Friday, August 04, 2006

Halfway through last Sunday's Party Poker Million Guaranteed tournament I
had visions of forever putting down the pen to live a life of luxury and
leisure. The phone call to my boss Larry would have gone something like
this."Hello Larry, yeah this is Ryan." "Good morning Mr. Best Poker Reporter
ever." (That's my official title by the way) "Yeah uh.I'm headed to a
casino.with tons of money.don't think I'll be in today." "Oh no whatever
will we do!" Alas, the phone call never happened thanks to
iplaypokerlikeaclown44. With a top prize in excess of $165,000, the
tournament was thrilling, especially considering I was well above the
average stack with only 2500 participants remaining out of the 5,249 players
who entered. For a while, I was unbeatable, well on my way to being able to
quit my day job. I played mistake-free poker for two hours, but one stupid
hand cost me a chance at life of professional beach lounging.

Like most bad-beat stories, mine begins on the button. Salivating about a
pair of Kings in the hole - the only thing on my mind, besides the drool,
was how much my stack of 24,500 chips was going to grow.

I watched as player after player folded their hands ahead of me. Although I
was perturbed about the lack of action, it was no big deal, there were still
the blind players and I had a few tricks up my sleeve. For my entire time at
this particular table, I had been making minimum steal raises from the
button whenever the opportunity was there. The player to my left, ever the
aggressive clown, was constantly playing back at me and making a tidy little
profit at my marginal expense.

Not wanting to risk much in such a big event, I was allowing him to re-steal
with the hopes of gaining a sizeable chunk when he made a move at the wrong
time. The Kings became my opportunity. Because of his loose and poorly-timed
plays, he only had 9,000 chips, not enough to double me up, but enough to
make me two times the average stack and put me in a comfortable position to
make a run at the money.

So I cast my line, (made my minimum raise) reeled in my fish (my fishy goes
all-in) and as scripted, his cards flipped A-9 unsuited and I was thrilled.
As a 72 percent favorite (almost 3-1), I was clearly dominating clown shoes
and I pictured him taking off the red nose, stuffing it into his over-sized
parachute pants, and hanging his raggedy-red wig in the ultimate poker
shame.

The flop was beautiful. The blank on the turn was even better. With one card
to go, I was a 90 percent favorite to win this crucial pot. However, clown
boy had one more comedic trick, a heinous ace on the river.damn you Barry
Greenstein!

I wasn't out, but I was in scramble mode, steaming and well below the
average stack. To complicate matters, my table was a sea of big stacks. A
couple orbits later I was down to a pittance and Miz_zou_fan, a feared
Internet tournament player, eyed my stack, called my all-in and added my
chips to his plentiful collection.

I was out. My only consolations were: I went into my crucial pot with the
best of it and the player who bounced me, Mr. Miz_zou_fan, ended up using
some of my chips to win the whole tournament.

Had I written this article immediately following my bust, it would have been
a mess of incoherent sentences and scathing swear words. Honestly, I was
devastated. It wasn't the loss. I understand that poker is a game of both
luck and skill. It was the size of tournament, the thrill of chasing the big
money, and the emotion of playing better than I ever have before, only to be
eliminated in a position of little consequence.

And that is my point. It was fun. Life is basically made up of a few
exciting moments tangled into a web of mundane days. If you're a poker
player, few things are more exciting than playing well in a big one. Whether
it's your once-a-year high-stakes home game or the World Series of Poker
Main Event, there are moments in your poker career that stand out a little
more than the rest and have the added appeal of meaning something. I say
live a little and play in a few of these. For a low stakes amateur like
myself, qualifying for the $215 Sunday Million was one of those experiences,
win or lose, I felt alive playing in a tough tourney that was a little out
of my league.

I didn't get to put down the pen forever, but maybe that's not so bad. Don't
tell Larry this, but perhaps not being able to a live a life of luxury
allows me to feel the pain and excitement of busting out of a big one. I
wouldn't trade that feeling of being alive for any amount of money or the
chance to quit my pretty cool day job.

Ok maybe I would, but you get my point.