Sucking at the Series

I recently watched the videotape of Puggy Pearson's victory at the World Series of Poker way back in 1973. It was unbelievable. First of all, there were only 13 entrants in the event. The world championship was decided by a glorified single-table satellite. That is mind-boggling. Also, in the middle of a hand, the players often shouted for "insurance." Jack Binion then stepped forward and offered a price, and the players then bet actual cash against their own chances in the hand, thereby hedging their positions in the Series. Wild.

The buy-in, as it is now, was $10,000. That's the most impressive thing to me about those ancient-era Series. Ten dimes then probably equates to about 60 dimes now, roughly. I could look back at the inflation rate and do the actual calculations, but I'm too lazy. Also, the tournament was winner-take-all. It took some courage to put up all of that dough with only one spot getting paid. So, even though the modern-era (post-1990) champions have had to wade through much larger fields, they have faced a comparatively smaller financial risk compared to their golden-era forerunners.

As I write this, I'm sitting at home taking a self-imposed timeout from the 2002 WSOP. Like a grade-schooler forced to sit in the corner quietly, I'm stewing in my own juices here in Brooklyn, taking a long, hard look at my insipid play so far in the Series.

First of all, I think I came in with a far too cocky attitude. With my solid finish at the United States Poker Championship foremost in my mind, I must have decided that I could throw out my normal, solid, stay-in-line style in favor of a chip-tossing, odds-be-damned method. It didn't work.

The worst part about losing in poker tournaments is the embarrassment. In the $1,500 no-limit hold'em event, I gave my chips away to Roman Abinsay for absolutely no reason. I flopped top pair after limping in with A 10. The flop came 10-9 high with two clubs, and I bet out, about the size of the pot, but, of course, I don't recall the exact blinds or bet size. Everyone folded (two or three players saw the flop) to Roman, who called. I correctly put him on a draw. I incorrectly decided, because I wanted to decide this way, that he was on a flush draw. So, when the turn brought the Ku and I bet out and Roman raised, I totally disregarded the obvious straight that he had just made. This was asinine. It was not even a rookie-level mistake. It was a $1-$2 first-time-player mistake – except I wasn't in a $1-$2 hold'em game. I was in a major event, playing no-limit, at the World Series of Poker. I called him, like an imbecile, and then had to suffer the indignity of showing my hand to Roman, T.J. Cloutier, and Carlos Mortensen, all of whom were at my table.

My play in most of the other events wasn't much better. So, I decided to take a week off, clear my head, and go home. It feels good to be home. I think I'll play better in the $3,000 no-limit hold'em event and the world championship event. If I don't, I'll seriously need to re-evaluate my career plans.

On the other hand, I have seen some signs that certain aspects of my game are improving. At Bellagio's inaugural tournament, $3,000 buy-in no-limit hold'em, the blinds were $100-$200, I think. A player I didn't know had been raising fairly often from the button. I woke up in the small blind with A-K as he raised again. I popped him back, raising his $700 to $2,000 to go. He popped me back another $3,000. The thought, "Aces," flashed through my head. "Fold," my instincts told me. "It's a clear fold," I thought. Instead, I raised him all in for $7,000 more. He called in an instant, with aces, as I had thought. As I slinked away, T.J, who always seems to see me play my worst, simply shook his head and said, "I don't need to say anything."

Asher Derei also called me over later to lambaste my play. They both had a point.

However, and here's the part that encourages me, at least I recognized the situation. I didn't execute, but my instincts were correct. I need to follow my instincts more. Also, upon further analysis, he didn't have to have aces there. And with any hand other than aces or kings, I'm correctly putting him to the decision. And I'm ensuring that I'll see all five boardcards by getting all in preflop with A-K.

Later at the Series I was playing a supersatellite. A player who had been making standard-sized raises the entire event (three or four times the big blind) came in for a raise of double the big blind. Again, the word "aces" flashed through my pea-sized poker brain. Again, I didn't execute and reraised him with A-K. He had aces. This time, I absolutely knew what he had, though. And that makes me believe that my recognition skills are getting better. I just need to trust what I know.

Now, those were two situations that I mishandled, but the way I was thinking about poker was essentially correct, I think. It's important to analyze my mistakes and not repeat them. If I hope to play at a world-class level, though, I need to do some serious work on my game. In my next column, I'll report on the remainder of my World Series, and we'll see if I practiced what I preach.