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Confessions of a Poker Writer: WSOP Diaries – A Cash in the Colossus; Losing it in Lines; and Hateful Heat

TAGs: Confessions of a Poker Writer, Poker Writer Confessions, WSOP

Lee Davy continues his World Series of Poker diary entries with news of a broken air conditioning unit, why he wants to kill people when standing in lines, and a cash in The Colossus.

Confessions of a Poker Writer: WSOP Diaries - A Cash in the Colossus; Losing it in Lines; and Hateful HeatWe don’t have air conditioning in the UK. You open a window. I open a window in Vegas and a black widow, or a scorpion crawls in and kills me as I sleep. So I don’t open the window. This pisses my wife off, because for the past week we haven’t had a working air conditioning unit in our condo.

Living in the stifling heat presents a few issues. The worst one being the urge to rip your wife’s head off, scoop out her brains, and use it as a decorative fruit bowl. I haven’t killed her yet. I’m waiting for the black widow to get the job done.

This is why I’m so annoyed that I have spent most of my time in Vegas waiting in lines. I expected it at the airport. I didn’t expect it inside the Rio. It’s been well documented that people have been waiting in lines for several hours, either to register or be paid. I decided to be cute. I waited until the line was only 10-people long. It still took me 40-minutes to be dealt with. Where is my wife? Where is that spoon?

I was waiting to get paid. A thinly veiled brag. I cashed in The Colossus. It’s the second time in successive years that I have cashed in a WSOP event. I should be happy. I’m not. A combination of the lack of air con, lines, and a bad attitude to losing see to that.

I entered in the very first flight. I had so much fun. This is the greatest tournament in the world. Next year, if it survives the criticism, I will buy in four-times. I moved tables more frequently than someone working in IKEA, and I never found a table that didn’t house a host of inexperienced players.

The first day was a riot. I have never been so card dead, but what a laugh I had. There was this old guy, with a Santa Claus type belly, and wispy pirate style moustache. He had never played poker before. He was drinking a clear liquid out of a water bottle. It wasn’t water. He tried to raise but produced a string bet.

“You need to announce raise.” Said the dealer. “Your first bet stands. It’s a call.”

A few hands later, and the same guy dropped a 500 chip across the line. Once again he wanted to raise. Once again the dealer told him that it was only a call.

“It’s simple.” Said the Dealer. “Just announce raise.”

A few hands later and the action stopped at the same player.

“Right!” He said.

He looked at the dealer, picked up a 500 chip, thumped it on the table, and then said, “RAISE!”

“That’s still a call.” Said the dealer.

The old man stood up, went red as a beetroot, stopped breathing, and started thumping his leg. At this point everyone is laughing so hard, we don’t realize he is probably having a heart attack.

‘Are you ok sir?” I ask.

After a minute he comes around.

“WHAT DO I NEED TO DO TO RAISE AROUND HERE?”

I’m glad he didn’t die. I’m also glad that he was having trouble. It kept the dealer awake. I was getting annoyed at his micro-sleeps mid deal. Those card flicks were deadly.

‘I’ve been working since 8am.”

Yeah…yeah mate…we’ve heard it from everyone.

We are playing 25/50. We are in the first orbit. It stops at the hands of this middle-aged guy. He moves all-in. He has 100 big blinds. I didn’t see him play a single hand for 7-levels. Nothing. But every level he open jammed at least once. It was hilarious.

There was a German guy to my left. He told me that he had flown over just to play this event.

“You must be happy that the WSOPE is in Berlin.” I asked him.

“I live in Munich.” He said.

There you are then.

I have never been so card dead in my entire life. If it wasn’t for Beach Volleyball on the TV screens behind me I would have gone mad. Nick Yunis eliminated me when he called my 7bb jam with Q8ss. I held 77, and he rivered an eight.

I didn’t intend to buy-in a second time. But the event was so great I decided I had to. After waiting in a line for an hour I got a seat in the 21:25 flight. I would start with 25bb.

I was not card-dead during my second bullet, anything but. I doubled up nice and early when I hit Broadway, and a geezer moved all-in holding the idiot end of the straight. I got lucky a few times as well, but felt confident in my game.

Towards the end of the night, when it was obvious that I would make it through to Day 2, I got talking to this kid at my table. He was called Danny. He was showing me Tinder and explaining how it was essentially a fuck app.

‘Oh yeah…if you are a woman, and you are on Tinder, you are on there because you want to fuck.” Said Danny.

A few minutes later and a woman sits down to my right. Her name was Kelly. She saw us staring at all these women on Tinder.

“I’m on Tinder.” She said.

We had a great laugh. It didn’t bode well for my poker, because I wasn’t paying attention to the game. Instead, I had fun with these two. I was like cupid in the middle of two lovesick puppies. Both of them searching for a date on Tinder when they could have just walked into the toilet and fucked right there and then.

Nah…that wouldn’t work.

There would obviously be a long line.

I managed to bag up 47,300, Danny also made it through; Kelly bit the dust. She didn’t get to bite anything else. Danny’s Tinder age-range was set from 18 – 40, and she was 42. They both went their separate ways.

I had Greg Raymer at my table on Day 2. I started miserably when I made a right cock of a hand I was involved in. Raymer was talking about having his back to the crowd.

“You never know who is behind you.” Said Raymer.

“You are so wide nobody will be able to see your cards anyway.” Came a response from the table.

Cue tumbleweed.

There was a woman watching her husband in the aisle. She had been standing there for hours. I grabbed an unused chair and told her to take a seat.

“Thank you.” She said.

“You can’t sit there.” Said a WSOP floor person.” You are a fire hazard.”

The digs kept coming.

I eventually end up in the Pavilion. I hate the Pavilion. It makes you feel second rate, like the real action is going on elsewhere. My table was soft as shit, but I never found the right combination of spots, and cards, before I was reduced to shoving stack.

I moved all-in twice during the bubble. I held AQ and QQ. I was nervous. I wanted to make the money. It was important to me, as I believe it was important to everyone else.

I know a lot of people have moaned and groaned about the payout structure, but I believe the vast majority of those in that room, just wanted to cash. Unless you are a professional, you are not thinking of winning it. You are focusing intently on getting your raises right, that you move all-in so your aces don’t get cracked, that you don’t fall to sleep, that you make a good showing of yourself because your wife has been standing on the rail for hours, and that you head back to Munich with a cash on your Hendon Mob resume.

I was eliminated in 1,664th place.

I earned $1,801.

I was happy as fuck.

And then I walked into that line to get paid.

I was a Killer Lee all over again.

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