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.