The Smell of Victory

So I slogged though the first round of Party's WSOP freeroll. Needed to get into the top 50 (of 3500). I did so.

Next stage started at 6.30am Sunday morning Australian time. Thank you, North America, thank you. Can't remember the last time I've awoken before dawn. Don't care to try it again any time soon, thank you very much.

At least - I thought - I'll listen to the romantic trilling of the birds as the rozy dawn approached. But the dawn - great metaphor that it is - was a dispiriting grey. Heavy rain clouds hung overhead and few birds trilling did this lone gunman hear.

At one stage I thought I detected the wailing of mating cats not far from my misty computer room window. But pulling aside the curtain and surveying the pre-dawn surrounds, I discovered, much to my displeasure, the jarring, cat-humping sounds were emanating from a small, innocuous looking gray bird perched at my window.

Peculiar.

What did this little maestro foretell with his animal-mating jabber jabber? Nothing, of course. Just an arbitrary moment in another arbitrary day at the tables. If NLHE tournament poker is a metaphor for life, then this would be it. The arbitrary, the unnecessary, the unexpected. Good, bad, right or wrong - as the bard says, all are punish'd.

Anyway, as much as pontification and navel gazing seems an integral part of any blog, methinks some actual poker talk is in order.

The Scent

So I was chip leader - or close to it - for the first 7 levels. Nothing spectacular - just bad players dumping their chips off to me when they were drawing dead or close to it.

And the 3300 were whittled down. Steadily, unceasingly, they dropped. 2000 - 1500 - 600. And still I stayed close to the top of the chips.

The World Series of Poker? Dare I believe it? Dare I conjure in my mind that I may have a shot? That I was going to freeroll my way to the biggest game of all?

No fucking way.

The fall

Then it was three levels of cold cards, mis-timed steals, and a touch of impatience. Yet given all this, I managed to hover around the 50 000 chip mark (about the average with 160 left).

I find JJ in the cutoff. Best cards in a long while.

Blinds 1500/3000/200. I raise it to 10 000.

Fold, fold, BB calls.

Flop T24 rainbow. Not bad for JJ, not bad at all. I bet 15000 into a pot of about 23 000. BB calls (more than half of his stack is in the pot by now).

Hmm. Well, he isn't the sort of player to try something clever with QQ - AA, so I discount these. He ain't calling with a pocket pair under ten either, so I discount these also. He's either a clever boy with a set, or a donk with AT or thereabouts.

Turn is a bitch. Another Ten.

My opponent checks (of course he does - dickhead). I obviously check.

River is another rag. He leads out with a bet of about 7000 (into a pot of about 60 000). I make the crying call, he shows KT.

Nice hand sir, nice hand.


I had 17 000 after that and never recovered. Went out 151st.

That smell of victory? Well, just the scent, unfortunately.