Just When I Thought I Had It All Figured Out...

Just a few weeks ago, I was playing in a two-day tournament at the Venetian Resort. At a break, I ran into a cocktail waitress I hadn’t seen in a while. We started up a conversation. She had been promoted to a high-roller baccarat room, away from the poker room. Poker players don’t tip much. Players in the high-stakes rooms tip a lot because they go there to lose their money anyway. She asked me what I was up to, and I told her I was playing in a tournament, as usual, and my stack was shrinking, also as usual. I pondered whether I should abandon this expensive hobby. She smiled and playfully slapped my shoulder. “You always say that,” she said.

At the next break, one of the dealers came over to me and told me he was sure I’d make it to Day 2. I told him I wasn’t so sure, after months of losses. “I’m sure,” he said. “You’re a very good player.” That perked me up. A lot of dealers tell me that. They know the good players from the bad ones. And I’m not a big tipper—I give tips anonymously, and only when I cash in a tournament—so I know they’re not just trying to flatter me.

I did make Day 2 (as you know, because I wrote about it), and I made the final table and finished ninth in the tournament. I was feeling pretty good. Everything had flowed well: I lost hands but won generally more than I lost up until the end. I read the players really well, and I felt confident in my playing. I thought I finally had it all figured out, and my path to poker success, and a WSOP bracelet, was, as they say, in the cards.

Then yesterday happened. I played in another two-day tournament at the Venetian. It was a rebuy tournament with a big starting stack and 40-minute levels before the blinds (the minimum bets) increased. On Monday, I bought in twice. At first, I took some risks because I was prepared to buy back in, but those risks didn’t pay off. I made it far the next time I bought in, but not quite far enough. I had been the table chip leader for most of the tournament until they switched me to another table where two players had many more chips than me. I couldn’t bluff them, and all of my good hands were beaten by better ones. I came close to the money but fell short.

Yesterday, I reentered the tournament and decided to play my usual game all day. I ended up buying in six times! Each time lasted roughly an hour. One time lasted a single hand! Everything went wrong. I believe I played perfectly. Well, maybe not perfectly, but I can’t think of anything I should have done differently (I mean, without knowing the ultimate outcomes). All the other players played well, too. It’s not like some idiot made a move that threw me off or even that someone got incredibly and undeservedly lucky. We all played well, and the cards continually ran against me.

It’s something of a blur right now, but here are the hands I remember. I did notice that a lot of players in the tournament were aggressive and shoving pre-flop. I lost a big pot to one player and got pocket Qs on the next hand. I wanted people to think I was “on tilt” (i.e., upset about losing a big hand and acting irrationally), so I bet a lot, with a look of disgust on my face. To my delight, the player who had just beaten me took the bait (or so I thought) and shoved. I excitedly called. He turned over pocket Ks. I busted out.

I sat down at a new table and immediately got dealt pocket Ks. I raised a lot. Another player shoved. I called. He had pocket As. A K came on the turn but an A came on the river. I busted out again.

I got short stacked and was dealt AK. I shoved. Another player called with AQ. He got a Q and I busted out.

I got A♣Q♣. The flop was A♥5♥4♦. I didn’t like the two hearts. It was just me and another short stack left in the hand. I shoved. Sure enough, she had 4♥10♥, giving her a pair of 4s and a flush draw. We were both looking for a heart—she wanted it, I wanted to avoid it. The turn was a spade. The river was a club. I jumped up and said, “Yes!” I had actually survived a race. She congratulated me. I said it was nice playing with her. She took her purse and started walking away when the other players at the table started calling her back. Neither of us had noticed that the last card was a 10, giving her two pair to beat my aces.

I was short stacked and got AQ on the button. Everyone had folded but the small blind and the big blind. I shoved. The small blind folded. The big blind called and showed… pocket As! I got one queen on the flop, but didn’t get the other that I needed.

I left, demoralized. Six entries in one day and all of them were short and painful. People ask me if I like poker. I am obsessed with it. Then they ask, “If you enjoy if, what does it matter if you win or lose.” I don’t get this. It’s like asking, “If you like your job, what does it matter whether you get paid?” Or “If you like the Vegas Raiders, why do you care if they win or lose?” There are some people, I guess, who like the process. I like the possibility of winning and knowing that I outplayed hundreds or thousands of the best players in the world. Playing a physical sport like swimming or football or weightlifting or golf has health benefits that accrue even if you lose. Well, maybe not golf—I don’t really get that one. But in poker I sit around on my tuchus, eat sugary snacks, drink coffee, and… repeat. OK, I use my brain, but there are millions of activities that use my brain, don’t cost money, and some even have health benefits. I could play chess. I could develop software. I could write another book. I could read another book. While riding my exercise bike.

Next month is the World Poker Tour World Championship at the Wynn Casino. I’ve been eagerly anticipating what could be the largest poker prize in poker history. The buy-in is $10,400 and the prize pool is guaranteed at $40 million. First place will get around $10 million. Or more. Should I play or am I just wasting money and time and inviting disappointment? I’d like to get your feedback. Please respond in the comments below whether 1) I should continue playing poker and 2) whether I should continue writing about my poker exploits.

Thanks,
-Bob