Life on the Bubble

It was with a touch of melancholy mixed with nostalgia that I watched the final hour of the third day of the "big one" at the World Series of Poker recently, as right before my eyes I watched my yearlong reign come to an end; not as world champion, of course, but a position with its own special aura – "bubble boy." Indeed, it was time to surrender the coveted title that is an instant conversation starter and font for unsolicited advice.

Leading into the championship event it appeared that I was in form, possibly even ready to claim back-to-back titles in my own discipline, as Doyle Brunson and Johnny Chan had achieved in theirs. In the $2,000 half hold'em, half stud event held a few days earlier (the final event that I played prior to the big one), I had been the chip leader with more than $28,000 (approximately 10 percent of all chips in play) when 30 players remained, but I carefully maneuvered into a 17th-place finish (yes, the bubble) a mere two hours later. Alas, I would have to content myself with this result, since I was knocked out of the final event late on the second day, long before the dramatic bubble phase.

I wondered how the new bubble boy's experiences over the next 12 months would compare to mine over the previous year. For a solid decade, two topics had dominated the No. 1 and No. 2 positions on the list of most frequent cardroom topics of conversation that I was involved in. First – no surprise here – was listening to bad-beat stories, and second were requests for loans. However, last year a surprising new contender emerged – discussion of my bubble finish frequently usurped the top two. Alas, discussion of the topic rarely varied. Genuine sympathy, offered in empathetic tones usually reserved for the death of a loved one (unnecessary, but appreciated, nonetheless), was invariably followed by some strategic advice in case I found myself in the same situation: "If you had just folded every hand, you would have gotten $20,000."

Even the most celebrated chroniclers of the game have devoted similar thought to the subject. In his memoir, The Hand I Played, the noted British writer David Spanier devotes the lengthy final chapter to his experience playing in the 1997 world championship. The first 20 pages are a detailed rationalization of his timid play, as his stack gradually erodes from its high-water mark of $10,000 (the starting amount) until he is knocked out at the end of the first day, thus falling short of his stated goal of surviving to the second day. Interestingly, Spanier reserves his scorn for that year's bubble boy, as he devotes several paragraphs to vilifying that year's 28th-place finisher. Writing about the bubble boy, he mixes pity with his criticism: "He was going to remember this … not just that night and the next day, but all his life. Even if he had found a pair of aces in the hole … he should have thought twice before risking all his chips … miserable as I was at my own performance, I would rather have gone out on the first hand than lost at this point." Spanier goes on to refer to the bubble boy rather ignominiously as "the loser."

I beg to differ. Notwithstanding my attempts at humor, I do not take any perverse pride in my bubble finishes, and avoid stupid risks when cash awaits one place away. But calculated risks are another matter altogether, and unless you are prepared to take calculated risks during all phases of a tournament, you would be best served by saving the entry fee right at the get-go. In fact, the prize structure of most tournaments demands risk taking precisely during the bubble phase, when tables are shorthanded and many players have tightened up. In the world championship event, 45th place indeed pays $20,000, but first place pays $2 million. You need to sneak into the money 100 times to equal one win, not to mention the fact that $20,000 at best has a temporary impact on one's life, while $2 million and the achievement of the world championship surely will meaningfully change almost anyone's life.

Unfortunately, a willingness to go out on the bubble goes hand in hand with putting yourself in position to win a major tournament. Folding aces, as Spanier suggests, is absurd. Aggressive tactics during the bubble phase may backfire, but when they succeed, they position you for the "top three" payday that is essential to long-term tournament success. That's why as I watched this year's bubble boy emerge, I did not pity him; rather, I recognized that while on this day he had to deal with some frustration, on another day his willingness to take a chance might result in a big tournament win that would more than make up for numerous bubble or near-bubble finishes.

So, what happened to "the loser" Spanier ridiculed? He won the same tournament three years later. Spanier was right in that Chris Ferguson still remembers his bubble finish, but it is a mere footnote compared to the glory of having won $1.5 million as the 2000 world champion.