Autumn at Aria
I'm fuzzy on the math when I wake up, but I'm sure I didn't get the sleep I need. My decision is quick — I'm going to ease up today. I'm still going to play poker, but I need a change of pace, a respite from the battlegrounds of Rio, Wynn or Venetian.
I take my time getting breakfast, and head to Aria to late-register a one-day $400 event that’s part of their new Autumn at Aria series.
The stakes are lower, the atmosphere calmer. No giant fields to navigate. No million dollar prize pools. No bracelets to grab. I won't find any crushers making soul reads. There won't be any wizards thinking about equity realization or minimum defense frequency. Just people who love poker, looking to pass the time.
I get seated in the overflow area outside the poker room, next to the slot machines. A few people are already drinking, and the banter is high. I need some caffeine to get through the next few hours, but promise the man enjoying a pint of Space Dust that I’ll join him soon.
I'm sitting on a small stack since I started late, so I wait patiently to find my spots. I win my first pre-flop all-in with pocket queens versus A3. That's enough ammo for me to bust a short stack with my pocket sixes versus her AQ. And then another one with my AK versus his pocket tens.
That carries me through the next few levels until the end of late-registration. There are 135 players left out of 308 entries. The final 35 get paid — a lucky $777 for a min-cash, ramping up to $27k for first place.
I get frisky against a short stack when I defend my big blind with 94 of clubs. I flop a flush draw and lead out with a bet. He calls, and I put him all-in on the turn only to see that he was way ahead with a flopped set of sixes. Oops. Maybe I should've read his soul after all.
Down to 15 big blinds by the next level, I move all-in with pocket queens and am called by AKs. He wins the coin flip, and I'm 86'd in 86th place. I tap the table before I leave, genuinely wishing everyone good luck. Win or lose, I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon in Las Vegas.
It's dinner time, and I'm slurping the vegan drunken noodles at Lemongrass. The bartender pours me another Sapporo as he repeats a joke he told another customer a few minutes ago. I chuckle anyway.
By midnight, somewhere in a Las Vegas poker room a bubble will burst. Payout cards will be handed out. Chips will be bagged up for a Day 2.
For once this week, I will not be there. I will be long asleep in bed, ready to return to the Rio tomorrow.
Players who declared, “you’re not going to get a read on me” before I in fact got enough of a read on them to fold a worse hand: 1