WSOP Event 4: $1500 6-Max

I went grocery shopping on the night I arrived in Las Vegas, but more chores remained for the next morning. I packed myself a lunch, a task that took me back to my grade school days as I tucked two halves of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (I didn’t have time to make anything fancier) into a plastic baggy. Alongside it were an apple, and, in a separate baggy, a couple of chocolate chip cookies. And off I went, for my first day of work!

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.