Tom Sims wrote me an e-mail and inquired as to whether I was going to post a trip report on my WSOP trip this year. That sounded like an invitation, so here goes. A lot of this was written at the WSOP, and then edited recently. I used to be a writer, but those days are long past; in any event, I'm not that good of an editor. Minor inaccuracies are blamed on age and memory. I apologize for the shifts in tense from past to present.
Not being independently wealthy, and believing that if I had a million, poker would probably not be my favored investment vehicle, we started this journey budgeted at approximately $8,000 for gambling, with another $2,000 for expenses. Realistically, that’s about what it takes to stay in business for a week or so at the World Series of Poker – so long as you aren’t playing side games. I’ve always played side games in years past, but it’s always seemed to wear me down, with a marginal return (playing all night for 2000-3000 profit doesn’t make sense when you give up the opportunity for a big score in a tournament where you need all of your strength). This year, ala’ my Rio tournament, I make a pre-departure decision to play only satellites and tournaments.
Satellites tonight are for tomorrow’s $3000 pot-limit event, so that costs me $320. I still had some sort of virus and chest congestion, but determined to play as well as I could. After about an hour, I had a small lead and offered to chop it up; my opponent gave me a funny look, then said "okay." $1550 apiece, so I’m up $1210 ($20 toke for the dealers). Time for bed.
By now it is about 10:30 a.m., I’ve made up my mind that if I want to play in that day’s event, (and I’m pretty sick and unsure if that is a good idea under any circumstance), I’ll have to win another satellite. So I enter one more but bust out on a hand that I still don’t remember. I decide not to waste tournament chips on a sick person, and await some more satellites for the no-limit on Thursday. Diana and I go shopping and I treat myself to a new notebook – as I tell her, spending money is a great incentive to keep making it.
Back at the Horseshoe, I try one no-limit satellite and lose. Make a decision to await the super-satellite at 8:30 and pay my entry fee of $220. I had already decided not to rebuy. Once the tournament started, the guy to my right took at least 6 rebuys and I still ended up busting him out. At the end of the rebuy period, I had 850. After play resumed, I ran my stack up to about 2500, but never really got much above that all night. Down to 2 tables, I saw Mike Paulle walk in the room and get totally ignored by all of the players, whom it appears he would like to get the names of.
Patti makes the announcement that they will pay 9 places and 6 of those players get seats in the Big One. We’re down to 16 players and I have 800, with blinds of 300 and 600. I’ve been playing for about an hour now on very thin ice, just trying to stay alive. With the blinds 4 places to my right, I pick up Q-6 spades (trust me folks, this is not a quality hand). Susie Isaacs, in an early seat, raises all-in. I decide that although this is not my preferred all-in hand, that I’m getting 2-1 for my money (300 + 600 + 800) and that should allow me to make the final table, so I call. The flop comes with a spade and a gutshot draw for me to a straight, the turn with another spade, but no help on the river. She had raised all-in with Q-10 and hit a 10 on the flop. Exit yours truly in 16th place (I think we had 160+ players and an incredible amount of rebuys, so I didn’t pound myself too bad over finishing where I did). They then go on break. I introduced myself to Mike, asked Susie Isaacs her opinion on the play of that final hand (and got two answers for the price of one), then headed to bed.
Quickly knocked out of 2 satellites, I had a long talk with myself then entered a 3rd. Unfortunately, there was this lady who talked non-stop and really annoyed most of the players. I made some nice plays, stayed patient, but then made a bad play trying to bluff my whole stack into a player who had hit a raggedy flop with top pair (you’ll soon notice that this becomes my trademark play on this trip). Sooooo ... down to +1950 for the trip. Played another satellite and took $1800 out of it. Okay, I’m feeling somewhat better, can afford to blow off the grand, so now is the time for a 10,000 final table event.
With Tom McEvoy on my right, and not having his most recent books, I naturally asked for both of them and both he and TJ Cloutier were kind enough to autograph them for me on the spot. Once again, Tom was out quickly and I "reported to the rail" in 6th (in 14 years, McEvoy has still never gotten paid in any event I’ve played in – hmmmm, perhaps I should tell him?). For those trivia buffs, I think Steve Brecher won the hand that knocked me out, but I'll leave it to him to say who the cutie was that knocked *him* out. But I still didn’t feel like I had particularly played well either. Down to +2750 for the trip. I’m going to have to rethink my strategy on these 10k single-table satellites.
After that debacle, I decided to go pay my entry fee for the super satellite and get some rest. When I got downstairs, I found several well-known players looking for backers in the super-satellites. Since the books still were on the plus side, I agreed to back 2 of them for $220 (sorry boys, no rebuys), but they got busted out.
For those who are interested in whether these super-satellites attract good players, I’ll note that at my initial table, I had Tom McEvoy, Marsha Waggoner, and Mel Judah. At one point, McEvoy went all-in with A-4 suited against A-J suited and hit two running 4s to stay alive. Marsha asked, "what chapter is that in Tom?" McEvoy replied, "the suckout chapter." I told him, "now hold on, I just bought the book an hour ago, I haven’t had time to read that one." (One thing I noticed about Marsha Waggoner’s play: she played nothing but very good cards, yet several of her male opponents repeatedly banged their heads trying to run over her. Dumb.)
The nap in my room must’ve been the key. I played calmly and deliberately and made no "out of order" moves on any pots. Also, as per my plan, I made no rebuys (in 1996 and 1997, I would rebuy and still not make it past the second hour). Finished the first hour with about 625 in chips. Through the middle stages, I built my stack up methodically, although I don’t recall any memorable hands. As the tables got down to 3 then 2, I tried to maintain my stacks at a "safe" level by judicious raises to steal. Took some beats, but maintained a decent chip position (practicing my Ali "rope-a-dope" strategy).
Here at the next-to-the-last table, I run into the "Italian Stallion." He’d come to the table with a crippled stack, but got lucky and won a few all-in hands. Then he took on a couple of players and busted them out, and as he did so, he went into his "report to the rail” routine. I’ll leave this one to Mike Paulle, but it goes something like "don’t you EVER mess with the Italian Stallion or you WILL report to the rail …" (add a loud Italian nasal accent and you’ve got it down pat). Finally, he runs into a bigger stack and a bigger hand, and he looks down at the table as he dons his jacket and much more quietly states, "the Italian Stallion reports to the rail." Chuckles all around.
Finally we were down to the final table and I was sitting in 2nd-3rd chip position, which is where I stayed for the rest of the event. At the break, somewhere around midnight, I went up to the room and told Di (who was in bed), "you probably ought to come down to watch this one." By the time she got downstairs to the rail, we were down to 8 players. One player in the three seat (who probably still feels shell-shocked from all the close calls he had in the supers), came to the table in excellent chip position, but played too many hands; then came the final hand that busted him. (Mike Paulle wrote this one up, so if you are interested, you can probably find it on the web at Conjelco). O’Neil Longson was the chip leader and when he came in, the two players in seats 3 and 4 went all-in with 3 chips, and the two of us sitting last also called. A guy with one chip (sorry, I don’t recall his name), stayed out of the pot. To make a long story short, O’Neil broke the guys with three chips and the guy with ONE chip got a $10,000 seat. He was so happy that he gave all of the “extra" $360 to the dealers. (They paid 6 places, and we all got a $10,000 seat plus $360 in cash.) I tipped the dealers $200 and then Di and I walked off the stress and excitement before going to sleep.
Later that day I played another super-satellite. Built my stack up to about 650, but lost somewhere in the middle stages. No hands worth honorable (or even dishonorable) mention.
Since I hadn’t played well enough to win my way in, I had decided instead to back a player in that day’s main event. The agreement was for 50/50, with my offer that if he won (and only for a win), he’d get a 10% bonus. Well, he led for most of the way and had a huge stack before dinner, but after dinner, I went down to look for him to talk about strategy, and couldn’t find him. Then I went to McCarran to pick up a rental car and as I got back to the hotel and was walking into the Pavillion, he was literally pushing the last of his chips into the middle of the table – busting out just shy of the money. When he was leading, I was confident he would win; after he lost, the only thought was how nice a return of approximately $110,000 would’ve been if he’d won -- maybe the bonus was too much of a driving force; a bad idea for this particular player.
In the first satellite, I run my stack up to about 3,000, but it is apparent that I’m in big trouble. Stud *is* my game, but there is a position problem in this particular satellite. See, there’s a clown to my right who is playing every hand. This is good when I almost bust him out, but he gets lucky several times in all-in pots with other players and survives. Now, since he has a few chips, he keeps taking cards off on 3rd and 4th street, preventing me from isolating players on draws. Normally, draws are what Dr. Stern calls "death" in tournaments, but in this case, the player in the 7 seat has loosened the table up. I can’t protect a pair, and to make matters worse, every time *I’m* on a live draw, the clown naturally intercepts my helpers then folds. Aaaaargh! I go on tilt and bust out. This table was probably the easiest satellite I’d been in, but it put me in the worst mood. I decide to abandon thoughts of playing the stud tournament simply because of my attitude.
We make arrangements for our rooms for next week with Susan and head south on US95. This trip through the desert to Phoenix has become sort of an unrecorded WSOP tradition for Diana and I, so we take turns running the video camera and driving.
That night, I play another super-satellite, do the normal good job in round one, but get busted out in the middle stages. I’d also backed several players and they all got busted too (while it appears that these were not good investments, in my defense, I must say that 2 of the 3 players I backed have finished high in the money in the main event several times). That night, about midnight, since I was already in the main event, I backed a player one last time in a $10k satellite. Again he built a huge lead, then when it got down to 4 handed, lost several big hands in a row. Needless to say, the next day, several players backed him for the full amount in the main event and he finished in the money for them.
Finally got back to the Pavillion where the tournament was being held, and the place was a total zoo. Press and cameras everywhere, interviews off to the side, and such a crush of humanity that we could hardly get in the door to the Pavillion.
One busybody informs us that since Di isn’t "press" that she can’t use her videocamera in the Pavillion – outside the ropes. Hmmmm. Let me think about this, the TV networks can have free footage of the players, but the players can’t have footage of themselves? Who made that decision and why?
Later that day, I see that the same loud-mouthed woman who I’d seen in an earlier satellite is now taking pictures and running videotape in and around all the players. I suspect she’s not "press" because it’s no secret that she’s "local." During day two, one well-known player seated to my right, who I don’t particularly care for, but who shall nonetheless go unnamed, informs the table that "the bitch won’t quit following me around" (she’s taking a LOT of pics of him), and states that she has been servicing a lot of players in her room. Apparently someone complained about her free-wheeling photo access though, because the next day, she had a shiny new press pass.
But the big story was Stu Ungar. The rumor was that Ungar was so messed up that he couldn’t come out of his room to defend his title. One player told me that he was trying to save his life and went to talk to him. Turns out that Ungar didn’t play, and Jack McClelland reported that he was too ill to appear.
Amarillo Slim was sitting at my table, talking to well-wishers as they went by. I set up at table 55, seat 4 with my Discman, headphones, a bottle of water, coffee, sunglasses, and a light jacket. Even if I had gotten blown out on hand one, my *intention* was to last the day. In fact, my pre-plan was to simply coast through day one. However, I suppose it is silly to ever put a stack of chips in front of a player and ask them to coast. In fact, most of the players who were still there on day two started in a gambling mood and stayed that way. Coasting is fine perhaps in certain stages, but that isn’t going to win it.
Several actors were playing in this event. The most popular was Matt Damon who ended up at Doyle Brunson’s table, which was right behind mine. For the first several hours, I couldn’t turn around without bumping into a photographer, journalist, or TV crew. Several crews took shots of our table, and I ended up as a filler clip on Channel 3 news for the piece they did about Matt Damon. Youth contrasted with decrepit I suppose. Damon ended up getting knocked out about 5:30 - 6 p.m., but took his defeat very graciously.
Remarkably, the extraneous attention hadn’t affected me; it’s still me, a stack of chips and some cards. Yet I start out horribly. Very early on, with about the original 10k in front of me, I called a small bet with A-10 spades. The flop came A-8-3 rainbow. My opponent in the 8 seat bet 700 and I raised 4300. He moved all-in. I threw the hand away. The raise was a horrible mistake on my part, as it was too large in relation to the pot and nearly crippled me fatally. The interesting thing was, this was the point where I came alive and really "got with the program" – in my mind, war had just been declared. It was either a firefight or surrender and I wasn’t going out like that.
Down to 4300. Slow-played a pair of sixes; flopped 2-6-7 (2 spades). Man to my right with about 5,000 bet 700 and I moved all-in. He called with a flush draw which did not appear. Back to nearly even. Built the stack up to about 12,000, then got involved with Pat Callahan. Slow-played K-K, and the flop came Q-9-3. Pat bet 700 and I raised him 4300. He looked at the pot and my stack, said something I didn’t make out, then moved all-in. I called and turned out K-K; he showed A-Q spades. The turn came with a 3, then a 7. I had enough to cover the bet so he "reported to the rail."
From there, I played a bit slowly even though Vasilis Lazarou was trying to run over the table. I kept looking for an opportunity to bust his head, but was never dealt much in the way of hands. Had one pair of Aces in the pocket all day and won only the blinds. Still, I played steadily and built my stack from 25,000 on up. Lost several small hands, but built it back with steals against weak stacks. Finished the day with 37,425 – good for 14th place out of 199 remaining players. While I had over 40,000 at one point earlier, realistically, where I finished was about the most I could’ve made out of what I was dealt. I was not displeased.
The highlight of the day had to be playing with Amarillo Slim in seat two (two to my right). Although he made several "buys", I never called any of his raises, figuring it was better to just let him go and come after him later. It was much more enjoyable conversing with him about people and situations that had happened over the years. A class guy and still a witty player. He made several great plays, but ultimately went all-in with the best hand and lost.
Diana is psyched. She’s so high you could stick a pin in her and she’d pop. The excitement of the event and the reality that I’m in position to win this one has her as pumped up as I’ve ever seen her. Actually, she thinks it is the gold "lucky bear" she’s wearing on her lapel that’s pushed me this far. We’ll see after tomorrow.
It didn’t matter. I again started the day with a terrible play. After a couple of small builds, I misplayed a pot by continuing to bet after Lee Salem called my flop and turn bets (he and I were the two big stacks at the table -- I should've known he wouldn't get involved against another big stack without a quality hand -- perhaps I needed more coffee). I was on a total steal with J-10 off, and a flop showing 7-4-2. On the end, I bet 15,000, and he raised all-in. I folded, but still lost over 26,000 on that hand. Proceeded to slowly dig myself out of that hole, then turned back on the burners and by late afternoon, my stack was up to about 90,000. Again I lost a big hand when pressing A-K offsuit and nothing on the flop. Cost me another 35,000 (should have followed TJ Cloutier's advice and "shut down"). In retrospect, from here I could’ve coasted into the money.
Nguyen is moved to our table, but he’s sitting at about 60,000 and not moving a muscle (I don’t even recall hearing a single "bebe" from him.) Then I lose a pot to a man in the two seat who was all-in for 14,000 with a pair of Queens versus my A-K offsuit -- no help for me on the flop.
Down to 35,000. Late in the day, about 9:30, I make the fatal mistake. On the button, dealt Q-J, all fold around to me. Since the two biggest stacks are now on the little blind (Pat Fleming) and big blind (Kathy Leibert), I'm being very cautious of trying to blow them off a hand, and just call. Only Leibert stays.
The flop comes A-Q-7, two clubs. Leibert checks, I bet, and get check-raised 15,000. After deciding that she’s check-raised with a cheesy pair and a draw, I decide to call. The turn comes with a Jack – but it’s clubs. Now what to do? Leibert moves all-in, I look down at about 14,000, calculate the odds, rethink the likelihood of her having the flush, decide to call and turn out my Q-J. She shows 7-4 of clubs. The river brings a deuce. Exit Earl in 48th place. About that time, Mike Paulle walks by and asks what happened; "wrong Jack," I reply.
This was a tough defeat to get over and it took me a week to quit thinking so intensely about what might have been. I’m not sure I’ll get over this for quite awhile. I had my chances to win it and frankly, just blew it. Maybe if I played poker more often than every 4 months ….
Kevin McBride looks nervous as hell, and TJ looks pretty uptight but so does Nguyen. TJ finishes 3rd, leaving Nguyen and McBride to fight for the title. After a 5 minute break, McBride comes back looking more confident. They play pit-a-pat a bit and we get bored, so I suggest we go take in some more scenery.
Drove across Hoover Dam and down the Arizona side of US95 to Willow Beach, and although it was too late to check out a boat, we shot some video from the pier. After arriving back in Vegas, Di shopped for souvenirs and then we went to the Orleans so that I could play the 7 o'clock tournament at the Orleans. It was Omaha Hi-Lo, far from my best game, but I did destroy the first table (amazing how good you play when you don’t care – the local Omaha rocks went into full tilt mode when I showed them the garbage I was playing initially). Di was getting drunk and choking the nickel slot machines.
Ultimately the blinds went into the crapshoot stage and I lost several hands in a row. Eliminated at the 3rd table (right after Dr. Max, what a nice guy), but did get 7 bounties, for most of my buy-in back. Dropped off the rental car, checked in at the airport and grabbed a pizza and a beer. Departed Sin City at midnight, trying to enjoy the last bit of the lights over the city as the plane banked left then right.
Slept most of the day, then got up about 4 p.m. and drove over to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for "happy hour." Billy Boat and Tony Stewart were trading laps in the high 223 mph range and the sun was shining. What a life. In 10 days, I nearly won $110k on a good investment and then had an excellent opportunity to win the million in the final event. That I "crashed and burned" really is irrelevant. The parallels between driving fast on the edge here and playing fast on the edge in tournaments has never been lost on me, so sitting here in the sun with the smell of methanol in the air and a screaming 800-horsepower Indycar flying past is as good as it gets for now.
Earl
Published with the permission of the author.
Reproduction without the author's permission prohibited.
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