Taj Mahals I Have Known

I was going to make this column somewhat chronological, but events have conspired to rob me of that elegant design. Somehow, someway, I finished third in the championship event at the United States Poker Championship at the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City last month. So, I interrupt my month-by-month diary format to break in with the shocking events of December. By the way, I've been to the Taj Mahal in Agra, India, and it cannot compare, in terms of tournament action, with its Atlantic City namesake. I want to say that up front. Both places do have spectacular marble work, however.

I was absolutely, positively not going to play in the USPC this year. I was emotionally devastated by a horrible mistake I made in the main event of the World Poker Finals at Foxwoods in Connecticut, and I needed at least a month off. I went to Mexico for a week, in no small part to get over my debacle at Foxwoods. I came back from Mexico feeling relaxed and refreshed, but I still wasn't going down to Atlantic City.

On Monday morning, the 10th of December, my friend Nicky Di Leo called me to say that he was in the car, on the way to the tournament, and asked me if I wanted to be picked up. Convenience is a major motivation in my life. No thinking and planning were required due to Nick's kind offer, and my bag from Mexico was still packed. Yes, I'd go.

On the way down to the tournament, I had a flashback of my screwup at Foxwoods. I had bought my way in to the main event there, having failed to win a seat. Simply put, I played great – there, I said it. I don't think I made a major or even notable minor mistake for the first 11 hours of the tournament. Playing for the first time ever with the great Phil Hellmuth Jr., I broke him. (He detailed the hand in one of his recent "Hand of the Week" columns. I was the lucky guy with A-A when Phil made an all-in move from the big blind with A-6 offsuit.) I broke one of my heroes, Mickey Appleman. I broke the guy who had most of Phil's chips (also detailed in Phil's "Hand of the Week"). I was in the zone. I was playing aggressively, but also shifted gears. I made correct laydowns. This was it, I knew it – I was going to make the final table.

With two tables to go, we were reseated. A quick glance confirmed what I already knew; with about $50,000 in tournament chips, I was among the leaders, and was very comfortable in relation to the blinds and antes. There was still work to do, obviously, but with a few steals here and there, I would be golden.

My friend Jason Viriyayuthakorn was to my immediate right, and another New York player, Michael Dix, was across the table. Mark Seif, with whom I'd played all day, was at the table, as was Scotty Nguyen. I knew these guys and respected them, but I felt very comfortable. Then, I did it. I did what I'd sworn to myself I'd never do again. I tried to win the tournament with two tables to go. This is one of the most common, avoidable, stupid mistakes in tournament poker. I'd learned this already, but that didn't stop me from doing it again.

Jason raised from first or second position. I reraised with pocket nines. Everyone folded around to Jason, and he reraised me all in. He had a substantial stack, but I clearly had him covered by about $10,000, I'd say. The correct action was clear as day. Jason was almost doing me a favor by sending such an unambiguous message with an all-in move. I was beat as could be. It's all so clear – now. At that time, I have no idea what I could have been thinking. Nines were no good. I called. I called. I hadn't made a big call all day. I don't make big calls. Big calls are not for me. Jason, of course, as even a novice should have known, had A-A. No help came and I was crippled. I've never left a casino as quickly as I did when I busted out about 20 minutes later. T.J. Cloutier reminded me of what he had told me at the start of play that day. "Adam," he said, "you've got a tendency to play really well for a while, but then you hit a wall." The legendary T.J. had called me over to tell me that. That's not a trivial piece of advice. And what had I done? Exactly what he had warned me not to do. Uggggggh.

Let's now flash forward to the Taj Mahal. My thinking was that whatever I did, I would not try to win a tournament until it was winning time. You can't win the tournament with two tables to go, but you sure can lose it. That was my mantra.

I played in the final $500 no-limit hold'em event and finished in the money, reaping $972. OK, not bad. I played a few supersatellites, nothing doing. And I played a one-table satellite to try to win a seat in the big one, but nothing good happened. OK, I had a good trip and regained a little of the confidence I lost in Connecticut, so I was going to go home.

Jeff Shulman grabbed me. "You're not going to play in the championship event?" He was incredulous. "That's why we play poker, isn't it?" He reminded me that I could afford the buy-in. Peer pressure worked, and I forked over the $7,600 to play in the championship event.

I was short-stacked for almost the entire event. We played for three levels on the first day of the three-day event. My best play was laying down Q-Q from the small blind after "Syracuse" Chris Tsiprailidis re-reraised me from late position. He told me that he had kings, and I believed him. That saved my tournament right there.

At the start of day No. 2, I was the fourth-smallest stack out of 40 players. It didn't worry me. Mickey Appleman told Jeff and me at breakfast that we should have a plan and stick with it. I felt a sense of Zen-like ease take over. I wasn't panicked, even when I bluffed off half of my already smallish stack to Richard Tatalovich on the hand before we went on break. I just kept scuffling along. Then, I got a major break.

John Hennigan, a player I'd heard of but never played against, was moved to our table. Right away, he reraised me when I was on a steal, and I mucked. So, he knew that I could be pushed off a hand. I felt a little embarrassed and angry.

A few hands later, I raised from late position with the K 10, again on a steal. John came over the top for a substantial raise. I had a good read on him and knew that he was just pushing me around with no hand. That's the kind of read we top tournament pros make. I reraised him all in. He called so fast that I could barely comprehend it. The flop came Q-J-9, and I sheepishly showed the straight.

My read had been perfect; John showed me pocket kings as he tossed them into the muck! You know the old saying: To win a no-limit hold'em tournament, you have to win with K-10 against K-K and you have to win with K-K against K-10. It's the classic confrontation.

I almost knew it at the time that this was my one suck-out for the tournament, and I wasn't going to waste it. That crucial double-through gave me a little breathing room. I just kept playing my game, stealing quite a bit. Richard Tatalovich later told me that he was surprised at my aggressiveness. I didn't have a choice, though. I was still short-stacked and needed to constantly acquire chips so that I could pay the blinds and antes.

Before I knew it, it was getting late and we were down to two tables. Jeff was at my table, along with the monster stack, Men Nguyen. John Juanda and Tony Ma were to my immediate left, and Boris Alic, a great guy and strong player, was to my right.

I was dying inside. I needed to make the final table to prove to myself that I had the right stuff. I wanted to bury the tragedy of Foxwoods once and for all. I wanted my nonpoker friends to understand that I had some talent. But I needed chips. Once again, my stack was getting light – and then it happened.

In the big blind, I looked down at K-K – beautiful K-K. I needed some customers, but hopefully not too many. Everyone folded around to Men "The Master," who had about $150,000 in chips and was by far the leader. He raised to about $10,000 from the button. Boris, who also was getting quite low, moved in for his entire stack, about $19,000. I paused for a bit, not wanting to give away my strength, and then pushed all in for $24,000.

The Master, who had already been engaging in psychological warfare with Tony Ma and John Juanda at our table, now subjected me to a little test of mettle. He thought for a full 10 minutes before he decided what to do. He had Boris' stack counted. He had my stack counted. He had Boris' stack physically put next to mine for visual inspection. It was truly nerve-racking. But he had to call; it was only $14,000 more, the pot was already $53,000 plus the antes, and he had $140 large still in front of him. He called, of course. The Master was holding J-J, and Boris had A-J. I had The Master crippled and Boris was drawing thin, but he was still very much alive – until a king fell on the flop. The hand held up and I held up. Now I knew, this time correctly, that I was going to the final table of a championship event.

The final table was the next day. My goal was to live up to my chip position, which was fifth ($42,200) to start the day. The Master had about $180,000 and was still the chip leader. Satish Vitha, an excellent New York player, also had more than $100,000. John Juanda, Tony Ma, T.J. Cloutier, Scott Byron, John Urpsis, and Syracuse Chris were also at the final table. This was a tough, tough field.

But, as Mickey Appleman had advised me, I had a plan. It was a plan lifted straight from the T.J. Cloutier playbook. I had heard him say, "The only person you need to break is the last person." So, I would bide my time, make only strong moves and no strong calls, and let the other combatants break each other and themselves. And so it went.

My worst scare came when I reraised Satish while holding A-9. I sensed some weakness in his raise, but I realized that he could easily call me since his stack was still big with eight players left. He did call with the A 4. The flop was harmless, as it came with an ace, but a 4 came on the turn. I was devastated. I wasn't ready to go out eighth. A 9 came on the river, after what seemed like an eternity. I not only was still alive, I had doubled through.

And then they began to drop. Scotty Byron, Syracuse, John Urpsis, and Tony Ma all went down. Then, my buddy Satish, who was as card dead as they come, saw his big stack evaporate. And then there were four.

I looked around at T.J., Men, and John Juanda. "We must have more than 100 major titles between us," I shouted to the crowd. Of course, I had, and still have, zero. So, I knew who the sucker was, but I was sticking to my plan.

T.J. went out next, and there I was sitting in third place. I was guaranteed $68,000, which would put me up about $60,000 for tournaments in my first year of playing serious poker. It was sweet. And first place, which I now eyed greedily, was worth $228,000.

It wasn't to be, however. First of all, I was caught between two huge stacks. They were No. 1 and No. 2 in the Card Player Player of the Year standings. And they wanted to tear each other apart. John Juanda, in approximately 30 hands in which he was the small blind and I was the big blind, raised me 28 times, called once, and folded once. And whenever I wanted to make a button move, there was Men waiting greedily to my immediate left. It was a tough spot.

And I made a mistake. I needed to modify my plan now that I was playing threehanded against these two tough, aggressive players. Neither John nor Men was going to play a huge hand against each other until I either doubled through once or twice or was out. But, I stubbornly didn't want to make any big calls. I wanted to go out raising. So, I waited too long.

Down to about $30,000 in chips, with the blinds $3,000 and $6,000 and a $1,000 ante, I think, I found A-Q. John raised me once again, this time for the minimum, $6,000. I reraised him another $9,000, clearly pot committed. He raised me back, and I called all in. John quickly told me he had A-A. I stood up, and watched the case ace fall on the flop and a meaningless queen give me an impotent two pair on the river. I was out.

I can honestly say that for the first time all year, my rookie year, I wasn't disappointed when I busted out. I played to the best of my ability. I played against one of the toughest fields in poker, and I finished third. I believed that I had achieved my goal of making some kind of mark in my first year. And I stacked $68,000 in cash in a Manila envelope to take home. Sweet. And to think I wasn't going to play at all in Atlantic City until Nick Di Leo happened to call me – and I was going to skip the main event until Jeff Shulman peer-pressured me into it. Sweeter. I can't wait to see what 2002 has in store for me.