Back to reality

I didn't win the World Series of Poker. I didn't even win any money.

I'm back home, and it's been long enough that I can finally sit down and write about it all. This will probably be long and rambling, if only to make up for the dearth of posts lately.

So where was I? That's right, I was in Vegas for the WSOP. My friend Shaw B was in town with a bunch of his buddies from Dallas, a rowdy crew of guys that I had never met. I met them at The Palms and we had a blast. They were all sitting at a blackjack table together and Shaw relinquished his third base seat to me. To make a long story short, the session ended after everyone there won a decent amount of cash and we all pounded a round of shots called a Red Headed Slut right there at the table. After that, we headed up to Ghostbar, one of Palms' notoriously cool hipster hangouts. This one happened to be 55 stories up, including a balcony patio with a gorgeous view of all of Las Vegas. Good times.

After several absurdly expensive cocktails, we made our way back downstairs, only to find ourselves all sitting down to play blackjack once again. What ensused was classic Vegas material: we all were feeling good and had had plenty of beverages, so of course that led to even more rowdy behavior at the table, exacerbated by the fact that we hit a tremendous stretch of cards. We had a blast. The details were a little sketchy even the next morning, let alone this long after the fact, so we'll just leave it at that.

I spent the next couple of days scouting out the WSOP and just having fun. Poker legends were everywhere, as were Hollywood celebrities. I saw Antonio Esfandiari at least five times. We saw Jennifer Tilly out and about more than once, wearing her WSOP bracelet, which I thought was great. I caught Tobey Maguire playing some high-limit Hold 'Em at Bellagio. I met Phil Hellmuth at a party and he was great. All in all, it was a fun and crazy week.

I started the tournament on Saturday at 11 AM and I was understandably a little nervous. However, those feelings quickly passed and I settled in to play my best game. For the record, my first hand ever at the WSOP was a glorious 2-8 off suit...glorious in that I didn't even have to think about playing it. I played pretty tight at first and it became evident that almost my entire table was filled with players that weren't very good. The lone exception was the player on my left, a friendly and personable guy about my age who went by the name of Tex. We got to chatting a little bit and really only got involved in two pots against each other. In one, we were the only players to see the flop and although I had no hand at all, I made a token bluff. He raised right back at me and I laid it down. This was very early, so it didn't cost much. In the other hand, I hit a fluky full house and he laid down his hand after I made a sizable bet on the river.

Shaw B and Erik, my faithful railbirds, also took a liking to Tex's wife, whom they met as they were all watching us. But Tex and I soon parted ways, as our table broke up pretty early. I wouldn't run into him again, although several days later I found out (spoiler warnings for anyone waiting for the ESPN coverage) that Tex went on to make the final table and finish in 3rd place, winning a cool $2.5 million. From all indications, he is a great player and a great guy, so good for him. And I'd bet good money that his wife logs some ESPN camera time.

The rest of Saturday was fairly uneventful. My stack didn't make any huge swings one way or the other. I did knock out a couple of other players and sit next to a couple of other pros, notably Gavin Griffin and Arnold Spee, who were both very nice guys--in 2004, Gavin became the youngest player ever to win a WSOP bracelet; Arnold won a World Poker Tour event in Reno, defeating Phil Ivey, among others. Late that night I went pretty card dead and was basically happy to have survived the day with a bigger stack than I started with. I ended the night with $12,000 and change in chips, which we bagged up at around 2:30 AM. I then went outside to find the longest cab line I've ever seen at a hotel in my life. I got to bed at around 4.

I came back eager and ready to play on Sunday and won a decent pot with AK on the first hand of the day. Shortly after that, former champ Chris Moneymaker busted out three tables away from mine. I got a chance to meet Chris and chat with him a little bit on Thursday and he was incredibly nice and gracious, just a super guy, and accomodating as can be for someone who still gets hounded everywhere by fans.

The cards went dead again and I just hung around, waiting for my shot. It finally came in the afternoon when my stack was down to about $11,000 and I was dealt pocket aces for the first time in the tournament. A very loose player with a big stack two seats to my right raised to $2500, so this was my chance. I wanted to get all of my money in, and I wanted him (and only him) to call me. Thus, it was Hollywood time. With one player sitting between us, I went into full acting mode, leaning out, staring at his stack of chips, then checking my own stack, then looking at him, then at his chips again, then at my cards again...before finally going all in. Everyone else folded, and he called with a suited KQ. I ended up making aces full of tens and my stack went up over $25,000, the highwater mark of the tournament.

Then the cards went dead again. Dan Harrington got knocked out two tables away from me and walked right past me to do an ESPN interview. He got a standing ovation from the whole room, including me. Harrington's two books were a huge help for me, and it felt odd to see him bust out before I did. Apparently I even held up the action at our table for a moment as I was standing and applauding while the action was on me.

Harrington is a tight player and his books preach patience, which had gotten me this far and looked like it would get me to the dinner break again, which was fifteen minutes away when I was dealt pocket kings. I raised to $2500 and got one caller--exactly what you want to happen. He took quite a while to make the call so I thought he had a borderline hand. The flop came 6-8-9. Perfect. I was first to act and bet out $7000. He thought long and hard before calling. He had a ton of chips and clearly was on a draw of some sort. Me, I had about $11,000 left at this point after my two big bets. The turn brought a useless deuce. I thought for a moment, knowing that I had the best hand, and pushed it all in. He eventually called and revealed a 6-7. He had called a $2500 raise pre-flop with a suited 6-7. Absurd. But I was right all along--he was on a draw and I had him beat.

Until a 7 fell on the river. He made two pair, and I was out of the tournament. I was stunned. I made my way out of the tournament area and Erik and I made a beeline to the bar, where we quickly downed several Captain and Diet Cokes and I made a few requisite "I'm out" phone calls and sent a few text messages. I couldn't believe it was over.

After taking some time to get a little distance from everything, I realized that my feelings about everything couldn't be more conflicted. I was completely happy with how I played. I was in the biggest tournament in the history of poker and I finished in the top 20% and outlasted many of my heroes. That felt great. And I went out on a hand that I read right and played right...but it still knocked me out, and that felt terrible. If I had won that hand, I would have been over $50,000 in chips and I would have been looking really good. But it just didn't happen. I had an incredible time and it was a great experience, but I was left with a painful, nagging feeling that I still have been unable to shake: I can play with those guys. They're the best in the world, and I can play with them.

I'll fill in more of what has happened since soon. Nothing earth-shattering, although I have read a couple of good books.