To Paris

The World Series of Poker started in 1970 with just seven players, held at Binion’s Horseshoe casino in downtown Las Vegas. It was an ingenious plan by Benny Binion to attract high rollers to his casino, and keep them there as they lost their poker winnings in the pits.

In 2003, an amateur named Chris Moneymaker won the Main Event, helping spark a poker boom. The following year, Caesars bought Binion's Horseshoe and the WSOP along with it. The 2004 Main Event had 2,500 entrants, more than triple the previous year. This led to the series leaving the cramped confines of Binion's to the struggling off-strip Rio Hotel and Casino.

More than a decade later, financial troubles finally forced Caesars to sell the Rio. Poker players around the world cheered when Caesars finally announced that the 2022 WSOP would move to the convention center at Bally’s and Paris — in the heart of the Las Vegas Strip.

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I arrive early at the Paris Ballroom for today's $3k tournament. I catch myself grinning as I explore the space — everything here is better than it was at the Rio.

Scores of restaurants within walking distance (no more $42 cab rides to get Chipotle). An order of magnitude more working urinals. 315,000 square feet of convention space. Even the poker chips we're playing with are brand new.

My table draw is tough, filled with pros and aggressive regs. But I'm pleased when Greg Jennings sits at my table. We met a couple years ago at a WSOP circuit event final table in Hammond Indiana. His Twitter account has made me laugh out loud countless times since.

I hover around my 40k starting stack for most of the first couple hours of play. It's time for our first break — the tournament clock counts down to zero and players start getting up from their seats. But there's some confusion, and I hear the dealer say, "oh, you want to play one more hand?" She picks up the cards and starts shuffling and dealing. It's certainly against tournament rules to deal another hand after the clock runs out, but I'm not going to be the one to challenge her.

The cutoff opens the betting, and I call on the button with pocket fives. The big blind also calls, and the three of us see a 642 flop with two hearts. It checks to me, and I bet 1,500 into an 1,800 pot. Both players call.

The turn is the five of hearts. I make a set, but there are now straight and flush possibilities on the board. All three of us check, and the two of clubs hits the river, giving me a full house.

The small blind is first to act, and bets 3,500. The cutoff folds, and after some deliberation I raise to 11k. My opponent calls, and he mucks his hand in frustration as I show the winning hand. I rake in my biggest pot of the day so far, grateful for whatever forces compelled the dealer to deal the superfluous hand.

I continue my climb once we're back from break, and find myself as one of the bigger stacks at the table. I strike up a conversation with a a new player at the table, Philip. During the pandemic he decided to leave his successful career on Wall Street to pursue poker full-time. We philosophize about how poker can be a tool for personal growth, and shared a little about our journeys. On a whim, I ask him what his screen name is online, and am delighted to realize he's someone I've battled on a regular basis.

A couple hours later we're on dinner break, and Philip kindly invites me to join him and a couple friends. One of the friends happens to be Andrew "LuckyChewy" Lichtenberger, a high stakes pro with over $12M in winnings. LuckyChewy drives us in his Tesla X off-strip to get tacos while he critiques hand histories.

My brush with poker celebrity isn't over. Shortly after dinner break, we're joined by popular poker player and commentator Maria Ho. I welcome her by doubling her short stack when my pocket tens don't improve against her flopped pair of kings.

I build my stack back up, leading to the very last hand of the night. Maria opens and I look down at two red jacks. I raise, the big blind calls, and Maria folds.

The flop comes 743 with two diamonds. The big blind checks, and I bet 25k into the 24k pot. My opponent grimaces, asking why I'm doing this on the last hand of the day. I don't answer, trying to remain stoic.

I'm starting to hate this situation. I've seen people do some crazy things on the last hand of the day. By the end of a long day, almost everyone is content to fold their way into Day 2, so it's a good time to steal the blinds. Everyone's aware of this dynamic, escalating to a convoluted psychological game — if you know people are taking advantage of the situation, can you take advantage of them?

"Why are you breathing so hard?"

Ugh. I'm losing control.

"Maybe you're breathing so hard because you're scared of what I'm going to do?" He's goading me into giving away more information.

We're about even in chips, so if he moves all-in, I'll face a possibility that I'll bust. I'm not sure what I'd do — my hand is good, but it's possible that he called with pocket queens, not wanting to 4-bet on the last hand. Or maybe he's using reverse psychology and has already made a set or a sneaky straight.

After a few minutes of groans, contortions and soliloquy, he folds his hand. I breathe a deep sigh. I show some mercy and flip over my jacks so he knows I wasn't trying to bluff him off the hand. It makes things worse — it turns out he had the other two jacks in the deck.

I'm tired. My body hasn't acclimated to the time zone and the 12 hour grinds yet. But I'm happy to bag up a healthy stack that will be waiting for me at noon tomorrow.