My First WSOP (Part 1 of 2)

The overall summary is 0 for 2 – two events, no cashes. I’m already making plans for next year.

After a week in London I came back to Gainesville for three days before leaving again for Vegas for the WSOP and Cancun the week after. My plan when I went was to play Event 46 Stud/8 with a small Stud/8 at Binion’s the day before ($100 buy-in – since I had actually never played a live Stud/8 tourney outside of the GPT), and the Venetian Deep Stack on Friday. I wound up adding a second WSOP event.


So, I fly 3,000 miles and guess who is at my starting table for Stud/8 – the only other GPT player in the whole thing, Jim. Showing up and seeing him there was a surreal event, but also soothing as you can well imagine. I was in the seven seat and Jim was in the two seat and I had visions of us getting into a four-way hand and chopping the pot between us, taking two donkeys to the river. Sadly, that never happened. I had pondered pitching a small last-longer bet for fun, and by the dinner break I was glad I hadn’t. I finished level 1 with 1,700 chips (down from 2k – all tourneys this year started with chips 2x the buy-in), but was down to 800 by the end of level 2 – about half Jim’s stack.

I met my wife and a friend at Voodoo for a quick bite (and by "quick bite" I mean…). I had one of the huge Witchdoctor drinks because I figured at that point I didn’t need to exactly stay sharp – I’d double up or be out pretty soon when I got back, and probably the latter. The guy in the three seat had been a veritable Jamie Fucking Gold – hit in the face with the deck. After seeing him hit two well-hidden boats and get paid off I made the mistake of getting into a hand with him late in level 2. I had started with a low that developed into a hidden two pair in a three way pot. JFG and another player both looked low so I went to the river, only to find JFG with another hidden boat, and the third player with a busted low. Never get in the way of a player on a rush – no matter how many times I remind myself of this I still do it.

Jamie/Ramer/Matusow

I got back a little before the end of the dinner break and chatted with Jim for a few and smoked a quick cigarillo before they let us back in. We were in an annex in the back of the convention center, not even in the Amazon room – fucking Hold’em. When I came back in Negreanu was at his table two tables away from us reading. I had seen him bothered countless times during the first two hours and of course never approached him because I am not “that guy.” But with a few minutes left before play resumed I politely asked him for an autograph and he said “get fucked, man, I’m working here.” No, not really – he was as gracious as you would imagine. He signed his Razor card, I thanked him trying not to sound like a star-struck Japanese teenage girl, and he said “respect.” I’m so glad he wasn’t a dick because it would have ruined my whole trip.

So goal one was making it to the dinner break which I had done. The next goals were 2) outlast Jim (no offense, Jim), 3) outlast Negreanu, 4) make it to day two, and finally 5) cash. This no doubt appears modest to some. Had I been Hank my list of goals would have looked like this: 1) Win bracelet, 2) tell everyone at the final table if they had named the game after me it would have been called “Stud/9,” 3) get a picture of my balls on the railing of a WSOP table. But, this was my first WSOP and I had my own ideas. (Incidentally, Dan’s goals would have looked like this: 1) get a picture of my balls on the railing of a WSOP table, 2) get a picture with Jennifer Tilly and Shannon Elizabeth…with my balls out).

My first hand back I was dealt rolled-up fours – who’s Jamie Fucking Gold now, ya luckbag? The case 4 was folded right after the bring-in and I feared no one in the hand actually saw it so they wouldn’t factor that in later. I limped – had the 4 been behind me I certainly would have raised because the case 4 would have been noticed for sure then, but I was looking to disguise my hand somewhat, and looking to three-bet it if someone raised – especially Golden Boy (as a further irony, the guy actually resembled Greg Raymer, more in girth than anything else, and in fact when he won his first hand 20 minutes or so into the tourney he raised his arms in the “yes” fashion of Raymer when he won the main event in 2005. In addition, he flashed his belly, ala Mike Matusow – who does this guy NOT remind me of?).

Fortunately I caught low on fourth and fifth and bricked off sixth, further disguising my hand. I never improved from third street, but it was enough to win the high half. On the very next hand I started with A32 and was the bring-in, and once again limped. I made my low on fifth and never caught an ace. I think my high was like a pair of fours and I chopped with the low hand, and was back at 2,100 chips five minutes into level three.

The guy in the four seat was the most insufferable windbag with whom I’ve ever had the displeasure to play poker. Our first dealer was a poor schmuck who had never dealt stud and had been dealing all hold’em – he literally stopped dealing the first hand after two cards and did that a couple more times before getting into the groove. How I pitied that poor man, sitting directly across from the Rules Nazi. Had the guy in the four seat yelled “No Soup for you!” at the dealer I would have been Jack’s complete lack of surprise.

Rules Nazi/Mall Cop

And when I say Rules Nazi I don’t mean substantive things – I mean things like berating the dealer for cutting the cards before pulling the antes in. This is done in ante games to prevent cheating of course and to ensure the pot is right before the deal starts. Last year, with 1k in starting chips, the button anted 5 and no one else anted. This year with twice the chips everyone anted, so that means what? It means the potential cheating was for five fucking dollars – thanks Nazi, for “protecting” the game.

The worst part was the Nazi stopped the game to get the floor over to complain that we were supposed to have more than 10 five-dollar chips to start so it wouldn’t slow down the game with players passing chips and the dealer having to chop 25s for antes. See the irony here? We stopped play so we could talk about ways to speed up the game. There were roughly 78 tables, and everyone had the same stack of chips. This was of course an elaborate power trip and an opportunity for him to announce to everyone that he had been at the rules committee meeting the night before and so-and-so personally told him we would have $100 in fives to start.

And in case anyone missed it, he mentioned it about a half dozen more times. Now, if you’ve ever played stud you know that the nature of the game is the fives (or whatever low ante chips) go from one end of the table to the other – that’s just stud, and of course I gently mentioned this, to no betterment of the situation. Then he chastised the dealer some more for telling him initially that the floor wasn’t going to do anything about it – even though the dealer had called the floor as requested the first time. Besides being a fatuous prick he was just a sad case. I’m convinced that he didn’t pay enough attention to the actual players that he could identify things like which players always raise with an ace in the door, or how often some players complete with a low door card, or who the players are who call third street bets but fold on fourth when they brick, or who will re-raise when they have two low cards up on fourth in a multi-way pot. But, he could describe every dealer we had and what mistakes they make and don’t make.

He actually made the ludicrous statement at one point that he doesn’t play as many tournaments anymore because “of all the bad rulings.” Hey fuckstick, pay attention to the game the way you do the dealers, and spend less time announcing how important you are, and you might have some modicum of success. At that point I couldn’t take it and I told a story loudly to the guy next to me about a friend who is a huge Duke basketball fan, but anytime a crucial call costs them the game he always says “we shouldn’t have allowed the game to get close enough where a call will matter, so I never blame the refs.” It had no effect. The only comeuppance for our Mall Cop was one dealer who announced on the first heads-up hand he dealt that he pulls all the bets into the pot (it’s customary in a split-pot game to leave the bets in front of each player when it’s heads-up since it speeds up the game) because he had lost a job once over someone pulling back a bet, and if anyone didn’t like it that was too bad. YES – I said that’s right Bunkie, take control of the game! The Nazi said not a word.

Jim went out late in level 4. I’m sorry to say I don’t remember the hand but I think he was three-way with a high and lost, probably to JFG. Goal 2 accomplished. As I nursed my short stack during level 5 at 100-200 I kept looking over at Negreanu’s table. I could see he had about 600 and I had about five big bets. I had a hand where I started with wired queens and raised and a new player in the one seat, who had been playing very fast (but had a nice stack) ever since he got to our table re-raised. Another player called and I called. He caught an Ace on fourth and I immediately went away. The winning high hand in that pot was a pair of 8s – doh! I got two queens again a couple of hands later and wound up chopping with the high.

With about four big bets and Negreanu at 400 or 500 (he had no purples left either) I was the bring-in with a deuce up and wired kings, and I brought it in for a raise. My thinking was I really wanted to get the chips in as early as possible and take seven cards. In effect, I was taking the Sklanskyesque approach of pricing myself into the pot. When I thought about it later the other alternative seemed better – limp, hope that it was raised so I could three-bet and isolate. If it wasn’t raised, and the boards came scary I could get away from two little kings. I think folding queens to eights earlier probably had a lot to do with deciding to play it fast. Plus, we had only about 15 minutes left in the level and with the ante at 25 and holding four big bets, which would soon be two big bets, I couldn’t wait forever.

The hand went three way and both boards fortunately for me looked low. In fact, the six seat hit a nine on sixth which looked like a great development for me. It was not. The six seat was a nice old guy – Friday (the next day) was his birthday, and the day his wife was retiring as president of a community college in North Carolina. So, he had enough things going for him, did he really need to hit against me? On sixth I caught my fourth spade and wound up hitting runner-runner for a flush. I was almost proud on the end when I announced “King-high flush” only to hear Six announce “full house.” He had started with a pair of nines and board that looked like a pair of sevens and a busted low draw actually was nines-full. And Negreanu was still in.

Six/Bearded Mike Buster

I took my leave and wished everyone luck except for the Nazi, and wondered over to Negreanu’s table. He was all-in and it looked like he would outlast me by a couple of minutes. The guy next to him obviously had been giving him shit and Negreanu was in his patented chatter mode. He had started with two queens and decided to get it in early (sound familiar). The kid giving him the business revealed his trip-sevens as Negreanu’s last card came down. Everyone knew that a queen had already been folded so he squeezed it out “it’s paint….it’s red….it’s a QUEEN! Yeah, uh, how ya like me now!” I’m not making that part up. He yelled over to someone at another table “hey (something) I just hit a one-outer!” And then he broke into some Lil John – “Yaaaya, Whhhhat. Yaaaya, Whhhhhat.” It was fucking priceless.

And with that I went up to the Voodoo Lounge where our friend had gotten a VIP table and had two bottles of champagne and a huge bottle of Grey Goose (my only concession to Le French, other than Phil). She had been drinking since about 11 am non-stop and was a real trouper to stick around, especially since when I left dinner I said “see you in about 20 minutes.” She left shortly after and for the life of me I don’t know why I didn’t think to call Jason who’s number I had. But, he was probably resting for Event 47 since it was a noon start.

In addition to Jim and Jason I saw Fish and Andrew Dykeman, neither of whom are GPT players but both people I know from cash games in Gainesville. When I saw Andrew he looked to be in a 5/10 NL game with a couple thou in front of him. They ran cash games in the Amazon room as low as 1/2. That’s right – 1/2 cash game players for hold’em got tables in the Amazon room while the Stud/8 players got the tent outside. Fucking hold’em.

I spent so much energy on the Nazi I’m too tired to detail how I wound up in another event but I’ll add that later. The Rio was awesome – a lot of room for the price, although after staying in a shoebox in London for a week any normal room looks like a suite. They gave me $200 off the room with my buy-in card so it was like the tournament cost me $800. Next year I’m going to try to put together a “poker compound” during the WSOP. For any GPT players interested I’m going to get a condo/house, probably for a couple of weeks, and the per-person price will be very reasonable. Just something to keep in mind.

Peace!