WSOP day -1

It’s Thursday, the end of May, 2007. And June only has one event worth talking about… My brother Anthony and I are going to the World Series of Poker in Las Vegas. And when I say going I mean I’m on the plane writing this. 3 weeks ahead of undisturbed satellites, super satellites, maybe an actual event if we’re running good, and I can’t tell you how much I’m trying not to think about having to extend the trip because I’ve made it into the big one. This blog is for our own sake, a record if you like of our big adventure… imagine how much it will be worth when I became World champion. First post, this is what happened last night…

…So I had 2 hours to pack, get in a cab, pick up my brother from his Wednesday night game, and make it to the airport in plenty of time for a direct flight to the World Series of Poker. (I say direct, but Anthony, my brother, and keeper of all arrangements, expenditure and bankroll – his and mine – found two cheap flights that take us on a whirlwind tour of Europe and North America before eventually landing in Vegas some 24 hours later).

So the packing wasn’t done because I was simultaneously trying to take down a 100 dollar sit n go on Full Tilt and before I knew it the cab was honking outside and we were still four handed. Now thankfully I know the cab driver, Ozzy, he’s one of the semi-regulars in the Wednesday night game, so he’s happy to wait and play my cards as I stuff my bags. I’m ready but there’s still 4 in, Ozzy says we have time but I’m ready to finish this thing right now. I love the bubble, I think I’m made for it, I start to move, I get that rush, and then the perfect moment, aces in the big blind after I’ve been cleaning up every hand for the last ten minutes. This guy has had enough, I can feel his blood boiling and his patience shortening, I love it, he’s chip leader, he should be doing to me what I’ve just done to him, he raises me, I call. Flop, low, I check, he bets at it again, I make an overly aggressive re-raise, he moves all-in… got you… and I call.

Five minutes later we’re in the cab and Ozzy is asking me at what point I should have realised that the guy was sitting on trips and that perhaps my aces were beat, and then he laughs, “Got you” he says over and over again mimicking my enthusiasm, punching the air and laughing. It will take us 5 minutes to get to the Wednesday night game… much to Ozzy’s annoyance I can remain perfectly silent for that long.

The Wednesday night game is run by “3 Chin” Charlie above the florists on the promenade. All the boys are there and my brother is holding court about Vegas and winning the big one… it’s all “It could be you” stuff, these boys are dreamers. They all want me to sit down and play for a while, I’m game straight away. Anthony protests, but I know we have time and Ozzy is happy to stay for a few hands and besides I have 500 pounds burning a hole in my pocket. Now admittedly that money is my bankroll for the WSOP, Anthony handed it to me last night, I can see in his eyes that he wished he hadn’t. I sit down to slaps on the back from the guys and a “You lose that it’s all over before you started” from Anthony.

I have this vision, I go to Vegas, I win, I win well, I progress from satellites, to super satellites, to minor tournaments to eventually having enough to enter the big one… and then I don’t like to dream any further, I stop myself, because that could send me straight into a whole world of melancholy and you have to stay sharp.

I’m beating the boys, they’ve stopped laughing, I’m stuck into them good, really good, it’s taken me what feels like only a dozen hands and my 500 is now nearly 5000… and you know why? Because I’m playing with my Vegas vision, and when I can do that I fancy my chances against anyone who isn’t actually going to the World Series, that’s a huge psychological disadvantage for them and they know it. 3 Chin Charlie should have played the main event many times, but he never made it, and now it’s become a stigma for him, he’s convinced himself and those that would listen that it’s fools gold. He rebuys into the game for ten thousand. Anthony whispers in my ear “Last hand buddy we have to go, I’m going to the bathroom and then we’re away”… “Ozzy, we’re off”. Deal. I raise and 3 chin Charlie calls. Flop. I bet out as I realise that Charlie’s buy-in plus my bank combined add up to one buy in for the main event. Charlie calls… and I see myself handing over ten thousand dollars at the cage at the Rio and receiving my golden entry ticket. The turn, and I bet out… I’m taking my seat now and oh boy, I’ve got Hellmuth to my left, Chan to my right and they’ve just removed a chair so that Brunson can get in on his mobility car… Stop it, focus on the game… Charlie moves all-in… and at the Rio the cards are dealt, Hellmuth raises, Chan re-raises and I look down and move all-in with a stone cold semi-bluff… and I just moved all-in in the Wednesday night game aswell… I hear the toilet flush, it brings me too. Anthony made it to the table in time to see Charlie scoop the pot. “There goes your World Series Ronnie boy” snarls 3 Chins. The boys thought this was the funniest thing they ever saw “Good luck in Vegas sweet cheeks” “Here, take a twenty for the slots, you’d be better off steering clear of the poker”. Anthony was all “What the?” and practically bundled me in the back of Ozzy’s cab.

Silence in the cab broken by Ozzy’s “So, erm, flight to Vegas is it then for you boys?” We don’t answer and Ozzy just drives.

Anthony puts a ban on any poker being played within 48 hours of landing in Vegas. I’m desperate for a beer, but Anthony has all the cash and this is one of those flights where nothing comes for free… Vegas feels a long way away.