Is there a half-way final table at the WSOP Ladies Event?

If so, I made it! I just flew in from Vegas, and boy are my arms tired. *rimshot*

“What does the women’s tournament at the WSOP look like? How the hell should I know? You need sustenance… eat. Raise big on jacks. I need more Splenda. A-rag is NOT a playable hand in a tournament like this. Come on Keno numbers.” This is my internal dialogue at breakfast the morning before the WSOP Ladies National Championship. I have no idea what to expect, but I can’t use my iPod due to its connection to the outside world, I can’t eat, and for some reason, my legs feel like doing the cancan.

It all started when I won my seat to the main event, incidentally at the biggest tournament I’d ever played in. I bested 250 other hopefuls for my seat. My main man, Mr. Washington, said he would stake me to the women’s event. I’m pretty sure he knew he was throwing away $1,000, but he also knew that I would be 23904823908434 times more comfortable if I knew what I was in for. He was right again…

By the third hand, I felt like Jen Harmon or something sitting there, two tables away from Chris Ferguson (playing in another tourny; not the women’s!) Before the second hand, I was all nerves. I immediately fell into a groove, and was playing well. I made it through a break, and still had a chip stack to speak of. Tables were breaking down, and I managed to make it half way. Then one of “those” poker players sat down.

You know who I’m talking about. They have discretionary income and didn’t have to win a satellite or be staked in order to play. They call 5BB pre-flop raises out of position with J-8 because they’re suited. Nice enough gal, but she had a monster chip stack from dumb luck and suck-outs and she was the only one to smooth call in my big blind.

I look down at DB. 10-2 offsuit. There’s no point in trying to raise her out of the pot, because if her 3-9 was suited, she’d call and flop quads. Just that kind of player. The flop is 2-3-2. Miracle flop for me. I hit trips, and I bet out. She smooth calls. The turn is rag, and I’m pushing. She’s calling me down. I’m thinking that at worst, we’re going to chop this pot because she’s got the other deuce. At best, she’s playing J-3 and has two pair. I’m all in at the river because I’m beyond pot committed and clearly, I have the best hand, right? I’ve already taken out two semi-pro women’s players and received accolades on my playing style. All in.

I flip my trips over, but before my triumphant smile can take over my face entirely, she flips pocket threes. Now… If anyone else at my table had flipped those, I would have shook their hand and knew that I’d been outplayed. I’ve got no problem admitting that, because that’s how we get better at poker. But nooooooo. It was THIS woman. This same woman, who, after taking every last one of my chips carelessly gave them all away and then some about 6 hands later… Why, but why couldn’t her luck have run out before me?!

That’s poker. It’s also a lesson learned. Just because you’re a better poker player than someone doesn’t mean they don’t have more luck!

All in all, it was a great experience. Mr. Washington, my mom, and my mom’s boyfriend all stood there and watched me from a distance that required binoculars, but they were there. And my mom got some killer footage for her documentary…

Killer Bees…

While trying to research these critters a bit, I came across this page. I should first mention that I have an irrational fear of anything that can fly and buzz simultaneously. Truly irrational. I’m not anywhere near allergic, and in fact, the last time I was “stung,” I was actually bitten. I run like a cheetah when anything buzzing gets within a roughly a 3-mile radius. I digress.

Recently, my dog was in the backyard (I live in a condo, so “backyard” should be defined here as about 5 square feet of dirt with rocks sprinkled here and there) and was descended upon by what could only be described as a scale model B-2 Bomber. It could easily have been a pterodactyl, too… I quite literally ran and screamed my way inside, and from the safety of my position behind a window, which in my head was plate glass, observed this creature. Already practicing my Nobel acceptance speech for finding lost dinosaurs among us, I set out to find out what these things were.

Luckily, I happened upon that site. Unluckily, I identified the Jurassic UFO as a cicada KILLER. I’m sorry, Killer? And yet, the page professes they’re gentle giants?!

Fodder aside (I’m procrastinating at work and on writing real poker blog posts) Are these things truly harmless? I literally scream every time it comes around, but I’m such an earth mother that I can’t bring myself to kill it. I believe it’s a female, and when my curious dog goes over to check her out, she effectively screams and flies off…(the killer UFO, not the dog) However, every time I open my gate, I’m left to do a Mission Impossible-esque dance to make it to my door. Any suggestions on how to to deal with Victoria? (That’s her name, since her predecessor was another vicious flying thing named Vinnie..) Don’t even get me started on Vinnie. He might as well have donned a vest of dynamite and sat in a little bee car waiting to blow me up… Freakin’ terrorist.

I won a tournament, and all I got was this lousy WSOP entry…

WSOP, here I come…

I played with my league trying to win a seat into a charity tournament, the prize for which was a buy-in the main even in 2008’s WSOP. The pocket cowboys in late position took my aces down. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Or was it? I had this overwhelming desire to play in that charity tournament.

I decided $150 wasn’t a bad deal. It went to support www.disabilityguide.organd counts as a tax deduction. I went out about the fourth hand (bad players calling a bluff they had no business calling!) I’d sworn that $150 was my limit, but decided another $100 wasn’t going to kill my credit limit. “REBUY!!” I bought my second stack of 1,000.

I was finally getting a feel for the players at my table, when, of course, I got moved. And where? Right into the big blind, of course! No worries. That’s how tournaments go. There was a menacing stack across from me, but belonged to a guy wearing a bizarre visor, which made it far less intimidating somehow… I was by no means the big stack. I played some good hands, and semi-bluffed top pair, best kicker out with a wheel draw/top pair. Once again, it was time to move tables.

I sat down at what would later become the final table. Of course, I didn’t think I would still be sitting there when that happened! I looked around and realized that we were down to three tables… then two… then the magic word: bubble. It’s the final table, and I’ve amassed a decent portion of 190 other player’s stacks.

Two small stacks push all in. This would put a dent in my stack, but wouldn’t take me out, and I’m holding Big Slick. Many would say that was a bad call, and that I’m behind before the flop. OK. However, I’m looking at six outs compared to the pocket pairs’ two, and have a chance to take the chip lead. I call. Pocket sixes, pocket nines, and I’m holding AK off. Yikes. Was that a mistake? I can almost see the dollar bills where the pupils used to be in my opponents eyes… Catch my ace on the flop, and the stacks belong to be. So does some harsh criticism from the two guys I’ve just knocked out.

Many hands later, it’s down to three. There’s a relatively big stack (belonging to the best poker player in my league, and a helluva nice guy to boot) and two comparable stacks. The other two duke out a couple hands, and my buddy gets third place. It’s go time. I’m not sure how, but I’ve made it to the top two.

I make a substantial raise preflop with A-J. I get called over the top, so what do I do? Move all in! I get called with pocket tens. I hit a boat and took the majority of this guy’s stack. He’s dominated at this point.

I look down at J-2 suited. Not a stellar hand, but this is head’s up, and I’m suited!! I call a small raise preflop. The flop comes J-4-2 rainbow. Bingo. I mull it over and put my guy all in. He thought about it long and hard and calls with ace high thinking maybe I paired one of the small cards… That was all she wrote. A trophy and a $10K buy-in later, and I’m off to the World Series!

Cowboys and All-Indians

The best hand I’d had all night up to this point was pocket 9s, followed by J-4 suited. Seriously. It was that bad. My 9s were easily beat by Qs. The one A-rag hand I played, I called a big bluff, which kept me in for at least another round of blinds, maybe even a limp.  I’d taken down tiny pots and stolen blinds maybe once. I spend the breaks making eyes with a fellow card shark I’d like to move all in on… I digress.

This is a big tournament, and I’m getting blinded out. It’s go time. In late position, I look down at pocket aces. Brilliant. Universal odds are in my favor, particularly since the I got knocked out last time with cracked aces. There’s no way the poker gods would have such a fate befall me again.

There are three familiar faces at my table. I like these guys. One plays crazy loose-aggressive, but he’s a good guy and always has fun at the table. It defies logic as to why another one is even in this tournament, and the third is just a nice guy and an average player. I don’t know the rest of the folks at the table, but with the exception of the Monopoly money big stack, they respect bets. Mr. Monopoly literally won an all-in hand with the hammer. That’s how big his stack was…

We’d had some exciting hands over the course of the evening. Cowboys came up against pocket aces, which tripped on the flop, and the river? An ace. A small commotion is still going on at the wonder of quad aces. I’m reasonably sure if you were to drive down 18th Street right now, there’s still one or two poker rats pointing and gawking. To her credit, the player that got them acted like she took the pot with a pair of threes. Very nonchalantly pulled in a stack that would have been best collected with a bulldozer or some other heavy machinery one shouldn’t operate when taking cold medicine…

**Many flops that effectively spit in my face later, and I’m dealt the pocket aces**

Players have tightened up since the tournament has passed the first break and tables are breaking down. I dejectedly watch as almost everyone folds in front of me. Dr. crazy loose-aggressive goes all in for the umpteenth time. I am doing cartwheels and embarrassing happy dances in my head at this point. I quickly call him, thinking he has K-J suited or something. He’s got cowboys. I watch his face fall as he’s sees my black and red, beautiful American Airlines.

I’m ahead before the flop. Unimproved, I’ve left loose man with a chip and a chair (literally) and I’ve doubled up plus the limp bets. But this is poker. Evidently, when you don’t sacrifice a wired pair to the poker gods at least once a tournament, they get very angry. The very first card on the flop? You guessed it. A king. Four not-an-ace’s later, I’m knocked out of the tournament, for the SECOND TIME IN ONE WEEK on pocket aces.

Slow-played, aces go to hell. So I play the hell out of them realizing they can be just a vulnerable as 9-3 offsuit depending on the flop (or if you’re Mr. Monopoly and catch every single donkey flop… Seriously. Someone call Guiness. This guy was ridiculous, and he’s lucky I’m not violent or tall, because I would have impaled him on one of his monstrous stacks.)

Maybe the third time is a charm, and the next time I get pocket aces, they won’t get cracked… again.

Crack addict

Pocket A’s in the big blind. Unless someone else is slow-playing, you know where you stand, and you can just check as if you’re holding the Hammer, but you raise just because you’re aces have been cracked before.  One in front calls, 2 fold, including the small blind. You’re heads up, and ready to start that next notch in your “tournaments won” belt. The flop is all rag crap. Aces way ahead. Toss in a puny bet, but get called. The turn is rag. There are no flushes, no straights on the board. Clearly, you’re taking this pot down.

Your opponent has horrible hair, obnoxious and unfounded confidence, and a chip stack just about the size of your own… You bet the turn, and he puts you all in. Really? With that hair cut and my pocket aces, you’re going to put me all in? You bet, jack ass.  No brainer, quick call on what appears to be a bluff.

Actually, he’s a jack ass, indeed. Donkey. Horrified, you watch as your aces are cracked with 5-9 offsuit. WHO?! Who plays that? Guys who win tournaments with your chips… that’s who.

Even still, I placed fourth, which qualified me for an invitational this evening. I pray I don’t get pocket A’s. I watched another pair get cracked by A-K a couple weeks ago. 3-6 suited earlier in the same tournament… Give me pocket 4’s with a piece of the flop any day.