World Series of Poker Event No. 12: Part I

The first poker book I ever read was on limit hold’em. The first time that I played in a casino as a serious player, I played limit hold’em. The first time that I ventured into online poker, the only game was limit hold’em. I’ve played more hands of limit hold’em than anything else. No-limit hold’em tournaments and, more recently, pot-limit Omaha cash games have become pretty important to my career, but limit hold’em remains at the core of whatever success I’ve had as a poker player.

This year, I participated in the World Series of Poker for the seventh straight year. I played only the main event in 2004 and didn’t cash, but I’ve cashed in at least one event in every year since. Going into 2010, I’d cashed in 14 WSOP events in all, including two final tables and one deep finish in the main event. Given that I never play a full schedule of events, I’ve been pleased with my results so far. That said, I of course have always thought the capper to my WSOP resume would be winning a gold bracelet.

I started my 2010 WSOP with a $1,500 no-limit hold’em event, and busted out in an hour. I then played a $1,500 pot-limit hold’em event, and got deep enough to almost sniff the money, until I ran into pocket kings and was eliminated. Next came another $1,500 no-limit hold’em event. I started off well in that one and got a decent amount of chips, but then I made a bad read, got crippled, and finally was eliminated. As I walked out of the tournament area, I checked my watch. I still had time to enter the 5 p.m. $1,500 limit hold’em event, albeit an hour late.

My first table was made up entirely of late buy-in players, so of course it was full of other bust-outs from the no-limit hold’em event. One guy announced that he was trying to disprove his friends’ theory that no one can bluff in limit, and that he was going to be bluffing “like crazy.” He then pulled off several successful bluffs after telling us about his plan (he also lost a good amount of chips in the process). Another player was upset because at the 75-150 limit, his opponent had bet the “max” of 150 and forced him to fold. After the hand, he said, “So, 150 is the max, right? I’m not allowed to raise him or anything?” And then, of course, there was another player open-limping with 80 percent of his hands, including 4-3 offsuit from early position. Limit hold’em tournaments tend to be largely populated by people who don’t take them seriously, don’t know anything about the game, or both. For this reason, they also draw a lot of limit specialists who are trying to take a shot at winning a bracelet.

Despite the wonderful opportunity presented by my first table, I mostly treaded water there, taking the usual limit bad beats. I got to the dinner break with just 4,775, a small increase from my starting 4,500. I had two good levels after dinner to get to 8,000, but I lost a few pots in the next level, and at one point was down as low as five blinds. I somehow rallied back to 5,000, showing only one hand (an unraised pot in my big blind that got checked around the whole way), but that still meant that I had only eight blinds going into the starting level of day two.

The first hand I got involved with on the second day might’ve been crucial. A player in early position opened the pot, and I defended my big blind with J-9 offsuit. My stack was now down to six blinds. The flop came A-9-3, and I check-called. My stack was now five blinds. The turn brought a queen, and I checked. My opponent fired another bet into the pot. It was decision time. If I called, I would have to plan on calling a river bet, too, so I was getting 5.25-2 effective odds to call down, meaning that I needed a 28 percent chance of showing up with the best hand to turn a profit. I had about an 11 percent chance of improving to two pair or better with my five outs, so it would’ve been very reasonable to put my chips in, even on this bad turn card. Sitting at the table, however, I felt strongly enough that my opponent had an ace that I decided to fold. Whether I was right or not, I’ll never know.

With five blinds in my stack now, and sitting in the small blind, I looked down at K-8 suited against a button raise. The button was a strong player, and K-8 suited, while not a monster hand by any stretch of the imagination, seemed like a solid +EV [positive expected value] choice against his range. K-8 suited has about 50 percent equity against the top 50 percent of hands, which is about the range of a typical aggressive button raiser. Even if he’s opening with only the top 40 percent, K-8 suited has 46 percent equity, and I am priced in with my short stack if the big blind folds. I three-bet, knowing that I was committed. It turned out, though, that the button had A-Q; 8 on the flop, queen on the turn, 8 on the river, and I was still alive.

By the first break of day two, I had 16 blinds — still quite short, but still in it. The next few hours were a blur of hands. I had K-Q on a flop of J-10-9, and lost. I had 9-8 in the big blind against only the small blind, on a board of A-8-3-8-9, and lost. But I also flopped a set against an overpair, made a runner-runner full house, and hammered away at a few no-showdown pots. By the dinner break, I had a slightly above-average stack of 46,500, and with 77 players remaining and 63 getting paid, I thought that I just might cash in this tournament after all.

Matt Matros is the author of The Making of a Poker Player. He is also a featured coach for cardrunners.com.