around 13,000 chips.         

After the break, they moved me to a new table, where I once again began to pester everyone with continuous raises and reraises.  Then something unexpected happened.  The player in the two seat busted and was replaced with…. Kevin.  I was busy stacking my chips, and looked up to find him unracking his.  He gave me a pained “hi.”  I responded with a disgusted “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”  We had a mutual silent understanding to play our normal games but not reveal to our four opponents that we knew one another.  I continued being pesky but didn’t really tangle with Kevin, except for stealing his big blind on one occasion.  After perhaps 20 minutes at the same table with him, I was moved.  The player to my right, who had a habit of limping into me, thereby invariably getting popped with a raise, said he was happy to see me go.  The player to Kevin’s right, probably because he considered me reckless and stupid, said he preferred having me around.  As I departed, I finally broke the silence.

“I’m quite happy to be leaving, thank you very much.  I own ten percent of the player in the two seat.”  Bye Kevin!

They moved me to tougher table.  It had the always dangerous Tony Ma at it.  Mr. Ma and I had one big confrontation.  At 100-200 blinds with an ante, I raised in late position to 600 with AK suited, and Tony was probably sick of watching me raise, so he reraised to around 2000.  I considered the correct course of action, since we were both deeper than 10,000, and put in a third raise to 5500.  He scowled and folded. 

That table broke pretty fast (a six handed tournament with 1427 players has a remarkable rate of attrition).  I was sitting deep with around 15,000 chips.  But my new table was pretty tough.  In particular, there was a young player two seats to my right who was quite obviously in charge.  He had more chips than me.  I later learned that his name is Garrett Beckman, a ranked Poketfives.com guy (getting ranked on that site is no small feat), and I would be tangling with him off and on for the next two days.  He’s a very good player whom I respect.  He is the type of player that wants to play flops with you.  He thus openraises to slightly more than 2x the big blind constantly, looking to get involved in large, complicated postflop sequences in position.  Super tough.  On the very first hand after I arrived at the table, I was moved into the big blind, and he raised to 600 from the button.  I had a nebulous sense that he was trying to send a message to the new guy, so I decided to return to sender, so I reraised to 2000 with 7-2 offsuit.  He flashed an ace and folded. 

At this point, despite the relatively early phase of the tournament, around two-thirds of the players in the tournament had already been eliminated, including Kevin, who had been nursing a short stack for most of the day.  Beckman and I were about to have two confrontations, one of which I would win, but the second of which would seriously damage me.

In the first one, I decided to limp in second position for 200 with A7 offsuit.  It was folded to Beckman in the big blind, and he checked his option.  The flop came A-K-2.  He checked, I bet 700, and he checkraised to around 2500.  I didn’t put him on a big ace, since he checked his option in the big blind, so I figured he was just stealing since he couldn’t put me on an ace either.  I called.  The turn was a seven, giving me two pair.  He checked to me and I bet around 4000.  He thought for a very long time, then declared that I had flopped a set and folded his hand face down, saying he had AK.  I told him that I didn’t believe he had AK, but if he did, he made one hell of a laydown.   

Soon thereafter, I dumped about one third of my stack to an old lady sitting to my right when my AQ ran into her QQ.  But I rebuilt to around 19,000 chips when the following hand developed.  I believe this took place at the 200-400 level. 

I openraised to 1100 in first position with the J-7 of spades.  It was folded to Beckman in the small blind and he called.  Everyone else folded.  The flop came K-J-x with one spade, and we both checked.  The turn was the 8 of spades, giving me second pair and a flush draw.  Beckman bet something like 1600, and I raised to 4200, which was a semibluff designed to look like a raise with a made hand.  He called very quickly.  The river was a low spade, completing my flush.  He considered the river card for less than one second and fired a huge bet of 7000 into the pot.  I considered this bet for a few seconds, trying to determine whether I should put my last 8000 chips in with the fourth nuts or just smooth call.  The speed of his bet smelled like a bluff, as if he had told himself to make a large river bluff if it came a spade.  But then I considered who this player was and decided he was very capable of giving off reverse tells, so I took the cautious route and just called.  He showed the Q-9 of spades.  My stomach turned as I disgustedly mucked my hand face up.  I was crippled, just like that.  The kid had all my chips and decided to turn the screws a little bit verbally.

“That’s twice.  You better get me back soon,” he said with a smirk.  He was implying that he had outplayed me on the two hands.  Unfortunately, it was now very unlikely that I’d have a chance to get him back.  As it turned out, he’d come in very handy much later in the tournament.  I couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so I just smiled and said “Yeah.” 

For my next trick, I fell victim to a very amateur angle shoot.  I raised under the gun to 1100 with pocket eights, and got called by an older man on the button.  The flop came down K-4-2, so I made a continuation bet of around 1800.  The older man considered for a little while and flat called.  The turn was a seven, and the older man checked.  Wait, why was he checking, I was first to act.  Did he just absent-mindedly tap the table, or did he just check out of turn?  I replayed what I had just seen, and he was definitely looking at me nervously and rapping the table, indicating a check.  But it was my turn to act.  I looked at the dealer, and unsurprisingly, he was staring off into space with no idea of what just happened.  So I took matters into my own hands and said to the older gentleman “It’s my turn to act, sir.”  He had no response.  Was he angle shooting or was he just a putz?  I decided he was a putz and fired a second barrel, 3500 chips.  Ooops.  He immediately went all in for around 8000.  I could tell by the way he put his chips in that he had likely flopped a set, or at the worst, had AK.  I fired my cards into the muck, disgusted at both his illegal, unethical comportment and my foolishness for falling for his bullshit.  I was stewing, and about two hands later I let him have it. 

“You know, if I was the type of player to do it, I would make the floor enforce a penalty right now.”  He looked at me, pretending to be totally dumbfounded. 

“Huh?”

“Never mind.  You know what you did.”  And he did.  

Pretty soon after that hand, our entire table was moved en masse from the auxiliary tournament area into the main room.  Only 20% of the field remained, but I was down to about 3000 chips with the blinds at 200-400 with an ante.  Push/fold territory.

I had a hard time finding a spot to jam my chips in, because I held nothing but trash hands and players were continuously raising in front of me.  Finally, down to less than 2500 chips, and surrounded by large stacks, I openshoved 9-7 from under the gun and got called by the old lady in the big blind with Q-8 suited.  The first four board cards helped neither of us, and as I gathered my things, a nine fell on the river.  Oh.

Now I had about 5500 chips, still short but not super desperate.  A few hands later I looked down at 9-9 with a raise in front of me.  I reshoved and got called by A-Q.  The flop came A-x-x, and as I once again gathered my stuff and stood up, the turn produced a nine.  Whoa!  I instinctively snapped my fingers and lifted my right knee halfway up, like a retarded stork.  Then I sat back down.  Suddenly I had over 11,000 chips and a semi-average stack.  And then they moved me to another table, which turned out to be quite fortuitous.

On my very first hand at this new table, I was placed in the small blind and looked down at the very first monster hand I had seen all day:  two kings.  It was folded all the way around to me and I put a raise to 1200.  The big blind called and the flop came 6-4-3 rainbow.  I led out for 1700 and the big blind called.  The turn was another four, and now I checked to indicate that I was giving up on two overcards.  The big blind made a large, pot sized bet, indicating that he was protecting top pair or an overpair, and I moved in.  He thought for awhile and folded, saying he had an overpair.  My stack was getting respectable again.  On the next two hands, I picked up AQ and AK, winning with a raise and reraise, respectively.  I was liking this new table.  All of the sudden I had over 20,000 chips.  And then I played a very, very important hand—probably the hand that caused the transformation I’m about to describe below. 

On the previous hand, the player in the two seat played a huge pot with the player in the three seat, directly to my right.  The player in the two seat doubled up with pocket aces.  And on the ensuing hand, he had the button and I was in the big blind.  We both had about 20,000 chips.  He openraised to 1200, and I held two tens.  I felt like he was charged up from his double-up and was just looking to assert himself, so I reraised to 4500.  He moved all-in without hesitation.  Time for a huge decision.  I went into the tank for a long time. 

There were a couple of possibilities.

1-He held another monster; something in the range of JJ-AA, AK; or

2-He was putting a power move on me.

I considered several factors.  One was that he was a young player, possibly an internet pro, and putting in the third raise with junk in this kind of situation is a very common move in internet tournaments right now.  Another factor was that we were pretty close to the bubble, which actually weighed in favor of a call rather than a fold.  Since I had him pegged as an intelligent, aggressive player, I felt like he might have believed that the bubble pressure would cause me to fold, thus increasing the range of hands he’d make the move with.  And a final consideration was that you must play tournaments to win, period. 

But there was a deeper, more intense factor which was telling me to fold:  my lack of confidence.  I was scared to trust my read, because I would beat myself up if I was wrong.  I knew that if the kid turned over JJ, I would go to the rail in a state of total self-annihilation.  The thought of being wrong was almost too much to bear, so the easy route, with my tournament on the line, was to fold.

I had been thinking for probably 40 or 50 seconds when it dawned on me.  Fold?!  Fuck that!  Trust your read, you’re a goddamned poker player! 

“I’m gonna call,” I finally said as a slid all my chips in and tabled the tens.

The kid’s face fell.  Yes!  I was ahead.  Now what the hell am I fading here?!  He had A-9.  Okay.  The dealer burned and turned.  No ace.  No ace.  NO ACE!  The sheer horror of these situations is hard to describe.  There is a tremendous buildup, especially when the dealer takes his time between the flop, turn and river.  This particular dealer was going very slow.  All I know is I wanted this hand very badly.  No ace on the flop.  No ace on the turn.  And… thank you… no ace on the river.  I exhaled and gathered and stacked the chips.  The kid barely had me covered.  When he busted a few hands later, he was very gracious and commended my call.   I had over 40,000 chips and it was time for dinner.

Kevin had stuck around, so we ate dinner together before he departed for his bachelor party.  After the break, some kind of transformation occurred.  The call with the pocket tens changed my outlook.  I really went to work, but I can’t recall how exactly what was going on.  I just know that I played my ass off.  I remember the constitution of the table at this point quite well, as I befriended all the players and we sat together for a very long time. 

I was in the four seat.  To my right sat a player with a lot of chips who was a very nice guy and a solid player.  I was not in the mood to fold my big blind, so the two of us were continually clashing.  To my left sat a player who wanted to create a tight image, but whom I later learned was capable of making moves.  In the six seat was a player whose name I didn’t know but whom I recognized from playing with before.  He turned out to be a total nit near the bubble.  In the one seat was a wild player who was there to gamble and was dangerous for that reason.  And in the two seat, replacing the A-9 kid, was a player who seemed inexperienced and very tight.  At this point the money bubble lurked about 50 players away, and was approaching fast.  Soon it was 20 players away.  Four of the other five players at the table, it seemed, were content to limp into the money.  And having correctly made that read, I simply opened fire.  And then, before I knew it, we were only one player off the bubble and my stack was a robust 55,000.

What ensused was literally the longest bubble period I have ever experienced.  It stretched on for an hour and a half.  It was like a license to steal.  I openraised almost every pot.  When someone else openraised, I called with any two cards and took the pot from them after the flop, regardless of the board.  I was engrossed in a total zone, vacuuming up every chip in sight.  The blinds went to 300-600, then 400-800, so the uncontested pots were quite large.  My stack increased to 60k, then 70k, then to about a bloated 80k.  To the dismay of the other players at my table, the bubble would not burst.  All around the room, short stacks were somehow surviving their all-ins.  I robotically raised roughly 8 out of 10 pots, encountering no resistance.  The prize for 126th place was $2,143, and these guys wanted a return on their investment, which was a very good thing for me.  And then, on one hand, all my work was undone. 

We were still on the bubble, which was played hand-for-hand.  This meant that in the long intervals between hands, players were free to roam around the room and look at the other stacks.  It was thus common knowledge that a couple of players were on life support, with only a couple of antes (less than one small blind) in their stacks. 

On the hand in question, the loose player in seat one (one of three guys named David at the table), sitting on around 33,000 chips, openraised from under the gun to 2400.  I was on the button and looked down at A-J.  I decided to put him to the test and moved all in.  He called immediately and jumped out of his chair.  I thought I was in big trouble, but he showed 10-10.  A crowd gathered around our table to see if the bubble would finally burst, which would propel me to the very top of the leaderboard.  However, the board came all bricks, and his daring call paid off, completely destroying two full hours of meticulous stackbuilding and reducing me from one of the tournament leaders to only the third largest stack at my own table.  The player in the one seat, who was a very excitable (and also very nice) guy, went apeshit, and I silently slid several 10k stacks into the center, which the dealer delivered to him.  Soon thereafter, the bubble burst, and all the friendly folks at my table, who had been chatting between hands, congratulated one another.  And then “it” happened.

“It” was me entering the zone.  I am being perfectly honest when I say that I have no recollection of anything specific from the time period between the bubble bursting and 2:00 am, when play broke for the night.  I do know that I played very well and increased my stack way up to around 65,000 once again, which put me in position to do serious damage in the tournament.

I didn’t come out of my poker daze until I got back to my hotel room, whereupon I blogged about how much I still love poker and thought about the task that lied ahead of me.  I only got about four hours of sleep after a fourteen hour day.  But during the late phases of Day One, perhaps during the time I took to make the call with 10-10, something in my head had clicked.  With or without a full night’s rest, I was undoubtedly ready.
Part II to come….              

The good:  I won a quarter million dollars.

The bad:  I suffered the beat of a lifetime.  Literally.

I’m very happy with my performance and my bottom line.  🙂

I’ll be flying home in a couple of hours and I have much more to say about my day yesterday.  Thanks to everyone for their support, reading your comments, emails and texts made me really happy.

DZ

I made the final table of Event #12, 6-Handed No Limit.  To say i’m giddy is an understatement.  The official chip counts have not been posted yet, but I’m in good shape and feel comfortable against the five other final tablists.  I have a real shot at taking this thing down.

I really dominated today, it was sweet.  Send some good vibes my way tomorrow, it’s a big day for me.

-DZ   🙂

PS:  Haircut when I get back to NYC.

Just when I’m close to my wit’s end, wondering why the hell I’m alone in this godforsaken town hunched over two pieces of laminated plastic, fondling filthy pieces of clay for twelve hours a day with nothing to show for my efforts, something like today happens.

I wasn’t even going to enter the $150o Shorthanded NLHE World Series event, but my friend Kevin talked (actually, texted) me into it.  I need to thank him for that.  It turned into an exciting, marathon whirlwind tournament for me, and when play finally broke for the night, there were 62 players left in the field, with me sitting somewhere around 10th place with 96,000 chips.  Play resumes tomorrow at 2:00 PST.  I might earn only a couple of thousand dollars, and I might make well over $400,000 and win the bracelet.  Who knows?  It’s beside the point.

The point is that today got me really excited about poker again.  It was exhilirating.  Tournament poker, when played over an extended period, leaves the realm of mechanical “do’s and don’ts” and enters a different zone where it can be honestly described as an art form.  Today I entered that zone, and it felt very good to be back.   

I harbor no illusions about my play.  I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m not one of the world’s elite players.  But I am a very good poker player, and one who can take apart exploitable players over the course of a long day’s play.  And that’s exactly what happened at the Rio today.  There is too much to explain about all the unique situations I found myself in today; I’m too tired to get through it all right now.  It was a great day.

I’ve loved poker since I was a little kid, but it’s been a long time since poker loved me back.  The flame is rekindled.      

I have reached the point where coming to Vegas alone is simply business.  When I’m out here alone, I play poker, eat meals, and sleep.  Nothing else.  I have acquired the Vegas resident’s immunity to all the nonsense going on around me.  It’s no secret that all casino/hotels are designed in a way that requires the customers to walk through the casino floor to get anywhere, including the poker room.  And it’s the casino floor where all of Vegas’ great lures can be found.  When I’m here in Vegas alone, I can now honestly say that i’m unaffected.  None of it matters to me anymore. 

The table games, the clubs, the bars… and of course, Vegas’ calling card–the millions of people going absolutely nuts 24 hours a day–none of retains any gravitational pull.  When I’m out here alone, the average tourist’s Vegas–the place where whatever happens stays–is something to be tolerated, not something to be celebrated.  My Vegas is merely the place that happens to be the undisputed poker capital of the world.  Nothing more, nothing less. 

Which brings me to my main point:  if poker is out of control on the East Coast, then here in Vegas during the WSOP it is foaming at the mouth and writhing around in a straight jacket.  It cannot be controlled.  Everyone is out here right now, playing poker.  Everyone.

The first no limit hold ’em event of the 2007 World Series of Poker drew over 2,900 entrants.  That is a staggering number, and it was more than Harrah’s was prepared to handle.  The tourney occupied the entire Amazon Room and spilled over into other parts of the casino.  The lines for registration were so horrible that the start of the tournament was delayed for a long time, and alternates were put into play for over three hours. 

Yesterday, my first full day in town, I decided to forgo the $1500 limit hold ’em event and play the $300 no limit event at the Venetian, which is running a special series of deep stack tournaments throughout the WSOP.  I figured that maybe 200 players would opt for the Venetian, since the big tournament was at the Rio, and juicy cash games were ongoing everywhere.  I was wrong.  I showed up over an hour before the tournament was scheduled to start and walked into a total mob scene.  I wound up waiting on line for an hour and a half, and the tournament sold out before I got to the front of the line.  While over 900 players competed in limit hold ’em at the Rio, I eventually joined 588 other players at the Venetian as an alternate.  The WSOP has a grip on Vegas right now, and every big poker room in town is going off.  Incidentally, the Venetian tournament had an excellent structure and I finished just out of the money.   

I have spent the rest of my time here in the Amazon Room, which is absolutely abuzz every day from 10am until 3am.  While they have already screwed up many other aspects of the 2007 WSOP (e.g., the “new improved playing cards” were impossible to read and were taken out of play before I even got here, interminable waits for registration, general confusion in the satellite area), Harrah’s has gotten one thing right:  being at the WSOP feels like being at a major sporting event.  In 2005 and 2006, the Amazon Room felt like an airplane hangar with hundreds of poker tables in it.  It was an impressive sight, but only for its sheer size.

In 2007, the Amazon Room feels like a sports arena.  The reason is that some structural changes were made.  First, the walls are now lined with massive pictures of each of the Main Event’s past champions.  And second, the TV table area has expanded.  In additon to the familiar bleacher setup, Harrah’s has constructed an elevated bar area, where attendees can drink and watch the action.  Also, the tournament director provides a play-by-play (action, not analysis) of every hand at the final table.  The result is a much rowdier scene than in year’s past.  As I played a satellite during the first final table of the 2007 WSOP, the TV table area continually erupted with chants and wild cheering.  We already know that poker is fun to play and has been made TV friendly.  Now, the WSOP is doing a good job of making it a spectator sport.  Railbirding poker tournaments is going mainstream. 

Other notes from my first two days here:

-The currency of the WSOP is the $500 lammer.  These white chips can be acquired in single table satellites, which run nonstop from mid-morning until…. early morning, and they can be used to buy into bracelet events.  Various different buy-in levels are offered in the single table satellites, ranging from $125 to $1060.  The structure of the $125, $175 and $225 sats is disappointing, as the blinds start at 25-25 and the stacks are only 1000 chips.  You have to spend $300 to get 2500 in chips.  I did manage to chop a $225 sat, so I have a few lammers in my pocket.

-Yesterday’s $5000 Pot Limit Omaha with Rebuys event drew 132 players and they made over 400 rebuys.  In other words, the average player invested over $20,000.  As you might imagine, the 14 tables comprising this field were filled with poker’s heaviest hitters.  Name your favorite player from television.  He/she was playing in the 5k PLO, surrounded by other players you’d recognize.   

-Holy side games.  There are HUGE cash games running around the clock at the Rio.  We’re talking about games where the black chips are the smallest denomination on the table.  My personal favorite, which I stopped to watch for ten minutes last night:  200-400 Badugi.  Raymer was getting killed in this wild game at 2am last night.

-I guess I am officially part of this scene.  Both times I walked into the Amazon Room, I received “the nod” from guys I’ve played with before.  On this trip, I have yet to sit at a table where I haven’t recognized at least one of my opponents, either from past experience or from watching him/her play in the past.

I’m off to play some more sit n’ go satellites with lousy structures (I really need to address this addiction), and possibly some cash games.  My first bracelet event is tomorrow.  That’s all for now from pokerland.  Stay tuned.

It is time.   Time to release the hounds, open the barn door, let it all hang out, put the pedal to the metal, turn up the heat, dig down deep, and all the other cliches you can think of.

A lot of money goes into play in June.  My schedule, as of now:

Mon June 4:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Tue June 5:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Wed June 6:  $2000 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Thu June 7:  $1500 6-Handed No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Fri June 8:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Wed June 13:  $500 No Limit Hold Em @ Borgata Summer Open

Thu June 14:  $500 No Limit Hold Em @ Borgata Summer Open

Fri June 15:  $750 No Limit Hold Em @ Borgata Summer Open

Tue June 19:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Wed June 20:  Cash/sats/2nd chance tourneys @ WSOP

Thu June 21:  $1500 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Fri June 22:  $2000 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Sat June 23:  $1500 No Limit Hold Em @ WSOP

Batton down the hatches!

Oh, and for those of you keeping score at home: