Double Stack
My eyelids are heavy, my shoulders low as I flop into my seat for the $1k Double Stack. I may have taken advantage of one too many free drinks at the craps table the night before. But my mind starts to waken with the first snap of the dealer’s shuffle.
Only four players have shown up on time at my table of ten. That is enough to get started, and I waste no time attacking blinds and betting flops with any sliver of equity.
In the first hour, there are a lot of large pots, and I’ve won most of them. The stocky Israeli seated to my left is on tilt. “He is for sure the luckiest player in the tournament. From the start,” he growls to the player on the other side of him. I have rivered a full house against his straight and rake in a large pot.
I have doubled my starting stack. But the stragglers trickle in and I have to slow down my aggression as the table fills up.
In the fifth level I open under the gun with pocket kings. The tilted Israeli raises me, and it folds back to my action. I stare him down before moving him all-in. He snap calls, turning over AQo. He is shocked when he sees my kings, muttering to himself, “I thought he was bluffing. He made it too big.”
But an ace hits the turn to double him up and take me back to a starting stack. He stops complaining to the dealers about how unlucky he is.
I make my exit in a big hand during the following level. I call a big bet on the flop with a nut flush draw. I call again on the turn when I pick up a gutshot straight draw to go with it. I miss both on the river, but hit my ace. My opponent moves me all in, and I think the pot is too big for me to fold, too many hands in his range that I can beat. But he had flopped a set of fives, well ahead of my top pair. The table is quiet as I make my exit.
I quickly use my one re-entry for this flight, and head to a new table across the room with a starting stack. I’m now seven hours into the day, and feeling fatigue. Caffeine seems to have no effect. I curse myself for firing another bullet — I should’ve gone home for some sleep, and tried again in a second flight tomorrow. But I can't do anything about it now, so I move forward.
Right away, I tilt a player at my new table when I 3-bet all in to his open. I can't quite hear his critique, but it's clear he's unhappy as he talks to a pro on his right.
I attack his open again a couple orbits later. I have a few more chips this time so I don't go all-in, and make a standard 3x raise. He calls, and checks to me on a jack-high flop. I make a big bet, he shoves all-in and I snap call, turning over pocket queens to best his AJ.
That wakes me right up.
I hit a speed bump shortly afterwards when I call an open and three of us see a 964 rainbow flop. I flat call the continuation bettor, laying a trap with my pocket sixes. When the three of diamonds hits the turn, there’s a flurry of all-ins. I'm second best with my set of sixes. The winner is a big blind special — 52 to make a straight.
I chip back up slowly over the next few levels. By the end of dinner break there are 910 of us still fighting, down from a total of 1,937 entries.
I open under the gun with pocket queens and two tight players to my direct left, plus the big blind to my right call. The flop is 922 with two spades and I know I’m either way ahead or way behind. I make a pot-sized bet, and to my surprise both tight players call. At least the big blind folds, the player most likely to be in the mix with a deuce.
The eight of hearts lands on the turn and I pause. I don’t think my opponents would play pocket aces or kings this way, but eights or nines make perfect sense. That’s not enough to slow me down though, and I move all-in, shocked to see them both call.
The first player has pocket jacks and the other has the jack and ten of spades for straight and flush draws. I fade a jack, seven or spade on the river and triple up.
From there, I sit comfortably as one of the bigger stacks at the table. As the day draws to an end a few hours later, I’m just hoping I don’t donk off my 100 big blinds before we bag for the day. But I manage to avoid any drama, and join the other 506 players to advance to day two.
As I pack up, a septuagenarian from Long Beach with the weathered look of a surfer gives me a fist bump. We’d been chatting quite a bit during the last level. He's exhausted, but elated to still be alive in the tournament. We'll be at different tables tomorrow, and I wish him luck. He returns the sentiment, “good luck buddy, you’re a cool dude.”
That means almost as much to me as the pile of chips I'll be taking into day two.
Times I saw a player from my table leave the bathroom without washing his hands: 1