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#844 – 2009 WSOP Revisited #7 – Ante Up for Africa … and Chaos, Part II
In Part I, I explained how, after the star-studded charity tournament for refugees in the Darfur region, Ante Up for Africa, got underway, I chipped up by getting lucky against Superman and Walter Cronkite. That’s the way it went all day: I built chips by playing bad and getting lucky, then gave them all back on the rare occasions I decided to play good. I lost a bunch to Adam “Roothless” Levy when I was all-in with the best hand, and even more with A-K against some dude who called all four of my bets with pocket fours.
Just after that last debacle, at 4:45, our table broke and I was assigned table 52, seat 8. I couldn’t find the table. Among all the crowds, hangers-on, media, and ESPN crew, it was like navigating a maze. The floormen, who mostly seemed to be posing for the cameras, just shrugged their shoulders. I had to flag down Jeffery Pollack to find out that I was being moved to the TV table.
The TV table? A chance to appear on ESPN playing poker? Something I’ve dreamed of for as long as I’ve played poker?
Why now? I showed up today to get my chance in the spotlight – to quote Joan Rivers, “Don’t give me that charity crap!” – and built up chips playing like a jackass, only to lose almost all of them by other players’ jackassery. And NOW that I have less than four big blinds, I get my shot on TV.
Only I can’t get there. The bleachers are packed and there is a long line to get in. Despite my chips – admittedly, just a handful – and my seat card, the security guard is reluctant to let me pass. I ignore him and push through, only to trip over about a dozen obstructions between the guard and my seat at the table. Everything is pitch blank and there are no lights, other than the ones that blind you when you look at them. So I repeatedly stumble over the legs of spectators in the front row, cables, cameras, steps, and cranes.
Because of my inordinate delay, I have arrived just in time for the big blind. As they rush to put a microphone of me, I figure I’ll probably bust before the sound-check. Did I mention that I am sweating like Richard Nixon? It was raised twice by the time I looked at my 6-2o, which I mucked with disgust.
On the next hand, in my small blind, the player under the gun raised and everyone else folded. With almost no chips left, I looked down at Tc-9c and called his bet, which put me all-in. He turned over the worst possible hand, pocket tens. My moment in the spotlight was destined to be brief.
I shrugged my shoulders and made my only joke, “Okay, so I gotta win another race?” Luckily, no one at this table knew me or at least they were all nice enough to chuckle along.
After a dream flop of 8c-6c-2d, I had both straight and flush draws. I made my flush on the turn and looked at the disbelieving faces around the table. “What? Like I told you, it was a race.”
Now that I had a few chips, the world would get the opportunity to marvel at my made-for-TV persona. But then the tournament announcer said, “Everybody rack up your chips. We’re breaking this table.” Despite the star power of Jason Alexander, Herschel Walker – and me, after all – some doofus at ESPN apparently had a hard-on for that Matt Damon character and I was sent packing from the TV table to a, sigh, “regular” table.
On the positive side, I renewed my acquaintance with Jason Alexander, a nice guy who remembered that he was penciled in to play me in an Andy Beal movie that Robin Leach unsuccessfully tried to produce and sell. I also outlasted Hershel Walker and got to shake his hand. But that dude who couldn’t lay down sixth pair at my first table got moved across from me and called my A-9 all-in with A-8 and hit an eight to bust me. As near as I could figure, I finished 58th out of 135 players.
My exit from this event seemed more sudden and crueler than usual. I was expecting to end up with some serious TV exposure and one of the big prizes, which I was going to magnanimously donate to charity. Instead, I was left to trudge off alone, celebrity-less and handler-less with the only consolation being that I had fun and donated money to a good cause. That means all I can hope for is that some of those Darfur refugees make it safely to the United States and become lousy poker players.
Feeling like a complete loser, I retreated to the only place where I could be alone in a crowd: Poker Palooza. Yeah, maybe Poker Palooza could lift my spirits. A few years back, before the UIGEA, the poker show at the convention center was a sure pick-me-up. The online poker sites were throwing around money by building spectacular displays and giving away every imaginable freebie. Now that the show is back as Poker Palooza, maybe I could drown my sorrows in swag and the fantasies of surgically-rebuilt former models manning the promotional booths.
If Refugees International can significantly ease the humanitarian crisis in Darfur, its next target might conceivably be Poker Palooza. How many people can operate viable businesses making poker jewelry and card protectors? And how many would even want to create or sell some of the bizarro poker “artwork” on display? At my low ebb, I found myself in a purgatory between a booth boasting superior returns in silver futures and a guy selling poker-themed watches that looked they were made out of tree bark. Both hucksters seemed at the point of fisticuffs over which had first dibs on me.
When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I heard a grunt of acknowledgement behind me. I turned and saw that guy whose kings I busted earlier with my 6-6-6. I tore out of Poker Palooza, the convention center and the Rio, and returned home and immediately fell asleep.
To deal with my unpredictable sleep schedule, I’ve taken to wearing an eye shade in bed. When I woke up and removed it, the sunlight was burning at my eyes.
I looked at the bedside clock. 6:15. Geez, I thought the sun didn’t get real bad until at least 6:30 or 6:45. And I didn’t feel especially well-rested. A minute later as I oriented myself to my surroundings, I realized that it was 6:15 PM. I had busted an hour earlier, came and left Poker Palooza, and both fallen asleep and woken up during those sixty minutes.
I can’t tell you why, but if I possibly can, I am going to play Ante Up for Africa next year.
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