“Q: I understand Wil Wheaton is going to play the main event at the World Series this year. You know, from Star Trek: The Next Generation.
A: (Laughs) I hope he’s at my table.”
— Thomas “Thunder” Keller, to the Arizona Republic
Translation: “That Hollywood Donkey is dead money, and I want to take it all from him.” Contrary to what you may think, this is exactly what I want people to think about me. I want them to underestimate me, because it usually allows me to get an extra bet or two out of them before they realize that I actually know what I’m doing, and they pick on some other Donkey. But it’s also why I wanted to play well in the World Series. I want to kill Prove To Everyone That I Deserve To Be On Team PokerStars before he gets a chance to hatch. And believe me, that egg is in the nest.
I don’t know why, but whenever I come to Las Vegas, I can’t get to sleep before 2:30 or 3:00 in the morning. Even when I get back to my room before midnight, I somehow end up watching TV, or reading TotalFark, or standing at the window taking time-lapse photos of the cars streaming across Flamingo and Interstate 15. As a result, I end up on “Vegas Time,” and it’s rare for me to get out of bed before 10, which is much later than my usual 7.
I made myself get up at 10:45 today, so I could work on Games of Our Lives before I start playing again tomorrow. I called room service, found out it was between 90 minutes and two hours, and decided to head down to the cafe instead. It was a good call: I ended up eating about 30 minutes later.
Again, I spent much of the day around the pool. I thought about taking a book with me, but I needed to spend some time doing something a bit more passive than reading, so I just took my iPod, grabbed a beer and a bottle of water, tuned into Red Bar Radio, and did what the damn kids today call “kicking it.”
The pool area was as crowded as you’d expect it to be on a Saturday in July when it’s 650 degrees outside, so I grabbed the first lounge I found, which was on on the edge of a long row, next to a heavily-trafficked walkway. I laid out my towel, kicked off my flip flops, exposed my body-by-guinness, tuned-in and tuned-out. I guess I was there for about forty minutes or so when I noticed that just about every guy who walked up the walkway was seriously checking me out. I mean, totally staring right at me. It was awfully weird, and I wondered if I had something on my face, so I sat up and turned around to wipe my face off with my towel . . . and saw that the guys weren’t looking at me, they were looking at the be-thonged Keyra-esque ass on the lounge behind me. Nice.
Anyway, as Pauly says, “Moving on . . . ”
twenty-seven hours earlier
I picked up my checks, notebook, and monkey. I shook hands with the remaining players at my table, wished Avy luck, and headed out toward table 148. I pushed my way through a throng of railbirds who were watching Chris Ferguson (who had just doubled up with Aces against K-4. Must be nice.)
I found my table, set my chips on the felt in front of me, and sat into the Big Blind. Awesome.
While the cards came out, I looked around the table: no recognizable pros. That’s good. Every single stack is well over 10,000. That’s bad. Everyone at the table just painted a huge target on me. That’s really bad.
The first hand was raised in early position, and was folded to the cutoff who re-raised. Throwing away my Q-3o was a no-brainer.
I got rags for several orbits, but had to laugh when I put out my last chip — a lavender 5000 — for my ante when the Big Blind came around again. Everyone at the table could see blood in the water, and it was mine.
Finally, down to about 3200, I found a hand just before the blinds went up, and antes were added. I was on the button, in an unopened pot. I cupped my hands over my cards, and lifted up the corners. The first card was the Ace of Spades. “That’s a good start.” I slid my thumb up, and let it fall to the felt. It revealed the Jack of Spades. Not the best hand in the world, but certainly worth a raise in this situation. “Thank you, Poker gods!”
“I raise,” I said, expecting to win it right there, but prepared to come over the top if the Big Blind played back at me. I put out 600, leaving myself with 2600. Looking back on it now, I think I was prepared to go all the way with this hand, even if I wasn’t entirely aware of it at the time.
The Small Blind folded. The Big Blind said, “I put you all-in.” The clock chimed. This would be the last hand of the level.
So it was decision time again. “Do I want to put my tournament at stake with what is a coinflip at best? If I fold, will I be able to do anything with 2600 against stacks that are three and four times mine? If I fold, I will only have enough for two orbits before my only play is all-in, anyway. Oh, and the BB could be on a bluff, and this could double me up if I win. I really need to double up now, and this may be the best hand I get. I wonder if Paul Darden is ever going to call me?”
“I call,” I said, and turned up my cards. The Big Blind turned over two red sevens.
“Hi, Poker gods? It’s me, Wil. Listen, my ass is still kind of sore from table 93, so I’d like to ask you to please not give me any more miracles today, okay? Maybe I could just catch something on the flop? Thanks.”
The dealer pulled my checks into the pot, lifted a card off the top of the deck, and slid it under them. He pulled three cards into his right hand, and flipped them over: the nine of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of clubs.
“Fuck.” I said, certain that a ten minute penalty was the least of my concerns.
The turn was a red queen, and I didn’t even look at the river.
I know that I shook the Big Blind’s hand, but I can’t remember a single thing about him. I think he had a mustache. Oh, and all my remaining chips.
The next thing I remember, I was leaving a message on Anne’s Cell phone: “Hey, it’s me. I’m out. I’m coming home. Call me when you get this. I love you.”
to be continued . . .
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I didn’t understand a word of this post except for the final paragraph. Um, sorry? Maybe next year. Brush up ‘fore you go.
see, that’s the funny thing for me – I am so un-fluent in poker-ese that it looks a bit Clockwork Orange to me, but it all sounds fun in my head when I read it, so the poker stories are some of my favorites…
I busted from my tournament today with AJs, too (though not spades). Sadly, I got my money in on the flop and it was good until the other guy paired his kicker on the river.
Unfortunately, it all made perfect, bladesharp, tragic sense to me. Sorry, Wil. Don’t go buzzin’ in your next tourney…stay cool. Which I know you will. Poppin’ an Anchor Steam for you right now. Then another.
–James in S.D.
Jeez Wil, you have a lot of those “Prove to Everyone” guys hanging around you. Wil, just accept it: you don’t need to prove anything. We already know you deserve to be on Team PokerStars. Come on, kick all those “Prove to Everyone” guys in the balls, I know you want to.
Wil, I don’t understand “Poker-ese,” but still, what I could make out was entertaining, especially you praying to the poker gods, asking them not to give you the “miracle” they gave you earlier. I don’t know that I’ll ever use the term “miracle” again without thinking of your definition.
But I’ll bet Anne is glad to have you on the way home.
Oh, and about that newest “Prove to Everyone” egg? Just stick it in some boiling water until it’s cooked, then make egg salad out of it. Unless it’s like in those really bad sci-fi movies, where the bad alien dudes never really die. They just keep spawning more and more of themselves! Or worse yet, each piece of the hacked up monster makes a new one.
Are you sure that “Prove to Everyone” isn’t part starfish?
Wil,
That looks like a hard thing to win. The fact that you were even at the table says that you can beat alot of people. One of these years, you may even win it all. Just keep those cards away from me because I would loose all of my cash.
FG
About eggs–under pressure from all sides, they’re strong as fuck. Drop the pressure somewhere, or concentrate it, and they’re toast (or, rather egg on toast). Decompress where you can, and crush this puppy now.
You know what you know. You know what you’ve read, what you’ve learned, and what you’ve played. If you weren’t you, noone would think twice about you being on team Poker Stars, and, that’s where the downside of your notoriety comes in.
What they think is irrelevent, anyway. These “prove it” demons just might not be about everyone else. It’s not them you’re proving anything to; it’s yourself. When you get to where YOU know it, then there’s no need to prove; you just live it.
If you were a good friend, I’d think my advice here’s a little harsh. We’re strangers, and that might just elevate it from harsh to rude. Sorry about that. You can go ahead and tell me to go fuck myself, not that you need my permission to do that.
I might just tell you that you need to quit fucking that part of yourself that lets you think that it’s everyone else you gotta worry about; you two seriously need to break up already.
Go crack an egg.
wil what happened?! you got beat by some goddamn dude who only wanted to win so he would actually be noticed. cause he probably sucks, you just caught him on a good day. but anyway. dude! i played poker today. you know not the big leagues, but i played with my mom and younger sister right? (yes my mom and sister)weird i know. so im playing and my sister beats me. she’s only three fucking years old. there’s something wrong with this picture i’m telling you! she doesn’t even know how to play! my mother had to play for her. but she beat my ass in the dirt man! so dont feel to bad! your still one on the best. well you are the best. so suck it up. get back out there and beat some major ass! *sendig mojo* hope you win big. tell us all when you have done it! talk to ya later big guy! you the man!
sending hugs and kisses
laney
These are the kinds of stories I was talking about. They’re funny, laugh-out-loud stories. Anywho, bummer about being out of the game. You were there though, you know? That’s cool.
And 7 o’clock? IN THE MORNING? You get up about 2 hours before me and I’m 2 hours ahead of you. Then again, I used to do that every day. Coffee. Those were the days when me and my coffee cup spent quality time together.
Sorry you lost your ‘short stack coin flip’ Wil.
Glad you got some pool time.
Dodgers aren’t doing so well with their team mostly on the disabled list. 7 AM? That’s when my shift starts. Must keep the water flowing to you from the Colorado River.
Guess you decided today that “kicking it” near the silicone implants by the pool was better for your health than smoke filled rooms…. GOOD FOR YOU DAMNIT.
A lot of great players busted out on the first day, Wil. It’s one thing to say you just need to get all your chips in when you have the best of it and accept what happens, but it’s quite another to actually believe it. Doyle Brunson himself went all-in with a KJo, and he was busted out by pocket 7s. That’s poker.
It sounds like your having a great time, which is as it should be. You don’t need to prove to anyone that you belong there. Even if you were to win, those same assholes woulld talk about how lucky you were. Fuck ’em, they’re probably jealous of the opportunity you had (like the rest of us that play poker, I suspect).
Have at ’em, and if you ever decide to organize that private tourney on PokerStars, count me in.
Sorry to hear about the tourney.
There must be something in the water in Vegas.
I can’t sleep there either.
After all these years of reading about Poker from your blog, I’m finally starting to get it.. kind of.
Anyhow, this last entry had me biting my nails in anticipation. Sorry about the tournament, but you will show them all. Go with your gut and you will be fine!
GOOD LUCK!
I sure wish people would stop using the term “donkey”. Watching Mike Matusow do it during TV coverage really brought home to me how much contempt can be rolled up into that word, when used as an epithet.
If you’re a poker player, show some respect for those who aren’t very good at the game. They, and not the other skillful players, pay your bills.
Well… everyone knows you have to win a few races to advance in this tourney. Unfortunately, you lost the first one you ran into. Next time around, the cards will fall your way.
Good luck in the next event!!!! Use what you learned.
Well, Wil, you weren’t the first to bust out, were you? I think that proves right there that you’re smarter than the average bear. Yeah, it would have been nice to stay in for longer, but with all those people playing, most of ’em are going to wind up disappointed. Heck, you outlasted Jennifer Tilly, and she’d just won a bracelet in the Ladies’ Tournament.
There will be other days…
First thought: even though the outcome of this post SUCKED, it was entertaining and well written.
Which means: for a WRITER, you play some good poker.
Even though you didn’t catch the cards, you at least played in the freakin WSOP, dude.
Win or lose, we’re out here reading.
Get ’em next time.
–AJ
Nice picture of you, though it’s no consolation.
http://msn.foxsports.com/other/pgStory?contentId=3747460&pageNumber=8
Bad luck. I don’t get the poker jargon either but I can tell you really enjoy it. I do find the whole idea of card games where you can lose a lot money on the turn of a card very scary.
Better luck next time.
gah! writers and that “suspense” thing. kills me.
Aww man that’s too bad… well at least you were there that is a victory in itself, right?
I will have to NEVER GOOGLE ANYTHING OFF THIS BLOG AGAIN. I looked up “Keyra” to see who you were talking about and got an eyeful. Yech. I just ate dinner, man!
Sounds like you played it right and still lost – that’s just luck, but it sucks. I love that you went – it’s just the -first time-… 😀 you’ll do better.
Great title for this post. Because of reading your blog and Pauly’s, next year I am going to the big dance. I assume you will too.