Overtime

Once again, I step into the halls of the Rio Convention Center before 10am. It's Day 2 of the Millionaire Maker, and 1,166 players remain from the 5,236 entries across two starting flights.

We settle into our seats, tear open our bags, and stack our chips. Some players have only a few yellow 1k chips left in front of them, praying to survive the few remaining hours before we're in the money. Others are building multi-story castles, well-positioned to exploit the trepidation of their opponents.

If you're sent to prison, on your first day, walk up to the biggest, baddest dude in the yard and punch him in the face.

That's the advice that's often shared late at night, after many beers have been consumed, between people who've never seen the inside of a jail cell. And it makes for dramatic scenes in the movies.

I assume it's terrible advice in real life. It certainly doesn't work very well at the poker tables.

We lose the first player at our table in the first five hands. He was all-in for four of them.

We lose another that's in nearly every pot, failing to yield to the raises and bets of the woman across from him. Only to find himself drawing dead on every flop, or out-kicked on every river. Her castle grows.

For my part, I stab at a few pots, but mostly stay out of the fray. The most notable pot comes when I call a hijack open from the small blind with A4 of spades. I flop two pair on an A84 rainbow board, and check-call his continuation bet. I check again when a jack comes on the turn. He bets again, and I check-raise all-in before he quickly folds.

It's serious business at the table, but often punctuated by laughter. One of the players confesses to the table that he got "super high" that morning. He's in a loving and complementary mood — "that play was fire!" he declares, as someone turns over a bluff. Later, as we lose the same player, he shares "I'm sad as shit deep down when someone busts." I'm laughing so hard that tears stream out of the corners of my eyes, and struggle to regain my poker face.

I make it to our first break of the day, but with a short stack. I've lost a few small battles against the castle builders, the cards aren't cooperating, and the blinds are climbing fast.

When we return from break, we're twenty players left from making the money. It takes twenty minutes to lose the first ten, and five minutes to lose the next five. We go hand-for-hand, where each table deals one hand, then waits until the hand is completed at all others table before continuing. This disincentivizes the short stacks from stalling, waiting out the clock for some other sucker to bust first.

The Packers/Bengals game is on the giant screens around the Pavilion room. Groans and cheers erupt with every fumble and missed field goal. The game goes into overtime as we continue hand-for-hand, tension high on every play.

Crosby makes his final field goal attempt, his earlier mistakes already forgotten. The tournament director announces that we're in the money and 799 players cheer. I imagine one poor soul is not.

A few orbits later the under-the-gun player jams his short stack. I move my own in when I see the best pair I've been dealt all day — pocket eights. The big blind calls us with AQ, and sends us both home when an ace pairs her on the flop. I receive my payout card for 686th place and a min-cash.

It's 2pm and two hours before the second flight of the Flip & Go event, a new event for the WSOP. In this format, each player goes all-in on the first hand. Whoever wins is automatically in the money, and the tournament continues on as usual.

My initial enthusiasm to play in the event has waned given the outrage in poker circles. Some are angry that organizers have allowed pros to enter 20+ times to try to qualify. Others point out the money grab of charging players the typical 11% rake for a single hand of play. I decide to pass, and am done with the Rio for the day.

I'm grateful for some time off, and make a much-needed Target run to replenish snacks and other essentials. I eat a decent meal without the pressure of returning before a tournament clock counts down to zero. And I'm not within earshot of a single person telling a bad beat story.

But I'm not done with poker yet today.

I register for the 5:30pm $400 bracelet event on WSOP.com. I sit leisurely on the couch, feet on the coffee table, MacBook propped up against my knees. The tournament window takes up half my screen, WSOP final table footage on PokerGo fills up the rest. Flashing lights from the Strip occasionally catch my attention from the periphery.

I end up 176th place out of 1,023 entrants, good enough for my second cash of the day.

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Number of times I’ve seen a guest carrying a pressure cooker through a hotel lobby this past week: 2