Fuck You All and Goodbye

Well, unless a miracle occurs, I will not be attending the WSOP. I think, all told, I won my way into 8 satellites (through smaller buy-in satellites) for the WSOP. In my last effort I came pretty damn close, which, in the world of satellites is good for an empty wallet and an notable increase in blood pressure.

So I made it to the final table. Three would get WSOP seats, the next three would receive a cash prize between 1500 and 3500. I think maybe 200 had started out in the ($215) satellite. 9 players remained, I had about average chips, maybe a bit more and I wasn't too worried about the table. None of the players seemed particularly creative or aggressive.

So I find QQ in late position, and raise it up after one guy limped in middle position. Blinds fold, short stack goes all-in. My first thought is that he has AA. Now, it doesn't make much sense limping in middle position on a super-tight table that had not shown any pre-disposition for a high amount on pre-flop raising, but nonetheless, my first and second thought was that he had AA. However, he was short stacked, and his all-in raise was only double or so my initial raise, which gave me at least 3.5 to 1 on the call. So I called; he shows AA, and I don't suck out. Of course not.

Very next hand. I'm a bit rattled. I limp in middle position with KQs (as I said, I was rattled). The action is folded around to the blinds, who dutifully check. Flop comes K23. SB immediately goes all-in. I can't really see what I am losing to here (unless i had let him hit a shitty two-pair). So I call, and he shows AA. Oh. Of course. The very fucking next fucking hand. What else would he have? Silly me. So I don't improve and now my stack crippled (the SB was the other short stack). I am out soon after.

Perhaps I could find some solace in thinking that those two horrid moments bought much joy to others. That perhaps, it was a key moment in their journey to the big dance.

Or perhaps it just makes me so mad I could scream and start chewing on the doorframe.

I managed to get a message into the chat box before I was booted from the tournament. You'll find it reprinted as the heading of this entry.

I think this sentiment also reflects my current thinking on my 2006 WSOP dreams (those dreams of gruelling first day survival, of inspired play and the steady accumulation of chips, of mixing it with the pros, of a courageous comeback from brutal final table beat (when this year's Aaron Kanter cracks my AA with AJ after making a horrible call pre-flop), of being heads up with Ivy, of the longest final table heads-up duel in history, of victory, glory, blow jobs like they're going out of style, pithy observations on Letterman, and a glorious reign as the new world champ).

So, to to these stupid ruminations, to these silly fantasies: fuck you all and goodbye.


Til next year.