Bad Beats at the World Series of Poker

The worst beats we suffer occur not at poker tables, but away from them – in life. After all, a bad beat in a poker game is limited to the money we lose – nothing more, nothing less. In short, there are far more bad beats taking place at hospitals than inside poker rooms. That point might seem obvious, but I think it's important to keep things in perspective when we cry about "bad beats." So begins my poker story.

I attended this year's World Series of Poker for the sixth time. Every year, I try to attend poker's most prestigious tournament for reasons that are as much social as professional. There's lots of good side action. There's also the thrill of meeting new people, seeing old friends, and, of course, rubbing shoulders with the best poker players from all over the world.

But indulgences come at a price. It's not a freeroll. It's not a vacation. I'm not paid to attend the World Series of Poker. In fact, it costs me quite a bundle to make the trip from the East Coast and pay my hotel and daily expenses for a couple of weeks. To cover the vig, I put in several hours a day at the poker tables. I play eight to 10 hours daily, on average (sometimes longer), just like working a real job. It's one reason why I attend the World Series – even though I play in few poker tournaments. I have found that my return on investment is higher in the cash games and satellites that accompany tournaments, and there is lower bankroll variance. Others may see the World Series of Poker as the dream of a lifetime, but for me it's a glamorized road trip – with fringe benefits. The main objective is business.

I arrived in Las Vegas on a Tuesday morning on a cross-country flight on American Airlines. Two black suitcases were waiting for me in the baggage claim area. Inside one of the suitcases was a new Macintosh laptop. Just as a plumber plies his trade with a set of tools, for me, a personal computer is essential when I travel. Without a computer, no work gets done – no daily reports, no E-mail access, no sports picks, and no poker articles. Take my laptop away from me and I might as well be just another buffet-grazing Las Vegas tourist who's toting rolls of quarters around looking for the slot machine that's "due" to hit the big jackpot.

I sensed something was wrong when I rolled the suitcase outside and heard a symphony of broken glass. I opened my bag and discovered a horrifying sight. The computer was completely smashed. Not cracked. Not chipped. Smashed! Somehow, the laptop had been crushed in transit by the baggage handlers. Never mind that it was tucked away comfortably inside a hefty suitcase made by the company that once ran an ad featuring its product being thrown around a cage by a 500-pound gorilla. Never mind that the laws of physics dictated that it probably took the direct hit of a sledgehammer to inflict such damage – several blows, in fact. Visions of a $7-an-hour man-ape working at the end of a conveyer belt flashed in my mind. After baggage service told me there was nothing they could do, I realized I was already stuck $1,500 and change for the trip before I'd played my first hand of poker.

If anyone were to ask what's the biggest effect poker and gambling have on a person, I'd say that – above all else – they change your perspective on things. When we get dealt a hand of personal misfortune, it takes on the likeness of a bad poker session. For example, the transmission on the car needs to be replaced. Fine. That's $1,200 – or the equivalent of one bad session in a $20-$40 game. Need a new roof on the townhouse? That's a couple of bad beats in a pot-limit game. Speeding ticket? That's an hour of substandard hands. The in-laws are coming to dinner? That's another round of blinds. All of life's "little" troubles become poker-connected and interrelated – proportionate to their financial and emotional toll on the bankroll. Even though nothing much fazes me anymore when it comes to sustaining a loss, nothing could quite prepare me for what was to come.

I taxied to Binion's Horseshoe with my two bags, one hauling a worthless laptop. The instant I entered, I saw an old friend, Sami. He is a poker player from Dallas whom I hadn't seen in at least 10 years. It was a shock to see Sami playing poker, because I figured he had gone broke a long time ago and was out of the business. Anyway, back in the '80s, I used to play poker pretty much all the time, and Sami was one of the fixtures in the local games. He was kinda like an old Army buddy, you might say. He fought in the poker trenches with me – in both good times and bad. We recognized each other instantly, laughed, threw our arms around each other, and exchanged greetings.

We got to talking a bit, and after a while I told Sami that I had come into town without a place to stay (I figured I'd just find a place later). So, I was without a bed or place to stick my belongings. I explained that I was already stuck for the trip, and now it was important that I try to cut expenses as much as possible. Sami quickly came to my rescue by offering his hotel room. "Nolan, you can stay with me! We'll share expenses!" That was like music to my ears.

Sami went on to explain that we could split the hotel room for the next two weeks and just settle up later. What a great deal!

"Go over to the Fremont (Hotel) and leave your bags with the bellhop," Sami instructed. "Leave 'em there and we'll check you in later." Boy, Sami sure is one helluva guy, I thought to myself.

So, I left my bags with the bellhop, came back, and started playing poker. Late that night, I ran into Sami in the satellite area. I was a bit surprised when the next words out of Sami's mouth were, "Nolan, let me hold a thousand."

"What do you mean, let you hold a thousand? Don't tell me you're broke!" I exclaimed thoughtlessly, immediately realizing the callousness of my comments. Sami explained that he would get some cash the next morning – that his woman back in Dallas was going to send him more stew, but that he needed to get through the rest of the night. He needed cash to sit in a game – not the next morning, now. I've been tapped out before, so I know the feeling. What are friends for? If you can't go to your friends for help when you're in trouble, you don't have a real friend. That's my motto.

So, I compromised with Sami and handed him $500 from my stash and told him to get it back to me the next day. He displayed a huge smile and told me what a pal I was. It was the least I could do after he'd helped me out with the hotel room. Sami then turned and walked away quickly just as I remembered our hotel arrangement.

"Wait! What time can I check into the room?" I asked. Sami replied that we would meet in a couple of hours and check into the hotel. We agreed to meet at the Fremont front desk at 4 a.m. (hey, it's Las Vegas).

Anyone see what's coming next?

So, 4 a.m. rolls around, and first I'm at the bellhop's desk, and next I'm at the front desk at the Fremont. I look at my watch and it's 4 a.m. sharp. Five minutes go by, then 10. Soon, it's 4:20 a.m., then 4:30 a.m.

Well, I figure Sami must have gotten into a big game and made himself quite a score. He's probably over at the 'Shoe stacking up towers of chips. When I'm in a game and running good, time becomes secondary. I forget about everything else. When you are pounding out $800 an hour, a $39 hotel room becomes the last thing on your mind. I walked over to the 'Shoe, where I saw Sami earlier in the night.

There was no sign of Sami anywhere.

I approached the podium, where I had him paged. "Paging Sami _ _ _ _. If you're in the room, please raise your hand. Sami, please come to the podium." No response. No Sami.

I started to get nervous. I needed to check in. I needed a shower. I needed to unpack my bags. I needed a few hours of sleep. I needed to pick the broken glass out of my clothes.

No Sami. No hotel room. No money. Then, it hit me – I've been conned!!!

Sami had pulled a real fast one on me. He got my money. In a desperate last-ditch attempt to ignore the realization that I'd been suckered, I called over to the Fremont to find out if Sami was indeed registered at the hotel as a guest. "There are no guests with that name," I was told.

What a sobering realization. I was now stuck $2,000 for the trip without a single bad beat at the table – a $1,500 computer and a $500 noncollectible gambling debt with a con-artist. Even worse, I had no hotel room, and hadn't slept in nearly two days. What else was there to do? Play poker!

I've always been a big believer in trying to change what you can change and forgetting about things you have no control over. So, I thought it best to put misfortune behind me, and at 6 a.m., I bought into a pot-limit hold'em game with $500.

Fifteen minutes went by without a playable hand. On the third round, I was dealt pocket aces. You wouldn't believe what happened next.

Oh, never mind. Ask Dewey Tomko. He can tell you the rest of the story.

Addendum: Thanks to Matt Treasure for coming to my rescue the next day with a hotel room. After being stuck badly the first night, I struggled the next two weeks and ended the trip with a small profit. But, my laptop computer is still broken – and I have yet to hear from Sami.