The Amazon River

I wake up confident, energized, determined. I don't remember my dreams, but I suspect they foretold a masterful run toward a final table. I meditate, work out, and eat breakfast before I head back to the Rio.

Day 2 of the $800 Deepstack starts at noon. There were 2,778 entrants yesterday, but only 159 of us remain. We're guaranteed at least $2,011 for our efforts, but have sights on the $270k first place prize.

We restart in the Amazon room, and it's the first time I've played there this year. The room is the home of the ESPN featured table, and host to most of the high roller tournaments at the WSOP. It feels special to play there. A far cry from the harsh fluorescents of the massive Pavilion room, or the crowded noise of Brasila.

I sit at my table and open up my bag of chips. Out of the eight players at the table, only two have bigger stacks than me, but not by much. I've already looked up my opponents names on the Hendon Mob Poker Database. I'm pleased to see that all but one are amateurs, with only a handful of cashes to their name.

The tournament director welcomes the players before booming the iconic words to start the day, "dealers, shuffle up and deal."

On the first hand, a player opens in early position and it folds to me in the big blind. I call with KJ. I'm elated to see a KJ8 flop, giving me top two pair. I check to my opponent. He bets, and I think for a moment before raising. He seems perplexed as he makes the call.

A ten comes on the turn. I’m confident I have the best hand. There's a chance that he has AQ and has made a straight, but the odds are slim that he's made a set. I can't check, and the stack-to-pot ratio is small enough that I only have one logical move left — I put him all-in.

My opponent goes into the tank and looks like he's in agony. That tells me that he doesn't have a better hand. And in fact, it narrows his range to the exact hand I was hoping he had. I stare expressionless down at the table as he tries to get a read on me, my breathing slow and rhythmic.

Finally, after a few minutes he quietly mutters, "call."

I turn over my hand and he groans. "I thought you were making a move." He turns over AK for top pair, top kicker. But I'm way ahead with my two pair. If I win this pot, I'll be just shy of the chip lead for the tournament.

The dealer peels off an ace on the river, one of only three in the deck that gives him a better two pair.

I'm down to a single 5k chip after I pay my small blind the next hand, a far cry from the 970k I started the day with. I toss it in without looking at my cards, the only mathematically responsible thing to do. Though suited, I end up having one of the worst hands one can be dealt — 32. I flop a flush draw, but don’t catch a fifth diamond, and I'm out in 152nd place.

I late-register for the $500 Freezeout, and make my way to my table in Pavilion. I try to play my best, shake off the frustration and fatigue. I succeed, mostly. In moments of weakness during a break I peek inside the Amazon room and picture myself still seated there.

I'm a tortoise in the first five hours of the Freezout — slow and steady, adding a few thousand chips each level. But shortly before dinner break, I lose most of that when my pocket queens flops top set. My opponent shoves into me with AQ, and catches a ten on the flop and king on the river to make a runner-runner straight.

I'm moved to a new table in Brasilia soon after dinner, and I am now a cockroach. I sit on my small stack, card dead, but survive.

After a few more hours we're on the money bubble. Out of 2,930 entrants today, we're down to 441 players, and only one won't get paid.

We go hand-for-hand for a grueling thirty minutes. Seven players are all-in, but manage to survive, keeping the bubble active. When we finally lose a player, the room erupts in cheers.

The bubble burst unleashes a torrent. Previously patient short stacks are now shoving chips into the middle every hand. From every corner dealers shout, "payout, table 10...payout table 33....payout table 50...." to call tournament officials over to give fallen players their payout cards. We lose 50 players in the first ten minutes.

I'm hanging on, having had to fold nearly every hand over the past hour. I get my chance for recovery when I double up with AK versus AQ. A few hands later I'm all-in again pre-flop with AK versus AQ, and a chance to build a strong stack.

For the second time today in a pivotal hand, I see a king and a jack on the flop. Like the first time, this all but ensures me a win. And for the second time today, a ten comes on the turn. This time that’s enough to gives my opponent a straight, again leaving me with crumbs.

I'm out before the end of the orbit, finishing in 212nd place for $1,099. My sixth cash of the month so far. It’s a good run, but with steep payout tables I need a final table to come out ahead.

It’s 12:30am, and I’m at the payout desk. The woman at the computer takes my drivers license and asks chipperly, “how’s your day going?”

“It could be better,” I say as I gesture toward my meager profit.

“It could be worse,” she responds unfazed.

I smile broadly. “You’re right. It could be worse. It could be way worse.”

---

Number of times I pretended to care about a big stack’s bad beat story: 3