So Quickly Gone

Paul Wolfe is about as likeable a guy as you’ll ever meet. I’ve never seen him without a smile on his face. At the table he’s chatty and seems happy to be sharing time with his tablemates.

At today’s dinner break, Paul was in high spirits. He’d been on a short stack for almost two full days of play. Just prior to dinner he’d managed to pick up a couple of pots and finally had a little room to breathe. He had about 100k, and he liked the way the table was shaping up. One player at this table, he said, was playing horribly, blasting off chips. Another player, a man with a big stack, had betrayed a tell he thought he could take advantage of.

I went to sweat Paul after dinner, to see if he could continue his ascension. About fifteen minutes into the level, I waded through the masses and made my way to his table.

No Paul.

I scanned the adjacent tables, looking to see if he’d been moved. No Paul.

After a few minutes, I asked another player at Paul’s table if he’d been moved. No, I was told, he busted.

I don’t know the hand, and I don’t think anyone in the media caught it either.

I didn’t have the heart to try to track him down and see what happened. After so many hours of grinding to stay alive and the brief moments of hope that followed, I can only image how disappointed he must be.

That’s tournament poker. It’s incredibly tough, and Paul knows it.

Tomorrow or the day after, when Paul tells me about his ultimate hand, I’m sure he’ll be smiling.