This is Matt's Orleans Open/TOC/BARGE trip report. The hands and the quotes are reported as accurately as I can remember them. I apologize in advance for anything I get wrong. Jacksup's Grand Vegas Trip Report Part I: Arrival and The Orleans Open Introduction The decision to come to Vegas in August wasn't a decision. I had become addicted to the -RGE events at ATLARGE2K when I won $754 in a pot limit game. But it wasn't until I lost $2,365 at BARGE2K that I understood the events' real beauty-laughing with fellow BARGErs when a two-outer hit the river, toking the pot in a Chowaha game, meeting fellow roolers from all over the country. I have more fun playing poker at the -RGE events than at any other time. So in August, I go to BARGE. No decision will ever be necessary. But this year there was a twist. Thanks to Mark and Tina Napolitano, I had qualified for the TOC during PokerPages's online TOC freeroll. A college poker buddy once told me that if I ever qualified for the TOC I would have to fly to Vegas to enter it. Just after winning the online tourney I felt the same way. A check of the calendar brought still more hope-the TOC was just five days before BARGE. I tried to convince friend and poker mentor Russell Rosenblum to fly out with me for the event (he was already TOC-qualified), and I thought I had succeeded. I seemed likely to enter TOC 2001. But one weekend in Atlantic City, I had a conversation with Nolan Dalla, a man who has more confidence in my game than I do. He told me that because the field was so tough, and because the championship didn't have the prestige of a WSOP bracelet, he thought the TOC was "a horrible investment." At the same time, Russell was wussing out and I couldn't get anyone to share a room at the Orleans. By late June, I decided that I would not play in the TOC, and that I would come to Vegas only for BARGE. Then I got my TOC qualifier's brochure in the mail. "Congratulations on qualifying for the TOC!" it said. I was determined, once again, to make the trip. The way I saw it, I had two options. I could arrive in Vegas a week before the TOC, play in the last few events of the Orleans Open, get my game in shape, then play the TOC and stay another week through BARGE. Or I could arrive just in time for the TOC, and stay through BARGE. I called my ex-girlfriend of 15 months (and my closest friend of almost 4 years). She knew what I really wanted to do, as she usually does, and she told me to go for the entire two weeks. I rarely ignore this girl's advice, and I regret it the times that I do. The next day I booked my flight, even though it meant I would go negative in vacation time at work. By some miracle, I was given two comp days just before submitting my time off request. I wouldn't have to go so negative after all. To defray the already exorbitant costs, I started selling pieces of myself for the TOC. I couldn't believe what rooling friends I had, as most bought 5% without even thinking. In the end I sold 35% and turned several potential backers away. As the trip date got closer, I thought about the things I needed to do to prepare. I tried to gain an edge even while packing. I remembered that when I returned from BARGE2K, I got into my Chevy Prizm at Baltimore-Washington International airport and turned on Liz Phair's whitechocolatespaceegg. It was an orgasmic release, and I realized how much I had missed music during my five days in Vegas. So this year I would be ready. I bought a Discman, cheap portable speakers, a CD carrying case, and two new CDs. Two nights before my flight I carefully selected the 48 discs that would make the trip. For those interested, the artists and titles were: The Beatles - Abbey Road, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The White Album (Disc 1) Beck - Odelay Blind Melon - self-titled George Gershwin - Rhapsody in Blue/An American in Paris Billy Joel - The Nylon Curtain, Songs in the Attic, Piano Man, The Bridge, Turnstiles, An Innocent Man, Glass Houses, 52nd Street, Kohuept, The Stranger, Streetlife Serenade Led Zeppelin - In Through the Out Door, Led Zeppelin II, Houses of the Holy Aimee Mann - Bachelor No. 2 Madonna - The Immaculate Collection Dave Matthews Band - bootleg from Athens, Ga., Under the Table and Dreaming Sarah McLachlan - Surfacing Nirvana - Nevermind Liz Phair - Exile in Guyville, whitechocolatespaceegg Phish - Hoist, Picture of Nectar, Rift, Junta (Disc 1) The Police - Live! (Disc 2) Radiohead - The Bends, OK Computer, Amnesiac R.E.M. - Out of Time Rush - Chronicles (Disc 2) The Secret Garden - Soundtrack from the musical Paul Simon - Graceland, Negotiations and Love Songs Bruce Springsteen - Greatest Hits Staind - Break the Cycle Sublime - self-titled They Might Be Giants - Flood, Apollo 18, John Henry Weezer - self-titled Incidentally, I listened to 12 of these 48 discs over the course of the trip. (I'll finally spare you some information and not disclose which ones.) It is worth mentioning that my lease expires at the end of August and as I am losing a roommate, I can't simply renew it. Also, I just got a new boss at work, a man I despise. So on July 20, I needed to find a new apartment, and soon; I was contemplating leaving my job and changing careers; and I was considering a move outside the DC area altogether. Most sane people would say these gray areas needed to be cleared up immediately, and at the latest by the end of August when my lease expired. But the calendar said July 20. It was time to fly to Vegas. Friday, July 20 I slept through most of my two flights (DC-to-Minneapolis, Minneapolis-to-Vegas) but I was awake long enough for a middle-aged, goofy-looking, artsy-type guy to ask me why I'd picked Las Vegas as a vacation spot. "I'm a poker player," I told him. He seemed to accept that. I got to the Orleans Hotel and Casino after a torturous shuttle ride from the airport (I swear next year I'm just going to ante up for the cab). I was greeted at registration by a portly blond woman who wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. "Hi, I'm here to check-in." "Name?" "Matt Matros." Pause. "It's been a long day, Mr. Matros," she said. "Why is that?" "It's Tuesday, sir." This confused me because it was Friday. "Excuse me?" "It's Tuesday, sir." I found out later that since everyone in Vegas works weekends, everyone-dealers, waitresses, busboys, and yes, hotel clerks-tell you what day it is in relation to their work week. But at the time I'd been travelling for nine hours and didn't understand that it could be Tuesday and Friday at the same time. "Sir, would you like to make a deposit for room service or telephone?" "Do I have to?" "You don't have to sir, these are just some of the amenities we offer." "No, that's OK, I don't need room service or the telephone." "Just so you know, you won't even be able to make local calls, sir." "That's fine." I was wondering why local calls were so important, and why I didn't seem to know anything. As I found my way to the elevators, and then down a long, ugly hallway to my room, I started to wonder what I was doing there-not knowing anyone, not having a friend within three time zones. But then I unpacked and set up my music and my books. I put my clothes in the dresser and my toiletries on the sink. I thought things might be OK. Compulsive that I am, I then headed for the poker room. Mostly I just wanted to see it, but I also entertained ideas about playing a satellite for the tournament the next day. As soon as I walked in I recognized about five faces and the familiar sound of riffling chips. I ran into John from Foxwoods, who remembered my face and my name. He told me he'd be there through the TOC. Satellites were done for the night (it was almost 2 a.m.), but as I walked back to my room, I knew things would be OK. Saturday, July 21 The $330 Limit Hold 'Em tournament of the Orleans Open started at noon. I had played poker just two nights before in my usual $1-$2 Thursday night home game. But I hadn't played poker for any real amount of money in almost a month. My game did show signs of rust as I made some reflex folds (never act on reflex, always think) and my concentration level wasn't where it needed to be. Still, I managed to get a hold of some chips. I lost most of them when I raised from my small blind with JJ against a loose aggressive player in the big blind. She thought for a while and called. The flop came with three babies. I bet and she called. The turn brought another undercard to my pair. I bet, she raised, and I immediately three-bet her. She thought for a while and called. The river, unfortunately, put a four-straight on board. I checked, she bet, and I paid her off. She had a card to complete the straight-she had raised with a pair and a gutshot on the turn. Such is life. The end came when I made some moves to get chips and ran into real hands; actually the same real hand, queens, from the same guy both times. I almost survived the first encounter, when I flopped two pair with my 65, but a queen on the river cost me the pot. I finished about 75th out of the 300 or so players. Not bad, but certainly not good enough. I did, however, spot Real Estate Larry from my home game in D.C. as he busted out of the event. We exchanged numbers and made tentative plans to do dinner that night. I walked back into the poker room at 6 p.m., after having enjoyed a clam chowder with Dave Rabbi and John from Foxwoods. The floor was calling a $35 buy-in Pot Limit Hold 'Em satellite so John and I quickly sat down. A woman doubled through with a flush draw that got there early on and proceeded to run over the table. Three-handed, I took a stand against her when I flopped a pair. Unfortunately, she had flopped a bigger one and my first satellite of the trip was unsuccessful. That was just minutes before the Second Chance tournament, also Pot Limit Hold 'Em. So I, of course, shelled out the entry fee and took my seat. I was working my chips nicely until I picked up QQ 2UTG. UTG made a pot-sized raise. I gave him AK and I knew he wouldn't release it pre-flop. I figured rather than risk nearly all of my chips in a 50-50 situation I'd see the flop first. So I smooth-called and the field folded. The flop came fine, with three undercards. UTG moved in and I called instantly. He did have AK, but he turned a K and I was crippled. I moved my last chips in a few hands later when I had AK, but I couldn't run it through 88 and I was out of my second tournament of the day. But before that I had gone to another table and asked a blond lady if I could borrow a drink holder from her table. She looked at me and said, "Please take it." That's when I realized it was Suzie Isaacs. I thanked her, and took her drink holder. Later that night I figured I'd try a satellite for the next day's $550 No Limit Hold 'Em event (why stop playing now?). My very first hand I got sixes and limped. Five or six of us took the flop of A-10-6. It got checked to me and I bet T100. Player to my left called and the rest folded. I gave him a weak ace. Turn was a six! I checked, praying he'd bet his ace. But he checked right behind. River was a blank (something other than an ace). I moved in praying this guy was weak enough to call. He wasn't, and I showed my hand (I enjoy showing quads, it's a leak I have that may cost me some EV every few thousand hands). A few hands later I lost most of my stack with two overcards (don't remember which they were) against jacks. So needing chips, I raised with AQ in early position. A guy on my left made a short reraise all-in. Both blinds called and I called. The board was mostly garbage with a 10 and it got checked around on every street. The all-in player scooped with A-10. At this point I was really short and needed desperately to grab chips. A player raised UTG and I short called all-in with KQ. This is a play I thought I was forced to make at the time, but by the end of the trip I think I would have folded in this spot. As Scott Byron convinced me, better to move in with any two cards than to call an UTG raise with a hand that is likely in deep trouble. Anyway, a player to my left reraised all-in and I was happy because the pot might become heads-up. But the original raiser called. The reraiser turned over JJ and I was looking OK. Then to my horror, the original raiser showed AK. But the first card flopped was a queen and I jumped out of my seat. The queen held up and I had some chips again. Then some weird stuff happened. I busted a guy when I called his all-in raise with 83o (he was very short-stacked and I was the big blind). I raised all-in on the small blind with 7-high and got called. "I need help," I said. "No you don't," my opponent said, and turned over 6-high (I had become somewhat shortstacked by the increasing blinds). My hand "held up." I lost some chips when my big ace lost to a smaller, dominated ace (what goes around comes around). Eventually we were three-handed. The player to my right had about half the chips and the other two of us were about even. The shorter stacked opponent started proposing some ridiculous saves (1st was $700, 2nd was $230) where we would all lock up $200 or more. "Why would I do that?" the chip leader said, and even I was laughing. "Look, the stack sizes don't matter," the other guy said. "Why don't we all take 200 now?" After not too long I looked at the dealer and said, "I think you better deal the cards." On the first or second hand after this "negotiation," I moved all-in on the button with A7o. The shortstacked opponent (who barely had me covered) called with KJo. The flop came KQ6 and things looked bad. Turn T. River J. My broadway took the pot, and my opponent got knocked out two hands later, bitching about my "suckout" for a solid 20 minutes. My lone opponent then said, "Can we now have a rational discussion about this?" After some negotiation, we split the $470 we were playing for 270-200 (I had the chip lead), meaning I'd gross $500 for the satellite for a profit of $390 after toke. I'd played two $500 events before (both at the Taj), but had won my way into each through a satellite. I'd be playing another $500 event the next day, and once again I wouldn't be buying in for the full amount. Fresh off my victory, I took the elevator to my room to rest up for the next days' event. As I walked down that long hallway my cell phone went off. It was a D.C. number, so I answered, "Who would be calling me at three in the morning?" Real Estate Larry said, "It's not three in the morning it's only just about midnight." (He was also on a cell phone, hence the D.C. number.) He was down in the lobby and eager to go to a biker club with a live blues band (Larry, not an ordinary middle-aged real estate broker, has his eccentricites, like a passion for green tea, seeing the flop with any two cards, and the blues). The conversation went something like this. "Larry I can't, I'm playing tomorrow." "That's cool." "Sounds like fun, though." "I'm sure it would be great." "But I really should sleep." "I understand." "How long would you go for?" "An hour, maybe an hour and a half." "Huh, well maybe we could do it tomorrow night?" "Sure." "I mean, if you really want to go tonight, I will." "I'll call a cab." The bar was exactly what you'd expect, although it still surprised me. Dozens of motorcycles out front, tough guys with scratchy voices lining the walls, and blues music with killer guitar riffs and aggressive coming from the stage. We did only stay for an hour and a half. I insisted. I was still in Vegas to play poker. Sunday, July 22 I took my seat at noon for the No Limit event. I didn't recognize anyone at my table, until someone greeted the player to my left. "Hi Barry," he said. So bracelet holder and publisher of CardPlayer Magazine Barry Shulman was at my table, and on my left no less. Great. In case I had any doubt that he had, in fact, won a WSOP event, he was wearing his gold bracelet with BARRY etched on it in stones. My stack got chopped away early when I was aggressive with decent hands and people with better hands came over the top. I folded, but I was still losing chips. Finally I picked up 99 UTG and limped. Two other limpers and the flop came 976. I bet T125 and an aggressive player asked how much I had left. I (gladly) told him T305 and he raised that amount. The other limper folded and I put my chips in the pot saying, "Let's go baby, top set." (Yeah, I can be a punk at the table.) An 8 turned and I was almost sure I was done. But the river was a blank and my opponent turned over J9s. Shulman said as I dragged the pot, "Nice hand, well bet." Barry managed to get a decent stack of chips himself, mostly by playing weird hands out of position and getting there (53s UTG, for example). He didn't strike me as overwhelming, though. I played a hand with him from the big blind when he had limped UTG. I checked with Q9o. Flop was blanks. Check-check. Turn blank. Check-check. River 9. Check-check. Nines were good, Shulman showed AQ. "I let you get there," he said. Yes, Barry, yes you did. On another hand Shulman bet out 300 on the river, maybe 1/4 the size of the pot. His opponent folded and Shulman showed a very strong hand. "If you'd bet 500 I would have called," the opponent said. "Oh, you really know how to hurt a guy," Shulman said. Our table was broken and I found myself at a new table where everyone could play. Most hands someone raised and everyone folded. I stole my fair share and maintained my stack-until I made my one mistake. Folded to me in the small blind, I raised three times the blind with A2s. The big blind, a good player, thought for a while and called. Flop came J-4-2 and I pushed in my stack. He called immediately and his sevens were good. This was such a bad play that I was sick. I had to fear a trap once he called me, and I only had 5 outs when I was called on the flop. And I was risking my entire stack when I wasn't desperate for chips. So, disgusted, I again finished around 75th. I headed to Bellagio to play my first live action. I booked a win, which was good for my psyche after losing money in the tournaments and with memories of a disastrous Bellagio session a year earlier still in my head. Larry, his brother, and I had a nice dinner in an MGM Grand restaurant (prime rib for me), and then Larry and I hit a mediocre and overpriced club. When I got back to the room, I passed right out. Part II: Bellagio live action, TOC preliminary tournament and supersatellites Monday, July 23 I decided to take one shot at a morning No Limit Hold 'Em satellite, figuring if I won I would play the $550 TOC preliminary event at noon. The field seemed pretty soft until the seat to my left was sold-to Ray DiDonato. For those who don't know, RayDon is one of the most feared No Limit tournament players on the east coast. I'd rather have any other player in the room on my left. It turned out I should have been more worried about myself than Ray, since I busted making another silly play. Shortstacked, I short called an all-in raise with 55 (Presto!), a similar mistake to the one I made with KQ two days earlier. Only this time I didn't get away with it. The raiser had jacks and no five came to save me. My hundred and forty bucks and I were gone. I asked RayDon about the hand afterwards and he said there was no reason for me to call there. He was right. After busting from the satellite, I sat in a 10-20 Hold 'Em game filled with mostly rocks. Ironically, one of the few players in the game that was contributing was RayDon. Ray is a great Pot Limit and No Limit player, but I think his live limit game has holes. He made a lot of calls out of position, preflop and postflop. These calls could easily have been profitable in big bet games, but in our limit game, all they did was eat at his stack. John from Foxwoods came by, a man I hadn't seen since Saturday. We had agreed to roomshare from Tuesday night on, and he seemed relieved to see me. Apparently a full day with no sign of me made him think I'd left him roomless. We decided we'd try to get a new room that evening. Larry and I had our own plans to meet at Bellagio, so after three and a half hours of 10-20 at the Orleans, I cashed out down $29 and went back to the room to freshen up. I had a strange message waiting for me. My room transfer was ready. This was strange because I hadn't asked for a room transfer. But I did want one. The only explanation for this miracle is that when I originally booked the room I asked for two beds, hoping that Russell or Scott would make the trip. I suffered a bad beat on the cab ride to Bellagio. It was $7. I gave him a twenty and asked for $11 change. "Oh wait a minute," I said, smarty-pants that I am. "Why don't I just give you $21 and you give me $10?" The cabby happily agreed to this, and it wasn't until I got inside the hotel that I realized my mistake. I also realized I had done the same thing the day before. Oh well, I never claimed to be good with numbers. The 15-30 game at Bellagio was blissful. It often is, but this one was especially good. Five or six callers every time: maniacs, calling stations, weak-tighties, all kinds of people I love to play against. So of course I was down a couple hundred after the first hour or so. But the hands did come, and come. John from Foxwoods knew we had to get back to The Orleans to claim our new room, but he didn't dare make me get up and spoil my rush. Eventually I did leave, after cashing out almost $900 to the good. I was now a winning player for my career in the Bellagio poker room. The ghosts of last year could kiss my ass. John and I took the shuttle from Barbary Coast back to the Orleans (the existence of this shuttle made my taxicab bad beat even worse, say from a six-outer to a three-outer). But when we got there they told us our room was no longer available. Apparently I had stayed in the Bellagio game just too long. With no moving to be done, I dragged John out to the biker bar where we met up with Larry. The look of terror on John's face wore off after ten minutes or so, when he got into a riveting conversation with a biker about how he was going to have sex on his motorcycle that night. We left the biker bar after one drink to hit The Voodoo Café, a club at the top of the Rio. A cover band with a female singer and a male singer was performing "Hit Me Baby One More Time" as we walked in. It was obvious management didn't like us. The guy at the front door warned me about not having a collared shirt. The bartender forced Larry to remove his hat. And when the last song ended, a round, semi-official looking burly man came screaming to our table. "Gentlemen, please move towards the elevators immediately!" The view, however, was beyond spectacular. If you've never seen Vegas from above you must walk out to the roof of the Luxor at 2 a.m. I can't imagine a better time or place to see the city. I don't know if I'll go up there again, but if I do I'll be sure NOT to wear a collared shirt. Tuesday, July 24 I got up in time for my usual morning satellite. This time I would play the $550 TOC Preliminary 7-card Stud event if I won. The satellite was again No Limit Hold 'Em, but without RayDon. In fact, the table was favorable, with a loose-aggressive player to my immediate right, and no known tournament pros (at least not to me) anywhere. The loose aggressive player was, coincidentally, a biker. I knew this because I had played with him during my 10-20 session the day before and he talked a lot. He was a nice enough guy-nice enough to tell me what he had whenever I wasn't in the pot, and nice enough to tell me exactly what he'd been thinking between hands. Privy to this information, I waited for a spot to move some chips from my friend's stack into mine. I got the chance after about 45 minutes when it was folded to the biker/maniac in the cutoff. He open raised and I looked down to see AJo on the button. I moved in my stack for about double the initial raise. But then the thing happened that every semi-steal raiser hates-the small blind instantly reraised all-in. The biker folded, showing KT (not a tough decision). The small blind had QQ, not so bad for me, all things considered. But I didn't catch an ace and my satellite was over. I hate when the blinds wake up with hands, assuming I'm not the blind. I walked over to the live game area and put my name on the 10-20 Omaha list. If I was serious about contending in the TOC in three days, I would have to log some hours in Omaha. I played some 6-12 Hold 'Em while I waited and was up $28 when they called my name off the Omaha list. I took the seat, but it didn't take long to realize it was a lousy game. Fold, fold, fold, fold, raise, fold, fold, fold, fold, and fold. Ugly. I started chatting with the guy to my left and eventually he asked my name. "Matt," I told him. "Matt, do you have a real job?" he said. "Yeah, I work for a software company." "Take my advice," he said, "walk out of this room and never come back." His name was Frank, an actor/poker player living in L.A. but in Vegas for the TOC. "It's a disgusting business," he said. "You think so?" "I know so." "What's the worst thing about it?" "The cheating." Frank said that cheating went on in all the big games, but not so much in the middle limits. "So the cheating stuff on RGP?" I said. "It's all true," he said. "I knew Russ G back when he was cheating in California." It came out that Frank had never held a "real job" since he graduated from college. He started acting in Manhattan, and moved out to LA where most of his auditions were. When he moved, he sold his Manhattan apartment. "It was the worst thing I ever did," he said, as the place would rent for a major leaguer's ransom today. He said he's hated playing poker for at least 15 years. "It's just a job," he said. "My agent told me last week he might have an audition for me with The West Wing. I said, 'Great, I'm going to Vegas!' When he actually has the audition set up, then he can talk to me." "So did you major in acting?" I asked. "No, where I went to school, Princeton, they didn't have that major." "Oh, you went to Princeton?" "Yup." "Huh." I couldn't resist. "I went to Yale," I said softly. He jumped back two or three inches. "Really," he said. "Oh you should definitely walk out of this room." "But I like to play." "You'll get over it." About the Omaha, since everyone was folding every hand it was hard to win or lose much in this game. But one pot somehow formed. I think it was a kill pot ($15-$30), with three limpers and a late position poster. It was my button, and I thought, this would be a good time to wake up with a hand. I looked down at AA23 with one ace suited. For you non-Omaha players, this is an absolute monster. "Raise," I said. All the limpers called. I don't remember the specifics, but I know I bet the flop and got only one caller. I bet the turn (there was no low possible by this point) and my opponent called again. We checked down the river and my aces were good. This hand notwithstanding, it really was an awful game and I got up after an hour and a half, $101 ahead. By now my new room was ready again, and John and I were actually around to move in. So we did. It was funny to walk into John's first room and see all the poker books on his desk-funny because it looked exactly like my room. My body must have remembered that I'd been out the night before, because as soon as I hit my bed in the new room I took a multi-hour nap. I managed to get up in time for the Second Chance No Limit Hold 'Em tournament at 7 p.m. When I got to my table I immediately recognized Jeff Shulman in the 10 seat. (For those who don't know, Jeff is Barry's son, and editor of CardPlayer Magazine.) And when the dealer addressed the gentleman gambler in the eight seat as "Mr. Senior," I recognized Oklahoma Johnny Hale. OK, so Jeff Shulman and Oklahoma Johnny Hale were at my table. No big deal, just because I know their names shouldn't make it more difficult to play against them. Then I turned to my right and nearly jumped out of my chair when I saw John Bonnetti in the two seat. Bonnetti, of course, is not merely a name, but a multiple bracelet winner and one of the best No Limit Hold 'Em players on the planet. At least I had position on him. I don't remember too many of the early hands. But once I flopped top pair on some ugly board (maybe all of one suit) and I bet the pot into a four or five person field. Everyone folded up to Oklahoma Johnny, who looked at me and said, "Young man, you have a winner," as he tossed his cards into the muck. Oklahoma Johnny would lose most of his chips on one of the more bizarre bad beats you'll see in this game. OK had limped into the pot and it had gone unraised. The flop came down K-8-5 with two hearts. The big blind bet out and OK raised. The big blind, a player named Roger, reraised his entire stack. OK Johnny called and turned over 85s. The big blind had 84o. His only hope seemed to be a chop if a king should fall. But the board came running hearts, and Roger's four of hearts won him the entire pot and almost all of Johnny Hale's chips. "Nice hand," OK Johnny said with a smile. Gentleman gambler, indeed. Meanwhile, John Bonnetti had been sleeping at the table. I mean that literally. Every time it was his turn to act everyone would yell, "John!" and he'd wake up and fold. The third or fourth time this happened, it was hard to keep from laughing. The great John Bonnetti needed someone to wake him up just so he could fold. Finally, after there had been three or four limpers for T25 each, the action got to Bonnetti and we had to wake him up again. "Arrgh!" he said. "500!" and he fired his raise into the pot. Everyone folded. "Stop waking me up!" he said as he dragged the pot. The table was riotous-even Bonnetti was laughing. A few hands later Bonnetti bet into a board that was something like 4567 after the turn, with many players still in the hand. All folded except one. The river was a blank and both players checked. Bonnetti's opponent turned over something like A6-and it was good. "He must not know who you are," one player said. "Maybe he does know," Shulman said. Bonnetti, once he woke up, had been limping in a lot, so I knew I'd have to get involved with him at some point. When he limped and I had AKs, I had to put in a standard raise. All folded to Bonnetti, who called. I don't usually root for my card to flop, because I think it's a waste of mental energy. But heads-up with John Bonnetti, even with position, I prayed for an ace or king to hit at that moment. The flop came with two rags...and an ace. Bonnetti checked and I made a bet large enough to set Bonnetti all-in (I had him covered). He folded, grumbling as he did so. It's possible or even likely he had a pocket pair and was ready to commit all his chips on the flop if an ace didn't hit. That would have been interesting. After a little over an hour Bonnetti, Hale, and Shulman had all busted. I took a small measure of pride in lasting longer than the three name players at my table. But I wasn't long for the tournament either. I lost all my chips when I got it all-in with 77 against a loose-aggressive player who happened to be holding AA. I left my seat at 9:10 and realized that the super satellite had started ten minutes earlier. I went looking for a floorman. "Excuse me, can I still get into the super satellite?" "Sure, $65." I was sold, as my primary goal at this stage of the trip was to prepare for the TOC. A TOC super satellite, where all four TOC games are played, would be perfect. The super satellites had an odd format. They started out No Limit Hold 'Em with unlimited rebuys for the first hour. When the rebuy period ended players had the option for a single or double add-on. Then it switched to an alternating game format-Omaha, Stud, and Limit Hold 'Em. This went on for two hours before the game switched back to No Limit Hold 'Em for the rest of the event. Officials added up the amount of money in the prize pool and divided by $2,000 to figure the number of TOC seats awarded in that super satellite-the more players and rebuys and add-ons, the more seats. As you might expect, the first hour was a total free-for-all with most players throwing chips around as though they werre worthless (which in some ways they were). I ended the No Limit segment with just under 400 in chips (this was after two or three rebuys). I then did a double add-on. All told, I spent $315 on the event, more than I'd planned, but at least I was giving myself a chance to win. Steve Kaufman was at my table, and to my left. Kaufman finished at the final table of two huge events in 2000, including the WSOP. His play in the super left me wondering how this happened. Two hands, as best as I can remember them: Hand 1) Omaha. I'm in the big blind with K-J-x-x. Kaufman had limped in early and a good player had come in late (I don't think he raised). The flop came K-J-10 with two spades. I bet (I don't claim to be a good Omaha player). Kaufman calls and the good player calls. The turn is a blank. I bet, Kaufman calls, the good player raises. I think for a while (remember I'm a lousy Omaha player). Finally I say, "I can't put you on a hand I can beat" and fold. Kaufman calls instantly. The river is a spade. Both players check. The good player, of course, has AQxx. Kaufman mucks. "I thought for sure you had spades," the good player says. "No, my draw didn't get there," Kaufman says. I found this odd, as I couldn't figure out what draw he meant. Some weird wrap straight draw? A set that he never raised? I guess he could have had a set of tens, and his play would make some sense. But then there's Hand 2) Hold 'Em. On the turn the board is 9762. Kaufman checks, a typical opponent bets, another typical opponent who had flat-called on the flop raises. Kaufman thinks for a while, and then calls T120 cold (a substantial portion of his stack). The river is a ten, and Kaufman's 87 chops with the raiser's T8. I do claim to be a Hold 'Em player, and I hate Kaufman's call on the turn. His opponent has, at minimum, two pair. It's more likely that he flat-called the flop with a straight draw and got there on the turn. So, at best, Kaufman has ten outs for the whole pot. At worst, he's got three outs for half the pot. And he has to call a raise cold for a large fraction of his stack. And there's still an opponent behind who can reraise. I don't see any way to justify his play on this hand. Meanwhile, I proved I was no expert when I lost most of my chips in a stud hand to a guy who had been bragging about how he'd won a seat the night before without taking a single rebuy (players that already have a seat can play the super satellite; they're awarded $2,000 cash if they win). A steal from me on third straight turned into a pair on fourth street which turned into two pair on sixth street. I was committed at that point so I had to see seventh. Luckily the river got checked down and my opponent won with two slightly bigger pair. I got knocked out a few hands later (but not before tripling up once). My first super satellite was over, but I had gained some information about Steve Kaufman, and I got some needed practice in my weaker games (even if it was only needed for peace of mind). At that point I sat in a 10-20 Hold 'Em game with a total lunatic to my right, a loose, gambling player to my left, and a bunch of funny (in the witty sense) younger guys who were solid players. One of them, when he got the button, said, "I can make this come up 'Dealer' every time." He proceeded to spin it and then plant his hand over it. And every time he lifted his hand, the button, of course, read "Dealer." I made a bad river bet against the gambling player when he'd been betting the whole way until the river brought three of a kind on board. He groaned, put on an act of being disgusted, and checked. I fell for it and value bet my top pair-full house. He check-raised and showed me AA. Ugly. But I flopped a straight against one of the younger guys' AA and took a nice pot from him. I ended the session up $324, which put me at +$87 for the trip. I was thrilled since I had spent $1520 entering tournaments and figured I'd be down at least a thousand at this point. John had offered to take half my action in the No Limit TOC preliminary tournament the next day. As I walked back to the room, I decided I'd take him up on it. Wednesday, July 25 Before leaving for the poker room, John handed me $525 for the No Limit event (it was $550 plus one $500 rebuy-John assumed I would rebuy, and if I didn't I would give him $250 back). "If you make the final table, great," he said. "And if you're the first one out, that's OK too." Are all backers like this? As I was on line for the event, Ken "Skyhawk" Flaton, a top tournament pro, was in line behind me. He was talking about the odd opening blind structure-one T25 blind (yes, just one blind). "Who's gonna steal one 25 dollar blind?" he said. "Well hopefully someone will and we'll wake up with aces," I said. "That's right," he said. A good player I had played against on Sunday was registering in front of me. When I got to my table I noticed he was sitting immediately to my right. They must have just started handing out seats in order, I thought. Well, at least I have position on him. But wait, if they're handing out seats in order, the person behind me will be to my left, and that was... It sure was, Ken "Skyhawk" Flaton, sitting down immediately to my left. Wonderful. I had seen the video of Flaton's victory at the 1996 U.S. Poker Championships about a million times, so I at least had some information to go on. The good news was that Flaton is known as a tight, solid player. So having him on my left wouldn't pose too much of a problem. That's what I told myself anyway. On one of the earliest hands, a player I didn't know made a big raise, and the good player to my right cold called. The flop came AA6, the turn was a blank, and the river was a 6. There was action throughout and at the showdown, the initial raiser showed AK. The caller grimaced and flashed the raiser an ace...and then mucked his hand! Another player who had seen the ace immediately told him what he had done. "Oooh," he said, before asking the dealer if there was any way he could receive some of the pot. The dealer told him he never saw his hand, and the player rapped the table in concession. "What a mistake," he said. But a few hands later he had regained his chips, totally cool. I later learned his name was JJ, a black gentleman with a hardened face who usually wore sunglasses. Despite folding a full house, JJ could play and I was glad he was on my right. Meanwhile, the "tight solid" Flaton was steadily accumulating chips on my left. I gave him some when I raised in late position with AJo and Flaton flat-called. The blinds folded. The flop came with three blanks. With most players I would bet here, since when most players call they're usually looking to flop something, and they usually don't flop anything. But with Flaton I probably should have been more careful. I bet about two-thirds of the pot, and Flaton flat-called again. Another blank fell on the turn and I checked. Flaton thought for a second, and then made a large (pot-sized) bet. I smiled. I had been thoroughly outplayed, and now I had absolutely no choice but to fold. "Nice hand," I said, as he dragged the pot. "Thank you," he said. Soon our table broke and I was more than relieved. "It was a pleasure playing with you," I said to Flaton as I left. He smiled and said, "Same." When I sat down at my new table I was no longer relieved. Phil Ivey, a top tournament player from Atlantic City, was on my right with a stack of chips the size of my house. To make things more interesting, Melissa Hayden soon sat down across the table. We said hellos (I knew Melissa from BARGE2K and the U.S. Poker Championships), but she was the last person I wanted to see at the table just then. Melissa didn't waste time moving her chips. When it was folded around to her small blind, she limped for T50. The big blind exercised his option to raise and made it T100. What are you doing? I thought to myself. Melissa instantly made it T400-the big blind obviously didn't know whom he was messing with. He then called, and if I remember correctly, Melissa won the pot on the flop. I got involved in only one hand that I can remember during my first half hour at the new table. I had AA on the small blind. All folded to the button, who limped. I limped too and the big blind checked. The flop was garbage and it got checked around. The turn was more garbage and I bet about two-thirds of the pot. Both players folded. Maybe I'd been playing with my cards face up. I got put to my first big decision of the day a few hands later. I had AQo in the big blind with the ace of spades. There were six limpers and I checked my option. (Some players like to raise here, and in some situations I would too. But I liked my check here.) The flop came jack-high with two spades. It got checked around. The turn was my "best" possible card-the queen of spades. I had top pair-top kicker with the nut flush draw. The pot was T350, so I bet out T300. Fold, fold, fold, a player called 300, and then the action was on Ivey. He reached for his chips and coolly placed three T100 chips and one T500 chip into the pot. The player in between us folded and I asked for time. OK, first check your pot odds. 1400 on this street, plus 350 before means there is 1750 in the pot. So I'm getting 3.5 to 1. OK, now what does Phil have? He made a small raise-500 into a T1200 pot. It is almost impossible for this to be a bluff. He has to have a hand. But how big of a hand? QJ? Almost no way he would have checked the flop with that hand. Two weird pair? Possible, but it's unlikely he would have seen the flop with some schwag hand like Qxs. A flush? Hmm, he limped before the flop, he checked on the flop, and value-raised two players on the turn when the flush card came. It sure seemed like a flush to me. If he had a flush, I only had seven outs-not enough to play for the price I was getting. And a call would cost me almost half my stack. Even if the price had been something like 5.5 to1, I wouldn't have liked it considering that a call on the turn would force me to call on the river. So, after a solid three minutes of deliberation, I mucked my hand. The player who called my original bet mucked instantly and Ivey won the pot. At that moment they broke our table (thank God), and I addressed Ivey. "I had a really nice hand there," I said. "So if you were bluffing that was a great play." "I wasn't bluffing," he said. "I gave you credit for spades, did you have spades?" I said. He nodded. "Yeah, I had the 10-8 of spades." "I had AQ with the ace of spades," I said. He nodded again, and he seemed surprised that I'd folded. I didn't recognize anyone at my third table-except for a player a few seats to my left who happened to have won the world championship a few years ago (another final table whose video I had seen a million tables). Scotty Nguyen, like Ivey, had a mountain of chips, and seemed content not to take unnecessary risks with them for the time being. As I leaned back in my new seat, Melissa looked over to me from her new table and smiled. "That was a really great fold," she said. I thanked her. But I was still shortstacked. At the table next to mine, Phil Hellmuth was blabbing away about he kept getting lucky. "Yup, I just keep getting lucky," he said. "Tournament after tournament, I'm always getting lucky." And, even from a table away, I noticed Phil giving a lot of commentary on his hands. I wondered if he ever worried about giving away too much information. Maybe I should have asked him about that during BARGE. I had been maintaining a stack size of around T1200 for an hour or so, at which point the blind increases were becoming a problem. I raised in early position to T400, figuring if I got reraised I would make a decision based on the specifics. I did get reraised, by a loose-aggressive player who made it another T1500 or so, enough to set me all-in. All folded to me, and I decided this was exactly the kind of situation where I should call. So, frightened, I did. My opponent turned over 44 and I yelled out, "Yes!" And then Scotty said, "Ha, ha Ha!...Yes!" clearly amused at both hands and my excitement. No six or four hit the board, and I had doubled up. A few hands later, Scotty got it all-in before the flop against the pocket fours guy. AK for Scotty, queens for the opponent. A king flopped, but a queen turned and Scotty was severely crippled. He must have fallen in love with my sixes play, because he went broke a few hands later when he raised with them, got reraised by a solid player on the blind, and called all-in. The blind's QQ held up and Scotty was out. When I arrived at the table I would have put the chances of Scotty Nguyen and his monster stack getting knocked out before me and my T1100 at about 40-1. I still failed to catch any cards, though, despite a visit from John where he offered to bring me food. I told him I'd just had an italian sausage (available for $2 in the tournament area; fruit, the health food, was free). It was so bad I had to move in with hands like Q2o just to win the blinds and have chips to play with for another ten hands. Finally I found a situation that I liked, although far from perfect. A loose-aggressive player opened from the cutoff for something like T1000. The button flat-called. I looked down at AQo in the small blind. With the blinds at (I think) 200 and 400, I had only enough chips to go around three times, and with neither of the late position players likely to have much of a hand (as I read them), I moved all-in for something like T2300. I hoped that the initial raiser would fold, but once he called I was sure the button would call too, and he did. The flop came king-high, all diamonds. I didn't have the ace of diamonds in my hand-but I did have the queen. The cutoff checked and the button made a huge bet. The cutoff folded. The button turned to me and said, "I just have a king." "You're ahead," I said. "Do you have any diamonds?" he said. "Yes," I said, turning my hand over. "Uh oh," he said. Alas, the turn paired the eight on the board, and the river was a red jack, but of hearts. My opponent's king-ten took the pot and I had again finished somewhere around 75th. Had my diamond hit I would have tripled up, been just around average stack size, and had a real shot to make the final table. The cutoff was moaning about how he would have won the pot, so he must have had some crap like A8. I thought I had picked a decent place to invest my chips. I could have flat-called before the flop, planning to move in regardless of what flopped; but I thought there was a realistic chance the initial raiser would fold (which I, of course, would have preferred). I went back to the room to give John the bad news. He wasn't even fazed. "Oh please, don't worry about it," he said. "You gave it your best shot." If I ever need a backer, I know the first person I'll ask. After dinner, I was ready to again practice my Omaha. The game was much better than the last one I had played in, so of course I left after two and a half hours stuck $189. A situation some would consider a dilemma came up when, at the showdown, I announced and showed a straight and the woman to my right turned her cards over. She had a better straight, and a weak low (I had no low of any kind). The dealer split the pot and gave me half and started shuffling for the next hand. "Wait, what is this?" I said. "That's for the high, she had the low," the dealer said. "What did I have?" I said. "A straight," the dealer said. "But she had a higher one," I said, "and she had a low. I didn't win anything." "You're right," the dealer said. "Sorry." And she pushed the whole pot to the woman on my right. "That's worth at least twenty dollars, that honesty," a guy on my left said. The woman, to no one's surprise, did not give me twenty dollars. I don't even think she said "thank you." As far as I was concerned, I didn't deserve twenty dollars. My opponent's cards were turned face-up on the table, and I didn't win any part of the pot. I only want money that I've won. I don't believe in taking money that's not mine, and I don't believe the woman owed me any money. I do believe she owed me a "thank you." She was a fish anyway, and a few hands later she said, "I'll give you a chance to win your money back," and proceeded to call me down with total garbage. Karma will get you, remember that. Having played enough Omaha, I switched to a 10-20 Hold 'Em game in an attempt to win some of my money back. That didn't happen. But I did get to talk poker puzzles with a bunch of the players and a dealer named Amanda. What straight can't you make when holding T5 in Texas Hold 'Em? You have three opponents in Hold 'Em, and after the river you're absolutely sure you had the best hand on the flop, but you're also absolutely sure you can't beat any of your opponents now-what is the board? I have three hands, JTs, AKo, and 44. I'll let you pick any one you want and I'll pick one of the other two. Then we'll deal out a hundred boards, betting $5 on each one. Would you do it? I'd heard the first two before, but I still enjoyed thinking them through with real-live players who got it. The guy who proposed the third puzzle opened a hand for a raise and got several callers. The flop came with big cards and he check-folded. After the hand he said, "That was the worst raise I've made in a long time. That's the type of raise I make when I'm not playing well." "It couldn't have been that bad," I said. "No, it wasn't a raising hand," he said. "What did you have, like, fours?" I said. He looked at me the way Linda Hamilton looked at the Terminator, in the first movie. "I guess you did have fours." "I swear to God that's what I had," he said. "Lucky guess." "But how could you guess that of all hands?" "I just based it on what you said about the raise." He continued to stare at me. I laughed for cover, but I was almost ready to get out of my seat. "That's never happened to me in all my years of playing poker," he said. "Oh, come on," I said. "I mean, sometimes it's easy to spot ace-king, but I've never had anyone call out something like that." "Really?" I said. "My buddy Russell does that to me all the time, sometimes even on hands I fold before the flop." The guy left a few hands later, mumbling something about how he didn't play in games where he was the loosest player there. I was pretty sure he was still wigged out about the fours. I made a comeback-instead of being stuck $500 I was stuck $448 (including the Omaha)-before returning to my room for bed. I promised myself the next day would be Bellagio Day. Thursday, July 26 Since I had no intention of playing the Omaha TOC preliminary event, I had no need to play my usual morning satellite. So I slept in. It was safely afternoon by the time John and I reached the Bellagio poker room. I loved that I had exorcised my demons; I was now at home drinking strawberry juliuses and playing poker in the most beautiful card room in the world. Still, I told myself not to expect a session like the last one. But on one of my first hands I got JJ. I flopped a set and bet it right out. A flush came on the turn and I bet it out again. I got raised, and the guy to my right cold-called. I called, praying for the board to pair. Bingo, it did. The cold caller bet and I raised. The other player (the raiser on the turn) folded, grumbling, "I want to see both hands." Meanwhile, the guy who bet the river said, "Uh oh, that sounds like a full house." This guy was good for the game. "Show me a full house," he said as he called my raise. "OK," I said as I turned my cards over and dragged the pot. The bettor had the nut flush. Had he reraised the turn I might not have had pot odds to call (especially since it might have been four or five bets before the action was done). With no reraise, my call was automatic. The guy to my right continued to give his money away. The best part was that he talked non-stop about how everyone else was playing. "It's a pretty tight table," he said, "except this young man on my left is a little bit of a maniac." It must have seemed that way to him, since I raised often after he limped in with garbage in front of me. To keep the game fun and action-filled, I told this (true) story about a hand I'd seen at Bellagio just a few days before. A total lunatic (who happened to be a floorperson at the Mirage, we found out) who had been raising virtually every hand got involved in a pot with an aggressive player (probably a local pro). On the turn the board was Q-Q-9-4 with two hearts. The local checked and the lunatic bet. The local raised. The lunatic reraised. The local made it four bets. The lunatic made it five bets and said, "I have ace-queen." The local made it six bets and said, "I have a full house." The lunatic reached for his chips, and then looked at the local. "You have a full house?" he said. He paused...and then raised again. The local, looking confused, finally just called. The river was a blank. The local checked, the lunatic bet, and the local called. The lunatic announced, "Ace high" and turned over AT. We were laughing, until we heard the local say, "that's gonna be good." We watched, openmouthed, as the local mucked his hand! He said later that he was on a flush draw, and he knew the lunatic didn't have anything. It was the most amazing hand I'd ever seen. John and I wanted to get back to The Orleans in time to eat and go to the TOC kick-off party at nine p.m. So we planned to leave Bellagio at seven. The time came and I was up $600 and more than happy to cash out. But John was stuck and not going anywhere. I told him I'd go check my email at the business center and come get him afterwards. When a poker player is stuck he'll sit in a game forever, so I took my time getting to the business center. It was just as well because when I got there I learned the price-$15 for 15 minutes. No thanks. I suddenly had time to kill and went out to the lake to see the famous fountains of Bellagio. (This year I was determined to enjoy the Bellagio instead of just play poker there.) They were almost as impressive as I had heard. I also saw the pool, which is really a labyrinth with several pools hidden inside, and the hanging gardens. Words fail. If you've never been to the Bellagio, go there now. It proves Vegas is more than glitz and glitter. The Bellagio is plain class. After the fountains I couldn't find John in the poker room so I caught the shuttle back to The Orleans solo. John had apparently gone on a massive rush just after I left to check email, got even, and fled with his small profit. I love when that kind of thing happens. The welcoming party was supposed to start at 9, so we figured we could get dinner and then enter fashionably late. We had dinner, went back to the room for a minute, and got back to the poker area at 9:40. There was no sign of any welcoming party. I heard later that it had started and ended early, or the time had changed, or something. We wandered into the poker room and somehow they were still letting people enter the super satellite that started at 9. Shocked, I put my name on the list without giving it too much thought. John signed up right behind me, but it was getting close to 10, which I then learned was the cutoff time for new entries. Some other players were interested, but the floorman said there was no way they'd get in and didn't bother to add them to the list. This didn't bode well for John and I-the last two names listed. Then, at 9:55 p.m., someone busted out and decided not to rebuy. They called my name, and I had my seat. I got to play exactly one hand of No Limit (I folded it) before the rebuy period ended and the tournament was closed from new players. John got shut out, and keeping in character, was happy to root for me from the sidelines. At this point I had the option to spend $0, $50, or $100 in add-ons. I spent $100-might as well give myself a realistic chance to win a seat. After the break, the Omaha round started and the tournament director announced the prize pool. "We had 108 players this evening," he said. "The final table will be nine-handed, and everyone at the final table will win a seat in the Tournament of Champions, worth two thousand dollars." I whooped. Nine seats was a lot, worth whooping for. I won some pots early on during the limit games, so my stack was never in jeopardy before No Limit started. Once it did start, though, almost no one had a large enough stack. I had to play a few hands. The aggressive player who had the fours the day before raised and I reraised all-in with black queens. He called like a shot-and turned over red queens. (Yes, we did chop it.) Needing chips, I raised under the gun with A6s. It was folded around to the button who reraised all-in. It was folded back to me, and I had to lay my hand down. "Yup, I knew it," another player said. "But I couldn't do anything about it." This guy loved himself. "I had an ace," I said quietly. "He just had a bigger one." "Well, he knew what I knew," this guy said. Whatever, buddy. But this was why I grew to hate small aces during the trip. If I steal and get reraised, I have to fold. With something like 65s I'd at least stand a fighting chance against big aces. That's what I was thinking anyway, when I moved in under the gun with some piece of cheese (it might have been 65o). I hadn't seen the big blind defend yet, but he was thinking about it this time after everyone else mucked. Finally he said, "He probably has me outkicked," and showed me AJo before throwing it away. Stealing one set of blinds didn't give me a mountain of chips. So when I got 88 a few hands later I committed all my chips again. I got called by a late position player who showed me KQ. The flop was safe. The turn was safe. The river was safe. Eights were good and I had doubled up. I played stack maintenance until we got to the final two tables. The blinds went to T500 and T1000, and I needed chips again. I made it T1500 in late position with A9o and an aggressive player with a wealth of chips moved all in. Again I had to fold my weak ace rather than commit my last T3000 or so. As the next hand was dealt, the player to my left said, "Hey, he couldn't make it 1500 last hand." I had realized this myself moments after I folded. I forgot that the blinds had gone up, and the minimum legal raise was to T2000. Had I remembered, I would have pushed all-in rather than made the small raise, and who knows what would have happened then? Would the aggressive player have called? Would I have doubled up? Would I be broke? "So what can we do about it?" the aggressive player said. "Nothing," the dealer said. "The hand is over." "Can we call the floor?" the aggressive player said. "We can, but I promise you we can't do anything." I didn't say a word, as I knew no floor person on the planet would see it differently. I couldn't decide if I was happy about my mistake. But I didn't let myself dwell on it. It was over, and I had some serious poker left to play. Players kept dropping, some because they just didn't get it. The player with the wealth of chips stupidly continued to play aggressive (he could, without question, have locked up a seat by folding every hand). He made a big raise, and then another player with plenty of chips came over the top for his whole stack! The maniac called with AJ, his opponent had AK. When a jack hit the board, we were down to 12 players. What were these guys thinking? Did someone forget to tell them that ninth was the same as first? We went on break with the same 12 players left. The bad news was that I had the third shortest stack and the blinds were an absurd T1000 and T2000 while the average stack was only around T5000. Granted, it was 2 a.m., we'd been playing for five hours, and the championship event started at noon the next day. They had to wrap this thing up. But there is something wrong when the two previous increases (200/400 to 300/600, 300/600 to 500/1000) are gradual, and then the blinds double for the level that really matters. I bitched about this to John during the break. How could they turn this into a crap shoot for $2,000 each? Why had I been playing all night for this? I knew that high blind structures at the table had ruined far bigger tournaments than this, but I wasn't thinking about that at the time. John tried to calm me down and told me to play my game. I nodded without looking at him, focused but furious. On one of the first hands back from break the action was folded around to the cutoff who moved in for about T4000 (twice the big blind). I was the button and he was one of the two players I had covered. I looked down at KJs. I thought that with the blinds so high and with this player shortstacked, he would make this move with just about any two cards. So I pushed in all my chips. The blinds folded, and I almost threw up when my opponent turned over AK. I still thought the range of hands he'd move in with there was huge, but I now hated my call. Someone must have been watching over me, because the first card flopped was a jack. "Yes!" I screamed. No ace came for my angry opponent, and not only had I won the hand, but I narrowed the field to 11. "That was some call you made with the king-jack," the player to my left said. "Obviously it was a bad call," I said. "I don't know about 'bad,'" he said. I thought it was bad. An extremely shortstacked player at the other table was next to go. We were down to ten players, and they were giving away nine seats. I was the second shortest stack. The only problem was that if I didn't play a hand, I would run out of chips before the shortest stack because my blinds were coming up first. I paid some blinds waiting for someone to do something really stupid and get knocked out. It didn't happen. Someone did, however, propose that whoever finished 10th would get $405 cash (we were playing for nine $2,000 seats plus $45 in cash each, so the deal allowed the tenth place finisher to keep all the cash). I obviously had no objection to this, but strangely no one else did either. Maybe, just maybe, even poker players have souls, and no one wanted to see the poor person who finished tenth leave without winning a cent. When all parties accepted the deal I yelled out, "Woohoo!" (You can tell I'm quite a communicator at the table.) But John looked at me and shook his head. "You're not getting cash," he said. "You're getting a seat." I shrugged and refocused on the task. I had about T2800 in front of me. Whatever it was, it wasn't enough to pay both blinds. I couldn't find a hand before my T2000 big blind. I had made up my mind that if it got folded to the small blind I would call his raise without looking at my cards, figuring that he'd do it with any two cards himself. I'd rather call there than put all my chips in on the upcoming small blind. It did indeed get folded to the small blind. But then something odd happened. The small blind thought. And thought. And thought. He was laughing softly as he did. He couldn't have had much better than 72o. He thought so hard, HE MUCKED HIS HAND! "Yes!" I screamed as I pushed my cards towards the muck and grabbed the two blinds. I never even looked at my hand. Thanks to this gift, I had the player to my left covered. He posted T2000 and had only T400 behind. I posted T1000 and everyone folded to us. I looked down at K5o and said, "OK, let's do it," and placed the additional T1400 in the pot. Then another odd thing happened. The big blind looked at his cards and frowned. And thought. And thought. He stood up and held his cards in the air. I could see them: 54o. He looked at me as he showed me his hand. AND HE MUCKED! The next hand he was all-in for T400 on his small blind. Under the gun limped and everyone knew she had a monster. Why else would she play? It almost had to be aces or kings. There was, of course, no reason to raise; the more people in to knock out the small blind, the better. Everyone folded and I thought about flat-calling on the button with Q3s. I decided, rightly or wrongly, that the T2000 was still too crucial, and I mucked my hand. The big blind checked, and the board of course came with two queens and a three. The big blind and under the gun checked it the whole way-and under the gun's pocket kings were good. I let out a guttural cry. Somehow, I had squeezed my way in. I had won a seat in the Tournament of Champions. It was after 3 a.m. by the time the tournament directors finished the paperwork. I was tired, but my adrenaline was still pumping when I got back to my room. I had to call someone, and there was only one person in the right time zone. That was my ex-girlfriend, in Oxford, England, eight hours ahead. I got her machine and told it, "Hey, it's Matt. I, uh, won a supersatellite, so I'm sort of freerolling in the Tournament of Champions, so that's good. Talk to you soon, hope you're doing well." I ordered the wake up call for 10 a.m. to give me enough time to shower, register, eat breakfast, and call my family before the event started at noon. This didn't leave much time for sleep, but it didn't matter. I knew I wouldn't sleep that night. Part III: The TOC Friday, July 27 There are poker tournaments, there are big poker tournaments, and there is the Tournament of Champions. There's also an annual tournament at the Horseshoe that carries some prestige, but I wasn't at the Horseshoe. On the morning of the TOC I floated to the poker area, supersatellite receipt in pocket. There are few times in life and fewer times in poker when you have nothing to lose, so one might imagine my excitement as I entered the TOC Champions Lounge. Registering for the tournament was a two-step process. First I had to stop by a booth where someone with a computer verified that I had, indeed, qualified for the TOC. If I had only qualified in the super the night before and not through the PokerPages tournament, would my name still have been in the computer? Standing near the booth were two people who loved my shirt. "Nice shirt," they said in turn. "Thanks," I said. "I originally qualified through a tournament on PokerPages, so I figured I'd wear this shirt on the first day." It was, of course, a PokerPages shirt. I had won it when I won my first online tournament back in December. "Oh that's so nice, thank you, I'm Tina," Tina Napolitano said. "And I'm Mark," Mark Napolitano said. "Nice to meet you," I said. I should have told them they were doing great things for poker and I appreciated all their hard work, but I don't think I did. At least I was wearing their shirt. "So how did you get that shirt?" Mark asked. "Actually, I won the first ever tournament on your site, in the..." "World Series Warm-Up," Mark said. "Yes," I said. The tournament I'd won was actually a test for the Warm-Up, and literally the first tournament ever hosted by PokerPages. I don't think I made that clear. But it wasn't important, really. As I was registering, John played a last minute satellite in one final attempt to enter the TOC. Since it was only an hour away, the satellite had to be speedy. Real speedy. Five-minute levels speedy. John didn't catch any cards, and since catching cards is the only thing that can win a five-minute level satellite, he didn't win a seat. Meanwhile, the next stop on my tour was the registration desk in the poker room. This was where the players forked over their two thousand bucks; or, as in my case, their four $500 buy-in receipts they'd won the night before. I got my seat assignment: table 51, seat 1. Usually I would gripe about getting stuck with the one seat, but nothing could have bothered me that morning. The final stop was the gift booth, where I showed my seat assignment to get a green Tournament of Champions jacket. It was a nice jacket, except for some reason the pockets were angled towards the ground so it made little sense to actually put anything in them. I still plan on wearing it to FARGO. I had just enough time for food, and on my way to get some I ran into RGPer and 2000 TOC champion Spencer Sun. I met Spencer briefly at BARGE2K, and we had exchanged emails before this year's TOC. "Do you know if we're having the RGP breakfast?" he said. I had forgotten about it-it apparently had been scheduled for the buffet at 10 a.m. But the buffet was closed at 10 a.m. Without much effort, we got together a mini-RGP breakfast consisting of Spencer, Bill Chen, a friend of Spencer's named Dennis, and me. As we walked to the coffee shop I asked Spencer, "So, as defending champion, what's the strategy for day one?" "Double up," Spencer said. "That's what I did." I asked if I should play reasonably conservative and Spencer said yes. "You don't have to take any unnecessary risks." This was in line with my plan, although I didn't know how I would play conservatively and double up at the same time. Still, I felt the power of RGP-the defending champion giving advice to no-name Matt Matros. Spencer had said in an email that he hoped we'd be heads-up on Sunday. Unless I won, I was rooting for Spencer to repeat. At breakfast we talked poker, we talked payout structure, and we talked BARGE CHORSE teams. We spotted another group of RGPers including J.P. Massar at another table. In addition, Melissa Hayden was at the table next to ours and she tried to recruit us for her CHORSE team. We were all taken. I finished eating and went to the poker area. It was noon, time to get rolling, but The Parade of Nations hadn't even started yet. I snuck over to a pay phone to call my ex-girlfriend, and I actually got to speak to her. I couldn't talk long, of course, but she wished me luck. I hung up to join the parade. A fellow entrant described the grand entrance of players into the tournament area as "foolishness." I watched the foreign players enter behind their respective flags and I thought "foolishness" was harsh. But as I marched in with the hundreds of other players in the American contingent, I couldn't stop from saying out loud, "It's just a poker tournament." I wish I hadn't said it. I want poker to be accepted as a game of skill by the general public. Things like The Parade of Nations, silly or not, should help make that happen. So I now take it back. It was just a poker tournament, but deserving of whatever fanfare the organizers chose to throw at it. My table was right next to the rail, and as I listened to Mike Sexton make his remarks I was surprised at the number of spectators lining the velvet ropes. And the cameras were everywhere. Would I get to make my first television appearance as a poker player? (I had appeared on a local news show as a "chess whiz" when I was in college-it was possibly the most misplaced label ever applied to anyone.) The dealers finally got the instruction to "shuffle up and deal" and my TOC was underway. I didn't recognize anyone at my table, and this was a good thing. My plan was to play tight, especially for the first hour and a half while I learned my opponents. As I folded, the spectators continued to watch from the nearby rail. I wondered how long they would stay before they got bored. The TOC is supposed to be the toughest tournament field of the year. Somehow, the quality of play at my table was dreadful. We had a couple calling stations, one maniac, and a few weak-tighties. All this, and the nine seat hadn't arrived yet, putting dead money into pots. I had received a miracle of an opening table-I only hoped I could take advantage. After about twenty minutes the maniac raised in late position and I looked down at QQ in the small blind. I three-bet, and the maniac immediately made it four bets. This time I just called. I think I checked and called the rest of the way, with the maniac betting every street. When the showdown came, the maniac turned over...QQ! For the second time in two days I had chopped a pot where my opponent and I each held queens (and it was red queens versus black queens both times). After 25 minutes of Hold 'Em, they announced, "We're changing games now, Omaha eight or better for thirty-five minutes." The woman in the six seat asked in a midwestern accent, "What does eight or better mean?" I promise you she was serious. The dealer explained the business about two winners and a low qualifier and the woman nodded. I think she understood, but had never heard the term "eight-or-better" before. Still, who paid $2,000 to enter a poker tournament without knowing the names of the games? The funny thing was that she played like a simple weak-tightie. The maniac and the calling stations at my table were playing much worse. My stack didn't move much for the first hour and a half. I might have been slightly under the T5000 we started with for a few hands, but for the most part I maintained a stack size of about T5400 or so. I loved my table, and I thought my prospects for a productive first day were outstanding. Plus, the nine seat still hadn't shown up. I asked the dealer about this and he said the seat was sold. Two minutes later a tall, dark-haired man decked out in ultimatebet.com gear appeared at our table. And he claimed the nine seat. "Excuse me, we don't want this player," I yelled to the floor. Phil Hellmuth, Jr. smiled. Then he sat down. I mentioned earlier that I had seen the video of Ken "Skyhawk" Flaton's victory at the 1996 U.S. Poker Championships about a million times. Phil Hellmuth, Jr., the 1989 world champion, had been chip leader at the final table in that event, and then tilted away all his chips before Flaton eventually triumphed. My college poker buddies and I can quote from the video almost everything Phil said. "How can you call the reraise? Call the reraise with an ace and a seven!" "Aaaaaah, callin' raises with seven-high! And two threes, they're movin' in with!" "I mean, Skyhawk, we were sittin' here, for ten minutes, waiting for you to start this thing..." I had also heard Phil broadcast many events over the internet during the past year. I knew Phil Hellmuth, from way back when I used to fold jacks under the gun (I started out a weak-tightie). I never thought I would play in a tournament against him. Now he was on my right, in the Tournament of Champions. Phil wasted no time, and before anyone knew what happened his stack of T4000 had become T6500, about what I had. Phil pressed every miniscule, and even nonexistent, advantage. He raised in early position with A8o. He raised in late position just about every time it got folded to him. The maniac raised from the button and Phil three-bet from the big blind. The maniac called and Phil bet the flop dark. The flop came 5-5-2 rainbow and the maniac raised. Phil reraised, the maniac called, and Phil bet the turn dark. The turn was something like a ten, and the maniac called. Phil waited to see the river card before betting again. It was an ace, and Phil did bet. The maniac called and Phil turned over A4s. The maniac had 33. One can only imagine how many chips Phil would have lost if a three had turned up. I said something about how much Phil's stack had grown since he sat down. "I'm just a lucky guy," he said. "Yeah," I said, clear that I didn't believe this. Phil noticed. In stud, Phil entered a pot, and I completed the bet with split queens. I got one cold caller, and Phil called. On fourth street I paired my door card queen, giving me trips. I bet the max and my first opponent folded. Phil thought for a while, and then folded. As I dragged the pot he said, "Raise it." I looked at him, confused. "Just kidding, my cards are in the muck," he said. I thought for a second, then said "I wish you'd said 'raise it.'" "Ha, ha!" Phil said. Maybe I was giving away too much information, but I wanted to get Hellmuth talking. I knew Hellmuth liked to give away information himself, and I needed him to start doing it. I called a raise in Omaha with A367 in the big blind against one of the few decent players at the table. The flop came 652 and I think I check-raised. The turn was something like a king and I bet and got called. The river was a seven. I knew some straights had just come in, and I thought my opponent was on some kind of draw, so I checked. He bet, I called and his A389 took three-quarters of the pot. Hellmuth studied the hands and said, "You checked sevens-up with an ace-trey?" "I got a quarter of the pot, didn't I?" I said. "You must have known something. That was one heck of a check," he said. "Thanks," I said. In retrospect I think my check was lucky. It was far more likely that my opponent had a naked ace-three than some random 864A or 89A3 type hand. I feared the straight my opponent happened to be holding-it's not as though I had a great read or anything. Over the long run, I think I had to bet my hand for value in that spot. But I was happy to take credit for "one heck of a check." Phil continued to press. An Omaha pot was five-handed on the river and Phil was last to act. It got checked to him and he bet. He got two callers, and his nut low took half the pot. For his high, he had only a pair of fives. "Gutsy bet on the river there, Phil," I said. "I was pretty sure I had the only nut low," he said. "The question was, was my pair of fives good enough to win the whole thing?" He raised his eyebrows and nodded. I tried to understand this. He was pretty sure no one else had the nut low, yet he was wondering if his pair of fives could be good for high. So what did he think everyone else had, second nut lows that couldn't beat a pair of fives, even accidentally? To me, the bet made no sense as Hellmuth was in serious danger of being quartered. But as I said, he had been pushing the slimmest of edges. Somewhere around this time a reporter came up to me, recorder in hand, and asked my name, where I was from, and how I qualified. Then he had me smile for his camera and took my picture. I don't know which magazine he was from, but if anyone sees my picture in a poker publication somewhere, please let me know. The guy in the three seat had been enjoying himself, telling bad jokes, playing weak-tight and laughing at the "bad beats" he took. His wife and kids strolled by to check up on him and he said he needed some luck. Then he pointed to Hellmuth and told his kids, "Hey, do you see that man sitting over there? That man is the best poker player in the world." Hellmuth smiled, and looked at the guy's family. Phil's was not a humble smile. He didn't even try to deny the statement. In fact, his body language said, "Yes, that is I. I am the best poker player in the world." When the kids left, Hellmuth was reminded of a family story. "I was playing a tournament and I had my two-year-old on my lap," he said. "I had pocket aces, all-in against Howard Lederer who had pocket jacks. I was ahead all the way until a jack came on the river. I jumped out of my seat and for a second I lost control of my two-year-old and he was airborne. But I caught him and then everything was fine." Our table erupted in laughter. "It was a big pot!" he said. "If I had won it I probably would've won the tournament." "That's great, now we all know the story of how Phil Hellmuth threw his two-year-old after taking a bad beat," I said. "I didn't throw my two-year-old," Phil snapped. "Let's get it right." A stud hand came up that really got Hellmuth going. I had the bring-in with 2-6/2. An aggressive player showing a queen completed the bet. Phil called with a nine, and I (rightly or wrongly) called as well. On fourth, the queen caught a blank, Phil caught a jack, and I caught a six. The queen bet and Phil raised. I looked at his board. Could he have made trip jacks? No way, he would have reraised on third. Could he have made two pair? Again, I thought it impossible for him to have flat-called third street with split nines. No, probably he paired his jack and that was it. He might have started with J-10/9, or A-J/9, but I was almost sure I had him beat. So I reraised. To my surprise, the queen called, and Phil called. Fifth brought blanks all around. Checked to me, I bet, and both players called. "Do you have trips?" Phil asked. "Or just two pair?" On sixth I caught another deuce to make deuces full. No one else caught a pair on board. I bet, and both players folded. "Ahhh!" Hellmuth roared. "Was my hand no good before that?" I said. "No, it was good. Two pair was good," Hellmuth said. "But you were a big dog." "The best hand was an underdog there?" I said. Hellmuth didn't say anything for a few seconds. Finally he burst out. "I'm not saying any more about it, that's fine. I'm trying to help you out, and you go making a wise comment, so that's it. Nice hand." "I didn't make a wise comment," I said. Some more time went by, and I added, "you don't have to say anything else, but I didn't make a wise comment." "Didn't you say something like, 'the best hand is an underdog?'" Phil said. "It wasn't a wise comment Phil, I was legitimately asking you. I don't know the odds for that situation, is the best hand an underdog there?" "Oh yeah, big dog. I mean you gotta figure you're up against queens over there and jacks over here, at least." Well, at most, actually. "Right," I said. "So you're a big dog, I wouldn't have played your hand the way you did, I'll tell you that." "Really?" "I would've three-bet fourth, for sure," he said. "But I would've checked on fifth." This was utter nonsense. Phil Hellmuth hadn't checked anything resembling a hand all day. And now he wanted me to believe he would've checked two pair on fifth street in a multi-way pot. It didn't matter, I had won my victory, and by that I mean I still had Phil talking. But the pot was nice too. A few hands later I had split queens and completed the bet. The weak-tight player whose family had visited thought for a while with a king showing. Another king was out there, and eventually he folded. By sixth I had made queens up and I won uncontested. As I dragged the pot, the weak tight player said, "Yeah, I didn't want to play my kings there." I looked at him. "You folded split kings?" I said. "Yeah, one of my kings was dead and if you catch an ace I don't know where I am." I labelled him weak tight, didn't I? At this point Hellmuth woke up. "What did you fold?" he said. "He says he folded split kings," I said. "What? Oh, I tell you, if that had been me, I would have punished his ass," he said, meaning my ass. "I would have punished his ass, no question." "They weren't good by the end," I said. "They weren't good?" Phil said, incredulous. "By the end," I said. "Oh..." and Phil grumbled something I couldn't make out. I think I had tilted him. I got another queen, the high door card, and I raised Phil's bring-in with 77 in the hole. (My sevens were live.) Everyone folded to Hellmuth, who flat-called. On fourth we both caught blanks. I bet and he called. On fifth I caught a blank, and Phil caught one of my sevens. I wanted Phil to prove he had a hand, so I bet again. "Raise it," Phil said, firing two big bets into the pot. Something smelled bad. He had three babies on board, had flat-called until fifth, and then popped me. "Alright Phil, nice hand," I said as I mucked. "What!!!!!" Phil screamed as he flipped over his pocket aces. "You didn't have the queen?" "No, just a pocket pair," I said. Phil nodded. For the next orbit or two at least, Phil would be tormented by players other than me. Phil had raised third with Q-A/Q and it developed into a multiway pot. He bet fourth and got called only by the "what's eight or better" woman. She caught an ace on fifth and Phil caught a baby. Her board looked something like J6A. Now first to act, she bet right out. Hellmuth studied her, confused. Then he said, "OK, I just have the queens with the ace." He showed his hand, and mucked it. She turned over her hole cards-something like J10, definitely not a hand that could beat queens. "I thought it was good," she said. "I've seen him on TV." Hellmuth looked as though he'd just witnessed a death by shark attack. "Well that's it, you'll never bluff me again," he said to her. "I'm calling you down from now on, no more bluffing for you." The woman didn't know how the process of breaking tables worked (if this surprises you, remember she also didn't know what "eight or better" meant). When told we would all probably be at the same table for a while, she said, "You mean we have to play with Phil the whole time?" On another hand, Phil had made it three bets on sixth street against a single opponent. Then, in a surprise to everyone, including Phil, he checked the river. His opponent bet and Phil just called. The opponent had something silly like two pair. Phil had nines full of sixes and dragged the pot. "Look at this, they've got me checking and calling with full houses now!" Hellmuth yelled. Yeah, how did we manage to do that? On one of the last hands before a break, the woman from the earlier confrontation with Phil bet the entire way. True to his word, Phil called her all the way down. On the river, she turned over some monster hand that beat Phil by about a light year. And during the break I overheard him telling the story of how he checked and called with a full house. I went back to my room and left Russell a message on his home phone. "Russell," I said. "I just wanted to let you know that I've got Phil Hellmuth on tilt at the Tournament of Champions. Give me a call back if you feel like it." After the break, Phil returned to his routine of raising many a Hold 'Em hand. When it got folded to Hellmuth on the button, he raised it once again. I looked down at AJo in the small blind. "Reraise," I said as I slid more chips forward. The big blind folded and Hellmuth called. The flop came J-9-2 rainbow. "Bet," I said. "Raise," Hellmuth said. Hmmmm. I had three-bet him before the flop, which I don't think anyone had done yet. Then I bet out on the flop and he still raised me. And I thought he considered me a dangerous opponent. So he was representing an overpair. I didn't come to the TOC to get into a raising war with a world champion who was representing a bigger hand. But I also hadn't come to let Phil Hellmuth push me off top pair-top kicker. I flat-called, thinking that if I were ahead, he was drawing slim and I would probably make more money by letting him continue to bet. And if I were behind, I'd lose the least by checking and calling, since I had no intention of folding. The turn was a blank, maybe a four. I checked. Phil bet. I called. The river was another deuce, giving me jacks up, my RGP screen name. "Check, Phil," I said. He threw another bet into the pot. "Call, Phil," I said. "Good call," he said. I flipped my hand over and took the pot. And then came the tirade. "Aaaaaahhhhh! Now we're playing this game! Now we're playing this game! Three-betting me and calling me down...I think we're gonna play some pots, yeah I have a feeling you and I are gonna play some pots! I'm gonna have aces and you're gonna call me down with ace-high." "If you do that, it would be a great play," I said. "They always call me down with ace-high, makes the game easier." "I imagine it would." "Good hand, ace-jack. I had king-queen," he said. I nodded, but didn't respond. I also didn't think he played it particularly well, if he did have KQ (I later learned he didn't have KQ, but that's a story for Part V), especially if he thought I would call him down with ace-high. After an orbit, it got folded to Phil in the small blind and he raised. I had a hand I didn't want to play in the big blind, so I folded it. "You should three-bet," Phil said. "It's good strategy." He then flipped over AQo. "It was gonna be four bets that time," he said. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be scared by that. I was actually glad he had decided to start four-betting me out of position with AQo. It was great news! It didn't matter, though. The floorman soon came over to our table and asked the dealer to high card a player. "Anybody rooting for anyone?" Hellmuth said, staring at me. He didn't get the response he'd intended. "Yeah, you Phil," the woman who'd taken two pots from him said. "You're all going," the floorman said. It was sad but true. They were breaking our table-my beautiful fishy table where I had position on the only troublesome opponent. And I had him on tilt. As we got up to find our new seats, I walked over to Hellmuth. "Phil," I said and he turned to me. "I really enjoyed it," I said, shaking his hand. He just smiled. When I moved to my new table I had about T9000 in chips-great shape. But five hands at the new table convinced me that my miracle was, indeed, over. Only one player even resembled a calling station. Then there was one weak-tight player. And that was it. There would not be nearly as many spots to grab chips. The best strategy would probably have been to play uber-tight for the last few hours until day one ended and they redrew the tables. Instead, I lost two pots (don't remember how, probably steals gone bad) and was down to about T6000. I'd spent all day gathering chips only to lose a third of them on a couple hands. I remember thinking I'd made reasonable plays, but they were plays I didn't need to make at that stage of the tournament. By the last break I was down to about T4500. With the blinds at 150 and 300 and the betting at 300-600, I almost needed start taking chances for chips. During the break (it might have been an earlier break, but it's really not relevant), John Bonnetti was having a conversation with a buddy in the tournament area. As part of the conversation, Bonnetti used the word "fuck." A floorman interrupted their chat by screaming out, "John, get to the rail you've got ten minutes!" Bonnetti protested that it was a break, but the floorman went on, "you're in the tournament area, you said the word, you've got ten minutes!" You could probably guess what I think of the automatic ten minutes for profanity rule, but I'll tell you anyway-I think it's ridiculous. This was at least Bonnetti's second such penalty of the tournament. They seemed to be watching him more closely than most. Break ended. Throughout the TOC I had this wonderful habit of coming back from break and getting a monster in my first or second hand. The last break of day one was no exception. On one of the first hands, a tournament pro named Warren Karp who had been gambling with a small stack raised from the cutoff. The button cold-called, and I looked down at pocket kings in the small blind. Earlier in the day I would have raised with no hesitation. But now I was trying to accumulate some chips, and I wanted some deception. So I smooth-called. The big blind called behind me. "Jeez, did anybody call?" Warren said. The flop came three small cards and a two flush. I checked, figuring one of the three players must have improved on the flop and I could get a check-raise in. Then all three players checked behind me. The turn brought the third flush card. I had trapped myself. But I bet...and all folded. "I probably would have won it with a bet on the flop," the big blind said. I tried not to laugh. At least I had him completely fooled, even if I only won one bet from him. As the hand played out, I probably would have made more money if I'd reraised pre-flop. That's what I should have done. It builds a pot, so the late position players will be tied to the hand if they flop anything. If my aim was to take a chance to grab some chips-and it was-reraising was, I believe, the best play. But I did win some chips, and now my stack was out of danger. I planned to play it cool the rest of the night, just stealing blinds and antes here and there. The problem was that steals can be expensive. In stud, four players had folded to the bring-in, a weak-tight player (in fact, the guy who finished tenth in my super satellite), and I raised with next to nothing (I don't remember what, probably just the highest door card), hoping to pick up the bring-in and antes. An opponent on my left called, and the bring-in called. Fourth brought no apparent help to anyone. I bet, and both players called again. On fifth I caught a king and my opponents called blanks, but I was done bluffing this multi-way pot. I checked, and both opponents checked behind me. On sixth street I caught open kings, the guy on my left caught a blank, and weak-tight caught a spade for three spades on board. Now I bet, because I thought it likely I had the best hand and I didn't want to give my opponents a free river. The guy on my left called...and weak-tight raised all-in. Oh, no. He must have made his flush. Furious at myself for pushing this hand, and not so happy to be staring at a flush, I whipped my cards face down and sent all six airborne into the muck. As I did so, Dave Rabbi (who was at the table but not in the hand) nodded at me. "You think you missed a bet?" Warren said quietly. "Don't beat yourself up, he would have called fifth street anyway." The other clown called-he had a low pair and a straight draw (how I didn't get more chips from this guy I don't know). Weak-tight, of course, had his flush. Someone asked the other player how he could have called. "I didn't think he had the flush," he said. "I did," I muttered. "Me too," Dave Rabbi said. "The guy hasn't bet without the nuts yet," Warren said. I congratulated my opponent on getting even with me for the night before. I'm not sure he understood me, or remembered who I was. Regardless, I was down to T4000 in chips. We only had about 15 minutes before we finished for the day. I couldn't believe I would end the day shortstacked after being in fine chip position for 11 hours. It appeared my stack would dwindle some more when I got the bring-in with a four as my door card. I threw in my T100 and then looked at my hole cards...pocket fours. I was rolled up. All folded to an aggressive player to my immediate right, who raised. I flat-called, hoping to turn this into a big pot. I check-raised fourth, as I wanted to both disguise and protect my hand. My opponent called. He caught a card that might have given him a flush draw on fifth, but I caught I high card. I bet and he called. By sixth street he might have had a straight draw, a flush draw, or both. He called my bet again. The river gave me no help. I still had the same trip fours. I thought my opponent could easily have a small two pair, so I value bet. He thought for a while, and then mucked his hand. A few hands later day one was over. I had T6600 in chips-no monster stack, but 50 percent more than I'd had 20 minutes earlier. Still buzzing from my rolled-up trips, and "knowing" I would be at a different table the next day, I spoke to the guy on my right. "You know I had rolled-up fours that last hand." "Mmm, I had a big draw," he said. "A flush draw and a straight draw." "Yeah, I figured you were drawing, I was just hoping to fill on the end." "Did you?" Warren said, butting in. I shook my head. "And you bet the river anyway?" "Yeah, was that a bad bet?" I said. "Horrible," he said. "Really?" I said. "I thought there were a lot of worse hands he might call me with." "Is that really how you want to end your tournament? Throwing in your last six hundred against a guy who might have drawn out on you?" Technically, it wasn't my last six hundred, as I would have had a (very) few chips remaining even if he had raised me. "Yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "The bet makes sense in a ring game, but not in a tournament." "Absolutely," he said. "The idea in stud is to make them pay on sixth and check it down on seventh. Unless you have the nuts. Or if you don't have anything." And he was, absolutely, correct. I had made a hideous value bet for the situation. Sure, I might have squeezed out another 600 if he had caught some weird two pair, but the risk of losing 1200 (most of my stack) if he had made his draw was far too great. I vowed not to make the same mistake the next day. The floor personnel passed out plastic bags and labels. We were responsible for counting out our chips, writing our chip count on the label, and sticking it on the bag. It was a labor of love. A floorman came by and verified my stack. I then put the chips in the bag and another floorman sealed and stapled it shut with about 15 staples across the top. It was cool. John was waiting for me outside the poker room. He congratulated me on getting through the day, and introduced me to his buddy Louis, who also plays regularly at Foxwoods. Louis was still in the tournament, and he said he'd had 30,000 in chips at one point (the chip leader didn't even have that many). On the way back to the room John told me Louis was the nicest guy you'll ever meet, but one of the wildest card players. I'd find that out myself the next day. I got back to the room and left my ex a message. She called back within two minutes (she had been in the shower or something, remember it was morning in Oxford). I gave her the good news (that I was still in it) and the bad news (that I was somewhat shortstacked). Then I cut the conversation short to shut my eyes and collapse. Saturday, July 28 Before I flew to Vegas, I told my friends my goal was to reach day two of the TOC. So if I'd been on a freeroll the day before, then Saturday morning felt like playing for the bracelet after you've already made a deal. Between sleeping, showering, calling the family, and eating breakfast, I was running late. When I got to the poker area I had time only to check my seat assignment and find my seat. I did, and my chips were there waiting for me in their plastic bag. I ripped it open and counted my stack. I still had T6600. I looked to my left and laughed as I greeted my opponent there. It was the guy from the rolled-up fours hand the night before. I should have thought twice before telling me what I'd had Then the player to my right spoke up. "Matt, how you doing?" he said. "Good, good," I said, trying to place him. "You remember me, right? Louis!" "Yeah, yeah, how are you?" "Good, funny we're at the same table, huh?" It was funny. It might also mean good things for my stack size. If Louis was as loose as John said, I should get chances to pick up a few chips, as I had perfect position on him. Louis got involved in pots early, usually for a raise. He seemed to be playing like a maniac, just as John had suggested. But he wasn't turning over total junk-I think he had at least ace-queen every time. So I had him pegged as a loose player, but as someone who wouldn't raise without some kind of hand, when he raised in early position. I looked down at pocket eights. There was a decent chance Louis had an overpair, but if I flopped a set on him I knew he would pay me forever. I thought I could outplay him after the flop, and I needed to take a chance to get some chips. So I cold-called the T800. The small blind cold-called as well and we took the flop three-handed. It came...8-6-5 with two to a flush. Oh baby. The small blind checked, Louis bet, and I raised (no sense letting the flush or a 7 draw cheap; besides, Louis would pay me off, or even reraise). The small blind made it three bets! Louis, of course, called. I made it four bets. Both of my opponents called. The turn, I believe, was a ten. Checked to me and I bet. The small blind folded!? Louis called and said, "I need the river." "Good luck," I said. My plan was to check behind him if a 4, 9, or a flush card came. Anything else I would value bet. The river came 5, giving me eights full. Louis checked and I bet. He called, and my hand beat Louis's pocket queens. I had vaulted to almost 14,000 in chips, completely out of danger. I didn't let myself look past the next few levels, but I was content with my new position. At the first break I told myself not to get involved in too many confrontations-to protect my stack. But that, as usual, didn't happen. Instead I won another big hand. I don't remember what it was. I had a flush against trips in stud at one point so that could have been it. During that hand I checked the river when I knew my opponent had been drawing for the boat, avoiding my mistake of a day earlier. By the next break I had around T22,000. Then I really did go into stack maintenance mode. I played tight for the next few hours, until the blinds got to be just enough where I needed to steal them every once in a while. I picked up A-Q-Q-8 in late position in Omaha. It got folded to me and I raised, hoping just to take the blinds. The small blind, a loose player, and a lunatic besides, called, and the big blind folded. Even though my hand was no monster, I didn't mind the call so much. The flop came J-9-3 with two spades and the lunatic bet right out. I raised, thinking my queens were likely good. The lunatic called. The turn brought the king of spades. The lunatic looked at his hole cards, and then bet. Wasn't this interesting? I knew he didn't have a real flush or he wouldn't have needed to check his hole cards. He might have been betting a baby flush, but he might have been betting a pair of jacks. This player had earlier value bet me on the river twice without being able to beat a pocket pair. I knew he was capable of having nothing. Crazy as it may have seemed to the casual observer of my hole cards, I called. The river was a ten and now I had to call his bet with my broadway. "I just have a small flush," he said, turning over the 5-2 of spades with I believe a jack and some random card. "Unfortunately, that's good," I said, and mucked my hand. If I could have replayed one hand in the tournament, this would have been it. Sure, my opponent could have been bluffing, but there were way too many ways he could have been bluffing with the best hand (which was essentially what he had done). Most importantly, I didn't urgently need chips during that hand. Now I did. The blinds went up to T500 and T1,000 for the last level before dinner. I picked up KT on the button. It was folded to me and I raised. The small blind, a player I had pegged as weak-tight, reraised. The big blind folded and I called. The flop came A-T-4 and the small blind bet. I decided to find out how much he liked his hand and raised. I found out he didn't like his hand. He groaned and muttered and looked frightened. Then he called. The turn was a blank and he checked. I felt pretty certain he had a pocket pair of picture cards. Normally if I put my opponent on a big pair I would not try to move him off it. But this player was weak, and I really didn't think he wanted to call T2000 with a pair of jacks here. So I bet. The player thought for a minute. Then he showed me A8...and folded. Weak tight, indeed. I nodded, dragged the pot, and shot my cards into the muck. If the AQQ8 was the hand I want back, then this hand was the difference between a good tournament and an OK tournament. Later my opponent asked me if I'd had an ace. "You gotta pay to see 'em," I said. "Oh, OK," he said. "I was just wondering if I made a good fold." I let him keep wondering, planning to tell him after the tournament that his fold was not good, but terrible (I would have phrased it differently). By dinner break there were about 90 players left out of 402 that had started the tournament, and 201 that had started day two. 45 would finish in the money, and get at least $4,000 for their trouble. John, even though he hadn't played the event, snuck into the lounge for the players' complimentary buffet, yielding to the peer pressure I'd applied. We didn't talk much strategy, just enjoyed the food and grabbed free hats from Planet Poker. The day before Planet Poker had given me a free t-shirt; but I'd also given them twenty bucks in exchange for Mike Caro's Book of Tells. "Kamikaze is still in, surprisingly," John said. "Kamikaze" was John's name for a guy who was apparently a maniac's maniac. "Huh," I said. I wasn't in immediate chip danger after dinner, and I didn't get involved too much during the first Hold 'Em round. I did get to spend some time watching two new players at my table. One was a guy two to my right named Freddy, who played a wildly loose-aggressive game. The other was four or five seats to my left. He was the man John called Kamikaze. Kamikaze raised with about 40 percent of his hands. He always did it with a sneer, and he was always really upset when his flush draw didn't get there or when his hand was no good or when anything at all didn't go his way. I was still in fine shape when we moved to Omaha, where I picked up A4KJ with a suited ace. I raised, and got called by Kamikaze (who could have had anything) and a loose player in the big blind. The flop came K72 with two of my suit. The loose player bet, I raised, Kamikaze called two cold (I actually liked this call), but the loose player reraised. The loose player was overly aggressive, but not a maniac. I couldn't think of a hand he'd be reraising with besides a set. The other possibility was the nut flush draw, but I had that in my hand. I flat-called and so did Kamikaze. The turn brought an offsuit jack, which gave me top two pair. The loose player bet out and I just called, still feeling I needed a flush card, a king, or maybe a jack to win high. I thought any low card other than a four would give me the low. I prayed for a flush card three on the river, but instead I got an offsuit six. The loose player bet and I called with my second nut low. Kamikaze overcalled. The loose player turned over KKxx-the nut high on the flop which was still the nut high on the river. I turned over my ace-four and Kamikaze looked, disgusted, at his hand. This was beautiful, I would get half of a monster pot and I would be in great shape. But then Kamikaze turned his cards over, and he had an ace-four! It was the most painful slowroll of my life. Instead of getting half the pot, I would get a quarter of it. Since I was nearly all-in after calling the river, my stack would be about half as large as it would have been had Kamikaze held A5xx. This pot started a downward trend and my chips were bleeding away. By the next break we were down to only about 55 people, but I was shortstacked. I would need to make some kind of move or I was certain to be eliminated just out of the money. I saw Phil Hellmuth, who was himself still very much in the tournament, and without preface I said, "I'm shortstacked." "How much do you have?" he said. "About 14 thousand," I said. He nodded. He knew, as I did, that I was in trouble. When we returned from break the game was Hold 'Em and the blinds were T1,000 and T2,000. I couldn't expect to receive a big hand right after every break ended, so I figured I'd have to pick a blind to go after. The first hand was dealt and I looked down at QQ in early position. The break gods hadn't abandoned me yet. "Raise," I said, and all folded to Freddy in the big blind. He started thinking. That he was thinking got me praying for a call. This man would have called instantly with any kind of hand, so I knew he had nothing. He seemed about to fold and I did my best to appear nervous. Maybe it worked, because he threw another T1,000 into the pot. The flop came jack-high with two rags. Freddy checked, I bet, and Freddy raised. I reraised, and Freddy made a short reraise all-in. I couldn't believe Freddy was all-in already because when he had sat at our table he had at least twice as many chips as I did. I knew he had been playing like an idiot, but I hadn't realized how much it had cost him. We turned our hands up and he had J5s. The flop didn't contain a five, or a flush draw. No jack or five came to save him. Freddy was out, and I had moved back up to T20,000. On the other side of the table, Kamikaze had lost some big pots and was down to a little over three stacks of twenty T100 chips. When he had sat down he had maybe three times as many chips as Freddy had, a mountain. Since he'd lost them he seemed unsure of where he was. Kamikaze didn't know any way to play except raise, raise, raise. He still tried to raise every once in a while and even survived some confrontations, but I knew his chips weren't long for the tournament. I waited for a slightly better than average hand to take against him and go for his remaining chips. Sure enough, I picked up ATo in late position on Kamikaze's big blind. I raised, all folded to him and he called immediately. I was pretty sure he had at least two cards, but the dealer might only have given him one. The flop came QJ2 and Kamikaze bet right out. I raised and Kamikaze made a short reraise all-in. I called and we flipped the cards over. He had KT. The straight draw was Kamikaze's only out as a king would give me broadway. None of his seven outs (I had one of his aces) came and I had busted not one, but two lunatics. And we were down to 50 players. The scene as we approached the money was chaos. As the 50th, 49th, and 48th place finishers were eliminated, more and more players would go to the floorman to make sure of the situation. There was one guy who must have asked how many players were left every two minutes. I know, because he was at my table and sitting in my seat. Many top players were still alive, and most had big stacks. Hellmuth had a big stack, Scotty Nguyen had a big stack, and T.J. Cloutier had a big stack after starting the day with under T2000. Chris Ferguson was hanging in with the shortest stack of anyone. My buddy Steve Kaufman was also around with a short stack. Maybe his super satellite strategy differed from his big buy-in tournament strategy. Daniel Negreanu and John Bonnetti each had monster stacks earlier in the day, but both were eliminated just a few spots away from the money. As Bonnetti left the poker room, he vowed never to play another tournament at The Orleans. When the 47th place finisher busted, the action stopped and it was time to go hand for hand. For the uninitiated, this meant that each of the six tables would start dealing a hand at the same time, and they wouldn't deal another hand until every table had finished the first one. When I play a tournament I play to win, not sneak into the money. This time, however, a part of me was praying for a hand to fold every time I looked at my cards. Perhaps to ease the tension, tournament host Mike Sexton announced which nations were still alive for the international trophy, awarded to the country represented by the foreigner who places highest in the event. When Sexton finished, Scotty Nguyen yelled, "What about Vietnam?" Sexton explained that in order to be eligible for the international trophy, a nation had to have a card room that hosted poker tournaments. Scotty's home country was thus ineligible. As the agony of hand-for-hand went on, Scotty jumped from his chair, his trademark Michelob in hand, and said, "Anybody want to go to Vietnam for a tournament?" At one point I tried to steal some blinds, but I got caught by a player with chips and I had become a true short stack. It wasn't a crisis situation yet. I figured I'd wait until someone got knocked out, which had to happen soon, and then start gambling for some chips. Except after about 25 minutes of hand-for-hand play, the only players who had gone all-in had held monster hands (or at least winners) and we weren't any closer to the money than we had been after losing player 47. The tournament director got on the microphone and said, "There has been a proposal that we stop playing hand-for-hand and instead return to normal dealing. Does anyone object to this?" If he had taken a closed ballot vote, I'm sure several people would have preferred to continue hand-for-hand. But it's one thing to cast a private vote, and another thing to raise one's hand as the lone objector when 45 other players seem unified against you. Incidentally, I would not have objected even in a closed ballot vote. I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. No one raised a hand in objection and the director asked, incredulous, "No one objects to this?" Still no hands. "OK, then dealers, shuffle up and deal normally." Our dealer, a young, chubby guy from Kentucky, said as he shuffled, "Man, imagine that guy who finishes 46th?" I glared at him. "Imagine him?" I said. "You're looking at him." I believed it too. I'd been telling myself all day that I would finish 46th. I would take some risk to pick up chips when everyone else was playing tight and I would get knocked out by a big stack playing sheriff. I knew it would come to pass. But I forced myself to unknow it as I folded hand after hand. As more time went on, a 46th place finish for me seemed even more likely. First, at the table behind me, Chris Ferguson had been forced to go all in with some lousy Omaha hand that happened to contain a deuce. On the flop he was drawing next to dead, but the turn and river both came deuce, and Jesus's trip deuces kept him alive. Then, Steve Kaufman went all-in with a pair of eights in stud. He was against aces up. As the river card was dealt, one of the many players standing by to watch the action raised his arm in anticipation, but Kaufman caught one of two eights in the deck to remain in the tournament. I heard these stories third or fourth hand, moments after they happened. The "normal" dealing did allow more hands to be played, but it only increased the madness. Every time a player went all-in, half the players from the other tables would jump up to watch the action. Every time they would return to their tables, disappointed that we still had 46 players left. "We've got a player all-in over here," the table in front of me announced. "He probably has the nuts," a player yelled from another table. I don't think he had the nuts, but he survived. Eventually the director had to announce that all players were to remain in their seats until we knocked out one more person. It was that much of a mess. By this time the T400 ante had taken a chunk from my already small stack. I realized that if I didn't go for some chips soon, I would have almost no chance of winning the tournament, even if I did sneak into the money. I decided, as I knew I eventually would, to go for some chips, one away from the money or not. I got a 4 of clubs as my door card and I had the bring-in. I looked at my hole cards-the queen and ten of clubs. Two other queens were out there, so although one of my overcards was not so live, it was also unlikely that either of the players with queens was paired up. The only other big card out there was an ace. And I hadn't played a hand in an hour. And everyone had heard me whining about how I didn't want to finish 46th. So I brought it in for a full bet, thinking there was a good chance I would pick up the antes and my own forced bet. The queens did fold...but the ace raised. OK, the play didn't work. But my clubs were live (I think there was one other one out there), and I was getting about 6 to 1 on a call. I decided to see fourth street, and go to the river if it was a club. Fourth street came, the ace caught a baby, and I caught the six of clubs. Lord, this was everything. I couldn't get away from the hand now. All my chips would go in, and I would finish one out of the money just as I knew I would. The ace bet and I called, knowing I didn't have enough chips to raise my opponent off his hand. The dealer burned a card and tossed me the most beautiful three of clubs I've ever seen. For all I know, my exhalation was audible. My opponent bet his T4,000 and I didn't bother to make a short raise all-in. It went in on sixth anyway when my opponent had a pair of fours showing to go with his ace. I was all-in for the first time in the tournament and my angry opponent had pocket sixes. I stood up and waited. I had one of his sixes and one of his fours, but that still left him with two outs-two more than my heart could take. Mike Sexton came to the table as the river card was dealt. "OK, he needs a six or four," he said, obviously rooting for the card to come. I didn't blame him as we had been at 46 players for about 45 minutes, but it didn't endear him to me either. The dealer put out the river cards and my opponent was still muttering about the flush (out of curiosity, what hand did he give me on fifth that he could beat?). I guess he thought that when someone else has a flush it's a good idea to take your time sweating your card, because that's what he did. He sat there for what seemed like hours without touching his river card. I thought I would have an aneurysm if he didn't turn it over soon, so finally I yelled out, "Sir, please turn the card over!" He did...and it was a deuce. I had doubled up. And before we even finished our next hand, two players at other tables (one of whom was Ferguson) busted and would split the $4,000 45th place prize. I collapsed in my seat. It was over. I hadn't finished 46 th. The kind directors gave us a break, and I walked over to the rail where John and Beth Even were waiting. When I get a hug from Beth it's usually because I just busted out of an RGE event, so this was the best Beth hug I'd ever received. Spencer Sun and Bill Chen soon joined us and I told the story of my flushing hand. Bill agreed that I had to see the river once I made a four-flush on fourth. I liked hearing that. I called my parents to give them the good news. Then I got a call from a buddy of mine who happened to be one of my investors, and happened to be in Vegas. I gave him the good news as well, and told him to take a cab to The Orleans so we could meet up after the day's action. He said he would, but he never did. As the break was ending I asked Spencer if he had any advice. "How many chips do you have?" he said. "About 22 thousand." "And what are the blinds and antes?" "Right now we're anteing 400 and the bring-in is 600, but then we'll be moving up to Hold 'Em with blinds of 1,000 and 3,000." He thought. "See the problem is you're a medium stack," he said. "Yeah, so what do you think?" "If you want to steal, do it in stud, there's more value," he said. "And if you get shortstacked, pick a hand you like and go all-in with it." It sounded good to me. We redrew seats for the final five tables. As we did, the directors announced, "Congratulations players, you have all qualified for next year's Tournament of Champions." "I'll be here," I yelled out. I hope I keep my word. As far as I remember, only one of the players from my old table was at my new one. It was the loose-aggressive player who had the set of kings in that Omaha hand. He was now to my immediate left. Quickly I got dealt an ace for a doorcard, and after four or five players folded, I looked down at 88 in the hole. I raised, and my friend to my left called. The rest of the field, including the bring-in, folded. On fourth I caught a king and my friend caught a blank. I bet and he called. At this point I was ready to shut it down if I didn't improve-but I did improve. On fifth I caught another king and my opponent caught a blank that was suited with his door card. I bet and he called again. I now felt strongly that he had a flush draw, because I was representing aces up and he wasn't folding. But he was a loose player, and he might have just been calling me down with two small pair. On sixth street I caught a blank...and my friend caught a third card in his suit. I checked, and he bet. I thought my hand was too good to fold against a player like this, and I called quickly. Did I have to call? The pot was laying me 7 to 1, but if I would face a bet on the river my effective odds were 4 to 1. There was probably at least a 20 percent chance I had the best hand, plus a small chance that I would improve (though one of my eights was dead). And I would still have about T6,000 left if I called twice. I think I had to call. At the same time, the hand I thought most likely for him was a flush, and this wasn't a ring game. I do believe in throwing pot odds out the window when tournament survival is at stake. It was a close decision. At the very least, I don't like that I decided so quickly. The river brought me an ace, which was a very slight improvement that couldn't possibly have given me the best hand if I was behind on sixth. I checked again, and my opponent bet. I called (this was forced after I called sixth). As you probably guessed by now, he did have the flush, and my three pair were worthless. I looked up at Spencer, who had been watching from the rail, and he shrugged his shoulders. A few hands later a player immediately left of the bring-in completed the bet with an 8 showing. I had split queens and I reraised after everyone folded to me. The bring-in folded, the eight called, and fourth brought no help to either of us. I checked, looking to keep some chips if by some miracle this got checked all the way and my queens were no good. But my opponent bet and I called all-in. We turned the cards over and he had split eights. "Oh, you had the queens," he said. No, you idiot, I reraised an early position player, pot-committing myself and risking elimination from the Tournament of Champions, without a queen in the hole. On fifth I was still ahead, but sixth brought him a third eight, and I was drawing mighty slim. I looked up and shook my head. I think they caught my expression on camera. The dealer dealt seventh and my opponent turned his card over first to see if he filled. He hadn't, so I still had a shot. Usually when I'm all-in in a stud tournament, I take my time sweating the river. But I didn't hold out much hope for this card so I looked at it quickly. It was a good card, and it gave me two pair. But that didn't beat trips. So, after twenty-two hours of poker, I was out of the TOC. I wish I remembered more of the hands, and I wish I remembered more about the ones I do remember. Still, some of the images-Phil flipping over his aces after I folded a queen, Dave Rabbi nodding when I folded my open kings, a weak-tight opponent revealing and mucking his A8, Kamikaze's face each and every time he raised, my blessed three of clubs on fifth street-might as well be photographs, as they will never go away. I walked away from the table and Mike Sexton shook my hand, saying something about how I had done well to recover from my all-in and finish in the money. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. I'm very glad I didn't. I walked to a table where I had to produce my driver's license. I'd been paranoid the entire trip because my driver's license still has my previous address on it, and the worrier in me thought this would somehow keep me from getting paid. But when I pointed out that I had a new address, no one cared, and I was handed 40 $100 bills. When I got to the rail, Spencer greeted me. "You had the best of it both times," he said. "Would you have called sixth street on that one hand?" I asked. "Yeah, in fact I might have bet sixth," Spencer said. Had I bet sixth, could I have folded to a raise? Doubtful-a bet probably would have cost me another T4,000. I decided not to think about it. I was done thinking for a while. Spencer, though, relayed the hand to Bill Chen and the two of them went on discussing it as I walked ahead with John and Beth. At some point Greg "Fossilman" Raymer joined, and the six of us went downstairs for ice cream. On the way down I woke my parents and gave them the bad news. I also called my friend to tell him he'd doubled his investment. When the group had arranged itself in the ice cream shoppe, we ate, talked BARGE, talked TOC, and talked poker in general. Trying to describe some hypothetical for us, Greg said, "Let's say the six of us are playing poker-" "Wait a minute," I said. "Why aren't the six of us playing poker?" We all realized it was ridiculous that we weren't, so Spencer and I went back to the cage and bought four racks of white chips. We proceeded to carry them out of the poker area, down the escalators, through the casino, to the elevators, and down the ugly hallway to Bill Chen's room. There we were joined by Mike "Oz" Osborne for a $10 buy-in No Limit Hold 'Em tournament. The competition was much tougher than anything I had faced during two days of the TOC. There wasn't even a comparison. As one might expect, I was sapped of poker fortitude. So I found bizarre and original ways to move my chips. Spencer raised in early position and I looked down at 33 on the big blind after all had folded. "I'll call," I said. "Aiyah!" Spencer said. The flop came with three rags and I bet out. "Oh fine," Spencer said, folding. "I just had a pocket pair," I said. "How big?" Spencer said. Not as big as yours, Spencer, not as big as yours. But that was the only hand I played well. I reraised Greg with 65s hoping he was stealing. He wasn't, but I managed to double up somehow. Then I tried to steal myself with 85o and Oz said, "You're pot stuck," and put all his chips in. I was so intrigued by the comment, and so tired from playing two straight days of TOC poker, that I had to call. Oz had some big ace and it was plenty good by the end. Beth, watching from the rail, said, "how did that happen?" I wish I could tell you, Beth. I still finished third. While waiting endlessly for Oz and Greg to finish their heads-up duel (one would have thought these guys were playing for a bracelet), I noticed a sheet with the day two chip positions in Bill's room. I learned I had been in 129th chip position out of 201 players entering day two. Huh. When Oz finally busted Greg I said my goodnights and went back to the room. I called my ex-girlfriend and got the machine. "Hey, I'm out of the tournament. I finished 39th, which is in the money, so I guess that's good. I'm going to sleep, I'll talk to you tomorrow." And sleep I did. Sunday, July 29 I got up no earlier than two and checked the messages on my cell phone. One was from my dad-congratulations. The other was from my ex-another congratulations. Her exact words were, "that's fucking phenomenal." I called everyone back and then took a shower. A week's worth of laundry had piled up and I went to Bell Services to deal with that. "Can I help you?" the attendant said. "Yes, I'd like to do some laundry." "OK, let me get the price list for you." He brought out a sheet with prices for dry cleaning jackets, dress shirts, and the like. "Sorry," I said. "I'm just trying to do a load of laundry, is that price on here?" "Um, let me check," he said. Check? Didn't he know? Did no one do laundry there? "Yeah," he said when he got back, "see those prices down there, for t-shirt and jeans and stuff? That's for laundry." I looked down. T-shirt, $4. Pants, $6. "So wait, that's $4 per t-shirt?" the guy nodded. "To do laundry?" I said. He nodded again. So that was why no one did laundry there. "If you want there's a laundromat right down the street." That was helpful, but I wasn't going down there carrying six thousand bucks in my wallet. I decided to do it the next day, after finding a better place for my cash. "OK, thanks," I said. I carried my laundry back to my room, and returned to the poker room to check out the action at the final three tables. It took a minute to find a decent spot on the rail. When I did I concentrated on the action. The game on day three is No Limit Hold 'Em-my favorite (along with everyone else's). Everyone folded to the cutoff, who limped in. He probably has aces, I thought. It got folded to the big blind, who checked. Good move, I thought, don't put any money in until you can beat aces-punish this clown for giving away his hand. The flop came with three babies. The big blind checked and the cutoff made a miniscule bet, very close to the minimum. The big blind thought and called. I still liked the big blind's play-he would make some serious money off the aces if he hit something. The turn was another, different rag and the big blind checked again. The cutoff made another tiny bet and this time the big blind check-raised for about four times as much. Beautiful, I thought, he's got the aces beat and now he'll get paid. And the cutoff did call. The river came and the big blind checked. Huh? The cutoff made yet another small bet and the big blind called. The cutoff turned over aces and the big blind looked shocked. "Oh wow," he said. "That's good. Well played." Well played? Well played! I knew the guy had aces as soon as he limped in! And this other idiot was check-raising him on the turn! And then the aces, having succeeded in getting the big blind to bite, just called the raise! I couldn't believe those guys were sitting there and I wasn't. One guy made a silly trap play that anyone could see through, and the other guy fell for it. It was a joke. I stormed out of the room. I couldn't watch any more. I went down to the coffee shop with my Italian leather-bound journal in hand (a birthday present from my brother, who spent his last semester in Florence). I sat down at the bar and, after ordering, began writing what became part I of my trip report. I often sat at the bar to avoid the long line for tables. Most people, however, seemed to assume that anyone sitting at the bar was dying to have a conversation with them. As I was writing the woman on the stool next to me said, "What are you writing?" I felt like saying, "none of your business," but instead I said, "Oh, I'm just writing about my trip." "But what language is that?" she said. Yes, she really said that. "Oh it's English, it's just bad handwriting," I said. I should have told her it was Sanskrit. "Oh bad handwriting," she said. She continued to pester me with inane banter. I kept up my end of the pleasantries. But I got very little writing done. The final table was scheduled for 8 p.m. and I decided I could stomach it. There was a technical delay brought on by the film crew, and while everyone was standing around I found myself next to final table participant Scotty Nguyen. "Good luck, Scotty," I said. "Thanks man," he said, patting me on the shoulder. I wonder if he remembered me and my sixes from the No Limit tournament. When the technical kinks were worked out and the introductions were finished, it was 9 p.m., a full hour behind schedule. I started out watching the chip leader, Dave Wehner, also known as the crazy loose player who'd value bet the five-high flush in Omaha against my broadway the day before. Wehner was this tournament's Maniac Who Had Gotten Lucky and it was only a matter of time before all his chips got redistributed. He made a bizarre play early-smooth-calling preflop and on the flop with KK, and then making a massive all-in raise on the turn when he made kings full with the same card that brought a flush. His opponent showed jacks and folded. It seemed Wehner had won the least possible amount with his hand. Spencer's famous hat was on display in a glass case next to the prize money. For those who don't know the story, RGPer J.P. Massar had been struggling at the 1999 TOC when his friend and fellow RGPer Patti Beadles gave him a flower hat for good luck. J.P. went on to make the final table. Last year, Spencer reached the final table and J.P. passed the flower hat on to him. Spencer wore it, and you know how he fared. "Hey Spencer," I said. "If I had made the final table, would you have given me the hat?" "Oh yeah," he said. "Wow," I said. By 10:30 I realized this wouldn't be over anytime soon and I went back down to the coffee shop. Spencer and Bill had just eaten a big meal and declined to come with me. I didn't bring my journal this time, and it was just as well since Louis soon interrupted my meal. He slapped me on the back and said, "so, you eating your profits?" He really was the nicest guy you'll meet in a card room. He sat down a few bar stools away, where Stevie D. and Greg Pappas were close by. Eventually Steve looked down the bar and said, "Jeez, why don't we have a poker game going on here? Wait, I don't want to play poker with this bunch-this looks like a final table." On the way back upstairs, I ran into a reasonably good player who had been at my table for most of the previous day. He told me that one of the nine finalists had been eliminated, the one generally recognized as a fish. "I guess that was to be expected," I said. "Yeah, you'd expect the next one to go would be our friend, the chip leader." Yesterday, Wehner had brought it in for the maximum with 2-4/2. This player had raised with wired queens. "And then he reraised you, right?" "No, he just called." "Really, I could have sworn he reraised you." "No, I'm sure he just called." I was sure the lunatic had reraised. One of us was wrong. This guy had played the hand, so it was probably I. By the way, Wehner eventually won the pot. "Well either way, he's a stone cold lunatic," I said. "He's a stone cold idiot is what he is. Don't worry, T.J. will take care of him," he said, referring of course to final table participant T.J. Cloutier. The guy proceeded to tell me about a hand where Wehner had bet the flop and the turn with T.J. calling all the way. Then the river came, bringing a four-flush on board. Wehner bet again and T.J. raised. Wehner mucked and T.J. showed king-high, no flush. I got back to the bleachers and sat with a young New York/Atlantic City player named Levi whom I'd met earlier in the trip. At the table, Scotty Nguyen had decided Wehner was the player to pick on and chatted at him endlessly. Wehner won a pot and as he stacked his chips Scotty said, "David, don't stack those chips, David. Those my chips, baby, they not your chips. Stop stacking those chips, baby." Wehner could only manage a dumb grin. On one of the next hands Wehner limped in, Miami John called on the small blind, and Scotty raised 40K from the big blind. "Call," Wehner said. "That's my boy!" Scotty said. But the flop came KQ9 and after Scotty lead out immediately, Wehner thought and moved all-in. The pot was laying Scotty a great price, so everyone knew he had absolutely nothing when he didn't call right away. Eventually he folded, and Wehner showed a nine. It must have been the best hand. On the next hand Wehner moved in his entire 200K stack from 2UTG. Brain Saltus thought for a few seconds...and called. Everyone else mucked and Brian turned over AK. Wehner had 22 (I guess he loved deuces in all forms of poker). An ace flopped for Brian, and by the river Wehner had become the seventh place finisher. I spotted my friend who'd dubbed him "stone cold idiot" and nodded at him. He nodded back. "I shouldn't have done that," I heard Wehner saying as he waited to be interviewed for the internet broadcast. No David, no you shouldn't have. Once I was sure that Dave Wehner would not be the 2001 TOC champion, I relaxed as I watched the rest of the action. Scotty made some amazing suckouts-TT vs. AA and Scotty spiked a ten on the river, QJ vs. AJ and Scotty flopped a queen, 64s vs. JTo and Scotty turned a straight. The crowd was saying he had nine lives, and still had six to go. Miami John busted when Saltus open raised on the button and Miami reraised with A6 on the small blind. Saltus moved in and Miami called. Saltus showed aces and that was that. As he waited to be interviewed, Miami said, "T.J. made the same play against him." True, T.J. had reraised Brian earlier, and got Brian to fold, and T.J. had showed ace-six. But T.J. couldn't have gone broke with the hand. And even more relevant, when T.J. had reraised with A6, Brian didn't have aces. Scotty went out during three-handed action when he raised from the small blind with AK, T.J. moved all-in on the big blind with 66 and Scotty called. Though Scotty was a smaller underdog than he had been on at least three other all-in occasions, he couldn't hit an ace or a king and he was out in third place. As heads-up action started, T.J.'s chip lead quickly grew to about 6 to 1. Brian started asking for his coat. "So David Chiu, Spencer Sun, and T.J. Cloutier," Levi said. "Yup," I said. But that's why they play the hands. First Brian limped on the button with a big ace, T.J. raised on the small blind with a smaller ace and Brian moved in and doubled through when T.J. failed to hit his three outer. Next Brian drew about even in chips when he got T.J. to fold to an all-in raise in a big pot. Then, they got in all in on a flop of JT9 when T.J. had AJ and Brian had T8. The queen hit on the river and all the chips went to Brian. "Wow, imagine he wins?" Levi said. "He just did," I said. "He had him covered?" Levi said, wide-eyed. He answered his own question when we saw the two men shake hands and stand up. Saltus, the champ, then gave an impromptu speech. He had been diagnosed with terminal cancer two and a half years earlier, and had taken up tournament poker just one year before. He stood there, cancer-free, and the winner of poker's second most prestigious title. This stuff wouldn't fly in fiction. Spencer, even though he was getting up early the next day to drive to the Grand Canyon, was gracious enough to let me check email from his laptop. If you use email (and if you're reading this, you probably do), you know how good it feels to make contact with your Inbox after going a week without it. I spent only 15 minutes catching up, then I wished Spencer a good trip and left for the elevators. Without playing a single poker hand the entire day, I returned to my room, where I was again roomieless (John had flown out that morning, though he said he would have stayed if I'd made the final day). The Orleans Open and TOC were over and done, and I had three days of writing, reading, and maybe some poker before BARGE started. As I went to sleep, I didn't think about finishing in the money or playing against Phil Hellmuth, or how I could've been at that final table just as easily as Dave Wehner. I would think about these things later. Then I thought about waking up at 11 to pack my things and check out, and walking to the laundromat right down the street. Part IV: Pre-BARGE and early BARGE Monday, July 30 The alarm went off at 11 and I scrambled to pack my things and get out of The Orleans by 12. I couldn't find my New England Poker Classic hat so I called Lost & Found. Maybe I'd left it in my last room. "We'll send someone up for you," they said. When no one arrived for 15 minutes, I called again. "Oh, we sent someone up to your old room-I'll have her meet you in the hallway." Uh, OK. I carried my laundry and my luggage, and wore my TOC jacket out of the room. I stood in the hallway holding all this crap when my cell phone went off. It was an unknown caller ID. "Hello," I said. "The interest is accruing on my two hundred bucks," came the voice on the other end. "Hi Russell," I said. I previously described Russell Rosenblum as my friend and poker mentor. He was also one of my backers. "Congratulations," he said. "Thanks," I said. "So what happened?" But carrying two bags and waiting for a random hotel representative to produce a hat for me, I wasn't in position to tell him. He agreed to call back in 10 minutes. I never did find someone to ask about my hat, but I did check my bag with bell services and sit on a bench outside the Orleans holding my laundry, carrying 6500 bucks in my socks and wallet, and wearing my TOC jacket in Vegas, in August, while I waited for Russell's call. After five minutes I figured I should just walk to the laundromat and wait there. Remember, it was only a block or a block and a half away. I don't know how far a block is in Vegas, but if that laundromat was a block and a half away then the city is ten blocks across. It was hot, of course, but there was a breeze in my face as I walked and walked with not a laundromat in sight. I passed a large parking lot filled with buses. I passed several factory-type buildings. I passed maybe one stoplight. After about 25 minutes I saw a mini-version of a mini-mall. And I saw my laundromat. It was adjacent to a convenient store/pizza place. As I entered, my cell phone rang and I plopped all my garbage down on a table, sat in one of the booths and answered. "So what happened?" Russell said again. "Well, do you want the short version, the long version, or the really long version?" I said. "Let's go long," Russell said. "OK, so I told you Phil Hellmuth was at my first table-" "Wait, what about the super satellite?" "Well, that's part of the really long version but I'll tell you that too." I did tell him, and then I proceeded with just the long version. (This trip report is the full, really long version, if you hadn't guessed.) It took an hour. My cellular bill didn't appreciate this, especially considering Russell was arriving in Vegas for BARGE in two days, but what else was I doing, besides laundry? When I got off the phone I bought detergent at the convenient store, found my New England Poker Classic hat in my laundry bag, and started my laundry. There was a Ms. Pac-Man machine (there is a God) in the laundromat, so I quickly set the high score. It was probably one of those machines where they reset the high scores every day, but in my mind I was all-time champ. I tried to get food from the pizza place but no one was there. I went into the convenient store side and asked the beautiful blond cashier if she knew who ran the pizza place. "What do you need?" she said. "Pizza," I said. "If you go and grab it from the heater over there we won't charge you," she said. "Really?" She nodded. I did as I was told and ate my free pizza. I then pulled out my journal, sat in my booth, and continued writing part I of the trip report. Across from me, in another booth, a guy I vaguely recognized was reading Caro's Fundamental Secrets of Poker. I love that town. As my laundry finished, I debated whether to talk to the beautiful blond girl, maybe even find out what she was doing that night. After grabbing my stuff from the dryer, I told myself I would. I never got the chance. When I walked back into the convenient store, someone else was working the register. It's always something. The walk back to the Orleans didn't feel as long as the walk to the laundromat; and though my shoes were covered in sand and I was sweating in the "dry heat," I took some weird pleasure in finishing my chore. I got my luggage and took a cab to Binion's, where I would be spending the next six nights. The driver was knowledgeable about gaming and poker history, so for once I had an enjoyable conversation with a cabby. As we arrived at Binion's I gave him a big tip and he thanked me, saying he needed it having lost eighty bucks at video poker the previous night. "You should learn real poker," I said. I say this to everyone, not only because I think it's a good way to make money, but also because I think everyone should learn to play poker well (and yes, I'm aware of the inherent problem in holding both those beliefs). "I should," he said. It sounded as though he meant it. Maybe I had a convert. I had carried my nearly full container of Tide all the way back to the Orleans. I remembered to bring it in the cab. I remembered to take it out of the cab at Binion's. When checking in to Binion's, I asked for a safe deposit box for some of my recent winnings. To get one, I had to move ten feet down the registration desk. The Tide didn't come with me. Just as well, it probably would've ruined my stuff on the flight home anyway. I found my room, wrote some more and took a nap. The Woods/Sorenstam-Duval/Webb match started at 5 p.m. and I wanted to put some money on Duval/Webb at +125. So at five of five I went to the sports book to find they weren't taking action on the match. On the way back to my room, I ran into Tom "Rebuy" Goodwin, a poker buddy from FARGO and the east coast tournaments. I hadn't expected to see any BARGErs for at least another day. Tom was having dinner with a friend (sushi, so I passed), but he said he was going to the Mirage for a 7 p.m. limit hold 'em tournament. He also had a car, and offered me a ride back to Binion's if I decided to play. I told him I'd think about it. If you've read this far you probably figured out that at 6:30 p.m. I was in a cab to the Mirage. I got there and drew the one seat at my opening table. To my left was a TOC player (his green jacket gave him away), and my other opponents were fish of various shapes and sizes. I couldn't catch many hands early on, and when I caught a good but not great hand, the loose-aggressive TOC player woke up with pocket kings. I escaped without major damage, but I still wasn't collecting any chips. After the first break I was shortstacked. This was fine, I had become used to being a tournament short stack. The dealer must have thought it was the TOC, because on one of the first hands back from break I looked down at AA. I raised and got at least two callers, a loose-passive fish and a lunatic. The flop came 10-6-6. Checked to me and I bet. The fish called, and the lunatic check-raised. I reraised, making it T300 total, and leaving me with T125 behind. Then, horror of horrors, the fish four-bet. The lunatic called, and I actually debated a few seconds before saying "I can't fold," and throwing in my last T125. "You have a six, right sir?" I said to the fish. He rolled over A6s, and I had one out. The turn came 7 and the river 9. The fish won the side pot, but the lunatic won the main pot when she turned over 88. As I got up from the table I cursed myself for calling with my last T125, because I was almost 100 percent sure I was beat. But then I realized I was getting about 17 to 1 on my call. How could I fold a two-outer (I couldn't assume the fish had an ace in his hand)-about an 11 to 1 shot with two cards to come-for that price? In the final analysis, I thought I played the hand correctly. Fellow RGPer J.P. Massar was in the tournament, and he agreed. This doesn't mean we were both right, but I was glad to have J.P. in my corner. They started a list for a 5-5 pot limit hold 'em game, and I put my name on it. I hadn't played any big bet poker since the super satellite, and I hadn't played live big bet poker at all during the trip. I sat in an OK 10-20 hold 'em game while I waited and picked up with a whopping $28 profit when I agreed to be one of three people to start the pot limit game. The fearless threesome was me, Rebuy, and a tight local player. It was clear immediately that this would not be an action game. Some stragglers came by, sat in the game for a few hands, and left. No one wanted to sit with this tight-aggressive mess of a lineup. How tight was this local? On one hand, a player raised, and all folded. The raiser showed a medium pairs (tens, I think). "Yeah," the local said. "I folded ace-king suited." I believed him, too. So, although it might have been possible for me to earn a tiny profit in this game by exploiting the local's extreme tightness, I had a bigger problem named Rebuy sitting on my left. He came over the top of me several times and I kept laying my hands down. Finally I played back at him, but he came right over the top all-in and I had to fold again. I knew I was probably taking the worst of it, but I also knew I would be a better player for the experience. When the game broke (that is, when Tom and I picked up to drive back to Binion's), I had lost $353 (not that much, considering). I vowed to read more about pot limit play-not because I lost, but because my thought processes at the pot limit table felt like guesswork too often, especially compared to my thought processes at a limit hold 'em table. As Tom drove back, he mentioned that the Ciaffone book was good. I ordered it from amazon.com when I got back to D.C. But that night I reread some of T.J. Cloutier's book. I thought I had a strong enough grasp of the fundamentals to give pot limit one more go sometime during trip. Then I went to sleep. Tuesday, July 31 Binion's might have been the Taj Mahal that morning, as I ran into four east coasters, including Stephen "Buckshot" Benton and Steve Carbonara, in the poker room. I decided BARGE had officially started and it was time to maximize the fun at the expense of the cash. I sat in a 1-4-4-8 game with Carbonara and another Atlantic City player named Pat and did things like raise preflop with 2-3. (I won and showed my hand, by the way.) Carbonara and I were laughing at Benton, who was stuck in the 10-20 game. After not too long Benton joined us. He caught on to the meaning of BARGE a lot faster than I had a year earlier. I had one memorable hand in this silly game. It was the 54 of hearts in one of the blinds. We took the flop five or six handed and it came K23 with the 23 of hearts. I bet and got some callers. The turn came a medium heart (say a 9). I bet again and got more callers. The river came the ace of hearts (ding!). I bet. Several players folded. Then an off-duty dealer on the button pushed $16 into the pot. "Is that a raise, sir?" I said. Carbonara and Pat laughed at me, thinking I had been screwing around (who me?) and gotten caught. "I raise," I said, putting in another $16. Carbonara shut up. The off-duty dealer called and I said, "straight flush, ship it." He of course had the queen of hearts, and unfortunately was a good enough player not to get in a raising war with it (as I played the hand, I really thought I might take his entire stack). He then felt the need to explain that he never would have played the hand (it was some garbage like Q7o) except that it was the last hand before his shift. And then he explained how he knew I had the straight flush when I reraised. "I've been playing this game a long time," he said. Chill out, buddy, you put in three bets with the second nuts-I've put in three bets with a lot worse. The highlight of the game was a player who kept getting his trips "cracked." He was a well-built older gentleman who took himself and 1-4-4-8 Hold 'Em very seriously. He huffed and huffed, "God dammit! That's ten sets! Ten sets! God dammit!" These sets were usually just trips, and not sets. Some of them were turned, meaning he was behind on the flop. And some of them were rivered, meaning he was never ahead. But he still screamed. While this tirade went on, the Steves and I continued to amuse ourselves, leaving big tips, raising and laughing. "Let's see how much you like this game, when you lose ten sets!" the guy yelled. I tried to ignore him, but Benton spoke up. "Sergeant Slaughter's not too happy over there," he said. We exploded. And so the man was dubbed Sgt. Slaughter and Benton and I did impressions of him for the rest of BARGE. "Eleven sets! God dammit!" Benton and I caught a cab to the Bellagio with a young female Atlantic City professional player named Kirby, who Steve apparently knew. At Bellagio, we ran into a slew of BARGErs including Nolan, J.P., Joan, Bruce Kramer, and about ten others. An RGP buffet lunch had been semi-organized, and by lucky coincidence I would now be a part of it. I was up $11 after an hour of $15-$30 when it became buffet time. I had lost a few pots, but showed a profit with 66 in one of the blinds. We were four or five handed and all checked to the button on a flop of one or two overcards and a two-flush. The button bet, and I raised. The other players folded and the button three-bet. I called. The turn gave me an open-ended straight draw. I checked and called. The river was a blank. I checked, the button bet, and I called. The button mucked before I turned my cards over. I did turn them over as I took the pot. The Bellagio buffet was good, but I don't know if it deserves the "best buffet in Vegas" label everyone seems to give it. I've had the Mirage buffet three times, and not once did I wish I was at the Bellagio. Nolan and J.P. were, in fact, going to the Mirage after the buffet. "Why?" I asked. "Because there's a no limit tournament." "Well can somebody give me a ride?" J.P. did, in what was obviously not a rental car. Nolan and I shared the backseat with what I remember as a large, blanket-like thing. On the way over I told a few TOC stories which you already know if you read part III. I walked into the Mirage poker room, and it was a BARGE-fest. My east coast buddies Don Perry, Len Greenberg, and Scott Byron were in the house, and also playing the tournament were Paul Phillips and (I believe) Melissa Hayden. And of course there were J.P., Joan, and Nolan as well. The world was confirming my pronouncement that BARGE had begun. When I said hello to Don, Len, and Scott, the first word out of each of their mouths was "congratulations." I didn't think they would all have heard by that time. But they were all east coasters, and they all knew me, and I guess word spreads. I sat at my first table and three BARGERs introduced themselves to me. They were: Jerrod Ankenman, Russ Fox, and Jim Bulbert. All seemed like good guys at the time, and I would be sure of this five days later when BARGE ended. We talked about how even though we didn't know each other, we knew because we were BARGErs it would be a tough table. Then Jerrod said, "The only thing I know about you is that you finished in the money in the TOC." Word was spreading faster than I'd thought. I built up some chips during the first hour. On the last hand before the rebuy/add-on period ended, I had a king-rag hand in one of the blinds. I flopped two pair and checked into the field. Jerrod made a standard bet, and I made a standard raise. All others folded, but Jerrod moved in for all his chips. "I call," I said. "I have two pair, any good?" "Oh yeah," Jerrod said. "I was just trying to give ace-king a think." Jerrod never showed his hand, and I doubled up. I had about 2100 and the add-on would give me another 500. I thought about not taking one, even though I almost never pass up an add-on or rebuy. But then I thought that since an add-on increases my stack size by almost 25%, I had to do one. And I did. I have no idea if that is correct in terms of EV, by the way. After the break, a man in a wheelchair got wheeled over to our table. It seemed he didn't have use of his arms, because his wife held his hole cards and moved his chips for him based on his directions. He had an enormous stack and he played a tight-aggressive game after joining us. But then he started really committing his chips-moving in often, and often not getting called. He was in the big blind and I was the button when it got folded to me. I had medium suited connectors (76 of hearts, I believe). I made a raise and he called. The flop came something like KK4 with two hearts. I think the man in the wheelchair bet out, I made a biggish raise, and he called. The turn brought a heart and the man in the wheelchair immediately moved all his chips in. He had me covered. My first thought was that he could easily have a higher flush, as I had been the most recent aggressor. But then I thought, if he has a higher flush, he'd want to trap me for more chips, he wouldn't move all-in. Finally, I decided that since he had been overcommitting, and since it didn't make much sense for him to have a big flush, I should call. I did call. The hand I was most worried about was something like T9 of hearts. But he didn't have anything close to that. "That's one heck of a call," he said, turning over A8o with no heart, a stone cold bluff. He had no outs, and I had a monster stack. When we got to the next break we had about 39 players left. I counted my chips and compared them to the rest of the stacks. I was in the unfamiliar position of chip leader. I always told myself that if I were ever an overnight chip leader at the World Series of Poker I would tell the press, "It's just like having the button-it's an advantage, but it doesn't guarantee you the pot." But I didn't tell myself that then. I told myself, "you're the chip leader, win it." The blinds increase very fast during the later levels in the Mirage tournaments; so fast that even the chip leader needs to pick up chips. I made a steal raise when it was folded to me on the small blind and the big blind flat called. The flop came and I bet out almost enough to set the big blind all-in. He moved in the rest of his chips himself. Pot stuck, I had to call. I didn't improve and my mighty stack was no longer so mighty. After the tournament I was furious at myself for this play, thinking it was so similar to the horrible play that had knocked me out of the no limit event at the Orleans Open nine days earlier. But when I calmed down I realized there were many differences, including that this time I had my opponent covered, the structure was much faster, and this opponent didn't seem as tricky as the other one. I was able to hang on and reach the final table, where I was the third shortest stack. The two shortest stacks went out in order, and then it was my turn. The payout structure was absurdly top heavy (first was about 2.5 times second), so I had no thoughts of sneaking up another spot. A player with a large stack, who had raised the two previous hands, raised again under the gun. Each of the last two times he had shown a decent hand, no worse than AQ. I looked down at 77. I decided that in my desperate chip position, I couldn't possibly fold this hand to a player who had raised three straight times. So I put all my chips in. Then the small blind, a largeish stack, put all of his chips in. Yikes. UTG called, and when the hands were turned over I was up against KK (SB) and TT (UTG). A seven would beat them both, but I didn't hit one and I was out, fittingly, in seventh place, a $438 profit for the tourney. Afterwards, Scott asked me if I knew the two celebrities from my table. I didn't. The guy who busted eighth was former WSOP final table finisher Ron Stanley, and the UTG from my last hand was multi-bracelet holder Max Stern. Scott also said I never should have called Max with the sevens, as he is a tight-solid type. I told Scott I didn't even think about folding, but I know now he was right. Why risk all your chips when you're AT BEST a very slight favorite? It just doesn't make sense. Scott said he'd rather raise all-in first to act than call Max's raise with the sevens. He was right about that too. So, after I finished beating myself up over the small blind play, Scott and I talked about music and eBay on the cab ride home. (We both like Liz Phair, but he insanely prefers Whipsmart to whitechocolatespaceegg, claiming he "likes the raw stuff"; and he's selling some cool Nirvana recordings on eBay.) When we got back to Binion's, I turned in. Wednesday, August 1 I got up and listened to Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville, suspecting that would be her one album Scott and I both appreciated. Entering the Binion's poker room, the fun still seemed to be in the low limit hold 'em games. I sat in one with Benton and we gambled it up-straddling, playing gutshots and top pairs the same way. Despite this (or maybe because of it), Benton managed to fold two winning hands at the showdown; once after misreading his hand, and once because he thought all his opponents folded and he'd won uncontested. My highlight was my final hand. I had a bet and a half in front of me and decided to straddle. When it came back to me at three bets, I put in my last $4 without looking at my crads. I wasn't planning to look at all, but Benton looked at it (he had already picked up his chips), so I had to. 64o. The flop came something like K-9-5 with a two-flush and there was plenty of action. Things didn't look so good. The turn brought an offsuit seven, giving me a glimmer of hope. I was in the ten seat and I leaned over and asked the dealer to give me my card. "What do you need?" he said. I didn't answer. He dealt the river...three! I jumped out of my chair eager to take the main pot, but then I realized the three brought a flush. When there was a bet and a call on the river I thought I was sunk. But the bettor showed two pair, and the caller mucked. "Ship it!" I said, revealing my hand. I tipped the dealer $3 out of the $48 main pot, grabbed my chips, cashed out, and caught a cab to the Bellagio with Benton. The $15-$30 game at Bellagio was again, beautiful. A few contributors from last week were still around, and some new ones had arrived. So it was no surprise that I got stuck $400 almost immediately. All the usual culprits got to me-runner-runner flushes, pocket aces against a rivered two pair, two-outers, the works. I did play two interesting hands, though they were interesting for different reasons. I had AJ and raised UTG. All folded to a weak player in the big blind who called. The flop came king-x-x. He checked, I bet. He hemmed and hawed and looked pained, and called. The turn was a blank. He checked and I bet. He hemmed and hawed and hemmed and hawed and looked pained, and called. The river was a blank. He checked and I checked. He had AJ and we chopped the pot. Benton, sitting to my left (one of the problems in my session, by the way), insisted I should have bet the river. I told him there was no worse hand my opponent would call with. Benton said this player might have folded. I told him I had no way of knowing the guy had AJ, one of only two hands my bet would make sense against. If the guy had anything other than AJ or AQ, I couldn't possibly win money from a bet. I thought this would settle it, but the debate of this hand would rage into the next day. More on that later. The other interesting hand was interesting because I got angled, was the victim of a bad rule, and misplayed my cards all in the same hand. I had AA and raised from early position. An aggressive player reraised. Everyone folded and I flat-called. The flop came three babies and I checked and called. The turn was a baby that paired the board. I checked, the aggressive player bet, and I raised. He thought, and reraised. At this point, my clear play was to four-bet. There was no reason to believe he had flopped a set, or even turned trips. I read him for an overpair, and the whole reason I had slowplayed was to get a lot of money in on the turn. But I feared the trips and flat-called. On the river I checked. My opponent grabbed his chips and moved them towards the pot. I threw $30 in. My opponent was still holding his checks in his hand. The dealer then started yelling at me. "This isn't California!" she said. "It's not a bet until he cuts his checks." "Excuse me," I said, "but I was playing at Binion's this morning where they have the forward motion rule, so don't tell me 'this isn't California.'" "All through Nevada, the rule is the same." "No it's not, you want to ride down to Binion's with me." Then she started explaining what was going on to someone else. "He thinks that once you move forward with chips that's a bet." "I didn't say that," I said. "All I said was, where I played this morning, in Nevada, that was the rule, so don't tell me 'this isn't California.'" "Well here, the rule is it's not a bet until you cut your checks." "Fine, I check," I said again. My opponent thought. "Check," he said. "Aces up," I said. "That's good," he said, showing jacks. "Yeah, no shit," I said. I didn't like that I'd lost a bet from an angle, but I liked the dealer's attitude less. And I also didn't like that I'd missed at least one bet through my play. I left a few hours later, as I had reserved a spot in the BARGE trip to Blue Man Group that night, so I was forced to book my first really bad live session of the trip-minus $857. Such is poker. I sat with Scott for Blue Man Group, trying not to tell any specific bad beat stories before the show started. I did tell him that I'd run badly and taken a bunch of two-outer and three-outer beats. Crunch ended up sitting next to me and when we asked him what he did all day he said, "I got sucked out on by idiots." "Hey, that's what he did!" Scott said, meaning me. I asked Scott if he was playing the History of Poker tournament. He said he was, and that since he had been the second one out last year, he had plenty of room for improvement. I'd heard great things about the Blue Man Group, and they didn't disappoint. There was a text-message ticker that started the show, and it mentioned BARGE and Chris Straghalis by name. During the show itself, a Blue Man caught about 30 paint balls in his mouth, the entire audience spent about ten minutes covered in toilet paper, and Ross Poppel was an unhappy participant in the performance. The highlight came when the Blue Men formed a band on stage with a bunch of keyboards and a rhythm section. As they played a few notes of a few well-known tunes, someone in the back yelled out, "Freebird!!" The Blue Men looked at each other, and one of them broke into a new tune. Scott started laughing so hard I thought his Northwestern hat would fall off. "What is that?" I said. "That's 'Freebird,'" Scott said. It occurred to me then that I didn't really know the song, but I knew that people loved to yell out "Freebird!" at rock concerts. Scott and I caught a ride back to Binion's with a fellow RGPer (sorry, I forget who, but thanks for the ride!). With the History of Poker tournament starting at noon the next day, I would be waking up to an alarm for the first time in four days. So when we got back to Binion's I went back to my room. Thursday, August 2 Binion's had sent notice that we'd have no water from 11 a.m. on, so I had to get up that much earlier. I did, and even finished my shower before deadline, so I had plenty of time to enjoy the Binion's buffet. I picked several pancakes off the buffet line, including a unique one. As BARGErs I knew walked by me, I slapped the pancake into the table, or hit the pancake with my fork. It was as hard as the silverware, and I probably did more damage to the fork than to the pancake. Joan came by and witnessed this. Then she told me Russell was in the buffet. I tracked him down and handed him my 200 bucks. We chatted for a few minutes at one of the available tables, confusing the wait staff who couldn't understand that we'd already eaten. I started the first BARGE tournament of 2001 by sitting at my table and introducing myself to the people I didn't know. I was ready to have fun. But then someone tried to claim my seat. No problem, I could straighten this out. I checked the seat list, and I was in the seat I'd thought. So I checked the other guy's seat. "Hey, you're table 12," I said. "This is table 12," he said. "Right," I said. Whoops. At least I learned that the regular table numbers differed from the tournament table numbers. My honest-to-God first table contained Jerrod, Lee Crocker (I think), and others I can't remember. There was also a lunatic in the one seat. He did things that you don't have to play lowball to know are bad, like calling a raise and drawing three. Needless to say, he was the first out at our table. Still, he outlasted my friend and top tournament player...Scott Byron. The BARGE History of Poker tournament must not be Scott's event. I thought I managed to play well for someone who had never played the games. I got lucky too, but that's supposed to happen to a beginner. I did make at least one glaring mistake. Lowball has this weird rule (or it seemed weird to a non-player) that you cannot win any money after checking a seven or better after the draw. This essentially means that you have to bet a seven or better whenever you have one. I heard the rule, and catalogued it. Then I had a draw to a seven and raised. I got reraised and called. I made my draw-and checked. Lee (I think it was he) checked behind me, and my seven was good. "Should I have value-bet my seven there?" I asked. "It's borderline," he said. Lee, if it was you, did you think I would never figure out what happened? Now I can't ever believe anything you say! It probably means something that I played well, got lucky, and still got knocked out with three tables to go. It probably means I'm not a draw or lowball player, something I wouldn't dispute. Russell had been knocked out earlier when he took two pair against trips in draw. He was waiting for me to get knocked out so we could head to the Mirage for the No Limit tournament, but as he waited, he sat in a 10-20 Hold 'Em game. I joined it as well, sitting in the available seat to Russell's immediate left. To my immediate left was Tom "Rebuy" Goodwin. Russell and Tom were looking for action, and knew how to get it. Russell either straddled or raised just about every hand, and on the hands I three-bet (which were many) Goodwin would four-bet. The locals thought we were all lunatics, which was and wasn't true. Russell and Tom were playing like lunatics, even though one of them is usually a tight-solid player and one of them is a loose-solid player who always gets perceived as a lunatic (I'll let you figure out which is which). Since I knew Russell and Tom were raising with almost any two cards, my play must have looked maniacal to the casual observer. Were we all lunatics? Maybe. But I think all three of us left with a profit (I know Russell and I did). I had one fun hand. Holding 77, I somehow was still in the hand after a flop of QJ4 with two spades. The turn came, seven of spades. There was a bet, I raised, and one of the blinds called $40 cold. The bettor called. The river brought a jack. The blind bet, and the other player raised. I thought for a while-and called $40 cold. I can't remember the last time I called two bets cold on the river, absent of playing against the psychos of Paradise Poker. The bettor had a flush. The raiser, unfortunately, did not have a bigger flush. He had QJ, and a winner. I probably played the flop badly, or at the very least misread the strength of my opponent. Since I don't remember what I did, I'm probably doomed to repeat this bad play. Russell and I caught a cab to the Mirage where buffet tables had already been reserved for the BARGE contigent, a thing of beauty (the reserving of the tables, not the BARGE contigent). There, Benton came to my table and said everyone he'd played golf with agreed I had to check the river in my ace-jack hand from a day before. Russell wanted to know what we were talking about, so I described the hand in as much detail as I could. "So it's checked to you on the river, what do you do?" I said. "I think you bet again," Russell said. Benton cheered as he'd found a supporter, and then seven of us, including Action Bob, Rebuy, Carbonara, and Steve Goldman discussed it until the No Limit tournament started. In the final analysis, we decided that you bet 1) if you think your opponent will fold a pair; 2) if you think there's a reasonable chance he holds AJ or AQ; and 3) to establish a loose image if you'll be staying in the game long enough (this was Russell's favorite reason, as anyone who knows him might have guessed). I got blessed with a few big hands early in the No Limit tournament. I made a large value bet on the river with top pair against a loose lunatic and he paid me off with some smaller pair. Then he used his one rebuy. A few hands later it was folded to me in the small blind and I raised the lunatic's big blind with AT. He, of course, called. The flop came ATT. I later found out that Len Greenberg, sitting across the table, whispered to Patti Beadles, "He's drawing dead." I checked, and the lunatic bet about 90 percent of his stack. I moved him in, and he was drawing dead. So for the second straight Mirage tournament I accumulated chips from the start. My table broke and my new table contained an aggressive, talkative player who moved me off a decent hand before I saw how aggressive he was. This table quickly broke as well, but the aggressive player was sitting on my right at the new table. Also there-Joan Hadley on my left, Bill Chen across the table, Tom "Rebuy" Goodwin four or five to my right, and a little closer on my right, Ron Stanley. I made some comments about the horror that was this lineup, and the aggressive player asked me what I meant. I explained that these were a bunch of BARGErs, and I further explained that these were people who discussed poker over the internet and met once a year to play. "Over the internet?" he said. "So did you see what Daniel Negreanu wrote about me and the two sixes?" "Wait a minute," I said. "Are you Henry Nowakowski?" He nodded. For those who don't know, Henry made the final table of this year's World Series. But before that, he took a chunk out of Daniel Negreanu's stack when, after having reraised Carlos Mortenson's opening raise, Henry called Daniel's all-in rereraise with 66. Daniel had AK, didn't hit, and Henry doubled up. Then, Daniel claimed Henry said, "Bah, you American idiot! You think you can push us around!" And the next day during the final table internet broadcast (for which I called in sick from work to listen), Daniel was less than kind to Henry in his commentary. In the next few days, Daniel explained some of his actions on the newsgroup, but it only seemed to generate more controversy. The two later patched things up, but Henry had some interesting things to say about the incident. "What I said was, 'You American pros think all Europeans are idiots.'" "Huh," I said. I also told him I thought he was pot-stuck when he had the sixes. "You had to call," I said. "I didn't have to, I wanted to," Henry said, saying that Daniel had been raising with a lot of hands. "I would play against him, and I would play against Mike Matusow." Henry was criticized heavily for calling Matusow's all-in raise with pocket jacks (Matusow had pocket kings). But later, Matusow made an all-in raise with seven-deuce and Henry picked off the bluff with pocket kings himself. I have to admit, I hated Henry's call with the jacks when I heard it over the internet, and Henry made other plays at the final table that were unquestionably bad. But listening to him describe the situation, I thought his call with the jacks might have bad justified. A few minutes later we got into a hand. Bill Chen opened the pot for a standard raise. Henry called in the small blind, and I called in the big blind with 88. The flop came 234 rainbow and Henry immediately said, "All-in." I tried to make a read, and decided that he liked this flop. So what did that mean? Two small pair? A medium over pair? A pair with a straight draw? It was probably one of those. I decided that in the best case I was only a slight favorite over a pair and a straight draw, and in the worst case I had two outs. And then there was Bill Chen still to act behind me. So I folded. Bill folded his hand immediately after me. In retrospect, I think I should have called. I had listened to Henry play for hours at the World Series, and I knew he was a maniac. I thought he liked the flop, but I also should have known there was no way he could have been holding a pocket pair bigger than mine. Given his aggressiveness, he surely would have reraised any of those hands preflop. Eliminating the overpair as a possible holding probably meant I should have called. He told me later he had A2, giving him a pair, an overcard, and a gutshot against my eights. I would have been about a 2 to 1 favorite. Of course, Bill could have a real hand, putting me in real trouble. Still, when a lunatic moves all-in, calling with an overpair should be common practice, I think. I got moved from Henry's table and I told him I enjoyed playing with him. He pleaded with the floor not to move me. "He's a nice guy," Henry said. This didn't sway their decision. At my new table, the cards went cold, and in the fast moving blind structure of the Mirage tournaments this was an especially not-good thing. But before I could get blinded to death, I had an uncomfortable few moments. The blinds had just gone up-let's say they were T500 and T1000. An older player, who shook constantly, raised, say to T2500. A woman then reraised, say to T3500. The hand played out, but after it was over someone explained that she had made an illegal reraise. Since the man had made a T1500 raise, she needed to raise at least another T1500, to a total of T4000. "She has to make it at least five thousand," the man said. "Actually, four thousand," I said. "No, my total bet was 2500, so she has to at least double that." "No sir, the blinds are 500 and a thousand, so you raised 1500, she has to reraise at least another 1500." "Forget that," he said. "My total bet was 2500." "Sir, you can't forget that, that's the whole point." "She has to make it at least 5000." "Fine," I said, and I shut up. But not for long enough. Because the man continued to insist that she had to make it 5000, and unfortunately I continued to explain to him why that was not the case. At this point it was becoming an ugly scene at the table, and the other BARGErs there, namely Dieter and Crunch, sat silently. They, of course, knew I was right, but didn't want to get involved or embarrass this old man. So finally I, too, realized, that silence was the best course of action. But then he said, "You want to bet on this, let's put the money on the table." I considered this a tough spot. I already looked like a wiseass kid, and I had no interest in taking money from this old man in a stupid bet such as this one (taking his money in poker was another story). So after he asked to make the bet a few more times I finally said, "Sir, keep your money." "Ooooh," he said. And then I really did shut up. He went on and on about how she had to make it 5000, with me all the while sitting there looking another direction, folding my ugly cards when the action got to me. The man wouldn't let up. "I'll lay you a thousand to one," he said. I came extraordinarily close to putting a dollar on the table. I probably should have, just to shut him up. But again, I had no interest in embarrassing this guy by being proven right. Instead he embarrassed himself. About ten minutes later a floorman came by. "Hey," he yelled out. "Floor, this young man has a question for you." "Oh, yeah," the floor said. I didn't even look at him, let alone say anything. But the guy pressed on. "His question is, if the blinds are 500 and a thousand, and I make it 2500, the next raise has to be to five thousand, right?" "No," the floor said. "You reraised 1500, so the next raise has to be to at least 4000." A few players at the table (non-BARGErs) had actually been unsure of who was right, and I heard one of them whisper, "so he was right," meaning me. "Really?" the man said. "When did they make that rule?" "That's always been the rule," the floor said. "So he was right," the old man said. I still didn't look at him. He didn't apologize or thank me for saving him at least a thousand bucks, but that was fine. At least I managed to shut up before I really looked like a jerk. A few hands later I had 99 in the big blind. A weak player with a good but not great stack raised in middle position. I knew I would commit all my chips to the hand, as I was in a desperate chip situation, but the question was whether to move them in preflop, or on the flop. As he was a weak player, I thought he might release his hand preflop if I moved in, even though he was probably pot-stuck. So I moved in. He thought about it, but called. The flop brought a king and a queen and I knew I was sunk. When all was said and done his KJo took the pot. In this particular hand it wouldn't have mattered when the chips had gone in-I would have gone broke in either case. But probably I should have waited until the flop to move him in. He would likely have folded on almost any flop that missed him, and his folding would have been the best way for me to survive. Still, I thought he would fold something like KJo before the flop; hence my all-in reraise. I guess I hadn't been reading the players very well after the old man and his "I'll lay you a thousand to one" put me on edge. Back at Binion's, I told Scott the old man story as I sat in a 10-20 Hold 'Em game. Jim Bulbert, who was listening, said, "I would have gone for the tilt. I would have put the dollar on the table, and then toked the thousand bucks to the dealers." I wish I had done that. The 10-20 game, incidentally, got real good after I had been there about an hour and a half, when a local wacko showed up. He never folded, and usually raised. "Ain't nothin' but money," he said maybe twenty times. I took down one pot when I made a king-high flush on the end with four diamonds on board and the wacko paid me off with, I think, a tiny diamond. We had put in three bets on the flop and one on the turn. It turned out my king-high was good the whole way. I went to sleep happy about the session, but unhappy that the TOC-style event started at ten the next morning. Part V: More BARGE, post-BARGE, and Departure Friday, August 3 I don't get up for breakfast. This is true even when I've got Lucky Charms on hand. So there was zero chance I would get up for the Binion's Horseshoe breakfast buffet. I got to the poker room at 9:58 a.m., two minutes before the TOC-style tournament. At my opening table were Andy "Walter Roola" Bloch, Steve Landrum, Don "trythat" Perry, E. Dieter, and Steve "Goldiefish" Goldman. Andy brought a large basket of food as a bustout prize-that is, whoever knocked Andy out of the tournament would win the basket. My empty stomach and I were hoping to somehow knock out Andy-one of the best players at BARGE and winner of the previous day's History of Poker tournament-and earn that prize. The structure made it almost impossible to go broke for the first two hours, but after that time almost anyone could go broke by losing two pots. I guess this is fine for a BARGE event where you want everyone to get some play, but you also want it to be over in seven hours. It is frustrating, though, to concentrate for two hours and then have it not matter. There was, at least, plenty of time to get to know people at the table. I had never spoken to Steve Landrum before, and I enjoyed listening to him talk about hands and about cardrooms in California. I didn't enjoy having him on my left, but at least Bloch was on my right. Steve and I talked about the Calcutta scheduled for that evening, where all BARGErs competing in the No Limit Hold 'Em tournament are auctioned off to the highest bidder. I told him I was hoping to go low, so I could buy myself back at a reasonable price. "Well, you pretty much lost all chance of that when you finished in the money in the TOC," Steve said. Did every last BARGEr know about this? Russell, meanwhile, must have really believed the first two hours didn't matter, because it was 1 p.m. when he arrived at his table. He did so in his usual manner, which is to say he called as much attention to himself as possible. He called time from two tables away to insure that his hand, probably the hundredth one he'd been dealt, was still live. I found out later that Russell thought the tournament started at noon, and had slept in after playing at the Bellagio until six in the morning. He also said that even if he'd known it started at ten a.m. he would have done the same thing. The game at Bellagio was that good. Russell lasted maybe half an hour with the chips he had left. Before he went down though, he made a last longer bet with Andy Bloch, the short stack at my table. I took some of Andy's chips when I didn't know what I had in an Omaha hand. Holding AAJT, I thought I had just a pair of aces when the board contained a jack and a ten. It made a difference, as Andy had two small pair. I felt bad, but at least I don't consider myself an Omaha player. I got a shot at Andy's basket, but when I had him all-in he caught a card on me and the basket went to a more deserving player several hands later. Andy played just as you would expect an outstanding player to play-unpredictable, aggressive, and thoughtful. He seemed to have a new play for every situation. Though his bustout was good for my tournament EV, it was bad for my lifetime EV. I got myself in good chip position when I cold-called a raise from Dieter with two big suited cards on the button in Hold 'Em. I raised my straight draw on the flop and bet out when I got there on the turn. On the river, any queen (I think it was a queen) would have made a straight, but I still value bet my queen behind Dieter's check. He called, and was furious when I turned over my hand (Dieter's often furious, it's part of his charm). He probably had aces. About four hours in, the blinds really shot up, and I had a costly rematch with Dieter. I three-bet his middle position raise with QQ. The flop came three rags with two diamonds and Dieter bet. I flat-called, thinking I needed to win the pot, not maximize EV, and the best chance to do that would be by raising the turn. But the turn brought a third diamond. Dieter bet out again. No way he'd fold a diamond if I raised. I decided to save a bet and flat-call, taking a chance that Dieter didn't have a hand like Ax with no diamond. The river brought a fourth diamond and Dieter checked. I turned over my black queens and his jack of diamonds took the pot (he had an offsuit ace to go with it). Paul Phillips had recently been moved to our table. He looked at me and said, "That was pretty brutal." I shrugged. Crippled, I'm not sure how I dribbled away the rest of my chips, but it didn't take long. I did have one shining moment before busting. Paul had a short stack and had to set it all-in preflop in an Omaha hand. When all was said and done, someone else had the high, I had the low with an A2, and together we busted Paul out of the tournament. I lost over $1200 to Paul in a single pot limit hold 'em hand at BARGE2K. This didn't quite get me even, but it was something. At BARGE2K, the food at the Calcutta disappeared minutes after (some say before) the official start time, and this was the subject of many a BARGE email list discussion before BARGE2K1. Something somebody said somewhere must have made an impact, because there was plenty of food throughout this year's Calcutta. I specialized in the chicken strips. The rules of the Calcutta are simple. Everyone is paired with a partner, and each team is auctioned off. The exception is the final table finishers from the previous year, who are auctioned individually. Money from successful bids go into the Calcutta prize pool. If you "own" someone who finishes in the money in the BARGE No Limit tournament, you get a percentage of the Calcutta prize pool-the same percentage your horse got from the tournament prize pool. Tournament players are allowed to buy half of themselves back from their "owners." The auction itself contained few memorable moments. The Scott Byron-Melissa Hayden team went for over $300. Phil Hellmuth, who as guest speaker of the next night's banquet was invited to play in our tournament, was paired with his wife and went for a similar number. He helped up the price by bidding on himself (remember, players are allowed to buy half of themselves back). I was paired with Steve Markowitz, a BARGEr I didn't know. When our turn came up, I was rooting for a low number, like $110 or $120. But Bill Chen and the rest of his syndicate were actively bidding on us in the front. About that time Russell said, "Oh this is you?" He waited until the bidding had reached $130 and yelled "One fifty!" His preemptive bid won, and for the second straight year I was Russell's horse. Last year he had bought me and my partner for a mere 90 bucks. Steve Markowitz came over to me and said, "you must be highly regarded, we went for above average. I pretty much only play poker once a year, at BARGE." I didn't have a good answer for this. Russell and I bought Crunch and Len Granowetter for $150, which I considered a steal. If Steve Markowitz and I were worth $150, Crunch and Len were worth $250 easy. (Part of the problem was that Steve and I were not worth $150, but I still thought $150 was a good price for Crunch and Len.) After the Calcutta, the Tiltboys presented the World Roshambo Championship. Roshambo is a fancy name for rock-paper-scissors, and for only $100, you too could enter the game's championship event. Eight people took up the challenge-four Tiltboys and four non-Tiltboys, including Phil Hellmuth and Paul Phillips. By random draw, each Tiltboy was paired with a non-Tiltboy in the first round. Matches were a race to ten victories. The most intriguing first-round matchup was Phil Hellmuth vs. tournament organizer Perry Friedman. Can it be a joy watching someone play rock-paper-scissors? If so, it was a joy watching Perry at work. His scissors cut Phil's paper in the third game of the match. Phil had gone rock on each of the first two plays and Perry said, "Rock-rock-paper? Come on!" Throughout the match he added things like, "You go rock it all over baby." And when Phil actually got a point, Perry would say, "Aaaaaaah" and nod. All four of the Tiltboys won their opening matches, evidence that Roshambo does have plenty of skill. Perry made it to the championship, where I laid 3-2 odds that he would prevail. Russell took the bet. Perry got out to an early lead and survived a late charge to take the title and the 800 bucks. And I was two dollars richer. We returned to Binion's en masse for the team CHORSE event. My team, Team Schmengie, consisted of Don Perry (stud/8 or better), Nolan (razz), Joan (hold 'em), Len Greenberg (crazy pineapple), and Tony "Karma" Goldstein (Omaha). I was playing stud. A team has one member on two different tables at any given time. The flop games are on one table, the stud games on another. Team CHORSE is, in many ways, silly. First, you only play one round of each game before switching. That's nine hands, if you've got a full table. Second, it's not really a tournament. It ends after a predetermined amount of time when each team cashes out its chips (the blinds do go up after each level). Third, it's a mess. No one seems to know who's supposed to be at what table, or what order the games are played in. After every complete rotation the two stacks of chips have to be leveled off. It's pure chaos. Fourth, it's too expensive. Team CHORSE costs $75 a person. I'll explain why this is such a ripoff later. Don got us off to a rocky start in eight or better, but Nolan and I managed to recoup some of the chips in our respective games. At my stud table were, among others, John Harkness and Scottro. I won a pot against Scott when I had nothing but a pair of jacks. Despite a raise on fifth from Scott, the jacks were good. At the other table Len, Joan, and Tony were holding their own, so when we leveled off the chips we had roughly the same amount as we'd started with. Don again lost some chips on his second time out, and I was only able to maintain our stack size (I think I stole the antes once, and folded the other eight times). Nolan, however, won some chips back. The third time around began our doom. Don got involved in some big pots-and left the table with no chips. I walked over to the flop table and said, "Joan, just so you know, you're playing all of our chips." "Great," she said. As there were no more chips left on the stud side, I didn't get to play. My only chance of playing again was if the flop players could rally and give Don enough chips to survive some more eight-or-better. Unfortunately, when Don took his seat for the fourth time, he had almost no chips to work with. Obviously the same was true for Joan on the hold 'em side. Then Joan played a hand that instantly became a legend. I didn't see it, but I've heard the story so many times I can recount it perfectly. Russell, also at Joan's table, had been raising liberally at this late stage of the event. Twice in a row he had picked up the blinds without a fight. Having so much success, he raised again in late position on Joan's big blind. Melissa Hayden, to his immediate left, mucked. The action was on Chris "KFish" Hartman on the button, who thought and thought. As KFish thought, the small blind mucked his cards out of turn. Russell noticed, but didn't say anything for fear of bringing KFish into the pot. Joan, meanwhile, reached for the small blind's cards and returned them in an attempt to restore the action. Finally KFish said to Russell, "You probably don't have anything, you probably have jack-nine" and mucked his hand. Russell turned his cards over and said, "No actually, jack-five," showing the jack-five of diamonds. Then Joan said, "Wait a minute, I haven't mucked yet." "Yes you did, I saw you muck," Russell said. "No, the small blind mucked, I still have cards." "So what are you going to do?" "I call." "I don't think I like this," Russell said. But the flop came J-9-2. Joan, who only had about 1.5 small bets left, stared at it, looking confused. "What are you gonna do, check-raise me?" Russell said. Coming to, Joan said, "I check." Russell bet, and Joan check-raised all-in! Russell called. "Do you have me beat?" Russell said. "No," Joan said, turning over K9. Russell's hand held up, and he had busted an opponent who knew his hole cards. To be fair to Joan, she couldn't have reraised before the flop with such a short stack because Russell would have been pot stuck. It made more sense for her to look at a flop. The flop she got was one of the only ones that left her with a decision. She had five outs, and the pot was laying her the right price for those outs. Still, it was an incredible hand. I went back to the stud table and informed Don that now he was playing all our chips. A few hands later he busted and Team Schmengie was out of the CHORSE tournament. For $75, I had played 18 hands of stud over the course of three and a half hours. That morning I had played about 150 hands in the TOC-style event for $50, and it took four and a half hours. Can you see why CHORSE is a ripoff? And I haven't mentioned the $50 I lost in CHORSE last longer bets. I couldn't be too upset though. No Limit was just nine hours away. Saturday, August 4 The guy seated to my right at my opening table of the No Limit event was, at the time, the director of the Horseshoe poker room. His name was McEvoy or something. I might have read one or two of his books about poker tournaments. McEvoy was one of the first players eliminated from one of the earlier BARGE events, and he went out of the No Limit tourney after just a few hands. A maniac who was videotaping all of his hole cards and the board action raised all-in with a flush draw. McEvoy called with an overpair to the board. The flush came and McEvoy was crippled. He busted a few hands later to resounding applause. The buzz early in the tournament was about Phil Hellmuth-not about whether he would win, but about who would knock him out. The Tiltboys had posted a $300 bounty on him, an absurd figure considering the tournament itself only cost 70 bucks. Some people were trying not to let that influence their strategy, essentially pretending the bounty didn't exist. Others, like Eric "Jaeger" Holtman, reraised Hellmuth all-in every time they had him covered. I never sat at Phil's table (in this tournament, that is), so I never got a shot at the bounty. I did, however, get to nearly double up early. The maniac from McEvoy's hand open-raised a larger than standard amount and I smooth-called with KK. The flop came three rags. The maniac moved his chips in and I beat him into the pot. "Uh oh, do you have a pair yet?" he said. "Yup," I said, and showed my cards. My crazy opponent had 23 and he'd paired a deuce on the flop. He got no help though, and he was busted. I didn't pick up many hands, so I sat on my stack for the first few levels of play. I might have been playing too tight. Once, I didn't call an all-in raise from Jim Bulbert UTG when I had two biggish cards in the big blind. I was afraid I was dominated, as Jim wasn't in such a desperate situation where had to move in with garbage. I found out later he had a small pocket pair. Had I known that, it would have been an easy call. As I mucked and mucked, an interesting situation was developing to my left. There was no player behind the stack of chips in the one seat, and this invisible player's big blind coincided with Steve Brecher's button. The small blind, a youngish guy, knew that Brecher was a good player. So he knew that Brecher didn't need much of a hand, or even any hand at all, to go after a dead big blind from the button. The small blind grumbled and tried different ways of dealing with this-sometimes reraising, sometimes folding, sometimes flat-calling and check-raising the flop. But most of the time Brecher ended up stacking the chips. This young guy played very aggressively in general. He would open with a standard raise, it seemed, far more often than the cards would warrant. I got the sense from watching him that he was thinking four levels deeper than his opponents were, and that this wasn't necessarily a good thing. He struck me as someone who treated the game as an intellectual exercise, with the cards being almost irrelevant. This was my perception when I got 88 on the button and the young player opened for a standard raise. It got folded to me and I thought-maybe I even called for time. My stack was getting short so I didn't have the chips to flat call and then fold if I didn't flop a set. But because this opponent had been raising so much, I didn't think he had the kind of hand that could stand an all-in reraise. If I thought he would call with a hand like AT, I probably would have flat called and looked at a flop. But I thought he would release if I set him all-in. So I put all my chips forward. It got folded back to my opponent and he thought and thought and nodded. At this point I was sure I had him beat, and just hoped he would fold his overcards. He appeared to be about to muck his hand. But then some thought seemed to jump into his mind and shoved all his chips in. Confused, I shrugged and said, "I have eights." He looked at my cards and nodded...and turned over sixes. I was a 4.5 to 1 favorite before the flop, and a much bigger favorite when the flop came TT8. He got up as soon as the eight hit and shook my hand. A few minutes later I learned the name of this opponent-Tom Weideman. I've exchanged about ten emails with Tom over the past year discussing game theory problems. Tom has, I believe, a phD in physics, and is known on the two-plus-two forum as the resident genius. When I first learned I had been playing against Tom, I was shocked. I thought I had been corresponding with an older person (only because he is so obviously brilliant). But once I got over the shock, I realized that everything about the way he played fit. In my observations, players, like Chris Ferguson, who study and implement a game-theoretical approach, tend to be looser and more aggressive, and make more marginal calls. He certainly was and did. So after about three hours of the tournament, I had played the two hands where I busted two players, and had folded almost every other one. Then suddenly I picked up AA, QQ, and AK in three straight hands. I raised every time, and won the blinds every time. My opponents were folding to a guy who'd raised three straight hands. What was the matter with these people? My cards went dry again and my stack dwindled to the point where I had to try to steal some blinds. I opened the pot in early position with 78. All folded to Steve Brecher, who moved all his chips in. I had been playing very tight, for Steve to move his chips in there almost certainly meant a big hand. "You must have a good hand to bet all those chips," I said. And I folded. Why couldn't Brecher have done that when I had the aces? Probably because this time he had aces and that time he didn't. After the failed steal and two more blind increases I had reached mega short stack mode. I moved all-in UTG with something like 98. I got called by the player two to my left, and then Jeremy "ADB Satan" Miller called from the big blind without looking at his cards, claiming he was pot stuck. I wanted to debate that point with him, but unfortunately his chips were already in the middle. When all the cards were dealt, I didn't win but I got enough chips returned so that I could go all-in on the big blind the next hand. Jeremy did give me an "ADB sucked out on me" tattoo for my trouble, even though he'd had the best hand the whole time. The next hand got folded to Jeremy in the small blind, who called without looking. I didn't look either and they dealt out the board. Jeremy turned over one card, a three. There was a three on the board and he said, "beat that." "OK," I said. I turned over first some medium card, and then an ace. Neither was on the board, and I was out. I said my goodbyes to the table and wasted no time joining a 1-2 pot limit hold 'em game. A Tiltboy named Bruce was to my left, and Oz was to his left. Another good player named Jeff was four or so seats to my right. It was clearly a tough table, but that's what BARGE is about. When I got there, the players couldn't stop talking about a practical joke that never happened. During a hand, one of the players had been saying he hadn't looked at his hole cards. But he had gotten all his chips in and then gone to the bathroom. While he was gone, the rest of the table had the brilliant idea of switching his hole cards. The idea was he would return from the bathroom, flip over his cards, think he was turning over the nuts, and then stare at some worthless hand. When he would try to explain that his cards had been switched, everyone would say, "how do you know? You said you never looked at your cards." But for whatever reason, the prank didn't happen before he got back from the bathroom, and he took the pot down. I avoided major confrontations with these guys for the first hour and a half or so. Then I picked up pocket kings on the button. There were three limpers ($2 each) to me and I made it $10 to go. We took the flop five handed and it came Q-J-8 with two clubs. It got checked to me and I bet $45. Then Bruce, who had been playing a loose-aggressive style raised to $90. My first thought was, "My God, a minimum raise, he must have flopped a straight." One player folded, but the next player called $90 cold. I must have had my limit brain on, or maybe I didn't have any brain on at all. What I thought next was that since it was a multiway-pot, I might now be getting a good enough price to put all my chips in. So instead of folding I went all-in for a total of $300. "So you're saying you like your hand?" Bruce said. With Bruce thinking and thinking, I actually thought my hand might be good. Until Bruce said, "I'm all in." The next player folded quickly. "You must have me beat," I said. "Well, I do now," he said, turning over T9. I actually picked up a flush draw on the turn. It didn't hit though (I actually found myself rooting against it), and I was out of chips. I said nice hand and got up from the table. I almost always get up from the table when I go broke in pot limit. In this case, I had committed the cardinal big bet sin of overplaying a big pocket pair. The worst part was that if I had followed my first instincts I could have saved 250 bucks. I went up to my room and left a message on what I thought was Russell's cell phone (I found out later I had called his home phone in D.C.) telling him he was going to kill me when I told him about a hand I'd just played. After a five-minute rest I returned to the poker room to play some 10-20. Eric "Jaeger" Holtman was sitting to my left. He had busted out of the No Limit tournament despite having a massive chip lead with just a few tables left. Apparently he had spent most of the tournament ordering shots from the waitress. Eric was enjoying himself, even if he wasn't sure where he was. He got to the river on one hand and checked behind his opponent. Eric turned over two pair, which was easily good. "I think you missed a bet there, Eric," I said. "I don't care," he gargled. But the game became especially fun when Andrew Prock sat down across from us. Eric was in a raising mood, but Drew decided, for whatever reason, that he would raise every street of every hand. The three of us played several pots that were capped on every street. I took one of them down when I flopped a flush draw, got four bets in, and got there on the turn. Drew left after not too long to play pot limit, where I later heard he got it all-in with pocket 7s against Paul Phillips's pocket 10s. Paul's hand "held up" when the board came 10-10-7-7-x. Fich was another participant in our 10-20 game, though some might not have known it. He was a wearing a badge that read, "Nolan Dalla." Eventually it was time for the banquet. I locked up a seat next to Spencer and Russell, where I told them both about my pot limit kings hand. I thought for sure Russell would hate my raise, but to my surprise he only disliked it. It would have been much worse if I'd had $2000 in front of me, he said. The guest speaker was none other than my good friend Phil Hellmuth, Jr. The night before, Tiltboy Perry Friedman had been seen holding Phil's disk of PowerPoint slides. It was a good bet that Phil's speech wouldn't go exactly as designed. Phil got off to a rocky start, reading word-for-word from his PowerPoints about how we should stop the cheating discussion on RGP. GCA had stopped posting about a month earlier, so not only was Phil's presentation off, but his subject matter was irrelevant (this was before the "newgca" returned to haunt our newsgroup). But once Phil started talking about actual poker and actual poker hands, he found his rhythm. He talked about how he spent an entire day early in his career watching a successful tournament player from the rail. He talked about how he reraised Daniel Negreanu in the WSOP championship event with a T2, knowing Daniel was on a bluff. He talked about value-betting with threes on the river, when he "knew" his opponent had ace-king. Perry did leave his mark. In the "money management" section, a slide appeared with Phil's Ultimate Money-Saving tip: avoid the Tiltboys' home game at all costs. Apparently Phil had played in a home game with Perry and Co. and set the game's record for money lost in one evening. When Phil saw the slide, he was nice enough, after he got over his embarrassment, to detail a pot limit Omaha eight-or-better hand when he decided to bluff a player who held the nut high, nut low, and nut draw. Needless to say, the bluff didn't work. I had come prepared for the question and answer session. When Phil finished his prepared slides, my hand went up. "Yes," Phil said as he called on me. "Hey," he said before I got to say anything, "I played with you in the TOC." "Yes you did," I said. "You played very well," he said. "Thank you," I said. "Where did you finish?" Phil said. "I came in 39th." "39th, so you cashed?" "Yes." "Very good, congratulations," he said. And the audience of BARGErs applauded. It was more than an "Aw shucks" moment; it was almost surreal. A year earlier I had been an unknown BARGEr. Now I was being applauded for my tournament success by a group of some of the best poker players in the country. I was sure I didn't deserve it, but my ex-girlfriend told me to enjoy all the congratulations I was getting. So I tried. Phil's next words were even stranger. He began detailing a hand we played in the TOC-the one where I called him down with the ace-jack and won the pot. Phil remembered everything: the J-9-2 flop, my check and call on the turn and river. "He was smart enough not to bet," Phil said. "I had king-ten. I told him I had king-queen, but I had king-ten." Then he started moving on to the next questioner when I said, "Wait, I haven't asked my question yet!" He agreed, so I asked him why, during the TOC, he bet so many marginal hands and made so many thin value bets. Phil said that the TOC was a rare tournament for him, in that his chips rose at a steady rate throughout. He said that making thin value bets is not something he would do at a final table when chips are precious, but if losing the chips would cause no significant damage to his stack, he would bet marginal hands for value. I found it a well-thought out response. The only thing left of BARGE was the infamous Chowaha game. This is a BARGE tradition invented by Mike Chow. It's Hold 'Em with three flops, two turn cards, and one river. The main purpose is to tip as much as possible to the dealers and build large castles of white chips. I'd missed out on the Chowaha experience at BARGE2K, where then-World Champion Chris Ferguson built a chip castle to rival any yet conceived (I had chosen instead to lose most of my bankroll at the Bellagio). I found I was a lousy chip castle builder, but I was very compatible with the Chowaha spirit. I toked handfuls of checks almost every pot, drew at every two and three-outer, straddled, restraddled, and sweated the hands of Tom Hummel next to me on the rare hands where I folded. I did this for an hour, at which point the first of the two Chowaha tables broke. This made me realize that I done the Chowaha thing and it was time to let someone who had been patiently waiting for a seat take over. Somehow, I won $170 in an hour of $2-$4 Chowaha, and that's after a boatload of tokes. The cards must have been smiling on me. Sunday, August 5 I had called the airline to see what my chances were of getting on a flight via standby. They were zero. My flight was at 1 a.m., technically Monday morning. Standby flights are good only the day of the original flight. It was either pay $150 to change the ticket, or stick with the original plan. I was only trying to get to work on time on Monday. Forget that foolishness. At noon, I went down to Binion's poker room for the last time of the trip. I saw Jaeger and Benton and mentioned that I had 12 hours to kill before my flight. "You could probably find a poker game somewhere," Jaeger said. He had a point. I caught a ride to the Mirage with Barry Kornspan, Action Bob and Benton (Barry was driving) where Benton and I sat in a 10-20 Hold 'Em game. It seemed destined to be a lousy session when just a few hands in I flopped bottom set against my opponent's middle set. Luckily he slowed down after I three bet the turn, which saved me at least $20, if not $60. The table was mostly a bunch of tight locals, but one of them loved me when I told him I had come from BARGE. "I used to deal that, man, it was the best," he said. "Aiyah!!!" "Aiyah!!" I confirmed. Benton had an afternoon flight, so he said his goodbyes after an hour or two. I was left to sit there with the locals until I finally picked up my chips to enter a satellite for that night's No Limit Hold 'Em tournament. I was stuck six bucks for the session. I remember enjoying the satellite, 11-handed though it was. A young guy made quad 3s early and won a boatload of chips. He didn't seem to have much experience, but he said he'd been playing for two years. I couldn't survive the blind increases and when I got all my chips in I was in serious trouble, and no miracle card came. Oh well, I'd have to buy my way into the tournament. Bruce, the Tiltboy who took all my money in the pot limit game, was seated to my right in the tourney. Also at my table was J.P. Massar. Steve "Crunch" Daniel and Melissa Hayden were in the event at other tables. "Oh, you guys are still here," Melissa cooed at us before play started. When it did start, only 21 players were gunning for the title. It was an unlimited rebuy tournament, but I made a decision to take only one $100 rebuy. I played a tight-conservative strategy in keeping with my decision, so I didn't have many real confrontations before the rebuy period ended. There was one hand where I took a small pot against J.P. with a semi-bluff on the turn, and I think there was another hand where Bruce forced me to fold a reasonable hand. Bruce talks a lot at the table about his wacky play. The truth is, his play is just damn good. The rebuy gave me some chips to play with, but I was still only a medium stack. I folded and folded until I found a hand I wanted to play, pocket kings. With blinds of, say, T50 and T100, a large stack made it T200 from early position. A wild player called. Looking for action, I raised to T500 rather than move in with my entire T1200 stack. As expected, both players called. The flop came Q-6-4 two suited and the big stack check. The wild player moved all-in. I beat him into the pot, and the first player beat me into the pot. "Jeeez," J.P. said. When the dust had cleared, I knew the overcalling player had me beat. "I have a set, guys," he said. "That's good so far," I said. The turn brought another 6 and the river was something other than a king. I had busted out of my final tournament of the trip. The wild guy was angry, as he had AQ with a flush draw. He was angry, but he was just as busted as I was. I thought my play was OK. I got more chips in preflop as a big favorite. Especially with the fast blind increases, I thought it was worth making the higher EV, higher risk play-instead of moving all-in preflop and picking up just the T550. I had that to think about from the rail. I didn't stay on the rail, though. I had a buffet comp from Monday I wanted to cash in. I still had five hours before my flight, so I went to the pasta bar twice and stayed for dessert. The last time I was at the Mirage buffet, a section had been cleared out for BARGErs. This time I was a table for one amid what seemed like a thousand tourists. I even had to wait in line to get in. After the buffet I went to the poker room for one last hurrah. They had a seat open in a 10-20 Hold 'Em game and that seemed like a good place to kill a few hours. As I sat at the table, I knew it would be a great place to kill a few hours. A guy scooped a huge five-way pot with some piece of cheese and two others were laughing about it. I posted my natural big blind and there was a raise and many callers when it got to me. I had kings. I three-bet and continued to bet the rest of the way. My hand was good by the river. It was that kind of session. I made razor-thin value bets against tight players. I bluffed two loose opponents out of a pot. You're not supposed to be able to do these things. I raised liberally and got great cards. Everything I did seemed to work, and when it didn't I used the mistake to my advantage in future hands. A very strong player I knew from Foxwoods named Henry arrived at my table. He was the last person I expected to see there, but it was a fun surprise and he was seated across the table and he wasn't going to scare away any of the action (probably nothing could have). After three and a half hours I announced to the table that I was playing my last hand for the trip. I was under the gun and planning to fold, but I looked down at a pair of jacks. I raised and got several callers. The flop came something like 6-4-4. It was checked to me, I bet, and one of the blinds called. Undercards continued to come and I bet the whole way. Jacks were good. I ended my Vegas poker winning my final hand, and winning almost two racks in a three and a half hour 10-20 session. As I walked through the throngs of tourists to bell services, I almost cried. After 16 days of poker-of big time tournaments, of small time tournaments, of pot limit games, of $2-$4 Chowaha games, of drinking with Real Estate Larry, of hiding under toilet paper at the Blue Man Group, of table talk with Phil Hellmuth, of listening to Liz Phair in a hotel room, of calling a woman eight time zones away just to tell her how I played, of walking through a desert to do laundry, of forgetting all my responsibilities, and even forgetting that I had some other life somewhere else-I was leaving Las Vegas. On the trip home I got stuck an extra hour and a half in the Minneapolis airport. I got to work five hours late. Upon getting back there, someone told me I had a meeting the next morning. "Ah shit, are you serious?" I said. My buddy Srinivas answered, "Did you think we would be playing poker?" I don't have any more to say about the trip; I'm appalled at how much I've said already. I mentioned to Spencer during the TOC that I don't write trip reports and I don't understand why people enjoy reading them. Then I came home and proceeded to write this giant mess. The irony is that my writing has been accused of being too spare. One of my college instructors said a story of mine was "not just underwritten...severely underwritten." Forgive me, then, if I didn't expect this outpouring of verbiage that I got. If I ever write a trip report again, I'll come up with a strategy beforehand for keeping it concise. My only excuse is that everything I wrote about here seemed interesting and relevant to me after one draft and one round of editing. If I ever try to publish (using actual paper, that is) something about this trip it would look different. In some places not so different, in some places drastically different. I would like to thank all of my friends and RGPers and RGPer friends who told me they enjoyed reading this. It means this trip report has met its goal. I would also like to thank anyone who has read this far. You, reader, are brave indeed. Email me anytime you need something. Just say, "I read your whole damn trip report," and I'll try to help in any way I can. No ending could justify 42,000 words of buildup, so mine won't try. Just play your best poker, take whatever risks you can afford, and never fold top pair against Phil Hellmuth. Matt