The other fun thing about my starting table was that Ian Simpson was there. If you don’t know Ian, you will soon. We’ve already recorded an interview with him and will publish it perhaps as early as this coming Monday, if it doesn’t get pre-empted by WSOP content (will depend on how much time we find to record in the next few days).

Nate and I had high hopes of getting dinner with Ian and Ryan Hall, but it turned out that the break was only 30 minutes, which caused Ryan to drop out, and Ian had already busted and left, so it was just Nate and me. And in fact, if Nate hadn’t busted shortly before dinner break and volunteered to get a table and place an order in advance, we wouldn’t even have managed that. I really don’t understand the point of a 30 minute dinner break.

Overall I think I played perhaps the best tournament poker I have yet in this event. I got moved away from my awesome starting table and spent the rest of the day tangling (or trying not to tangle) with some tough young Europeans. Unfortunately I just kept losing pre-flop all ins after chipping up.

There was one other hand I was proud of. At 400/800/100, I opened to 2000 with Jc 9c in the CO, and the BB, one of aforementioned Europeans, re-raised to 6000. There are some people who will be quite strong when they three-bet from the big blind, preferring to call most hands that they might use as “light” three-bets, and although I did expect this player to be polarized, I would expect him to have a more good/balanced three-betting strategy even from the big blind. So, I called with about 31K behind.

The flop came Qc 9hs 8c, and he bet 6K. I think a lot of people will just jam here because they know they have a lot of equity and they aren’t comfortable playing future streets. With a slightly weaker hand, say Kc Tc, I think shoving is correct – you’d rather get all in on the flop, ideally with some fold equity, than call and get forced off your equity on a blank turn.

However, I think my hand is strong enough to get all in no matter the turn card, and I don’t think Villain will fold many hands with substantial equity. It’s important to consider all of your options rather than just defaulting to a shove any time you have enough equity to get all in, and here I think there’s more value in calling than shoving.

The turn was a Q, and we both checked. The river was the 3s, we both checked again, and he showed Aces to win the pot. To be clear, although this was a nice side benefit of just calling the flop, avoiding a stack off to overpairs on a few specific runouts is really not the main reason to call the flop. I’m going to be stacking off on most turns, this was just the rare card that neither of us particularly wanted to bet, and that happened to work to my advantage.

I had a weirder spot with the most obviously recreational player at the table, an older woman who was quite friendly and whom I’m sure I’ve seen around before and perhaps even played with. She opened from middle position to 1700 (BB was still 800), and I called with 52s in my BB.

The flop came 877r, and we both checked.

The turn was a 2, I bet 3000, and she called.

The river was a 3, and I was a bit unsure how to proceed. I expected to have the best hand quite often, as I think she’d bet pairs on the flop almost always. Was she really going to call me down twice with Ace-high though? On this board, it seemed plausible. I’ve actually coached a few people who are roughly in her demographic and quite aware of their image and accustomed to people who look like me firing spewy bluffs at people who look like them. So, I bet 6000, and she called with K7s for trips, which it actually surprised me a bit that she would have that based on her pre-flop position (not that she couldn’t have other 7x) and doesn’t really tell me anything one way or the other about the river bet.

A few orbits later, with the BB at 1000, she opened my big blind again, to 2200. This time, I held 22. I decided to jam for my last 18K, based on the fact that she’d showed down the K7s and also A6o from a similar position. I also thought that she might fold a bit too much, perhaps something as strong as AJo. Frankly, though, this is probably a little spewy, and if we’re being honest, I caught a whiff of strength when she looked at her cards.

Sure enough, she called with 88 to bust me. The only consolation was that even if I had called with the 22, I would have flopped a set and lost to a turned 8, so in this case the mistake didn’t actually cost me anything, but it was a mistake nonetheless.

Nate and I are going to play the Team Event at the WSOP today, which should be fun.

I got off to a good start in the $1500 but ran into some annoying spots. At 150/300, the CO, the weakest player at the table, opened to 1000, and I had KJs on the button. Based on the size of his raise, I figured he was strong, which means calling at all here is borderline, but I was trying to get into pots with him, I had position and a reasonable hand, and we were about 80BBs deep, so I hopped in there.

Then the SB, a player who’d mostly been quite passive, suddenly got it into his head to squeeze. Maybe I was just salty, but just the way he looked at us and gathered his chips, I really didn’t think he had anything. He made it 3500, the CO happily shoved, I folded, and the SB quickly folded as well. I have no idea what prompted him to do that,

The very next hand, a tilted player in early position opened to 875, the HJ (the CO from the previous hand) called, and I called QTs on the CO. The flop came KJ6 with one of my suit, the original raiser checked, and the HJ made a big bet, like 80% pot. Obviously I wasn’t getting immediate odds to draw, but I figured my implied odds would be very good if I hit, so I called. Then the original raiser went into the tank, and it was instantly obvious he was strong and looking to check-raise. He drew the process out for over a minute, stacking and restacking chips and trying to act torn about his decision, which only made it more obvious that he was strong. He raised, the HJ instantly folded, and I eyed his stack but had no choice to fold myself, as he was going to have less than a pot-sized bet behind.

A while later, at a different table, at the 250/500 level, I opened to 1100 with K6o in the CO. Not exactly standard, but the BB seemed very amateurish. Only he called.

The flop came Q63 with two clubs, and I held the Kc. He checked, I bet 1100, and he raised to 5000. My plan, after betting so small on the flop, was to call a check-raise, but I wasn’t expecting such a large one. I think I should have just folded right there, but I called.

The turn was another Q, and he jammed for a pot-sized bet. It seemed crazy not to call him when the only hand I was worried about just got less likely, but I took my time and tried to get a read. Based on his body language, he seemed quite comfortable, and I ultimately folded.

Part of me definitely feels like if I’m not calling a shove on that turn then there’s really no point in calling the flop. Then the other part of me argues that what my flop call bought me was the opportunity to make a read-based decision on the turn, and I (hopefully) made the right one.

The very next hand, I had about 28BB, and the action folded to me in the SB with 77. I’ve been experimenting with open limping a lot from the SB, and I think this is a good spot for it. There aren’t hands I want to open jam for this amount, and there are a lot of hands I don’t really want to raise-call or raise-fold for this amount, which means there’s a lot of merit to a limping strategy. With 77 specifically, raising and getting called doesn’t even produce that great of a situation, as most flops will be difficult to play.

My plan was to shove over a raise, but the BB took that play away from me by shipping his stack. Although I wasn’t eager to race for such a large pot, I thought he would rarely jam hands that dominated me but jam some hands I dominated, including smaller pairs and Ax, which makes calling pretty profitable if high-variance. I called and lost a race to T9s.

Gonna play the $1000 Turbo NLHE today.

My Personal History with Full Tilt Poker

I had more than $60,000 on Full Tilt Poker on Black Friday, and although I eventually (after more than two years) got it all back, for a long time I had no idea what was going to happen to it. And I was one of the lucky ones: there were people with a lot more than that jammed up, and there were people with less who needed it more. Although I would have rather had that money earning interest somewhere, neither my life nor my bankroll were badly affected by not having access to it.

That’s absolutely not to say that it wasn’t a lot of money to me. It was and is a significant chunk of my net worth. As many of you know, though, I try to live well within my means (#nitcast), so it wasn’t money that I needed to pay my rent nor even to be adequately bankrolled for the games I wanted to play.

What upset me most was the gall of the whole thing, how they stonewalled and lied to us after Black Friday, even as it slowly became clear that Full Tilt did not have our money, and that the reason they did not have our money was that they had mismanaged it, making reckless loans and paying out huge disbursements to shareholders. As far as I’m concerned, getting my money back after two years didn’t make any of that go away, and it didn’t make us square. I’m holding my breath for any further compensation, but I’m not eager to welcome Ferguson and Lederer back into the good graces of the poker world, either.

I’ll admit that I don’t know Ferguson’s exact role in what went wrong before and after Black Friday. That’s not willful ignorance: there’s just not a lot of hard information available. According to Mike Sexton, whom I do consider to be a broadly reliable source, Ferguson actually did more than any of the other principals at FTP to help protect and restore player balances.

That’s to his credit, but it doesn’t change my opinion that he played a role in screwing me and took home millions of dollars in the process. As a member of the Board of Directors, he had an obligation to ensure the safety of player deposits, and he didn’t do it, and although he may have lost or given back some of it, I believe that there is to this day there’s money in his bank account that isn’t rightfully his.

I’d more or less put all of this behind me, until Lederer and Ferguson summoned up a new batch of gall and decided to start making noise in the poker world again. Lederer recently claimed “full responsibility” for Full Tilt’s failure, though that doesn’t seem to entail any monetary sacrifice on his part.

Ferguson Arrives

As far as I know, Ferguson has never made any kind of public statement about Full Tilt and certainly hasn’t offered a public apology. I knew that he would be been around the Rio, and I even passed him in the men’s room once, but it never occurred to me that he would land at my table. I assumed he only planned to play a few of the higher buy-in events. What he was doing in an $888 tournament is beyond me.

When he arrived at the table, it was a shock. I couldn’t believe it was happening. I had no idea what to do. No real good could come from confronting him: what did I think, that he was going to cut me a check on the spot? That he was going to break down in tears and confess to everything? I knew that it would only upset me and distract me from the game. Besides, was I just going to attack him out of nowhere? How do you start that conversation?

Still, it irked me that he was able to pony up to the table like it was no big deal, like bygones were bygones, like he was just another poker player. I’d been vocal on the internet about how Full Tilt players were never made whole – was I just going to sit there quietly when I finally had the chance to confront one of the owners directly?

My hands were shaking and my mind was spinning. I could hardly pay attention to what else was going on at the table. Thankfully, my stack was short enough that all of my decisions were binary and didn’t require much thought.

I remembered some wisdom I picked up from Tommy Angelo, though I’m sure it’s not unique to him: forgiveness isn’t something you do for the person you’ve forgiving, it’s something you do for yourself, because anger and bitterness are poison and you shouldn’t keep them inside of you.

What did I really know about Ferguson’s side of the story? I was rushing to a judgment that, though I had a high degree of confidence in it, was not 100%. Maybe he really was some hero operating behind the scenes. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible.

The nice way to put it would be that I decided to take the high road. Maybe I just chickened out. But I decided not to say anything to him and just focus on playing cards.

That peace lasted for a few minutes, until another player at our table was eliminated. After gathering his things, the young man reached out to shake Ferguson’s hand. “It’s an honor”,  he said. “Glad to have you back.”

That was the final straw, but it was also the icebreaker I needed. “I don’t agree with that, for what it’s worth,” I declared to the table at large. “Anyone else here have money on Full Tilt Poker?”

No one responded. I didn’t know whether the answer was no, or whether I was just speaking so agitatedly that they couldn’t understand me. I locked eyes with the guy who looked most like a former online player. “Did you have money on Full Tilt?”

He removed his headphones. I asked him again. “No,” he told me. I could feel my face reddening. Ferguson still hadn’t said anything, but I certainly had his attention.

“I had $60,000 locked up for over two years,” I said.

“And did you get it back?” Ferguson asked me, as though that would make everything OK.

“That was $60,000 I couldn’t access for two years. No interest.”

“Sorry about that. But you got it back?”

Finally, someone else chimed in. “I had over $9000 in bonuses that I never received,” he said.

“But you got the balance back?” Chris asked.

“No,” I interrupted. “You asked whether we got paid back. The answer is, we got some of what we were owed.”

We just stared at each other for a few seconds after that. There was nothing more to say. I sat back down. My hands were still shaking, and my face was burning, but it was a relief to say something to him.

I’m relieved that I didn’t say anything nasty, and I truly don’t wish him harm or misfortune. But for him just to return to the poker world like nothing happened feels like a denial of all of the harm that Full Tilt did to so many individuals and to our community in general. When I saw him literally being welcomed back, I felt compelled to offer a counterweight to that sentiment.

Ferguson Departs

Ferguson had late registered, so he was playing a short stack. The first time he shoved, it was for about 8BBs in middle position. I was holding A4s in the CO and briefly considered calling him, but I realized my emotions were getting the best of me and folded.

A few orbits later, he jammed 6BBs UTG, and I was in middle position with ATo. This, I decided, was a call. Not a spite call, just a good call. I called.

The Ace came right on the flop, and it was still good on the river. I’d busted Chris Ferguson. He tapped the table, looked me in the eye, and nodded at me. “Good luck.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and quietly stacked my chips.

Still, I got into two spots that are interesting not because of the magnitude of the decision – in both cases, it was quite small – but because of the frequency with which they occur, as well as the fact that in a shallow tournament, even small decisions have a big influence on your ROI.

Both occurred at the 50/100 level. In the first, I opened to 250 with Qs Qc on the button, and the big blind called.

The flop came AT4, all spades (meaning I had a flush draw), and we both checked.

The turn was the 9c, and we checked again.

He quickly checked a third time, on a Td river, and at the time it seemed so likely that my hand was good that I threw out a small value bet, about a quarter of the pot. He called with A6o to beat me.

In retrospect, I’m not so sure this was a good bet. Maybe it’s a bit results oriented knowing that A6o in his range, but I don’t think that’s really so surprising (it would be in mine). The Villain is going to have so many Ax combinations in his range that even if he doesn’t check a pair of Aces at a high frequency, it still could add up to enough combos that I can’t put in a value bet on the river. There are, of course, a limited number of worse hands that will call a bet, mostly 9x, pocket pairs, and maybe 4x or K-high.

In the second hand, I was down to about 2300 and had 7s 4s in the big blind. The hijack opened to 250, and the CO, who was the only truly good player among my opponents, called. With 550 in the pot, I had the option to call 100 more to see a flop. Although I would certainly call in a heads up pot, I elected to fold here, a decision that I later discussed with fellow Tournament Poker Edge pro Chris Moon.

My argument was that there aren’t many flops I can feel that good about in a multi-way pot. It will be rare that I can commit with just a 4 or a 7, and even when I flop a draw, I can’t expect that much fold equity against two players.

Chris suggested an interesting way of approaching that: assume you have no fold equity and will always either fold or get all in on the flop, at your option. Put them both on ranges, and run a simulation on ProPokerTools.

After the flop, you’ll commit 2200 chips for a final pot of 5050, meaning you’ll need 43% to get it in. Pre-flop, you’re getting 5.5:1, meaning that you need to get a “good enough” flop about 15% of the time. Of course these are simplifications: sometimes you will win without a showdown, sometimes you’ll see a turn, sometimes you’ll cause one player to fold substantial equity.

Even under these constraints, I found it to be close. For some reason I’m having trouble uploading the image, but here’s a link, which includes the ranges I gave both players (given my stack size, I think the CO can cold call some big hands, though maybe not quite as many as I gave.

It seems to me that given how rarely I’ll end up all in against two players, I probably should have called and just taken my equity on the 15% or so of flops that are “good enough” for me. Live and learn.

Today is the $1500 bounty, which I hope will be a fun and more interesting event!

Blinds were still 25/50, and I opened to 150 with Kc Qc in the HJ. The CO, SB, and BB all called.

The flop came 975 with two clubs, and the blinds checked. I certainly wouldn’t just c-bet arbitrarily into three opponents here, but with two overs and a flush draw, it’s an easy bet. I bet 450, and only the CO called.

The 2h turned, and on such a blank card, I think he’s more or less capped out at one pair, maybe TT or JJ at best and almost always weaker than that, so it’s a great spot for me to bombs away. I bet 1500, and he quickly called. The fact that he didn’t even consider raising made me even more certain that the didn’t have two-pair or a set.

So, I didn’t have to sweat a full house on the 9c river. I also didn’t think he’d call the turn with bare flush draws, at least not so quickly, so the only better hands in his range figured to bet Ac 8c and Ac 6c. I expected him to have T9 and 98 more frequently, and be unable to fold trips. I bet 4000, and he called with Ac 8c.

Nothing of great interest happened after that. I got a double up with AQ by convincing my opponent to spaz with 77 on a Q9xxx board.

Once I was down to 20 blinds, I wasn’t getting any shoving spots. Mostly my cards were bad, but also there was a guy with a big stack on my right who’d decided that he should play more than half the hands he was dealt. I’m honestly not sure he was joking/posturing when he wondered out loud whether he should call my 11BB UTG shove blind (I had AJo, and he folded).

A few hands later he opened to 1100 on the button, which it was really hard for me to imagine him folding a button, so I had a pretty easy shove for 5K or so with 22 in the SB. He called with A4o to bust me.

After the tournament I went and hung out with Carlos for a bit at the Tournament Poker Edge booth, then decided to check out the cash game scene at the Rio.

It truly does seem to get worse there every year. Now there are no chip runners (which, I realize, may not be their fault, but it sucks either way), which means that when they open a new game it takes a long time to start because people have to go wait in line at the cage, buy chips, then take them to the table, and of course no one wants to sit at the table waiting for others to show up, and certainly not come over from an already-running game to get the new one started, so it’s just a slow process and I can only imagine that the most impulsive (ie most desirable to have at your table) players are not sticking around for all that.

My first table was pretty boring, everyone seemed decent enough and the average stack was less than $2K, which is quite small for an uncapped $5/$10.

I was about to quit when my table change came through and I landed at a new table where my $6500 made me just the third largest stack! Had there been chip runners, I would have added on, but as it was I decided just to make do with 650 big blinds.

It was a fun game, nobody spewing but nobody playing particularly good deep-stacked poker, and I was winning solidly. Then, literally the hand before I was going to quit:

I open 22 to $40 UTG (believe we were 7-handed at the time), and four people call. The flop comes K72r. I bet $150, and only the button called. I had about $7500 at the time, and she covered me.

The turn was another K. I checked, figuring a check-raise could get more money in against a K and also give her a chance to bluff/protection bet weaker hands. She checked behind.

The river card was something small (not a 2!), and with $500 in the pot, I threw out a $1K chip. Overbetting was not unprecedented for me, and none of those hands had yet gone to showdown.

She asked if that was a $500 chip, the dealer told her it was $1000, and then she nodded and said, “All in.” Faced with calling $6K to win $8500, I really don’t think is a tough fold at all. I’m uncapped, which means I have both nut hands and better bluff-catchers, not that I would expect to see many bluffs here anyway.

Even though that basically wiped out my profit for the night, I quit feeling pretty good about myself. Among other things, I probably would have lost my ass if she’d bet the turn!

For some crazy reason the Monster Stack is not a re-entry, so I’m just going to play cash tonight, probably at Bellagio, and then hit up the $1K Turbo WSOP event tomorrow morning.

Plus, in our strategy segment, we discuss playing Kings when that dreaded Ace turns.

Elena plays on PokerStars as “thegroupie”, which is also her Twitter handle. Her blog contains a number of well-written trip reports, plus links to pieces she’s written for the PokerStars blog and Bluff magazine.

Thanks to Dara O’Kearney for suggesting such a great guest!

Timestamps

0:30 H&W
7:41 strat
28:34 interview

Strategy

$1 tournament on PokerStars
150/300/30
Hero has 12K, one V has 8K, other two cover
UTG, U1, and U2 limp, Hero in HJ raises to 1200 with KK, first two call, last one folds
4620 in pot

*** FLOP *** [9d 7c 4c]
slavik199208: checks
glushchenkom: checks
Hero: bets 3000
slavik199208: calls 3000
glushchenkom: calls 3000

*** TURN *** [9d 7c 4c] [Ah]

slavik199208: checks
glushchenkom: checks
Hero: checks

*** RIVER *** [9d 7c 4c Ah] [6s]
slavik199208: checks
glushchenkom: bets 8400
Hero?

Contrary to the fancy image seen here, The Thinking Poker Diaries Volume 8 is actually available only as an e-book. It’s on sale now in the Kindle Store, and EPUB, Kindle, and PDF versions will be available on Nitcast.com shortly.

If you haven’t yet read Volume One, well, there’s no reason you’d have to to make sense of this book, but why haven’t you?!

The book is available from the Amazon Kindle Store or in EPUB, Kindle, and PDF formats at Nitcast.com.

I was responsible for one of the eliminations that burst the bubble. Blinds were 5K/10K/500, and the small blind open jammed something like 85K into my big blind, where I held 99. I called and busted him to the delight of my tablemates, some of whom also seemed a bit surprised by my call. Although I wasn’t thrilled, mostly because of how tight I thought he might be shoving on the bubble, I did have him covered with enough left to last me more than an orbit, so I was confident I could fold into the money even if I lost. As it turned out, he had Q2s, which of course if he’s jamming that wide it’s a very profitable call.

I picked up another big pot jamming my 20BBs into a 4x open from UTG and a UTG+1 call. Given that it was a ten-handed table, I expected the original raise to show extreme strength, but I’d also seen enough nitty folds to believe that I might actually get him off of some pairs or even another AK. A player in MP took two minutes to fold his hand because he hadn’t realized the action was on him, and yet somehow this still hadn’t given UTG enough time to think because he then tanked for at least two minutes before I called the clock on him. He ended up showing JJ to the player on his right before folding, and UTG+1 folded as well, so I increased my stack by about 50% without a showdown.

A phrase I hear a lot is “I don’t want to flip at this stage of the tournament.” Well, I don’t want to flip either, but I also don’t want to give away 2.5 BB (a rough estimate of my edge assuming I were to get all in with AK vs a pocket pair in the preceding hand) plus fold equity when I’ve only got 20 to begin with. It never ceases to amaze me how many people enter tournaments, the furthest thing from a sure thing poker has to offer, and proceed to demand near-certainty before they’ll take a significant risk. A lot of run good went into my winning this tournament, but the biggest skill edge I had consisted in the willingness to take these risks as well as the wherewithal to exploit opponents who wouldn’t.

The next time I got AK, I was in the BB. A player in MP opened, I jammed, and he ended up calling it off with KJo (he had me well covered, not that that makes it a good call), and I held.

This all goes to show the importance of having a solid theoretical understanding of concepts like expected value and game theory rather than just playing by feel. I can promise you there were plenty of situations where it felt “icky” to stick my stack in with AK or to min-raise as a bluff off of a 17 BB stack, but I was able to override my natural risk aversion because I understood the math well enough to know that these simply had to be profitable moves.

This also kept me from getting frustrated when these moves didn’t work out. For example, the players on my immediate left were making no secret of the fact that they were just waiting for strong hands and were not going to bluff. Consequently, I was min-raising any two if I got the opportunity to open from the button, even when I only had 14 or 15 BBs. Once, the BB called this raise and bet out on an Ace-high flop that missed me entirely. I folded, and he showed me AQ, which, far from tilting me, made me feel even better about my open with 83o, even though it had cost me about 15% of my stack.

It seemed like what most of these guys wanted was just for everyone to get out of the way so they wouldn’t get drawn out on when they had a monster. I was happy to oblige them in exchange for far more than my share of the pots where no one had much of a hand.

Predictably, the nits on my left were eventually replaced with (slightly) better players, and I did open fold T4o on the button and Q2s in the CO when I had a barely 10 BB stack. That same orbit, I picked up A4o with six players to act behind me. My push/fold game is a little rusty but I believe this is a fold at equilibrium. In this case, though, I believed everyone would be tight enough with their calling to make it a good shove, and it got through.

The very next hand I picked up A5s, which again would most likely be an equilibrium fold now that my stack was larger, but which I think was a clear shove given the opponents. I ended up getting called and sucking out on 77, to the shock of much of the table. I distinctly overheard someone mutter “What is he doing?” The general consensus seemed to be that I was simply reckless, which again reflects completely the wrong approach to late game tournament play, especially in an event as top heavy as this one was. Believe it or not, there were people openly sweating $600 prize increases with thousands already locked up and $125K up top. Short effective stacks make aggressive stealing a high variance proposition, but they don’t make it less correct.

I was also the player to burst the final table bubble, calling a 10BB shove from the SB with 22 and beating her QJs. There was once again some shock expressed at this call, which one onlooker described as “Spartan”.

The Final Table

One of the many ways I ran well was with regard to the seat draw at the final table. Contrary to what I reported on Twitter, I entered as the chip leader. The next biggest stack was clear across the table from me, and the best of my opponents, a guy named Stuart who had I think the fourth largest stack, was on my immediate right. There was an accomplished tournament player with a resteal stack on my immediate left, so that kept me in line initially, but other than that things were laid out pretty ideally for me.

We were required to step away from the final table to use phones, and even when I wasn’t involved in the pot I wanted to pay close attention, so I wasn’t able to take notes as I had during the rest of the tournament. Apologies in advance: details going forward will be a bit more spotty.

That said, I don’t think I contested a single pot in the first orbit and a half, so when the action finally folded to me in the CO, I couldn’t resist opening K5o. The aforementioned player on my left moved all in, and I had to fold. I don’t know what I had, but it was a good spot for him to shove almost anything, so I redoubled my resolve not to get too far out of line pre-flop, especially in obvious spots.

The next pot I opened was with As 9c UTG, once we were nine-handed. I got three calls and a Js 8h 3s flop and checked, fully intending to give up. However, the action checked to an amateur on the button who’d been openly bragging about his big laydowns and overbetting and then showing his big hands. He bet 200K, about the half the pot, and I went into the tank.

I have a habit of always considering my options when the action is on me, even when the right play seems automatic. In doing so, it occurred to me that a small check-raise might garner an absurd amount of respect from this player, even though it would be a strange line inconsistent with how I’d play many if any strong hands. I had him covered and there were several shorter stacks out there. My biggest fear, really, was that one of the other players in the pot would sniff out what I was up to and shove. However, I thought that was probably giving them too much credit, and besides they’d have to sweat the button actually waking up with a hand and busting them, whereas my check-raise could risk very little. I made it 450K, and everyone folded. The button gave me a bit of sweat but ultimately told me he was folding JT.

I was already pulling well ahead of the next biggest stack when I opened QTo in early position, mostly because the same amateur player was in the big blind. The other big stack called on the button, and the BB called as well. The flop came JTT and I bet 200K into 500K. I like this sizing in a vacuum, but for expoitive reasons I think 300K would have been better. Anyway, the button called and the BB folded.

The turn was an 8, and with an SPR of roughly 2, I found myself in an awkward spot. I doubted that I could get two more bets out of worse. I hadn’t observed much of this player’s behavior, but in this tournament in general I’d seen a lot of big “protection” bets from marginal hands that just wanted to take the pot down, so I figured I’d give him a chance to do something like that. I checked, he bet 450K, and I put him all in for about three times that. He tanked for a long time and reluctantly folded.

That gave me a commanding chip lead, close to half the chips in play at an eight-handed table. What set me back was a bad beat from the aforementioned amateur the next time he was in the BB. I opened with AJo, a medium stack called in middle position, and the BB, now short stacked, called. The flop came A96 with two diamonds, and he open shoved for about the size of the pot. Of course I called, and to my surprise, MP called as well.

That worried me a bit, but ultimately I just couldn’t see him playing AQ or AK this way pre-flop, nor two-pair or better on the flop. So, I jammed the turn, and after a long tank he folded what he told me was A6. The BB had a flush draw that got there on the river, so that set me back.

To make matters worse, Stuart, by far the toughest of the remaining players, doubled through the same guy by getting it in 77 vs AA and spiking a 7.

On the plus side, this created a new dynamic. I still had him covered, but he was the second largest stack, and given that he was also the second best player, he had a lot of incentive not to tangle with me. I started leaning hard on his BB.

Somewhere in there, I picked up AA in the SB when someone open shoved in front of me, but the board ran out a straight and I chopped with his AQ. The crowd erupted, but I knew enough to treat this as completely irrelevant. I don’t even consider it bad luck. The action would have gone down exactly the same if he’d had AA and I’d had AQ. If you insist on thinking in terms of luck, you can say that I was lucky to cooler him pre-flop and he was lucky to escape with half. You’re looking for excuses to feel sorry for yourself if consider this an unlucky outcome.

Speaking of luck, I busted the player who’d entered the final table second in chips when I opened KJ and got a QT9 flop. I can’t fault him for jamming over my flop bet with an A5s that flopped a flush draw, but I don’t think calling my pre-flop raise with it was such a good idea.

That left the player on my left as one of the shortest remaining stacks, which actually made it tougher for me to put pressure on him, as he had less to lose. I still planned to jam on him pretty aggressively given the opportunity, but I twice got hands so bad that I had to give him walks. The third time it folded to me in the SB, I jammed about 10BBs with J8o and he woke up with AKo to double through me.

Heads Up

Meanwhile, Stuart was busy winning a flip against one of the weakest remaining players plus a couple of medium-sized pots against me, putting the two of us virtually even. Thankfully, I busted the other two remaining players and entered heads up with something like 60% of the chips in play.

A few people suggested a chop both at the start of the final table and when we got to five- and four-handed, but neither Stuart nor I was interested at the time. First place paid about twice second, a difference of nearly $60,000, and I might have considered chopping a portion of that if Stuart had suggested it. That said, I did expect to have a sizable edge, as even many otherwise good players lack heads up experience, so I wasn’t all that eager to chop. I figured I’d let Stuart be the one to bring it up, as that would give me an edge in negotiating, but he never did.

The match was over almost before it began. On the third hand, I three-bet him with AQs, he jammed K2o, and my hand held up.

I have a bit more to say about the aftermath of victory, but this post is plenty long enough already, so I’ll save that for tomorrow.

Pick up your copy today at www.nitcast.com (you’ll get PDF, EPUB, and Kindle versions) or in the Kindle Store (Kindle version only).

In this volume, you’ll find essays covering the following topics:

Navigating the Early Stages of a Tournament
Balance
Playing Your Image
Catching Bluffs
(Not) Talking at the Table
The Tournament Mindset

You can buy The Thinking Poker Diaries Volume 5 at www.nitcast.com (you’ll get Kindle, PDF, or EPUB versions) or in Kindle form on Amazon.

You certainly don’t need to have read the earlier volumes to make sense of this one, but if you need to get caught up, the first four books are available as a bundle at a discounted rate!

The table was, perhaps not quite as good as the previous day’s, but pretty spectacular. I made good use of one live tell, but mishandled another.

You Raise, I Call

At the 25/50 level, I looked down at 22 and was reaching for raising chips when I noticed the player on my left loading up. I grabbed just two green chips and called. He raised to 250, and I called. The flop came 843 and we both checked, so I immediately put him on whiffed overcards. The turn brought a 2, and I bet 200. This probably should have been more, but I really didn’t want to let him off the hook if he just had a gutshot, and I thought the smaller size might even keep in a hand like KQ. The river was a 9, I bet 400, and he called so quickly that I regretted not betting more, but at the time it seemed like a reasonable amount to expect an unimproved AQ to call.

Calling Chips

There was another pot where I can’t even remember what I had, but whatever it was, I was betting the river for value. I grabbed two yellow chips, planning to declare, “Twelve hundred”, but as I did so my opponent very clearly grabbed calling chips. I quickly changed course and said, “Fifteen hundred,” but he tanked for a long time before folding. What I should have realized is that he knew I could see him grabbing chips and it was actually a “strong-means-weak” tell meant to deter me from betting.

Blocking Bet?

The two significant pots that I lost were both to that same player.

At 75/150, I opened to 450 with As Kc on the Button, and the BB called. The flop came Ah 8h 3h, and he checked and called 500. He checked and called 1000 on a Qd turn, after a long tank.

The river was the 2h, and he threw out 1000 without much hesitation. At this point I was getting nearly 5:1 and convinced myself he could be block betting a worse Ace, but I don’t think that’s consistent with his thinking so long on the turn. I called, and he showed me 7c 6h.

Lucky Turn

I opened to 400 with ATo at the 100/200 level. Villain called, as did the CO, Button, and BB. I was pretty tempted just to give up, but the Q52 was a little too good, so I bet 700 into 2100. Villain called, and everyone else folded.

I had about a pot-sized bet behind, and was thinking Ks and Js would be great for shoving, but then a 3 popped off and I realized I had more backdoor straight draws than I’d consciously realized (though this was probably part of the reason the flop struck me as too good to give up). I stacked up my chips to jam, and Villain once again reached for his chips. Remembering what this meant the last time, I carried through on my shove, but he practically beat me into the pot. “I got very lucky,” he told me, turning over 33 for a turned set.

“Indeed you did,” I said, a little more snippily than I intended. On to the next one.

Another Lucky Turn

My cash session started off with more of the same. After scoping out five tables at two different venues, I settled into a 5/10 game at Bellagio. There were a few young guys who seemed like serious players, but only one of them seemed to rise above the level of “mediocre reg”, and there were a few soft spots as well.

I limped UTG with 22, two players limped behind, and then one of the seemingly mediocre regs made it $40 on the Button. The seemingly good reg on the BB called. Thinking that the Button would have raised bigger with a premium hand, I re-raised to $160. The action folded to him, and he called quickly. The BB called as well.

The flop came 6c 3c 3s. The BB checked, I bet $200 into a pot of about $500, the Button called with about $500 behind (this is why my flop sizing was small), and the BB folded.

I was ready to be done with it, but the turn was an offsuit Ace. Intriguing. I checked, and Villain checked behind. The river was a Q. I threw five black chips into the pot.

“So sick,” Villain said. “I know you got there. Ugh, I did not want to see a Queen.” Huh, that’s not what I wanted him to be afraid of. “Fuck it, I call,” he said, turning over Ac Kc. I showed him my twos, tossed him $500, and mentally demoted him from “mediocre reg” to “wannabe”.

Bad Donk

I played this one pretty badly to be honest, but because it turns out I was winning until the river, I’m allowed to feel sorry for myself, right?

UTG opened for $30, Wannabe called on the Button, and I called with 43o on the BB.

Flop ($95) 864r. I bet $70, UTG folded, Button quickly called.

Turn ($235) 2. I really need to just cut my losses here, but the gutshot was just too tempting to keep me from firing again. I bet $170, and Button called with no hesitation.

River ($575) A. This is probably a decent card to follow through, but he seemed in no mood to fold, so I finally gave it up. He proudly tabled A5o.

I planned to leave pretty soon and decided not to top my stack off from $1250 to the $1500 cap. Of course a few hands later I flopped the nuts and doubled through someone who probably would have paid off another $250 considering he put me all in for $500 more when I bet $500 on the river.

Pot Odds

I finally got my revenge, plus a good laugh, on what turned out to be my last hand of the session (I was waiting for dealer change because it was a time rake #nitcast). UTG, a weak player who’d been raising too much from all positions, opened for $40. UTG1, who seemed like a good pro, called. I made it $140 with As Js UTG2. Wannabe cold called from the SB, UTG called, and UTG1 called.

Flop ($575) 2s 3c 7h. Checked to me, I bet $300, SB called, the other two folded.

Turn ($1175) Ac. He checked. I briefly considered trying to get my value now, but I actually thought AK was a real possibility for SB, so I decided to check back and fold to a big river bet or value bet if he checked.

River ($1175) 2d. He checked. I thought about betting pot but settled on $700.

Wannabe groaned. “I told myself the bigger you bet, the more I was going to call you. You bet the pot. That means you have either Aces or nothing.” Wow, it was hard to keep a poker face after that little monologue. But he wasn’t done yet. “How much is in the pot?” he asked the dealer.

“I can’t tell you that,” she said.

“You can spread it out, right?” he said. She spread the pot. “Eleven hundred,” he muttered to himself. “That means I only have to be right half the time.” Again, I suppressed a smile. Finally, he gave up the facade and copped to his true logic: “Fuck it, I call.”

I don’t think any of the Millionaire Maker hands were terribly interesting (though some were humorous), so here’s one from cash. UTG is the spot at the table, which isn’t to say he’s terrible by any means, but he’s got a huge amount of money in front of him and is a little too eager to stick it into the pot. BB seems to be a very talented player, not sure what either of them thinks of me. BB has 9K, I have 10K, UTG covers us both. One player is away, so game is eight-handed.

UTG opens for $75, I call UTG1, and BB calls.

Flop ($235 in pot) Ah 8s 3c. Checks around.

Turn ($235 in pot) Qd. BB bets $150, UTG folds, I raise to $625.

What should my raising range look like? What should BB call with? What should he 3-bet?

Hot off the virtual presses, my latest e-book chronicling the 2009 WSOP Main Event is now available in the Amazon Kindle Store or from www.nitcast.com.

2009 wasn’t my best year in the Main Event – in fact it was one of my worst – but understanding the agony of defeat is even more important to appreciating the WSOP experience than is understanding the thrill of victory. As always, I take you inside of my head, to see both the strategy and the emotion, the excitement and the disappointment, the great plays and the mistakes and the we’ll-never-knows.

It’ll set you back less than three bucks, so please check it out and let me know what you think, preferably in the form of an Amazon review. Thanks and enjoy!

The latest and greatest volume in my Thinking Poker Diaries is now available at nitcast.com or in the Amazon Kindle Store. This third volume in the series follows the same format as the first two, interspersing anecdotes from the tournament with strategy essays that discuss topics that came up during my play. Longer than the first two volumes combined, this one tells the story of my 35th place finish in the 2008 WSOP Main Event. Please check it out and let me know what you think!

If you aren’t already a member, please click here to sign up for Tournament Poker Edge.

For just $2.99, you can purchase The Thinking Poker Diaries, Volume 1 directly from me (you’ll get an EPUB, a PDF, and a Kindle file) or from Amazon (Kindle file only).

There’s a substantial preview available on Amazon, but for a better idea of what to expect, here’s the Table of Contents:

Introduction
How I Became A Poker Player
Introduction to the WSOP
Day One
Three-Betting Light
Day Two
The Bubble
Day Three
Playing a Short Stack
Day Four
More Stories! More Strategy! More Poker!

For those who do read it, please star & review on Amazon and recommend to your friends. I deliberately made the book very inexpensive because I’m more interested in reaching a wide audience than in maximizing my profit.

I’d also be very appreciate for any constructive criticism, as I plan to do a lot more of these and would love to see them improve with each volume.

Thanks!

Andrw

The Thinking Poker Diaries

As announced on the show, The Thinking Poker Diaries Volume 1 now available at www.nitcast.com and will be available on Amazon on October 23 (the latter is actually a slight clarification from what was announced on the show).

Timestamps

0:30 – Hello & Welcome
10:23 – Mailbag: Locking up a win
23:04 – Interview: Ben Sulsky

The key to minimizing these headaches is to anticipate and prepare for the situations you’re likely to encounter. You want to avoid giving the aggressive player the opportunity to put you in tough spots. When you do get involved in pots with him, you want to have ranges that will be difficult to exploit and hands that will not lead to a lot of uncertainty about where you stand.

The article draws on a couple of examples from a live MTT I final tabled recently and should be useful to anyone who, well, has to deal with aggression in tournaments.

If these prove popular, we plan to release similar content in the future, so any feedback or suggestions for topics you’d like us to address in the future would be very much appreciated!

The Big News

For those of you who can’t get enough Thinking Poker strategy, now you can get more! We’ve released a series of premium podcasts featuring more than five hours of strategy content relating to tournament poker in general and drawing specifically on examples from the 2013 WSOP Main Event. Whether you’re preparing for the World Series of Poker or another big event yourself or just enjoy hearing stories from the world’s biggest poker tournament, there’s something here for you. You can score your Thinking Poker Premium Podcasts here for just $19 at www.nitcast.com.

Timestamps

:30 – Hello and welcome; Andrew at Lucky Chances; Thinking Poker Premium; Poker’s 1%
25:39 – Strategy from the Mailbag

My Day 2 starting table was probably above average. It featured Harrison Gimbel (youngest ever winner of the PCA main event, now 23) and Russell Thomas (of 2012 WSOP main event final table fame), but both were across the table from me, and the rest of the players were pretty weak.

Early on I lost a biggish pot to Gimbel. Blinds were 500/1K, and I opened to 2K, with a little over 100K behind, UTG+1 with AQo. The big blind was an especially tight player, which I think is significant in terms of how Gimbel will perceive my opening range. One of the weakest player at the table called my raise in the HJ, and Gimbel made it 7500 on the CO. He covered me by quite a bit.

Given whose blind I’m raising and who the caller is, this seems like a really good spot for him to squeeze. Still, I wasn’t eager to get in 100+ BBs against him. With AQs I’d probably just flat, but AQo seemed like a better hand to 4B-fold (expecting there’s a fair chance he’ll call the 4B with a range I’m ahead of, even though playing post-flop can easily get tricky). I made it 19K, he made it 38K, and I think when he does that he’s functionally shoving – I can’t see him folding if I shove 105 or whatever and he’s getting better than 2:1. Who knows what his range is but it ought to be quite strong – I folded. Obviously I’m getting good odds to call but if I’m right about his range it will be hard to get money in good postflop, because a lot of it dominates me or won’t pay off when I flop top pair. I never saw his hand, and to be honest this one still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I it’s also not clear to me what I could have done differently. If he really was light here, I guess I can take solace in the fact that he’s underestimating the strength of my range and was lucky to run into the bottom of it. Cold comfort, that.

I got in a very similar spot a few orbits later against Thomas. This time I’d opened A9s in the same spot, the same player called, and he squeezed for a comparable amount. I also gave him very little credit, but he had only 80K and I didn’t want to 4-bet-fold or 4-bet-call so I just called. The woman called as well and we got an awesome A99 flop. We checked to Thomas who bet about 12K. I called, and the third player folded. The turn was a blank, I checked, he bet 23K, and I called. The river was a K, I checked, and he shoved 40K with 96o. Really unlucky spot for him obviously but that’s what he gets for squeezing 96o!

So that was good, and I took about 180K to my new table when that one broke. The new table looked bad but wasn’t as tough as I thought it would be. The only really good player was Scott Baumstein, whom I’d seen running around the bigger games at Borgata and hanging out with some other tournament sickos but whom I didn’t know anything about specifically (not even his name, at the time – if I’d had the chance to google him, I probably wouldn’t have made this next fold). He was on my immediate right but still managed to be a tremendous thorn in my side.

At 800/1600, he opened to 3300 in the HJ and I made it 8800 with AA in the CO. He called. The flop came 963r, and I checked it back with the express purpose of underrepresenting my hand and strengthening my checking range. The turn was an 8 that put up a flush draw, and he overbet like 22K into 17K, which instantly made me regret the check. Basically I know that checking opens me up to this sort of thing, and it’s just not something most tournament players (or any players, really) are capable of. After some thought, I called. The turn was an offsuit 5, and he bet 38K into about 60K. To be honest I had no idea what to do. I basically never have a 7 and while I do think he could have some I was actually more worried about a value bet from a set or two pair. I had the sense that a fold would be exploitable but everything about the spot just felt like he had it and in the past not believing big bets has been one of my more consistent mistakes. His river sizing felt value-y, he seemed confident, etc. I folded and he showed Ad 4d for a whole lot of nothing.

My bustout hand is another kind of questionable one. UTG was an older guy who was on the tight side (which doesn’t necessarily make him a bad squeeze candidate, as he may respond tightly/passively to 3bets). He opened to 5100, a guy with about 300K called, I overcalled with AQo in the CO, and then the BB, who was friends with Scott and seemed like a pretty capable player in his own right, made it 17.5K. The other two folded, and although I didn’t feel great about the spot, there was nearly 20k in dead money (including my call) in the pot, and I could certainly see some TT/JJ in his range as well as not seeing any reason why he shouldn’t sometimes be a little light here. I shipped it for 80K, and he called and won with AKs. FWIW, I wasn’t going to fold getting nearly 3:1 in position, and there was an A on the flop, so probably the result would have been the same even if I’d just called.

That was shortly before dinner, and Carlos wasn’t playing anything at the time, so I suggested that we leave AC immediately. This as the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and bad weather was in the cards, so the I-95 corridor was likely to be a mess if we waited until Wednesday. In fact, the alternative to leaving immediately would have been to leave at something like 5AM, as Carlos had a flight out of Baltimore-Washington International at 9:30 Wednesday morning (though it was with Southwest so easily changeable). For my part, I was going to visit my family for Thanksgiving, and my mother lives about 15 minutes from the airport, so it was easy for us to get the drive out of the way and have Carlos spend the night at her house.

Despite some rain, it was a remarkably easy drive, no problems to speak of with regard to traffic. We left around 6 and got to my mother’s house shortly after 10, despite my driving slightly below the speed limit as a result of the weather (#nitcast). She and Carlos got on well, as they had some common interests in veganism, nutrition, and yoga. You’ll have a chance to hear more about the trip on the next podcast, where Carlos, Sean, and I share some stories.

Thanks for following along!

Edit: Somehow failed to record my conversation with Carlos, so won’t be able to include that tonight after all. Sorry, show is going to be a bit shorter than usual as a result.

Anyway, I finished Day 1A with 110,500 chips. We started with 30K, and the average is probably somewhere in the neighborhood of 60K, so I’m pretty pleased with that result. It was a wild ride, though, with a lot of ups and downs.

I recognized only one player at my starting table, but he was the very accomplished Darren Elias, so that was enough to make it a potentially tough table. Fortunately, he was sitting just a few spots to my right, and the rest of the table didn’t seem too challenging (though a few of them surprised me in that regard).

Darren had a few of the weaker players on his immediate right, and he was just making life hell for them in the early-going, using his position and the deep stacks to apply a ton of pressure when they were obviously weak. Though it was frustrating to see so many chips flowing into his capable hands, this ultimately proved beneficial for me.

We were still at the 25/50 level when I overcalled a raise with 66 in the small blind and got an AA6 flop. The pre-flop raiser, one of the guys Darren had been picking on, bet 300, I raised to 1200, and he quickly called. I doubted he could fold an Ace, but I didn’t want to count on him doing the betting for me, so I needed to find a way to get as much of the 23K remaining in his stack into the pot. I started by overbetting the turn, tossing a 5K chip into a pot of about 3600. To my delight, he quickly shipped his whole stack, and I was happy to call. I faded seven outs to bust his AJ and nearly double up. Darren primed him, but I was the one to benefit from the resulting blow-up.

The whole table was talking about how crazy it was for him to go broke there, but two players were especially vocal about it. I made a mental note to run big bluffs on them in the near future, which is how I managed to get my stack back below 30K before the antes kicked in. Apparently some poker players talk a better game than they play, who knew?

The first of these bluffs began with me raising 88 under the gun. One of the talkers three-bet from middle position, I called, and we saw a A46 flop. We both checked. I’d seen this guy limp and call AK before, so I wasn’t sure he’d 3-bet it against an UTG raise, and I also thought he’d probably bet the flop if he had it. So, when the turn brought a 5, I overbet the pot, 2500 into 1750 or so. He called.

The river paired the 6, I bet 7000, and he agonized and called with AQs. I can really only chalk that up to a bad read and/or a good job of mixing up his play, as he’d showed up with a hand I hadn’t expected to see.

The next big bluff came a while later, when I’d overcalled a raise from the other big talker with Kd 4d on my big blind. The flop came 88J with two diamonds. I checked, he bet less than half the pot, got one call, I made a pot-sized raise, and the pre-flop raiser quickly shoved about three times the pot. I didn’t see his cards, but based on the situation I highly doubt he had better than one pair. With somewhat shallower stacks I could actually see calling with my hand, but the real possibility of him having AA, AK, KJ, or the nut flush draw, all hands that kill some of my outs, made me want to fold.

I reined in the aggression and set out to make the most of my spewy table image. I got the opportunity when I overcalled a raise with 44 on the button only to have the small blind put in a squeeze. Someone else called in front, and there was still a lot of money behind, so I called again, still looking to set mine. The KJJ flop was no help, but we checked it around. I was still done with my hand on a 9 turn, but we checked it again.

And then there it was, a beautiful 4 on the river. Now the small blind bet 2500, about a third of the pot. The other guy folded, and I threw out two blue 5K chips. He shrugged and called, disgustedly throwing away his Aces when he saw my hand.

Not long after that, I flatted a raise with JJ only to have this same guy jam behind me. He ended up having AQs, so it wasn’t as great as I was hoping but still a good spot for me, and I was lucky enough to win the flip and eliminate him.

Both players I busted were replaced with much, much tougher tournament players. Also, the long-vacant 9 seat on my left was finally filled by Orson Young, a regular in the highest stakes cash games at the Borgata.

I kept my held down and was lucky to get into some pretty good spots and keep accumulating chips, both and without showdown, mostly by making strong hands. Both Orson and Darren were eventually eliminated, but both were replaced by beastly new players, including another winning regular in the big Borgata games. Thankfully by that point there was only an hour left in the day, and I managed to avoid spewing off to any of them.

I picked Carlos up at the airport, and with a few hours to kill before dinner, we decided to play some poker. I never really know what to do with tourists in Pittsburgh anyway, so the casino was probably more interesting for him than anything else we could have done.

On his third hand at the table, Carlos flatted a raise with KK and saw a K66 flop against what turned out to be 66. “Welcome to Pittsburgh,” I told him with a smile. His opponent didn’t have a full stack, and Carlos took the loss well until someone pointed out that drilling his one-outer would have been worth about $50,000 from the Bad Beat Jackpot. That’s still stuck in his craw a few days later.

After dinner, I had some packing to do, so Carlos played the $25 nightly tournament on America’s Card Room. He was still in it when I went to sleep, and still in it when I got up a few hours later to use the bathroom. He ended up taking third for about $1100 and a good start to the trip.

The one thing Carlos did want to do in Pittsburgh was visit a placed called Blue Slide Park, which is apparently the name of a hip hop album that he likes by Pittsburgh artist Mac Miller. I hadn’t heard of this place and feared it would be some sort of drug dealer hang-out, but it’s actually just in a corner of a park I go to quite often. I’d even been there before without realizing what it was. Our hip-hop tour of Pittsburgh began and ended at Blue Slide Park, then we hit the road:

On our way out of town, we passed an Aldi, a discount grocery store where Carlo usually does his shopping. He grabbed two bags of spinach, a few cans of pineapples, and a few cans of chicken and declared that he had all the good he’d need for the week. The four hour drive to my cousin’s house passed uneventfully, with the soundtrack provided primarily by Carlos and some of the less-well-known hip hop music he wanted to share with me.

When we arrived at the house, we were greeted with some sad news: the middle son, Ollie, apparently dropped and broke the Little Mole teacup that Miklos brought for him from Hungary. Like many great artists, Ollie was creatively inspired by his pain:

There was just enough time for a tour of the place before it was time to pick the oldest boy up from school. Carlos and I walked with them.

It soon became clear that Carlos, who hails from the Atlanta area, was not adequately prepared for a brisk November day in the mid-Atlantic. He survived the walk to and from school, but headed inside when we got back to the house when the boys and I stayed outside to play. I felt a little bad abandoning him, but it turned out that after staying up most of the night final tabling his tournament, he had no trouble falling asleep on their sofa and even slept through a wailing baby and two little boys with cap guns. My cousin came home from work to find a stranger asleep on his sofa, and thankfully he remembered that I was bringing a friend to stay with him.

I brought vegetarian chili with me to share for dinner, and my cousin made some corn bread to have with it as well as baked apples for dessert. It was a great meal and gave Carlos a better chance to get comfortable with everyone.

After dinner, I helped the boys build a fort and then read to Ollie while his older brother did his homework. As their father ushered them off to bed, the Ollie ordered him, “Don’t take down our fort.”

“I’ll try not to,” my cousin said.

“Don’t. And keep an eye on mama, too,” the boy warned.

“OK, I’ll watch her,” he smiled.

Initially satisfied with that response, Ollie proceeded up the stairs, then paused at the top and turned back around. “Don’t let Andrew or that other guy mess it up either!” he shouted.

WSOP 2013 Trip Report, Part 4: The Main Event – Unfortunately this is a lot shorter than it’s been in past years, but I did get to play a pretty famous player: “Usually, tough players make it clear that they are going to put pressure on you constantly.That’s not how Doyle played. In fact, I can’t tell you what exactly he was doing, but it was working. In the first couple of hours, he shot up from his starting 30K to over 50K without winning any particularly large pots. He never projected the image of a bully who was pushing too hard, but he raked in a lot of medium-sized pots without showing his cards, which is pretty much the hallmark of a good player.”

Holding Your Own – On that note, here are some thoughts on playing with players who are better than you: “If you play poker for challenge and entertainment, then maybe you welcome the chance to test your mettle against top-caliber opposition. One of the cool things about poker is that anyone can find himself playing with a legend of the game, and matching wits with one of your idols can be an awesome experience. Still, you might as well give yourself every advantage you can in the confrontation to come.”

Small Stakes Tournament Player’s Guide to the WSOP, Part 2 – You may not be bankrolled for the Main Event, but you can still have a great WSOP summer on a small bankroll and a tight budget. Carlos Welch tells you how: “Last month, I suggested tips for setting up your stay in Vegas in part 1 of this guide. This month, I will recommend particular games, locations, times, and opponents to play against. If you follow these guidelines, you should have a good chance of leaving Vegas with more money than you brought.”

WCOOP Heads Up Hand History Review, Part 6 – This is an addendum to a Tournament Poker Edge series from last year’s WCOOP. I played an interesting match in this year’s $200 heads up event that was worthy of inclusion. If you’re not already a member of TPE, you can sign up here.

“By the end of Day 1, I was playing deep-stacked PLO8 with relative comfort, even with Mark Gregorich, author of the O/8 chapter ofSuper/System, at the table. He actually complimented me on a sort of tricky slowplay, which was great for the old ego.”

In other Two Plus Two news, recent podcast guest Carlos Welch also has an article in this month’s magazine. It’s the first in a three-part guide for small-stakes players who want to spend a summer in Las Vegas:

“This is a World Series of Poker (WSOP) guide for small stakes tournament players. It should be useful for those of you who dream of experiencing the magic of the WSOP but don’t have the bankroll to play for millions or the skill to play with top players. This is for the grinders, the modern day near-Moneymakers who bubbled the $40 satellite, but still want to live the impossible dream. I’m here to tell you it’s not impossible because I just did it. I spent 45 days in Vegas with less than $3,000 in my pocket. I rubbed shoulders with giants and returned home with more than twice the bankroll I brought with me.”

And regular podcast contributor Two Plus Two Pokercast!

“Phil probably forgot about this hand seconds after it happened, but although it was in some ways a standard spot, I intend to remember it as the time I outplayed Phil Ivey. I knew what I wanted him to do, I made a plan to induce a bluff-raise from him, and it worked. This may sound arrogant, but I figure if you’re going to be hard on yourself about your mistakes, and most of us are, then you better take time to give yourself a pat on the back when you do something well. I can only imagine how impossibly excited I would have been eight years ago if you’d told me that I would one day be putting a move on Phil Ivey at the World Series of Poker.”

Please let me know what you think of it!

Day 1 was an experience. I was at the feature table (though I think ESPN’s coverage doesn’t really start in force until Day 3 so they won’t be featuring much) with Doyle Brunson on my immediate left for the entire day. I’d never met him before, and while I know it’s cliche to say it, it really was an honor to play with him in this of all tournaments.

An expensive honor, to be precise. I didn’t do much for the first six hours, just hovered around starting stack, then I nearly doubled up with a full house in a 3-bet pot. That got me up to 67K, some of which I bluffed off to Doyle and some of which I invested in some draws that didn’t get there. I finished the day with 17K.

I don’t do this often, but if you don’t follow me on Twitter, I’d encourage you just to look through my tweets from July 7. Frankly I’m proud of them, and a lot of people have told me that it was fun to read these little observations from playing and talking with Doyle.

Of course it occurred to me that he’d be an amazing podcast guest, but I couldn’t screw up the courage to ask him. We got on fine but I don’t think I ultimately made much of a connection with him while we were together, and by the end of the day he looked exhausted and like his back and legs were giving him a lot of pain – definitely was not giving the impression that he wanted to stick around and chat about an exciting interview opportunity.

Day 2 got off to a really good start, I doubled up pretty early with KK > AK, then again with 33 > KQ on a KK33J board. I got as high as 125K but again some questionable bluffs followed by a run of cards that left me unable to capitalize on my screwball image ground me back down.

Towards the end of the day I changed tables for the second time, and I was actually really proud of myself for the restraint I showed there. I didn’t get any premium hands the whole time I was there, and the few times I raised with decent hands I had the discipline to let go of them when I met resistance. I also didn’t let myself get too gunshy about bluffing and managed to find a good spot to squeeze and increase my stack by about 30% without showdown and without putting all my chips in the middle. So although I ended the day with just 20K, I found something to be proud of.

Finally, if you’re interested in catching up on my WSOP exploits from earlier in the summer, the first part of my trip report is now appearing in 2+2 Magazine.

Since recording this episode, we’ve released details for a meetup in Las Vegas this Saturday, 10AM – Noon at the Rio Convention Center Starbucks.

Timestamps

0:30 Hello and welcome; main event plans; playing at Venetian
7:00 General PLO8 tournament strategy
23:29 WSOP hands

Strategy

Blinds 300/600. Hero raises AKK3ss to 1600 in EP, player on immediate left calls, rest fold. Effective stacks 18K. Flop 866 with a backdoor nut flush draw for Hero.  Hero bets 2500, Villain raises pot.

Blinds 800/1600. Doc Sands raises to 3200 from CO, Hero calls As8c3d2c on BB. Villain has 32K behind, Hero has 50K. We’re in the (shallow) money. Flop Q74ss. Hero check-folds.

Blinds 1K/2K. Hero opens AJJ8 with nut clubs to 4K in CO, button calls, BB calls. Flop KK7cc, BB checks, Hero bets 7000, BTN raises to 15,500, BB folds. Hero started hand with 60K, Villain covers.

Blinds 1200/2400. Hero raises A269 in MP, called by CO. Flop T53r, Hero bet 7500, he pots it and has 41K total, Hero covers but not by much.

Blinds 3K/6K. Tight-passive SB opens to 18K, Hero call 2567ds. Flop KQJ with a flush draw for Hero. Check it down 3 on turn and J on river (Hero didn’t get there).

I arrived at the Venetian DSE area, which is actually in the Palazzo, at the stroke of noon. I confirmed the start time with the woman who sold me my seat, because it sure didn’t look like a poker tournament was about to get underway. Six dealers sat surrounded by chip stacks at six tables, surrounded by a dozen or so empty tables. A few people milled about, but the tournament area was largely vacant.

I glanced at the information screen: I was the 26th player to register. Not much of a turnout, but the upside was that I didn’t recognize anyone else in the room, and none of them looked to be particularly good. Had I discovered some hidden gem whose value was unknown to all of the other professionals in Sin City?

I had not. The field continued to grow as players late registered, and the ones would couldn’t be bothered to show up on time looked to be consistently stronger than their more punctual counterparts.

Still, I felt pretty good about locking in a weaker starting table with my on-time arrival. Better yet, we would be among the last to break, so I could count on playing with these guys until I had all their chips and they were finally replaced by tougher competition.

I had Kings in the only significant pot that I played in the starting 50/100 level. I opened to 300 in the HJ, and the CO made it 750. We started with 30K, so I’m not looking to get all-in preflop. I also think that 4-betting is going to put Villain on alert and make it tricky to play my hand postflop since even in a 4-bet pot I won’t be looking to go to the felt unimproved. So I just called.

I checked and called a bet of 800 on an 842r flop. The turn was a 2, I checked, and Villain bet 900. Perhaps against his weak sizing I should continue slowplaying, but now I was confident enough in my hand to raise. I made it 3200, and he folded.

I didn’t play too many pots early on because the guy on my right was playing a lot of hands aggressively and badly. He’d run up a bit of a stack and I was just dreaming of how nice those chips would look sitting in front of me when the floor showed up to whisk him off to another table. Lovely.

It got worse though. The table didn’t break, but within an hour I too was moved to another table, one of the recently opened ones full of late registers. Probably every player at this table was better than every player at my last table.

There was again a really aggressive player, but this one seemed to have a much better idea of what he was doing. I had about 35K at 100/200, and he covered when he opened to 500 UTG. He got one call, then I made it 2K with Qc Qs on the button. Without hestitation, he 4-bet to 4500, the other guy folded, and I called.

He checked a Kc 9c 6c flop, and I was happy to check it back. I may, however, have made a mistake checking the 2c on the turn. You have to target some pretty weak hands, including non-flushes, in a spot like this, and against weaker players it’s probably best just to check here and look to get one bet on the river. This guy, however, may have correctly read this check, followed by a bet on a 5s river, as strong, because he tank-folded.

For the umpteenth time, a player who seemed to know what he was doing revealed himself to be a fish by running his mouth at the table. He had a strong New York accent and looked like he spent about three hours a day in the gym. After losing a medium-sized pot to one of many bad river cards, he told his opponent, “Nice river. If it had come a blank, I’d have busted you.” Then, turning to another player not involved in the pot, he said, “And your ass should be out the door too.”

Turns out he was referring to an earlier pot in which he’d not been a major player but in which this other player had won with a straight. Apparently the New Yorker had several outs to a full house, and had he made that hand, and had the other guy played his hand the same way, and had the other guy then paid off a river check-shove, said other guy would be “out the door.” I’m not sure where the “should” comes from, though.

New York stormed away from the table and quickly became the subject of conversation and laughter, which died down upon his return. “Somebody say something about me?” he demanded. “Were you talking about me?’ addressing this time specifically to the guy whose ass apparently should have been out the door.

“I said you were from the east coast,” which was the truth, if not the whole truth.

“I hope if somebody said something about me he would be a man and say it to my face, not whisper it behind my back like a pussy.”

“I just told you what I said. I said you were clearly from the east coast. Because of your accent.” There was some more back and forth, and the floor had to intervene when New York kept making threats.

After paying off KQ with probably just an A on an AKQxK board, he asked no one in particular, “This gonna be all day today?” Then he repeated the question. “This gonna be all day today?” Then he repeated it twice more, word for word.

Needless to say, I was eager to get into a pot with him. I overcalled one of his raises with J7s and flopped a flush on a KT8 board. He called 1200 on the flop and 1700 on a K turn, then snap checked back a fourth diamond on the river. I tabled my hand, and the dealer indicated the board cards I was using to make a flush.

Peering from across the table, New York demanded, “Put it over here. I wanna see too. One of those fucking days. Another 2500 down the fuckin’ shitter.” Then he tilt shoved Ace-rag over a raise for a stupid amount and sucked out on a better Ace. Then he pretended to tilt shove an even more ridiculous amount with KK and got called by a bad Ace that sucked out on him. That one he actually took pretty well.

Although I got off to a good start, I went card dead after the antes kicked in and just couldn’t make anything happen. The table continued playing aggressively, and I was nitting it up. The few times I tried making a move or even opening a less-than-premium value hand (ie 99 UTG), I got reraised by players who, despite the generally high level aggression, really would have had trouble being light. We’re talking cold 4-bets, UTG+1 3-bets, etc.

It’s one of those things where all signs point to strength but you have to wonder, since you aren’t seeing the cards, whether you just keep running into big hands or if you are getting run over. Then you finally pick up a big one of your own and get no action. One of those fucking days.

The one successful move I did make began with me opening JTs to 1100 at the 250/500/50 level. The player on my left, who’d just cold 4-bet the first light 3-bet I’d made all day the hand prior, 3-bet to 2400. I called.

We both checked a K84r flop. A Q on the turn gave me an open-ended straight draw, but with about 14K behind it was too much to shove, and I didn’t want to bet and get shoved on. So I checked, he bet 2K, and then I shoved to take it down.

Other than that it was a lot of patience and folding. I hung around with 20ish big blinds through the dinner break and most of the next few levels. The best hand I saw during that time was AKo, which the first time I had it ran into another AKo.

The second time, I made a small 3-bet and got 4-bet. Then the big blind cold 5-bet shoved. Had he been deeper, I actually would have folded, but as it was he had even fewer chips than I did so I shoved after the original raiser folded. The 4-better came along, and we all turned over AKo.

Then, with half an hour left in the day, the second most aggressive player at the table opened from the HJ. The most aggressive player called on the CO. I shoved AJo from the button. The raiser shoved and the caller called. Both turned over QQ, which was about the best I could hope to see, but I failed to get there. Somehow they just had it every single time. One of those fuckin’ days.

Saturday, June 1st

“I’m paying for that tear gas! I buy it with my tax money,” a protestor screams in Turkish.

Another, wearing jeans and a scarf over his nose and mouth, picks up the superheated cylinder and hurls it back in the police’s direction.

I’m disoriented – coughing and crying. Emre runs into a Macdonald’s. They are taking people indiscriminately. I escape up the alley beside it.

We talk by cell phone five minutes later. He’s fine, I’m fine. I tell him to be safe; he will protest deep into the night.

It was ten in the morning when we first saw a huge mass of protestors marching up Istiklal Avenue, mostly young men age eighteen to twenty-four. An armoured car with mounted water cannon is in pursuit.

We take to a side street. Protestors scurry further up the alley, out of sight.

“Don’t run,” Emre warns.

Fleeing would make us a target for the riot police rounding the corner. They don’t fire gas at us, but canisters are launched further down Istiklal. Tourists are very close to the impact.

The protestors swarm from every tributary. The police, and the hose, open fire. Again we are relegated to fleeing, lying in wait.

The din seems unbroken for ten minutes. When it finally stops, we wander back into the street. Amateur photographers record while some pedestrians naively resume their activities. Shattered glass lines the street.

The water cannon and its riot police retinue decide to fall back; catching us between them and Taksim Square. We scurry down another empty backstreet to avoid confrontation, slinking behind a cash machine. When the armoured car passed, the hose aims in our direction, but we’re shielded.

That’s when police decide to fire gas twenty meters behind us, erasing our escape route. The side street opposite gets equal treatment.

Forced back onto Istiklal, we make for the next block. But it is too late; the burning overcomes me out of nowhere. It would be twenty-five minutes before the symptoms subside.

“There was a lull in the afternoon when police were mingling with us at McDonald’s,” Emre recounts.

Before nightfall, with surging momentum, the protestors retake Taksim. The riot police fall back. They are pursued into neighbouring Beşiktaş, which houses Prime Minister Erdogan’s Istanbul offices (the seat of government is in Ankara). The spontaneous demonstrators celebrated in the square all night.

But in Beşiktaş, things get ugly. Rocks are thrown. The gas is more intense, different even, taking a toll on Emre. One barrage leaves him blacking out, suffocating.

“It felt like I was dying. I thought that was going to be it. I accepted it.”

Riot police surround a mob over ten thousand strong, bottlenecking them between an Ottoman palace and an army base. This corridor is typically reserved for Beşiktaş’ fervent soccer fans to march to their stadium on game days. Tear gas is deployed relentlessly. These were the most militant protestors and in the following week the area would remain a hotbed for the ardent and the extreme.

“No one stampeded. I was surprised no one did something stupid. Everyone recognized the threat of people being trampled. We huddled together and moved as a group, despite the gas, to safety.”

Monday

Emre returns from work after nine. He slides our glass door closed.

“There is tear gas in the district.”

Across Istanbul in residential Beylikdüzü, a concert rehearses every night, the entire district banging pots and pans as loud as possible. Copycat protests across the country continue, those in Ankara reporting intense clashes between police and demonstrators.

A few weeks ago the government passed legislation placing a variety of limitations on alcohol. One clause bars Emre’s department from promoting the wines they purchase for retail, another restricts alcohol consumption within one hundred meters of any school or mosque. Erdogan labels the national drink not the inebriating raki, but rather ayran, a dull yogurt beverage.

Tuesday

There is tension in Taksim today.

A clearly overtired youth is violently incensed with another protestor. He is soothed and held back by his compatriots. In Gezi Park, some have been here five days, and often it smells like it. Starbucks has been supportively patient, their Taksim storefront occupied – converted into an outlet for first aid and medical supplies.

A yogi holds class for twenty, switching between Turkish and English instruction seamlessly. Spectators applaud each pose. Doctors and nurses make rounds in the park to frequent adulation. There are gay and lesbian activists here. As is the original kernel of environmentalists, whose defense of (and forced expulsion from) the park inspired the initial large-scale rioting on Friday.

Chants spread quickly, “this is just the beginning,” a common theme. A troop begins a song bouncing on their knees, low to the ground. Slowly they rise, pulsing. They finish jumping, hundreds of people skipping over an invisible rope.

An older woman wearing a hijab claps in unison while being interviewed through a translator by a western journalist. The photographer gets a group shot of her with her three friends. But he oversteps going for an individual close-up, which she refuses, happily waving her finger as he ineffectually sweet talks her in the wrong language.

An entrepreneur spreads out ‘anonymous’ masks and swimming goggles on a rug. Suits pass through without being harassed. Erdogan’s stewardship over a decade of fantastic economic progress made him thoroughly re-electable. But for all the protestors, Turkey does not have to accept a creeping Islamist agenda to sustain economic progress.

The improvised barricades at Taksim’s entrances are detritus and rubble. The government has the force to crush the occupation, but western reporters are here now, and all cameras point to Taksim. Erdogan names twitter “the worst menace to society.”

Thursday

I read Stephen Kinzer’s Crescent and Star on the commute. He interviewed Erdogan shortly after the Prime Minster won office almost exactly ten years ago.

“My political views have always been in a state of constant evolution,” he is quoted at the time.

“That’s true, but over ten years he’s lost touch,” Emre asserts.

Kinzer’s romanticism of Turkey is self-professed, but one piece of analysis is prescient. On Erdogan he writes, “He seemed to see himself, not his party or his government, as the force driving Turkey.”

Street musicians have returned with tear gas themes. In the Gezi Park camps, Tuesday’s uncertainty is absent, replaced by routine and productivity. With no winter coming people are getting organized. Young women collect garbage in pairs, plant flowers, and hand out food. During working hours the space is filled by students off for the summer, some as young as twelve.

In the park, though, there is no unity. Fringe political parties and organizations of all kinds hang flags from a nearby building overlooking the square. Each group has carved out a space for their organization, their petitions. They are united in their opposition to Erdogan’s moves against the founding secular vision of Turkey. But some present are committed to a politics without compromise. One banner states the only alternative to neoliberalism is socialism. Between the Turkish flags and the leftist banners, there is a lot of red.

The scene isn’t simply a menagerie of radical malcontents but Erdogan characterizes it as such. He has major influence over Turkish language media. CNN Turk, hamstrung the government, infamously showed “The Life of Penguins” during the clashes over the weekend.

The Turkish ambassador to Canada, when interviewed on TVO, tries to defend the proposition that Turkey has a “semi-free” media. The phrase “Turkish Spring” makes headlines globally. But this seems to overlook the fact that AKP, Erdogan’s party, was elected freely, one of three major parties earning parliamentary seats in 2011.

Erogan’s deputy and other government leaders have made reconciliatory statements regarding the magnitude of police force deployed. Gezi Park construction has halted. But Erdogan himself insists it will resume, that nothing can change that. It is unclear if this is a good cop, bad cop routine or a fissure that might indicate he is on his way out. Ten thousand protestors meet him at the airport returning from a diplomatic trip. Two protestors and one police officer have died this week. Hospitalizations and injuries number in the thousands.

Friday

Emre has his two month evaluation today – if all goes well his future in the wine procurement business will be secure. I agree to meet him on Istiklal for dinner, drinks, and protest. There is not much of the latter, the boulevard an archipelago of quality cafes and bars in a sea of commerce. We smoke banana shisha while bands in adjacent venues compete for patrons – dancing spills out into the street. An irresistible aroma drifts through the square as cooks grill kofte (meatballs) for sandwiches. Beer is consumed openly while red sky lanterns ascend overhead. Some set up stands with shot glasses and tequila as the night wears on. There is no sign of police, no central authority. Turks lock arms and dance in circles of twenty or more. Merriment pervades –the angst the Gezi Park occupiers should entertain deferred for at least one more night.

Addendum

Gareth is no longer in Istanbul. He tells me that on Tuesday night, Erdogan’s riot police moved in to Taksim Square.

Even better, I took a big bite out of his 7500 starting stack almost immediately. Blinds were 25/50, and I called a min-raise with T8o on the BB. He bet 175 at a 965 flop, and I check-raised him to 425. He called, but no problem, I binked the gut shot on the turn. He called 800, and then paid off an overbet of 3500 on a K river.

I played my next big pot at the 75/150 level. The UTG player raised to 400 and got two calls when I found Ah Kh in the small blind. I raised to 1600, intending to call a shove from any of the players already in the pot, all of whom had 8K or so. To my surprise, the big blind cold called, and the others all folded.

He was an amateur and seemed uncomfortable with the situation. I put him pretty squarely on Jacks, with a chance of AK, QQ, or a slightly smaller pair, but thought he would certainly reraise Aces or Kings considering how many players were still to act behind him.

The flop came 557 with a heart. It’s not often that I try to bluff someone off of an overpair, but this seemed like a pretty ideal spot. There’d been surprisingly little reraising at our table, and considering the stack sizes involved, I got the sense that he’d correctly read me for strength. He’s probably playing just a few WSOP events and not eager to be eliminated in level three. Plus even if he were to call with JJ, my hand would have a lot of outs. I decided to check and see what his bet sizing told me.

He bet 1200, barely a quarter of the pot. I moved all-in for about 8K more. He tanked for a very long time before calling. I turned the flush draw but didn’t get there on the river, so it was back to the starting stack for me.

Shortly thereafter, the player to my right opened to 400, and I called with 77. The button and SB called as well, then the player in the BB, who was a relatively new addition to the table and seemed to know what he was doing, moved all-in for 6K. The original raiser folded, and I went into the tank. This seemed like a good spot for him to try to increase his stack by about a third, and while he would surely play all better pairs this way, I thought he might shove a few worse ones and quite a few unpaired hands as well.

I called. So, to my great displeasure, did the player in the small blind, who turned out to have 10s. The big blind had AKo, but once again a miracle 7 led to me raking a big pot.

On break, I stepped into the blazing afternoon sun for some fresh air. A day laborer started talking to me, and I was about to compliment him on his flawless English when I realized that it was Leo Wolpert!

The table got progressively tougher with the addition of some new players, most notably Christian Harder who landed two seats to my left. He put me to quite a decision at the 150/300/25 level, when I opened to 700 with A8o in the CO and he called from the SB. We both checked an AQQ flop and a 5 turn, then he checked again on a K river. I bet 750, and he quickly raised to 3000.

This is a tough spot because I’m quite unlikely to have a Q, and I know that Charder knows that, and he knows that I know that he knows and etc. It’s also a very plausible way for him to play a Q. The question is how many Qs he really has in his pre-flop calling range versus how many hands he’d feel the need to bluff with. I wasn’t sure what to make of his preflop range, but it seemed not at all out of the question that he could turn a pocket pair into a bluff here. I called and was good.

I picked off another bluff from a really aggressive guy who’d previously gotten the better of me in a few pots. I called his button raise with J9 on my big blind and check-called a Td 9d 4s flop. The turn was the Tc, and I bet out for slightly over half the pot. He called. I checked a 5d river, and he bet about half the pot. Against some people this would be more of a decision because their turn calling ranges wouldn’t be all that wide, but this guy hated to give up on pots. I called, and he announced 8-high, so probably he had 87 but maybe 86..

I’d been reluctant to make dinner plans for fear of jinxing myself, but with half an hour to go I finally texted a friend who’d just arrived in Vegas. I was out of the tournament within 10 minutes. First it was AQ in the small blind versus the over-aggressive guy with QQ in the CO, then AK into JJ on the very next hand.

I was approximately three minutes late getting to the tournament area, and consequently I missed the first hand. That’s not like me. I like to be punctual, and I don’t like to miss hands.

But I also want to be comfortable. I want to be unhurried. I got a little lost on my way to the Rio – leave it to me to screw up right, left, right, and then left on to Rio Drive. I didn’t panic. I didn’t run yellow lights. I didn’t sprint from my car to the Brasilia Room. In fact I stopped to go the bathroom. Postponing that would only mean missing more hands later, because no way I was going to last two hours.

After folding the first hand I actually looked at, I started sizing up the table. An Asian guy about my age was two seats to my left, then an amateurish-looking middle-aged guy, then a kid who was trying too hard to look like a good player, then another amateurish-looking and slightly younger guy.

In this particular hand, the kid bet and called a small raise from the amateur on his left when a third spade came on the turn. The board paired on the river, the kid potted it, and the amateur shrugged and called quickly. The kid showed a full house, and the amateur turned over a small flush like what-can-you-do? He was welcome at my table.

He and I played a small pot the very next hand. We’d both checked the turn, but the dealer wasn’t revealing the river card because she was puzzling over a receipt that Kevin “ImaLuckSac” MacPhee had just handed her. The other amateur hurried her along. She dealt the river, we both checked, and my opponent won a small pot. “You’re at the wrong table,” the dealer said to my opponent as she tossed him a few chips.

“You checked me in,” he told her, and presumably she had. I wasn’t there to see it, but the dealers are supposed to check each player’s receipt and photo ID as he claims his seat. She’d let this one sit at the wrong table and lose nearly half of his stack. The floor was called. He ruled to send the amateur to his assigned seat and put Kevin MacPhee in his, an unequal exchange if ever there were one.

I protested. “Are the stacks equalized in the second round? Or will the winner of our table bring more chips into round two than the winner of that other table?”

The floorman started to tell me that the stacks weren’t going to be equal anyway because some tables had more players than others, but Kevin cut in. “I just claimed my seat, no one’s been eliminated, yet I have less than the table average. That’s not fair to me. It’s not a big deal, but it’s obviously not fair to me.”

The floor ended up retrieving the player who’d been in the wrong seat – he hadn’t yet played a hand at the other table – and swapping him back, sending MacPhee over to the table where the amateur was supposed to be. That strikes me as the right decision. Obviously it’s not a perfect outcome, but that’s a problem that’s created when the dealer lets the guy sit and play at the wrong table. Provided dealers are generally diligent about checking these things, which in my experience they are, it’s not exploitable.

One guy at the other table was decidedly not happy about it, though. He kept arguing with the floorman. He insisted that Jack Effel be called. Then he argued with Jack. They seemed to settle it, but he was clearly still steaming, and in a few minutes he hopped out of his seat and chased Jack down to argue some more. I can only imagine how badly he hurt his chances in the tournament by letting himself get so worked up over this.

Meanwhile a new player had joined our table, a Russian who claimed the seat on my immediate left. He described himself as “a software guy”, not a poker pro, but he seemed to know what he was doing and in at least one past year he’d played in the 50K Player’s Championship event, so he was not just any amateur.

As we neared the end of the first hour, blinds were still 25/50. I had 7600 out of a 9000 starting stack when I found pocket Aces in the cutoff. I raised to 125, which was the amount I’d been raising all level. The Russian on the button, who began the hand with about 11K, made it 350.

The Asian guy in the small blind, who had about 9K, cold called the 3-bet, which was uncharacteristic and noteworthy given that he’d been playing a pretty snug game. This is a clear 4-bet, though I may have erred a bit on the small side. I made it 1100, the button quickly folded, and the small blind asked to see my stack. Then he called.

With 2550 in the pot and 6500 in my stack, we saw a T74 flop. He checked, I bet 1050, he shoved, I called, and I lost to a set of 4s.

I’m not going to go too much into the strategy of the hand right now because Nate and I discuss it on Episode 35 of the podcast, which should be out on Wednesday. Suffice to say that I thought he was probably setmining preflop – his double call and counting down my stack sure made it seem that way – which makes the flop a more tricky spot than it may seem.

So the largest WSOP event I’d played so far this summer was over and done with before the end of the first level. It was over thanks to a stupid spot that I probably didn’t play badly but that maybe – just maybe – there’s some sick soulreader out there who would have let it go correctly (as opposed to some nits who might have folded for the wrong reasons).

Walking to my car, I came to the sickening realization that this could be the rest of my summer. I’m not guaranteed any deep runs nor even any cashes. Plenty of players at least as good as I whiff the series every year. I knew that intellectually, but now I felt it in a visceral way that I hadn’t before. I guess there’s always a part of you that believes you aren’t going to be that guy, that couldn’t happen to you. But of course it could.

Given that I’d put in just an hour at the tables, part of me wanted to go play something else. There was a $1500 Fixed Limit Hold ‘Em starting at 5. I’m not good at FLHE, but I might still be +EV in a $1500 field. Or I could go play cash somewhere.

I was doing it for the wrong reasons, though. I would have been chasing losses. Instead I ran some errands, went to the grocery store. I suggested dinner to Ed Miller, a writer whose work I admire and who’s been a guest on the podcast but whom I’d never met in person. He accepted.

It was great, exactly what I needed when I was feeling frustrated. He recommended a Thai place that, though not strictly vegan, had a lot of vegan options on the menu. I selected one in his honor.

We talked about tournaments, where to find the best mid-stakes cash games during the series (no consensus), writing and publishing, Las Vegas, non-poker careers, and debate. Yep, turns out he too was on his high school debate team, which helps to explain why I feel like his thinking parallels my own so well. Serious debaters learn to think and to structure their arguments in a very specific way that manifests itself in their speaking and writing in many other contexts, and I’ve always been good at spotting a fellow debater.

I’m usually an excellent judge of how much time has passed, but that night I was way off. When I finally checked the time, I was thinking we’d been at the restaurant for two hours, and in fact it had been three. I walked out of the restaurant a lot less tilted than I was walking in. Thanks, Ed.

Unfortunately that table broke, and the next was noticeably less good. There still weren’t any superstars there, but there were several players who had a much better idea of what they were doing.

My toughest decision came with blinds of 50/100. I had about 5500, up from the 3000 starting stack. UTG+1 opened to 250, UTG+2 called, and I called with Ah Jh on my big blind.

The flop came Ad Qh 9h. I checked, the preflop raiser bet 350, the second guy folded, and I called. I see a lot of people raise here, and I think it’s a big mistake. Even though you obviously have a very strong hand, that doesn’t mean that you want to raise. The Villain had me covered, and if we played a big pot, it wasn’t going to matter that I had top pair – I was going to need to make that flush. Better to keep the pot smaller and play it as a bluff-catcher unless my hand improved. Just because your hand is good enough to get all-in doesn’t mean that’s the best way to play it.

The turn was an offsuit 4. I checked, he bet 850, and I called. The river was an offsuit 6, I checked, and he bet 1850, nearly half of my remaining stack.

This is a nasty spot because unless I have Ah 4h or Ah 6h, I’m pretty much never going to have a better hand than AJ, which makes it an exploitable fold. At the same time, AJ is definitely a bluff-catcher, and I don’t know how often I can expect to see a bluff here. The Villain didn’t fit the stereotype of a pro – he was in his late 40s or early 50s and I hadn’t seen him before – but he handled himself pretty well at the table, so I can’t say for sure that he wouldn’t be capable of recognizing how capped my range is here. Nor can I say for sure whether he’d value bet AK. I wasn’t getting anything in the form of tells.

Finally, in part to preserve a >20 BB stack (which, again, could be evidence of expert bet sizing on his part), I laid it down. It’s definitely one I’m still questioning, though.

That 20 BB stack dwindled to a 10 BB stack without any good shoving opportunities presenting themselves. The action actually folded to me twice in late position, but I had 62o on the button and 82o on the CO and elected not to shove either (antes weren’t yet in play or else I probably would have shoved both). I felt somewhat vindicated in those decisions when I picked up AQo the next hand, but I shoved it over a raise and lost a flip to JJ to bust.

Most WSOP events start at either noon or 5, but this one was bumped back to 11AM to free up more tables later in the day. Even so, one of the daily deepstack tournaments was cancelled and the other postponed for hours for lack of tables. When I arrived, the convention center parking lot was slammed, and I joined the mass of humanity surging towards the entrance from either their private vehicle or the steady stream of taxis depositing them at the foot of the red carpet.

I was happy with my starting table. Out of eight opponents (it was a ten-handed tournament, but the seat on my immediate left was unoccupied), only two seemed capable of giving me tough decisions. The only downside was that they were one and two seats to my left. One of them lost a flip to a weaker player and was eliminated early, which was nice. I later realized that the other was Mike Sowers, whom I really should have recognized sooner given that he is a fellow Tournament Poker Edge instructor. Ana Marquez eventually claimed that empty seat on my left, but she was playing pretty tight, and before too long the table broke anyway.

I ran my stack up to about 10K without any big confrontations, then I lost a big pot to a pretty nasty beat. I limped 22 behind an early position limper and got a 552 flop. I called his flop bet and shoved over his turn bet. He called with AA and rivered a 5 for a higher full house. I was proud of myself not only for not reacting externally but for not even really getting upset on the inside. I just shrugged it off and settled in to play some 20 BB poker. That proved boring but quite profitable, and I got up over 30BB without any showdowns.

Because we started with just 4500 chips and blinds were doubling every level, players started dropping quickly. A vacant seat on my left was filled with a very nice Canadian who was a paradigmatic example of the sort of guy you come to the WSOP to play with. On the first hand that he played, he accidentally bet out of turn, confidently declaring, “3000” and throwing his chips eagerly into the pot. When the dealer told him it wasn’t his turn to act, he started stammering and apologizing profusely. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I just… ah… sorry. I get… sorry… I get… ah… nervous, y’know?” If any of you are Pokercast listeners, his accent was even more pronounced version of Mike Johnson’s, which made it that much funnier.

He left the table for a minute, and there was actually speculation as to whether he was putting us on, that’s how over-the-top his nervousness was. Also, he had to ask how antes worked. If he was acting, though, he deserved an Academy Award. “He took second in the PCA High Roller, so he must be doing something right,” I said, which drew a few astonished explanations before the table realized that I was pulling their leg.

A few minutes after the nervous Canadian returned to the seat on my left, Scott Seiver showed up holding a seat card for that same seat. Apparently when the floor seated the Canadian there, they hadn’t given the seat card to the dealer as they were supposed to but instead held on to it and reassigned it to Seiver, so he ended up at another table instead of on my immediate left. Talk about a suckout!

With blinds of 100/200, I opened to 450 with KJo in late middle position. The Canadian on my left called me, and the big blind called. We checked around a QJ6r flop. The turn was a T, and the big blind checked again. Given the lack of action, I was pretty sure my second pair was good, so I bet 650. The Canadian folded, and the big blind called. I decided I could still get value on a river 5, so I bet 1600 out of my 3800 stack, and he called with Q9. That hurt, and I’m conscious that overly thin value betting is sometimes a leak of mine in tournaments, but even in retrospect I like this bet. This and maybe AJ are about the only better hands than mine that I could see him playing this way.

That left me short stacked, which wasn’t the end of the world. A lot of good spots came up, I just never had quite the right cards to take advantage of them, but I could see that the potential was there. For example, the action folded to me on both the button and the CO, where my shoving ranges there would be extremely wide, but I found 62o and 82o respectively.

I lost a flip with 77 against the AKs of an even shorter stack, but it left me with just 3 BBs. Thankfully I was in late position and the ante was just 25, so I had a little room to wait for a hand. I got 99, got it in against three others, and miraculously held up. The next hand I open shoved KTo and lost to AJo.

I think this was pretty typical for a low buy-in WSOP event. There was a bit of play in the beginning, but not a lot of room to recover from early hiccups. I spent much of the tournament short-stacked, and on the whole the experience felt both (theoretically) profitable and boring.

On the way, I had to put gas in the car – there was less than 1/8th of a tank when I picked it up, and it’s an Economy car, so I wasn’t going to get far on that – and stop at the bank to pick up cash. It was a Friday, so of course the lines were long. Most people looked like they were cashing paychecks, but something told me that the two young guys a few spots ahead of me were fellow poker players. That something was the poker chip shaved into the head of the heavier guy, and the letters WSOP shaved into the other side of his head. As I waited my turn, I watched him flirt not unsuccessfully with the teller.

Cash in hand and gas in tank, all that remained was to buy in to the tournament. Being generally unfamiliar with the preliminary WSOP events, I was surprised to find the buzz in the Rio convention center pretty comparable to what it’s like during the main event. The halls were filled with poker players, most of them identifiably so if not quite as blatantly as the guy from the bank. A security guard recounted a bad beat story to a bored-looking cocktail waitress who was way out of his league. Two dealers swapped bat beat stories of their own; I overheard something about “so now I’ve got a fourth sidepot” as they passed by me. A young man stood alone in the hallway catching a ball in a cup.

I was an hour early for the $1500 6-max, and the line for registration looked to be about 15 minutes long. A security guard reminded me that I’d need a WSOP Player’s Card, which of course I’d once again forgotten to bring with me, so I had to go to another section of the convention center to get a new one, easily my sixth in eight years, printed.

Finally I bought into the event, and as I was walking away from the cage, Diego AKA RonFezBuddy from Tournament Poker Edge called my name. We chatted for a minute and he introduced me to Casey “BigDogPckt5s” Jarzabeck, and they asked me to join them for lunch. I needed coffee, though, and I already had my lunch. So I sat in the Starbucks, drinking a small iced Americano, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a plastic baggy, reading Saul Bellow’s Herzog, and waiting for my World Series of Poker to begin. Now there’s a sentence that’s never been uttered before.

There were just two of us at the table when “Shuffle up and deal” was announced, and I had position. Blinds were 25/25, and with both of them sitting out, my opponent opened with a raise to 50. I made it 150 with 7c 5c, and he called. The flop came KQ9, he checked, and figuring that he’d fold on the turn anything that he’d fold on the flop, I checked behind. The turn brought a 7, he checked again, and now that I had some showdown value, I was happy to check as well. The river brought a 5, but I wasn’t too thrilled when he bet 325 into the pot of 350. I called, and sure enough he had KQ.

I didn’t show my cards, but I nonetheless worked up a pretty aggressive image with this player on my right. After that hand, I won every postflop contest we had, though none of them was particularly interesting.

Then, with blinds of 25/50, I opened to 125 with K7s in the HJ, which was also UTG since we were playing five-handed. This in itself is probably a mistake at a table full of decent players, which mine was. Anyway they all folded except for this player in the big blind, who called a little spitefully.

The flop came 765r, he checked, I bet 175, he raised to 475, and I called. This wasn’t the first time he’d check-raised my continuation bet, and I’m pretty sure the last time he’d had nothing. That might make him less likely to do it as a bluff again, but at least I know that move is in his arsenal, and I didn’t get the impression he was calling pre-flop to play fit-or-fold.

The turn brought a 3, he checked, and I bet 725 thinking I could be called by worse made hands and also charge 8s and overcards. Probably a little too ambitious for a tournament with an unforgiving structure. He fingered calling chips – a tell to which I ought to have been more alert – and then moved all-in, laying me roughly 2-1 on a call. He had a commandingly large stack, probably three times the size of mine, so it was actually my survival and not his that was at risk.

I began the staredown. He was quiet and a little fidgety. I’d seen him act very animated in big pots before, and though we didn’t actually see showdowns, I got the impression in those cases that he was looking for calls. This would be a crazy call, since I could easily be drawing dead and an overcard + open-ended-straight-draw was probably the best I could hope to see. Still, my gut was howling at me that he was weak. Admittedly I’m not one of those feel players, but I’ve rarely experienced a “gut reaction” at the poker table as strongly as this.

I ran through the possibilities. Did it make sense to check a 4? Sure, that was reasonable, though not a guarantee. Probably more 8s than 4s in his pre-flop calling range. Pretty likely to check-raise an 8 on the flop, unless he had a pair, which actually a lot of his 8s would. Same is true of his 4s though. Think he’d bet 98 on the turn. Better non-straight hands than mine seemed unlikely though not impossible.

He called the clock. That’s arguably a sign of strength as well, but something about the way he did it felt weak to me. As the floorman counted down my time, my opponent saw someone he knew passing by and struck up a conversation. It felt forced to me, like he was trying to act relaxed.”You have ten seconds remaining.” Is this really how I wanted to kick off my WSOP? What the fuck does that have to do with anything? “Four, three, two…” I pushed my stack into the pot and looked at him inquiringly. He flipped 84s, and I mucked without waiting for a river card.

I’m well aware that in writing this looks like a terrible call even before you see the results. And try as I might, it’s impossible for me to recount the details of the hand without probably skewing them a bit in favor of my mistaken read. All I can in my own defense is that rarely deviate so far from what seems like the correct play based on a read, but the feeling I got during this hand was something I’ve rarely experienced at the poker table, and I’ve been right more often than not when I’ve acted on it in the past. Had he shown me a bare 8, I would have felt like a genius, but as it is, I feel like a schlub.

Welcome to the World Series of Poker.

Though long, hot, and largely devoid of human settlement, the drive through the desert was much less tedious than the plains we crossed east of the Rockies. It may seem empty and featureless at first, but there’s actually quite a lot of texture and character to the desert:

Much of the drive is actually through a Navajo reservation, and unable to find anywhere shady to pull off the road, we ended up eating lunch in the parking lot of a Burger King on the reservation. There was actually a small museum inside of the BK with memorabilia related to the Navajo Code Talkers who served in WWII, curated by the son of a Code Talker. We didn’t actually buy anything there, but there was a steady stream of tour buses discharging passengers into the shop, so it seemed like they were doing OK.

As we ate our lunch, a dog stood in an adjacent parking lot eating an ice cream off of the ground. He didn’t have a collar and his owner, if any, was nowhere in sight. He never did anything remotely aggressive, and yet his presence was disturbing to me and many of the other passers through (Emily thought he was cute and felt sorry for him). I guess I just saw no reason why he shouldn’t be feral, and I didn’t want to risk provoking him. He represented some sort of fundamental, unregulated wildness that I always feel hovering in the air when I’m in the desert. There was actually another stray dog wandering the parking lot of a Navajo gas station where we stopped an hour later.

We ate dinner at an – actually, it was the, as in the only – Indian (as in the continent of India) restaurant in Flagstaff. As we were finishing up our meal, the owner came over to ask how everything was. Then he asked where we were from, where we were going etc. He got very excited when I mentioned poker and asked me what my trick was for winning, and also whether I ever lost.

I told him of course, and my “trick” was not getting upset about losing. Plenty of people can play cards, I told him, but it’s much harder to continue playing your best when frustrating things happen.

“I understand completely,” he assured me. I could tell he was restraining himself from asking about the most I’d ever lost. Instead, he asked if I had a favorite Indian restaurant in Las Vegas.

“I can’t say I’ve been to many. I really like Indian food, I just haven’t done much in Vegas other than play poker. There was an Indian place at the Rio, where they hold the World Series of Poker, that was my favorite place to eat in that casino. But it closed last year.”

“Yes, Gaylord. I know it. It closed?”

“Seemed to be. It wasn’t open during the WSOP last year.”

“Yes, yes, I know the owner. He always eats here on his way to Las Vegas. I do not think Gaylord is closed.” That was an encouraging bit of news!

The next morning Emily dropped me off at Budget Rent-a-Car, where I caught the last day of a special where you could rent a car in Flagstaff and return it in Vegas for less than $20, a service that usually costs about $100. I guess they’re trying to get cars to Vegas for the summer. I said goodbye to her and took off on my own for the last leg of my journey.

The drive started off beautifully, along I-40 through the Kaibab National Forest. I grew up near the eastern terminus of I-40. To me it was always a neighborhood road, and not a very pleasant one at that. It felt strange to be driving through a beautiful forest on the other side of the continent on a road that I knew so well in such a different context.

Soon the road descended – Flagstaff sits at about 7000 feet above sea level – into the desert and got a lot less scenic. I’d been in such a hurry to escape the congestion of Flagstaff that I hadn’t gotten anything to eat for lunch, and now it was too late. Once again, I could see for miles, and there was no sign of human settlement in sight.

At last I passed a highway sign for “Picadilly Circus Pizza and Subs”. It didn’t seem like I was going to do any better than that, so I exited the highway. The place was closed, as was most of the town of Ash Fork, but I spotted some signs for a “Welcome Center and Route 66 Museum”. They pointed down a gravel road, which was suspicious, but the welcome center signs did look official. I was intrigued, and I needed to use the bathroom.

Mine wasn’t the only car in the parking lot, so that was a good sign. I opened the door to the building, and when the hostess turned to greet me, then man she’d been talking to took the opportunity to make for the door. That was a bad sign. Wary of being drawn into conversation with an attention-starved state employee (or worse, volunteer) I quickly inquired about the bathroom. When I emerged, she was seated at a desk and made no attempt to engage me, so I wandered the museum, which was weird and wonderful.

It wasn’t so much about Route 66 as it was about the town of Ash Fork during the “Route 66 era”, though I guess lying along that road probably is about all Ash Form ever had going for it. Anyway there were a bunch of artifacts from that era recreations, some in miniature and others life-sized and creepy. The largest such scene depicted several poker players around a table, but somehow the pictures I took of that disappeared. Here’s the one that survived:

I ended up getting lunch at a truck stop Subway. I timed it well, because just as I was leaving a busload of German tourists was forming a line out the door.

As I descended from Flagstaff and entered the Nevada desert, I watched the temperature outside steadily climb from a comfortable 80 degrees to a scorching 99 when I finally reached Las Vegas, though at least according to the car it thankfully never cracked triple digits.

My first destination in Las Vegas was the Budget Rent-a-Car at McCarran International Airport, where I returned the car from Flagstaff. Then I caught a cab to a neighborhood Enterprise location, where the rates were cheaper than either any airport car rental or the car I’d brought with me. There, I picked up the car that I’ll have for the next three weeks. Finally, I met the owner of the condo where I’d be staying and picked up the keys. I was “home”.

I decided, however, to skip the first few events and accompany Emily to Mesa Verde instead. There were two reasons for this. The first was that it wasn’t going to be cheap or easy to get a flight from anywhere near Durango. Second and more importantly, Mesa Verde is a really freaking cool place. I mean, it’s a 1000+ year-old “lost city” built into the walls of a canyon. Just speaking objectively, that has to be one of the coolest things there is. I’d been there once before, but it was about 20 years ago, and the main thing I remember about it is being upset that there was no television in the lodge.

To be fair, the official lodges in the national parks can be a disappointment to those who don’t know what to expect. Building a hotel inside of a park is no longer consistent with the National Park Service’s philosophy, but they do allow previously existing lodges to continue to operate because they are often part of the history of the place. That means that these hotels are by definition old, and what passed for luxury accommodations fifty to one hundred years ago hasn’t necessarily withstood the test of time. Of course the lodges still tend to be expensive, since unless you want to camp they are the only place to stay inside of the parks, so sometimes people come away thinking, “I paid $300/night for no air conditioning, a creaky room, and a toilet that doesn’t flush properly?”

The lodges are both beautiful and historic, but you don’t have to sleep in them to appreciate that. Our usual MO is to camp but hang out in the lobby of the lodges in the evenings. Once again working her magic, though, Emily found that the lodge at Mesa Verde was running a two-for-one special, and also that the campground was poorly reviewed, so we stayed there both nights that we were in Mesa Verde.

“Maryland?” asked a very friendly woman at front desk. “I don’t imagine you drove all the way out here?”

“We did, actually.”

“How long did that take you?”

“Ten days. We were only averaging four or five hours per day.”

“Wow, that’s great. And you were able to get off of work for that long?”

Which led to me explaining that I was actually headed out west for work, so to speak. Turns out she used to be a dealer but quit when her casino started pooling tips. As a friendly and attractive young woman, she was probably one of the biggest earners in the room, so it’s not inconceivable that a change like that could have resulted in something like a 50% reduction in hourly rate for her. Pretty brutal, especially knowing that that money is going to others who aren’t making as much of an effort to improve the players’ experience.

Having hit it off with her, we were able to get into our room well in advance of the check-in time, so we ate lunch on our tiny balcony and enjoyed the view. Then we went for our first tour, of a “neighborhood” called Cliff Palace. All of the coolest stuff in the park is accessible only via ranger-led tours (which cost a very reasonable $3/person) because people just can’t be trusted around these delicate, irreplaceable structures.

Getting to wander past and occasionally through these old buildings is awesome in the most literal sense of the word, so even though our guide was pretty lackluster, it was an amazing experience. Even when you know better, it’s hard to avoid thinking of people who lived hundreds of years ago as somehow less intelligent than yourself. Of course they were less technologically sophisticated, but that only makes the feats of engineering and resource management that they accomplished all the more impressive.

For me, the most memorable example of this came from a stick jammed into a crack above one of the caves in which a particularly large collection of structures has been built. These caves are formed by sandstone that eroded away over time, eventually causing a portion of the cliff face to tumble into the canyon below and leaving an inviting little alcove where as many as two hundred people may have lived. If that stick ever fell, it would mean that the sandstone overhead was loosening and it was time to abandon the dwelling.

In the evening, we drove to a picnic area not far from the lodge, set up the stove, and made dinner as the sun sunk lower in the sky.

Our guide for the next day’s tour, of an area called Long House, was somewhat better than the last. Her emphasis was on sustainability and what a small amount of water counted as a bonanza for the Ancestral Puebloans who lived at Mesa Verde. The erosion that created these caves was caused by seeping underground springs, so the caves not only made great shelter from the elements (and possibly from other people – opinions seem to be mixed on this point), they also provided easy access to fresh water, not an easy thing to come by in the arid region. By modern standards it would be a feeble amount of water for a single family, but it was enough not just to sustain but to be considered luxurious for dozens of people.

That was a morning tour, so we’d brought sandwiches to eat afterwards. I’d also brought the aeropress,which caused a bit of a stir in the picnic area. A rancher and his family at the next table over started talking about how good it smelled and ribbing me about not bringing enough for everyone.

It’s revealing of more of my own biases that I would have expected a rancher to see this as some sort of new-fangled, possibly effeminate doohicky and that instant coffee or maybe coffee boiled in an iron kettle was good enough for him. In fact the whole family seemed fascinated by the ingenuity of it, and he commented that I “would be the most popular man” on a cattle drive. So that put a pretty big smile on my face.

We took a hike to yet another set of ruins before heading back to the lodge. It’s worth mentioning that although the ruins are the primary reason for the park’s existence, it would be a beautiful place to visit even without them. The geology of the region (which is actually a cuesta and not a mesa, because it slopes on one side) makes for some amazing scenery.

Returning from our second picnic dinner in the park, we got to talking with a midwestern woman in the parking lot of  the lodge who commented on our Massachusetts license plate. She, too, had traveled a lot by car and really did seem to be interested in our whole story: where we were headed and why, why we chose to drive, the route that we took and the places we’d stopped, etc. The conversation was cut short by her friend reminding her that, “it [presumably the poorly reviewed restaurant at the lodge] closes at 9”, so she had to scurry.

Lathrop State Park seemed to come out of nowhere, the sudden high desert terrain with attendant stunted tees and scrubbly brush a welcome relief from the tedium of the prairie. We lucked into one of the best sites in the park – presumably someone had reserved it for Saturday and Sunday of Memorial Day, and there weren’t many people looking to stay just Friday night the way we were.

A few trees at the back of the campsite formed a little cove for our tent, so that although the campground was full we could pretend we were out alone in the wilderness. We set up camp and got to work on dinner while a pickup hauling perhaps the largest camping trailer I’ve ever seen provided the evening’s entertainment. They spent literally hours trying to maneuver their behemoth into a tent site – the electric sites intended for RVs were all taken.

There’s just something so absurd and presumptuous about expecting to carry an entire house with you on a weekend getaway. Through the windows of the trailer, we could see a sofa and a full kitchen with more cabinets than we’d had in our Boston apartment.

Of course as usual when I find myself judging someone else, I am really judging myself. Isn’t there also something presumptuous about driving a “small” SUV (which adjective is appropriate only in light of the even more absurdly sized vehicles on the market) three thousand miles across the country? We’re all constantly upping the ante on each other, such that what seems ridiculous at first slowly becomes the new normal, and something even bigger and more absurd comes along to push the limits again. If you can afford it, you can buy it, and you can burn all the fuel you want along the way.

Our other diversion was a nearly full moon, which only a somewhat cloudy sky prevented from illuminating the entire campground with, not exactly the light of day, but a sparkling, surreal blue-white glow. It made the mid-night walk to the bathroom, often one of the burdens of camping, into a mystical experience.

There’s nothing better than waking up to clear skies and pleasant temperature; making breakfast is a pleasure and packing is effortless. If you value your time, then camping, like driving, makes sense only if you enjoy the process, which is why we try to avoid camping in bad weather. For me, being outside in a beautiful place on a beautiful day really sucks the tedium out of daily chores.

Good thing we got an early start because Great Sand Dunes National Park was already slammed when we got there before noon. A line of cars twenty-deep waited to get into the park, and once inside, we could see a steady stream of tiny people marching like lemmings from the parking area out to the dunes, then up and back down the main sand dune.

Giving up on picnic areas proper, we found a quieter parking lot and ate there. Then walked down to the little creek running in front of the dunes. We each carried a liter of water and shared self-satisfied smiles as we watched exhausted, probably dehydrated people marching back to the parking lot.

We took our shoes and socks off and walked into the fast-moving but very shallow and broad water. It felt funny feeling the water rush over your feet so forcefully. That was enough for us. We walked a little ways through the water, then turned around, came back, and took our leave of the park.

It was a hot drive to Pagosa Springs, pleasantly interrupted by the San Juan Mountains with their sweeping views and occasional waterfalls.

Emily had worked her magic and, instead of a hotel, secured for us a one-night’s stay in a luxury home for something absurd like $60. Though a bit further out of town than a shitty motel going for $80/night, the place was awesome, with a full kitchen, porch, luxurious shower and tub, big sunny rooms, and a decent view. The most exciting part for me was that the kitchen included a wok, so I was able to make a proper stir fry instead of trying to cook all of the ingredients in multiple rounds in a little frying pan like I’d been doing at our camp sites.

The only thing that could have been cooler might have been camping at the Dunes, but there was no room at the campground there. The moon was full that night, and the dunes surely would have looked really cool. We were still able to sit out on the porch of the house and appreciate the setting sun and later the moonlight.

I did like, though, that the museum put an emphasis on presenting the difficult decisions Truman had to make, trying to show the issues from all sides and encouraging visitors to put themselves in the president’s shoes. I’ve always believed that while Roosevelt set the stage for modern domestic policy, Truman played that role in foreign policy. It was interesting to see significant actions such as the creation of NATO, intervention in Korea, and of course the use of nuclear weapons presented as legitimately tough decisions with compelling arguments and prominent advocates on both sides.

We picked up some groceries in Kansas City, then began the long, flat drive to Hays, Kansas. That took most of the day, but the next morning we stopped off to see the buffalo before leaving town. There’s actually a herd of buffalo maintained by the town parks department not too far off of I-70.

We had another long day of driving ahead of us and were already late leaving the hotel, so I was anxious to get going. We were set to camp that night, which meant that after we arrived we’d still have to set up camp and make dinner (not a quick task on a camp stove), so I didn’t want to get in too late.

Emily was really looking forward to seeing the buffalo, though, and I’m glad we did. There was a baby with them who was really funny because he was still fundamentally a thick, awkwardly shaped beast, but he was trying to frolic like any other baby animal and he just looked ridiculous.

I felt ridiculous myself for being in such a hurry to “get there” that I nearly missed such a cool little sight. Driving across the country is hardly the fastest or most efficient way of getting there, so you have to enjoy the little stuff along the way to make it worth your while.

Finally we settled in for a long, windy, empty drive across the prairie. Mostly there’s just flat fields of stubbly crops stretching off in all directions, train tracks running parallel to the road, and occasional windswept trees and towering grain elevators the only interruption to the 360 degree skyline.

Pat McGee on 1400 AM gave us the latest agricultural news, rattling off crop prices in the Chicago and Kansas City markets and updating us on the major ag bills before Congress. Hot topics of the moment seemed to be tying crop insurance to compliance with conservation requirements and lifting adjusted gross income caps on insurance qualification.

We crossed into Colorado and approached the long-promised cities of Lamar and La Junta. Everything was dilapidated: windows boarded up, porches crumbling, gates hanging off hinges, cars cannibalized for parts, their skeletons left gaping on abandoned lots. There were plenty of people outside, leading to the unsettling conclusion that at least some of these houses must be occupied. The arm-to-sleeve ratio was high, and the tattoo-to-arm ratio even higher.

On the outskirts of town, the gray clouds that had been with us all day finally opened up and poured their rain down upon us in thick, heavy, audible drops. Even then, rays of sun were visible bursting through the clouds in the distance, and soon enough we were free ourselves. The sky was clear ahead, and we got our first glimpse of the San Juan Mountains, the long-awaited terminus of the Great Plains.

Our tour guide was a rotund woman missing two prominent front teeth. The school group she was expecting was late, so Emily and I ended up getting a private tour with her. As we walked from room to room, she was very friendly and curious about the way things worked at the Maryland statehouse. Whenever we got to a point of interest, though, she slipped into tour guide mode and ran through a clearly memorized spiel as though she were talking to a large group. She also talked really quickly, so we didn’t end up spending a ton of time inside.

The place was bustling, though. Among other things, the Chicago Teachers Union had some sort of event that day and has bussed in parents, teachers, and students who were all wearing matching t-shirts. I used to work in the Chicago Public Schools, and I know there have been some controversial school closings there, but it made me feel bad that I hadn’t kept myself better informed about what was happening with them. Then again I’m not really up on what’s been happening with the Boston Public Schools either, and my work with them was much more recent and involved.

With the time we saved on the tour, we visited a preserved/restored block of homes on which Lincoln lived during his time in Springfield. We didn’t actually go into his home, but the neighborhood had a cool feel to it – it really did feel like we were stepping back in time.

We hit the road and soon found ourselves driving into high winds and heavy cloud cover. It never actually rained, but it made what would otherwise have been an utterly flat and effortless drive into a bit of an ordeal because the car was really getting buffeted. Unable to find a rest stop for our picnic lunch, we finally stopped in a park-and-ride adjacent to a grain elevator, which is just about the only scenery there is along the road in central Illinois. It was so windy that we ended up eating in the car, though. Later, at a gas station, we saw a camera crew following around a couple of guys in a Storm Chaser van.

Just over the Mississippi river, which also serves as the boundary between Illinois and Missouri, is Hannibal, hometown of Mark Twain.  We stopped for gas – we’d been holding out because Missouri’s prices are lower than Illinois’ – and as I pumped it, a large woman with a large truck welcomed me to Missouri (our car has Massachusetts plates, not that it would be hard to identify us as not-from-around-here). She was very friendly and assured me that Missouri was a beautiful state with a lot to see and do, and also that we’d made a wise decision to hold out for gas. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we’d be here for only a single night. It did make me wish that chatting at the gas station were more commonplace, because it seems like an obvious time when several people are standing around without very much to occupy themselves.

If you didn’t know that Hannibal were the hometown of Mark Twain, you’d learn quickly. It clings to that fact like stink to a mule, and driving through the dilapidated downtown we passed the Twain Hotel, the Twain Diner, etc. All of it was gaudy and exploitative, and most of it was closed, so we didn’t linger long.

Our next stop was prompted by a well-reviewed coffee shop, but it turns out that Chillicothe, Missouri has an interesting claim to fame:

Podcast listeners may recall that I’m nominally a vegetarian, but I do make a few exceptions. Among them is the “Top 5” rule. Whenever someone is pushing some sort of meat on me, I ask them if it’s one of the top five examples of that sort of meat I’m likely to encounter. If it is, I’ll usually try it. For example, I sampled the jamón in Madrid (not impressed) and the bacon in Canada (I like American better). Where I’m going with this is that we stopped at a barbeque place in Excelsior Springs, Missouri, and I tried a bite of Emily’s pulled pork. Then I got a half-pound of it to go. Sorry, pigs.

Wabash BBQ provided local flavor in more ways than one. We parked next to a bona fide monster truck in the parking lot, and every single party in the restaurant was a candidate for ownership, though a middle-aged couple in sleeveless plaid shirts were the frontrunners. The waitress carded me, and upon seeing my Maryland ID, asked “What brings you all the way out here?”

Rather than bore her with a long and not very interesting story, I just said, “We came for the barbecue!”

She laughed but returned about fifteen minutes later and asked, “But really, what are you doing out here?” We told her that we were on a road trip and destined for Las Vegas. I never know if or how to mention poker – I worry about coming off as braggadocios if I’m too quick to drop that info, so instead I sort of steer the conversation that way and let people ask if they’re really curious. This woman wasn’t, though she seemed a little put-off at what I guess seemed to her like evasive answers.

After dinner, it was a short drive to Watkins Mill State Park, a surprisingly well-maintained and -funded campground on the site of an old mill. The host who checked us in asked where we were from.

After a pause – it’s a surprisingly complicated answer – Emily told him “Originally from Baltimore.”

“Originally?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yep,” I told him. Then I gave him a Massachusetts license plate number and a Pittsburgh address. He, too, seemed a little perturbed that we weren’t answering the question he was really asking, but it’s just such a long and confusing story. But maybe small-town Missourians are a little more willing to listen to someone else’s long-winded story than the people I’m used to interacting with.

Not that we had far to go. The plan was to spend the day and night in nearby Springfield, checking another state capitol off of Emily’s list and visiting some of the Lincoln sites around town.

Our first stop was the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, which, unlike the more recent presidential libraries in whose curation the presidents themselves are involved, is largely a tourist attraction geared towards children. This became abundantly clear when we learned that the orientation video was in one of those 4-D theaters where the seats shake and whatnot. Somehow the whole room shrieked at the loud gunshot when Lincoln was assassinated, even though it was abundantly obvious that some sort of dramatic effect was going to accompany that.

There were only two things about the place that I found truly interesting. The first was a museum employee in period costume who made a long-winded case for why Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in the way that he did, which is to say freeing only those slaves in the south where his authority wasn’t recognized. According to this argument, Lincoln had the authority to take this action because the slaves were property being used in armed conflict against the United States and consequently were subsequent to seizure. Had he tried to free slaves via Executive Order in any of the border states which were still part of the Union, such action could easily have been ruled unconstitutional.

More interestingly, freeing southern slaves in this way would create a conundrum for a post-war Congress. Technically the slaves would have to be returned to their owners after the war was over, since they were legally seized only for the duration of the conflict. Of course this would prove logistically impossible, so it essentially forced Congress’ hand in passing the 13th Amendment.

I don’t know enough to evaluate the merits of this argument, but it’s the best explanation I’ve heard for why the Emancipation Proclamation was written the way it was.

The other was an exhibit that, in stark contrast to the rest of the museum, featured little in the way of bells and whistles. It was a silent, four-minute video displaying a map of the United States of America. Each second represented one day in the Civil War. The map showed the territory controlled by both the Union and the Confederacy and the way it changed over the course of the war. A small explosion marked the site of each battle at the time that it took place, which illustrated the significance of each in a way I’d never appreciated before. Throughout, a number on the bottom right of the screen kept a running count of the number of dead on both sides, a number that quickly rose into the hundreds of thousands.

All of the attractions closed at five, so the statehouse would have to wait for tomorrow. We had a lot of time back at the hotel, which, though we were only there for one night, was one of those extended stay hotels where you get a full kitchen.

The alternating between camping and hotels has really worked out nicely for us, because it enables us to get the best of both worlds. Knowing that you’ll be in a hotel the next night minimizes a lot of the hassles of camping, and the camping is virtually free compared to the cost of the hotels, so it cuts our costs by something like 70% relative to staying in hotels exclusively.

On this particular evening, we really took full advantage of the room. Our wet camping gear was hung around the room drying, dishes were in the dishwasher, our ice packs were in the freezer so they’d be ready for our cooler, food for the next night of camping was prepped in advance, and I was plowing through a backlog of emails and updating this very blog!

A few hours’ drive brought us to another capitol, Indianapolis, which was more in line with our expectations. The dress code was “state worker chic”, meaning the cheapest attire that could be considered appropriate in a formal office. The other people milling around the capitol building looked pretty down-and-out, as did most of the parts of the city we drove through, which made us reluctant to leave the car containing our most valued worldly possessions unattended for too long.

The skies over Columbus were clear and a brutal sun beat down on us there, but for most of the day we drove under cover of clouds. Ideally we wanted to camp in Illinois’ Kickapoo State Park (I certainly haven’t made an exhaustive survey but that’s got to be one of the best-named parks in the country), but we had a back-up hotel reserved in nearby Champaign just in case. As the cancellation deadline drew near, we checked the weather report one last time: isolated thunderstorms, 60% chance of precipitation, but no severe storm warnings. We cancelled the hotel and made for Kickapoo.

It’s a good thing we were driving west, or else we would have arrived after dark. Not that it’s so difficult to make camp in the dark, but it’s nicer to have some daylight. The tent loop was nearly empty, so we had our pick of sites. Despite the fact that it was built on a former strip mine, the park was quite nice-looking, and the only drawback were the giant mosquitos who loved to come into the car and tent but weren’t actually too aggressive about trying to bite us. As we made ready for bed, we could see flashes of lightning in the distance, but that was nothing unexpected.

We’d been asleep for about two hours when heavy winds and rain woke us. The tent’s fly and waterproofing were doing their job, so I was inclined just to stick it out and try to go back to sleep, but Emily gets a bit more anxious about such things, so she took shelter in the car. A few minutes later she came back to tell me that she’d just heard on the weather radio that there was a tornado watch in effect.

I grabbed my things and dashed through the driving rain to join her in the car. The nearest hotel was two exits back the way we came on the highway, so we drove quickly but cautiously in that direction. A car is one of the worst places to be in a tornado, but a tent isn’t too far below it, and we needed the car to get to a safer place.

As we drove through on the storm along largely deserted roads, it certainly occurred to me that we might be overreacting. No one else seemed to be fleeing the campground, and one thing I’ve learned from David Foster Wallace is that extreme weather is commonplace in Illinois. It’s entirely possible that we were just being gunshy city slickers. Being woken in the middle of the night, listening to wind and rain whip around you while lightning flashes dramatically in the sky, these things tend to put one on edge. Besides, at this point, even if we somehow determined that it was safe back at the campground, we might be too on edge to sleep well there.

We pulled into the parking lot of a Best Western in nearby Danville. I checked their rates online – even being chased by a tornado I’m too much of a nit to risk getting gouged with a walk-in price, and saw that the hotel was well-reviewed and just $80 for the night. I called from the parking lot to reserve a room, but the clerk told me they were sold out. So we sat in the car while the rain fell around us, listening to the crackling weather radio and checking satellite images of the storm.

After about two hours, the worst of the storm was past and the tornado watch seemed to have been lifted. We returned to the campsite and slept surprisingly well for the rest of the night.

My smartphone often seems like little more than an expensive GPS. I rarely get time-sensitive email, and I can count the number of important phone calls I get in a month on one hand. Outside of Google Maps, the only apps I use with any regularity are Bravo (to check the action at the local casino), Angry Birds, and Flashcard Machine (to study Spanish in between hands at the poker table).

When I’m on the road, though, it suddenly becomes a lot more useful. Despite the fact that I had the cell and date service suspended, I actually used it in Europe more than I ever had before, both for keeping important travel information ready-to-hand and for offline city maps and pocket translators. Even if we were overreacting, it felt good to be able to find a hotel, get directions, check rates, call ahead for a reservation, and monitor the storm all from this one little device.

A lot of people, in the wake of the Boston bombing, seem deeply troubled by the question of “How could someone do something like this?” One thing I’ve learned from poker is that pain makes people do crazy, irrational, sometimes hurtful things, and that doing crazy, irrational, hurtful things is a sure a sign that someone is in pain.

That’s absolutely not to excuse such an atrocity, nor to create any sort of equivalence between the pain that caused the bombing and the pain caused by the bombing. Quite the opposite: what I’ve learned from poker is that you can learn to control the severity of your pain, and that you can learn not to take it out on others or on yourself. For me, “pain” is an answer to the question of “How could someone do this?” that helps me come to terms with the tragedy.

Moreso than usual, I’m curious to hear your thoughts!

Nope, this is just his way. He goes on like this for at least an hour, “Two hours of these fucking cards,” “What am I supposed to do with these shit hands?”, “Un-fucking-believable”,  “Can’t you deal me anything I can play?”, hanging his head and cursing to himself, angrily throwing his cards away out of turn, occasionally storming off from the table to go kick the wall. While he’s gone, some of the regulars talk about how he was hear last weekend putting on the same show.

The player on my right, in between the Tilt Monkey and me, leaves, and another guy, probably in his late 50s or early 60s with a Lou Reed leather jacket look going on moves into the vacant seat. The next time Tilt Monkey starts muttering under his breath, Lou asks him, “What’s that?”

Tilt Monkey looks up. “Huh?”

“I couldn’t hear you, what did you say?”

“Nothing.” His face is red and he looks miserable.

“Hey are you alright, buddy?” Lou asks with faux-genuine concern.

“No I’m not alright. Do I look fucking alright?”

“Whoah, what’s the matter?”

“I been getting my fucking ass kicked.”

Lou looks shocked. “What? Who kicked your ass?”

Tilt Monkey glares at him. Feigning ignorance, Lou forges ahead. “What happened? Who kicked your ass?”

“They’ve all been kicking my ass.”

“Oh you mean in the card game.”

Tilt Monkey lowers his head and returns to cursing his luck.

Lou looks around the table, shaking his head. I’m not the only one stifling laughter. “You all need to stop kicking this guy’s ass,” he scolds us.

It’s the same business when the Tilt Monkey wins a pot. “Finally. About fucking time. Gimme that pot. A fucking pot. One fucking pot in an hour.”

Finally another guy at the table has had enough. After losing to the Monkey and getting this act, he tells him to shut his fucking mouth and stop whining. Soon both are on their feet pointing and shouting at each other. The floor intervenes and tells Tilt Monkey that one more comment and he’s getting thrown out.

To his credit, he settles down well after that and swallows a lot of abuse without saying anything more. People at the table are talking about him like he’s not there, and if I can hear it he can hear it, but he doesn’t react.

It helps that he’s winning now. A few hours later he’s actually up and in better spirits, actually chatting cordially with Lou. “You work out at the Y? I teach right around the corner from there.”

“Oh yeah, where?” Lou asks.

“At the community college,” the no-longer-tilted monkey tells him.

“What do you teach?”

“Statistics.”

But not I! As usual, I loaded my bag with my own food to limit my enslavement to the Atlantis’ establishments. I don’t mind going to an expensive restaurant occasionally when the food and company are both good, but I’m not looking to get gouged on every meal. This time I brought five just-add-hot-water rice bowls, peanut butter, jelly, bread, two boxes of granola, coffee (which is actually available free in the rooms, I just wanted better coffee), my new Aeropress, plastic utensils, two boxes of granola bars, and several other snacks.

To save space in the bag, I took the bags of granola out of their boxes before packing them. Somehow one managed to split open in my bag, so there was granola all over everything, but cleaning that up was still less of a hassle than trying to find a quick and decent meal in this place at any price. Miklos went to a grocery store yesterday and brought back some milk that we’re now storing in our ice bucket (can’t risk displacing anything in the mini bar since they use those sensors that charge you automatically).

Of course that cut my cereal supplies in half, but thankfully PokerStars is hosting a series of seminars that include free breakfast! Yesterday morning Vanessa Selbst and Barry Greenstein talked about learning mixed games, and today Shaun Deeb and Jason Mercier explained the basics of Open-Faced Chinese Poker. The presenters only get half an hour, so there’s not a lot of depth, but it was interesting to hear a long-time veteran of the game like Barry talk about how he survived so long as a pro and why he thought being able to play many games well was important. The food wasn’t bad either.

After yesterday’s seminar I stopped by the tournament room to wish well to Miklos and a few others playing today. The first guy besides Miklos to arrive at his table was enough for me to say that his table was already better than mine, and they just kept coming. That was all based on stereotyping, but Miklos has since confirmed that it is indeed a very good table, so I was pretty jealous of that. He finished Day 1 with a stack just shy of average and as of now is still in the hunt on Day 2.

On the plus side, I got to spend the better part of the last two days outdoors. The first thing I did was lie on the beach and listen to the vendors harass the tourists: “Hello honey. Want hair braids? Jewelry? Be a real Bahama Mama?”

“Jet ski! Are you ready?”

“Real Cuban cigars! Smoke them now or later.”

I must have had a good don’t-fuck-with-me face, because none of the vendors approached me. I did, however, overhear a woman falling hook, line, and sinker for a story about a very popular catamaran tour. Tickets were $60, and though it was sold out for today, she could put down a $10-per-ticket deposit to reserve a seat for tomorrow’s tour. It occurred to me that perhaps I should point out the foolhardiness of handing $20 to a stranger on the beach in exchange for this supposed reservation, but then I thought about how I would feel if someone walked over to my poker table and told a fishy opponent to fold to my value bet.

Time to go check out the cash games…

If these guys had any faults, it was that they were too aggressive. That made it impossible (for me anyway) to ride out the run of bad cards I encountered.

In the first level, I avoided playing big pots out of position, as is my wont. I called late position raises with AJs and TT in my big blind only to end up folding them by the river.

With the AJs, I checked and called a half-pot bet on a K94r flop, checked a 7 turn, and checked and folded to half pot on a 9 river.

With the TT, I called a bet on a Qd 8d 5c flop and folded a 7d turn even though I had a flush draw. I consider both folds to be close, but I don’t regret either. Little did I know they would be among the best hands I’d see all day.

At the 75/150 level, I got JJ on the button facing an UTG raise to 300 from the high-stakes PLO/NLHE guy. I made it 900, and he folded.

Between the bad cards and the tough table, I mostly nitted it up for the first three hours, opening my game up slightly with the introduction of antes at the 100/200/25 level. For example, I opened to 525 with AJo UTG+1, and the same guy called. I bet about half-pot on a Q94r, and he called. We both checked a 3 turn, I bet 1800 into 2800 on a 6 river and folded and felt pretty owned when he raised to 5200.

So it was with a slightly more aggressive image that I opened AKo to 450 on my button. The aggressive Spaniard in the SB three-bet to 1425, and I made it 3425 intending to reluctantly shove over a four-bet.

Instead he called, and we saw a JJ2 flop. Thinking there was a decent chance I was good and that I couldn’t get him off of a better hand on the flop, I bet just 2200 when he checked to me, which he called without too much hesitation.

He checked a J turn, and I checked behind intending to pick off a river bluff. He surprised me, though, by shoving about 20K into an 11.5K pot. I went into the tank for a while and folded, deciding he wouldn’t feel compelled to bluff so big with his air hands, since I could easily have a weak hand myself, and also that if he was bluffing it could be with better hands than mine.

The next time I got AK, Dani opened UTG+1, one of the most aggressive players three-bet him, the tightest of my opponents (which isn’t saying very much) cold four-bet to 4400, and the action was on me with AKo and about 20K on the button. I actually don’t think shoving would be the worst play in the world, but I folded.

The only real move I made was against a guy was probably the weakest and most aggressive at the table. At 200/400/50, he opened to 800 UTG+1, and I made it 2000 with Qs 8s on the CO. He looked annoyed and called. The flop came Jc 9d 3c, he check-called 2400, which I took to be pretty strong. With 10K in the pot and 10K in my stack, I checked back blank turn and river cards and lost to his Ks Js which was surely not going anywhere. It seems like this was a good spot and just unlucky that he managed to connect well with the flop.

Dinner break came shortly after that, so I left a meager 10K in my stack when I went to eat. On the first hand back, we were playing 250/500/50, and I shoved QQ over an early position raise from Dani. He folded. Two orbits later, I shoved AJ over one of his raises, and he folded again. Then I shoved 55 in my BB over a HJ raise form the most aggressive player, and he folded.

Blinds went up to 300/600/75, and I posted one of my 16 remaining BBs. The second most aggressive player at the table opened the CO, I shoved ATo, he gleefully (and correctly) called with A8o, spiked a 874 flop, and that was the end of a tough and boring day of poker.

After that I was in New York for a few short but great days visiting two good friends who are also among my oldest poker friends from my first home game. It’s funny, Logan and his wife Jen were two of my best friends in college, and I used to stay at their apartment on the Upper West Side when I visited New York and just visit for an evening with Darren, whom I met through the aforementioned home game and knew much less well. Then Logan and Jen moved into a smaller apartment, while Darren bought a house in Westchester and had kids, so now I end up staying at Darren’s house when I go to New York and only get to visit with Logan for usually one day of my trip. It was nice that this time Logan and Jen spent a night at Darren’s house as well, so we had ourselves a little slumber party.

It was also nice that there was a direct flight from the Westchester County Airport to Nassau this morning, so although I had to wake up at 5AM I didn’t have to deal with any JFK craziness. Thankfully the flight was largely empty, because what passengers there were proved exactly what I expected from the Westchester Country Airport. This one family, whose members were straight out of central casting for The Sopranos and Jersey Shore, more or less turned the middle of the plane into their private lounge.

Other than that the flight was fine, and because Miklos was a supernova when he won his satellite, I got to take a PokerStars limo to the Atlantis, which was far nicer than the cabs bearing the scars of multiple collisions that I’ve taken in past years. I shared the limo with two Russians and a Venezualan, evidence of how international this game and especially this particular tournament have become.

Since checking in, I’ve already caught up with two of my favorite PokerStars employees and received a special emeritus invite to the Team Online social hour tonight. In a big improvement over past years, PokerStars is setting up its own wireless hotspots, which though not a lot better in quality than the hotel internet will save me about $100.

While sitting in the PokerStars lounge writing this very blog post, I told a German satellite qualifier that no, the seat next to me was not taken. A moment later he took his headphones off and told me that he thought he recognized me voice. Turned out he was listening to the latest Thinking Poker Podcast at that very moment!

He wondered off to watch the High Roller, and I’d just returned to writing when two drunk blokes sat down and asked what I was writing. I got to talking with them and they encouraged me to come drinking with them, but I had to turn them down so I can go eat and then catch up with my friends from Team Online. It was probably for the best, because even though they were a few drinks ahead of me, I still doubt I could have kept up with them!

Nate and my recent conversation with Gareth Chantler inspired me to continue chronicling here my travels in Europe earlier this year. When last we left off, Emily and I were in Paris. Our next destination was Munich, but I think we both liked that the least of all the places we visited, so I’m just going to skip past it and move on to the Swiss city of Lucerne.

Because she enjoys cities less than I do, Emily was really looking forward to our time in Switzerland. We’d soon be spending ten days in a chalet overlooking the Lauterbrunnen Valley, but first I wanted to meet a friend in Lucerne. Nam, who arrived in Swizterland as a young boy fleeing the war in Vietnam, is one of my more interesting coaching students. When he heard that we’d be coming to his country, he was eager to show us around, and I was eager to meet him.

It was raining on the evening that we arrived in Lucerne, which as a popular vacation/tourist destination is one of the most expensive cities in one of the most expensive countries in the world. The cheapest hotel we could find was well over 100 euros per night. We waited several minutes to check in as an Indian man, oblivious to the clerk’s increasing annoyance with him, peppered her with questions about where to go and what to do in Lucerne. His expectations didn’t seem that unreasonable to me, and I wasn’t sure whether there was an element of racism at play in the clerk’s reaction to him or if he was just demanding more service than this budget hotel typically provided.

We later learned that almost everyone staying at this hotel was Indian. The restaurant we ate at that night was also Indian and one of the more reasonably priced ones in the city, part of a European chain aiming to provide authentic cuisine for Indian travelers. We soon realized that we could find some of the best deals in Switzerland by following the Indian tourists, who for whatever reason seemed to be more budget conscious than the European, Chinese, and Japanese vacationers.

When we returned from dinner, I again had to wait at the front desk. This time I was trying to purchase a power adapter (Switzerland doesn’t use the same plugs as most of Europe) while two Indian men were giving the clerk, who was also Indian, a hard time in heavily accented English about the hold that the hotel was going to put on their debit card, which is of course very standard. The two guests were presumably complaining about the clerk to each other in Hindi when he interrupted them, also in Hindi, presumably to tell them that he understood everything they were saying.

“Oh you speak Hindi?!” one of the men explained and started speaking to him very rapidly.

The clerk cut him off sternly. “We will converse in English.”

“Why? You speak Hindi!” the man demanded.

“I speak everything: Hindi, Murathi, Punjabi…. But we will speak in English.”

“Why?”

“Look around here! Everyone in this hotel is Indian. If they hear I am speaking Hindi, they will pester me with questions, and I will get nothing done all night.”

Nam

The previous night’s clouds were gone, and it was a sunny and downright hot day in Lucerne. Emily wasn’t feeling well, so I went by myself to meet Nam at our designated spot in front of the main train station. Nam knew what I looked like but I’d never seen a picture of him, and I didn’t have a cell phone or other way for him to contact me. The appointed time came and went, and I stared down every Asian man I saw without success. He’d been so eager to show me around that I couldn’t imagine him standing me up, but after an hour I began to worry.

Just as I was about to go look for a pay phone, a well-groomed Asian man wearing a t-shirt and blazer emerged from the station looking frantically left and right. I caught his eye, a flash of recognition passed between us, and then I shook his hand. “Good to meet you, Nam!”

“I’m so sorry Andrew! I just got a new Porsche convertible – I mean just got it yesterday – and I was so excited to drive you and Emily around in it. But the top is stuck in the down position and there would be nowhere for her to sit, so when I couldn’t fix that, I had to get my other Porsche, it’s not a convertible.”

Guess that’s what I get for not warning him that Emily wouldn’t be joining us. As you might guess from the multiple Porsches, Nam’s come a long way since arriving in Switzerland a penniless refugee. As we walked (it was too nice a day to get straight into a car), he told me about himself, his adopted country, and the city of Lucerne.

Around Lucerne

I’ve been to places with cooler buildings, and I’ve been to places of greater natural beauty, but I’ve never been anywhere the scored so highly on both counts. The city of Lucerne has stood on the bank of Lake Lucerne straddling the Reuss River for nearly 1000 years. Its oldest buildings exhibit the famous half-timbered architectural style, and on a clear day you can see the Swiss Alps looming on the horizon beyond the lake.

Nam and I walked through the old part of the city and then up a hill to the stone walls, built in the 14th century, that still surround the city. Several of the wall’s towers are open to the public, so we were able to climb to the top for some awesome bird’s eye views.

Exhausted and thirsty from walking and climbing in the hot sun, we sat in a cafe in the Altstadt (Old City) where Nam treated me to a bottle of Rivella, a surprisingly refreshing Swiss beverage made from milk serum and flavored with apple juice.

He also told me more about Switzerland. It was clearly that he was extremely proud of his country and happy to be a Swiss citizen. That’s not too surprising considering how much success he’s had there, but it was still refreshing to hear someone who believed that his country was on the right track. It’s certainly not a sentiment you hear too often in the US, but even in other parts of Europe (the French are of course world-class complainers) the general sentiment was dissatisfaction with the government and concern about the direction of the country. Nam, on the other hand, spoke proudly about the country’s great wealth, low unemployment, and highly educated population, though he demurred when I asked how much of that wealth was built on helping citizens of other countries shield themselves from taxation.

After our drink we walked along the shore of the lake for a bit, ate dinner, and then met up with Emily. He took us for a quick spin in the Porsche and then we saw the city by night, with the famous Kapellbrücke illuminated and reflected in the river it spans.

Finally he showed us the Löwendenkmal, a memorial to Swiss Guards killed during the French revolution that Mark Twain called, “the most mournful and moving piece of stone in the world.” The carving of a lion is the tourist hub of Lucerne, so it was good that we came at night. Though it was a little harder to see, the dark and quiet made for a more fitting atmosphere than a gaggle of bus tourists would have.

“The more time I spend on the internet, the more disdainful I become of the physical world. I work online, I play online, I shop online, and I meet people online. Owning physical things is mostly a nuisance to me. They have to be stored, carried, cared for, and packed or discarded every time I move, which is often, thanks to the freedom that online poker provides me.”

Not only was my trip to Montreal for the purpose of playing poker online, but it was arranged entirely online. I comparison priced flights online. I found and booked an apartment on AirBnB. Trip Advisor helped me figure out the best way to get from the Montreal airport to my apartment. I used Yelp to find places to eat and things to do during my time off. I used Google Maps to find the best bike routes around the city. And of course I chronicled the whole trip on my blog.

When I was comparing apartments, the reliability of the internet was naturally my primary concern. I ruled out a few otherwise good places because they had a connection shared by an entire building rather than their own modem. The owner of the apartment I ultimately chose assured me that the connection was quick and reliable, and until now it always had been. He did warn me that there was a monthly limit of 50 GBs, but I’d forgotten about that because I didn’t think there was any chance of running into it.

I’m still not sure that that’s what happened, but it’s my best guess. As I mentioned in my Day 1 post, I’d been listening to Spotify near-continuously during the WCOOP. I streamed The Lederer Files and downloaded the 2+2 Pokercast. I unwound after stressful days with Aziz Ansari, YouTube clips, and The Colbert Report (also available in Canada). And I just may have shot myself in the foot during the most important part of the series.

In a way, the timing was fortuitous. At least my disconnection occurred after the end of Day 1 of the Main Event and before the start of Day 2. So while it was harrowing to find a new internet connection while deep in the 1K, it would have been infinitely worse on the bubble of the 5K.

As it happened, I woke up on Monday morning, still without internet in the apartment. Among other things, that meant that I couldn’t actually look up the coffee shop where I was the night before or exactly how to get there. It was a pretty ideal work space, though, so I left myself plenty of time to find it and hopped on a trusty old Bixi.

I impressed myself by beelining straight to it. That gave me nearly an hour to have a coffee and a sandwich and get settled in. The only downside was that the bathroom, which I’m usually eager to use at every break, required a key, so I had to go request that every hour.

I started the tournament with a somewhat short stack, and it got even shorter when I lost a flip to a really short stack with KQs to his JJ. After that, all I could do was nit it up until we were in the money.

That’s not the way I’d prefer to play the bubble, but the payout structure mandated it. A min-cash was worth more than $12,000, and the next few payjumps were roughly $400 each. The implication of that is that sneaking into the money with a very short stack is preferable to risking elimination in order to accumulate chips, because making it into the money with twice as many chips might win you only a few thousand more dollars or less.

I even ended up folding AKo pre-flop when we were 2 or 3 places from the money. I was in the BB with 25 BBs. The chipleader, who’d been bullying the bubble quite successfully, opened for a min-raise from early position. I was ready to shove on him, but then the SB shoved 60 BBs, the second-biggest stack at the table, into the only guy who could bust him. Even if we weren’t on the bubble, this would probably be a fold, so I didn’t have to think too long about it.

The next time I got AK, we were in the money and there was a raise and re-raise in front of me, so it was an easy shove. They both folded and I scooped a good sized pot.

Blinds went up again, though, and I was still too short to make much happen. Finally I reshoved about 13 BBs over a middle position 9.5 BB shove with ATo and lost to AQo. Unfortunate outcome but the right play I think.

Just a few hands later I put my last 4 BBs into the pot with KK and more than doubled through QQ. I thought getting up to 9 BBs would generate some fold equity for me, but when I open shoved A8o from the CO, the button reshoved A6s. The flop came off Q22 with a flush draw for him, then another 2 on the turn to all but lock up at least a chop for him. The river, however, completed his flush and brought my 2012 World Championship of Online Poker to an end.

Thanks for following along! I suppose the last somewhat interesting tidbit was my conversation with the US Customs agent before my return flight. My strategy for dealing with this sort of authority figure is generally to speak only when spoken to and to be extremely literal and limited in my responses. It tends to get on their nerves, but not in a way that they can do very much about. So here’s roughly how our conversation went:

First off, it was early in the morning and there was no one ahead of me in line or at the agent’s window, but I made a point of stopping behind the red line and waiting for her to summon me over, which she did with a subtle nod of her head. I noticed that her name was Canaba, which is funny since she worked in Canada, but I figured I wouldn’t be the first one to point that out so I didn’t mention it.

I greeted Canaba with a cheery, “Good morning!” and handed her my passport and customs declaration, on which I’d declared $3 worth of Canadian-purchased goods crossing the border with me.

She ignored my greeting with a scowl. “You bought $3 worth of something?”

“Yes.”

“What did you buy?’

“Granola bars.” She snorted.

“What were you doing in Canada?”

“Playing poker.”

“How much cash do you have with you?”

“Not very much.”

“What does that mean? Not very much. How much?”

“Like $40.”

“So you didn’t win.”

“I was playing online.”

“What does that mean? Did you win or not?”

“Like, I was playing on the internet. Not at a casino. So I wasn’t playing with cash, and I don’t have cash with me.”

“Ok but did you win or lose?”

“I won.”

“How much did you win?”

“About $15,000.” I probably shouldn’t have answered this. I’m 99% sure I shouldn’t have to, but I guess I’m the sort of guy who’s willing to allow his liberties to be trampled in order to spare himself some discomfort and inconvenience.

“You can’t play online poker from the United States?”

“Correct.”

“Correct you can?”

“No, you cannot play online in the United States.” It might have been more fun to give her an answer like “not on this particular site” or “not without a VPN”, but I decided against trying to confuse her further.

Nonetheless, she suddenly got very defensive. “OK, well I don’t know. I don’t know the rules of poker. Or any kind of gambling.”

“…”

With that she handed my papers back to me. I left her with a breezy, “Have a nice day!” but I didn’t expect an answer, and I didn’t get one.

I’m kind of embarrassed to post this, because it’s pretty hokey, but I do think it helped, so maybe it can help you too:

“This is a long and profitable tournament. You are lucky to be playing it. It deserves your best effort and full attention. There is nothing else you would rather be doing than playing this tournament.

There will be many good opportunities. Wait for them. Conserve your chips. Do not invest in questionable situations, and do not wade into murky waters. Do not bet on guesses when there will be time to form better reads.

Take your time. Think before you act, even, especially, when the decision seems trivial. Pay attention to bet timing and sizing. What does he have? When you bluff, what do want him to fold? When you raise, what do you want him to call? Have you considered all of your options?

This is a long and profitable tournament. You are lucky to be playing it. It deserves your best effort and full attention. There is nothing else you would rather be doing than playing this tournament. Play your best.”

I read this to myself before I started playing and during every break. Later in the evening, when the only tables I still had open were the $5K Main Event and the $1K Second Chance, I had this up on my screen as a constant reminder.

The pre-flop action in this tournament was intense from the very beginning. This is an extreme example, but it gives you an idea of how much people were playing back at each other:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 5200 Tournament, 60/120 Blinds 15 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

MP1 (t20391)
MP2 (t19448)
MP3 (t37186)
CO (t18108)
Button (t52811)
SB (t10829)
Hero (BB) (t28608)
UTG (t22249)
UTG+1 (t10452)

Hero’s M: 90.82

Preflop: Hero is BB with J, 3
UTG bets t240, 5 folds, Button raises to t389, 2 folds, UTG calls t149

Flop: (t1093) 4, 10, 7 (2 players)
UTG checks, Button bets t511, UTG calls t511

Turn: (t2115) 5 (2 players)
UTG checks, Button bets t1189, UTG raises to t2880, Button raises to t5289, UTG calls t2409

River: (t12693) 3 (2 players)
UTG checks, Button checks

Total pot: t12693

Results:
Button mucked 7, 2 (one pair, sevens).
UTG had 4, 4 (three of a kind, fours).
Outcome: UTG won t12693

For most of the first day, I operated under the assumption that there was a good chance any of my raises would get 3-bet and that any of my 3-bets would get 4-bet. Consequently, I played a snug, boring game and I don’t have a lot of interesting hands to share with you from this tournament.

What was interesting was a song that came on while I was playing. I listened to Spotify pretty much non-stop while I playing the series, and after exhausting a few of their other playlists, I was listening to Pitchfork‘s Top 500 Tracks of the 2000s during the Main Event. One song fades, there are a few seconds of silence, and then I hear,

“Yeah, I’m losing my edge.
I’m losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I’m losing my edge.”

This is actually the opening to a song by LCD Soundsystem, but it’s a hell of a thing to hear when you’ve just turned 30 and you don’t play online poker nearly as much as you used to and there are all these guys you’ve never heard of before who all seem to know what they’re doing and it seems like every time you google an opponent’s name the first hit is either High Stakes Database talking about his wins at 50/100 PLO or the PokerStars blog talking about he dominated the final table of a recent Sunday Million or SCOOP tournament.

So I had a good laugh at that but I kept my head down and plugged away. After a few hours of nitting it up and not catching much, I’d blinded down to about 14 BBs. I picked up AKo and ended up chopping with another AKo. Two hands later I open shoved AQs for 15 BBs from the CO. The SB called with KQo to double me up. Two hands after that I doubled again:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 5200 Tournament, 250/500 Blinds 60 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

Button (t14879)
SB (t22362)
BB (t23123)
UTG (t22248)
UTG+1 (t96537)
MP1 (t65036)
Hero (MP2) (t15710)
MP3 (t63133)
CO (t18350)

Hero’s M: 12.18

Preflop: Hero is MP2 with K, A
3 folds, Hero bets t1000, 4 folds, BB calls t500

Flop: (t2790) 3, 3, A (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t999, BB calls t999

Turn: (t4788) 7 (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t2666, BB calls t2666

River: (t10120) Q (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t10985 (All-In), BB calls t10985

Total pot: t32090

Results:
BB had 5, A (two pair, Aces and threes).
Hero had K, A (two pair, Aces and threes).
Outcome: Hero won t32090

Given the kind of action I was getting despite my nittiness, I felt vindicated in my decision not to get too out of line. Then in the next level:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 5200 Tournament, 300/600 Blinds 70 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG+1 (t59661)
MP1 (t15965)
MP2 (t30852)
MP3 (t13174)
CO (t98427)
Button (t69983)
Hero (SB) (t43714)
BB (t59207)
UTG (t10126)

Hero’s M: 28.57

Preflop: Hero is SB with J, A
5 folds, CO bets t1200, 1 fold, Hero raises to t3600, BB raises to t7800, 1 fold, Hero raises to t43644 (All-In), BB calls t35844

Flop: (t89118) 8, A, 2 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Turn: (t89118) Q (2 players, 1 all-in)

River: (t89118) 4 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Total pot: t89118

Results:
Hero had J, A (one pair, Aces).
BB had 10, 10 (one pair, tens).
Outcome: Hero won t89118

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 5200 Tournament, 350/700 Blinds 85 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

Button (t44286)
SB (t18240)
BB (t32885)
UTG (t11119)
UTG+1 (t110948)
MP1 (t81380)
Hero (MP2) (t83778)
MP3 (t21688)
CO (t14290)

Hero’s M: 46.16

Preflop: Hero is MP2 with K, A
3 folds, Hero bets t1400, MP3 calls t1400, 1 fold, Button calls t1400, 1 fold, BB calls t700

Flop: (t6715) 10, 8, K (4 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t3333, MP3 raises to t20203 (All-In), 2 folds, Hero calls t16870

Turn: (t47121) 7 (2 players, 1 all-in)

River: (t47121) 8 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Total pot: t47121

Results:
Hero had K, A (two pair, Kings and eights).
MP3 had K, Q (two pair, Kings and eights).
Outcome: Hero won t47121

I won a few more medium pots, then went card dead again towards the end of the night, made a few moves that didn’t work out, and ended the day with 20ish BBs, a healthy but not ideal stack. With the bubble approaching, I knew I was going to have to nit it up again the next day, but I was excited just to be there.

It was nearly midnight, so I would have welcomed the chance to hit the hay and rest up for Day 2 of the Main Event. That wasn’t an option, though, because I was still in the $1K Second Chance, and we were getting down to it. This was the only notable hand from that tournament so far:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 1050 Tournament, 100/200 Blinds 25 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

CO (t19580)
Button (t14087)
SB (t23987)
BB (t16749)
UTG (t37817)
UTG+1 (t16725)
MP1 (t10047)
MP2 (t17606)
Hero (MP3) (t21136)

Hero’s M: 40.26

Preflop: Hero is MP3 with A, K
2 folds, MP1 bets t400, 1 fold, Hero raises to t999, 4 folds, MP1 calls t599

Flop: (t2523) 6, 2, Q (2 players)
MP1 checks, Hero bets t1212, MP1 calls t1212

Turn: (t4947) 6 (2 players)
MP1 checks, Hero bets t1212, MP1 calls t1212

River: (t7371) Q (2 players)
MP1 checks, Hero bets t17688 (All-In), 1 fold

Total pot: t7371

Results:
Hero didn’t show A, K (nothing).
Outcome: Hero won t7371

So I’m chugging along nicely in that tournament, trying just to play well and not think about how tired I’m going to be tomorrow. There was still a thing or two I wanted to do in Montreal – most notably the Latin Quarter, a student hot spot near the Université du Québec à Montréal. Oh well. This was more important.

It’s 2:30 in the morning, and an aggressive player opens the CO. I 3-bet ATo from the SB. He min-4-bets. I go into the tank. Clock is ticking down. I drag the bet slider all the way to the right, take another second to think, and then click “Raise.”

Nothing happens. Then that “Connecting…” bar appears on the screen, and the wireless icon in the bottom right hand corner of my screen is “Looking for signal…”. I stare helplessly, willing the connection to come back. I’ve been playing on this connection for nearly three weeks without the slightest trouble, and it picks now to go out?!

I get down on my hands and knees, unplug the router, wait 60 seconds, replug it. Nothing. Try again with the router and modem. Nothing.

Shit. What are my options? I’m too tired to think clearly. I’m picking up other connections, but they’re all Secure. Blinding off would cost me ten to fifteen thousand dollars in equity. It’s not an option.

I don’t know any of the neighbors. Do I bang on doors in the middle of the night, try to explain the situation, beg for a wireless password? If I could get someone to open the door and listen to me, I could make it worth their while. Offer them enough cash that they’d be glad I woke them up at 2:30 in the morning. How much to offer? $200? $500? It would easily be worth it. But I don’t have that kind of cash, and there’s no ATM around. So then there would be the added complication of getting them to accept an IOU.

I only know one person in Montreal, and though I have Luis’ phone number, I don’t have any way of calling me. Skype was my only phone.

The apartment is just a few blocks from Avenue du Mont-Royal. There are a lot of restaurants and such on that street. I don’t remember seeing any 24-hour places, but I could probably find something eventually. But how long would that take?

I resolved to walk in that direction but also see if I passed anyone on the street who looked like they could be helpful. I wasn’t sure what to expect at this hour, but if I was really lucky maybe I would meet a student on the way home from a late-night study session or something. I grabbed my laptop and stepped out in the Montreal night.

There weren’t many people out, and the first few didn’t look like they had homes, let alone wireless routers. I saw a young couple approaching, but they were so drunk they could barely walk. From the way they were giggling and leaning in to each other, it also seemed like they weren’t going to be wanting company.

Then a cab drove past, and finally I had a plan I felt good about. I walked to the busiest street in the vicinity and hailed a cab. I asked if he know of any place that would have internet at this hour. I was ready to ask in French if necessary, but he understood me. “Probably somewhere on St. Denis,” he told me. The Latin Quarter. I couldn’t help smiling as I hopped in.

Ten minutes later we hit Rue St. Denis, and I spotted an all-night coffee shop and internet cafe almost immediately. “Perfect!” I told him, left him a generous tip, and dashed inside. I bought a stale muffin, got the wireless code, and was back in action less than forty minutes after my disconnection. For all I know, I might have been about to jam into Aces, so it could even have saved me money.

Of course I was getting short, but I doubled almost immediately with TT > AKo. Looking at the hand again, I see know that it was versus the same player who would eliminate me from the Main Event the next day.

Unfortunately I was still frazzled from my little crisis and couldn’t get my head back in the game. I was playing really badly. I made a stupid shove with A7 but sucked out on 77. A few orbits later, we were down to four tables. The button opened for a min-raise. I jammed 20 BBs with T9s in the SB. Assassinato, who was already one of the chip leaders and who went on to chop the tournament, woke up with JJ and that was the end of me. He writes an excellent poker blog, by the way; I suggest you check it out.

I took a cab back home. It was after 4AM, and I was eager to get what rest I could before what I hoped would be another big day. The internet was still out at the apartment, but that was a problem I could solve in the morning.

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 25/50 Blinds 5 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

CO (t7965)
Button (t7370)
Hero (SB) (t7445)
BB (t7370)
UTG (t14995)
UTG+1 (t7495)
MP1 (t7495)
MP2 (t7370)
MP3 (t14995)

Hero’s M: 62.04

Preflop: Hero is SB with A, A
UTG bets t125, 1 fold, MP1 calls t125, MP2 calls t125, 3 folds, Hero raises to t666, 2 folds, MP1 calls t541, MP2 calls t541

Flop: (t2218) J, 3, 6 (3 players)
Hero bets t1224, MP1 calls t1224, MP2 calls t1224

Turn: (t5890) 9 (3 players)
Hero bets t5550 (All-In), MP1 raises to t5600 (All-In), 1 fold

River: (t16990) 7 (2 players, 2 all-in)

Total pot: t16990

Results:
Hero had A, A (one pair, Aces).
MP1 had 10, 8 (straight, Jack high).
Outcome: MP1 won t16990

Rebuy! And then a bit later in the tournament:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 125/250 Blinds 30 Ante (8 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

Hero (Button) (t21289)
SB (t19553)
BB (t23730)
UTG (t21931)
UTG+1 (t20220)
MP1 (t15720)
MP2 (t26511)
CO (t47258)

Hero’s M: 34.62

Preflop: Hero is Button with 6, 6
3 folds, MP2 bets t500, 1 fold, Hero calls t500, 1 fold, BB calls t250

Flop: (t1865) 6, 8, 8 (3 players)
BB checks, MP2 bets t750, Hero calls t750, 1 fold

Turn: (t3365) 5 (2 players)
MP2 bets t1350, Hero calls t1350

River: (t6065) 9 (2 players)
MP2 bets t3500, Hero raises to t13333, MP2 raises to t23881 (All-In), Hero folds

Total pot: t32731

Results:
MP2 didn’t show
Outcome: MP2 won t32731

It was actually only about 5K more to me to call, but even getting like 7:1 with a full house, this is an easy fold. I actually think raising the river might even be a mistake. I analyze the hand in more depth in my October 2+2 article Telling a Story With Your Value Bets.

My girlfriend didn’t come with me to Montreal, so I was by myself on my birthday proper, though I had plans to take Saturday off before the WCOOP Main Event on Sunday and to hang out with Luis that evening.

In lieu of cake, I did a little research on Yelp and found that one of the most popular dessert places in Montreal was a shop near me that sold macaroons. They’ve never been my favorite, so while these were pretty good, the real excitement for me was that it was by far my most thorough transaction in French. I asked the woman behind the counter which she preferred, but that no I didn’t like raspberries, anything else? Etc. Neither of us ever had to ask the other to repeat anything, though I suspect she was going easy on me in terms of vocabulary and speed. I picked up a few more local brews to try and watched Aziz Ansari’s Dangerously Delicious special.

Saturday was a little more exciting. Luis and I got coffee and then beer and then met up with his lady friend at an all-you-can-eat vegan Chinese restaurant. I chose this place, so I guess I have no one but myself to blame for the fact that it wasn’t very good. Almost all of their offerings had the oily sauciness of a low-end Chinese place, only with fried tofu products in place of meat. Worst of all, they charge you for what you don’t eat, so we even had to choke down the stuff that wasn’t that good.

Luis’ friend, on the other hand, was a pleasure. For one thing, she was beautiful, half-French and half-Cambodian. A little of Luis’ league IMHO, so well-played my friend. She was also very patient with my stilted French, and the three of us spoke mostly in French for about half an hour. We only switched to English when Luis went to the restroom, I guess because although it was better than my French it was a far cry from Luis’ near-perfect English and she was embarrassed speaking in front of him. It was very good practice for me even though (more likely because) I made a ton of mistakes.

The two of them were headed somewhere afterwards, but I turned in early. I wanted to be well-rested for the Main Event on Sunday…

The day started nicely enough. It was overcast again, but not raining, so I repeated my Sunday morning ritual of taking coffee, pastry, and Kindle to the nearby park. Once again, a swarm of squirrels cut short my entertainment.

The first WCOOP tournament started at 11, but I wanted to be fresh for the $2K, so I waited until the last minute to late register. That didn’t give me too many big blinds to work with. I managed to get AKo all-in preflop against T9s for 22 BBs, but it didn’t hold up.

None of the other Sunday tournaments I played was going too well either, due to some combination of bad luck and poor play. I lasted a couple hours in the $2K without doing terribly much. It was a tough table, though probably not beyond the pale for a $2K, and the guy on my left was 3-betting me a lot. Finally I lost my cool and shipped a few too many BBs with TT into his QQ.

I managed a min-cash in the Sunday $500, but otherwise the day was a complete whiff. For the first time all series I was not just disappointed but upset about how the day had gone. I decided I needed to make a few changes to how I’d been playing, in particular the way I dealt with 3- and 4-bets.

It seems to me that light 3- and 4-betting, which has been rampant in even small stakes cash games for years now, has finally become widespread among tournament players. Of course the best players have been doing it for a while, but weaker players tended either not to do it or to do it badly. For the first time I was seeing hundreds of players I didn’t recognize 3-betting a wide variety of hands in decent spots with decent sizing. I’m not saying they were getting it perfectly right, but it was enough to render worse than useless my default assumptions about how to play against unknowns in a large-field MTT.

I also decided that I needed a day off, and I intended to take one on Monday, but the weather was lousy and I was eager to try out some of the adaptations I’d been thinking about the previous night, so I ended up playing after all. As I’ve already reported here, that turned out pretty well.

The only WCOOP that I played on Friday was the $200 Rebuy NLHE. I was in for the “minimum”, but that was the only bit of good news. Actually it got off to a really good start, with me winning two big pots with big hands in the first couple of orbits:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 215 Tournament, 25/50 Blinds 5 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

CO (t10840)
Button (t9970)
Hero (SB) (t4945)
BB (t4270)
UTG (t4995)
UTG+1 (t4995)
MP1 (t4995)
MP2 (t4995)
MP3 (t4995)

Hero’s M: 41.21

Preflop: Hero is SB with A, K
3 folds, MP2 bets t100, MP3 raises to t250, 2 folds, Hero calls t225, 1 fold, MP2 calls t150

Flop: (t845) 3, A, K (3 players)
Hero checks, MP2 checks, MP3 bets t300, Hero calls t300, MP2 calls t300

Turn: (t1745) K (3 players)
Hero checks, MP2 checks, MP3 checks

River: (t1745) 8 (3 players)
Hero bets t690, MP2 raises to t4440 (All-In), 1 fold, Hero calls t3700 (All-In)

Total pot: t10525

Results:
Hero had A, K (full house, Kings over Aces).
MP2 had K, Q (three of a kind, Kings).
Outcome: Hero won t10525

Note that a flush also came in on the river, so for Villain to jam bare trips into me is an absolute gift.

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 215 Tournament, 25/50 Blinds 5 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

SB (t14758)
BB (t9940)
Hero (UTG) (t15500)
UTG+1 (t4995)
MP1 (t5902)
MP2 (t9900)
MP3 (t4890)
CO (t10025)
Button (t4315)

Hero’s M: 129.17

Preflop: Hero is UTG with K, K
Hero calls t50, 1 fold, MP1 bets t350, 6 folds, Hero calls t300

Flop: (t820) 8, 9, K (2 players)
Hero checks, MP1 checks

Turn: (t820) 8 (2 players)
Hero bets t444, MP1 raises to t1300, Hero calls t856

River: (t3420) 3 (2 players)
Hero checks, MP1 bets t2255, Hero raises to t4510, 1 fold

Total pot: t7930

Results:
Hero didn’t show K, K (nothing).
Outcome: Hero won t7930

I turned around and bluffed off a lot of those chips trying to get a very good player to lay down an overpair:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 215 Tournament, 30/60 Blinds 5 Ante (8 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG+1 (t15498)
MP1 (t9170)
Hero (MP2) (t19876)
CO (t7666)
Button (t4700)
SB (t4453)
BB (t9590)
UTG (t4167)

Hero’s M: 152.89

Preflop: Hero is MP2 with 8, 8
UTG bets t180, 2 folds, Hero calls t180, 3 folds, BB raises to t475, 1 fold, Hero calls t295

Flop: (t1200) J, Q, 7 (2 players)
BB bets t660, Hero raises to t1666, BB calls t1006

Turn: (t4532) 7 (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t1280, BB calls t1280

River: (t7092) 6 (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t4000, BB calls t4000

Total pot: t15092

Results:
BB had A, A (two pair, Aces and sevens).
Hero had 8, 8 (two pair, eights and sevens).
Outcome: BB won t15092

It’s not a river call I would have made, but he’s a better player than I am, so I won’t say that he was wrong to make it. In any event I recouped a good 80% of what I lost on that hand when the same Villain called me down light in a similar spot:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 215 Tournament, 40/80 Blinds 10 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

MP2 (t16855)
MP3 (t9985)
Hero (CO) (t11755)
Button (t3237)
BB (t3795)
UTG (t5518)
UTG+1 (t15162)
MP1 (t8163)

Hero’s M: 58.77

Preflop: Hero is CO with 5, A
UTG+1 bets t200, 2 folds, MP3 calls t200, Hero calls t200, Button calls t200, BB calls t160, 1 fold

Flop: (t1160) 5, 2, 10 (5 players)
BB checks, UTG+1 bets t490, 1 fold, Hero calls t490, 2 folds

Turn: (t2140) 8 (2 players)
UTG+1 checks, Hero bets t1222, UTG+1 calls t1222

River: (t4584) A (2 players)
UTG+1 checks, Hero bets t3333, UTG+1 calls t3333

Total pot: t11250

Results:
UTG+1 mucked K, A (one pair, Aces).
Hero had 5, A (two pair, Aces and fives).
Outcome: Hero won t11250

I came out of the rebuy period with plenty of chips but ran KK in the SB into AA on the Button for about 65 BBs to make an early departure from the tournament.

The sky threatened rain, so I didn’t plan to do too much with my free afternoon. I grabbed an umbrella and walked a few blocks to a dépanneur that, according to Beeradvocate, offered one of the city’s best selections of local microbrews .

A dépanneur is a convenience store, but most double as liquor stores because until the 1990s they were the only non-government entities permitted to sell alcohol in Quebec. Although you can now buy beer and wine in grocery stores, it seems the best selection is still to be found in the dépanneur, and I had the good luck to live walking distance from one of the very best.

The front room looked like a low-end convenience store, with tightly packed and poorly maintained shelves of overpriced junk food. The back room looked like an upscale wine shop, except that they sold almost exclusively beer. They had literally hundreds of varieties, organized by type, available for individual purchase, and in many cases accompanied by a ranking and/or review clipped from assorted cerevisial publications.  So in one row you’d find all of the stouts, in another all of the wheat beers, etc. This was ideal for my purposes, since I could buy just one of each beer I wanted to try rather than an entire 6-pack.

I’d already done some research, so I beelined for the IPAs. Of the five I wanted to try, I found three. One was sold out, and amazingly there was one they simply didn’t carry. I say “amazingly” because it was hard to imagine them not having a given Quebecois beer, that’s how vast their selection was. I picked out one cold beer for immediate consumption  just based on its packaging and made my way to the cashier in the sensorily dissonant front of the store, where I waited in line between two twitching Charles Manson look-alikes pooling change from their pockets to pay for a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke.

My table was great, one of the softest I had in the series, but unfortunately they were running great as well.

I’m still not sure about this one. I think there’s a fair chance I can win it here and also be in fine shape if I get it in against the original raiser. The guy who ends up raising the flop, however, has taken an extremely strong line.

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 320 Tournament, 10/20 Blinds (6 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

MP (t5020)
Hero (CO) (t4708)
Button (t4707)
SB (t4980)
BB (t5090)
UTG (t5592)

Hero’s M: 156.93

Preflop: Hero is CO with J, Q
1 fold, MP bets t40, Hero calls t40, 1 fold, SB raises to t120, 1 fold, MP calls t80, Hero calls t80

Flop: (t380) 10, 5, J (3 players)
SB bets t180, MP calls t180, Hero raises to t588, SB calls t408, MP raises to t1620, Hero folds, 1 fold

Total pot: t2144

Results:
MP didn’t show
Outcome: MP won t2144

I think his range is mostly sets, and assuming he bets non-club turns, I don’t have the right odds to draw against that. Then again that’s an awfully narrow range to put him on, particularly given that he didn’t 3-bet pre-flop, and if we start adding nut flush draws into his range, my equity improves considerably.

Of course it sucks to raise-fold this hand, but that wasn’t my plan when I raised. I just ended up going that way because MP gave me the willies.

My next big loss was with AK in a four-bet pot:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 320 Tournament, 25/50 Blinds (6 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

BB (t4618)
Hero (UTG) (t3020)
MP (t4603)
CO (t5883)
Button (t4810)
SB (t5827)

Hero’s M: 40.27

Preflop: Hero is UTG with K, A
Hero bets t100, 1 fold, CO raises to t150, 1 fold, SB calls t125, 1 fold, Hero raises to t555, CO calls t405, 1 fold

Flop: (t1310) 6, 10, 8 (2 players)
Hero checks, CO checks

Turn: (t1310) 4 (2 players)
Hero checks, CO checks

River: (t1310) 5 (2 players)
Hero checks, CO bets t450, Hero calls t450

Total pot: t2210

Results:
Hero mucked K, A (high card, Ace).
CO had K, 10 (one pair, tens).
Outcome: CO won t2210

River should probably be a fold, but it’s a good value bet by him.

I recovered from that hand, then ran into QQ into KK, recovered a bit from that, and then went broke with JTs. The 3-better in this hand is the same guy who min-3-bet with KTs (he also showed something really junky like 86o in an even worse spot than this), so I wasn’t giving a lot of credit to his 3-bet:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 320 Tournament, 50/100 Blinds 10 Ante (6 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t3133)
Hero (MP) (t2501)
CO (t2257)
Button (t11039)
SB (t5044)
BB (t7534)

Hero’s M: 11.91

Preflop: Hero is MP with 10, J
1 fold, Hero bets t200, 1 fold, Button raises to t300, 1 fold, BB calls t200, Hero raises to t2491 (All-In), Button raises to t4682, 1 fold

Flop: (t5392) 2, 2, Q (2 players, 1 all-in)

Turn: (t5392) 2 (2 players, 1 all-in)

River: (t5392) 8 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Total pot: t5392

Results:
Button had A, K (three of a kind, twos).
Hero had 10, J (three of a kind, twos).
Outcome: Button won t5392

On the bright side, I wrapped up this tournament in time to make a special, 90-minute tour of the Basilique Notre-Dame de Montreal offered only twice a week and only during September. The guide was a charming Quebecois about my age who clearly had a deep love for the basilica, which made him a great tour guide for myself and the ten or so old ladies on the tour with me. He spoke a highly understandable but also very unique version of the English language, best exemplified by his promise to, “Say you more of my explainings later.”

The basilica itself is a huge and beautiful building. Its interior makes heavy use of the color blue, which caused it to feel quite different from other churches and cathedrals I’ve visited. This special tour included access to the balconies, ordinarily closed to visitors, giving us the opportunity to look down on the space from above, which was pretty cool.

That evening, I had dinner with someone that regular blog readers and especially commenters ought to recognize: Luisinho! Based on his name, I’d always assumed he lived in either Portugal or Brazil, but apparently he’s French-Portuguese and moved from France to Montreal a few years ago. The city actually has a vibrant Portuguese quarter with which he was a familiar, and we shared a fine meal there, complete with vinho verde, a Portuguese specialty that is not literally green wine but rather “young” wine that has not aged and has a light and refreshing flavor. I’m not much of a wine drinker, but when I do, I prefer whites, and vinho verde was basically a distillation of everything I like about white wine.

After scoring a delicious St-Viateur bagel, I headed over to a coffee shop called Le Lapin Pressé. This means “The Hurried Rabit”, which I thought was probably an Alice in Wonderland reference, though there was no evidence of this inside. What they did have inside were some of the highest-quality coffee beans I’ve tasted.

A good cup of coffee (or two) is one of the few luxuries I permit myself on a daily basis. I buy high-quality beans, grind them myself when I’m in a place where I can do that,  and make my coffee in a french press. I have one that’s built into the lid of a travel mug, so that goes with me pretty much anywhere I go. I probably pay about 100x more per cup than I would if I drank the cheapest coffee I could find, but since we’re only talking coffee, that’s still cost of perhaps a couple hundred dollars per year which I consider money very well spent.

Partially because I already had good beans that I didn’t want to go to waste and partially because I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to find in Montreal, I brought about half a pound with me, but that wasn’t going to last much more than a week. When I started doing my research, though, I was pleasantly surprised to find a lot of well-regarded microroasters and coffee shops in Montreal. I’ll probably have cause to try another before I leave, but I was quite pleased with what I got from Lapin. It comes from a microroaster called Saint Henri, and it looks like they actually sell their stuff online, if you’re so inclined….

I was also pleased to be a bit more comfortable getting around the city by bike. It’s actually quite easy if you know the cardinal directions you want to go and the nearest bike path. If you need to go north and east, you just start following the path east, and eventually it will intersect with a north-south path. Until you get very near your destination, there’s no need to ride in traffic or guess about which roads are best for riding.

A few hours later I was home with my new victuals and ready to start grinding. There was nothing too remarkable from the 1K really. Here are the two most notable hands:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 1050 Tournament, 15/30 Blinds (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t7425)
Hero (UTG+1) (t5969)
MP1 (t7400)
MP2 (t7470)
MP3 (t7927)
CO (t7728)
Button (t7285)
SB (t6780)
BB (t8261)

Hero’s M: 132.64

Preflop: Hero is UTG+1 with J, K
1 fold, Hero bets t90, 3 folds, CO calls t90, 2 folds, BB calls t60

Flop: (t285) K, A, 4 (3 players)
BB checks, Hero checks, CO checks

Turn: (t285) Q (3 players)
BB bets t120, Hero raises to t420, 2 folds

Total pot: t525

Results:
Hero didn’t show J, K.
Outcome: Hero won t525

Villain may be drawing, in which case I want to draw him, but I also think that bombing blank rivers will get him off of many Aces.

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 1050 Tournament, 250/500 Blinds 60 Ante (8 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

SB (t16023)
BB (t30871)
UTG (t49675)
UTG+1 (t27647)
MP1 (t32325)
MP2 (t14812)
Hero (CO) (t17634)
Button (t14461)

Hero’s M: 14.34

Preflop: Hero is CO with 2, A
4 folds, Hero bets t1000, 2 folds, BB calls t500

Flop: (t2730) 9, 2, A (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t1234, BB calls t1234

Turn: (t5198) 7 (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t3333, BB raises to t6666, Hero raises to t15340 (All-In), BB calls t8674

River: (t35878) 5 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Total pot: t35878

Results:
BB had A, 7 (two pair, Aces and sevens).
Hero had 2, A (two pair, Aces and twos).
Outcome: BB won t35878

I really like to avoid chalking stuff like this up to a cooler. Villain was a pretty big calling station, so it was alarming when he min-check-raised the turn. My hope was that he could play 97 or 72 this way, but if at all (I did expect a quite range for calling from his BB) he probably only plays those suited. A7 and even 77, on the other hand…. I don’t know, I think this is probably foldable.

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 215 Tournament, 15/30 Blinds (4 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

SB (t5010)
Hero (BB) (t4605)
UTG (t4085)
Button (t6010)

Hero’s M: 102.33

Preflop: Hero is BB with 7, 6
UTG bets t75, Button calls t75, 1 fold, Hero calls t45

Flop: (t240) 5, 4, 2 (3 players)
Hero checks, UTG bets t170, 1 fold, Hero raises to t444, UTG calls t274

Turn: (t1128) K (2 players)
Hero bets t666, UTG calls t666

River: (t2460) 7 (2 players)
Hero bets t888, UTG raises to t2900 (All-In), Hero folds

Total pot: t4236

Results:
UTG didn’t show
Outcome: UTG won t4236

I got those chips back from Villain by flopping top pair and getting it in on a 45/55 against his big draw.

Then there was this ugly business. I was going to fold a river that didn’t improve me. Not that this one made a huge difference, but I thought AK could be a possibility for a Villain. Possibly I should have folded anyway.

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 215 Tournament, 15/30 Blinds (4 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t3930)
Hero (Button) (t6181)
SB (t3694)
BB (t5905)

Hero’s M: 137.36

Preflop: Hero is Button with 10, K
UTG bets t60, Hero raises to t160, 1 fold, BB raises to t400, 1 fold, Hero calls t240

Flop: (t875) 7, 7, K (2 players)
BB bets t390, Hero calls t390

Turn: (t1655) 6 (2 players)
BB bets t915, Hero calls t915

River: (t3485) 10 (2 players)
BB bets t1815, Hero calls t1815

Total pot: t7115

Results:
Hero mucked 10, K (two pair, Kings and tens).
BB had 7, 8 (three of a kind, sevens).
Outcome: BB won t7115

After a while I got it in on the good side of a 55/45 and won.

My next big loss came on a three-barrel into a hand that I didn’t expect Villain to fold because it was a hand I didn’t expect him to hold. He 3-bet pretty aggressively and also called more hands than your average player out of the small blind, so I misjudged his hand based on the pre-flop action here:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 215 Tournament, 60/120 Blinds 15 Ante (4 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t22704)
Hero (Button) (t5845)
SB (t39034)
BB (t17386)

Hero’s M: 24.35

Preflop: Hero is Button with J, 8
1 fold, Hero bets t240, SB calls t180, BB calls t120

Flop: (t780) 10, Q, Q (3 players)
SB checks, BB checks, Hero bets t444, SB calls t444, 1 fold

Turn: (t1668) 4 (2 players)
SB checks, Hero bets t888, SB calls t888

River: (t3444) K (2 players)
SB checks, Hero bets t1777, SB calls t1777

Total pot: t6998

Results:
Hero had J, 8 (one pair, Queens).
SB had A, A (two pair, Aces and Queens).

Outcome: SB won t6998

I lost the last of my chips ATo < 88, nothing too exciting there.

I finished up early enough in the day that I still had time for some activity. A venue in Old Montreal (the main tourist district) was hosting the World Press Photo Exhibition, a collection of the year’s best journalistic photography. Many of the photos dealt with headline-grabbing issues like the tsunami, the Arab Spring, etc.

These all made for compelling photographs, but the one that grabbed me the mostof a rhinoceros. The demand for rhino tusks is so overwhelming that rangers often remove them pre-emptively to protect them for poachers. The poachers got to this one anyway and cut out the stump of a horn that was starting to grow back. The sad story and the look on the rhino’s face nearly moved me to tears:

In the same space there was also an exhibit of photographs of a huge protest/occasional riot that, unbeknownst to me, took place earlier this year in Montreal. Presumably on the assumption that everyone would know what they were from, the photos weren’t accompanied by any explanatory material.

I had to go home and look up details about “Quebec Spring”, a name which struck me as presumptuous and insulting to those who risked their lives in the “Prague Spring” and “Arab Spring” demonstrations. According to Wikipedia, hundreds of thousands of people demonstrated against a proposal “to raise university tuition from $2,168 to $3,793 between 2012 and 2017.” As an American whose annual tuition was ten times that, it’s hard for me to sympathize.

I assume there’s some additional political context here that I’m not aware of. Still, the reaction seems extreme to me. The exhibit features photographs of protesters carrying signs about changing the world, and, in one case, shattering the windshield of a police car. I guess that’s just the sort of thing that happens when a few people out of a few hundred thousand get out of hand and not necessarily a reflection on the movement itself, but even after a little research, I had trouble figuring out why this was quite so big a deal as it apparently was.

Though it was nearly 8:00, the city was still and fresh, just waking up. The only other people walking the streets of my neighborhood were solitary men well over twice my age.

And the cats. I had seen a few on the streets around here, including one scrawny, patchy-furred beast that was a perfect caricature of an alley cat, but I had no idea there were so many. I must have seen twenty in ten minutes, poking their heads out from under cars or scurrying into gardens.

There’s a bakery around the corner I’ve been meaning to try, and this seems the perfect opportunity. Finally I see someone other than old men on the street. A couple with a young daughter enter the bakery just ahead of me. I buy a croissant and follow them to the park.

Saturday’s storm must have intensified after I went to bed, because branches and tree limbs scatter the ground. My intention is to find a bench where I can read and enjoy my breakfast, and I do, but soon the squirrels find me.

A child of the mid-Atlantic, I’m no stranger to squirrels. It was clear that these rodents were used to being fed, but I figured that if I didn’t offer them anything, they’d keep their distance. Wrong. They hopped up on the bench and inched closer, barely flinching when I stomped the ground in an attempt to scare them off. I’m convinced that they would have climbed right into my lap if I didn’t move.

So now I’m wandering through the park like the Pied Piper, with a dozen squirrels creeping a few feet behind me. They didn’t leave me alone until I finished eating and threw away my garbage. Finally I got to sit in peace and read.

Friday and Saturday were supposed to be light poker days, but with Friday’s deep run and Saturday’s WCOOP special (ie playing for 8 hours to win a pittance), they were anything but. Not wanting my Sunday to drag on longer than necessary, I waited until the last minute to late register the first NLHE event of the day. Three orbits later I’d lost AKo < to AJs and 66 < 88 and that was that.

The $700 was a little more interesting. The guy on my left was a bit of a lunatic, and I found what I think was a pretty good spot against him, though it ended badly for me:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 700 Tournament, 40/80 Blinds (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t14833)
UTG+1 (t15543)
MP1 (t5280)
MP2 (t4798)
MP3 (t11924)
CO (t5565)
Button (t9500)
Hero (SB) (t9665)
BB (t4416)

Hero’s M: 80.54

Preflop: Hero is SB with A, 4
7 folds, Hero bets t320, BB calls t240

Flop: (t640) 10, 10, 2 (2 players)
Hero bets t369, BB raises to t1058, Hero calls t689

Turn: (t2756) K (2 players)
Hero checks, BB bets t2756, Hero raises to t5512, BB calls t282 (All-In)

River: (t8832) 10 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Total pot: t8832

Results:
Hero had A, 4 (three of a kind, tens).
BB had 9, K (full house, tens over Kings).
Outcome: BB won t8832

I treaded water for like two hours after that, finally got KK, flatted a 4-bet, and check-folded frustratedly to a big bet on a dry A-high flop. A few hands later I convinced myself that the same guy could be a lot weaker than he clearly was:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 700 Tournament, 150/300 Blinds 40 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t27812)
UTG+1 (t15042)
MP1 (t22581)
MP2 (t23368)
MP3 (t11516)
CO (t83612)
Button (t21029)
SB (t56371)
Hero (BB) (t10755)

Hero’s M: 13.28

Preflop: Hero is BB with Q, 10
2 folds, MP1 bets t750, 5 folds, Hero calls t450

Flop: (t2010) 4, J, A (2 players)
Hero checks, MP1 checks

Turn: (t2010) 9 (2 players)
Hero bets t1555, MP1 raises to t3900, Hero calls t2345

River: (t9810) 4 (2 players)
Hero bets t6065 (All-In), MP1 calls t6065

Total pot: t21940

Results:
Hero had Q, 10 (one pair, fours).
MP1 had J, J (full house, Jacks over fours).
Outcome: MP1 won t21940

I got off to a good start in the $500 2nd Chance but then lost a good-sized pot on a resteal gone wrong. Villain was a really aggressive 3-better, but I still think this is bad:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 100/200 Blinds 25 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

CO (t6800)
Button (t33153)
SB (t12535)
BB (t16855)
Hero (UTG) (t15808)
UTG+1 (t10215)
MP1 (t8177)
MP2 (t9682)
MP3 (t3214)

Hero’s M: 30.11

Preflop: Hero is UTG with A, 10
Hero bets t400, 1 fold, MP1 raises to t825, 6 folds, Hero calls t425

Flop: (t2175) 8, 9, 5 (2 players)
Hero checks, MP1 bets t1239, Hero raises to t14958 (All-In), MP1 calls t6088 (All-In)

Turn: (t16829) 9 (2 players, 2 all-in)

River: (t16829) 7 (2 players, 2 all-in)

Total pot: t16829

Results:
Hero had A, 10 (one pair, nines).
MP1 had 10, 10 (two pair, tens and nines).
Outcome: MP1 won t16829

That left me down but not out, and I rallied. I wrote at length in my recent WSOP report about how my own mistakes can be my biggest source of tilt, but I think I did a good job of collecting myself and choosing some good spots to accumulate without showdown like a true short stack ninja:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 100/200 Blinds 25 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t6675)
UTG+1 (t33028)
MP1 (t12310)
MP2 (t16430)
Hero (MP3) (t6651)
CO (t11073)
Button (t16429)
SB (t10754)
BB (t3089)

Hero’s M: 12.67

Preflop: Hero is MP3 with J, 8
4 folds, Hero bets t400, 1 fold, Button raises to t815, 2 folds, Hero raises to t6626 (All-In), 1 fold

Total pot: t2155

Results:
Hero didn’t show J, 8.
Outcome: Hero won t2155

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 125/250 Blinds 30 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

MP3 (t9019)
CO (t31643)
Button (t12715)
SB (t18560)
Hero (BB) (t6951)
UTG (t7440)
UTG+1 (t19967)
MP1 (t10759)
MP2 (t19561)

Hero’s M: 10.78

Preflop: Hero is BB with 2, Q
1 fold, UTG+1 bets t530, 3 folds, CO calls t530, 2 folds, Hero calls t280

Flop: (t1985) 9, 7, 7 (3 players)
Hero checks, UTG+1 checks, CO bets t950, Hero raises to t6391 (All-In), 2 folds

Total pot: t3885

Results:
Hero didn’t show 2, Q.
Outcome: Hero won t3885

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 125/250 Blinds 30 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

MP1 (t8959)
MP2 (t30748)
MP3 (t12655)
CO (t18375)
Hero (Button) (t9171)
SB (t7130)
BB (t19377)
UTG (t18699)
UTG+1 (t19501)

Hero’s M: 14.22

Preflop: Hero is Button with 7, 7
UTG bets t500, 5 folds, Hero calls t500, 2 folds

Flop: (t1645) J, Q, 8 (2 players)
UTG checks, Hero bets t666, UTG calls t666

Turn: (t2977) 3 (2 players)
UTG checks, Hero bets t1666, UTG calls t1666

River: (t6309) A (2 players)
UTG checks, Hero bets t6309 (All-In), 1 fold

Total pot: t6309

Results:
Hero didn’t show 7, 7 (nothing).
Outcome: Hero won t6309

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 125/250 Blinds 30 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

MP3 (t7925)
CO (t30808)
Button (t12070)
SB (t19009)
Hero (BB) (t13728)
UTG (t6795)
UTG+1 (t19437)
MP1 (t7282)
MP2 (t19561)

Hero’s M: 21.28

Preflop: Hero is BB with 3, 6
2 folds, MP1 bets t500, 4 folds, SB calls t375, Hero calls t250

Flop: (t1770) 5, 2, 10 (3 players)
SB checks, Hero checks, MP1 checks

Turn: (t1770) 3 (3 players)
SB bets t750, Hero raises to t2666, 2 folds

Total pot: t3270

Results:
Hero didn’t show 3, 6.
Outcome: Hero won t3270

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 150/300 Blinds 40 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG+1 (t7730)
MP1 (t49352)
MP2 (t12645)
MP3 (t29761)
Hero (CO) (t14623)
Button (t16702)
SB (t25432)
BB (t1777)
UTG (t23656)

Hero’s M: 18.05

Preflop: Hero is CO with K, 8
5 folds, Hero bets t600, 1 fold, SB raises to t1475, 1 fold, Hero raises to t2888, 1 fold

Total pot: t3610

Results:
Hero didn’t show K, 8.
Outcome: Hero won t3610

These next three are all against the same player in the span of less than two orbits:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 200/400 Blinds 50 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

BB (t8890)
UTG (t75936)
UTG+1 (t13768)
MP1 (t38577)
Hero (MP2) (t12444)
MP3 (t16972)
CO (t16631)
Button (t5555)
SB (t17806)

Hero’s M: 11.85

Preflop: Hero is MP2 with A, J
2 folds, MP1 bets t800, Hero raises to t1888, 6 folds

Total pot: t2650

Results:
Hero didn’t show A, J.
Outcome: Hero won t2650

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 200/400 Blinds 50 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

MP2 (t9090)
MP3 (t75086)
CO (t12918)
Button (t36927)
Hero (SB) (t13644)
BB (t17772)
UTG (t17431)
UTG+1 (t5305)
MP1 (t18406)

Hero’s M: 12.99

Preflop: Hero is SB with 7, A
6 folds, Button bets t800, Hero raises to t1888, 2 folds

Total pot: t2450

Results:
Hero didn’t show 7, A.
Outcome: Hero won t2450

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 200/400 Blinds 50 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG+1 (t8990)
MP1 (t74986)
MP2 (t12818)
MP3 (t36027)
Hero (CO) (t14394)
Button (t19322)
SB (t16531)
BB (t5205)
UTG (t18306)

Hero’s M: 13.71

Preflop: Hero is CO with 3, A
4 folds, MP3 bets t800, Hero raises to t1888, 4 folds

Total pot: t2650

Results:
Hero didn’t show 3, A.
Outcome: Hero won t2650

Lest you think I’m being results oriented, I got it in bad here and lost but with my image I still think it was a good call:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 200/400 Blinds 50 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t8940)
UTG+1 (t74936)
MP1 (t12768)
MP2 (t35177)
Hero (MP3) (t16194)
CO (t19272)
Button (t16281)
SB (t4755)
BB (t18256)

Hero’s M: 15.42

Preflop: Hero is MP3 with 4, A
4 folds, Hero bets t800, 2 folds, SB raises to t4705 (All-In), 1 fold, Hero calls t3905

Flop: (t10260) 8, Q, 9 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Turn: (t10260) 10 (2 players, 1 all-in)

River: (t10260) Q (2 players, 1 all-in)

Total pot: t10260

Results:
SB had 5, 5 (two pair, Queens and fives).
Hero had 4, A (one pair, Queens).
Outcome: SB won t10260

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 200/400 Blinds 50 Ante (8 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

CO (t86126)
Button (t11918)
SB (t34527)
Hero (BB) (t10439)
UTG (t20872)
UTG+1 (t16031)
MP1 (t9260)
MP2 (t17406)

Hero’s M: 10.44

Preflop: Hero is BB with 10, Q
6 folds, SB bets t880, Hero calls t480

Flop: (t2160) 5, J, 9 (2 players)
SB bets t1036, Hero calls t1036

Turn: (t4232) 7 (2 players)
SB checks, Hero checks

River: (t4232) K (2 players)
SB bets t2962, Hero raises to t8473 (All-In), 1 fold

Total pot: t10156

Results:
Hero didn’t show 10, Q (nothing).
Outcome: Hero won t10156

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 530 Tournament, 250/500 Blinds 60 Ante (8 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t20814)
UTG+1 (t73664)
MP1 (t11558)
MP2 (t31579)
Hero (CO) (t17797)
Button (t21342)
SB (t11921)
BB (t26786)

Hero’s M: 14.47

Preflop: Hero is CO with Q, Q
4 folds, Hero bets t1000, Button calls t1000, 2 folds

Flop: (t3230) 3, 2, J (2 players)
Hero bets t1600, Button calls t1600

Turn: (t6430) Q (2 players)
Hero checks, Button bets t3500, Hero raises to t15137 (All-In), Button calls t11637

River: (t36704) 4 (2 players, 1 all-in)

Total pot: t36704

Results:
Button had J, 10 (flush, Queen high).
Hero had Q, Q (three of a kind, Queens).
Outcome: Button won t36704

D’oh.

I woke to grey skies on Saturday morning. With the $109 NLHE WCOOP starting at 11, I had time for a quick to the grocery store before I started playing. Here’s one interesting hand from that event:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 109 Tournament, 40/80 Blinds (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

UTG (t4682)
UTG+1 (t7710)
MP1 (t4550)
MP2 (t3757)
MP3 (t3160)
CO (t4377)
Hero (Button) (t4535)
SB (t6080)
BB (t6064)

Hero’s M: 37.79

Preflop: Hero is Button with Q, A
3 folds, MP2 bets t184, 2 folds, Hero calls t184, 2 folds

Flop: (t488) 6, 6, 5 (2 players)
MP2 bets t280, Hero calls t280

Turn: (t1048) 7 (2 players)
MP2 bets t640, Hero calls t640

River: (t2328) 9 (2 players)
MP2 checks, Hero bets t3431 (All-In), 1 fold

Total pot: t2328

Results:
Hero didn’t show Q, A (nothing).
Outcome: Hero won t2328

Villain was a fairly straightforward regular I’d played with before. I was sure I was beat when he bet the turn, but he tanked for a while before betting. I was pretty sure I knew his dilemma: he didn’t want to go the felt with his pocket pair, and he was trying to decide whether to bet turn and check river or check the turn and bet the river. The river was nice in that it completed a possible draw, but mostly I was trying to represent a full house.

The tournament didn’t last too much longer for me, though, as i lost AA to 88 all-in pre-flop and then got coolered in a spot where I mayyyybe could’ve gotten away and certainly should not have jammed the river:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 109 Tournament, 150/300 Blinds 40 Ante (9 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

CO (t9996)
Button (t5455)
SB (t15414)
BB (t4496)
UTG (t24340)
UTG+1 (t30701)
Hero (MP1) (t14644)
MP2 (t9182)
MP3 (t8111)

Hero’s M: 18.08

Preflop: Hero is MP1 with 5, A
2 folds, Hero bets t600, 4 folds, SB calls t450, 1 fold

Flop: (t1860) Q, 10, 10 (2 players)
SB checks, Hero bets t888, SB calls t888

Turn: (t3636) 8 (2 players)
SB checks, Hero bets t2222, SB raises to t5700, Hero calls t3478

River: (t15036) A (2 players)
SB bets t5700, Hero raises to t7416 (All-In), SB calls t1716

Total pot: t29868

Results:
SB had 10, Q (full house, tens over Queens).
Hero had 5, A (flush, Ace high).
Outcome: SB won t29868

In the early afternoon, the rain began to fall, and it came down on and off throughout the day.

Despite a mediocre outcome, my day stretched into a long one because the $300 NLHE started just before I busted out of the $100, and I managed a shallow cash in that one. Things had rolled along nicely for about seven and a half hours when a good player on the button open jammed for just over 6 BBs. Expecting him to be on any two cards, I re-jammed with Q5o from the SB and lost to his ATo.

That by itself wasn’t so remarkable, but at least one player at the table called me an idiot, so I was glad to pick up KK a few hands later. I min-raised, someone made a big reshove on me, and I lost to his 88.

Although I played for a long time, I’d started early, so it wasn’t terribly late when I finished up. It was still raining, though, so I wasn’t inclined to do anything outside. Instead I decided to see what was on Canadian television.

Not much, as it turns out. I settled on a PBS special featuring classic comedians performing on the Ed Sullivan show. Although I didn’t find them that funny, I do really enjoy stand-up comedy, so it was interesting to see performers whose names I recognized but whom I’d never actually seen, at least not in their heyday: Rodney Dangerfield, Carol Burnett, Red Skelton, Joan Rivers, Jackie Mason, Phyllis Diller, etc. I was hoping to see George Carlin and Richard Pryor, but the constant begging for donations got to be too much for me.

After a leisurely morning writing up the events of the previous day, I embarked for two of my favorite places in Montreal: St-Viateur Bagels and the Jean-Talon Market. The Bixi bicycle situation was even worse than on Thursday. I walked past six stations, all the way to the bagel shop, before finally finding a usable bike.

I’m no bagel connoisseur. In fact I rarely eat them. I probably haven’t had the best bagels in New York, but I have had fresh New York bagels, and in my opinion St-Viateur is better.

Their specialty is a sesame seed bagel that they make fresh throughout the day, so if you’re lucky you can get a warm one even in the afternoon. They’re good at any time, light and moist enough that you don’t have to put butter or cream cheese on them, but the warm ones simply melt in your mouth.

There was no fooling the woman behind the counter into thinking I was a local. She greeted me with  “Bonjour!” but followed that up with “For here or to go?” before I’d said a word.

I ate my bagel while searching for a bike, which I finally found at the seventh Bixi station I passed. Once I had that, it was a breeze to ride a few miles, almost exclusively on quiet one-way tree-lined side streets, to the market.

The Jean-Talon Market is huge, and unfortunately I didn’t have much need for produce since I’d just gone to the grocery store a few days before. I was afraid peaches might be past their prime, but several stalls offered samples, and after trying one, I did end up buying a couple.

Mostly though I bought nuts and pasta. They sell these almonds there encrusted with lemon juice and slightly hot pepper flakes. The first time I tasted one, it was way too intense for me, but within a minute I was craving more. They’re a good snack because the flavor is so strong that you can eat just one or two at a time rather than whole handfuls.

There’s also an amazing pasta shop there with fresh pastas and homemade sauces. I almost never like alfredo sauces, but there’s to die for. The first time I came to Jean-Talon, this shop seemed a little anachronistic, but now I know that the market is in Montreal’s Little Italy, so that explains it.

The older ladies who work at the pasta shop have never volunteered any English, but they keep their French simple, which is perfect for me. I understood every word they said and successfully asked if they had a smaller container of the alfredo sauce, confirmed that yes that was everything, that no I didn’t need a bag, and then a minute later apologized and said that actually I would like a plastic bag (when I realized how easily the sauce could spill out of its plastic container and into my backpack on the bike ride home).

The ride home was even nicer than the ride to the market because I was able to follow a bike path along a set of railroad tracks and the backsides of some small factories. It was nice not to be on the street, and I was so engrossed in the scenery that I missed my turn. Partially not wanting to ride back up hill but mostly welcoming the challenge, I navigated my way back to my apartment on my own.

Nothing too remarkable happened in the $320. I actually got less than a min-cash, because I lost a flip to end up as one of several bubble boys who had to chop four prizes five ways.

Most of the $150 was unremarkable as well. There were no big bluffs or calls or suckouts or anything, I just got good cards at good times and they held up. Tournaments feel so easy when they go well.

Things started to get interesting at the final three tables. I wasn’t bullying the final table bubble too hard because everyone else was trying to do that:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 162 Tournament, 2000/4000 Blinds 500 Ante (6 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

Hero (UTG) (t180028)
MP (t199696)
CO (t290390)
Button (t203357)
SB (t114839)
BB (t225001)

Hero’s M: 20.00

Preflop: Hero is UTG with A, A
Hero bets t8000, 1 fold, CO raises to t16475, 3 folds, Hero calls t8475

Flop: (t41950) J, 9, J (2 players)
Hero checks, CO bets t16475, Hero calls t16475

Turn: (t74900) J (2 players)
Hero checks, CO bets t26475, Hero calls t26475

River: (t127850) Q (2 players)
Hero checks, CO checks

Total pot: t127850

Results:
Hero had A, A (full house, Jacks over Aces).
CO mucked 8, 5 (three of a kind, Jacks).
Outcome: Hero won t127850

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 162 Tournament, 2400/4800 Blinds 600 Ante (8 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

SB (t171760)
BB (t185152)
UTG (t226776)
Hero (UTG+1) (t306953)
MP1 (t471719)
MP2 (t265749)
CO (t144749)
Button (t85402)

Hero’s M: 25.58

Preflop: Hero is UTG+1 with 7, Q
1 fold, Hero bets t9600, 2 folds, CO raises to t17789, 3 folds, Hero calls t8189

Flop: (t47578) 7, J, 3 (2 players)
Hero checks, CO checks

Turn: (t47578) 5 (2 players)
Hero checks, CO bets t16652, Hero calls t16652

River: (t80882) 4 (2 players)
Hero checks, CO bets t28308, Hero calls t28308

Total pot: t137498

Results:
Hero had 7, Q (one pair, sevens).
CO had 8, Q (high card, Queen).
Outcome: Hero won t137498

Villain in this second hand a 3B of 29%, which is arguably a reason not to open Q7s, but I’d actually been quite well-behaved and this was otherwise a good spot. As you can see, he gave me great odds at every point in the hand.

I came into the final table as chip leader, so then it was time for bullying, though most of the other big stacks were on my left so I still had to show some caution. My chip lead lasted until…

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 162 Tournament, 6000/12000 Blinds 1500 Ante (7 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

SB (t187026)
Hero (BB) (t1078003)
UTG (t270925)
MP1 (t399082)
MP2 (t318207)
CO (t692563)
Button (t246194)

Hero’s M: 37.82

Preflop: Hero is BB with Q, K
1 fold, MP1 bets t24000, 4 folds, Hero calls t12000

Flop: (t64500) K, 8, 10 (2 players)
Hero checks, MP1 bets t23333, Hero raises to t66666, MP1 raises to t123999, Hero raises to t1052503 (All-In), MP1 calls t249583 (All-In)

Turn: (t811664) 7 (2 players, 2 all-in)

River: (t811664) 9 (2 players, 2 all-in)

Total pot: t811664

Results:
Hero had Q, K (one pair, Kings).
MP1 had 8, 8 (three of a kind, eights).
Outcome: MP1 won t811664

By the time we were five-handed I was in fourth place, but then I won a flip to bust the short stack and that brought me back to first where I stayed until the last few hands of heads up play.

We looked at chop numbers when three-handed, and I had $22.5K in equity. I demanded 25K in a chop (first paid $28K, second $20K). They offered 23, and I would have taken 24, but we couldn’t reach an agreement so we played on.

I came into the heads up with a 60-40 chip lead and felt I had a significant skill edge as well. I had him at about 2.5:1 when he got it all in pre with A8s to my ATo and turned his flush. I got back nearly to even before he dealt the coup de grâce:

PokerStars No-Limit Hold’em, 162 Tournament, 20000/40000 Blinds 5000 Ante (2 handed) – PokerStars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

Hero (BB) (t1474167)
SB (t1717833)

Hero’s M: 21.06

Preflop: Hero is BB with 7, Q
SB bets t80000, Hero raises to t188888, SB calls t108888

Flop: (t387776) J, 5, 7 (2 players)
Hero bets t188888, SB calls t188888

Turn: (t765552) Q (2 players)
Hero bets t444444, SB raises to t1335057 (All-In), Hero calls t646947 (All-In)

River: (t2948334) A (2 players, 2 all-in)

Total pot: t2948334

Results:
SB had J, Q (two pair, Queens and Jacks).
Hero had 7, Q (two pair, Queens and sevens).
Outcome: SB won t2948334

In addition to being a nice score, this was a great confidence booster early in the WCOOP, since I hadn’t had any significant scores since the 2011 WSOP (not that I’ve played that much). I was also proud both at how uninvested I was in winning and how slight my disappointment was at the pots that I lost. After a quick grunt of displeasure, I was over both of them.

Time to gear up for my first WCOOP Sunday!

Probably the most interesting hand I played was this one:

Poker Stars $200+$15 Pot Limit Omaha Hi/Lo Tournament – t60/t120 Blinds – 6 players
DeucesCracked Poker Videos Hand History Converter

UTG: t20794 173.28 BBs
MP: t27589 229.91 BBs
CO: t10025 83.54 BBs
BTN: t22487 187.39 BBs
SB: t7280 60.67 BBs
Hero (BB): t11130 92.75 BBs

Pre Flop: (t180) Hero is BB with 2 A 9 7
UTG raises to t300, 4 folds, Hero calls t180

Flop: (t660) K Q 9 (2 players)
Hero checks, UTG bets t396, Hero raises to t1555, UTG folds

Final Pot: t1452

Hero mucks 2 A 9 7

Hero wins t1452

It’s rare that you can run a pure bluff in PLO8, since it’s so easy for your opponent to have something good enough for at least half the pot. In this case, though, there was no low possible, and this is actually quite a difficult board for an UTG raiser to hit. I could even see him folding top two here, not that he’ll have a hand that good so often. A player almost always has at least two low cards in his hand to open from early position, so the odds of him hitting any particular high card board are not good. This is an especially good candidate because he can’t have much in the way of draws either.

My table draw in the $500 NLHE 6-Max KO WCOOP was brutal. Most of the time, four of my five opponents were either really successful MTTers or people I recognized from 1000NL cash games. In a field with 1500 runners, that’s a nasty, nasty draw. No one was giving any chips away, and I never really got above starting stack. The only real play I made was this one:

Poker Stars $404+$101+$25 No Limit Hold’em Tournament – t15/t30 Blinds – 6 players
DeucesCracked Poker Videos Hand History Converter

SB: t8862 295.40 BBs
BB: t6625 220.83 BBs
UTG: t7500 250 BBs
MP: t8476 282.53 BBs
CO: t7500 250 BBs
Hero (BTN): t6990 233 BBs

Pre Flop: (t45) Hero is BTN with 2 A
3 folds, Hero raises to t60, SB calls t45, BB calls t30

Flop: (t180) K 6 Q (3 players)
SB checks, BB checks, Hero bets t90, SB calls t90, BB calls t90

Turn: (t450) T (3 players)
SB checks, BB checks, Hero bets t350, SB folds, BB calls t350

River: (t1150) 2 (2 players)
BB checks, Hero bets t990, BB folds

Final Pot: t1150
Hero mucks 2 A
Hero wins t1150

I didn’t last too long in this one:

Poker Stars $404+$101+$25 No Limit Hold’em Tournament – t75/t150 Blinds + t20 – 6 players

DeucesCracked Poker Videos Hand History Converter

MP: t14970 M = 43.39
CO: t12940 M = 37.51
BTN: t11049 M = 32.03
SB: t3436 M = 9.96
BB: t10868 M = 31.50
Hero (UTG): t5209 M = 15.10

Pre-Flop: (t345) Hero is UTG with K K
Hero raises to t300, MP calls t300, 4 folds

Flop: (t945) 8 J 5 (2 players)
Hero checks, MP checks

Turn: (t945) 9 (2 players)
Hero checks, MP bets t511, Hero raises to t4889 all in, MP calls t4378

River: (t10723) T (2 players – 1 is all in)

Final Pot: t10723
MP shows 9 8 (two pair, Nines and Eights)
Hero shows K K (a pair of Kings)
MP wins t10723

I was hoping to check-raise all-in on the flop. though looking at this hand now, I don’t think that line is quite as good as I did at the time. I remembered the flop being slightly more coordinated than this. When that doesn’t work, though, I do think check-shoving turn is the way to go.

That was my last tournament, and with quite a bit of light left in the day, I decided to head over to one of my favorite places in Montreal, the Jean-Talon Market. It’s a huge market that offers a combination of fresh produce and gourmet foods seven days a week. Having just been to the store, there weren’t any groceries I particularly needed, but you can always find something at Jean-Talon.

I jotted down biking directions, which were actually kind of complicated, and then realized that I needed to get cash. My Canadian bank charges particularly high fees for using non-member ATMs, so I had to add the nearest CIBC ATM, which was about a mile away, to my route as well.

Montreal has the largest bike-sharing program in North America. My first few experiences with it were largely positive. There are stations all over the city and a great network of designated lanes that make commuting by bike very practical even if you don’t own a bike.

Not yesterday. The nearest Bixi station to my apartment had just one bike, which was suspicious. When you pay for your rental, you get a code to unlock a bike of your choosing. The codes are quite simple and I’m certain I entered it correctly, but the station would not release the bike. No big deal, your rental is good for 24 hours, and I knew there was another station on my way.

I walked three blocks in the direction I needed to go anyway, only to find that that station had no bikes at all. Three more blocks and the same story: every bike there was already taken. I had no choice but to continue on my route and keep an eye out for another station. I spotted a huge one with three bikes still remaining. I got a new code, the station released my bike… and my butt and my heart both sank when I hopped onto the seat. The back tire was completely flat. A glance over at the other two bikes revealed that the seat was broken on both.

I finally found a usable bike at the fifth station I passed, by which time I was more than halfway to the ATM.

From there the ride to the ATM was effortless, but then there was the new problem of finding a station at which to leave the bike. To be fair, this was something I could have looked up before leaving, but as it was, I had to ride around for five minutes or so to find a station that was about four blocks from the ATM.

After all that, I no longer felt like trekking out to the market, which was still a few miles away. I had no such difficulties getting home, and other than being hot and sick of walking, I wasn’t bitter. My real goal, after spending the first half of the day in front of the computer, was just to get outside and do something active, which I did.

Besides, I’m not playing until tonight’s 5PM NLHE tournament with 10-minute levels, so I’m off to the market for real this time!

This was my first time flying into Canada, having previously driven across the border. No exaggeration, there were easily 2000 people in line at passport control. This was a good opportunity to practice my patience, which will surely be tested in the coming weeks. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and surveyed my surroundings.

We were quite a diverse bunch. They probably just jumped out at me more, but it seemed like I saw a lot more Europeans, Africans, and people from the Caribbean than I did Americans. I suppose that isn’t so surprising, given how much French is spoken in those regions. There were very few Asians in line, which is quite different from what you’d see on the west coast of Canada.

When I finally got to the front of the line, I told the officer that I was here to play poker. He was unfazed, asking only if that was all I would do for three weeks. I smiled, because it probably was, but I told him, “Well I hope to see a bit of the city as well.”

He nodded and handed my passport back to me. “Enjoy your stay.”

Eight dollars bought me a ticket on an express bus from the airport to the UQAM (University of Quebec At Montreal – of course the official name is in French, but the acronym works out the same) Metro station plus a 24-hour public transportation pass. I was going to need that, because a train and another bus still stood between my apartment and me. But first: lunch.

The plaze where the bus dropped me off was crowded with students, businesspeople, and homeless who all seemed quite at ease with each other. An employee of a nearby company emerged from a backdoor to scold another man for urinating on the wall of the building. There were six of those life-sized chess sets, each being studied intently by two players and several more onlookers.

I found a quick-looking Thai place near the Metro station. A man in his mid-twenties stood idly behind the counter, but he adopted a deer-in-headlights look as I approached. A girl no older than 16 rushed over. “Bonjour, hello!” she chirped. She spoke English naturally and comfortably as she took my order, and I imagine she could have done much the same in French. She relayed the order in what I guess was Thai to her co-worker. Such comfort in so many different languages, which is of course common among the children of immigrants, never ceases to amaze me.

Sitting by myself at a table for four, I was hardly alone. Several older Québécois men sat near each other but at separate tables reading La Presse, one of the city’s largest French-language newspapers. Occasionally one would wander over to another’s table to exchange a thought with him, but mostly they read in silence. If I had to describe them in one word, it would be grizzled.

The Metro was crowded, but I was only going one stop. Announcing, “Excusez moi! Désolé!” I shoved my way onto and then back off the car. After a short bus ride, I was through the door a few minutes after four, with enough time to make coffee, set up my computer and external monitor, register for the $1050 NLHE WCOOP, and late register the $215 Triple Stud and the $109 Triple Stud Second Chance.

The one thing I didn’t have time for was grocery shopping, so I had to look up a place to get delivery. The woman who answered the phone spoke English, but the delivery guy didn’t (or wouldn’t, but he was Asian, so not likely to be a militant Québécois), so I had to deal with him in broken French while dashing back and forth between the door and my beeping computer.

Four hours in the $1K produced no hands of note, so here are a few from the Second Chance. I realize that many of you probably don’t play Razz, but it’s quite a simple game and these hands draw on hand reading concepts that are quite applicable in hold ’em, so I encourage you to try to follow along anyway.

Poker Stars $100+$9 Limit Razz Tournament – t120/t240 Limit + t24 – 7 players
Hand History Converter

Seat 2: t4726 M = 13.58
Seat 3: t5418 M = 15.57
Seat 4: t5028 M = 14.45
Seat 5: t4280 M = 12.30
Hero (): t4026 M = 11.57
Seat 7: t7956 M = 22.86
Seat 8: t4186 M = 12.03

3rd Street: (1.4 SB)
Seat 2: xx xx 6____Seat 2 folds
Seat 3: xx xx J____Seat 3 folds
Seat 4: xx xx 9____Seat 4 folds
Seat 5: xx xx 2____Seat 5 folds
Hero: K 3 T___Hero completes___Hero calls
Seat 7: xx xx Q____Seat 7 raises
Seat 8: xx xx K____Seat 8 brings in for $36____Seat 8 folds

4th Street: (5.7 SB) (2 players)
Hero: K 3 T 7___Hero checks___Hero calls
Seat 7: xx xx Q 7____Seat 7 bets

5th Street: (3.85 BB) (2 players)
Hero: K 3 T 7 A___Hero bets
Seat 7: xx xx Q 7 A____Seat 7 calls

6th Street: (5.85 BB) (2 players)
Hero: K 3 T 7 A 2___Hero bets
Seat 7: xx xx Q 7 A T____Seat 7 calls

7th Street: (7.85 BB) (2 players)
Hero: K 3 T 7 A 2 2___Hero checks___Hero calls
Seat 7: xx xx Q 7 A T xx____Seat 7 bets

Final Pot: 9.85 BB
Hero shows K 3 T 7 A 2 2 (Lo: T,7,3,2,A)
Seat 7 shows 7 Q Q 7 A T 5 (Lo: Q,T,7,5,A)
Hero wins 9.85 BB

In retrospect, it seems like Villain probably just got confused about which game we were playing. But I think, not knowing that, the hand is interesting from my perspective.

As you might imagine, (K3)T is a pretty junky Razz hand. But a K and Q showing behind me, it’s an auto-raise because I have the lowest card showing. In other words, I fold (T3)K.

Villain and I had tangled a bit before and he’d showed some awareness of steal dynamics and a willingness to re-raise lighter against late position opens. When he raised I assumed he had two good cards in the hole, something like (23)Q, and knew how wide my range is. Even so, I think a call is better than a raise for him.

If he has that kind of hand, I’m a dog, but I call anyway because, with a Q in the door, his hand is going to be really difficult to play. This is like a float: I’m calling to represent better hole cards than I have, expecting many good opportunities to steal on a later street.

I start betting into him as we both catch well, hoping that he paired – the A in particular is likely to pair him given the hole cards he’d need to raise me legitimately. By 6th street I’m ahead unless he has exactly 23 in the hole, in which case we’re chopping.

That makes the river an easy check-call, since he won’t call with much worse but could bluff a busted draw. Or, he could have misread the game this entire time! Oh well, I’ll take it.

Poker Stars $100+$9 Limit Razz Tournament – t120/t240 Limit + t24 – 7 players
Hand History Converter

Seat 2: t4642 M = 13.34
Seat 3: t5370 M = 15.43
Seat 4: t4980 M = 14.31
Seat 5: t4232 M = 12.16
Hero (): t5466 M = 15.71
Seat 7: t6828 M = 19.62
Seat 8: t4102 M = 11.79

3rd Street: (1.4 SB)
Seat 2: xx xx A____Seat 2 calls
Seat 3: xx xx 6____Seat 3 folds
Seat 4: xx xx 6____Seat 4 folds
Seat 5: xx xx 2____Seat 5 folds
Hero: 5 A 7___Hero brings in for $36
Seat 7: xx xx 3____Seat 7 folds
Seat 8: xx xx 4____Seat 8 folds

4th Street: (2 SB) (2 players)
Seat 2: xx xx A T____Seat 2 bets
Hero: 5 A 7 J___Hero calls

5th Street: (2 BB) (2 players)
Seat 2: xx xx A T 9____Seat 2 bets____Seat 2 calls
Hero: 5 A 7 J 8___Hero raises

6th Street: (6 BB) (2 players)
Seat 2: xx xx A T 9 3____Seat 2 checks
Hero: 5 A 7 J 8 9___Hero checks

7th Street: (6 BB) (2 players)
Seat 2: xx xx A T 9 3 xx____Seat 2 bets
Hero: 5 A 7 J 8 9 5___Hero calls

Final Pot: 8 BB
Seat 2 shows 7 A A T 9 3 K (Lo: T,9,7,3,A)
Hero shows 5 A 7 J 8 9 5 (Lo: 9,8,7,5,A)
Hero wins 8 BB

The fact that Villain open limps third street rather than completing the bet suggests that he has a brick (or at least a semi-brick like a T or 9) in the hole. So even though I catch worse than he does on fourth, I could easily be ahead and if not I still have a decent draw.

Sticking with that read, I raise him on fifth even though his board is stronger than mine. He actually typed something like, “LOL what are you doing” before calling, which suggests that he thought I wasn’t “supposed” to raise showing a J. Note, however, that even he is “supposed” to be ahead, he doesn’t 3-bet me. Even if he does have a made T9, I’m drawing live.

When he catches good on sixth, I’m happy to check behind.

I was probably calling seventh anyway, but he bet so quickly that it was an easy decision. My check on sixth suggests that I’m still trying to improve my hand, so there’s not a lot of reason for him to value bet me thinly. Most likely I’ll either miss and fold or hit and be ahead, so it’s probably better for him to check and call with a smooth 9, which is the best hand he can have if I’m right about his limp. At the very least, he’d have to think about whether to bet it. The quick bet was a dead giveaway that he was bluffing. He made sure to tell me how badly I played it.

“The frustrations with which I still struggle the most are my own mistakes. When I play a hand badly, I feel responsible for the misfortune that befalls me. Of course in some sense I am, but I also wonder, aren’t mistakes, like bad beats, an inevitable part of the game? Who can play high-level poker perfectly for days and days on end? I aspire to accept that mistakes happen just like every other kind of bad luck and are in some sense beyond my control. I’d like to accept them with the same equanimity that I now shrug off bad beats and continue to play my best going forwards.”

What’s your biggest poker-related frustration? Please leave a comment to let me know what you think!

We were pleasantly surprised. We had a great week in Paris, thanks to a couple of factors:

1. Beautiful weather. It was warm and sunny every day we were there, but apparently it had been raining steadily for something like a month prior, so everyone was in a good mood and enjoying the outdoors. The streets were bustling, the cafe terraces were packed, and the parks were vibrant.

2. We avoided most of the biggest tourist destinations. We still did a lot of touristy stuff, but it was mostly “second-tier” attractions, so less crowded. Instead of Le Louvre, we went to the Rodin Museum, the Orangerie, and the Centre Georges Pompidou. Instead of Notre Dame, we went inside St.-Chappelle.

3. I speak a bit of French. It’s beyond rusty, but I studied quite a bit of French in college and can still read and write reasonably well. My spoke French leaves a lot to be desired, but it was sufficient to make an effort and to conduct entire transactions in French if that was what the shopkeeper or waiter or whatever preferred.

4. By far the biggest factor was that several Parisians, blog readers with whom I’d never had so much as a Skype conversation, volunteered to show us around. One even invited us to stay at his apartment on Friday and Saturday nights!

Rodin Museum

We didn’t even actually enter the Rodin Museum proper, as it cost 9 euros but Yelp reviews indicated that the garden, at just 1 euro, was by far the highlight. The garden is huge, with a large pond and fountain, dozens of shady trees, and even reclining chaise lounges where we could get off our feet for a minutes and enjoy the weather and the stately garden. It was a great place to spend a sunny afternoon.

Pierre and Montmartre

Pierre was the first of our local guides. He lives in Montmartre, which as the home of Sacre Couer, Moulin Rouge, and locales from the film Amelie is a huge tourist draw. Pierre took us to those places, but he did it via some smaller streets and more tucked away places, and he told us a lot of everyday life in the area as well. Mostly I was just glad to meet someone even shaggier than myself.

Fabien

Fabien was our next host. He and I actually had plans to meet during an overnight layover I had last year at Charles de Gaulle airport, but it didn’t work out. He more than made up for that by opening the doors of his loft to us. He even moved onto his sofa so that Emily and I could sleep in the larger bed. Paris apartments aren’t large, but Fabien’s heart is, so we all got along great despite the close quarters!

Centre Georges Pompidou

On Pierre’s recommendation, we visited the largest contemporary art museum in Paris. Everything from the building to the curation to the art itself was top-notch. It housed not only contemporary art but a great collection of modern art. Our only regret was that we didn’t have more time to read all of the material provided, because the museum offered remarkably simple and clear explanations of various art movements of the last century and how one led to another.

Île de la Cité

Home to the Notre Dame cathedral, this island in the Seine is one of the biggest tourist draws in Paris. Getting into Notre Dame would have required queuing in the blazing sun for two hours, so we opted for the nearby Sainte-Chappelle, for which we waited only about 45 minutes. Nearly half of the stained glass windows in this immense cathedral were being renovated, but it was still an awe-inspiring site. We saw Notre Dame from the outside, which was good enough for me.

I’ve never been a big Hemingway fan, but I read A Moveable Feast before coming to Paris, and I quite enjoyed it. So I was eager to visit the English language bookstore whose owner used to lend him reading material. Thanks to this history, Shakespeare and Company is now mostly a tourist attraction, though they’ve done an admirable job of trying to remain a real bookstore. They ask visitors not to take pictures on the first floor, which is still a bookstore, though this is largely disregarded. They also host a lot of readings and other events for English-speaking expatriates.

Monumenta

Both Pierre and Fabien recommended this annual public art installation. It’s a great example of how art and culture infuse public life in Paris. Every year the government commissions a famous artist to create some sort of installation taking advantage of the vast interior of an abandoned palace. The annual Monumenta exhibition seems to draw a much wider swathe of the city’s population than I’d expect a similar event would in any large American city.

This year’s piece, by Daniel Buren, is a sort of forest of multi-colored translucent plastic “trees”. When the light from the palace’s enormous windows and skylights shines through them, it creates colorful patterns on the ground, so that wandering through the space feels whimsical and magical (but also hot, because there’s no air conditioning and you’re more or less standing under a giant magnifying glass).

Back on the Tourist Path

We did visit a few of the most famous tourist attractions in Paris. The Arc de Triomphe didn’t do a lot for me, but the Eiffel Tower was a lot cooler than I expected.

Voila, c’est tout! Merci a Pierre et Fabien pour leur hospitalite, c’etait une visite inoubliable!

To be honest, I’m not that picky. Game selection matters far more to me than anything else, but I did enjoy a lot of the little niceties: friendly staff, competent dealers, good food delivery service available, and proximity to the outside world (I like to get some fresh air when I step away from the table for a break). I never waited long to get seated in a 2/5 or 5/10 NLHE game, though I did arrive a bit in advance of what I assume is peak time. There weren’t generally 5/10 games going in the early afternoon, but often one started not long after I added my name to the interest list (coincidence, I’m sure!).

There were a lot of regulars playing there, but though many of them looked and talked as though they were good, I found that most exhibited some pretty flawed thinking if I played with them for long enough. For example, there was one young guy with massive biceps who seemed to know everyone there.

I limped UTG with 99, there was another limper, he made it $50 on the button, the blinds folded, and both limpers called. Flop came A84r, I checked and called a bet of $80, and the other limper folded. We both checked a 4 turn, then I checked again on a Q river. He bet $170. I was probably calling anyway, but his bet came so quickly that I doubted he was going for thin value with a Q, so it was an A or nothing. Nothing about his demeanor suggested strength, so I called. He looked a little annoyed and said, “You got it,” then he really got flustered when I showed my 9s. “Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t bluff anyone in this game. I can so easily have AK there.”

I work hard to remain unflappable at the table, but it was hard to resist cracking a smile at that last comment and how much ignorance it revealed. Of course the fact that he could have AK there is hardly a reason to fold getting nearly 3:1. More amusing was that I don’t think he would have been so bothered if I’d called him with like A3. I suppose the latter has a blocker to his precious AK, but in both cases I’m only beating a bluff. The fact that he was more concerned about the absolute strength of my hand than about my perception of his range was telling.

The other humorous guy was perhaps the most obvious tourist I’ve ever played against. He couldn’t have fit the stereotype better. From the moment he sidled up to the table, he was trying to look cool and show off his knowledge of live poker protocol, a classic case of “the lady doth protest too much.”

“So what’s the buy-in here, guys?” The dealer told him $200 – $1000. With a flourish, he pulled out a big roll of 100’s but put just $300 on the table. So much for looking cool. “Do I have to post? I can just come in? Is the button allowed to straddle?” Nothing he asked was unreasonable, but something about the way he asked suggested that he cared more about showing off that he (thought he) knew what questions to ask rather than about the answers to those questions.

Did I mention that he had his girlfriend with him? I don’t approve of that (If you’re new here, seriously follow that link. It’s one of my best poker stories). She sat in a chair just behind him but demonstrated no interest whatsoever in the game. She was buried in an iPad the entire time he played.

He dusted off that first $300 quickly, getting all-in on a KJx flop. Another J came on the river, and he frantically inquired of his opponent, “You got the Jack?” His opponent showed KJ, and he made a big show of taking the loss with equanimity. “Oh nice hand sir! Of course I’m going to go broke there. Can’t do anything about that. Nice hand, sir, nice hand.” There was another big show as he took out $300 more and called for chips, as per Caro’s Book of Poker Tells.

My hand against him began with me opened to $15 with 9c 8s in the CO. The tourist called on the button, and the big blind called. I bet $30 on a Kh 9h 2h flop. They both called. There was now $135 in the pot and $220 in the tourist’s stack. The turn was another 9. BB checked, I bet $75, and then the tourist went off on a little act. He sighed, counted out chips for a call, pushed them back and forth a bit as though he just couldn’t decide whether to call or fold, then decided that perhaps he should go all-in. BB folded.

Now it was my turn to sigh. He just gave off literally the oldest tell in the book, but I was getting 3:1 with about a 20% chance of improving to a full house on the river. Even a small risk that I was wrong in my read would be enough to justify a call. I called, and of course he had the nut flush.

In retrospect I hate my call. Not only was this one of the most blatant tells I’ve ever seen, but there’s also at least as much of a chance that he’s holding a made full house as that he’s holding a hand my trips beat. Oh well. At least he only had $300!

A: Great question! It’s actually inspired me to write a series of magazine articles on the subject, but here’s a sketch of what will eventually be a more thorough answer. The short answer to your question is yes, definitely. The best counter will almost always be a mix:

• Rebluffing with some weak hands/draws
• Raising for protection/inducing bluffs with strong hands (how strong will depend on how aggressive your opponent, how deep your stacks, etc.)
• Bluff-catching with well-selected hands (more on this in a moment)
• Folding weak hands that may be best but can’t stand up to the pressure you’re likely to get on future streets

Selecting hands for bluff-catching is tricky. Often your strongest hands aren’t the best candidates for this since you want to build more of a pot with those. But with hands that are too weak you risk letting the board get so scary that you can’t keep calling. Ideally you’ll have something like pair + flush draw that isn’t overly vulnerable and has good showdown value.

In the hand that you reference, I think that pre-flop Sylvain’s KJo might have fit better into the bluff-catching category (ie he should maybe have just called, though I don’t hate the 4-bet by any means) than the bluffing category. Against an aggressive player, top pair in a 3-bet pot is actually a quite a good hand, even without the best possible kicker, and KJ can flop that well. He still may choose to bluff with it on other flops, but I don’t think a pre-flop bluff was necessary.

After the flop, though, the hand was strong enough to fit into the value/betting to induce category. In this case Sylvain’s opponent  had second pair, but he may also have shoved hands like 98 or KQ that had draws, so top pair good kicker is a strong hand, and it’s a good time to bet a strong hand.

In the hand where an opponent check-called all the way against Sylvain, that player wasn’t really bluff-catching. On the flop and turn he had a draw, albeit a strong one, with very little showdown value. He could have countered Sylvain’s aggression much better by raising (even though in this case Sylvain actually had a hand he would have felted) rather than check-calling and hoping to improve.

The last option listed here is important to keep in mind. It’s generally better, for instance, to raise JT than 44 if you don’t believe an opponent’s bet on a Q85 flop. Even though the latter is technically the “better” hand, both are essentially bluffs once you raise, and JT is the much better bluffing hand.

Hope that suffices for a quick answer to a good question!

Do you have a question for the Thinking Poker Mailbag? Please leave it as a comment below!

Sylvain is a friend and occasional student of mine whose praises I’ve sung on these pages before. At my request, he wrote up a trip report from his time in Las Vegas during the WSOP prelims, in which I was staking him. Asshole that I am, I’m just now getting around to posting it. Later this week, I’ll make a separate post with my thoughts on a few of the hands he outlines here, but for now I’ll let his work stand alone:

Sylvain’s WSOP Trip Report

One week since I’ve been back from Vegas and I finally feel like I can write this. I say finally because in all honesty, coming back having “lost” 8k playing what I felt was my best game ever took a little while to get over with. Yes we are poker players and yes we are not supposed to be result oriented but let’s be honest, when we play well and don’t win, we are not happy, question every hand we might have misplayed, hate every flop we missed and feel sick about all the coin flips we lost. Coming back from this trip, I – the educated and savvy amateur player – have more than ever loads of respect for pro poker players. A lot of my friends play poker for a living and do really well at it. However they deal every day with what I dealt with for only one week and I admire them all the more for it. Don’t worry, this entry isn’t going to be the philosophical poker essay it is so far shaping out to be. A lot of people are much better at it than I am and I am actually mostly going to talk about hands I played and look for criticism rather than dwell on the psychological aspect surrounding the life of a poker player.

I arrived in Vegas on Tuesday, June 5th around 10pm and had decided to stay at the Rio for the first three nights. I usually always stay at the Encore when in town but the $80/night the Rio was offering was just too good to pass up. I would stay there until the weekend and then move to the Wynn’s sister hotel for the remainder of my trip. It was actually very convenient since I was flying in rather late and wanted to register right away for my first tournament, the $1500 No Limit Holdem shootout which was taking place the very next day at noon. If there is anything I have learned in my 3 years playing the World Series of Poker is that you need to register for tournaments late at night and avoid “rush hour” if you don’t want to wait in line for hours.

I quickly met up with good friend and UK poker hero James Dempsey for a meal at the Venetian before heading over to the Bellagio to briefly sweat cash game british master LilDave. He was having a rough day and I saw him lose a couple 10k pots and go bust during the 20 minutes I was watching him play NL 50/100/200. This was not going to bring the mood down and morale was still high when I got back to my room around 1am and headed to bed.

Jetlag helping, the next day started very early with a workout and a couple of work related conference calls which all went great helping morale a hell of a lot. I was ready for this, looking forward to sit down at the table and take on the adversity. My table draw for the shootout was just as bad as it could have been. I was sitting in seat 6 of a 10 handed table with 5 old, passive players to my right and 4 young, aggressive, good players to my left. Certainly not ideal and I rather quickly lost half of the 4500 chip starting stack before busting in the second level of the day losing with AA to K9. Sure, I probably could have played a few spots differently but at the end of the day, I got my money in as a 75% favorite and can’t complain about my opponent hitting trip K’s on the river. Losing so quickly was definitely a bit numbing but I got over it rather quickly and went on to register for the $1500 6-max happening the next day. I love 6-max and was feeling good.

$1500 6-Max

The day starting out pretty well. The table was not easy, as it would be expected early on in the series in a 6 max tournament, but also was not impossible to navigate. I promptly established a very aggressive image and was able to work my stack up from 4500 chips to 14k by the 3rd level when poker pro and amazing player Justin Bonomo sits down two seats to my left. At that point, it is me against 5 pros and I admittedly get a bit nervous and decide to nit up and tighten up my game. That plan quickly goes out of the window when I notice that Justin is – as he usually does – trying to run over the table. I decide it is only fair that I give him a bit of resistance and the following few hands happen:

Blinds are 75/150 and Justin opens UTG to 350, btn flats and I decide to 3bet KQo to 950. With 8k behind, Justin asks if I have him covered then shoves after looking at my stack. I fold. this was the first hand vs him and honestly, i know there is certainly an argument for just calling but I really didn’t like the idea of playing KQo with him OOP. So either I take it down pre or fold to his 4bet like I did.

He opens UTG to 350, it folds around to me and I 3bet AQo from the SB to 925. He folds.

At this point, I would say we have a little bit of history, and the btn vs BB battle we got into I think makes a lot of sense. I spoke to the hand to a few friends who really liked it. Justin is by then sitting on 14k and I have the same. It folds around to me on the btn and I open KJo to 300. Justin 3bets to 950. His 3 betting range here is very wide imo. He’s seen me be pretty aggressive even against other players at the table so could really do this with lots of different things. I also have blockers to his value range so decide to 4bet to 2025. Obviously ready to fold if he 5bets. But he just flats. Flop comes J107r and he checks to me. At this point I pretty much decide not to fold and given the flop texture decide for a rather large bet and cbet to 3625. He jams with A10 for middle pair, we hold and double up and bust him in the process.

Other interesting hands from the day:

Poker pro Tim Finne who I had been 3betting a lot from my BB to his btn (he kept folding) limps the btn at 100/200. SB folds and I make it 700 to go with KK, he calls. Flop comes AAQ and we both check. turn is an 8 and I bet 800. He calls. river is a 9. Knowing i’m good here I decide to go for value but think that making it too big will make him fold a queen, especially since he is pretty tight. I make it 1025 into about 3k. He tank calls and sighs and shakes his head when I show my KK.

Mediocre italian pro opens the SB to 300 at 75/150 and I call with QJo in the BB

Flop comes KQ4, we both check.

Turn is a 4 and he checks, I bet 375 and he calls.

River is a K and he checks. I decide to bet 1/3 of the pot and bet 500.

He check/raises to 1450. I think about it for a bit but not being able to come up with a hand he is representing, I call. He shows QJ and we chop.

A Dutch pro sits down to my direct right. He is sitting on 24k and plays very tight for the first few orbits. I 3bet his first open and he folds. A few hands later at 100/200 he opens UTG+1 to 400 and I 3bet him holding JJ to 1100. The action folds back around to him and he makes it 2625. Now I have this seemingly tight player playing back at me and I am starting to not like my Jack’s anymore. I hate folding and don’t think calling is good here since I will hate most flops and have to fold too often. So I decide for what I thought was the best option at the time and min click it back to 5250, planning on folding to a shove. I look forward to some comments here and I know that this looks bad on paper but at the table it really felt like the right thing. He 6bet shoved for 17k more, I tank folded and he showed 98ss. Sigh! Good for him for owning me. wp wp. Fortunately it didn’t tilt me and I headed to dinner with (gratuitous UK online hero’s name dropping) Matt Perrins, Sam Grafton and James Dempsey. To make the whole thing better, I got heads up at credit roulette with Grafton and he lost the flip. This might sound trivial but I literally NEVER win at CCR and I felt great heading back to the Rio, this sudden CCR rungood could only mean things were looking up!

First hand back from dinner break. I’m sitting on a very decent 38k and kind of running over the table, opening a lot of pots and taking them down either pre or by cbetting most flops. I open UTG to 800 at 200/400/50 with A4dd. SB calls, BB calls. flops comes J36dd and the SB leads for 1200 with 6k behind. BB folds and I ship it. He calls with KJ, we hit an ace on the turn but he rivers two pair.

I sit at a new table and Andy Frankenberger (who will two days later in the Series go on to win a bracelet beating Phil Ivey heads up in the 10k plh) opens to 800 at 200/400 in the SB and I call with J9ss

Flop comes 7910r and we both check.

The turn is a Q bringing a diamond flush draw and we both check again.

River is a K of diamond. I decide to bet half pot and Andy check/raises me to 3k.

Andy is pretty aggressive and a really good player. I think he would bet his flush draws on the turn almost 100% of the time. If he has a K and is raising for value, I have him beat, along with all the other one pair hands he might be doing that with (although that’s super thin value) so basically I put him on air and call. He mucks.

The end of the day was pretty frustrating, i’ll spare you the exact details but I called Ashton Griffin’s last 1800 all in at 300/600 from my BB. I had J10 and he had 89. board ran out 234A5 for a chop. Then he chipped up a bit to 8k and I have 22k and he shoved his btn, I called with 88’s in the BB and he showed me JJ. Then old guy was short (4K at 300/600) and I open the button with A8, he shoves, I call, he has 99 and holds.

I shoved my last 12 BB BvB vs Andy who was opening all his SB vs my BB with J9ss, he had AKhh and held. This was obviously very disappointing as I busted about 50 spots from the money and more importantly had A LOT of chips getting back from dinner. That said, I played well in a tough field and that is the only thing that I can ask for.

$600 Venetian Deepstack

I checked out of the Rio the next morning and headed over to the Encore. The plan was to get in my room then go and play the $1k Wynn summer classic but I instead decided on the $600 Venetian Deepstack after the Wynn competition only had two runners 15 minutes before starting. Things did not go well and I busted in the first level, getting it in with QQ on a 1035r flop vs a set of 5. Oh well, I was certainly ready for a day without poker so welcomed this opportunity to relax for the day.

The next day, my table for the $1500 NLHE was looking lovely as is expected when playing a $1500 wsop tournament on a busy Vegas saturday. Only a few interesting hands from this one and I look forward to some thoughts on my bust out hand.

I open A9cc to 400 from UTG at 100/200

Tight kid, nervous looking player calls in the SB with 6k behind, old man calls in the BB.

Flop comes 1035r and the kid leads out 500. Old man folds. I’m pretty sure the kid is on a 10, and while he is not a very good player, i have noticed him to be tight but also aware and capable of realizing when he’s beat. I’m representing a big hand here and I decide to raise to 1250. He flats.

Turn is a 7 and he checks. I bet 2k and he folds. I ask him if he folded a 10 and he nods his head frustratingly. I think this is a good spot for me as his hand is being played face up and his range is capped. He either has a weak top pair or middle pair and both these hands can’t stand much pressure.

I open A4hh to 400 from UTG +2 at 100/200/25 and old guy calls in the BB. I know he’s noticed how active I was and I know he is going to call me light in a few spots. But I also know there is only so much pressure he can take and that will be key for this hand.

The flop comes K57r and he checks. I cbet small to 275 hoping to just take it down right there but he calls. At that moment, I think he could have a straight draw but not that often and I think he is more likely to have a weak K or bottom or middle pair. The turn brings a 7 and while this is a pretty bad card for me based on my read, he winces at the card falling on the board. He was not acting, he was really unhappy about this card. He checks and I check behind planning on a large bet on most rivers. River is a brick and I decide that betting big is the best move here. I don’t want to give him the right price to call with middle pair or a weak K. I go for slightly over ¾ pot and he tank folds. I say “you folded a 5, right?” and he nods yes.

We are now sitting on 9k at 150/300/50 and I open KQo to 600 from the btn. Huge fish calls in the SB and flop comes K105dd. He check/calls a 900 cbet. Turn comes a 2s and I barrell to 2k leaving myself about a pot size bet behind. He calls.

River comes a 6 of diamond and he checks again. Now I know there is certainly an argument for checking behind here as he is rarely calling with worse than our hand but I decide to shove the river for slightly less than the pot and he snap calls with J9dd for a flush and we’re out. Curious to hear thoughts on this…

Nothing much to report from the $1k donkament I played the next day. I chipped up nicely to 9k from a 3k starting stack but then went down to 2200 getting it in with J10 vs QJ on a AJJ board. Promptly busted after that and moved my flight up a couple days to get out of Vegas and get back to New York. Vegas had gotten to me and I was ready to leave. Overall I think I probably played my best poker ever and have to be pleased with that. Until next time Vegas, until next time…

Despite my early winnings, these recent losses had ground me back down to more or less the 30,000 chips with which I started. I believe in avoiding big confrontations so early in the tournament when possible, but when your opponents are tough, you can’t afford to play scared. You have to be willing to take the appropriate risks. I was, and it ultimately paid off, but I had a few heart-stopping moments along the way.

The first was against my Hawaiian friend. I open raised to 750 holding KQo in the CO, and he reraised from the SB to 2,550. Generally I would consider that a large re-raise and he’d mostly been avoiding confrontation with me, so my first instinct was to fold. However, there was something suspicious about the size of his bet. In the past, his re-raises had been even larger, often as much as 3,000 over a similarly sized raise. I took it as a sign of weakness that he’d chosen to risk less this time.

As always, I’m eager to hear what you think!

Emily is a government geek. We visited many of the state capitols during our domestic travels, and we’ve been to the capitol cities (if not the capitol buildings themselves) in every European country we’ve visited except for Belgium, where we spent only a few days. So, she was eager to visit The Hague.

It turned out to be a lot neater than I expected. When you first get off of the train, it looks like nothing but high rises and office buildings, but you soon find that it has a bit more charm than that.

MC Escher Museum

This was a lot more than just a collection of the artist’s works, the most famous of which I was already familiar with from posters in the dorm rooms of college friends. In addition to the pieces themselves, the museum does an excellent job of telling Escher’s story: how he began experimenting with perspective, the mathematical foundations of his work, and the process by which the most famous pieces were created. On the top floor there were even a number of interactive exhibits where we could play around with perspective and optical illusions ourselves.

Binnenhof

The Binnenhof is the seat of government in the Netherlands. As with Muiderslot, we could enter only as part of a tour narrated in Dutch, so that’s what we did. It turned out that the rest of the tour was comprised of a busload of seniors. To their credit, they kept up with a brisker pace than I would have expected and navigated some narrow, winding staircases with impressive agility.

We saw first the Hall of Knights, which is the oldest building in the city and the place where the Queen still gives her most important speech each year. We had plenty of time to take pictures of its impressive interior, because our guide spent a good twenty minutes talking about it in Dutch to the rest of the group. She must have been entertaining, because she got a lot of laughs.

Then it was on to the chamber where the legislature meets. We were able to sit in on a few minutes of a session, which despite being in Dutch was no more boring than sitting in on a session of the US Congress. Unfortunately no pictures were allowed inside. We did, however, have a few minutes to take pictures of the courtyard and the exterior, which feature an interesting blend of architectures from the 13th century all the way up to the 20th.

I had a flight to leave Vegas on Friday, but I ended up changing it at the last minute to play the $5K main event of the Venetian Deep Stack Extravaganza. Although it was a smallish field, just shy of 400 runners, I was happy with the decision. It seemed like a soft enough field. My table at least had a few good spots all day, and I saw others around the room, and the structure was great. With only 40% of the field remaining after Day 1, the average stack was still about 80 BBs.

I got off to a good start in the first level then spent most of the day hovering around average. At the very end of the night I scored a great pot that catapaulted me up to more than twice the average.

Blinds were 300/600/50. Cliff Josephy opened to 1400 UTG, he got four calls, and so I somewhat reluctantly called with 86o in the big blind.

Flop JQ95r. Cliff bet like 4600, all four of the others called, and so I ran some math in my head and decided that I could just straight up chase a four-outer since all of my draws were to the nuts. I called after more than a minute of thought.

Turn 7 completed the rainbow (Cliff claimed that was the perfect card for me but I think I’d actually prefer to have a flush draw out there). In my experience people are too passive in multiway pots, and given that no one raised flop I didn’t expect a bet on a seemingly blank card. So strong as it was, I bet 10K. Cliff agonized a bit and folded – I figured he’d be good enough to get away from almost anything – but another guy raised to 35K. I moved in for 60K and stacked his 97, which in my opinion should have been an easy fold when I led the turn into five people.

I came into Day 2 in 4th place out of the 160 remaining players.

Long-time readers may recall a story I recounted from my first deep run in the main event, back in 2008. A player named Dan had just won KK > AA against a Jewish Hawaiian player who called himself “The HulaJew” with whom both Dan and I had been friendly all day:

As penance for the bad beat, Dan bought a shot of vodka for himself and Hula, which they downed just before the dinner break.

Dan, Hula, and I were all in Vegas by ourselves, so we decided to head over to the Rio’s Japanese restaurant together. On the way over, both of them were getting dozens of calls and text messages about the shot. Apparently Pokernews had found that funny and included a blurb about it among their online updates. Friends and family of both Dan and Hula also thought it was hilarious and were texting constantly to express their appreciation.

At dinner, the two of them kept up the drinking, splitting two bottles of Sake. I demurred. Dan was starting to get a little tipsy and tried to insist on paying for dinner as further penance for the bad beat, but we wouldn’t accept it. We compromised on a game of credit card roulette with Dan contributing two cards. The Japanese waitress initially did not understand that we wanted her to pick a card at random and was upset that three of us were trying to pay for dinner with four credit cards. Finally she figured it out and drew one of Dan’s cards, but was further confused when he cheered and announced he had “won” then proceeded to pick up the tab.

That story ended with Dan waking up in the hospital the next morning and hurrying back to the Rio to play Day 5 of the Main Event.

I continue to see Dan around the poker scene, and we always laugh when we run into each other. On Saturday, for the first time since 2008, we played together again. He was a lot better than I remembered him (not that he was bad at the time), but thankfully there were softer spots at the table so he hadn’t been picking on me much despite being two seats to my left. He was reraising other players relentlessly, though.

I’d been leaning heavily on the two players on my right as well, so when I finally picked up AKo, I was excited to reraise it despite the fact that one of them had raised from early position. It helped that there was a tight player in the big blind. I 3-bet it, and then Dan cold 4-bet me. I wasn’t thrilled about that, but this wasn’t a spot for folding AK either. I couldn’t find a good size for 5-betting small, so I just put him all-in for about 70K, which was roughly an average stack at the time (I began the hand with 160K). He looked unhappy but called with AKs and proceeded to run out a flush. The rest of the table grimaced on my behalf, but as I just laughed and told him, “You owe me a shot and a beer.”

He laughed as well but was ready to order them. “I’ll drink double. It’s only fair. Give you a chance to win your money back,” he offered, sounding serious enough that I felt the need to explicitly decline. It would surely give me an advantage if he started drinking, but I didn’t want to risk killing him. I take cynicism at the table only so far.

Our table broke not too long after that hand, and I changed tables two more times in the next two hours before finally landing back at the same table as Dan once again. He was once again on my left, but this time Men “The Master” Nguyen sat between us.

Dan was at the table with Men before I arrived, and also after I was eliminated, so most of these stories come via him. Here’s something he tweeted before I got to the table: “Just witnessed one of the highlights of my poker career. Men the master ordering a corona..tipping in change..then spilling it on himself”

Dan and Men actually had a little run-in that I believe probably began as an honest mistake but ended with Men being shockingly stubborn. Men called a bet of 12,500 from Dan on the river and lost. The dealer passed Dan the pot, at which point Dan noticed Men had paid only 12,100, using a 100-chip rather than a 500-chip. The two do look somewhat similar, which would explain why no one noticed the error until Dan received the pot. Once he pointed it out, though, Men claimed it was too late to prove or reconcile.

As it happened, Dan had few small denomination chips, and only a single 100 and a single 500. Thus, there was no way the proper amount could have been paid to him. He just sat there with an incredulous, goofy look on his face, as though to ask, “Is this really happening?” (it was so surreal as to be funny, and the amount involved was really not significant) as Men flat-out refused to pay what he clearly owed. Only after several minutes of arguing did Men finally pay up.

I lost a medium-sized pot with what may have been a slightly ambitious move. A pretty good short-stacked player opened for a small raise from early position, got one call, and I called with Ad 3d on my BB. The flop came 2c 2d 4c. I checked, the raiser bet, the other guy folded, and I put him all-in. He was short enough that the risk to me wasn’t huge, and my equity is good enough that I don’t need him to fold much to make this profitable. I can’t be sure that he would even fold like an AQ here, though, and I don’t think he was opening too light in that spot, so it may still have been a slightly -EV shove for me. As it happened he called with TT and won.

The very next hand I was dealt KK in the SB. The same player raised again, Dan called, and then an old man with bushy sideburns 3-bet it to 8500. I had about 75K in the SB. Against more aggressive players I could consider a small 4-bet here leaving room for them to 5-bet, but this guy wasn’t going to 5-bet light and would probably correctly interpret my raise as strong. I decided the best thing I could do was make a shove that would maybe look a little tilty. I couldn’t convince him I had 87s, but maybe he would believe I was spazzing a bit with AQ or something. Sure enough, he didn’t think long before calling with Queens.

His eyes weren’t too good, so he kept asking what I had when we turned the cards over. I was repeating “Kings” loudly for him, but he wasn’t getting it. What he did get, however, was a Q on the flop to eliminate me. I guess he later got some drama with Men as well, because the last thing I saw Dan tweet was

“Men the master is now on an epic drunk rant with an elderly gentleman. I really wish I could film this for you.”

My most stressful hand of the day was also one of the biggest and was picked up by PokerNews:

The preflop action was related to us second hand, but it sounds like Chavignon opened with a raise, Brokos reraised, Chavignon four-bet, Brokos reraised again, and Chavignon called. The flop then came  and Chavignon fired a bet of 10,000 that Brokos called. The pair then checked down the  turn and  river.

Chavignon tabled  — he’d flopped two pair, then the jack on the turn had counterfeited his hand. Brokos showed , that turn jack having made his hand best.

The action was actually crazier than that. At 200/400/50, three hands before the end of the night, Chavignon opened to 800 from three of the button. He had a monster stack, that was very standard for him, and given who was in the BB I honestly think he was opening any two. The player in between us, who was also very active and very perceptive and was very capable of 3-betting light in a good spot like this, made it 2100 from the HJ. So now here I am holding ATs in the CO with a re-raise in front of me and I feel like I have the nuts.

I made it 5300, and the action folded back to Chavignon who made it 10,800. The guy in the middle folded, and I was still convinced ATs was good. That’s how much Chavignon hated to give up a pot. If I’d been a little shorter I’d have just shoved pre, but I had about 60K behind which seemed a little too much so I called.

I thought a long time when he bet 10K on the flop. At that point that pot was basically the size of my stack and I kinda felt like I should jam for protection, but I’m drawing near dead when called and I didn’t want to risk 50K at the end of Day 1 of the main event. So I called.

I wasn’t thrilled about giving a free card on the turn, since he could easily have random diamonds, but I still didn’t think I’d be good if any more money went into the pot (OK maybe occasionally he jams with a semi-bluff but I can’t call) so I had to check behind. I was relieved to check back the river and of course to see that he’d been counterfeited on the turn, though really more money went into the pot when I was ahead than when I was behind.

I am very much looking forward to a relaxing day tomorrow. Thanks to everyone for following along.

Gareth Chantler, whom you may know from CardRunners or from his frequent comments here at Thinking Poker, picked me up at the airport. I’ve known Gareth for over a year and we’ve spoken by Skype many times, but this was our first in-person meeting.

He was kind enough to drive me to Whole Foods, enabling me to get some milk and fresh fruit. I can’t tell you how great it is not to be wholly dependent on the Poker Kitchen and the Rio’s many fine (LOL) eateries while I’m here. I didn’t buy too much because I was expecting to have to cram things into the minibar fridge or failing that set up a makeshift freezer with the help of the ice machine, but it turned out there was actually a mini fridge in my room so that was a nice surprise.

I was also surprised to find a coffee maker, something I’ve never before seen in a Las Vegas hotel room. Not that I want their shitty coffee, but having a way to make hot water means I could have brought dehydrated backpacker meals and my own coffee along with my French press coffee mug. I nearly brought the coffee just because I hate Starbucks and resent the hell out of having to pay them $3/cup for my dark addiction, but it’s just so unlike the penny pinching Caesar’s Entertainment to provide anything for free that I figured no way in hell there would be a coffee maker. The whole thing made a lot more sense to me when I saw the sign that “K-cups” (the little pre-measured packets of coffee that you have to use with this machine) are available in the minibar for the low low price of 3 for $8.

I’m not anti-balling quite as hard as I did at the PCA, but I did bring cereal, peanut butter, jelly, packets of tuna fish, granola bars, and a few other snacks with me. Along with the milk, bread, and fruit I bought last night, I’m well-stocked to provide a lot of my own meals.

Gareth and I planned to eat dinner at Lotus of Siam, but finding a one-hour wait, we went across the street to another Thai place that emphasized its many vegan and vegetarian options. Komol had perhaps the largest menu I’ve seen at any restaurant ever, but the food and service were both quite good.

So was the company. Gareth is a fascinating guy. After dropping out of college for the third time and increasingly depressed by the harsh Canadian winter, he decided, as he put it, “to take responsibility for my own happiness” and moved to Peru. He paid the bills playing both online and in Peruvian casinos, sometimes from rented apartments and sometimes from the common room of hostels, first from Lima and then from Cuzco. His travels took him to Trinidad and then back to his native Ontario, where he spent several weeks practicing in live poker tournaments before moving on to Las Vegas for his first ever WSOP.

Having just returned from Europe myself, I was eager to talk travel with him. We discussed the stress and exhilaration of fumbling through unfamiliar situations, the best way to eat guinea pig, and the time that he was mistaken for a member of the Campus Crusade for Christ and invited back to the dorm room of another member for some gay porn. His observations about America were consistent with those of many people I met in Europe, namely that it’s a lovely country but that everyone here is really very fat and the murder rate is simply unbelievable. In short we had a great time.

Still feeling the effects of jet lag from my return from Europe, now supplemented by another three-hour shift from the east coast, I went to bed early and woke up early. The professional poker player is a nocturnal hunter, so I took advantage of the early hour and entered the $550 10 AM mega satellite. Sure enough the field was super soft, though it probably would have been anyway. The tournament was a success in the sense that I got my run bad out of the way, so now I’m ready to take on my 7th WSOP Main Event!

Emily and I were already planning to be in Amsterdam for the entirety of the SCOOP because of the sweet apartment we were able to rent, but we also wanted to be there for Queen’s Day, which is basically a huge citywide party in honor of the Queen. So we found a (relatively) reasonably priced hotel on the outskirts of town where we could stay for a few days.

Queen’s Night

In recent years, the night before Queen’s Day has become quite an event in itself. Since everyone has off the next day anyway, they start the party early. There are stages all over the city with free concerts, vendors selling beer and greasy food, even games and rides – it’s a real carnival atmosphere. The main squares are slammed with drunk and stoned (this is Amsterdam, after all) adults of all ages, and boats full of revelers cruise the canals.

Earlier that day, we’d purchased a special Queen’s Day transit pass that was supposed to be good all day, starting at midnight. Thinking ourselves clever, we stayed out until midnight so that our ride home would be free. Turns out most of the trams stop running at midnight, and those that still were in operation were extremely delayed because of all the people in the streets getting in their way. We waited forever and finally caught a train only to have it inexplicably kick all its passengers off several stops down the line.

Now more lost than ever, we and a few hundred of our closest friends tried to figure out where we were and how we’d get home. A few police officers stood around being unhelpful. Finally a bus pulled up that stopped about a mile from our hotel, which seemed like the best we were going to do. Suddenly one of those police officers was in a great hurry to insist that our pass was not good on that bus, because it was operated by a different department than the city transit. Pwned.

Queen’s Day

We were lucky to get unseasonably nice weather for Queen’s Day. It was mostly warm enough to walk around without a jacket, and the sun shone virtually all day. That’s a rarity for Amsterdam, especially in the spring.

In honor of the Dutch royal family, who descend from William of Orange, orange is everywhere on Queen’s Day. Everyone wears orange, all the streets are decorated with orange, vendors sell orange trinkets, etc.

Queen’s Day is very Dutch in that it is all about entrepreneurship and laissez-faire. For one day only, anyone can set up a stand just about anywhere (people mark off the best spots with tape days in advance) and sell just about anything, from food to alcohol to old household junk.

Vondelpark, one of the city’s largest green spaces, is set aside specifically for a children’s market. Some kids just sell their old toys, but others get much more creative and sell things like musical performances and even compliments.

One of the cool things about Queen’s Day, from an American’s perspective, is that people of all ages enjoy it together. In the US, we mostly segregate adult holiday activities such as drinking from children’s holiday activities such as games and pageants. On Queen’s Day, alcohol was sold and consumed in the children’s market just as it was anywhere else (though not by children), without any “Won’t somebody please think of the children?!”-style moral outrage.

After exploring the children’s market, we hopped a tram over to the Jordaan, one of Amsterdam’s most happening neighborhoods. On the way, we spotted a pretty creative decoration:

The revelry in the Jordaan was much more heavily focused on drinking. With tens of thousands of people consuming copious amounts of beer, there was a tremendous need for toilets, and some creative solutions:

The coolest people in Amsterdam have either boats or friends with boats. Armed with beer, music, and/or weed, they cruise the city’s canals to see and be seen:

Because so many people stay out drinking late the night before, the festivities actually wind down fairly early in the day on Queen’s Day itself. The makeshift street stalls have to come down by 8PM, and most people start heading home before then:

On our way home, we came across a small neighborhood gathering that had the feel of a block party. Very few places were still selling food, but we found a pizza place there that, though out of pizza, sold us some calzones. Tweens had themselves a little dance party while their parents chugged wine:

Metric Fish

Little things like this, so trivial in your own country, can prove a major hassle (or adventure, if you want to be good-natured about it) in an unfamiliar place. We carried the clothes from Prague to Berlin, where there was a post office just across the street from the apartment we’d rented for the week in Prenzlauer Berg. I assumed we could buy boxes there, if perhaps at a premium price.

As it happened, they didn’t have any large enough for our needs. I checked a paper goods store across the street – no luck. Went home, googled it, and, through the magic of internet, found that someone else had already asked exactly my question. The answer was “any home goods store”. There was one a few blocks from the apartment, so I walked up there… and they had no shipping materials of any kind.

I again returned home dejected and started asking the Germans I knew where they would go to find a box. They were all surprised that the post office didn’t have it. I specified that it needed to be at least 320 x 320 x 640. One of my friends asked, “320 what? Millimeters?”

“Centimeters,” I wrote back.

“Andrew that is the size of a small room. You could pack up your clothes and then climb into that box and ship yourselves to the wedding.”

OK, so I’m a metric fish. They didn’t have a box to accommodate me in millimeters, either, though, so my search hadn’t been needless, even if I still hadn’t found what I was looking for.

We had to leave our apartment the next day, so I took our recycling out to the specially designated dumpster in the courtyard of the building. There, sitting on the top of the paper container, was a perfectly sized and perfectly preserved cardboard box from Amazon. I grabbed it eagerly, and sure enough it was just what we needed! Unfortunately it was now too late and the post office was closed, so I was going to have to take the package over the next morning before we moved out.

Wie Bitte?

We generally got around with no difficulty relying on our limited German and the English that is widely spoken in Berlin. The post officewas a different story, though. The employees were all disgruntled middle-aged bureaucrats who either couldn’t or wouldn’t speak English. I learned a fair bit of German in the last two months in preparation for this trip, but not nearly enough to manage a transaction like this with words alone.

Especially for someone like me, who prides himself on his verbal acuity in his native language, being unable to communicate with words is an unsettling, humbling, and uncomfortable experience. It’s something I have to actively push myself to overcome, because if I gave in to my nervousness, I’d find myself taking my meals at McDonald’s and Starbucks and experiencing new places from the confines of a tour bus.

So I swallowed my pride and marched into the post office. The woman at the next available station said something in German. “Guten Morgen,” I greeted her, laying my items on the counter. She said something else in German.

“Wie bitte?” I answered. That means something like “Pardon” or “Come again.” A fancy way of asking someone to repeat herself, it’s unideal for my purposes because it both suggests I speak more German than I do and fails to get at the root of the problem, which is that no matter how many times she repeats herself or how clearly she speaks, I’m simply not going to know what her words mean.

She repeated whatever she said. I gave her a blank, helpless stare, and resisted the urge to run. She was not amused, but I stood my ground. She didn’t have to like it – I had after all come to her country without speaking her language and was now inconveniencing her with my ignorance – but the simple fact of the matter was that I needed to mail this package and I didn’t speak German. Like it or not, we were going to have to figure out a way to do this.

With a sigh, she pointed to a scale. Now we were getting somewhere. I lifted the awkwardly large box and maneuvered it towards the scale. As I did so, I knocked over a container of brochures that was sitting on the counter. It fell, scattering its glossy contents all over the floor behind her. She glowered malevolently at me over the rims of her glasses, which rode low on her nose. “Entschuldigung,” I muttered sheepishly, my face burning with embarassment. Sorry.

I placed the box on the scale as she retrieved the brochures. “Normal oder blahblahblah” I heard.

“Normal, bitte,” I answered eagerly, glad to finally understand a question well enough to answer it in German. I didn’t need express service or anything like that, so I was pretty sure “Normal” would do it for me.

At an American post office, you get a lot of follow-up questions. Do you want delivery confirmation? Insurance? Anything hazardous in the box? I don’t know if they don’t do that in Germany, or if she just recognized the futility of asking me, but the next thing she said was the cost. I paid using exact change, to show her that I understood the number, but it didn’t seem to endear me to her any.

Game Theory Without Borders

No matter. The box was out of my hands and on its way to Diez. I embarrassed myself and made an enemy, but the world didn’t come to an end. Ultimately, I did what I needed to do, no one got hurt, and nothing bad happened. I’ll never see that woman again, and not having to lug those clothes back and forth across the continent was well worth a few minutes of social awkwardness.

It was also a good confidence builder for future cross-cultural interactions. Not everyone is eager to communicate with grunts and pantomiming, but ultimately most will once you make clear that there’s no other option.

It’s basic game theory, really. In a game of chicken, where two people drive towards each other at high speeds and the first one to veer away from a collision loses, the optimal play is to remove your steering wheel and let your opponent see you throw it out of the window. Once he knows that you couldn’t turn your car even if you wanted to, he’s got no choice but to turn his (assuming he prioritizes surviving over winning).

Once you make clear that there’s really no alternative to a slightly awkward and embarrassing game of charades, most people will play along even if they don’t like it. Some even end up having fun with it. Those people get tips. So please take note, European service employees: there are some benefits to dealing with American tourists.

We also got back to another Easter Market, this time in Old Town Square, that remained open for the week following Easter. The sun was shining, the temperature was mild, the square was colorfully decorated, and the crowd was boisterous. Conversations in several different languages could be vaguely heard over the sounds of lively fiddle music and vendors calling out their wares. The smell of roasting meat and baking sweets filled the air while bright ribbons danced among the branches of still-barren trees.

Though still clearly a tourist trap, it was, admittedly, a really fun and vivacious tourist trap. And to the extent that there ever was some authentic, historic Easter market that the tourist industry is now trying to simulate, that market was surely itself a huge draw for medieval “tourists”. There were no doubt vendors selling overpriced baubles to out-of-towners, wafting food smells, roving pickpockets, and boisterous music to set the atmosphere. Tourist-filled or not, that square felt genuinely festive, and it was a really enjoyable place to be.

Eventually we managed to branch out a bit more, though, and interact with some people who actually lived in the city. On the train from Dresden, we’d shared a compartment with a very friendly Czech student named Jansa and gotten to talking with him. Ultimately we arranged to meet him and his girlfriend, Eve, for drinks later in the week. They were really nice and interesting people, nearly as excited to meet Americans as we were to meet Czechs.

It’s funny how much can change in a generation. I was 7 years old when the Berlin Wall came down, 11 when the short-lived state of Czechoslavakia dissolved, and I grew up with a vague sense that Eastern Europe was an alien, underdeveloped, and dangerous place. To be clear, no one ever told me this – it was just a general sense that I got from my childish attempts to make sense of the fragments of news I heard but didn’t truly understand. Now 20 years later I was having a beer with two young Czechs in a restaurant that was apparently a favorite of Vaclav Havel.

Jansa and Eve learned English in school but perfected it watching How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory, and American Dad. Eve told us that her little brother loved The Simpsons and was thrilled that the new season would premiere in the Czech Republic on his birthday. Their families, they explained, were a snapshot of the region’s turbulent history: while they spoke quite good English, their parents had studied Russian in school, and their grandparents German. Jansa worked part-time at a Levi’s store.

Though neither played poker, they knew a bit about it. Apparently Black Friday made the news in Prague, because they’d heard that something had happened with online poker in the US. And of course they’d heard of Martin Staszko, their countryman who finished second in the 2011 WSOP main event. They were less impressed to hear that I’d finished XXX in the same tournament. Eve did, however, ask if I’d ever been to a fancy Las Vegas casino.

Partly at Jansa’s urging, we resolved to do something outside of Prague before we left the Czech Republic. Knowing my love of all things medieval, Emily found a nearby castle that was accessible by train…

To be continued!

I busted after 5-bet shoving KTs into what turned out to be AK. As you may know/guess, I’m not generally one to embrace pre-flop raising wars in a tournament. I’ve thought on it for a while, and I still feel OK about this spot despite the outcome, but I’m curious to hear what you think. Here’s the context:

Guy on my left is an aggressive Frenchman, roughly my age (late 20’s/early 30’s) who’s been playing well. In particular, he’s 3-bet quite a bit, both in and out of position, against late position raisers. I’d folded to him a few times, and the one time I did call, he checked and folded (he was SB to my BTN) on a dry flop. The fact that the chose not to bluff the flop there when he missed tells me that he expects me to have a tight calling range. He is table chipleader with 130K.

Guy two seats to my right is a young northern European who is new to the table. He seems confident and has been playing well in the short time he’s been with us. He has about 55K.

Guy in the BB is an older guy who is actually rather aggressive, but I don’t think Northern European knows that. He has 12K after posting the BB.

Blinds are 300/600/75. The northern European opens to 1400 (table standard) from the HJ. I expect him to have an extremely wide range here, since BB’s only real option is to shove, and it’s an awkward size for him to shove, plus as I said the kid may assume that because BB is older he’ll be extra tight. I call KTs on the BTN.

Frenchman in the SB makes it 4200. I think he recognizes the whole ideal-steal dynamic, and besides he just generally likes to 3-bet a lot against late position raises, plus I also think he expects me to fold a lot. In other words, so far, I’m not giving anyone much credit.

Now northern European makes it 7125. Stacks are such that I don’t think he can do this for real thin value against the Frenchman, because I doubt he wants to get nearly 100BB all-in pre with AQ or TT. So I think he has to flat some relatively strong hands. Certainly he can 4-bet QQ+ and AK for value, but I also have to assume that he’s capable of 4-betting light, and this sure looks like a spot to do it given everything I’ve described already.

So I decide to ship for 36K (there’s about 15K in the pot). It can be tough to rep a big hand after just calling the initial raise, but in this case I think it’s reasonable to think I might have flatted a big one because of the size of the BB (he’ll shove any hand he wants to play) and because of the squeeze-happy SB (he at least knows he’s squeeze happy, even if HJ doesn’t). I think that in addition to picking up the dead money from all their light 3- and 4-bets, I may get one or both of them to fold a few hands they were 3-betting for value (SB especially has hands like TT and AQ in his range that he won’t want to call off, especially with a 4-better still to act behind him).

Unfortunately SB woke up with AK. I had an open-ended straight flush draw and a live T on the turn, but nothing got there on the river.

Good news is that my friend Soeren is still in it after Day 2 and crushing with a double-average stack. They’re in the money already, and we swapped 5%, so I’ve got a little something coming to me. Now if he can just get 6th or better, I’ll be even on the series

Easter Sunday was our first full day in Prague. We began at one of the smaller squares, which was to host live music and booths for visitors to dye eggs and braid their own Easter whips (more on that tradition in a bit). As we approached the square, we could hear the music from two blocks away. As we drew nearer, however, we found the scene disappointingly empty. A few older people sat listening to the music. You could count the people in the booths on one hand, and all were working very earnestly working on their whips and other handicrafts.

We sat and listened to one song. Although we speak no Czech, it was clear enough that the singer, a man in his early thirties, was trying, with little success, to get his audience to sing along. Behind him portly men twice his age blew red-faced into brass instruments. A few old ladies finally joined in the singing, and for a minute the atmosphere was festive. Then the song ended, the musicians put away their horns, and what crowd there was dispersed.

In search of a more happening market, Emily and I headed for Wenceslas Square, one of the city’s largest. It’s really more of a plaza or promenade than a square, as it’s only a block or two wide but extends out for several blocks from the foot of the Czech National Museum. The square was packed with red-roofed wooden booths and milling with people.

The only problem was that the people were almost universally tourists. Wenceslas Square is one of the main hubs for tourism in Prague, so the street is lined with money changers, casinos, and souvenir shops. Picturesque it isn’t. That said, we did spot a few locals, including one dressed as an ostrich-rider. A little research suggests that artists sometimes etch ostrich eggs, which of course are much larger than hens’ eggs, so that’s my best and only guess regarding the connection between his costume and the holiday.

We purchased a lunch of chicken skewers (for Emily) and potato salad (for me) and washed it down with hot wine and a trdelnik, which when served hot and crispy is even tastier than it sounds. As we ate, a man with a dirt-caked face and disheveled beard brushed past us. Thankfully we were alert for pickpockets and had everything tucked away securely, because his next stop was a nearby trash can where he rooted around for discarded food. A man desperate enough to lift food from the garbage will presumably have no compunction about lifting your wallet from your pocket.

Edit: I was called out for the above comment, and rightfully so. It was a very unfair assumption for me to make, and I regret writing it. I won’t try to hide my ignorance by deleting it, but I struck it out to make clear that I now consider it a mistake.

The food was good, but all in all Wenceslas Square was also a bit of a disappointment because it so cheaply and blatantly catered to tourists. This is the typical tourists’ conundrum: you want to experience the “real” customs and traditions of a place, but in many cases those customs and traditions are kept alive and/or publicized primarily for tourists. The life of the “average resident” of any place probably isn’t that exciting: he goes to work, he drinks a few beers and watches TV on the weekend, and when he eats out it’s probably the same pizza or Chinese delivery that you get at home.

Of course, when a tourist is in Prague, he doesn’t want to eat pizza or Chinese food. He wants to dine at a typical Czech restaurant. Thankfully, as with all other tourists’ needs, Wenceslas Square provides:

After a brief respite at our rented apartment, we hit the streets again. This time our destination was the Mirror Chapel, a 300-year old performance space whose organ Mozart supposedly played on his visits to Prague, for a concert of classical Easter music. Though I’m not generally a fan of baroque architecture, even I had to admit the room was beautiful (photo from Via Musica):

The concert itself was good, in that the performers were clearly very talented, but the music was not terribly upbeat. My assumption was that Easter music would be more uplifting and triumphant, celebrating the resurrection of Christ, but this selection included two requiems and was mostly slow and mournful.

Afterwards we wandered through the Easter Market at nearby Old Town Square, another major tourist destination. This one was at least better decorated and surrounded by older and more unique buildings:

Easter Monday, not Sunday, is actually the major holiday in the Czech Republic. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot of public celebrating going on. It’s a day that’s mostly spent at home with family, so stores were closed and many people had left the city entirely to return to their hometowns.

The weather, however, was much nicer. We walked to one of the smaller markets near our apartment and found a more sedate scene than we’d encountered yesterday:

Monday was the last day for this market, and about half of the stalls had already shut down. We did manage to buy some painted eggs and a willow whip.

So about the willow whip: on Easter, boys carry whips made from braided willow branches and decorated with colorful ribbon. Whipping a woman’s lower leg is supposed to bring her youth, and in return she is supposed to give you an egg (symbolism, anyone?). Alternatively women can also give out candy, rum, or money, and men may sometimes throw cold water on them instead of whipping them.

This, too, seemed to be a “tradition” celebrated primarily by and for the benefit of tourists. I bought a whip, but Emily did not respond to my first few lashes of her legs. The only other people we saw all day with a whip was another tourist couple, basically a better-looking version of us. The man struck his companion’s leg playfully, and she rewarded him with a lingering kiss. “I’m going to go whip her,” I told Emily. “She gives out kisses.” Thankfully Emily did not have a whip.

It’s early on Day 5 of the WSOP main event. We’re in the shallow money, with 574 players remaining out of 7319, and Hero’s table draw is a great one for such a late day in the tournament, featuring several pretty weak amateurs. Hero (me, in my late twenties with dark sunglasses and no logos on my clothing) begins the hand with a slightly below average stack of 500K. Blinds are at 4K/8K/1K.

One of the weak players, a guy about my age sitting on a stack of about 450K, raises to 20K in first position. I call with 2c 2h in middle position, and a middle-aged player new to the table and sitting on 600K calls in the big blind. The three of us see a 7s 4s 2d flop, and both of my opponents check relatively quickly. I check behind.

The turn is the 3s. BB checks, and UTG bets 25K into the 72K pot. I raise to 90K, the BB folds, and UTG calls. I realize it’s potentially important information, but I’m afraid I don’t remember how quickly he called or in what manner. The river is the 3d. UTG bets 100K into the 250K pot, leaving about 250K behind. Hero has him slightly covered. What’s your play and why?

Post your thoughts in the comments section below. I’ll be back with my thoughts on Friday (or thereabouts – I may not be able to maintain quite so rigid a posting schedule while in Europe).

“I was able to build a good stack pretty early on, even before we hit the antes I had about 38k from a 10k stack. I was pretty aggressive and the table never gave me credit for anything. Because of this I was able to get paid when hitting a straight and hitting Aces up vs my opponent’s worst aces up.

So then comes this hand. I’m up against two late registrations. Both have about 10k and I have 38k. One kid who seems a bit aggro, I 3bet folded to his 4bet shove on the first hand he played so we certainly have an aggro dynamic there. The other one is a mid 40’s guy who seems uneasy at the sight of my stack.

The kid limps 200 and I isolate to 700 from the CO with A4hh. Mid 40’s guy calls from button and kid flats. Flop comes 624hh. Kid checks to me, I cbet to 1350 and mid 40’s guy calls. Kid check raises to 5k with 5k behind. I think shoving is the best option here, I have some fold equity vs the kid who probably saw this was a dry flop and could be check raising with hands that will fold to a shove. Even if he calls I have a lot of equity in the pot. Mid 40s guy calls and kid tank calls. the kid has 67o for top pair and the guy has 42cc. I hit an Ace on the turn and take a commanding chip lead and pretty much don’t lose it until the end of the tournament.

The following few hours are pretty quiet, I stay aggressive, opening A LOT on what is a pretty passive table and most people seem pretty unhappy to get involved with me. Only hand of notice is me opening KJo at 200/400/25 from MP and getting flatted by the SB. Flop comes 37Jr, I cbet to 1000 into a 1700 pot and get check/raised to 5k. Guy seems to know what he’s doing, been pretty quiet and has 20k behind. I think about folding but don’t like it too much so finally decide to shove after about a minute. I honestly couldn’t come up with a hand that he was repping and it was my 5th open in a row so I think he tries to make a lot of moves in that spot. He folded to the shove. I think folding is too nitty here and I don’t like calling because he’s going to shove a lot of turns which will make me fold so I figured that getting the money in on the flop was the right thing to do.

I get moved to a new table to completely abuse the kid on my left. The blinds are going up (400/800/75) and I have about 85k. We’re down to 18 players and everyone is playing tight. it often folds to me on the button and in the blinds and i’m pretty much raising every time without getting much resistance. BvB I pretty much raised 90% of the time and got away with it. After about an hour of this, this hand comes up, I have AJhh in the co and I open to 2500 at 600/1200/100, the kid 3bets me to 6k and it folds back to me. I think about folding but I’m getting some decent odds and decide to call. I think I have such a huge post flop edge on the guy that it makes sense. his range here is 88+, AJ+. Flop comes K89 one heart. I check and the kid bets 5k, about a third of the pot. Now, I don’t think he is trying to induce, I don’t believe he is good enough for that. I think for a couple minutes and try to decide if he would do this with a K. I have seen him bet a lot bigger when hitting top pair before and this bet just smells incredibly weak to me. PLUS I have all the backdoors in the world!  He has 30k behind and I decide to shove. He tank folds JJ.

The things I take out of the tournament is that I was able to remain calm at all times. Even when getting around the 30bb mark, I didn’t panic and stayed composed and played my game. At one point, I went up 160k then back down to 90k, again I didn’t panic which isn’t so typical for me. I tend to get eaten away by the blinds coming up…etc… and getting distracted by that. And also it made realize that people just fold. I was able to steal the blinds so often that I kept opening and opening and opening. Since I wasn’t getting resistance I just kept up the aggression, when I was getting 3bet I would give it up often without tilting or anything.

Oh and also I won flips! that always feel good

So yea, first live win. Certainly feels very good and hopefully breaks the curse of having only won online mtt’s so far!”

I got off to a good start, calling a raise to 2,200 from a seemingly tight-aggressive player in middle position with AJo in the CO. The big blind called as well, and we saw a K82 rainbow flop.

The pre-flop raiser bet 4,500. Against some players this would be a snap-call with a good Ace-high, but his TAG image gave me pause. I ultimately called because the board was so good for a continuation bet and the odds so tempting, but I didn’t feel great about it. The third player folded.

We both checked an 8 on the turn. The river brought a Q, and he checked again. AJ has considerable showdown value here, but I decided to turn it into a bluff by betting 7,500….

Give it a read and let me know what you think!

Round 3

Saturday morning proves far more hectic than anticipated. There’s a surprising amount of turnover, meaning students who competed last night but who if they plan on coming at all today have not arrived as of 8AM. Frustratingly, I’m not getting good information from coaches about which of their students have not showed up.

I am used to leading by moral authority. When I ran the BDL, the coaches and students all saw how hard I worked, and most of them knew that I wasn’t paid. I more or less shamed them into making my job easier and doing what I told them to do.

Few coaches and even fewer students remain from my era, and most of the others had never seen me before yesterday. I try to catch up with them as they arrive to confirm which students would be competing today, but I get a lot of eye rolls and brusque “I don’t know, not everyone is here yet,” and despite my pleas to come find me in the tab room if they need to make any changes, no one reports to me despite plenty of changes that should have been made before the start of Round 3.

This results in something like six forfeited debates, with twelve students sitting and twiddling their thumbs for an hour and a half. Had I been on top of the no-shows sooner, I could have reconfigured the pairings so that these six teams debated each other, but instead they all got the morning off. Fine with them, I imagine, but from my perspective a lost educational opportunity. There’s a similar scramble to determine which of our volunteer judges has actually shown up and to replace those who have not.

Round 4

Even once Round 3 gets off the ground, we continue to work in the tab room updating the computer. In the interest of starting at least close to on time, we often made changes and substitutions on the fly, crossing out the names of no-show teams and substituting in judges. Now, to ensure that the computer has accurate information upon which to base the next round’s pairings, we must go through and update the tabulation program with the changes we’ve made by hand.

Round 4 seems to get off to a good start, until several coaches poke their heads into the tab room. Apparently two teams who missed round 3 have since arrived, ready to debate round 4. To be fair, we were told about this, but we failed to update the tabulation program accordingly. Now, as a result of our error (and, of course, the students’ own tardiness) they stand to miss both of today’s preliminary debates. It’s getting late to redo all of our plans for the coming round, so rather than reconfigure the pairings, I pit these teams against each other. One is from the Novice division and one the JV, so it won’t count towards the official results, but at least the kids will get to debate. All parties walk away satisfied.

This kind of quick, creative problem solving is my favorite part of running a tournament. There are constantly little fires like this to put out, and a good director will improvise solutions to all of them while keeping the great tournament machine chugging along smoothly. It requires seeing all of the options at your disposal and understanding the ultimate objectives, which are to run a fair, educational, and fun event. Are you starting to see the similarities with poker?

Consistent with my lead-by-moral-authority philosophy, I comport myself as tournament director with an air of hurried authority. I always walk briskly and purposefully, and if someone wants to come to me with a problem or concern, they better walk and talk and keep up. If I’m hunched over the computer, some try to wait for my full attention, but I let them know they aren’t getting it. I can’t afford to stop working, so tell me about the next problem while I’m solving the current one.

Quarterfinals

There’s a lot to do as Round 4 ends. Heretofore, rounds have been “lag paired”, meaning that in Round 4 teams are paired based on their results from Rounds 1 and 2, enabling us to pair Round 4 while round 3 is underway. Now that we’re about to start the quarterfinals, we need the results of all four preliminary rounds to determine the top eight teams in each division.

Once all the data are in, we have to double-check everything up to this point to ensure that the proper teams advance. A few of our last-minute changes have produced some irregularities in the results, data that weren’t properly recorded. All of this must be verified and fixed before pairing the quarterfinal round.

To buy time for this extra bit of tabulation, we coordinate it with lunch. The kids fuel up on sandwiches and cookies while we pore quickly but thoroughly over the results, snatching bites of our lunch with any free second.

Despite this forty-five-minute hedge, we fall behind schedule preparing the quarterfinals. Eager to make up for lost time, I grab the pairings as soon as they’re printed, run off a few copies, and tape them up strategically around the cafeteria.

A student quickly brings the problem to my attention: “What rooms are these rounds in?” Whoops. I was in such a rush that I neglected to assign rooms to the quarterfinal rounds. Elbert scrambles to scrawl numbers on the pairings and replace the incomplete copies I hung. Approximately sixty-three thousand people interrupt this process to point out that they don’t know which rooms they’re supposed to be in.

Awards Ceremony

Finally the quarterfinals are underway, but there’s no rest for the weary. The next item on the schedule is the awards ceremony (yes, we have the awards ceremony before the semifinal debates – these tournaments run long, and only a few kids need to stay for the last two rounds, so we arrange things so that the vast majority are ready to go by 5 PM), and there’s a lot to do to prepare.

We have awards for not only the losers of the quarterfinals (the winners will get their trophies after semifinals or finals, depending on how far they make it) but also for the top individual speakers, for the schools with the most participating students, and for the best judges. Most of these awards are given in each of the three divisions and announced by a different individual, in the interest of including more people in the ceremony. I need to determine the winners of each of these awards and then distribute this information to the ten different presenters so they’ll have what they need for their part of the ceremony.

We also need a copy of each ballot from the preliminary rounds to distribute to each of the of the teams in each debate. That’s roughly 280 pieces of paper that need to be photocopied, front and back, and then separated into piles for each school.

It’s my own bright idea use BDL alumni in the awards ceremony. I love it when graduates of the BDL come back to serve as judges. In fact, they’re the only judges we pay, a policy that I began and that has lasted into the present day. These alumni often make for the best judges, because as former BDL debaters themselves who are now (mostly) in college, they are uniquely appealing as role models to the current debaters. They are also the judges least able to afford to volunteer. Many work two jobs to help pay for college, and no matter how much they’d like to, most can’t give up their Fridays and Saturdays for free.

Anyway, I asked some of these alumni to participate in the awards ceremony. The ceremony takes place in a large auditorium, and it turns out we have no microphone. The alumni, less experienced with speaking to large groups than am I, struggle on a number of levels. They speak far too quietly and quickly, and they don’t engage at all with the audience. This results in students only half paying attention to the awards and a lot of whispering and noise from the audience.

When it’s my turn to and announce the results of the Novice quarterfinals, I take the time to get everyone’s attention. “Are you ready to hear who won some debates?” Muttered yesses and grunts. “If you’re ready to hear who won the debates, say yay-ah!” Now I’ve got some kids shouting back at me. I raise my voice and enthusiasm. “If you’re ready to hear who won the debates, stomp your feet!” This time there’s a chorus of stomps. “If you’re ready to hear who won the debates… shut up and stop talking so I can tell you.” Gales of laugher, and I know I’ve got them.

I draw out the announcements for full dramatic effect. “In the debate between X from school Y and A from school B, the winner is X. Team A, please come up to collect your trophies.” Repeat for the other three quarterfinal rounds. With each name announced, there’s uproarious cheering from one part of the room and groans from another.

Immediately after I announce the last of the results, one of the alumni judges rushes the stage. “Andrew! Andrew!” I lean over to talk to him. “You got that one wrong. You said the wrong team.” My stomach falls. He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t sure, but I ask him anyway. “Yes I’m certain, I judged it myself. That’s the team I voted for,” he says, pointing to the girls currently on stage collecting quarterfinalist trophies.

“Stay on stage a moment, ladies,” I tell them. They freeze, confused. “Let’s bring the other team up here as well.” Two boys in the front row, grinning from ear to ear, collect a few high fives as they come up on stage. “Guys, I’m really sorry, I just made a huge mistake. The other team are actually the winners.” The girls shriek with delight, while the boy’s teammates howl with laughter and point.

The boys, to their tremendous credit, take it like champs. They shake my hand and accept my sincere apologies gracefully. They hug their opponents as they take the quarterfinalist trophies. I’m embarrassed, but it could have been much worse if the judge hadn’t caught my error. The wrong team advancing to the semifinals would have been a disaster that couldn’t be undone.

Semifinals

Now, at last, the hard part is over. There’s a bit of a scramble to find judges for the semifinals, since it’s getting late and many volunteers are going home, but the time pressure is off. A good 70% of the students and coaches will leave now, and the atmosphere will be much more relaxed. It’s almost anticlimactic the way things quiet down even as the most important debates take place. It’s actually reminiscent of the atmosphere last days of the WSOP main event (thinly veiled brag), with most of the fanfare has wrapped up even though the stakes are the highest.

These kids don’t leave a lot of food behind, but lucky for me the vegetarian sandwiches are the least popular. I finally have time to get a meal and chat with the other volunteers. Much like many of our debaters, Elbert grew up in a poor family and joined the debate team at a high school that was otherwise rather lackluster, academically. He credits debate with opening his eyes to the world and getting him into college. He now works for the Federal Reserve combating fraud in military meal cards.

Finals

There are only six semifinal debates, so tabulating those results and pairing the three final rounds (one in each division) is a breeze. I decide to finally watch a bit of one of these debates I’ve been scheduling all day, so I sit in on the beginning of the Varsity finals.

It’s not a coincidence that two of the three students in the whole tournament whom I know are debating in this round. They are a brother and sister team, she a senior and he a junior, with a combined seven years of debate experience between them. They are also the only two white students at a high school in Roxbury, Boston’s historically black neighborhood where Malcolm X once lived. I don’t know their whole story or how they ended up there, but I have feeling that this experience has a lot to do with their facility for arguing.

“Tom” speaks first, delivering an eight-minute speech in favor of reviving the US space shuttle program. Apparently this is essential to secure US hegemony and eventually colonize space, ensuring the survival of the human race even in the event of catastrophe here on earth.

If you’ve never seen competitive policy debate, you have no idea how much can be said in eight minutes. Tom is nowhere near the fastest, but he is nevertheless spitting out more than two hundred words per minute. Contrary to popular opinion, policy debate is not about public speaking. It’s about logic, evidence, and refutation, and there’s strong incentive to make as many arguments as possible in your allotted time.

The Negative team, two African-American girls from a high school in South Boston, does not look familiar to me, but they know their stuff. “Melissa” calls into question the ideology of colonization. According to her, the very idea is premised on notions of European superiority and entitlement to rule the entire world, dangerous ideas that ought not be extended into space. She also talks about budget cuts that funding the Affirmative’s plan might entail, but it’s evident that the critique of colonialism is the real meat of her team’s strategy.

The other two girls deliver their speeches, clashing over the meaning of colonialism and its importance relative to the threat of human extinction. These are strong speeches, but nothing remarkable.

It is Melissa who blows me away the next time she takes the “podium”, which is really just a chair stacked on top of a desk. Her team’s colonialism argument, though interesting, rests on some pretty complicated philosophical foundations. It’s a topic I’ve rarely seen argued well by college debaters, let alone by students at a high school that struggles to meet state literacy standards.

Yet Melissa knows what she’s talking about. She quotes William Spanos applying Foucault’s critique of disciplinary power to US foreign policy. She explains, clearly and in her own words, the parallels between the bloody European conquest of Africa, Asia, and the Americas and the Affirmative’s proposed colonization of space. It’s one of the best speeches I’ve ever seen in a BDL debate, and though I leave before the final three speeches, I have a sneaking suspicion that the round is over.

I head back down to the tab room to await the results of the Novice and JV finals. The less experienced debaters tend to finish their rounds more quickly, and sure enough they are waiting eagerly in the cafeteria for their results when the Varsity students finally finish.

An impressive number of debaters have stuck around. In addition to the twelve who were still competing in the finals, roughly twice that many friends and teammates remained to watch, learn, and cheer them on. The debate I watched was packed with spectators eager to learn from two of the best teams in the League at the top of their game.

Conversation drops off quickly when I walk purposefully to the front of the cafeteria. I announce the names of both teams who competed in the Novice finals and have them come stand next to me. They are all new to the activity, and while of course it’s exciting to be doing well, winning isn’t something they’ve dreamed of and worked at for months or years. A panel of three judges decided unanimously for the Negative, who cheer and hug each other as I distribute trophies.

Next I stand the JV finalists on either side of me. Once again, it’s a 3-0 decision for the Negative. The cheering is a little louder this time, and the disappointment of the Affirmative team more evident.

Things get really tense when I call up the Varsity debaters. “In the debate between New Mission High School and Excel High School,” I begin. You could hear a pin drop. Melissa is shaking nervously. I know that the brother and sister team have won tournaments before, but for all I know this could be a first for Melissa and her partner. I shuffle the three ballots in my hand. “Let’s see, here’s one ballot for the Negative.” Melissa starts squirming even more.

“Aaaand, oop, here’s one for the Affirmative!” I say with mock surprise, as though I haven’t already looked to see who won. The audience picks up on what I’m doing to the poor debaters and laughs knowingly. “So I guess this final ballot will decide it.” I pause and smile, to more laughter from the audience and almost uncontrollable shaking from Melissa and her partner. “The final judge voted Negative, meaning…” but the rest of my words are drowned out by squeals and shrieks as the two girls embrace.

Tom and his sister smile politely. They’re disappointed, but they’re one of the best teams in the League, and they know they’ll be back. They hug and congratulate their opponents as I thank everyone for coming and wish them luck in the next debate. A few of the coaches, on the way out, thank me for keeping things running smoothly. “Glad to be of help,” I tell them.

Saskatchewan limped UTG again, Belgium limped behind, and I raised to 1,000 with A4o in the CO. This raise really blurs the line between “value” and “making a move”, since I do expect to win often with a continuation bet but I also think A4 is ahead of both of their ranges. Essentially I’ve got position and the best hand, so even though it might be tricky to play post-flop, I don’t see how raising can be bad. Saskatchewan joked about how “you internet guys don’t allow limping” and called, and Belgium called as well. They both checked a K83 rainbow, I bet 1,600, Saskatchewan folded, and Belgium quickly raised to 5,100. I was sure he was making a move, so I considered my options.

This trip report focuses almost exclusively on the poker. If you want to read about the rest of the trip, check out Hello, Goodbye, Team Online.

As always, please let me know what you think!

There are 174 high school students registered for the debate tournament I am running this weekend. Roughly 135 will actually show up to compete, but not all of those 135 will be among those who registered in advance. These students will compete Friday evening and all day Saturday. Most of them will, anyway – a few show up, without warning, on only one day or the other. Just as many will be competing simultaneously at another of our schools, most of which are not large enough to host so many debates at once. That other school is not my responsibility at all.

About half as many middle schoolers will debate in their own separate competition at my school on Saturday only. They are kind of but not really my responsibility.

When I stepped down, three and a half years ago, as executive director of the Boston Debate League (BDL), we were lucky to get 40 kids at a tournament. Obviously there was no need to spread them out across two sites. There were no middle school debaters.

There were no paid employees, either, unless you count the alumni of the league to whom I paid a small stipend to judge at competitions. We had a lot of volunteers, some of them quite committed, but I still did virtually everything myself. The new Executive Director was the BDL’s first full-time employee.

When he told me that he’d be out of town this weekend, I jumped at the chance to help out by directing the tournament at one of its two locations. Running tournaments was my favorite part of running the BDL. They were a high that invigorated me to push through the often boring work of fundraising, volunteer and Board recruitment, and league administration. I found an old blog entry from my days as director, in which I described the tournament experience thusly:

“All of this logistical work occurs amidst a blur of commotion: stomping feet, pounding music, beeping timers, and the din of young voices echoing through the vast hallways of this big brick schoolhouse. I puzzle over the constantly shifting matrix of school names and student initials, all the while incorporating last minute changes, pointing late arrivals vaguely in the direction of the auditorium, where donuts and coffee await them, and fending off unimportant inquiries and requests to “hurry, the students are getting restless.” It is as demanding as playing eight tables of poker at once, and I love every second of it.”

This tournament is much larger than the ones I used to run, but I’m not doing it alone. There’s a volunteer working the tournament tabulation program on a BDL-owned computer, another volunteer manning the judge desk, and two employees handling the logistics of feeding all these students, setting up awards, and otherwise ensuring that things run smoothly.

It’s a little unclear, at first, what exactly my role is aside from overseeing all this activity. It soon becomes clear, though, that none of these individuals is sufficiently experienced to know how to resolve efficiently and effectively the multitude of little issues that always arise at these tournaments.

For example, Elbert, the volunteer on the computer, has used the tabulation program only once before. It would surely be faster for me simply to take over for him, since I have to tell him how to do most things anyway, but I won’t be at future tournaments and he will. He’s a capable and dedicated volunteer, and time invested in on-the-job training for him is well worth it, even if it can get frustrating when things get hectic.

Things get hectic very quickly. Over the next hour and a half, debaters and their coaches trickle into the host school’s cafeteria where several aluminum trays stuffed with salad and pasta await them. My first job is to find the coaches and compare the roster they submitted earlier in the week with the list of students now physically present in the building. For the most part they’re ready with quick and clear information, but there are always a few question marks, students who are supposed to be coming but not yet here.

As I collect updated data from each school, I bring it back to the tabulation room (“tab room”, from now on) and help Elbert make the necessary changes. Everything goes smoothly enough except that five minutes before the pairings for the first round are to be released, one school has not yet arrived. I get the coach on the phone, introduce myself, and have her tell me how many teams she’ll have competing. We can figure out the names later; for now I just need the numbers to get the round paired.

In policy debate, students compete in teams of two. Thus, a school that brings ten students would usually have five teams. A school with nine students would also have five teams, with one student debating “maverick” or by himself. A school with ten students could actually have six teams, if two of their students aren’t getting along and insist on both debating solo. We discourage it, but it’s been known to happen.

The BDL offers three divisions of competition: Varsity, Junior Varsity, and Novice. The latter is a new addition since my departure, and to be honest I’m not clear on the distinction between Novice and JV. For my purposes, it doesn’t matter. I just need to know that they are distinct.

We’ll have two debate rounds, each about an hour and a half long, tonight. Teams will be paired randomly for these two rounds, with the caveat that teams from the same school will not be matched against each other.

There is one, very broad topic that students debate for the entire year. This year it has to do with the US federal government’s role in space exploration. Everyone must argue both for and against such exploration. If you’re Affirmative, arguing for it, the first round, then you’ll be Negative in the second. The computer, thankfully, handles all of this for us.

Elbert and I update team information for the school that is just now arriving and quickly print a pairing for the first round, just in time for the opening announcements. The cafeteria is large and bustling, and when it gets as quiet as it’s going to get I still have to shout to be heard. “Welcome to Tech Boston Academy! Thank you all for coming out to compete today. My name is Andrew, and I used to be the director of the League. I’m really excited to be here today, and I’m simply amazed by how many of you there are here. In my day we were lucky to get 30 or 40 debaters. I’m posting pairings now. Please make your way to your rooms immediately, rounds need to be underway in fifteen minutes.”

Two hundred students, coaches, and judges converge on the sheets of paper even before I’m finished taping them up on the wall. The complaints are quick to follow. “What team am I on?” “Do we have keys?”

The pairings identify teams by school name and a letter: “Tech Boston A”, for example. This is a change from my time, and one whose logic I don’t understand. Apparently students and coaches don’t yet know which team is which and need the tab room to give them a “key” that identifies which students are on which team. Elbert runs back to the computer to print these, and the coaches follow. Ultimately this is a set-back of less than minutes.

The bigger problem is that the judge table hasn’t done a great job of checking-in judges as they arrive. This means that we have only a vague idea of which of our registered judges is and is not actually here and available to judge a debate. We need at minimum one judge for every two teams, which means 35 judges for each round. Judging is technically part of the coaches’ job description, but they hate doing it and do have better things to do, so we use volunteers as much as possible. The drawback of this is that they can’t always be counted upon to show up when they say they will, and there’s nothing we can do if they don’t.

All we can do is put out ballots with the name of the judge scheduled to be in each round and then see which ones get picked up. We instruct all the other volunteers to stand nearby, ready to fill in as needed for those who aren’t actually present. This means that the last rounds to start are a good twenty minutes behind the first, and by the time I and one of the BDL employees walk the halls to ensure that each debate is actually underway, the round is half over.

Thankfully, Round 2 is paired randomly, meaning that the outcome of Round 1 won’t influence it and we can get started on it immediately. In fact, Elbert already has this underway when I get back to the tab room. What he doesn’t have is up-to-date information about which judges are here, which means that we once again have to do the print-and-substitute-as-needed method of judge assignment.

Still, Round 2 gets underway without too much drama, and then it’s time to enter the results from Round 1. We have to record both which team of two won and lost each debate and also speaker points awarded to each of the four students in the debate based on the quality of their individual performance. At the end of the day on Saturday, we’ll give awards to both the teams with the best win-loss records and the individual students with the highest speaker points.

Round 3 is going to be power-paired off of the first two rounds, meaning that teams that won their first two debates will be paired with other teams who also won their first two debates. Thus, we can’t begin pairing Round 3 until all of the results from Round 2 are in. Round 2 is the last one of the night, so students and coaches depart as they finish, until finally only the four of us remain at the school, working diligently in the tab room to prepare for tomorrow.

Elbert and I finish up the Round 3 pairing, which we know will have to change depending on which judges and debaters actually show up tomorrow. Meanwhile one of the other BDL employees sets up another computer and printer for the middle school administrators to use. I can tell from his sighs that it isn’t going well. “I keep getting this printer error,” he tells me.

I take over for him and mess around haphazardly with the printer configuration for a few minutes. He leaves the room to finish cleaning up the food in the cafeteria. I unplug and replug the printer’s USB cable. He returns to the sound of printing. “You’re a genius,” he tells me with a clap on the back. We’ve got the first, shorter day of the tournament under our belts.

While I’m amending recent blog posts, I also have to admit to backsliding on my “don’t judge assholes” philosophy. I split a cab with fellow PokerStars Team Online member Andre Coimbra, whose flight was half an hour before mine, so I got to the airport plenty early. That was good, because the customs line was massive and there were only two agents working it. People all around me were just losing their minds with frustration.

When I got to the front of the line after nearly an hour of waiting, I heard someone say “Next!” I looked around but didn’t see an open station. I did see someone stepping up to one of the stations for non-US citizens, so I assumed that was what I heard and went back to waiting. Someone behind me shouted, not gently, “Over there!” I looked around again, saw the open station, and started walking towards it. As I did, someone else shouted, “Get over there, kid!”

My first instinct was to get flustered. I had, after all, made a mistake that slowed the line down by several seconds. But I forced myself to take a deep breath and calm down. I didn’t stop walking, but I did turn my head and slowly scan the line behind me until I saw the person who’d shouted. I could tell it was him because he was still red in the face and waving his arms at me. You could tell he was the sort of guy who shouts at strangers in the airport. I met his eye for a minute, smiled broadly at him, and then went about my business. I know it would have been better to ignore him, but I must admit it felt good to needle him.

Speaking of which the customs agent gave me the needle when I finally found him. Our conversation went something like this:

“Traveling by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing down here by yourself?”

“Playing poker at the Atlantis.”

“What place did you finish?”

“Nothing good enough to remember.”

“How much cash do you have with you?”

“About five thousand dollars.”

“How much cash did you come down here with?”

“About eight thousand dollars.”

“So you lost?”

“Thanks for rubbing it in.”

“Go ahead.”

So kind of an unpleasant start to my day, though I had a nice chat with Andre in the cab and he gave me one of the (very expensive) pictures he bought from one of our PSTO dinners. Also I’m playing peek-a-boo with a little girl a few rows down from me in the terminal and I’m returning from what was all in all a great week in the Bahamas, so it’s all good.

For as long as I’ve had this blog, I’ve started every year with a series of posts about my poker-related goals and resolutions, and I’ve ended every year by assessing the progress I made towards them. I set goals for 2011– my most ambitious ever, actually- but now it seems pointless to even look at them, as Black Fridayrendered them more or less irrelevant.  The best laid plans of mice and men, eh?

I’m not really in a place to start setting poker goals for this year, either, since I have no idea what the year will look like for me, poker-wise or otherwise. Not since my final semester of college have I felt this level of anxiety and uncertainty about my future. Those Big Questions are back: Where will I live? What will I do? Who will the people around me be?

I’ve spent the last week and and a half fending off questions, some idle and some concerned, at various gatherings of friends and family. My recent life as a nomadic poker professional was strange enough to them that they’ve learned to accept without alarm the fact that I don’t know where I’m going to be two weeks from now.

Online poker made enough mainstream headlines that random aunts and uncles knew something had happened. Explaining everything that’s happened to online poker and to me in the last eight months is a mouthful that hasn’t gotten much shorter despite the amount of practice I’ve had spelling it all out.

I want to be clear that I’m “anxious” rather than “worried” or “depressed”. There really aren’t bad outcomes, which is very reassuring. Making big decisions is stressful regardless, but it is considerable consolation to feel confident that everything will work out in the end.

The two big advantages that I have over my 21-year-old self are money and experience. I graduated from college with $10,000 in the bank, $50,000 in student loans, no job, and no plan. OK, I had a bit of a plan, but it was a stupid one.

I never would have predicted it, but poker proved to be the missing ingredient that salvaged that plan. It enabled me to live with my girlfriend in Boston, start a non-profit organization, and travel extensively. What began as a way to make ends meet while searched for a job has blossomed into a full-on career, a phenomenon that was highlighted when I joined PokerStars Team Online. Knowing that I was able to muddle my way through a period of anxiety and make a very satisfying life for myself once before gives me a lot more confidence for this go-round.

The funny thing is that after two years, the whole nomad thing was wearing a bit thin, for me anyway. I wanted a little more stability and to feel at home somewhere. This didn’t make its way on to the blog, but one of my goals for the year was to get more settled somewhere.

Fail. The girlfriend and I returned to Boston intending to settle in place there and work out some big decisions about where to go and what to do in the longer term. Those conversations were taking place in late February and March. You know what happened next.

Suddenly I was driving to Montreal on Easter Sunday to open a Canadian bank account in the hopes that it would facilitate withdrawal of the money I had online. Of course that was before PokerStars painlessly returned US players’ funds and before that other site did the things that it did (or before we realized what was going on there, anyway). There was a last-minute trip to Madrid, and although I didn’t cash in the European Poker Tour main event, my third top-100 finish in the WSOP main event certainly took the edge off of Black Friday. Then two months in the Canadian Rockies, a European road trip, two months in Vancouver (featuring another deep run in a live tournament), camping in Death Valley (do you know anyone else who flies to Las Vegas to take a break from gambling?), then my mother’s house in Maryland for the holidays and some undefined period thereafter. You can imagine how quickly family members’ initial concern for my professional well-being melts away when they hear that list of “hardships”.

The only advantage that 21-year-old Andrew possessed over the man I am now was having his twenties ahead of him. Before all the 30-, 40-, and 50-somethings start rolling their eyes, let me clarify that I don’t feel old in the sense that my best years are behind me or that I’ll never have the chance to do all those things I wanted to or anything like that. As usual, David Foster Wallace captures the feeling far better than I could:

I am now 33 years old, and it feels like much time has passed and is passing faster and faster every day. Day to day I have to make all sorts of choices about what is good and important and fun, and then I have to live with the forfeiture of all the other options those choices foreclose. And I’m starting to see how as time gains momentum my choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until I arrive at some point on some branch of all life’s sumptuous branching complexity at which I am finally locked in and stuck on one path and time speeds me through stages of stasis and atrophy and decay until I go down for the third time, all struggle for naught, drowned by time.

OK, it gets a little too dark there at the end. My own feeling is that, “It’s not too late but it soon will be”. I’ve managed to make remarkably few major decisions or long-term commitments in the last eight years, but that’s starting to feel less tenable.

As a poker player, my instinct is always to gather more information, and there’s still so much we don’t know about the Whos, Whats, Whens, Wheres, and Hows of online poker in the US. Whether not I’ll be able to supplement my income by playing online poker has huge implications for what I do and where and how I live.

Poker has also taught me to play the hand I’m dealt and accept that the eventual outcome may not be under my control. At the moment, I’m looking no more than a few weeks into the future. I’ve got a few more days in Maryland, then I’ll be in the Bahamas for the PokerStars Caribbean Adventure, then it’s a little vaguer but possibly visiting friends and family in some combination of Maryland, New York, and Florida, then in Boston for a Boston Debate League tournament, and then… well, that’s still a work in progress.

Skimming a year’s worth of posts actually turned up a quote that should conclude this little rant nicely. It’s from one of Jared Tendler’s post-Black Friday blog posts, and I originally quoted it in my own post-Black Friday post:

Right now you’re looking for answers. The problem is that some of you are so desperate for answers you’ll listen to almost anything or anyone. That desperation is very similar to feeling desperate to win. You’ll do almost anything to shake this feeling because the uncertainty is almost too much to handle.

The reality is that there aren’t many answers out there right now. If you try to force an answer too soon, you’ll be making the same mistake if you were forcing the action because you need to win money right now. You have to stick to a sound and logical strategy.

Happy New Year, everyone. Let’s make it a good one.

Loose-aggressive play has become so common among the best players that many of them tend to assume that anyone who doesn’t open 50% of hands from the CO can’t be all that good. No American in the tournament is going to be bad, since we all had to travel quite a ways to play, but I think that playing the way I did gave the impression that I was merely competent and perhaps uncomfortable in deep-stacked spots. That’s a fine image to have as long as you know how to exploit it by stealing in spots they don’t expect.

As always, please let me know what you think!

Norm was the first to go. I heard him walking behind my seat on the way to the payout station, muttering about “Ace-Queen against Ace-King”, and that was the last I saw of him. We actually lost three more players in the first half hour, one of whom I eliminated with A4s > KQo.

There were more players than I realized still in the tournament with whom I had no experience. To my left was “Scott”, a hometown hero from Chilliwack with an Irish accent and an inexplicably large cheering section, all of whom were wearing matching “It Could Happen” jackets and shouting loudly whenever he won a pot. Scott eliminated one of the other early departures and was pretty obnoxious about it, getting nervous and calling for cards even as an overwhelming favorite and then celebrating vigorously when his hand held up.

He was also a human tellbox. I don’t see a lot of them, but guys like Scott make me glad that I read Caro’s Book of Tells. His bet sizing gave away a lot, and on top of that he liked to sigh and act frustrated with good hands but play with chips and act strong when he planned to fold.

I’d been hearing about this guy throughout the tournament, though this was my first time sitting with him. Apparently he’d been among the chipleaders throughout the tournament thanks to making an abnormally large number of full houses, often against opponents holding lower full houses. When I’d hit the milliion chip mark the previous day, he was the one guy in the room who still made my stack seem large. Everything about him, from his behavior to his bet sizing to the way he handled his chips, suggested a rank amateur on a heater. This was confirmed when I watched him call an UTG raise from a tight player, then raise a continuation bet and call a shove on an A96 flop. Naturally he was behind Ace-King, a mistake that cost him about a third of his stack. He looked pretty despondent after that.

For my own part, things were going well. In addition to the hand where I eliminated a player, I won a small one by calling a small raise from a young player in the HJ with AJo. I checked and called a bet on a Q82 flop, we both checked a J turn, and then I checked and called a K river. He announced Ace-high and I showed, but in retrospect I think it would have been good to see what he’d raised me with, since I didn’t have much of a feel for how he played.

The next time I tangled post-flop, a guy named Adam who I’d played with previously and knew to be good opened for a small raise from MP. The same kid from last hand called in the CO, and I took a flop with 96s.

It came Kh 9d 6d. Bink. I checked, Adam 40K, the kid folded, and I made it 100K, wanting to give him room to shove his remaining 400K on me with a straight or flush draw. He did shove, and it turned out he had both a straight and a flush draw with 8d 7d. To make matter worse, another player told me, when I turned my cards over, that he folded a 9 and a 6. That left me drawing pretty slim when the Qd came on the turn, and suddenly I was short stacked.

That hand left me with about 350K at 8K/16K/1500. Twentyish BBs is an awkward stack size for stealing, so while I picked up a pot or two, I was mostly card dead and got ground down to about 290K. I hadn’t yet shoved, not on a steal or a resteal, but I was thinking it was about time to start. Then finally, for the first time all tournament, I picked up a pair of Aces. I shoved. Everyone folded.

This was a mistake. I’m not generally a fan of doing shady stuff with AA that you wouldn’t do with any other hand, but in this case my stack wasn’t so small that a min-raise would be suspicious. In fact I’d made a few with only a slightly larger stack before, whereas I’d never open shoved. Moreover, only two of the four players behind me had any chance of picking up on a sizing tell like that and doing anything about it.

Based on how quickly everyone folded, I doubt I would have gotten any action anyway. No one was even curious how much I’d shoved. However, the shove may have influenced what happened next.

I folded for another orbit, grinding my stack back down to where it had been before the Aces. With five minutes left in the level, this was a critical moment for me. Once I paid my blinds and the stakes jumped to 10K/20K/2K, I stood to lose my ability to resteal. After open raising to 40-50K, my opponents would be hard pressed to fold for just 200K more. There was a lot incentive for me to make a move now.

I posted my big blind. I watched Scott look at his cards. No reaction, but he raised to just 35K, which meant he didn’t have a premium hand. Those were worth 3BBs or so to him. I resolved to shove him with anything decent. The action folded to me. I looked down at KTo and announced “All in.”

Without a count or a second thought, Scott said, “Call” and turned over KQo. It was exactly the sort of hand I expected him to have, and while it wasn’t a bad call, it wasn’t one I expected him to make for half his stack, especially not so quickly. He clapped his hands in excitement when he saw that he had me dominated, and again when his Queen came on the flop. Aside from that he was a good sport, though. He offered no further celebration and shook my hand.

A floorman arrived to escort me to the payout station. As we walked, he said to me with a knowing smile, “Wow, he just snap-called you with that King-Queen, huh?

I just checked the results of the tournament. I don’t think I ever played with Rajdeep Pooni, the eventual winner. Adam took 2nd, and Lee, another of the best players I encountered, finished 3rd. Scott final tabled but busted in 9th. My own 13th place finish was good for $15,000. This was a convenient time for a CAD score, because my Canadian bank account was getting low and transferring money from the US usually costs about 3%, so it was nice to get an infusion of local currency. All in all it was a fun tournament and a nice window into the Canadian poker scene.

Such a great day! Where to begin? My day actually started around 9:30. Emily was sick and needed some things from the grocery store, so I biked over to the Whole Foods (I told you we’re in the yuppy district!) before leaving for the casino. It was a beautiful morning. The sun is slow to rise this time of year in Vancouver, so the day still had an early morning freshness to it. The sky was clear but the ground wet from the previous day’s rain, so everything sparkled. Our place is on top of a hill, so I could see down past the red and gold trees to downtown and to the mountains beyond.

The lovely ride and crisp air put me in a good mood, and after dropping off the groceries, I walked off smiling to the bus stop. It’s so nice being able to play a live poker tournament but still sleep in your own home and just take public transportation to and from work like any other commuter. I could see the bus approaching from a block away and so sprinted for it, very nearly falling on my face in the process. I really thought it was a sure thing that I was going down face-first, don’t know how I managed to keep my feet. I made it, though, and as I boarded the bus I thought, “Hope that’s the only time I run bad all day.”

It wasn’t, but it was a good day anyway. My table was relatively soft, though my buddy Steve was with me again, our third table together. I was pleased to find Riley on my left. To his left was a mountain of a man named Norm. He was like 6’5 and thickly built, with a weather-beaten face, a full head of shoulder-length hair, a thick mustache, and a rough, booming voice. The best way to picture him is to imagine that George Thorogood and Lunch Lady Doris had a child who was raised by yetis and fed only broken glass. He was intimidating as hell but thankfully very friendly and nice, all around a really cool guy who made the table a lot of fun.

Norm brought a beer to the table with him when we started up at noon, and he had a woman, pretty in an aging barfly sort of way, bringing him beers throughout the day. I asked if she was his wife and he deadpanned, “My wife’s at home,” but later told me he was recently divorced. The drinking generally made him more entertaining. The only drawback was that he liked to bump fists whenever he won a pot, and the more he drank, the harder his bumps got. I was legitimately afraid that his massive fists, easily twice the size of mine, were going to break my fingers.

Riley and Norm were both good enough to agree to pictures, though neither of them came out that well. Steve saw me taking Riley’s picture and said, “What is this, Riley is a celebrity now? Can I take your picture too, Riley?”

“Sure, but don’t jerk off to it.”

“Jesus, why would you say that? Have you done that?”

“Oh ya.”

“To a picture of yourself?”

“To picture of you! I come on your face! Ahahahaha.”

I feel like this just comes across as crude in print, but in person Riley has this impish charisma that makes him seem playful rather than coarse.

The pro’s from CanadaPoker got a much better shot of Riley and Norm than the ones I took with my camera phone:

The day got off to a good start pokerwise. Blinds were 200/4000/300, and I picked up a few smallish pots from short stacks, busting one with AK > AT and another when I min-raised QQ UTG and got two callers, inducing the BB to shove A8s.

I was deep in conversation with Norm when I looked down at my cards and found KQo. I shut up, perked up, and looked to see what had happened in front of me. Steve had opened to 9000 UTG+1 and looked to have about 120K behind. KQ didn’t seem good enough to call, but stacks were good for a 3-bet. I had some reservations after 3-betting him so much the previous day, but I was also aware that I probably gave off some strong tells when I looked at my hand. That settled it, and I popped him to 20K. He agonized for a while and folded.

At 1500/3000/300, I opened to 7500 with J9s in middle position. Norm, not seeing that I raised, tried to put out a raise that turned into a call, and the BB came along as well. The flop was T83, giving me an open-ended draw and an overcard to the board. I bet 16K, Norm raised to 35K, the BB folded, and I shoved and took it down.

Meanwhile Steve had gotten short enough to where he was shoving pre-flop. He shoved 25K from early position and I picked him off with Ah 9h only to lose to his Qh T. Then a few orbits and lost pots later he shoved 30K that I called with 55, losing to his KJo.

At 4K/8K/500 I raised to 18K with Jd 8d and called by the BB. He checked and quickly called 22K on a Td 9c 4d flop. The turn was a K, and he checked again. I considered barreling, but his stack was pretty ideal to check-shove, which would be a disaster, so I checked it back. The river was an A, and he quickly checked again. Arguably I should bluff now, but I actually put him on Ace-high on the flop and was planning on bluffing a lot of blank river, so I checked this one back. He showed 88 and I felt a little silly, since it probably was mine for the taking on the turn or river.

There was another pot at that level where one of the better players at the table opened to 18K and got called by a guy who only had about 200K to start the hand but was probably calling too wide of a range given that fact. I woke up with KQo in the BB and popped it to 58K, intending to fold to the initial raiser but reluctantly call a shove from the other guy. In the end I got what I wanted and they both folded.

At 5K/10K/1K I raised to 22K with 66 in early position and got called by the BB. On a K52 flop I put out a suspiciously small bet of 24K hoping to induce floats and other weak calls. He called. We both checked a J turn, and then he bet 24K on a 9 river that completed a backdoor flush. It didn’t take me long to call, since my whole plan on the flop was to induce a bluff, but I raised a few eyebrows. Naturally I was right.

By this time I had such a badass image that people weren’t going out of their way to tangle with me. Quite a few times, the button open folded and left me to slug out from either the SB or BB. As the BB, I got three walks, folded once to a SB raise, and called one SB raise after which he check-folded the flop.

Riley was in the BB when I was in the SB, and he did not like to fold pre-flop. The first time I raised him he barely looked at his cards before calling, and I ended up check-folding the flop. I gave him a walk or two after that, then picked up AK and raised to 3.5x. He re-raised and agonized when I shoved on him, finally folding A4o face-up. “You were in bad shape,” I told him.

“That’s OK,” he assured me. “I like to get it in behind and suck out. That’s my style.” So that gives you an idea of what he thought of me and provided some context for our next blind battle.

I raised to 30K with Ad Js at 5K/10K/1K, he called, and I bet 30K on an Ah 7c 7h flop. He quickly raised to 60K. I stared hard and made it 100K. He quickly shoved for 325K and I beat him into the pot with my call. He looked so excited when I called that I asked him, “You have trips?” He turned over Kh 5h. “You seemed pretty excited to get called,” I said as I tabled my hand.

“I told you, I get it in behind and suck out!”

“There’s no one I’d rather lose to, Riley.”

“Me too, me too,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. My hand held up, and that was the end of Riley.

I already had a big stack, and that was a big pot, so after it I think I was probably 2nd or 3rd overall with more than 1 million chips. It didn’t last long. I dropped 160K getting it in with AKo vs. ATs from a short stack and losing. Then towards the very end of the day, I got QQ all-in pre-flop against AA and lost 360K. Despite that, I ended the day with 500K, which was about 110% of average. There were only 18 players remaining, and a lot of the people I was most worried about at the start of the day (Scott Clements, Shawn Buchanan, Steve) had gone out, so I felt good. There’s a temptation to dwell on unfortunate things that happened, but plenty had gone well for me, too, and all in all it was a great day.

I did more than my part to bust out the short stacks, waking up with AQ in my big blind when someone shoved KQ and then with QQ when an even shorter stack 3-bet shoved TT. I shot up from 50K to 90K and took the liberty of opening a few more pots. At 300/600/50, I opened to 1300 with T8s and the BB defended. He quickly bet out at an A94 flop, but I called him with nothing but my backdoor draw and he check-folded the turn. The next orbit I raised him again with QTs. He quickly shoved 6600, and I did some quick math to determine that it was close but I had enough chips to establish a “don’t shove on me” image. I called and was pleasantly surprised to see his Q3s, which did not get there.

The table got tougher as empty seats were filled by tough players with lots of chips. The only one I recognized was Matt “Ch0ppy” Kay, who I first met on Day 6 of this year’s WSOP main event, but I could tell the others were good because they all knew each other, and not just from playing locally. They would laugh and groan collectively as yet another sicko arrived carrying an armload of chips.

Among all these male hotshots came also Lacey Jones. I’ve perused her pictures and never thought she was all that special, but in person she was pretty captivating. On top of that she came across as really nice and humble, making her an all-around pleasure at the table. I was almost disappointed to bust her with 55 > 87s.

My biggest win of the day came against one of the tough new players, who was sitting two seats to my left. We were playing 400/800/50 , and I opened to 1600 with QJo on my button. He defended from the BB, and we both checked a J98r flop. He bet 2600 on a 6 turn, and I called. The river was another J, he checked, and I bet 6600.

Here’s where things got interesting. He quickly raised to 24,500, and my first instinct was to fold, because I only beat a bluff (actually he could be on JT for value but that didn’t occur to me at the time) and you don’t see a lot of river check-raise bluffs. This was a good player, though, and after a bit of thought I realized a few things. First, this is about the strongest hand I’ll ever have ever, since I’m not likely to check Jacks up or better on the flop. I suppose AJ or KJ would be slightly better bluff-catchers, since they beat a bit more of his value range (though I’m not confident he’d go for a check-raise with KJ anyway), but it’s not a big difference.

Second, he may not expect me to have trips in my range at all. If he assumes I’d always bet top pair, then he can really check-raise the river with impunity.

Finally, holding a J gives me a significant blocker to his value range. So I called, and he told me I was good. This was another of those spots where it was interesting to see how others at the table responded to the call. One guy seemed surprised that I had to think about it all, whereas another told me, “Nice call,” and seemed genuinely impressed.

One of the new whiz kids at the table was a 25-year old Vancouverite named Steve who made a compelling case that we’d played together at the NAPT Venetian a few years ago, though I had no recollection of this. He played very well and was opening pots at the appropriate times, so I started 3-betting him in position.

The first time was with A2o on my Button. He called, we both checked a K64 flop, and he check-folded a J turn.

The second time I had AJo. He opened to 3500, I made it 9000, and he called. We both checked a QJ4 flop, he bet 11K on a K turn, and I folded. My intention was to fold most turns, but that was a particularly bad one. Among other things, I think his range is mostly broadway cards and pocket pairs- I’m behind the former and I doubt he bets the latter. He was really insistent that we talk about this hand at the end of the day and told me he had QQ, which would explain why he was so eager to know what I had.

The third time I had JJ, and he pointed out what a fish he was for continuing to flat call me as he flat called my 9000 raise. We both checked an A76 flop. The turn was a 4, and I considered betting, but I’m actually not sure I’m ahead of his calling range plus there’s a chance he could check-raise bluff me, so I checked it back. The river was a 5, and he checked again. I thought for a long while and was near-certain I had the best hand but still wasn’t sure how often he could call with worse (only TT and 99 I think), so I checked. I was so sure I was good that I said, “I’m such a coward,” as I turned my cards over, but he thumped the table in frustration and showed me 88 for the rivered straight.

There was one other big pot that I played in here that I’m saving for a “What’s Your Play?“, so maybe I’ll edit this to add in the details after that’s over.

The next pot after that one was costly. Blinds were 600/1200/100, and I had KQo in the BB. A guy I’d chatted with during break, who’d made clear he was an amateur, raised to 3200 UTG+2 with about 18K behind. Against some people I’d just shove here, but I didn’t think he was opening all that wide, so I elected to call. If I really think his range is that tight, folding might actually be better.

The flop was 346. He counted out 3400 chips but pushed the 400 out first, so the dealer made him bet the minimum of 1200. I would have folded but elected to peal for such a small bet. The turn was a Q, I checked, and he shoved. Now again I maybe should have thought a bit more about what I really wanted to do here, since I even told him as I called that, “Your misclick might have just made you 17K” and sure enough he showed Aces.

That put a hurting on me. At my high point I’d had 150K, and now I was back to the 50K I’d started with. The one bit of a good news was that the broke our table, probably the toughest in the room, and I ended up at a softer one, though Steve was still with me and now seated a few seats to my left.

On my immediate left, however, was a hilarious Chinese guy named Riley. It’s very possible that his name was actually Rai Lee or something, since I never saw it in writing and Riley doesn’t sound too Chinese, but I’m going to spell it that way because it’s easier and I don’t know any better. Riley was far and away the funniest guy I’ve ever played with. Partially he just had a presence and charisma that put everyone in the mood to laugh, and partially I just think every joke is funnier when delivered with an accent.

My favorite exchange began when Steve mentioned Tiger Woods. Riley chimed in, “What’s a matter with him? He fock some ugly woman.”

“Yeah, his wife is a smokehouse though.”

“Ya so? If I am 1 billion dollar, all my woman is beautiful.”

Steve laughed. “At least he wasn’t paying for it.”

“When you that rich, you always paying for it. Every woman is professional.” Maybe you had to be there.

Anyway I chipped up a bit, but my comeback really began when the weakest player open limped his button for 2400. The SB completed, and I found AJo on my BB. I raised to 11K, though in retrospect I think just putting 10K on top and making it 12,400 is a little better. The BTN quickly called and the SB folded.

Despite my gutshot, the T87 flop was too good for his limping range, so I checked. He quickly checked behind, which I think screams weakness. The turn brought a K, giving me a double gut shot and a good bluff card, so I bet 15K. My opponent quickly raised to 30K, but I was sure he was weak. At best this was an information/freeze raise designed to find out if he was good and stop me from betting. Having a double gutter just sweetened the deal. I shipped it for 70K total and his cards hit the muck in seconds.

By the end of the day I’d chipped all the way up from 50K to 128K without ever seeing a showdown, and I’d had fun doing it.

Emily and I arrived in Vancouver less than two days before my departure for Europe. I’ve been back for a little over a week now, so I’m just starting to get settled in. It seems like a very cool city: mild climate (for Canada- still chilly, but the notorious rain hasn’t actually been too bad in my limited time here), good public transportation and bike-friendly, wide variety of bars and restaurants, great coffee, and just all around vibrant and lively. I can see why it’s one of the most expensive places to live in North America.

We’re renting a suite in a beautiful house in Kittsilano, which seems to be the yuppy district. Our landlords are a gay couple, one a wiry, frenetic, chain-smoking Frenchman and his partner a much more easy-going Czech. It seems like the Frenchman did most of the decorating, because the house and yard, though very well laid out, are cluttered with kitschy knick-knacks.

The main event of the British Columbia Poker Championship is a $2700 tournament drawing roughly 500 participants, so while it’s not something I would have considered traveling to play, it was well worth half an hour on a bus and a train to get there. It’s a real who’s who of Canadian poker (with the notable absence of Daniel Negreanu), though this year a number of American refugees are vying for the title as well. I am one of these carpetbaggers.

The River Rock Casino is a resort in the Las Vegas mold. It’s not themed, but it takes a page out of the “buy up some cheap land, use the word glamorous a lot, and charge an insane amount of money for everything” book. The building itself is nice-looking, but it occupies what is otherwise an industrial waterfront just across the river from Vancouver, so its neighbors are mostly shipping containers.

The tournament is held in the River Rock theater, where upcoming acts include Bell Biv Devoe, Bachman & Turner, and Chicago. Though the $300 rake already represents more than 11% of the prize pool, they withheld another 2% for the staff, so I don’t think I’ll be leaving anything additional if I cash. If they can’t find a way to compensate their dealers fairly with 13% of the prize pool, that’s their problem.

Vancouver is a very, very Asian. I’d heard that but didn’t really appreciate how true it was until looking around the city a bit. Most of the ads for the River Rock feature Asian players prominently, and a full half of my starting table (we were 10-handed all day) was Asian.

It was a pretty soft table on the whole, and I was happy with it. One of the Asian kids was limp-calling K3o and just generally not folding, but everyone else seemed competent, but for the most part only competent. They seemed to be mostly recreational regulars at the River Rock, though two of them were also part of a contingent of recreational players from Calgary who seemed to make an annual pilgrimage for this event. The Calgary guys seemed like a lot of fun. They had think Canadian accents and kept talking about how they were partying every night of the series. There must have been two dozen of them, and the guy on my left kept calling out new players around the room and insisting that they “come oot with us” tonight.

The first big pot that I won was against one of the better Asian kids. Most of the table was playing very straight-forwardly and conservatively, but this guy was one of two who’d shown a willingness to try to take someone off of a hand. There were two limpers, he limped behind in the CO, I completed A9o in the SB, and the BB checked. The flop came Jc 9c 4h, and we checked around to this kid, who bet 450 into a pot of 1000. I raised to 1650, it folded back to him, and he very quickly made it 6100 with about 5000 behind. I only had 13K to my name, so I wasn’t thrilled about playing such a big pot with middle pair, but I was very sure he was on a draw. Nothing else made sense. I stuck it in, and he had Ac 2c, which was about the best that I could hope for. I faded his nine outs and was off to a good start.

One side benefit of playing a hand like this is that you can learn a bit about your table from how they react. Only one player, a twenty-something who looked familiar and was probably a well-known online player, seemed to understand completely why I would stack off with A9 there. Several people shook their heads and seemed to think I was crazy, which was an image I was happy to have.

Not long after, I called a small raise from the oldest guy at the table with T9o on my big blind. The flop came Jc 8c 3d, I checked, and he bet 925 into 1100. I called because a guy like that will always put me on a flush draw, meaning that I can bluff clubs and get paid if I make my straight. The turn was another 8 and we checked it through. An offsuit Q on the river gave me a straight, and I bet 2800, nearly pot, making sure to toss my chips out there a little bit aggressively. It took him no more than a few seconds to pay me off.

The Asian guy I busted was replaced by a stunningly beautiful Asian woman (sorry, no pics). Her face was mature enough that she could have been as old as 30, though I wouldn’t be surprised if she were younger, and her silky black hair cascaded perfectly down around her shoulders. She came to the table short-stacked and after an orbit or two open shoved three hands in a row. The third time, she put 15 BBs in with KQo and I woke up with KK to bust her.

There had been no lame attempts to flirt with her, perhaps because she was so clearly out of everyone’s league, but as soon as she was gone the guy on my left said to me, “Aw man what’d you have to do that for?”

“Yeah, couldn’t you have just folded Kings?” chimed in another.

I smiled. “I had to get rid of her. I couldn’t concentrate.”

Our table broke soon after that, which I wasn’t thrilled about. By that point it was probably only about average for the room in terms of difficulty, but I also had a good sense of how even the better players were playing. I welcomed the devil I knew and would have preferred not to start over from scratch.

My second table was probably on balance better, but it was more polarized. There were two players there better than anyone at my first table, but also four who were worse than most of my first table. It was probably a step up, but what sealed the deal was that there were a lot of chips at this table. I brought a well-above average stack to the table and was probably 4th or 5th in chips.

Interestingly there were no Asians at this table, though there was an old Greek sporting a neat mustache and dapper fedora. He didn’t talk much but occasionally dispensed these little gems of usually wrong, often non-sensical strategy advice in a sage tone. A much less suave older guy with an Eastern European name sat next to the Greek and across the table from me.

One of the best of my opponents was the ginger on my left, who looked like he was about 14. I came to the table with a lot of small denomination chips, plus people expect me to steal a lot anyway, so my plan was to be quiet for a while and get paid off on big hands. After playing nothing for three orbits I got impatient and opened to 750 at 150/300 with 43s in early middle position. The ginger snap 3-bet to 1650, and I called, and called a bet with bottom pair and a backdoor flush draw. Thankfully the board paired on the turn and I check-folded to another small bet, but that was probably the worst hand I played all day.

The dinner break, such as it was, was weird. We had half an hour, which wasn’t really even enough time to go to the buffet. I bought a salad and some sushi from the casino’s coffee shop (believe me, I had my doubts about casino coffee shop sushi but I figured in a town with such a heavily Asian population it would be a little safer and actually it wasn’t bad) and ate it outside with the smokers. Of course it’s not uncommon to catch a whiff of marijuana during the break of a poker tournament, but in Vancouver it was out of control. At the WSOP people at least walk to the far end of the parking lot and half hide behind a building. These guys were just standing around casually smoking joints and chatting five feet from the valet parking. I guess that’s something else the city is famous for.

In the three hours after dinner I mostly stuck to the game plan of waiting for hands and getting paid. None of them was terribly interesting. Towards the end of the day I made a few 3-bets, twice against the other very good player on my right and once again an older guy who actually raised a lot in late position and whom I’d pegged as the best of the amateurs. He beat me into the pot with a 4-bet shove.

Nevertheless, it was a great day. We started with 15K and I finished with 50K. I think the average is somewhere in the 26K-28K neighborhood. I’ll be heading out the door shortly to play Day 2- wish me luck!

From there we took a subway to Tribunal for some botellon, the fine Spanish tradition of outdoor, public drinking. I’ve never been a big fan of bars, since I’m mostly going to talk to the people I’m going with and could do that more easily and cheaply with drinks at home, but there is something to be said for the atmosphere and for being among people. Botellon is the perfect combination: you’re outside with plenty of other people milling around, but you’re drinking your own alcohol rather than buying it at inflated prices!

The only catch is that while it’s largely ignored by the police, it’s technically illegal. After sitting cross-legged on the ground of the plaza for half an hour or so, drinking cans of beer we bought from roving Chinese merchants with six-packs, Nico suggested that we ought to move along. The police had shown up and did actually seem to be ticketing people.

We sauntered into a club he knew to have live music from time to time, but we didn’t stay too long because there was no band this night. After trying several times to explain to the bartender what a vodka martini was, I settled for a rum and coke. When that was finished, we went back outside to drink in the narrow street just outside the bar. In less than a minute, a Chinese merchant found us and we had beers in hand.

Roughly two hundred people, almost all younger than I, filled the street, retreating to the sidewalks only when the occasional, stubborn motorist slowly forced his way through the mass. Some of those motorists were police, but none showed any interest in the hundreds of open beer cans or the smell of marijuana that occasionally wafted by. The beer merchants were omnipresent when you wanted them but never pushy when you didn’t- they’d walk by saying, “Cerveza, cerveza!” but always in a way that made clear they were doing a brisk business with or without you.

A sudden shriek and splash of water interrupted our revelry. An old woman in a nightgown was out on her terrace four stories above us, dumping water in the general direction of the open-air fiesta. It wasn’t hard to sympathize with her: it was 3AM, the noise from the crowd was surely intruding into her apartment in a serious way, and it was clear that the street would be a mess in the morning.

Still, her aerial assault proved counterproductive. Everyone thought it was hilarious and began cheering and egging her on, some even offering themselves as targets. Amazingly, the old woman seemed to get into the spirit of things and started waving and blowing kisses jovially in between sorties. I thought I was in a safe spot but she very nearly got me, as it turned out that she also had access to the window adjacent to her terrace.

Even after she stopped throwing water she stayed up there for a remarkably long time. She’d been out there for probably two hours and was still going strong when Nico and I decided to call it a night.

We slept late into the morning, and then I packed and made ready for my departure before we went for lunch. Mediterranean food is wonderfully suited to my palette, but after two weeks of it I was hankering for something different. A quick internet search revealed that Madrid is one of the worst major cities for ethnic food of any kind. Apparently Spanish people traditionally prefer very simple preparations and tend to suspect that spice and sauces conceal subprime meat.

Nevertheless, my research turned up a small neighborhood called Lavapies that was rumored to have some good Indian places. It proved to be a fascinating couple blocks with not just Indian restaurants but Indian grocery stores and even a Bollywood movie rental shop. It didn’t seem to be a particularly Indian neighborhood, though. The vast majority of people strolling the street were white, and occasionally an African would offer to sell us hashish, but the only Indian people I saw were working at the restaurants.

All of the outdoor seating was packed, and the staff generally seemed more concerned about finding room for more new customers than attending to those already sitting. The food, when it finally arrived, was excellent and quite cheap, so it was all good in the end.

So after one last delicious meal it was off to the airport. Nico brought the infamous trance CD for the drive, and we talked about when we might see each other again. He’s planning a trip to to the States next summer, but EPT Madrid comes first, and having a place to stay drastically reduces the cost of playing, so maybe I’ll get to Spain once more. I feel like I’m getting to know Madrid reasonably well, even corrected Nico on something today, though I’ve spent less than two weeks there in total.

Likewise, I feel like I know Nico a lot better than the three weeks or so we’ve spent together in the last few months would suggest. We get along very naturally, and it’s always been easy and fun to spend time together, even in the large quantities of the last two weeks. “See you soon,” he said as I walked into the terminal, adding, “Somewhere.”

The night before the start of the main event, the WSOP hosted what they called a beach party that actually took place in a function space just off the beach. They had an open bar with top shelf liquor, but I seeing as how I was playing the next day I just had a glass of champagne. I didn’t spot any of the players I’m friendly with, so I just hung out with Nico for a bit until they announced that the speed boats had arrived.

That’s right, speed boats. The WSOP chartered them for the party. With nothing better to do, Nico and I got on the first trip, and it was a hell of a time. We were out for about twenty minutes, first pushing away from the dock for a panoramic view of the Cannes shoreline at night, the casinos and hotels looking far more glamorous at a distance than they do up close.

Then we went full throttle, supposedly up to 100 MPH, tearing out across the Mediterranean towards St. Marguerite, the island where the Man in the Iron Mask was held prisoner. It too looked majestic at night, the prison and surrounding island dramatically illuminated by floodlight.

We drifted around the island for a bit, then sped back to the shore. As we entered the harbor, we could see the hills of the Cote d’Azure rising up around us on three sides. Actually we couldn’t see the hills, which made it far more magical- we could see only the lights of the thousands of houses scattered throughout, as though they were hanging in mid-air in the shape of hills.

We thought nothing else at the party would top that, and I wanted to be sure to get a good night’s sleep, so we headed for the exit as soon as we got back. As we were walking up the stairs to leave, Phil Hellmuth was parading down into the building. No one was paying much attention to him, but he was walking with his fist outstretched for a bump, supremely confident that someone would want to give him one. Nico obliged and giggled like a little girl afterwards. I’m sure Phil was thinking that he just made some kid’s night, which in a certain sense was true- we thought it was hilarious, but I don’t think that’s what he had in mind.

Busted third to last hand of the night, been going back and forth a lot for the last half hour about whether I like my call, but we´ll get to that in a second. Table draw was OK but my seat was rough, had the only two truly good players at the table both on my immediate left. One of them busted the other, which I was happy about until that seat was filled by Scott Seiver. Even in position, that guy is tough to play against.

I played what I think was a very good TAG game for most of the day and hovered between 90-120% of the average. With about half an hour to go, my table broke and I moved to a much softer table which unfortunately was next on the break order.

Third table was tougher than the second but softer than the first, though again my seat wasn´t great. To my left was a kid who exuded competence and was sitting on more than twice the average. I could tell from the way the table was responding to him and talking about him that he´d been very difficult to play against.

Blinds 250/500/50, I raise to 1250 with KJo UTG+2, Rousso calls, BB who does not seem very good calls. Flop AQ8r, BB checks, I bet 2600, they both call. Turn 6 completes the rainbow and this seems like a good spot to barrel, as I think it´s very tough for anyone to call with less than two pair. I bet 8800 leaving about pot behind in my stack. Rousso tanks and calls, BB folds. River K and I check not because I think I´m good but because I think she made her commitment decision on the turn and isn´t folding. She says, ¨Please don´t have Ace-King¨ as though I´d check that.

“AQ is good,¨ I tell her.

She shakes her head and looks nervous, so even though I´m sure I´m beat I show. She has 86o, so essentially she hit a 5-outer on the turn.

Next hand I have KJo again and raise to 1250 again. I think choosing to make a marginal raise immediately after a frustrating loss was probably the biggest mistake I made in this hand. Tough player on my left calls, someone else calls, BB calls. Flop Kc Qh 6c, I check, guy on my left bets like 2/3 pot, the other two fold, I call. Turn 4h, I check planning to check-raise all-in but he makes a suspicious face and checks behind. I put him on a straight or flush draw.

River 9h completes JT and backdoor hearts, which aren´t entirely impossible for him if he has like Ah Th. I don´t think he bluffs much if I check, so my options are either check-fold or bet. I bet 4500, which was less than half-pot. I had it in the back of my head that this might be a better way to induce a bluff than checking, but I wish I´d thought more about what I would do if raised before I bet.

Villain thought for a bit and shoved, it was about 13K more for me to call to win like 33K. Obviously JT got there so the question is how often he shoves busted draws. Like I said before, I had the impression that the whole table was intimidated by him, which leads me to think that he would bluff pretty often vs. a blocking bet. The guy on my right actually called the clock on me, which I don´t know where that came from because we were playing a fixed number of hands before stopping for the night anyway so it really didn´t affect him at all for me to take my time. Anyway I obviously ended up calling and was shown Jc Tc, so I´m still not sure what to think about that one.

I´ll post more of a trip report soon, but wanted to get the results up there now. Thanks to everyone who was following along and especially those of you who bought action, sorry I couldn´t bring you a better result.

Our journey began at the tobacco shop, where naturally my continental companion needed to stock up on rolling papers, tobacco, and filters. Then we were on the road, zooming past revelers preparing to celebrate Fiesta Virgen del Pilar. The land surrounding Madrid is dry and brown, scorched by an eternal sun burning through a cloudless sky. Occasionally a crumbling stone cathedral set into the countryside would break up the monotony, but overall it was a dreary landscape, and I told Nico as much. He assured me it would get better.

It did. The brown hills turned green as we pressed northward. Mountains rose up out of the arid brush, and a dense fog clung to the horizon. We were in Basque Country.

We stopped in Bilbao to see Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum and drank cervezas on an expansive patio. A river ran through the city, and the view from the numerous ornate bridges that spanned it would have been even more impressive without the close-hanging fog.

A short drive brought us to San Sebastian, our stopping place for the night. At an internet cafe we compared last-minute hotel discounts and found a 250 euro room going for 79 euros. After settling in, we found a place to eat dinner that looked to be a relatively straight-forward, 15-minute walk from the hotel. We promptly got lost and ended up taking a cab to the very pleasant Basque pintxos restaurant.

Overwhelmed by the task of selecting 4-6 small plates in a foreign language, I chose a grilled monkfish with a fried langostino as my only concession to local custom. I first ordered agua, but after hearing Nico request a cerveza, I told the waiter, “Dos cervesas” and he chuckled and nodded. Me, I was just proud to have figured that much from their Spanish conversation. The food was very good, and we passed a pleasant evening out on the terrace with a second round of cervesas.

We found our way back to the hotel without difficulty and agreed to leave at 9AM, as we had a long day of driving ahead of us. I’m glad we visited Bilbao and San Sebastian, but it meant that we’d covered only about four of the twelve hours of driving that lay between Madrid and Cannes.

I woke and was surprised to see that it was 10AM. “Nico,” I said. A grunt from his bed indicated some level of awakeness. “It’s 10:00.”

He grunted again. “I guess we can’t leave at 9 then.”

“It would be difficult.”

“Unless we leave at 9PM,” he muttered and rolled over. I showered, and he was up by the time I got out, but we still didn’t get on the road until after 11.

The first few hours passed slowly. A heavy fog still obscured what might otherwise have been a beautiful view, and I was tired and hungry. In less than an hour, we passed into France and noticed an immediate improvement in the quality of the roads. I soon learned that France assesses steep tolls for use of its highways, but you could at least see where the money was going. We encountered neither a crack nor a pothole our entire time in the country.

The weather improved, and after lunch at a roadside cafeteria, we lingered on a sunny hillside inventing games to play with acorns. Nico is a former member of the Spanish national ski team and twelve times the athlete I am, but I proved more adept at both acorn baseball and a game where you toss one acorn into the air and then attempt to throw another acorn to hit it in mid-air before it falls.

It was another two hours or so before I saw the sign: “Carcossone”. Perhaps you’ve heard of the famous board game, in which players vie for control of a medieval city. I told Nico that is a favorite of my girlfriend and me, and he asked if I wanted to stop.

“I suppose it would be cool to take a picture,” I said, and so we exited and followed signs for Carcossone. The road narrowed and passed some old-looking buildings. “I guess this is it? Maybe we can walk in a little further?”

We parked and set off on foot through the narrow, one-lane streets. “It’s old, but it’s not medieval,” Nico said.

“I don’t know. It seems like this is all there is to it.”

“I think that if leave now and later we google ‘Carcossone’, we are going to see something we are not seeing right now,” he argued We agreed to check at the office of tourism, and sure enough that was an entirely separate Old City on the other side of a bridge.

When we first caught sight of it, we could not have felt more foolish. Towers and ramparts stretched for hundreds of feet across the top of a broad hill. It was a magnificent sight. We followed a road that traced the outside edge of the fortified walls, finally choosing a parking spot near the main entrance.

Nico spotted an aperture in the wall, and sure enough it led to a steep flight of crumbling stone stairs. When we reached the top, we were up near the battlements. We looked out at the countryside through narrow slits that once would have enabled archers to fire from a covered position on an attacking army.

A second, higher wall still stood between us and the Old City, but we wandered the ramparts for a while before going in. Though beautiful, the interior was a little more disappointing because it was full of tourist shops, restaurants, and hotels. The streets were still stone and the buildings mostly looked original, which was impressive, but they now sold postcards and plastic swords. We were too late to enter the castle proper, but we got some fine views of it from elsewhere inside of the walled city.

As made our way to the exit, the sun was setting, casting rich light upon the fortifications and intricate shadows on the ground. Back in the car, Nico took out a CD called “Trancenation” that he told me he’d been saving for dark. “It’s really good music to just get into a zone and drive,” he promised as he prepared his next few hours’ worth of cigarettes.

“Roll me one of those?” I asked. I don’t smoke, but I figured that if I’m going to drive through the French countryside in a Volkswagon listening to techno music I might as well smoke a hand-rolled cigarette while I’m at it. Nico turned up the music until the baseline hummed in the back of our necks, and we exhaled out of the open windows with wind whipping through our hair.

The sun set and sky grew darker. Neither of us had said anything for half an hour, each in a trance of his own. I thought of a college road trip in California and then further back to my first-year roommate, a Cypriot who loved loud techno music and also rolled his own cigarettes.

We turned a corner and each of us turned toward other in unison, hands pointing straight ahead. The moon had appeared suddenly, fully formed and hanging huge and round, bright orange and perfect just above the horizon. We both grinned broadly and nodded our heads in time with each other and the music, the perfection of the moment passing unspoken between us.

The next four hours flew by and we were in Cannes, greeted by palm trees and beautiful old buildings. At the small duplex we’d rented, the heavily perfumed landlady seemed convinced that we were gay, taking our insistence on figuring out how to work the fold-out sofa as mere pretense. Our place is just two blocks from the beach, and even at night the beauty of the place is evident. Pinpoints of light dotted the horizon in every direction save one, and behind us the dramatically lit facades of casinos and hotels were a glamorous sight.

After a moment of confusion, everything went smoothly at the tournament area. Jack Effel personally accompanied me to verify that my wire had been received, and as unhelpful as he and the staff were online in the preceding days, he mostly made up for it in person.

After a late-night dinner of beer and kebab, we made our way back home. The streets, now filled with fall-down drunk French youth and aggressive prostitutes, seemed somewhat less glamorous, but it was still a great evening.

They say that every cigarette you smoke takes 11 minutes off of your life. I’d gladly trade 11 minutes for another day like this one.

Edit: Supplemented the narrative with a few pictures.

“The last hand before a break, especially a dinner break, always means fireworks. Some people are eager to fold and get out of the room, which makes other people more inclined to steal, which makes other people more inclined to resteal. Ranges get wider and sometimes it just turns into a pissing match.

I was dealt 9’s in the CO, which are exactly the sort of medium-strength hand that can be tough to play with that sort of dynamic. The action folded to me, and I opened to 60K. Marc called on the Button, and the blinds folded.

We got a J62 flop with two hearts. I bet 85K, about half the pot, and he raised to 225K.”

Read on to find out how I navigated this and other dicey spots on my final two days in the tournament!