Monster Stack
It's Saturday, and the halls of Bally's and Paris bulge with the growing crowds. The infrastructure is starting to strain — out of order signs appear on urinals, lines wrap around corners. Something's wrong with the air conditioning, sparking countless grumbles throughout the ballroom.
I'm back for Flight B of the Monster Stack. We're only five-handed at my starting table as we wait for stragglers to arrive. The stacks are deep and the pots are small for the first couple hours until the table fills up.
I befriend a man to my left, a personal injury attorney from South Carolina. He’s on the verge of retirement, planning to return to his first love — acting. We talk about Al Pacino movies, and the differences between comedy and drama. He’s here for the week, but he only allots himself one poker tournament a year, so is vocal about wanting to make Day 2.
I tell him a little about my journey. He sneaks a quick glance at my dwindling chip stack, and I can read the bewilderment on his face. I laugh. "Are you thinking I should go back to my day job?" He laughs in return, but doesn't answer the question.
Showdowns aren't going my way. Top pairs with worse kicker. Sneaky sets blowing away my strong Ax hands. Bluffs failing to get through.
My stack's down 25%, but the dent feels bigger when I look at the few chips in front of me. But denominations can be deceiving. I still have 80 big blinds and plenty of time to run it up. Besides, we start with 50k chips, and will need to add another 350 million or so to win the tournament.
Then I'm clobbered when my rivered flush loses to the nut one. I'm down to a third of my starting stack. Over the next two hours, the strong hands wane and the blinds chafe that further. I'm down to 20 big blinds.
Even still, I have a patience I wouldn't have been able to find two years ago. I imagine a parallel universe where I'm just now arriving to the tournament. And in that universe the tournament director tells me I'd get to sit at this very table. But I'd get this very chip stack even paying full price — I'd accept without hesitation.
My stack gets cut in half again when I make a tight fold in a pot with top pair, and it's clear I'm beat. I'm in survival mode.
I get my best hand of the day — pocket queens. I open jam and the big blind calls me with AJ. She doesn't improve and I double up.
I get AKs the next hand and 3-bet jam. The opener folds and I rake in the pot.
I open the very next hand with AQ and pick up the blinds.
After a few orbits I'm back up to 42 big blinds — a comfortable stack.
I open from the button with pocket tens. The attorney calls in the small blind, and the big blind comes too. The flop is 542, and the blinds check to me. I make a pot-sized bet, and the attorney makes a small raise. The big blind gets out of the way and I jam.
The attorney asks for a count — I don't have a lot left relative to the size of the pot, but it's enough to give him pause. He thinks for a while and calls. I flip over my cards and he concedes with a grimace, "nice hand."
It's a few beats before he shows his own hand, but I already have a clear idea of what's there — A4 for a pair and a straight draw. I'm way ahead.
The turn is a blank, but a three on the river fills his straight. I'm out.
He offers an apology and a handshake. I take the latter, but not the former, wishing him a deep run.
I hear the air conditioning will be fixed by tomorrow.