My Time at the Final Table, World Series of Poker Style - First-time appearance at a World Series final table

"Everyone is going to be afraid and nervous there," Bear (Barry Greenstein) said. "You need to take advantage and attack the table. Make them fear you and your chips."



These were the words passed on to me in the hours before my first trip to a final table at the World Series of Poker, easily the apex of my poker career to that point. I spent two days playing some ridiculously tough competition and found myself in this position: fourth in chips at the ESPN televised table, competing for a WSOP bracelet in the $5,000 pot-limit hold'em event. All I could say was, "Wow!" And by the way, I saw some pigs fly by on my way into the poker room.



This was something that I thought might – might – happen three or four years down the line. I figured I would put in my time and hone some skills, and maybe if I was lucky, I would get a shot like this. When I came into this year's WSOP, my only goal was to try to make the money in an event. Through the first 19 events, I had gotten close several times. Typically, I had played down to the top one-third in each event and then got knocked out on a big hand toward the end of the day. I believed I was playing well and really had been put out on several tough beats, so I was feeling confident and solid. If nothing else, my performance had validated my decision to go the professional poker route.



This time would be different, though. This time, there would be a nice run all the way to the final table. There would be no tough beats here – no aces full cracked on this day. That's right, I really had aces full cracked by quads on the river. Oh, the humanity of it.



I sat down on the first day and immediately was dealt A-A, and an early-position raiser had K-K. I all but doubled up on him the first hand, and the stage was set for me to go on a long run in this event. I would knock out three other people on perfect flops during those first few hours, and that's really what it takes to go deep in these kinds of tournaments: a lot of luck. Of course, a mammoth amount of skill is required, but you need to have some nice situations set themselves up for you. There certainly wasn't any skill in my picking up those aces against kings early. I also held the 9 8 against the Q Qwith an opening board of A Q 7. It was a perfect flop, and my opponent couldn't get away from his hand. I took down a massive pot and continued the march. I also had a flop of J J 8 for my 8 8. My opponent held the J 10; it was just that kind of day for me.



As an added treat during this first day of play, Bear was taking down the $1,500 pot-limit Omaha bracelet and I was able to watch on the big board. Of course, in what is now a legendary move, he won that event and immediately joined mine, where he was being blinded off. He jumped back in and had a decent amount of chips, so he started making a run in this event – my event. How dare he?



How absolutely wonderful this was for me, as guess who was moved to his table within an hour of him sitting back down? That's right, his clueless son. Lucky – freaking lucky – me!



I greeted my dad at table No. 10 with, "Jeez, what the hell did I do to deserve this?" He just looked up, smiled, and tossed his big blind into the pot. To be honest, despite all the talking we had done about poker, Bear had never actually seen me play poker. This would be his introduction, and man, would it be painful for me.



After doubling him up in the first hour, we walked to the bathroom at the break. "Hmm, let me see. I think there are too many things to talk about in this short time, he said. It stung, and I believe the words "brain damage" were used several times, both to me and in front of the ESPN cameras! As much as it wasn't an enjoyable experience, though, I probably improved more in the eight or so hours we spent at the same table than I had in quite some time.



I wound up with the chip lead at the end of the day ($65,000) and was thoroughly satisfied. Bear told me that it was great to have the chip lead, but if I had been maximizing my hands, I could have had around $95,000. That is where my inexperience showed; I wasn't able to move in and really crush people with my good hands. I rarely extracted the maximum from my opponents, which is just a cardinal sin in poker, as we all know. Solid hands don't come around that often, and not hammering someone when you have one is really inexcusable at this level.



The next day, we played on and things continued to break my way. I was on an extremely good run of cards and just riding it, hoping it would take me far, at least into the money this time. I received ruthless commands – I mean, kind suggestions – from my dad during breaks, and continued to try to improve as the tournament went on. Actually, he pointed out mistakes I had made in hands during the previous hour. There really is nothing like having a poker coach at the table with you. Of course, many times my mistakes helped to build his stack, but hey, I thought of it as my way of "paying" for lessons.



Bear was knocked out on a tough hand, set under set, and I somehow weaved my way through the field and found myself among the final nine players. We counted our chips, bagged them, and headed off to get some sleep. I decided to go over to Bellagio and get some advice from my dad. That was when he uttered the words seen at the beginning of this column, and these were the words that rang in my head when I walked up to the stage the next afternoon. Ultimately, these would be the words that would seal my doom – not because it was bad advice, but because I wasn't able to implement it properly.



From the moment the cards were in the air that day, I was so focused on terrorizing the other players at the table that I forgot to play my game. Bear had outlined to me countless times when he had run over tables with his aggressive play, and I really wanted to emulate that. I had been playing very solid poker the previous couple of days, though. I hadn't been just attacking at all times, and wasn't sure that changing my style of play on the final day was the correct thing to do. Despite feeling unsure, I tried it. As a consequence, I never got comfortable at any point during the final table.



Never feeling good that last day, I ended up playing some hands pretty poorly and generally just had a pretty embarrassing and bad showing. Going out with A-J was the ultimate donkey move. I wish there was more to share with you about the day, but I just played poorly. I never felt in my comfort zone and it showed in my decision-making. It was doubly frustrating after I had played so solidly the first 18 or so hours of the tournament to blow it in those last two.

The bottom line is that I committed the cardinal sin of competition: I abandoned what got me there in the first place. Although everything Bear said was absolutely true, I had no business trying to play that way once I got to the final table. I should have stuck to my game and not tried to shift to a new style. It was an extremely dumb mental mistake and I am pretty disappointed with myself for making it.



Once I made the move to try to play a "full-court pressure" style, it affected everything I did. I was calling with hands I would normally fold, raising with hands I would normally fold, and generally playing a garbage version of cards. I completely abandoned my own comfort zone in the final minutes of the game, so to speak. Once that happened, I really had no chance of taking down the title.



What can I say? It was a lesson learned – a costly, painful, awfully embarrassing, and soon-to-be nationally televised to all of America lesson learned. Just like a quarterback trying to force a pass into a receiver who isn't open, I was attempting to force all kinds of action that just wasn't there for me. When I couldn't find anyone open, I just flung the ball downfield, which is never a good alternative. It's all right, though; I'll take my lumps and be tougher for the next time I find myself with such a big shot.