Welcome to the Jungle

Players just keep discounting the value of calling. Remember, when you call, you have two ways to win. You may have the best hand, or your opponent may have the worst hand. That's the secret value of calling that the so-called "experts" just won't acknowledge. And that's your hidden edge. Please try it out against me when you see me on the tournament trail.

I've always considered myself a great outdoorsman. After all, I watch many, many hunting and fishing shows on television: Bird Dogs Forever, Hunting With Hank, Bassmasters, and so on; I watch them all. Sure, I rarely leave my New York luxury apartment for any reason other than to attend a poker tournament, but that's irrelevant, I thought. I'm like a latter-day Paul Bunyan, if I could just get a chance to show my skills.

That was my mindset on my recent trip to Casinos Europa in Costa Rica. As always, the tournament action was tremendous. I played well and made it deep into every event. Unlike my last visit, when I made four final tables in six nights, this time I made zero final tables. I had one bubble finish, which paid about $500, leaving me stuck only about $400 for that night. This was in a $10 buy-in tournament with unlimited rebuys, by the way. So, my poker results were disappointing.

In a nod to the power of undeserved publicity, I'm revered in Costa Rica for my poker skills. Matt Savage, of World Series fame (see Diego Cordovez's puff piece on Matt in the Oct. 25, 2002 issue of Card Player), runs a parimutuel pool at the Costa Rica tournament. Like a horse race, bets are placed on players, and the payouts reflect the betting odds established by the action. I was the betting favorite three out of four nights. That's right. Players like Erik Seidel, Scotty Nguyen, Chris Ferguson, David Pham, and many others with real credentials were betting underdogs to me. At least there's one country on earth that recognizes my true greatness.

In any case, Costa Rica is an outdoor paradise. Mountains, beaches, volcanoes, rain forests, and an incredible variety of wildlife are all abundant there. So, I decided to test my skills. First, Harley Hall, Chris Ferguson, Chris' friend Ray, and I went to the Pacific coast to sample the surf. The guys wanted to go "all-terrain vehicle" riding upon our arrival in Tamarindo. Sure, I thought, let's go. First of all, they assured me that the ATVs had automatic transmissions. They didn't. They have a weird sort of foot-shifty thing. I couldn't work it. And there was a monsoon-style downpour going on. I couldn't get the thing out of the parking lot. So, Ray, Harley, and Chris took off and I went to the Internet café.

The next day, we all took to the beach. I thought I was the palest, sickliest-looking guy on earth. That was until I saw Chris Ferguson without a shirt on. Wow, that dude is white. We rented boogie boards and sort of floated around for a while. I guess the boards were defective or something, because we never really caught any of the huge waves that were rolling and crashing all around us. Oh well.

A few days later, after the tournament ended, I headed up to the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica to fish the mighty tarpon. We landed on a landing strip - no airports up in that corner of the country. And there are no roads there. All travel is by boat via river or canal. This is just like Apocalypse Now, I thought. I'm really in my element here in the jungle.

I noticed right away that this wasn't some kind of EPCOT thing. For example, this jungle seemed real. There were iguanas hanging around that were the size of my leg. There were monkeys in the trees - monkeys, for god's sake! My cabin at the Casa Mar fishing camp was just that, a cabin: no windows, just screens; no heating or cooling system, just a fan; and no television.

My guide and I headed right out in a 17-foot john boat. A john boat is basically a fiberglass bathtub with an outboard motor attached. I liked it just fine until we got to the river's end and had to hit the open ocean. My guide, Tony, was some sort of genius. He could read the waves the way I think I can read poker hands. Left, right, taking a wave head on, cutting the engine and then gunning it, he got us out to the deep water. I was already seasick.

After a few minutes of actual fishing, I hooked a tarpon. My rod bent down, and then instantly, a silver flash about 6 feet long exploded about 5 feet up and out of the water. Picture Woody Allen trying to fish - that was me. Elapsed fighting time: one second. I tried to reel when I should have been setting the hook, I guess. This one got away. By this time, I was violently ill, so we went in. I collapsed in a semicoma until the lunch bell an hour later. We ate in an authentic kind of mess hall. I liked the wood décor and the fantastic food. Things just taste better in the jungle, I guess. After another quick nap, it was time for the afternoon session.

This time I took some Dramamine in advance, so seasickness wasn't my problem. The burning Caribbean sun was, and it got a little hot in the afternoon. Nevertheless, I hooked another tarpon. This time, I was so startled that I had the reel upside down. It's hard to reel with the apparatus on the wrong side of the rod. Enough said. Elapsed fighting time for the afternoon: one second.

Dinner was a highlight for me; we ate in the lodge again. The other guests had all landed multiple tarpon. They all agreed that I'm a great indoorsman. We retired to the adjoining building for some ice-cold beers and satellite television. All those great fishermen went to bed by 9 p.m., but I toughed it out to watch Monday Night Football. The jungle is scary at night. If the resident hunting dog, Jefe, hadn't been around to walk me back to my cabin, I would have been afraid to go to bed. Enough said.

The World Poker Finals at Foxwoods is under way. I'm playing some strong tournament poker, I think. It's time to post some results.