#765 – WSOP 2009 #23 – Las Vegas on $2,000 a Day #3 – Same Time Last Year

In 2008, I showed up at the Series with a lot of success from 2007 and a lot of money, from my ‘07 final tables and from some big tournament successes on Full Tilt in early 2008. When I cashed in my second event, the ultra-difficult $5,000 Mixed Hold ‘Em, I signed up for more events (and more expensive events) than I previously planned. After about ten consecutive DNCs (i.e. Did Not Cash) in a row, I shuffled to the single-table satellite room, tail between my legs.

I told myself I was just doing research for the Blog, but I wa really just doing research … on whether I could afford to play any more events at the Series. The experiment was a success, as I settled into $525 single-table satellites. I played twenty of them during the Series, winning or chopping seven (in six of those I received most or all of the chips). Including side-action on last-longer bets, I made a profit of nearly $20,000 in the satellite room. As a bonus, some of my Blogs about the experience represent my favorite poker writing.

It was with great trepidation that I approached the satellite room this year. I had so much success in 2008 that it seemed unreasonable to believe I could once again do so well. But I didn’t have much choice, since I showed up at this World Series with very little money, very little success in the previous Series, and very little online tournament success in recent months. I’ve been keeping notes on how the satellites are shaping up this year but the past is a good preface. Here are my best stories and memories from the satellite room last year:

From Post #444, An Afternoon in Satellite Purgatory, Part I – Satellite Hell.

The point of the story I am going to tell is this: Get the fuck to Las Vegas as soon as you can. Quit Full Tilt. Throw your computer in a dumpster. Cut off your girlfriend’s arm and sell the rings off the fingers. Do whatever you can to get to the World Series of Poker. But when you get here, don’t turn left at the end of the Convention Center hallway to go to the Amazon Room; turn right into the CardRunners.com satellite room.  The opportunities provided in the satellite room are so lucrative as to justify any sort of mayhem necessary to get your ass there.

Half the table seems to be getting the action via a tape delay. Players limp, they call huge raises, they lead out and bet, the giant raisers make tiny post-flop bets or fold, players throw in their hands instead of checking on the end, etc. The guy in Seat 4, who has played almost every hand, folded three times when opponents moved all in, usually for small amounts. He has 800 chips, and just went for a walk, apparently to find some seat cushions. That seems an odd choice when you’re short-stacked in a turbo SnG and I can’t believe that he doesn’t hear the voice booming in his head: “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BE AROUND LONG ENOUGH TO NEED A CUSHION!”

That first satellite was a $275. After I recognized the poor quality of the competition, I rebounded immediately from my elimination to play another. But there wasn’t a $275 available. There was, however, a $525. That was the second-highest single-table satellite spread (after the $1,035 single-tables, which mostly go toward securing Main Event entries), and I was concerned that the quality of the competition would be much higher. But I was hot to gamble so I signed up.

I won the satellite and stuck with $525s for the rest of the Series. I beat a local named Steve, who I recognized from the Bellagio. This comes from Post #445 – An Afternoon in Satellite Purgatory, Part II – Satellite Heaven:

The strangest thing about playing heads-up with Steve occurred near the very end. After he had doubled up with the better ace, we were almost even. At this point, some large dude named Mike came by the table and started bothering Steve about the money that Steve owed him. They ended up having an argument that was so big that I thought it might get physical. A friend of Steve’s came by and offered to kick Mike’s ass. (The friend was a woman named Mindy who I wrote about a couple months ago. She came to my attention because she’s very pretty, reminds me of a girl I had a crush on in high school, and told me she carries a concealed weapon. So I don’t doubt for a second that she could have kicked Mike’s ass.)

Steve, a very low-key player, was getting increasingly agitated by the attention. Mike kept acting like he was done talking, but he would finish every sentence “… but when are you gonna be able to get me the money?”
And every response of Steve’s ended with him saying, “… will you leave me the fuck alone? I’m trying to play.”

I think Mike realized his strategy for getting paid was counterproductive and he suddenly reversed course, trying to calm down the now-angered Steve by saying – yelling really – “Don’t talk to me. Don’t even fucking look at me. Just play.”

For some reason, this made Steve even madder. “Leave me the fuck alone and don’t tell me what to do. And good luck getting your money on my way out of the room.”

The argument continued on, even though both sides seemed to agree that Mike was out of line for bothering Steve. At one point, Steve was trying to explain how broke he was. While we were playing hands and he was betting or folding, he turned out his pockets to show he had only $12 with him. He then explained his financial arrangements with the backer who put him into the satellite and about how little money he’s going to make even if he succeeds. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that after just a few minutes of this, Steve busts.

A couple days later, I was back in the satellite room, noting, “If you try something once, it’s research. If you try it twice, though, you’re a member.” This is from Post #446, Vegas on $4,000 a Day, and it describes a couple hands – which I don’t do too often in the Blog, out of deference to more casual readers – to illustrate the quality of play:

Seat 2 busted in two hands. In the first hand he limped with K-2s and called a raise. After an A-K-5 flop, he led with a bet on the flop, and bet out on the turn and river, called all three times by the raiser who had A-Q. On the second hand, now with a short stack, he slow-played his top pair and pushed all-in after his opponent made a runner-runner straight.

Seat 3 commiserated but he was the next to fall on his sword. He limped with pocket aces and was called by 5 or 6 players. He made a tiny bet on the flop, and was called by a player with a gutshot and an overcard. Seat 3 made a set of aces on the turn and checked. Because the player who called on the flop still had the gutshot and now a flush draw, he bet. Seat 3 just called. When the third diamond hit on the river, he again check-called, showing his aces and saying, “A set of aces is the worst hand in poker.”
Well, it is if you play them like that.

Maybe he was steaming, but he did something even dumber on the next hand. He limped with pocket deuces and four players saw the flop, which was A-A-9. He bet out 400 into a 100 chip pot. Another player called. After the turn brought another 9, he moved all in. The player who limped after him had A-Q [a questionable limping hand though I’ve seen so many players do it in satellites I’ve lost count] and called. Seat 3 showed his hand – which couldn’t beat the board – and stood up complaining about his bad luck.

He even came back to the table a half hour later to tell us that he busted out of another satellite with aces against a player who made a flush.

My final satellite story from 2008 was probably the most enjoyable, though it seemed the opposite at the time. I started Post #447, Sound Asleep in the Lost City of Gold with a rhetorical question, and I reprint the entire blog here:

Is there a time when it’s too late to start a poker game?

I would have thought not, but I now know otherwise. 1:45 AM is too late to be starting a $525 single-table satellite at the World Series of Poker. I was seated in Seat 2. The player in Seat 1, who started by ordering two martinis, wouldn’t make any move until the dealer told him it was his turn. The player on my left in Seat 3 seemed to have a different problem with a similar effect. It was as if he spoke a language that nobody else spoke or could understand. He seemed perfectly alert, but wouldn’t make a move until the dealer specifically motioned to him, like he was waiting for a signal. Then the player in Seat 5 began by ordering two Bud Lights, “Heavy on the Bud”. He busted after about six hands though, so there’s no telling how impaired he actually was.

The winner in the Mr. Stupor Contest, however, was the player in Seat 8. After the first hand, he fell asleep at his seat. And I don’t mean surreptitiously asleep, or accidentally asleep, I mean slippers-and-nightcap asleep.

This player would have to be woken up by the dealer, or by the player in Seat 7, before his action every hand, and immediately after his action, he would tip his head back as far as it would go, close his eyes and instantly fall asleep. There was not a single hand during which he did not sleep in the entirety of the time between his last action and his first action on the next hand. And there was not a single hand where he did not have to be woken up before his action.

The players, myself included, started making derogatory comments about him because he was so selfish. There’s not a lot of play for your money in these satellites and we were getting in even fewer hands between Seats 1 and 3 playing slow, and Seat 8 dozing off every hand. It was like playing a poker game in a Greyhound Bus Terminal. It took a while to get the floorman’s attention – maybe he was catching forty winks himself – and when he came to the table, he saw that Seat 8 was fast asleep. His solution was to step behind Seat 8, yell “wake up!”, and walk away.

That actually worked … until he folded his hand and instantly fell asleep again.

Somebody was backing Rip Van Winkle in this satellite. Another regular in the satellite room walked by at about 2:15, nudged Seat 8, reminded him of their financial arrangements, and then wished him good luck and said good night. As the backer walked away the player in Seat 7 said, “Hey, do you think you could get your buddy some coffee?”

And then the player in Seat 9 added, “Or methamphetamines?”

The backer waved off the suggestions, “Nah he doesn’t need that stuff. It’s okay.” And then he walked away.

As he retreated I said, “Yeah okay for you. You get to go home.”

I’m a pretty tolerant guy at the poker table, but this was getting to be too much, even for me. I don’t know if I wanted that guy gone or I wanted myself gone but at about 2:30 I raised with K-9 in the middle position. Another player called me and then Sleeping Beauty in the big blind moved all-in. I had him covered, but only by about 500 chips. I decided that unless he had pocket aces or pocket kings, or A-K, I was probably getting the right price to call him and even if I wasn’t, I would still have a few chips left and even if those few chips weren’t not enough,  I could afford to go home with one win, one loss and my sanity. I eventually called and he showed A-K so I was in trouble. I hit a nine on the turn however, and busted him.

He got angry, pounded the table, swore, and stomped off. It was by a huge margin the most energy he had expended for the entire satellite.

After his angry exit, I said in a low voice to the other players, “Do you think it would have been bad form if I had said ‘Sweet dreams’?”

Nobody said anything and the game continued without pause. The dealer, however, mouthed the words “thank you” as he dealt the next hand.

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