Rain in the Desert

The morning drizzle darkens the concrete steps up to the Rio convention center. The skyline of the nearby Las Vegas Strip is hazy with mist, a monochrome sky as the backdrop.

We're one week into the 2021 World Series of Poker. Players flood the halls once again. The hours-long lines are gone, the kiosks are working. The kinks have been worked out, the wheels have been greased, the machine well-oiled.

You can begin to separate the new arrivals from the grinders that have been here from the start. The former saunter through the Pavilion, pausing to look up at the giant banners of Main Event winners. They introduce themselves to the table with eager faces, ask if anyone can make change for a twenty. The others stare vacantly ahead, lost in thoughts of the past.

Cards are in the air at 10am today for flight A of the Millionaire Maker, one of the bigger events of the series. The tournament is aptly named because of the guaranteed $1M first place prize. It's a $1500 buy-in, one re-entry allowed per flight. Levels are one hour long, giving it a nice, relaxed structure.

Play is slow at my starting table for the first couple levels. Pots are small and stacks remain deep. Nobody goes all-in. Lots of flops are seen multi-way, and often to the river.

The pace picks up slightly when we get back from our first break. The biggest pot I play comes when an early position player opens and I 3-bet him with pocket tens. The player to my left flat calls, and it folds back to EP who also calls.

The three of us see the Q84 flop, and EP quickly moves his stack to the middle. I have him covered, but it's a tough spot for me. I'm not sure what he has, but I read his move as one of weakness. If he has a set, he'd most likely check in the hopes of trapping one of us. It's likely he has a smaller pair or a gutshot straight draw with backdoor flush possibilities. I don't like that there's a player behind me who could have me beat, but I make the call. The other player thankfully folds, but EP turns over Q9, and double him up.

This takes me down to a short stack which I nurse until the end of level 5. Another player opens in EP, and I move all in with pocket sevens. He calls me with AJo and I'm once again flipping a coin for my tournament life. I dodge the flop, KQ9, but it gives him an extra four outs to beat me with a straight. The turn is a third spade, giving me opportunities to make a flush with my seven of spades. The river is a clean ace of clubs to give him a better pair, and I’m off to buy my one re-entry.

I play four out of the first five pots at my new table. But I win only one of them, so am down about 25% from a starting stack in short order.

And then I pick up AK in middle position and raise first in. It folds to the small blind, who raises me before I move all-in. He calls with pocket nines. The coin turns my way this time — a king is the first card I see as the dealer turns over the flop, and I double up.

Two hands later, the table is broken and we're moved to new tables in the Brazilia room. There are big stacks all around the table who are opening and 3-betting a lot of pots. I spend the next few hours card dead, mostly watching the action, getting whittled away.

By the dinner break, I'm tired. There’s a part of me that wants to punt. To leave the Rio and sit at a bar somewhere with a cold beer, and no decisions to make. Then get in my pajamas, lie in a soft bed, and watch mindless action movies on my laptop.

The biggest mistakes I see players make aren’t technical ones — opening too tight, c-betting too wide, or overfolding to river bets. Most are felted by the mental leaks that cloud the decision making process. Getting impatient, cursing the poker gods for not gifting you premium hands, so calling all-in preflop with QTo. Steaming after losing a big pot, so triple barreling into a tight player when you can’t beat top pair. Feeling like you’re being bullied by the chip leader, so 3-bet jamming from the big blind with garbage.

If you’re here to gamble, they’ll happily host you at the roulette table.

There were 2,570 entries in today's flight, and a thousand players come back from the dinner break. I lose a couple pots in short order, and I'm down to 10 big blinds.

I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave. All I want to do is survive until the end of the night, and make it to Day 2. Pajamas and Netflix be damned. This is where I belong.

I move all-in with AJs and am called by an even shorter stack at the table who has pocket tens. He wins, and I'm down to 6 big blinds.

I move all-in with pocket fives and it folds to the big stack in the big blind, who shakes his head and laughs. I mockingly plead with him to fold. He finally does, flashing 73o. I'm so short that just picking up the blinds and antes adds over 40% to my stack.

But a couple orbits later and an increase of the blinds, and I'm now down to fewer than two big blinds. In just a few hands I'll be forced to go all-in from the big blind with whatever two cards I'm dealt. I make sculptures with my few remaining chips to pass the time between hands.

I finally move all-in with K5 of hearts. It's not what I hope for, but it's the best I have. A simulator would shove this hand from my position with as many as 7 big blinds. It folds to a big stack in the small blind who re-raises. Then the big blind moves all-in, and the small blind calls.

I'm not as far behind as I would've thought — they turn over a pair of jacks and AQs, so I have have about a 26% chance to more than triple up. If I knew their hands ahead of time (and had a poker calculator handy) it would just barely be a fold.

But a few seconds later the board is revealed, and I'm out of the tournament. I wish my former opponents luck as I grab my belongings.

This is the grind. Twelve hour days without bagging chips. And coming back tomorrow to fire another bullet or two.

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Men I saw talking on the phone while standing at a urinal: 3