The Tournament Circuit Grind

The touring poker professional has to deal with everything from choosing the right hotel, to going through customs with loads of cash, to simply keeping track of all of his belongings when he's on the road. My recent trip to the North American Poker Championship (NAPC) in Niagara Falls, Canada, perfectly illustrated some of the typical hazards a player faces when traveling the circuit.

The NAPC featured three day-one flights, taking place over Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of Columbus Day weekend. Wonderful - I could play day one and still have two solid days to spend with my fiancée, Ivy, before she flew back to New York on Monday. And if I happened to bust out on day one, I'd just fly back with her, so I booked myself on the same return flight. Virtually all tournament pros book flights in this way: They assume an early exit. Think about it; would you rather have to pay to catch an earlier flight after having busted out from a big event, or have to pay to catch a later flight because you're still alive in a major tournament? Bear in mind, most of the time you're going to be knocked out on day one or two. It makes psychological, logistical, and financial sense to assume an early bust-out when making travel plans.

With the flights booked, I next had to secure a hotel. Naturally, I reserved a room with a Jacuzzi and a view of the Falls for Ivy and me. But then I noticed that the Hilton was offering rooms at a poker rate. I booked a room there, as well, and did a little price comparison. The poker rate room would cost about $150 less per night. We'd be staying for four nights minimum, and knowing myself, I wouldn't move to some cheaper room if I happened to still be in the tournament after Ivy left. The nice room would cost somewhere between $600 and $1,100 more than the cheap room. I talked it over with Ivy, and we decided the extra money was just not worth it. I cancelled the fancy room. Some people have a misguided view of the wealth of tournament players. Most are not rich. I personally do not believe in paying a thousand dollars for a minor increase in comfort over a couple of days.

The next step was the money; how would I physically get 10,000 Canadian dollars into the Fallsview Casino to enter the World Poker Tour (WPT) main event? The simplest way would've been to wire the money, but unfortunately, this had to be done at least two weeks in advance, and I'm a notorious procrastinator. So instead, I just got some U.S. cash from my bank and, after flying into Buffalo (New York) and renting a car, drove across the Rainbow Bridge with it. I had to declare the money at the border, which isn't a huge deal, but it's also 15 minutes that no one really enjoys. Would you like it if someone asked you to show him all the money you had on you, and then proceeded to count it bill by bill while eyeing you warily as you told him you were using it to play a poker tournament?

On Friday morning, I committed my first act of true laziness: I allowed the casino to turn my U.S. dollars into Canadian without shopping around for the best rate. I didn't have the energy to get up early, find the most financially advantageous bank, drive there and complete the transaction, and then register for the tournament. I converted my U.S. dollars at the casino cage, possibly costing myself some money, and started the registration process. This involved buying a voucher in one part of the casino, walking a very long way to the tournament area, exchanging the voucher for a receipt, a lanyard, a player card, and a tournament ID card, and then signing WPT release forms. All in all, the process took about an hour.

I then played day one. It went well.

Over the next two days, I turned to the pleasure portion of my trip and did a bunch of sightseeing, bike riding, wine drinking, watching movies, eating nice dinners with Ivy. These two days were, by far, the best of the trip.

On Monday, it was back to work. I put Ivy on a plane home and got started on day two of the tournament. It went well.

The next morning, I got off to a bad start. My last good left contact lens ripped at 11 a.m., about an hour before the cards were to be in the air. I'd already gone through one backup lens. Stupidly, I'd brought only one. I had to scramble around to find an eye doctor, but somehow I did. Miraculously, I had my prescription with me, and even more miraculously, the nice lady at the eye doctor's office simply handed me a single "trial" lens for free. After a short cab ride back to the casino, I'd ordered breakfast at the coffee shop by 11:47 a.m. I normally like to feel considerably less stress during a big tournament, but unexpected issues come up all the time when going away for long stretches. The poker on day three went well.

Day four went OK, though not as great as I'd hoped, and I ended up finishing in seventh place - the so-called "TV bubble." It was almost midnight by the time I got back to my room, but now I had a new problem on my hands. I had to convert my winnings from Canadian dollars to American. While getting a bad rate when buying into a tournament can cost a hundred dollars or so, getting a bad rate after making a semi-decent score can cost thousands. With a ton of packing to do and a new flight to book, and being way behind on sleep, the last thing I wanted to do was shop around for a good exchange rate. But with the amount I stood to lose if I did it poorly, I didn't have much choice.

I got lucky. The casino had a rate that had been locked in all day, and after I checked the overnight markets, it was apparent that the Canadian dollar was losing value and that the casino rate would be the best I could get. Sure enough, when I went downstairs, I was told the casino's rate was going to get worse in a few hours and that I was exchanging at just the right time. Sometimes I run good.

I got back to my apartment in Brooklyn the next day and did absolutely nothing. In fact, I did very little productive work for the next week, still spent from the tournament and travel. The touring pro's life is one of constant logistical concerns, constant stress, constant expenses (both hidden and upfront), and flight after flight, hotel after hotel. It's grueling. It's tough. And it's a big part of why I've chosen to spend most of my time writing, playing, and coaching from the comfort of my own home.

Matt Matros is the author of The Making of a Poker Player, which is available online at www.CardPlayer.com. He is also a featured coach for stoxpoker.com.