Play a Tournament With Me

My wife, Maureen, and I had not planned to go to Tunica this year for the World Poker Open, but that was before we played the Shooting Star tournament in March at Bay 101 in California. It reminded us how much we enjoy playing no-limit events with decent starting stacks. So, we decided to go to Tunica for the last few days of the WPO – in particular, the $5,000 buy-in no-limit hold'em championship event.

We arrived at the Horseshoe in Tunica at about 9:30 p.m., and did the only sensible thing after a long day of traveling: We decided to play one-table satellites before going up to our room. It was a good decision. Like all poker players, I know that my cards and my luck are worse than everybody else's. That satellite was a brief visit to a poker world that we all see too seldom. The second time I got the blinds, I made four nines in the big blind and jacks full in the small blind, and in those two hands, had three players all in against me when I held the pure nuts. I managed to hold on to win the satellite (actually, 80 percent of it after a save), so I was in the championship event before unpacking.

Three days later, the championship event was about to begin. The lineup at my table was typical for a final event of this caliber. Eskimo Clark was on my right, and Phillip Ivey and Allen Cunningham were on the other side of him. All three of them are, of course, excellent players, but at least they would be acting before me most of the time. I didn't know the player on my left. Jim McManus, the writer who finished fifth in the 2000 World Series of Poker main event was two to my left. It quickly became clear that Jim and the man between us were playing conservatively. So, most of the aggression was on my right, which is usually good.

I've entered enough tournaments that most of the regulars have long since figured out that I play too tight. I hoped to take advantage of this image, but apart from picking up $75 in blinds a couple of times with middle-position raises and no hand, the opportunities weren't there. My first real decision came about 30 minutes into the tournament. I picked up A-A in the big blind. Everyone folded to Allen, who was one off the button. He made it $150. Phil folded and Eskimo called. I figured Allen could have anything. He was in steal position, and the raise was only 3 percent of his stack. Eskimo probably had some sort of hand, but not a great one – maybe a small pair or a mediocre ace. If I just called and no ace came on the flop, I'd have no idea where I stood. The $350 in the pot wasn't very exciting, but it seemed best to raise and hope that one of them played back at me. They didn't. Both folded to my $800 raise. Oh well, a lot worse things have happened with pocket aces.

The next few rounds were uneventful. Then came one of those hands that you keep replaying afterward. I had pocket nines in the big blind. Everyone folded to Allen, who limped in for $50. Phillip called the $50, and Eskimo made it $275. He had played very few hands to this point, and I was sure that he had something. I put him on a big ace. I called the $275. To my surprise, so did both Allen and Phillip. Obviously, they both had reasonable hands – probably connectors or small to medium pairs, since they limped from late position and then called a raise.

The flop came 7-5-3 unsuited. I wasn't too worried about Eskimo, since I was sure that he had a big ace, but Allen and Phillip were different stories. Since I had put them both on connectors or small/medium pairs, the flop was intimidating. If my read was correct, either of them easily could have flopped a set, two pair, or even the straight. I checked, Allen checked, and Phillip bet $300. Eskimo folded (he later said he'd had A-Q). Why a bet of only $300 into a $1,100 pot? Was Phillip slow-playing a big hand, or was he testing the water cautiously with the same concerns as mine? I had no conviction either way, and Allen was yet to act behind me. If I was this uncomfortable on the flop, what could possibly make me want to put more chips in on the turn and the river? Not even a 9, since that would create another possible straight. I folded. The turn card was a 10. Allen checked, Phillip bet $600, and Allen called. An ace on the river brought two checks, and Allen won the pot with two eights. Phillip didn't show his hand. If I'd known that Allen wouldn't raise behind me on the flop and that the next two betting rounds would cost only $600 more, I certainly would have played. I decided later that I should have called the $300 on the flop, knowing that I'd have to fold to a raise or a big bet on the later streets. Much can be said for not crossing bridges until you come to them.

Our table was broken about 20 uneventful minutes later. There were no familiar faces at my new table, and after two or three hands, I realized that it would be the next table to break, and that it would do so soon. I decided not to get involved without a big hand. No big hands came, and the table was broken five minutes later.

I took a little more than $4,000 to my new table and realized very quickly that I'd be delighted to leave with the same amount. T.J. Cloutier was on my right with about $15,000, and Tony Ma was on T.J.'s right. Men Nguyen was on my left with more than $20,000, and Hilbert Shirey was on Men's left. Hilbert has won three WSOP events and had the largest stack in the tournament at that point – about $40,000. I was surrounded by some of the world's very best tournament players, all of whom had a lot of chips. But, I was actually happy with my new seat. If I paid attention, I might learn something.

We were at $100-$200 blinds. Within a few minutes, I picked up A-10 in late position, raised, got reraised, and threw the hand away. That left me with about $3,400. It certainly wasn't panic time, but I kept thinking that a credible reraise would leave me with just a little more than $1,000 and very little maneuverability. This sort of negative thinking isn't helpful. But when the big blind reached me, I looked at pocket tens and watched everyone fold to T.J. in the small blind. He raised, and I moved in. He folded and I showed him my tens. He showed me K-Q. I was back up to about $4,500.

The next time around, I got pocket aces in the small blind. Unfortunately, everyone again folded to T.J. He raised, and I moved in. I hoped it might look like a panicky resteal attempt and that Men might have a hand in the big blind. He didn't, and folded. T.J. said, "I've got your hand from last time," and showed me two tens before throwing them away. My stack was close to $6,000. It was the first time in several hours that I had more than I started with, which wasn't very important, but still felt good.

My toughest decision to that point in the tournament came a few hands later. I had Q-Q in first position and raised it to $600. To my surprise, both Men and Hilbert called immediately to my left. Everyone else folded. Men knows I'm a tight player, and that it's unlikely I would have raised under the gun without a big hand. He had to have something he liked. Hilbert's stack had grown to nearly $50,000, so he could have decided to see the flop with just about anything. I put one of them on a big ace and the other on a pair smaller than my queens. The flop came A-J-6 – of course. It seems like the elder George Bush was president the last time an ace didn't come when I'd raised with kings or queens. I usually check in a spot like this, but didn't want to show weakness this time. I had raised from first position, so they had to think there was a good chance that I had aces or A-K. They would have a tough call unless I was really unlucky and one of them had A-J or had flopped a set. I bet $2,000, which was more than a third of my remaining stack. Men thought for about 15 seconds and folded. Hilbert folded immediately. Neither said what he had, and I didn't ask. I was just happy to have this hand behind me.

I played only one more hand of any significance at that table. We were at a $25 ante and $100-$200 blinds when I picked up a pair of eights in late position. I limped in along with two others ahead of me and both blinds. The flop came 8-6-5 with two spades. The blinds checked and the first limper bet $800. I made it $2,500. I didn't want to shut everyone out by moving in, but there were too many possible draws to let people stay cheaply. Everybody folded except the original bettor, who called. I assumed he had some sort of draw or an overpair such as tens with which he hadn't wanted to raise from early position before the flop. The turn card was a red jack. Now there were even more possible draws. He checked, I moved in, and he folded. My stack was up to $13,000 and it was time for the 10-minute break.

During the break, Tony Ma asked me if I'd flopped a set on that hand. I told him exactly what had happened and asked if he thought I'd played the hand correctly. He agreed with my play. He was surprised that I'd been called on the flop, and said there were definitely too many possible draws on the turn to do anything but move in. I was pleased that a player of Tony's caliber agreed with my play – especially on that particular hand. I was trying to extract more value from my big hands, and had not wanted to move in prematurely.

Our table was broken shortly afterward. The good news about my new table was that it wasn't going to be broken for the rest of the day. The bad news was that Dan Heimiller was on my left with a large stack of about $40,000. Dan is aggressive and extremely difficult to read. As I was unracking my chips, he was busy raking in a large pot that he'd won with a total bluff on the river. I knew Dan would be moving his chips, and resolved never to raise from a steal position unless I was ready to stand a big reraise from him.

Chris Bigler was to Dan's left. Chris, who travels from his home in Switzerland for many major tournaments, is another good, aggressive player. He finished an extremely impressive fifth in the 1999 WSOP championship event, and knocked me out of the 2000 WSOP championship on the first day. Toto Leonidas was two to Chris' left with the largest stack in the tournament at that point – more than $50,000. I didn't recall ever having been at a table with Toto, but I'd seen his name at the top of enough tournament results to know that he had to be a real player.

Dan and Toto gave a lot of action – especially to each other. On one hand, Dan raised Toto's big blind, Toto reraised, Dan reraised, Toto reraised, and Dan moved in. "I guess you've really got it," Toto said, and folded. Dan showed two aces. I'd never seen five preflop raises and no flop in no-limit. This wasn't going to be a dull table, but I ended up watching most of the action from a distance. I got no cards for several rounds, most pots were raised in front of me, and the big stacks on my left were intimidating. At the $50 ante, $200-$400 blinds level, it cost $1,050 per round, and my stack had ebbed to less than $10,000. I picked up A-J in first position and put my tight image to the test. It worked. Everyone folded to my $1,500 raise.

After another uneventful round came a small but annoying blunder. I was one off the button and sensed that the big blind was weak. It was folded around to me and I made it $1,500 with A-3. The chips were barely out of my hand and here came Dan with a big reraise. I had been so focused on reading the big blind that I'd forgotten about Dan and my resolve not to try any apparent steals unless I was prepared to stand a reraise from him. I wasn't, not with A-3. I threw my hand away and my stack was less than $9,000.

After almost every major tournament, one hand stands out in my mind. My Tunica hand came shortly after this ill-conceived steal attempt. We had moved up to a $75 ante and $300-$600 blinds. Randy Holland had just moved to our table and was under the gun. Randy is an outstanding player who ranked high in the Card Player Player of the Year Standings at the time of this event. He limped in for $600. The next two players folded. I looked down at two aces in fourth position. This was what I'd been waiting for. I'd limp behind Randy, and then Dan, Chris, or Toto would come over the top and I'd get all in with aces before the flop. And maybe Randy was limping with a big hand and I'd have a good shot at tripling up. But suddenly I remembered the no-limit event at Harrah's in January 2000. I had limped with two red aces and gotten three callers but no reraise. The flop had come Q´ J´ 10´ and I had had to lay down my aces. No, I couldn't afford to take that risk this time. It was better to just pick up the $2,400 that was already in the pot. I made it $3,000, and everyone folded. Even as I raked in the pot, I knew I had squandered an opportunity. Everyone I have since discussed this hand with agrees. You don't get many chances to play a big hand for a lot of money, and you can't win by always making the safest play. I needed badly to accumulate some chips, and should have taken some risk rather than shutting out the field. I thought, then and now, that it was the worst play I made during the tournament.

The end of the first day was only a few minutes away when I picked up A-K on the button. There was a raise to $1,500 in front of me. I wanted to either win it without a contest or see all five cards, so I moved in. Dan folded, and Chris Bigler, the big blind, sat back and thought. So did I. I thought about how Chris had knocked me out of the 2000 WSOP championship event in exactly this situation. I had moved in from late position with A-K, and Chris had thought awhile before calling with J-J from the big blind and flopping a set. This time, though, Chris threw his hand away. That was the end of the day's action for me. With $13,350, I would have one of the smallest stacks, but at least I'd be one of the 32 coming back for the second day. Maureen and I walked back to our room, drank some wine, and talked about how badly I'd played those aces.

The next day, John Juanda (the eventual winner) was on my immediate left. Having John on your left is no bargain, but I've grown quite accustomed to it. A year earlier, John had been on my left for the second day of this same event. Four months earlier, he was on my left for the second day of the 2000 U.S. Poker Championships final event in Atlantic City, in which he finished second. Two months earlier, he was on my left for the start of the World Poker Challenge final event in Reno. John had $28,150, so I figured he'd probably be playing solidly at the start. He didn't need to make any desperate moves, but his stack wasn't big enough to take too many chances. I didn't think he'd be coming over the top of me early without a real hand.

We were starting at a $100 ante and $500-$1,000 blinds, so with eight players at the table, it would cost $2,300 per round. A normal raise would be to $3,000-$4,000. That meant that if I went three rounds without playing a hand, I'd lose the ability to make a meaningful reraise. If all you can do is make or call an initial raise, you are very likely to be playing showdown. A reraise is intimidating enough that few players will call it lightly. I didn't want to lose it from my already limited arsenal. So, I was short-stacked, but several rounds from desperation.

I started the day four positions in front of the big blind. I caught blanks until the small blind reached me, when I looked down at Q-Q. Everyone folded to the button, who made it $4,000. It looked like a steal. I moved in for a total of $11,700. John thought briefly and folded his big blind. The raiser on the button thought for a long time. Obviously, he didn't have a big hand, so I was feeling pretty comfortable. If he folded, I'd be up to about $17,000; if he called, I'd be a solid favorite. He called. The flop was J-10-X. The turn was a blank. The river was a 9. "Straight," he said, and turned up K-Q. It was time to head for the airport. I got my money in with the best hand and he drew out on me. It's better than having played the final hand poorly, but it still doesn't feel very good. Anyway, we plan to be back next year.