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#638 – Engulfed by Biloxi #8 – The Road to Ruin, Part II
FOOLS GOLD
In the same room, just twenty-one hours earlier, I maneuvered my way to the final table of the last preliminary event, the HORSE. I was very pleased with how I played. I certainly benefited from luck – including not getting UNlucky at key times – but it seemed (to me at least) like a masterful show of short-stack limit poker. Bobbing and weaving, saving bets, wringing out extra bets, stealing, making laydowns – I had it all working.
I had a small stack (66,000 out of a million chips among the final eight) but only two players had big stacks. Michael Binger had nearly 200,000 chips and Bill “Big Daddy” Blanda had 450,000. The blinds, antes, and limits were astronomically high and I was part of a group of six sharing just 350,000 chips. I knew the early hands could be decisive but I knew in my heart I could navigate this stack.
Early signs were encouraging. I picked up one good Razz starting and and two good stealing situations and chips up. Meanwhile, two other short stacks busted. But after folding one Razz hand on fifth and getting anted away, I was desperate toward the end of the Stud round.
I got all my chips in with a pair of aces. My opponent had a pair of sevens, made a second pair and none of my draws – ace, any matching card for two-pair, any diamond to make a flush – came through. I busted in sixth place, worth about $7,300, and left with my head held high.
I sunk $1,070 of that profit into the 7 PM mega-satellite. I took a nap in my room and started the tournament relaxed and confident. And I still felt that way when, a half-hour in, the guy next to me showed up late, declared, “I have a monster here,” and got all his chips in against me pre-flop with A-Jo. My pocket kings were no match when he hit an ace on the river, a two-outer as one of the three remaining aces would have made me a flush.
I took the loss stoically and decided to give myself one last chance to make the Main Event. That brought me to the aptly-named Last Chance Mega-Satellite at midnight.
My decision to enter the last mega was a difficult one. Had I won the HORSE, I’d have bought my way into the Main Event – and who could have blamed me? Likewise, spending a thou after winning seven was a no-brainer. But I’m supposed to be here to report on the tournament. Playing would be an acceptable diversion and even a source of coverage, but now it looks like I’m getting desperate to play.
Should I have taken my early loss in the 7 PM mega as a sign? I know it was just last week that I pledged to rededicate myself to writing and reporting but … geez, was that just last week? I seems like a thousand years ago.
Nevertheless, I ponied up the $540 and the die was cast. In fact, when I saw B.J. Nemeth, the outstanding reporter and photographer who is responsible for thek WPT’s excellent on-floor coverage of its events, I unveiled a bold plan.
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