WPT Boot Camp - Day Seven - Final

WPT Boot Camp Battle for the Season Pass III



David’s Journal



December 6th – Day 7.



Bavaro Princess Resort: Suite 3124 - 11.50pm


My relaxation consultant and I are enjoying our final night. We have just returned from the resort’s Piano Bar where, according to the extremely flexible dance troupe, ‘Everything’s good in America’. As Brits we are not the ideal punters to verify those lyrics but, right now, we both feel well disposed to everything, particularly as the Yanks have elected Barack Obama and we have had such a fantastic trip.

Earlier in the evening most of Team Eurolinx, including online qualifier Jeff Lamont, witnessed the WPT Boot Camp’s gong show and applauded those recruits that had earned honours over the seven days. The players deserved the plaudits. I must confess that I was particularly pleased to see that three occupants from my Day One table made the top fifteen of the main event. Not only did confirm my suspicion that it was a tough table, I had felt the strongest bond with those players, particularly after flopping quad nines.

It was also gratifying to see that the player who won the main event, netting himself ten entrance tickets for WPT events, each worth $10k, was also the guy who knocked me out by beating my threes with AQ. You may recall that we were both close to the wire and so his triumph provided me with some ‘What if....’ scenarios with which I can bore members of the English speaking population.

After the successful recruits were awarded their medals, the poker community swaggered into the casino’s main hall where there was a palpable sense of camaraderie and it felt like we had arrived at our own Fiddler’s Green. People, who been awkward strangers a week earlier, were now swapping bad beat stories of questionable veracity and ordering each other free drinks.

It was good to see. Often, successful poker players are not the most clubbable of people – respect for an established hierarchy is not a profitable attitude at the table – and they can be quite independently minded. It is a mental attitude not without its cost. As novelist Mark Twain put it, ‘the price of independent thinking is loneliness’.

When most people gather to form a group, they usually benefit from a sense of team belonging but lose some degree of independent thought. When people gather at the poker table, the primary task is to annihilate the other members of the group and that is best achieved by a focused, independent mind. However, the desire to bond does not disappear and it is partly that conflict - social need versus personal gain - that provokes the intense physiological reaction that players experience at live poker tournaments.

I took a moment to look around the Bavaro Princess Tower Casino. I saw a feast of faces that had gained so much more from the experience than the pleasure of poker tournaments and a seven day supply of free food. Now, liberated from the competition, they were able to wholeheartedly enjoy the social side of the boot camp. Given that most had been exposed to the same stress, there was shared respect everywhere: competitive, independently minded people were now enjoying some healthy back-slapping.

For me, that was the biggest benefit of the boot camp. I met so many friendly faces and the event fostered a sense of group belonging, but one without any of the deceits of the boardroom. The poker table’s naked ferocity is inescapable and intimidating, but at the same time it is refreshing. Apart from in the tournament itself, its hierarchy is meaningless so when you meet people away from the table, there are hardly any hidden grievances. Poker players are out to get you –but it is nothing personal and it is only during the game: tournaments can mix business with pleasure.

With that thought, I joined bottles with my relaxation consultant and we toasted the boot camp. It had been tough, it had been emotionally hazardous and we had witnessed the collapse of many a recruit along the way but, somehow, we had survived our stay in the Caribbean. I had emerged stronger, wiser and with two sun-burned shins. I felt like I had revitalised my poker game: I was now ready to meet and beat anybody. My future would now be defined by opportunity, aggression and after-sun.

WPT Boot Camp - Day Six

WPT Boot Camp Battle for the Season Pass III

David’s Journal

December 5th – Day 6.

Bavaro Princess Resort: Chow Hall – 2.25pm.

Team Eurolinx has just finished the first session of the Second Chance Tournament. It has played like an online turbo event: the blinds are going up every half an hour and the starting chip allocation was 10,000. There were 170 starters but only six players win prizes; consequently a lot of people have tried to quickly double up, rather than waste a day’s sunshine.

I am our only survivor. The first casualty was online qualifier Ole Brodin who experienced a particularly cruel bad beat during level two. He had pocket 8s and was delighted when the flop landed T-8-3. He quickly pushed his chips in and was called by a player timidly defending K-T. Ole had an advantage of nearly 99%-1%. Even when the turn was a king, he still had 91%. Inevitably, another ten landed.

The other online players, Jeff Lamont and Orjan Knutson, accepted their cab to the beach just before the lunch break, while Sportsbook Manager Magnus Wennlof was one of the few poker players flaunting sunglasses outside at 11.35am. Lydia Melton, Operations Manager, managed to remain in the combat theatre for a little longer but, when she fell thirty minutes before chow time, she said her heart had not been in the battle.

I managed to double up just before reporting for my rations. At the table, I had been chatting to a pleasant American guy who worked for Citibank and he had reached the correct conclusion I was playing a tight-aggressive game. It went against him. I was in the small blind with JJ. The play had been folded to a woman in mid position who had about six big blinds. She promptly went all-in. The Citibank player was on the button and thought for a while before calling. He had a pretty big stack and was a solid player.

It was fairly obvious the all-in was ace rag and my friend was not the type who would flat-call with QQ or KK. I went over the top, all-in. I put him on A8-T. He tried to work out the odds and, to be fair, he said that I had JJ or QQ. After deliberating, he mucked and showed me A-T.
The American lady and I flipped our cards – A7 vs JJ.

The flop was Q 2 7. The turn was another jack. The hand was dead but the dealer showed the river card: a king. The Citibank player would have made the nut straight and ended my campaign. He said he would have called had I been playing loosely. Ironically, all three players acted correctly. We consulted the tournament’s director’s assistant, Samual Quinto, and asked him to punch in the odds in the computer. Citibank man made the right decision – but it was close. Had I had a stack that was 2k smaller, he would have had the odds to call.

El Gaucho Argentinean Steak House: - 9.30pm

My relaxation consultant and I are toasting a successful day. The beer is ‘El Presidente’ and the steak is pan-fried. I am, of course, out of the tournament, but that doesn’t matter right now: I’m pleased with my play.

I spent the afternoon making reads, stealing pots and I even had the good fortune to take down A-J when my queens actually held. I built up quite a stack and reached the final three tables. My swansong was a battle of the blinds.

I had thirteen big blinds and the action had been folded to me, in the small blind. I looked at my cards and saw two nice, chubby snowmen. It was a no-brainer – ‘all-in’

The Scandinavian big blind guy, who was wearing a Santa hat on top of his baseball cap and just about had my stack covered, instantly called. He winced when he saw my 8s. He had A-4. In my opinion, it was a terrible call. I won’t bore you with the flop. I shook his hand and left the casino, confident that I had played well. I finished 22nd. Had the hand held up, I’m fairly sure I’d have made the final table - but it was not to be.

However, I’m feeling very Zen. I’m with ‘The Mad Genius of Poker’, Mike Caro, who states that the game is simply about making correct decisions. Were all my decisions correct? No, not by a long way; but I had made more correct decisions than yesterday and that, at the time, felt worthy of a toast.

WPT Boot Camp - Day Five

WPT Boot Camp Battle for the Season Pass III

David’s Journal

December 4th – Day 5.

Bavaro Princess Resort: Chow Hall – 9.35am.

After a splendid day for the team, spirits were high as we shared communal rations. We were feeling a little sorry for Eurolinx VIP Consultant and fellow booter Jackie Gatt as she does not play poker. She has been forced to endure beach detail and was displaying symptoms of screen-saver face as she was LOBO, or Left Out of Battle Order, while the rest of us were out there stopping bullets. It didn’t feel right to leave her on her own but she said she would cope.

In other news, Eurolinx qualifier Ole Brodin arrived with a combat roll and hosted a de-briefing. He had had an exciting night at the $2-$5 cash games and was particularly pleased with one juicy hand. He was up against Mike Vela, winner of the Foxwoods World Poker Final 2007, an event that banked him $1,704,986. The board displayed K-2-3-3-8. It had been checked on the turn. Ole checked the river. Mike went all-in.

Ole thought long and hard before calling with AJ (fast becoming the hand of the week). He only had ace-high but he put Mike on a bluff. He was right. Mike had A9 so Ole had him outkicked. It was a great call and he deservedly hoovered up the chips.

A justifiably ecstatic Ole promptly wished the five remaining Team Euolinx players good luck as we stole aboard the transportation unit and made the two minute trundle to the casino.

WPT – Battle for the Season Pass III Tournament – Main Event – 2.15pm – Lunch Break

We have now played a total of nine levels and the blinds are finally starting to hurt. At the beginning of the session, everyone was reassigned seats. I was on a fantastic table. Free of pros, full of small stacks and boasting plenty of inexperienced tourists. I started to enjoy myself. When I re-raised an American lady for the second consecutive hand she became a little upset. After she folded she begged me to show. I did – one card, the king of clubs. She became a little more upset.

I paid for my slyness with a break-up of the table ten minutes later. It felt like a death in the family. It worsened with my next allocation: seat one, by far the worst position - you are in the dealer’s way and can see only two-thirds of the table. Moreover, seasoned WPT pros Bernard Lee and Nick Brancato were at the table. The former had recently won a title at the World Poker Final for the third year in succession and the latter is an analytical genius disguised as a Beastie Boy.

After only ten minutes it was apparent that the pros had the skills to pay the bills: both had realised that the table was too tight and had started an intense program of asset stripping. They were raising almost every hand. The only way to play against that style is to loosen up and re-raise on marginal hands. Unfortunately, I didn’t see two court cards together.

The final hand before the lunch break needed the services of people functioning as judge and jury. The guy in seat three had raised pre-flop. The player on the button called, as did the big blind. The flop was all rags. The big blind checked, seat three bet, the button folded and then things went into The Twilight Zone: the guy in seat three discarded his hand. He had forgotten that the big blind was still making a decision.

The big blind guy (sorry) had not played a hand for over seventy minutes. As he put it, ‘I’m so f***ing agitated you did that, man’. The guy who made the pre-flop raise gathered his cards and it became a bit heated: although he had made a genuine mistake, the players at the table could see the other’s guy point.

He said, ‘I’m so tempted to go f***ing all-in on you, man’.

In hindsight, he may wish he had: in my opinion, the raiser had missed the flop. After five minutes of drama, the big blind did a standard re-raise and was called. The turn card opened up the potential for a flush and the pre-flop raiser bet the pot. Ouch.

Disgusted, the agitated guy tossed his cards. One of them flipped – the six of clubs. The flop had contained the six of hearts so it is possible he had made a set but folded to the flush. The whole hand was a classic example of a ‘Brain Fart’ – the stress of the situation had made normal decision-making impossible.

WPT – Battle for the Season Pass III Tournament – Main Event – 3.30pm.

At lunch, I learned that Team Eurolinx had not suffered any further casualties. I was in the worst condition, with only twenty big blinds. The gong for play of the morning was bestowed on online qualifier, Canadian Jeff Lamont, who had the presence of mind to lay down pocket aces as he ‘just knew buddy had a set of kings’.

I had returned to my seat and realised my stack was third lowest at the table. It was going to be a difficult session. It was also apparent that the agitated guy had not calmed down.

Bavaro Princess Resort - Pool One – 5.32pm.

I am drinking margaritas under a palm tree with my fast-tanning relaxation consultant and I am contemplating work as a cane cutter. Certain parts of that sentence may give you a clue as to the fate of my tournament as well as my liver.

Throughout the afternoon session Bernard Lee and Nick Brancato continued to dominate. I played three hands. The first was AQ in late position: no callers. Next, Lee did the usual raise of four times the big-blind. I peeked at my hole cards and discovered I had K-K. I was down to about fourteen big blinds so I had to choose to either flat call and hope an ace doesn’t fall; or re-raise all-in. I did the latter.

It was folded to Lee. He thought about it for a while and then said, ‘You haven’t played a hand for about seventy minutes.....’ then flicked his cards into the muck. It was good play. Do I regret the re-raise? No. He had the stack to call with AQ, AK, QQ or JJ. It was the right move.

My final moment came when I was on the button and everyone had folded to me. I had 33 and nine big blinds. ‘All in’. The guy in the small blind looked at his cards and lowered his shades, a sign that he was on a decision. He had about ten big blinds and I could be on a steal. ‘You got anything, man?’ I just stared into the felt and started ‘Relax’ by Frankie Goes to Hollywood in my head. I’m positive he didn’t get a read. He did, however, call with AQ. The big blind folded and we had a race.

Pre flop, it was in my favour by about 3%. Normally, when the drawing hand misses the flop, the percentages become roughly 75-25 in favour of the pair. Unfortunately, although he missed, the cards were K-J-4 and so it was 59%-41%, with four extra outs due to the straight draw.

The turn card was an ace. I was down to 4.5%. It was time to stand up. The river was a six. It was time to shake hands. I was disappointed but both players did the right thing. Sometimes in tournaments, you need the coin flips to hold. Mine didn’t, time for a buggy ride.

I had finished in the low seventies in a field numbering 225. Not great, but not that bad. Far better was the news that Lydia and Magnus were still fighting.

Suite 3124 – 1.55am.

All of Team Eurolinx were knocked out before dinner and will be playing in the ‘Second Chance’ Tournament. After my head had dropped, I discovered Jeff Lamont had fallen earlier when his pocket queens had been taken down by the ubiquitous A-J. A little later, Lydia was forced to make a move with 88: it was snowballed by J-J. The longest-lasting gong deservedly went to Magnus Wennlof, Sportsbook Manager, who was taken out in the low-fifties just before dinner.

After eating, my relaxation consultant and I discussed the possibility of playing the cash games. He declined but suggested we could go halves on my stake so, at about 11pm, I moseyed up to the casino.

The games were a doddle. Towards the end of my session, a well built American guy sat down and tried to intimidate the table. It was fairly clear from his perspiration level that he would eventually damage his bankroll as well as his septum. I wasn’t around for the intervention and didn’t witness the moment when his stack shattered into a million tiny pieces.

I did, however, have a moment controversial enough for any memoir. As I left the casino I was approached by an exotically dressed young woman who grabbed my crotch. Her body language seemed to imply I should look away and cough up.

As I realised the significance of her fingernails I tried, in fractured Spanish, to explain that I would need to return to my BlackBerry in order to consult my festive season social availability spreadsheet. I could tell she understood, as she issued a form of internationally recognised communication and, on the lonely walk back to my room, I contemplated its succinctness as I wiped it from my lenses.

WPT Boot Camp - Day Four

WPT Boot Camp Battle for the Season Pass III

David’s Journal

December 3rd – Day 4.

Suite 3124 – The following takes place between 6.15am and 8.15am.

I can’t sleep but not because my relaxation consultant is snoring like a slumbering dragon. (Just in case, I had boned up on snoring busting techniques before departure and was very tempted to try the following: forget all the nice methods about moving the person onto his side, simply open your cakehole and bellow ‘FIRE!!!!!!’, then hastily pretend to be fast asleep. The person abruptly wakes up, unsure of his position on the temporal plane and, as he slowly re-establishes a sense of being, you catch a few Zzzzzs.) Nor is it because of tension about the start of the tournament later today. No, it is because of the agony caused by a pair of severely sun-burned shinbones. I had stupidly neglected to cover them whilst enjoying a few pool-side beers yesterday and now they are inflamed.

At 8.05am, I make my first attempt to stand as I need to use the bathroom. I freeze. Now, to add to the physical pain, I have the indignity of enforced immobility and a sagging bladder. I experience a terrifying vision: I am in one of those cages the prison authorities use to transport Hannibal Lecter, it is wheeled to the tournament’s final table and I am wearing nappies.

My relaxation consultant generously agrees to operate outside his job title and goes to fetch some emergency supplies.

Suite 3124 - 9.25am.

I can now walk, albeit in a fashion akin to C-3PO during a three week castor oil strike. My legs are plastered with after-sun and I have downed some pills that are probably used to tranquilise undersexed bulls.

WPT Learning Labs – 12.25pm.

I sit down at a table hosted by ‘First Lady of Poker’, WPT TV commentator and ex-postal worker Linda Johnson. She has taken the dealer seat and all of the ‘players’ are allocated some fake chips. She deals everyone two cards and asks them to ‘play’ their hand – i.e. decide to call, raise or fold. After everyone makes their decisions, we flip the cards and Linda analyses our choices. It is all fairly basic stuff but I am intrigued by the looseness of some of the players. I start to think that the boot camp is a kind of rehab centre from which the fish emerge as sharks.

WPT – Battle for the Season Pass III Tournament – Main Event – 2.25pm

The queue for seat allocation weaved its way around the casino but, after standing nut to butt with some other male recruits, I have now placed certain parts of my anatomy on seat 4, table 17. We have been allocated our chips and, as we await the call of ‘Shuffle Up and Deal’, I try to assess my opponents. I quickly stereotype them. It saves time. Some look like they could be reasonably charitable while others do not appear to need any assistance from the Red Cross food program.

On every table, a WPT pro has been granted the best speck (seat 6) and it has been rigged so they are kept apart in the early stages. Our table has been graced by veteran TJ Cloutier - tall, imposing and talkative. I resent that he will have position on me and it increases my gastric unease. To quell my nerves, I had decided that I would mentally recite songs. So, as I go through Jump Around by House of Pain, the MC clears his throat and orders us into combat.

WPT – Battle for the Season Pass III Tournament – Main Event – 4.30pm – First break.

I am gathered with the other members of Team Eurolinx and discover I have the small stack. Lydia Melton has amassed an impressive 28,000 but Magnus Wenhof flies the flag with 33,000. Our online qualifiers are not present for the half time team talk but we learn they are hovering around the 22k mark.

I have a little short of 18k. The tournament’s first two hours have seen me play four hands: a blind steal, a pair of 66s (flat called from early position, missed the flop), a raise with AQ (no callers) and an intriguing situation that involved AJ.

It arrived when I was first to act from mid-position and had been folding hands for about forty minutes. The blinds were 50-100 and so I made the standard raise of 300. The action was folded to an American guy in seat 9 who, to my jaded eyes, looked so young that if he was in the Dominican Republic on his own, it was probably because all of his associates were grounded.

He had the temerity to re-raise me.

He had been folding to raises from the other yahoos and blowhards at the table but he decided to re-raise me to 950. It was just unacceptable. I used techniques of metaphysical exploration to try to stare into his soul but my search engine returned with: Error – Character Not Found: Access Denied.

I had to fold. AJ does not play well out of position, particularly to a re-raise from a tight Johnny-come-lately. The hand stayed in my mind, particularly as, two hands later, he was moved to another table and then, after another twenty minutes, I saw him ambling out of the tournament, typing a text message. Ouch. Did I miss an opportunity to double up? I’ll never know; but I do know I didn’t want the uncertainty to play on my mind so I speculated about his text message:

i hv AK, sm gy hs AT + sez cll. T on the flp. Im out :( btw pls cloe i stl h8 hr + snd mre Rtln. Gtg dad clng :(

WPT – Battle for the Season Pass III Tournament – Main Event – 7.45pm – Close of the first day.

It has been an eventful three hours for team Eurolinx.

Unfortunately, we have just had our first casualty as the online qualifier Ole Brodin busted out on the very last hand of the day. Although it is arguably better than departing early on the second day because he can now enjoy time off, Ole was understandably disappointed. Rick Fuller had earlier told Ole that his comments in the learning labs were ‘excellent’ and the latter had played a solid tournament. He’ll have to console himself with the cash games and the second chance tournament.

Jeff Lamont, a Canadian online qualifier, lives to fight on, as does fellow Eurolinx stealth master Orjan Knutsen, whose cloak of invisibility has proved to be an asset at the tables.

Although I am in an ecstatic mood, I am still behind Eurolinx trailblazers Lydia Melton and Magnus Wennlof by some margin as they have amassed 57, 000 and 72,000 respectively, but it is not the time for me to feel jealous. I have just had the hand of the day at my table.

Soon after the lunch break, I was moved to table four, seat three. It was the usual medley of poker characters: the guy to my left had found God, the man on my right had found aces. The WPT pro was Las Vegas legend Jan Fisher. It was a tough table and no one gave anything away.

I had been folding trash hands all afternoon and was down to 15k when I was dealt 99 under the gun. It is my favourite hand. I didn’t want to face a re-raise out of position, so I limped in. A player to my left followed suit and then Jan Fisher made it 1k to play. Everyone knows the rule about flat calling a raise with pockets, right? If the bet is 5-10% of your stack, call; higher than 15%, fold. I called and so did the player to my left.

The flop landed J-9-9.

Baby.

Normally, my resting heartbeat is about 70. It had now reached about 125.

‘Check.’

‘Check.’

Jan Fisher put in 1,000. It was just under a third of the pot and it meant that she had hit but was scared of the nines.

I needed to maintain my composure so I started the song ‘Fluorescent Adolescent by British indie band The Arctic Monkeys in my head.

‘Call’.

The player to my left looked at his cards. It is always a sign of weakness. He gave it some thought. I knew he had hit the jack but it looked like he didn’t fancy his chances against the nines, probably because he had a weak kicker. He folded.

The turn card was another J.

‘Check’.

‘Check’.

Jan was trying to trap me and I put her on AJ – a decent enough hand to raise on, worthy of 1k bet on the flop and now the higher full house.

The final card was sent from heaven: an ace.

‘I Bet 3,000’.

Jan stared at me for about a minute in an attempt to persuade me that her imminent re-raise would be because she thought I was bluffing and not because she had the nut full house.

Sweet music or, as The Arctic Monkeys put it, ‘the best you ever had is just a memory......’

‘I’ll take it to 9’, she said.

I nearly said ‘that Bloody Mary lacking in Tabasco.....’. Eventually I managed ‘all-in’.

She swiftly called.

The moment when I said ‘Four nines’ is now a flashbulb memory. Jan shoved her cards into the muck. I still do not know for certain what they were but it had to be AJ. The symmetry was perfect as it probably was the very hand I had folded to the high school dropout, but it doesn’t really matter. The hand impressed the table and had people on their feet. It was time for back-slapping.

It is probably a statement of questionable morality to say I had a spiritual moment in a casino but I don’t really care. As I hobbled out, I saw a beautiful female American tourist and, at that point I knew in my soul that God did indeed create everything, including the individual that had surgically augmented those blessed breasts.

WPT Boot Camp - Day Three

WPT Boot Camp Battle for the Season Pass III

David’s Journal

Day - 3

December 2nd.

After the rigours of a transatlantic crossing, I actually relished the prospect of a further day of preparation. Live tournaments can be quite a gruelling affair, involving stomach flutters, heart palpitations and spectacular wardrobe malfunctions. Given that we were in the Caribbean, the potential for a sense of style to disappear down a rabbit hole was huge: upon arrival, I had spotted a shirt the colour of a Hawaiian sunset, complete with palm trees and the words ‘No Problem’. So, keen to reside in the right territory of sartorial wonderland, we set off for breakfast, my relaxation consultant in shades and me in my shirt that, if you look closely, hides a camouflaged cockatoo.

The boot camp’s chow hall provided adequate rations which we ate whilst trying to spot our fellow recruits. We had a dinner date for 2200 hours with Eurolinx’s Lydia Melton, a boot camp attendee who was apparently struggling with in-field communication technologies and I was worried that, given she had travelled on a few excursions, she may have gone native. Training for asymmetric combat can involve a severe dismantling of one’s personality and I didn’t feel like providing a supporting role in the Eurolinx remake of Apocalypse Now.

Anyway, right now, I loved the smell of palm trees in the morning. My in-field surveillance was also bringing me joy as I had spotted dozens of other recruits in the chow hall. It was pretty clear that the WPT did not enforce the 5am shaving policy beloved of boot camps for the US Marines, although a few recruits looked like they may have qualified for the ‘Pork Chop Platoon’.

Despite being distracted by a rather tasty omelette, my acute powers of observation had not failed me: I had deduced that the players could be recognised by a combination of the following three things:

a) The WPT dog-tag
b) The WPT baseball cap – Dominican Republic 2008 version
c) The white cotton t-shirts with target size WPT logo (see above)

At this point I still had not picked up my Eurolinx t-shirt so I felt the need for some display of poker belonging, aside from the pale complexion and mistrusting demeanour. It was time to report to boot camp headquarters and be stripped of my civvy status. The WPT had taken over a significant section of the resort’s casino and so off I marched.

I could have taken one of the many buggies to escort me but it seemed both unnecessary and harmful to the environment. Besides, the casino was built in the style of a castle and although it didn’t seem to have any active defences, I wanted to advance cautiously.

The designers had neglected to install a portcullis and had instead gone for a glass portal complete with doorman. The entrance was also flanked by two mediaeval suits of armour, each brandishing a halberd, which immediately gave way to the view of a Harley Davidson mounted on a seven foot pedestal and instead of tapestries, the castle had poster size drapes advertising American beer. Such is the incongruity of modern casino design.

Walking past the mood establishing flimflam, I picked up pace and marched to the poker headquarters. It felt great. The WPT millionaires were dotted around the camp and there was the scent of action (NB: not to be confused with the after-shave from Steven Seagal Enterprises.)

I had always thought there was a gap in the publishing market for a poker magazine modelled on a weekly gossip rag (‘All-In’ featuring personal revelations from the pros, a ‘Best-buy’ section on glacier glasses and a list of flop-friendly tracks from Phil Ivey’s iPod) and here were enough images to fill an annual subscription.

Such was the distraction that it was difficult to remain focussed as I approached the WPT’s Senior Drill Instructor and prepared to be drowned in dribble for being a FNG. It was not to be. I was told in a calm friendly, fashion that they had temporarily ran out of identifying tags so, for a while longer, I had to remain in parrot fashion. As the camp couldn’t enrol me, I was forced to slowly tan myself at the beach.

The heat had only marginally eased by the time we were due to meet Eurolinx’s food taster at the beach-side steakhouse. My relaxation consultant and I were relieved to see she hadn’t gone Brando: her hair was not ‘high ‘n tight’ and she used minimal tribal paint. Despite being subjected to some table-side jing-ping by three local buskers (drums, guitar and cheese-grater) we were able to talk tactics and chow down. By the end of the evening we were good to go and roaring for action. There were only 218 competitors stopping Team Eurolinx from success.

WPT Boot Camp - Day Two

WPT Boot Camp Battle for the Season Pass III

David's Journal

December 1st – Day 2.

Flight at 10.15am: Heathrow to Paris.

At 8.15 am, I experience my first surprise of the day when it transpires that my travelling companion, a life-long friend that I have prised away from his wife to serve as my relaxation consultant, has a higher class ticket than me. It is only for the connection to Paris but I now regret posting the thoughts that Eurolinx is a shadowy organisation with a sideline in international charlie trafficking. I have to be careful.

Flight at 1.50pm: Paris to Punta Cana.

We reunite at the airport and I pretend to have hurt pride. I can’t maintain it for long as my excitement has now turned up to 11. When we board we discover the plane is rather old and does not have TVs mounted on the back of the seats. That’s ok - it gives me a chance to read Anthony Holden’s ‘Bigger Deal’ and marvel at the amount of drunken French people onboard.

The book is a sequel to my favourite poker tome, predictably titled ‘Big Deal’. In the original Holden, biographer, opera critic and poker player, takes a year away from writing to try his hand at the international Hold ‘em circuit. It is insightful, well-written and was published in 1990. The sequel is a worthy attempt to recreate the brilliance of the original and, as so much has changed in the world of poker, it should be a useful companion piece.

Unfortunately Holden, a man whose writing I greatly admire, now comes across as a little jaded. He dislikes the increasing amount of razzamatazz (point taken) and, I think, feels like a man out of place. It is still far better than most poker writing and I gained a lot from it but it is cava to the original’s champagne.

5.45pm Land at Punta Cana

After schlepping along the side of the runway, we are obliged to adopt cheesy poses as two women, who remain beautiful despite being dressed in what appears to be fruit salad, stand next to us at a threshold into the airport. Apparently, it is a pre-customs custom and we will be able to purchase the image at the end of our trip.

We collect our bags and file out to the exit where I spot a cab-driver holding a WPT sign. Superb. We pull out of the airport. We have travelled for about five minutes when the driver receives a mobile phone call and stops the cab. He gets out and gestures we should do the same.

A combination of tiredness and stranger-danger leads me to conclude that we are about to be ambushed. Christ, I think, it ends here - on a dirt track in the Caribbean. This will be my last memory: the brightest moon I have ever seen.... the song of crickets.... and accompanied by a friend whose qualities include loyalty, generosity and flatulence.

‘I think we will be ok’ he says, utilising his secondary way of breaking a silence. The driver goes to the boot and pulls out some kind of iron bar. I try to concentrate on the star Orion as a way to navigate a way through my fear.

‘Look, look’ says the driver, brandishing the bar.

His cab has a flat tyre.

The ‘iron bar’ is a jack and he sets about changing the tyre. My friend releases a hearty laugh and I allow myself to relax to such an extent that I am only moderately concerned by the extremely hairy drive to the resort.

7.45 pm. Check into the Bavaro Princess Resort.

We are blown away by the luxurious lobby and resolve to try the piano bar as soon as we have unpacked. At the check-in desk the two friendly male workers greet us and pull out a large bottle of something labelled ‘Mama Juana’. Two shot glasses appear in front of us and bottle is uncorked. To our untrained eyes, it seems to hold a stash of marijuana leaves soaked in a syrupy liquid.

Again, I think of the drug references. I wonder if I have been set up to recreate Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzo classic ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’, a seminal text that combines mind melting hallucinogenics and experiences at the felt. ‘Fear and Self-pity in the Piano Bar’ is my working title.

After some persistence, we manage to persuade the staff that we are not ready to experiment with drugs, at least not while our underpants are still in transit. We are allowed to leave. I later learned that Mama Juana is concocted from rum, red wine and honey. The ‘marijuana leaves’ are herbs and tree bark. Locals claim it has similar effects to Viagra.

8.30pm. Suite 3124

We are unpacked, enjoying the complimentary bottles of beer from the mini-bar and perusing the schedule for the boot-camp. It transpires that tomorrow is a free day so I will have to endure the soul-warming sunshine and the lagoon-like pools at the resort. Tricky, I think, as I clink bottles with my relaxation consultant and sip ice cold beer.

WPT Boot Camp - Day One

David’s Journal

November 30th – Day one.

Due to a cock-up during mission briefing, I’m still grounded in London and not due to fly out until tomorrow. I’m feeling anxious as I’m yet to meet the other members of the unit and I’m keen to high-five them as soon as possible. I’m also missing the induction. I try to quell worried thoughts by reading poker manuals and information about the WPT boot camp.

Its grand title is ‘Battle for the Season Pass III’ and will take place at a resort called Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic. Over 150 entrants, including at least fifteen WPT pros, will compete for the first prize package of 10 WPT entrance tickets, each worth $10k. The lucky (and, just for the outgoing Bush administration, skilful) winner will also receive $10k to cover air fare and hotel expenses. In total, seven players will win prizes, all of which are packages to enter WPT events. It is a steep prize structure that will reward aggressive play.

Inevitably, the necessary level of aggression will result in a few early exits so, rather than present the unlucky recruits with unstructured time the camp also has a ‘Second Chance’ tournament beginning on Friday. The prizes are not as rich but it should provide additional experience for the tournament rookie.

Other goodies offered by the camp include sit ‘n gos, ‘learning labs’ and after hours cash games. I will miss the sit ‘n gos as I land too late but I am intrigued by the labs. I find it faintly amusing that the pros teach the tourists some moves and then offer cash games knowing exactly how they will play. I’ve obviously missed a trick.

However, it has been a while since I have played a live event so maybe the labs will be useful. For now, I have turned to David Sklansky’s Tournament Poker For Advanced Players for a refresher course. It proves of limited help. It was published in April 2002 and already feels like a relic. The online game was still in its relative infancy and had not yet produced the super aggressive style best embodied by Gus Hansen. Sklansky’s approach is far too tight and his writing style irritates me. It is a collection of essays that he disingenuously deems ‘chapters’ and the pictures of the cards are designed to boost the meagre page count.

I toss it aside, feeling irritated that I don’t own Dan Harrington’s books and try to cheer myself up by reading about the Dominican Republic. The following sentence brings a smile: fishes of all sizes gravitate around the coral. Oh, I hope so, I very much hope so.

The guide book continues to describe the clarity of the waters and the quality of the sand at the resort’s Bavaro beach. Just as I am starting to conjure up an idealistic image of paradise, I read that 8% of all cocaine smuggled into the United States passes through the Dominican Republic. Wow.

Rather mischievously I ponder if that is the reason the other members of the Eurolinx cartel have undertaken such a convoluted route. Surely not..... but.... it would explain why they booked Malta – UK, UK – Miami, Miami – San Domingo and then had a three hour hire-car drive to Punta Cana. I have never met these people....... I feel nervous, so I retire to bed, praying that my first question to them won’t be about swallowing condoms.

Lacing Up

In December 2008 a crack unit was selected by Eurolinx.com to experience the shock incarceration of a boot camp on a Caribbean island. Instead of the standard thirteen weeks, the unit had just seven days to acclimatise to the punishing regime of psychological torture bellowed out by full-throated drill instructors. To keep the members of the unit disorientated, some of the team were deliberately pin-balled around the four corners of the world before arriving at their final destination.

At the end of a week of hardship and food deprivation, the members of the unit were expected to read poker opponents, analyse the texture of the flop and narrate a four-tissue bad-beat story.

The following were the seven individuals selected for their psychological toughness, capacity for abstract thought and extreme gullibility:

David Fitzgerald, British. Eurolinx blogger, chanter of jody calls and comfortable in a full metal jacket.

Jackie Gatt, Maltese. Eurolinx VIP consultant, master tactician at blackjack and comfortable with fully straightened hair.

Magnus Wennlof, Swedish. Eurolinx Sportsbook Manager, member of the elite diving squadron and uncomfortable on his recent trip to Arsenal FC.

Lydia Melton, American. Eurolinx Operations Manager, operational food-taster (hamburger and hot-chocolate squadron) and undecided about the comfort of her paragliding exploits.

These four Eurolinx employees were accompanied by three of the site’s players who were duped into tagging along by entering a recent promotional poker tournament which misleadingly described the trip as ‘Once in a life-time’. Unfortunately for them, they won.

Jeff Lamont, Canadian. Salesperson, online expert-player but experiencing live poker for the first time.

Ole Brodin, Norwegian. Electrician, scourge of the online game and has now replaced the one-eyed teddy bear in (Foxwood’s winner) Mike Vela’s nightmares.

Orjan Knutsen, Norwegian. International man of mystery. Has maintained radio silence since his experience at camp. Has probably reverted to stealth mode and resumed his online ‘assassin’ style.

Seven people exposed to a punishing seven day regime of bright light, clear blue sea and the force of the river.

In seven days, God created the world. After experiencing the tortuous hell of the boot camp, some of these players now wish He had never dipped His fingers into the teleological play dough and had flunked His exam on intelligent design.

Stop by tomorrow to read some of the surviving fragments from David’s journal.

Time and Place

You may recall that we were having an online chin-wag about how Peter Eastgate, WSOP millionaire, is an example of what author Malcolm Gladwell defines as an ‘Outlier’. We looked at how The champ has benefited from application – he has been able to gain enough experience to achieve mastery – and now will look at how he has helped by his birth year – 1985.

On January 1, 1998, the first real money hand was dealt in an online poker room. Eastgate was just thirteen. As the Dane went through his adolescence, so did online poker. By the time Eastgate turned eighteen, revenues from the game were worth nearly $2.4 billion. People were taking notice. Mainstream newspapers started to provide weekly poker columns and TV started to cover live tournaments. The WSOP had had its first champion who had qualified via an online satellite. It was everywhere. It was particularly grabbing the attention of young, middle-class westerners.

1999 also saw the introduction of ASDL lines in Denmark. The national coverage now tops 97% of the population and broadband penetration is above 29 subscribers per 100 inhabitants. This is important. As Gladwell points out in ‘Outliers’, 14 people on the Forbes Magazine list of the 75 richest people in history are Americans born with a decade of each other. It is particularly impressive as the list includes queens and kings.

The Americans were born between 1831 and 1840. They came of age when industrial manufacturing was transforming the economy. Like Eastgate, they were in their twenties when the boom was happening and perfectly placed to take advantage. Like them, had Eastgate been born ten years sooner, or ten years later, he would not have been as well placed to take advantage of the circumstances. He needed the extraordinary opportunity of online poker.

All of this is a little self evident but it is worthy of consideration because it helps demystify success stories. Too many people believe they have not got the talent to achieve, but if you a scratch a little blow the surface of their story, you will find that almost every high achiever has had a massive a sense of application at a time of great opportunity. Although Eastgate is clearly a talented player, it is counter-productive to believe it is innate ability.

Putting the hours in

Regular readers that did not spend their weekend having their poker game water-boarded may recall that Friday’s post suggested that WSOP winner Peter Eastgate could be an example of what author Malcolm Gladwell calls an ‘Outlier’. (If any people reading this are sufficiently curious, check out the content dated 18th November but be prepared to experience a rapid heartbeat. It may even leave you gasping for breath, confused and with deep psychological scars)

In his book, one of Gladwell’s key points is that there is no such thing as a ‘natural’. To support his position, he cites a study performed at an elite musical school in Berlin: psychologists divided students into three groups: the gifted, the good and those destined to be violin teachers. They were all asked the same question: how many hours have you spent practising?

The psychologists discovered that, although all of the sample had started playing music at roughly the same age (five), by the time the students had reached eight, big differences emerged in the amount of practice between the three groups. The ones that ended up the best in their class practised more – a lot more – than the others. They had reached 10,000 hours of practice by the age of twenty. By comparison, the ‘good’ had reached 8,000 hours, the ones destined to be teachers had only 4,000.

Eastgate, although young, has certainly put in the hours. He has been playing poker professionally since graduating from high school. Sceptics and mathematicians may question if that is enough to have amassed 10,000 hours of poker by twenty-two. No, it is not. However, let’s not forget that he was blooded playing online at multiple tables. Such players can accumulate a lot of Hold ‘em experience in a relatively short time and can therefore cram in more hands an hour than those forced to schlep between venues in order to feel felt.

As the online game is relatively young, the current generation of young players is able to sharpen its game at a rate unprecedented in poker history. It won’t last. In the future the likelihood of the WSOP throwing up a champ who didn’t learn the game online is about the same that Hold ‘em will start incorporating the joker. Absorption in the online game will cease to a method of fast-tracking one’s way to a bracelet: almost everyone will be doing it. However, in 2008, it partly explains why Eastgate is the youngest ever WSOP champion.

In Wednesday’s post, I’ll wrap up the case with a kipper across the kisser of a concluding argument that incorporates more of Gladwell’s thoughts and suggests why there is no such thing as genius.

Eastgate is not here right now

New millionaire and recent WSOP top dog Peter Eastgate is a man who can afford to screen calls right now. Word on the (fibre-optic) grapevine is that there is a three month wait just for the right to text the guy that scours the champ’s laptop for fingernail shrapnel. As there should be: when a guy bites off a $9.1 million sized chunk of change from the poker circuit, he has the right to take some time to digest it. Unfortunately, that might be frustrating for Malcolm Gladwell, author of The Tipping Point and man most likely to leave the restaurant before the cheese n’ biscuits. His latest book is called Outliers and Eastgate could easily feature in a revised edition.

Gladwell argues that ‘the true origins of high achievement’ lie in areas such as ‘demographic luck’ and ‘the particular opportunities that our particular place in history presents us with’. Another key point of the book (‘The Story of Success’) is that anyone who wants to be successful needs to put the hours in – specifically, about 10,000.

Although it does not explain how to repackage the Protestant work ethic into a 256 page best seller, it is worth considering how his investigations are supported by Eastgate’s life-changing night in Vegas.

In Monday’s post, I will endeavour to illustrate how Icegate’s record-breaking triumph is a classic example of time and circumstance.

Poker Types - Part 2

Previously on Eyebrows.....

(To achieve the required level of anticipation, please imagine the whooshing windows from the intro to TV’s ‘24’ and shout at least one of the following lines of dialogue: ‘I’m federal agent (insert) and this is the longest hand of my life’; If you don’t show your hand, then it will just be a question of how much you want to hurt’; ‘When I’m finished with you, you’re gonna wish you felt this good again’.

OK, done that? If so, you are either in the mood to read the second piece of a two part poker blog or fight international terrorism. If the former: see below; if the latter: see a therapist.)

Yesterday, you had just been dealt KK in mid position and you had re-raised an early position player, making it $22 to play. I asked – why is it possible you acted rashly?

The answer is that you may have forgotten to consider the size of the stacks behind you.

Let’s say there is a player immediately to your left who has only $30 left. If he wants to play his cards, he will go all in – and that could leave you screaming ‘Nooooooo’.

Why?

You have given him a chance to make a partial raise.

The $30 guy can only raise $8, which is lower than the minimum raise – but, as he is spent, it is acceptable. That means that unless the pot is raised again by another player, all you can do is call.

If there are any astute players behind you, they will realise you are trapped, and may call for value. Given that the original raiser obviously has strong cards, it is unlikely he will fold them, particularly as he knows you are stuck. Suddenly, you are looking at a three-way $90 pot that is destined to go to the river.

When there is a mid stack behind you, it is important that your bet is either: less than half his total, or enough to put him in. The middle ground is death.

It is a more common situation than you may realise and few players take it into account. You have to be aware of everything that is going on around the table, not just your hole cards.

It pays to notice the dancing bears.

Poker Types

For the sake of argument, let’s imagine that there are only three types of people: the bores, the students and the wise. If that sounds simplistic, please consider that I’m British and that over here we only have three genres of film: comedy, tragedy and Guy Ritchie.

Now let’s argue that the former three categories have defining philosophies for poker: the bores believe there are lessons for life at the table; the students think they should listen to the bores; and the wise admit their ignorance. (Am I stealing from bumper sticker philosophy? Possibly, but lose marks for not thinking ‘I don’t know’.)

The bores can be to quick categorise their opponents and limited in their thinking. They are represented by the jaded veterans who think they have ‘seen it all before’. They probably have, but they have forgotten how to make esoteric connections.

The students are so desperate to graduate to the higher echelons of the game that they ape the style of the bores and close their minds to innovation. It is poker by rote: always fold AJ in early position because a fool and his money are easily parted, and at the end of the day luck evens itself out. They are the kind of player who would celebrate if their local card house decided to name a pretzel after them.

The true ones to watch are the wise: they know they can learn poker tips from anywhere. Let me give you an example of a recent off-table epiphany. (I make no claims to wisdom, but I’m proud that I am no student and, if you are still reading, I’m probably not a fully-fledged bore.)

Transport for London is running a viral campaign at the moment to make drivers more aware that it can be very easy to miss events on the road. I urge you to check them out here (and here) - it helps the fluidity of the piece, but they are genuinely clever and shocking.

They prove how easy it to miss detail. It is a common flaw at the poker table as well as on the streets of Camden.

Here is an example from Hold ‘em

You have KK in mid-position. It has been a while since you saw two painted characters and you become excited.
Another punter raises four times the big blind, taking it to $8, so you instantly kick it to $22. Why may you have acted rashly?

Think about it. I accept that there will be more than one possibility but there is a particular oversight I want to address.

Answer tomorrow.

WSOP Winner

It took over four hours of feverish heads-up competition but we have a winner at last: Peter Eastgate from Denmark has become the youngest ever World Series of Poker main event champion. He is 22 and he has just earned himself $9.1 million dollars as well as a place in the record books.

The tournament itself also provided a few new entries for fans of sporting lists: the final table was the longest ever; it had never had two guys from outside the states go heads up for the bracelet; and it was the first time the blinds had reached one million.

In the midst of all of these firsts, it must have been deeply reassuring for the traditionalists to see the customary placing of the prize pool on the table. Not that the sight of all of those crisp bundles of a hundred dollars bothered the two players: they both displayed intense concentration throughout the battle.

It was obvious that these two players had been weaned on the internet game. Here were two young men on the verge of a life-changing moment but they managed to maintain their emotional neutrality, even in the post-game interviews. They were consummate professionals, if a little inexperienced at handling the media.

Despite his relative youth Eastgate had the maturity to praise all of the other members of the November 9 and acknowledged that when he put his money into the middle, his hands held up. That is not to suggest he is a lucky winner but he would probably agree the deck was kinder to him in the final session.

If there was one hand that might have produced a Russian champion, it was the one highlighted by Demidov in his interview. It was a cheap one and the flop was 5-7-4. Demidov was first to act and checked. No more free cards, thinks the Dane: 1,150,000 to go. Demidov check-raised to 2,125,000. Eastgate called.

The turn was an 8.

The Russian checked, Eastgate ponied up four and a quarter mil. Again Demidov check-raised to 14 million. After a long time and some intense staring, the Dane called.

The river was a 3.

Both players checked and both revealed a 6 for the straight – but the Russian, with a 8, had flopped it. He had to accept a chopped pot but, all things considered over the four hours, I think the Dane would have held on regardless.

The Russian made few mistakes all night but came up against a hand every time he bluffed, or made second best. The final hand was an example of the latter.

The players had seen a cheap flop and were looking at 2-K-3. Demidov checked and was happy to pay 1,250,000 to see the turn. It was a 4. It was another check-raise for when Eastgate bet 2 mil, the Russian made it 6 and freed nearly half his stack into the pool. Eastgate called.

The river was a 7.

Nothing else could occur apart from Demidov pushing and Eastgate calling. The former had 2-4, two pair and the latter had A-5, for the wheel.

It was over. We have a record breaker from Denmark. He says he is going for eleven bracelets. He has plenty of time to get them.

WSOP 2008 Main Event Heads Up

Peter Eastgate – DEN - $9,152,416

Ivan Demidov – RUS - $5,809,595

WSOP Final Table

Tonight, at 10pm PST, the Penn and Teller Theatre at the Rio All Suite Hotel & Casino will host the heads up showdown for the main event of the 2008 WSOP and the bracelet will be leaving North America.

Yesterday, some four months after they had begun their campaign to be crowned champion, the November 9 sat down at the final table. By the end of the night, the two survivors were Denmark’s Peter Eastgate and Russia’s Ivan Demidov. Tonight’s play sees Peter hold the advantage as he has 79,500,000 to Ivan’s 57,725,000 but most bookies struggle to put a playing card between them and expect a tense affair. Both players will believe they have the game and the temperament to win.

Yesterday’s wild atmosphere generated by the sell-out crowd was neither for the faint-hearted nor for those who like their cotton free of logos. It was estimated that 300 members of the audience were kitted out in the trademark white shirt and red cap of Dennis Phillips, a level of support that must have been slightly intimidating for the other players. (He later denied rumours that he had hired a private plane to jet them all to Vegas, although he did admit he had paid all of their expenses and bought them the desired garb.)

He had begun the day as chip leader and he didn’t have to wait long until his minimum payday increased, although it was not in the fashion everyone had expected. Kelly Kim defied all expectations and outlasted Craig Marquis, who became the only player not to become a dollar millionaire when he crashed out in ninth place. He was desperately unlucky.

Aware that was becoming terminally short of chips, he shoved in his stack when he saw 77 in the hole. When Scott Montgomery called with AQ, Marquis was jubilant when the flop landed 7-A-T. When the turn brought a jack, he was still fairly unconcerned. The knock-out was the deadly card, the king, giving Scott the nut straight, a possibility that had been neglected by the tournament director, who had announced the outs on the flop. In a way, that is not surprising. On the flop, Marquis would win that hand over 96 times in 100. It probably cost him roughly $387k.

Kim must have felt like Cinderella and he continued his fairy-tale a little longer, although he needed a magic wand when his push with 44 attracted the attention of three callers. I’m sure he was happy with eight place pay-out, given he had already survived two mini-bubbles.

The next player to burst was David Rheem. Again we saw hands reaching into the arc of the probability laws but this time, they were just given a shake, not a throttling. Rheem made his final move with AK and was called by Eastgate with AQ. The queen paired, the king didn’t and Rheem was left royally unimpressed.

A final table is never a good time to be conscious of one’s inferior status so when qualifier Darus Suharto found himself as the lowest of the table’s pecking order, he decided he would fight like a noble. Unfortunately, he decided to push and found himself against a stronger holding just at the moment the probability Gods stopped tickling the ear of the underdog. They demanded a sacrifice. A8 versus AQ, time for Suharto to go walkies.

Montgomery was to follow. He had been wearing a hangdog expression ever since he had received a dressing down from Ivan Demidov in a hand worth around 50 million. Before the flop, the action had been: raise, re-raise, all in, call, with Demidov the last to act. In an online game, these hands leave the impression that someone’s bloodstream is a tad tainted with hooch and the players are subconsciously trying to empty their bladders. When Montgomery revealed Ad, 9d, we wondered if he needed a potty; when he saw Ivan’s KK he must have felt like crying ‘finished’.

The flop uncovered two diamonds and both players clenched their fists. The turn was a blank. The crowd whooped. The river was another blank and Ivan was dancing around the table. It was not Montgomery’s day – Eastgate gave him the final shove by hitting a one outer a few hands later.

With only four players left, there was a period of exhalation and the game slowed down. At such times, the mettle is tested and some crack. Schwartz was close to the edge and had decided that he would try to sucker punch his opponents. He was in a hand against Eastgate and the board was 2-K-8-K. Schwartz checked, Eastgate bet 1.75 million, Schwartz called. The river was a five.
Again, Schwartz checked. Eastgate bet 4.6 million. Schwartz check-raised all in: 12.5 million on top. He wasn’t expecting a call. He got one. Eastgate had a full house with fives. Schwartz had ace high. In his post game interview Schwartz maintained it was a good play as it would have been difficult for Eastgate to call had he not hit the five. I’m inclined to agree. It would have been the perfect time to flip his cards had the bluff worked and he could have boosted his table image. Next time.

Another rashly timed move saw the exit of Dennis Phillips. He had been a little too aggressive in the day’s early stages and his chip stack had fluctuated. Now done to three, he found himself as the short stack. He was under pressure, but his final hand was a little odd. Eastgate had raised from the small blind and Phillips called from the big. The dealer presented a flop of J-4-3.
Eastgate bet 1.5 million. Phillips went all in for 15,275,000 and was quickly called. He had bet close to five times the pot and Eastgate had flopped a set of threes. Philips had T-9. It was the kind of bet that can only win a relatively small pot and will lose a huge one. Such is the pressure of the WSOP.

It leaves Eastgate versus Demidov. It promises much but guarantees a European champion.

Peter Eastgate – DEN – 79,500,000
Ivan Demidov – RUS – 57,725,000

Casualties:

3. Dennis Phillips – USA - $4,517,773
4. Ylon Schwartz - USA - $3,774,974
5. Scott Montgomery – CAN - $3,096,768
6. Darus Suharto – CAN - $2,418,562
7. David Rheem – USA - $1,772,650
8. Kelly Kim – USA - $1,288,217
9. Craig Marquis – USA - $900,670

WSOP Preview

Now that the US election is over, there may be some fixated people who have suddenly found that their lives have become an intellectual void and they are craving a hit of bamboozling statistics and barely grounded media opinion.

Fortunately, the final table of the main event of the WSOP begins on Sunday, so that presents me with an opportunity to wildly splutter enough thoughts so by the time I have finished, you might fight feel like your face has been used as the canvas for an early Jackson Pollock.

I’ll start by painting the picture as it currently stands:

1. Dennis Phillips 26,295,000
2. Ivan Demidov 24,400,000
3. Scott Montgomery 19,690,000
4. Peter Eastgate 18,375,000
5. Ylon Schwartz 12,525,000
6. Darus Suharto 12,520,000
7. David Rheem 10,230,000
8. Craig Marquis 10,210,000
9. Kelly Kim 2,620,000

For the first penetrating insight, I’ll say we can disregard Kelly Kim. He can only last 9-10 rounds and has admitted he just wanted to finish 9th and make the final table. Although we will probably be down to eight quite quickly, all of them will feel like they have a chance.

To trim the field a little further, I don’t think Ylon Schwartz will grab the top prize as, for all his tournament experience, he is yet to win one. It is a factor that also blights the record of David Rheem. Although he finished second in a WSOP event last year, I think he needs luck on his side here, as will guitar player Craig Marquis, who has been playing poker for less than two years.

Another player with limited experience is satellite winner Darus Suharto, although admittedly his only cash was in last year’s event, finishing 448th and earning $26,389. An accountant residing in Toronto, this year guarantees he will have a double entry but I don’t think he will log $9.1 million.

So we are left with the top four.

Although Dennis Phillips has a reasonable lead, I don’t think this year will see the oldest champion since Noel Furlong who, at the age of 61, won it nine years ago. Despite having booked the assistance of Roy Winston as a coach, I don’t think the current chip-leader will possess the necessary combination of ruthlessness and concentration.

The remaining three on the shortlist all have the above attributes in abundance and it is very difficult to separate them. Peter Eastgate is capable of making Phil Hellmuth throw his chips from the table as the Dane could become the WSOP main event’s youngest bracelet winner – but for that reason I will make him the next casualty.

I think the bracelet is bound for Russia. Ivan Demidov has the big mo. He picked up a cheque for £334,850 for taking third place at the WSOP Europe in September and has already cashed at the 2008 WSOP, earning $39,854 for a $1,000 buy in. He is a fierce competitor at the computer games Starcraft and Warcraft and so will have the concentration. There is an argument that his shyness might be a downside when the cameras start rolling but I believe he will stay focussed and make the plays. I expect Scott Montgomery to run him close.

By the end of Sunday, we will know the final two, who will then go visor to visor on Monday.

Change

Tuesday night/Wednesday morning was a time when the pace of social justice finally accelerated. For once, all of the available statistics were upheld and there was not a calamitous turn around. A journey that had begun 248 orbits ago ended in triumph. An opponent, who had threatened to sustain ill judged philosophies, was vanquished.

Yes, the guy who, when he was told he couldn’t win by playing 8-4 suited responded with ‘Yes I can’, succumbed to the inevitable and left the table broke. I raised a glass of champagne. It was time to toast the poker table, a place where no-one brings privilege, and everyone, as long as he/she bothers to learn the odds, has a chance.

At the moment, however, there is still a caveat to the above. Ever since the Bush administration stamped an eleventh hour amendment onto a bill designed to prevent terrorism, it has been very difficult for US based players to play poker online. In that respect, it is a handicap to be born in the land of the free.

Will the president-elect, Barack Obama, overturn the situation and allow us Europeans to offer our American friends a cyber-seat at the oval tables?

Possibly, but don’t hold your breath.

When he was on the campaign trail, Obama said he was a pretty good poker player and a few Democrats have said they would like to overturn the bill. (Actually, there is roughly the same number of Republicans who would be happy to trash it but that would have been unlikely under the outgoing administration.) However, given that the 44th President’s in-tray will be bulging with some pretty weighty paper-work, it may be some time until we in Europe are able to play against Joe The Plumber. (Shame, as given his likely state of mind, it would be the perfect time to play him)

My guess is that we won’t see any hands bending the arc of history towards online poker rooms until 2010, at the earliest. Until then, I’ll leave you with this poser:

When those eager American players arrive at our tables, what is the obvious answer to: Can we beat them............?

Building Bridges

A mid level poker pro should always be on the lookout for ways to attract new blood. It becomes a little tedious grinding against the same opponents day in, day out, and eventually, as the individuals become more experienced, the profit margin is squeezed. There are always the Friday night blowhards who return sozzled from the bar and who are partially correct to believe they are the next Devilfish. However, they are usually broke soon after they fall comatose. I prefer it when the weaker players stick around.

To that end, I advise always be on the lookout for venues that attract people with a desirable blend of competiveness and naivety. Be creative. Scour the newspapers and journals for events that could easily be used as a recruitment ground.

Let me start you off with an idea of my own: in Britain, there is an event called the annual World Poohsticks Championship.

Just in case you are unfamiliar with the history of poohsticks, it started when a character from children’s fiction, Winnie the Pooh, tripped on a bridge and accidentally dropped a fir cone into the river. Now, 80 years on, participants at the WPC drop sticks into the Thames from one side of a bridge to see whose emerges first on the other side.

Top level competitors sometimes refer to the wisdom of a donkey: Eeyore, a character from the books and cultural short hand for unremitting pessimism, believed that success at poohsticks was achieved by ‘letting the stick drop in a twitchy kind of way’.

Next year’s WPC is taking place at the end of March and I intend to be housed in a booth, hosting Hold’ em introductory sessions, trying to sway those following the path of the donkey. These are the kind of players we want: fun, friendly and capable of surrendering their fate to the river.

Online Reads

People claim it is impossible to establish reads online. After all, it is not as if you can glance over the table and see the Russian stereotype play with his Oreos.

However, because a lot of players believe that you can’t spot tells, they tend to play quite a conservative style – and that means it can be quite easy to read their game.

For starters, always keep tabs on those players who are multi-tabling as a significant majority will play the same type of game – it will be tight and conservative.

Consider this:

You spot a player called Frustrated Bulimic at your low level table. You scroll through the lobby and see that he/she is playing at least five other tables and has roughly the same amount of chips on each.

I can almost guarantee that he/she will be playing about 11-15% of hands and spewing out the rest. A raise from early position will be a premium hand and their opening requirements will not loosen much as they move closer to the button.

Nothing profound there.

However, when he/she calls your opening raise, you can almost always put them on one or two hands: either a pocket pair or AK (possibly AQ, depending on your position and the opponent’s proximity to the button).

These types of player don’t like to put in too much pre-flop and will be trying to either flop a set or see how you play if an ace hits. This gives you a significant edge.

If the flop is full of blanks, bet three quarters of the pot. A statistically important amount of the time, your opponent will fold. If you are called, you are either against an over-pair or a set. You should check the turn and probably toss the cards to any bet.

It becomes slightly more complicated if there is a draw on the board. In those cases, you will have to have a more in-depth knowledge of your opponent. You have to be extremely sure that if you bet again the player will fold, as a bet on the turn of three quarters of the pot will be a large proportion of your stack.

A trickier scenario is when you have an over pair, the flop looks harmless and your opponent either calls or raises. Again, you are probably against an over pair or a set but it is a lot harder to toss your aces or kings.

So, what do you do?

Well, as always in poker, it depends. Any read that you have in game is an asset but here are some general pointers.

What do you think will happen if you raise again? If you think you will be staring at a push, then you must suspect a set.

Will your opponent bet the turn if you call? Quite a few multi-tablers will put you on a strong hand if you call the raise on the flop and therefore might back off with their queens or jacks. If the turn is checked, you are probably against an over-pair and should bet half the pot on the river, unless a jack or queen falls.

It is important to remember that these players will not want to put too much of their stack at risk unless they have a significant advantage and therefore if they bet the flop, the turn and the river, you are almost definitely against a set.

Decisions and Outcomes

One of the hardest aspects of poker is to remain focused when you are losing. If, during a session, you have watched stack after stack head south, you mind can easily become a jail populated by evil thoughts. It can be even worse if one particular player has been the beneficiary of your bad run. He is not going to tell himself he’s been lucky: he is going to think he’s the Daddy.

Try to recall that good decisions don’t always have good outcomes. On the night, it is a good decision for a singleton to sleep with an attractive person. If the person steals your car the next morning, the decision didn’t have a good outcome – but that doesn’t mean it was wrong, particularly if you drive a Riva G-Whiz.

The failure to differentiate between good decisions and good outcomes is known to social psychologists as the outcome bias. The table sees you losing money and assumes you are a fish. It looks at your opponent’s growing skyline of chips and thinks he’s the man. They are biased, you are nearly wiped out and it is hard to pat yourself on the back when your hands are being broken.

Indeed, it can be so difficult to concentrate that it is always worth considering taking a break or playing at different tables. If you must stick at it (and so you should when the winning player has been very lucky) be sure you maintain the ability to make the correct decisions. The outcome bias can easily creep into your own head, you start to feel like a loser and so you start to do exactly what losers do – make bad decisions.

Poker, like God (and the Devil) is in the details. Make the right decisions and deal with the outcomes.

Opening Lines

Today’s page from The Writer’s block is about opening lines. Apparently, editors often use the ‘Airport Test’ on manuscripts – if you read the opening line in an airport bookshop, would you buy the book before boarding the plane?

It offers one from a master of the art:

‘The decision to bomb the office of the radical Jew lawyer was reached with relative ease.’ (The Chamber, by John Grisham).
It then suggests picking five of your favourite novels to see if they pass the airport test. Instead, I’ve picked my favourite novel, two that I didn’t finish, the book I’m currently reading and a classic. See if you can classify them.

Dame Agnes de Mordaunt was sitting in the window of her chamber, looking out over the garden of the House of Mary at Clerkenwell.

We – the five Roman Catholics – were walking back from the bus stop up the drive to school, fresh from Mass, when Barrowsmith and four or five of his Neanderthals started chanting ‘Papist Dogs’ and ‘Fenian traitors’ at us.

The sun rose up from behind the concrete of the block of flats opposite, beaming straight into their faces.

I address these lines – written in India – to my relatives in England.

‘And don’t forget’, my father would say, as if he expected me at any moment to up and leave to seek my fortune in the wide world, ‘whatever you learn about people, however bad they turn out, each one of them has a heart, and each one of them was once a tiny baby sucking his mother’s milk...’

Rate the World Series?

Poker players with memories that didn’t get erased through a summer of partying may recall that the main event at this year’s World Series of Poker began on July 3. After eleven days of intensive flopping, the field was trimmed from an impressive 6844 to a mere 9.

Rather than playing the final table the next day, it was delayed for four months so the company that bought the TV rights could broadcast tons of recorded footage of the preliminaries and whet the audience’s appetite for live coverage of the climax. That is now nearly upon us: the final players take their seats on November 9, a date chosen for symmetry as well as economics.

When the decision to delay the final table was announced, there was a reasonable amount of outraged bluster from poker professionals. Arguments that the scheduling would allow for coaching, that it would diminish the tournament and that it could provide scope for deal-making largely fell into ears deafened by the sound of ringing tills.

With some justification, some of the loudest hollers of protest originated from outside the US. Bah, they spat, it is an inconvenience typical of a nation that calls its (predominately) domestic baseball tournament the ‘World Series.’

However, because of events that few could have foreseen, it is unlikely we will hear complaints from Peter Eastgate and Ivan Demidov, the two surviving non-North Americans at the final table. Placed in 4th and 2nd respectively, both will have their pay-days significantly boosted by the crisis in the world’s financial markets.

Let’s assume that Peter and Ivan finish in 4th and 2nd.

Peter is Danish. The prize for 4th is $3.7m.

Ivan is Russian. The prize for 2nd is $5.8m.

If they had banked at the exchange rates of July 14:

Peter earns DKK 17,315,334.

Ivan banks RUB 134,831,034.

However using rates from yesterday:

Peter would earn DKK 21,807,282

Ivan would bank RUB 157,539,136

For those who can only salivate over prizes in their own currency, here is the first prize expressed in Euros:

July 14 – EUR 5,711,524

Oct 26 – EUR 7,167,070

It is a sizable difference, made even tastier by the knowledge that it ironically came about through the demands of The Man and the sponsors’ indifference to the concerns of the players.

Odds

So far, these posts have offered an overview of the different stages of Texas Hold ‘em and how they have a bearing on your choices. For the next few pieces, I’ll try to explain some of terms, styles and strategies you can employ during your session.

I’ll start with pot odds as it is arguably the simplest to understand. The term represents the probability of receiving the card you need to make your hand. The classic is drawing to a flush. You start with two suited cards and the flop brings another two. There are thirteen cards to a suit, four are on display so there are nine cards (or ‘outs’) still in the pack that can complete your flush.

If you want an approximation of the percentage chance of improving on your next card, you can simply double the outs and add one: i.e 2x9=18 (+1) = 19%, or roughly one time in five.

So, in this simple scenario, you look at the size of the pot and consider the price of calling. If you are receiving better than 5 to one, you call; if the odds are lower, you (should) fold.

However, Hold ‘em is rarely that straightforward. Usually, the only time when the pot odds are the sole consideration is when you are heads up and someone has gone all-in – there can be no further betting. The rest of the time you will find yourself in the land of implied odds.

They sound like something that has been conceived by a fairground barker who is trying to convince punters to part with their cash: look, we may be only able to offer you this amount but if that guy over there drops to tie his shoelace in approximately five seconds we’ll be able to pay a bit more.

In essence, implied odds are a test in speculation: you guess what will happen after you have put your money in the pot.

Let’s go back to the flush draw. We know that the turn will bring a card that makes a flush one time in five. Let’s add further details. You are on the button with your flush draw. The big blind has checked and a player in mid position has bet $30 into a $40 pot: $70 in, $30 to call, pot odds are 2.3 to one. Most players will call (raising might be better but that is beyond this example). Why?

Well, they expect that the size of the final pot will be quite a bit bigger. There is a chance the big blind might call, implying the odds would be 3.3 to one (effectively calling $30 for a $100 pot). There is also another consideration: there are two cards to come.
The odds of making the flush (in this example) with two cards to come are approximately 1.86 to one.

Not only is there a possibility that the big blind will call, there is a reasonable chance that the turn card will cause a round of checking, thus enabling you to take the river card for free. Add to that the times when the flush card hits on the turn and it becomes a good call.

The concept of implied odds is just mathematical short hand and don’t let it confuse you. If you are factoring in likely future occurrences to your play, you already understand implied odds.

Buoyancy Aids

It is with a certain sense of inevitability that we arrive at Hold ‘em’s ultimate destination: the river card. Until the arrival of the final card, you won’t know for sure if the play will prove to a comedy or a tragedy. When it is the latter, you will usually find yourself against someone who lives by the river to such an extent he/she thinks such play will pay for a house facing the Thames.

The reality, of course, is that such appalling abuse of the probability laws will ultimately leave those players penniless and clinging, Canute-like, to their own self deception as they are overwhelmed by the tidal wave of skill.

However, the effect of the river card can occasionally make hardened pros feel like they have been ducked in bilge water and the stains can affect subsequent play. The trick is to see it coming. Unfortunately, that is the difficult part.

If we forget the yawn-inducing hands that are checked all the way, by the time you arrive at the river you will have invested a reasonable amount of your stack and for most of us that directly corresponds to emotional investment. You have probably been winning the hand all the way. The table is probably quaking under the weight of half your stack. You are already thinking about how to spend the money.

Suddenly, another player called Socrates puts the rest of his cash in. What the hell? Your ability to think logically is poisoned by the knowledge that your money is on the table and Socrates may be executing a rash bluff. It can be so hard to form an accurate appraisal of Socrates. So much may be unknown. That’s the problem. You call. You lose. He teaches you a lesson. (And historians still think it is unclear how he made his money.)

Until you understand that the real skill at poker is the separation of logic from emotion, you might be lucky in love but not at cards. No other moment tests your emotional control as much as the slap of the river card.

Over We Go

I’m back again everyone, continuing my journey around the poker table and trying to break down boundaries so that the Hold ‘em hopefuls need not feel intimidated by the indigenous types here at Eyebrows.

Yesterday we unearthed the truth about the flop, comparing it to the front page story of a newspaper. Today, we deal with the turn card, which we can see as the first few lines of an editorial comment that might change your view of the front page.

Famous old-timer of the poker circuit Doyle Brunson believes most of the action happens on the flop, usually between two players. He wrote his poker bible ‘Super System’ before the online boom and therefore his thoughts have to be qualified somewhat.

If you start at a low level, there will be times when you see the turn card and you are not part of a warring couple, scrapping to be the bread-winner. There will often be little tykes sitting at the table, trying to spoon from the family pot. It is important to consider their presence if you want to be the Daddy.

The rasp of the turn card can indicate that another player has just hit a draw, particularly if the pot is multi-way. Flushes are the easiest to spot but do not neglect the possibility of straights, particularly if the pot was not raised pre-flop. Other players like to disguise the strength of their hand until the turn.

Here is a scenario:

You were dealt KK in early position, you raise and get three callers. Assuming the flop is free of aces but it has two-suited cards, if the turn card is a blank and your bet is raised by one of the flop callers, there is a good chance that he/she is slow-playing a set – the wait was to see if the flush hit on the turn. It is a play more suited to fixed limit as the turn bets are double those of the flop but it is still a common move in NL. If you are looking at a set, your chance of winning the hand is less than 5% and you should muck because you are not just calling the turn bet – your friend will want to apply the maximum pressure when the river arrives.

Folding on the turn is not easy – but the river card often makes the act impossible.