All In (18 page)

The sixth position placed me in the middle of one of the long sides of the table. I prefer sitting on the end, where I can watch everyone else simply by looking up. In the sixth position, I had to look from side to side to follow the action.

An hour and a half went by, and I held my own. Then I found myself seated between two professional poker players, Daniel Alaei and Kenny Tran. Alaei was in the small blind, and I was in the big blind, which at that time were 30,000 and 60,000 in chips.

The action started with Kenny Tran, who was seated to my immediate left. He folded.

Tuan Lam followed by folding, as did Jason Koshi, chip leader Lee Childs, John Kalmar, and Stefan Mattsson.

Daniel Alaei looked at his cards. “I call.” Since he was in the small blind, he had to put only another 30,000 into the pot to stay in the hand. This is called limping in. If he'd had a strong hand, he would have raised.

Now it was my turn to act. I looked at my cards. Ace-ten. I didn't have to raise to stay in. I could simply check and essentially see the flop for free, since, as the big blind, I had 60,000 in the pot whether I played the hand or not.

However, I sensed weakness in Alaei. His limping in from the small blind told me he had a borderline hand at best. If I projected strength, I might force him to fold.

Here's where table position came into the equation. If I'd been in Kenny Tran's seat, I wouldn't have played ace-ten. But
as the last person to act on a hand in which everyone had folded except the small blind, who limped in, I felt I had a strong enough hand to take down the pot.

“I raise, 260,000.” With the blinds and the antes, the pot was already up to 200,000. By raising over the pot size, I was in effect telling Alaei I had a very good hand and was not afraid to play it. His chip stack was one-third the size of mine, and I planned to bully him with it if I could.

“I'm all in,” he replied.

That surprised me. I stood and stared at his chip stack. Now I faced a tough decision. With my chip lead, calling didn't place my tournament in danger, but I hate to double up anyone, especially a pro. Giving a pro chips is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

Think this through, Jerry,
I told myself.
What do you see in front of you? He may well have a pocket pair and was just trying to draw you in with that weak call.
I pondered that for a moment.
No, I don't think so. That's not the way I've seen him play on television. This is the kind of play he makes with a hand like ace-five or maybe a small pair, like threes or fours. He's a tight player. He never limps in and turns around and goes all in. I think he's trying to steal this pot and build up his chip stack. He wants you to fold.

“Call,” I finally said.

Daniel stood and turned his cards at the same time I turned mine. His ace-five didn't surprise me at all.

While we both had aces, my ten gave me a huge advantage,
unless, of course, some funny cards turned over on the flop, like a two, three, and four, giving him a straight.

Stranger things have happened.

No sooner had I stood up than Kenny Tran jumped up like he had a stake in the pot. “I had ace-ten as well.” He said this to Daniel Alaei, not me, as if I didn't belong at the table with a couple of pros like him and Daniel.

For a player to stand and talk through the rest of the hand after folding is unusual. Most sit back and watch. I've even dozed off a time or two. The one thing they never do is talk, especially trash talk. I guess there's always one exception to every rule.

This was part of Kenny's game. He didn't mean anything personal by it. He was simply trying to crawl inside my head. Whether I won or lost, he knew he would come up against me in a future hand and wanted to push me on tilt long before that happened.

Daniel knew I had him on the ropes. We waited for the flop to fall. “Come on, nothing funny,” I said as the cards were dealt.

“Nothing funny?” Kenny Tran said.

I didn't respond.

The flop came down. Three-seven-queen. The three gave Alaei a remote chance of a straight. I would have said it was an impossible chance if I hadn't hit one like it myself two days before.

Then came the turn. An eight. Only a five on the river could beat me now.

“Nothing funny,” I said in almost a whisper.

“‘Nothing funny,' he said.” Kenny Tran leaned in and looked at me. “What's funny? Which card do you think is funny?”

A couple players laughed.

I ignored him completely, then whispered a small prayer. Something like, “Help me, Jesus.”

“Yo.” Kenny Tran waved at me. “You cannot pray on the table.”

I shot Kenny a look, which was the wrong thing to do. He really was starting to get to me.

He shook his head. “No, you can't do it.”

“And now we will see the river card,” the announcer said.

Just then Kenny Tran pointed at the table with a theatric gesture. “Five!”

The river card
was
a five. I lost the hand and doubled up Daniel Alaei. Worse yet, I nearly lost my cool. Kenny Tran was doing his best to put me on tilt, and he nearly succeeded.

Okay, Jerry
,
don't let him get to you.
I turned around and caught sight of my father sitting in the stands. I thought about all the times I'd watched men try to intimidate and manipulate him. But he'd never given in. No matter how high the stakes, my father always kept his cool. To go any further, I would have to do the same.

I regained my composure, but now I had to regain my chips. If I hadn't known it before, I now knew this was going to be the biggest test of my adult life. After losing that hand to Daniel Alaei, I found myself down to 3 million in chips. At that rate, I would bust out in just over an hour.

I kept fighting. Within another hour or two, I got my stack up to 8 million. I could breathe again.

I shouldn't have exhaled, because before I knew it, I'd dropped 2 million. Then I was back down to 3 million.

I felt as if I'd stepped onto Space Mountain at Disneyland. This was not a good day. I wished my parents had come a couple days before, when I'd actually been playing well.

Yet no matter how up and down my day was, I was still alive. I didn't need to take the chip lead; I just needed to hold on a little while longer.

About an hour after the bad beat to Daniel Alaei, I bluffed Lee Childs, the chip leader, into folding pocket kings to me. On that hand, an ace hit the table on the flop, which made him think I had a pair of aces. As soon as the ace hit, I bet a million in chips, which nearly doubled the pot. His fold gave me a nice boost and made me hungry for more.

A few hands later, Lee Childs and I went back up against one another. He had middle position, which meant four players acted before him and three after. All those before him folded. When it came time for Lee to act, he looked at his cards, waited, then said, “Raise,” as he tossed 240,000 chips into the pot. With a big blind of 60,000, his raise came to 180,000. At three times the big blind, it was an aggressive raise.

Stefan Mattsson was the next to act. Without a word, he tossed 240,000 into the pot to call.

Now it was my turn. It had felt so good to say, “One million,” the last time I'd raised Childs that I thought I'd do it again.
More than that, I knew I'd bullied him into folding pocket kings the last time I'd raised a million. No matter what he had, short of pocket aces, I thought I could get him to fold one more time.

I stood, grabbed my chips, and said, “One million.”

Kenny Tran was the next to act. He flipped some chips around for a while, then tossed in his hand.

The action went back to Lee Childs, who rested his chin on his hands, looked at me, and said, “Why so much, Jerry?”

I didn't respond.

Childs stared at the chips on the table for what felt like a very long time. Though I wanted to hear him say, “I fold,” instead he slid a million in chips to the middle.

The action came back around to Mattsson, who immediately folded.

Once again, it was just Lee Childs and me. The flop came: nine of clubs, four of hearts, three of clubs.

I was the first to act. I stood and said, “Two million.”

That sent Childs to his feet. He yanked off his sunglasses and let out a long sigh. After what felt like a long time once again, he said, “I don't think I can lay it down.” He paused again, took a deep breath, and said, “I'm all in.”

People in the stands yelled as if Childs had just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl.

It was not what I'd wanted Childs to say. His line was supposed to be, “I fold.” I wanted him to think I had a very large pocket pair. In truth, I had nothing but an ace-seven, a very weak hand. Now I faced a difficult decision.

Childs pushed in 5 million in chips. It would cost me 3 million to raise, and I didn't have 3 million left. I was down to 2.5 million. Yet, at the same time, I already had over 3 million invested in the pot. How could I let it go without a fight?

I stood and stared at the flop. My pride wanted to call. Patience and discipline demanded that I swallow my pride and utter the two little words I didn't want to say.

Okay, I
couldn't
bring myself to say them. I slid my cards to the dealer and folded.

Oh, that hurt.

The only way to survive a marathon like the main event is to fold when you know you're beaten rather than pouring chips into the pot just to see what the other guy may have. Losing so many chips hurt, but losing that hand and busting out completely would have hurt much more.

The roller coaster ride took a turn a few hours later. Eventually I climbed up to number five on the leader board with 8.5 million in chips, which was well within the top nine who made the final table. A few hours later, I dropped to 1.8 million and found myself in serious danger of busting out. I knew I had to play disciplined poker, not letting my emotions get the best of me.

Over the next two hours, I waited for both cards and position. Several times when I found myself on the button—that is, being the last one to act in a hand before the blinds—I went all in. On the surface, these were aggressive moves, but I didn't fall into the trap of blind aggression. I went all in only when those with large stacks had already folded. Someone with a stack
of over 10 million wouldn't think twice of calling my puny 2 million if it meant potentially eliminating one more rival for a seat at the final table.

No, when I went all in from the button, I tried to make sure anyone tempted to call had to put their tournament on the line to do so. By going all in prior to the flop, I took chance and luck out of the equation. Thankfully my strategy worked and they always folded, leaving me to pick up the blinds and antes. By this point, the big blind had climbed to over half a million. Winning three or four of those added up to a nice stack.

Slowly but surely, I built up my chip stack and stayed in the game. All I wanted to do was survive till the final table. No one ever won the World Series of Poker on day six, yet all but nine players would lose.

Midnight came. I thought my mother might go up to her room to sleep, but she and my father stayed behind the rope, watching everything I did. They didn't understand the game, but that didn't matter. Just having them there meant the world to me. My chip stack looked pathetic compared to the leaders'. I had 2.5 million; the top five averaged 16.4 million. I didn't care about the top five, just the top nine. As long as I was alive, I had a shot.

Once again, I found myself on the button. Everyone was folding on the way around the table to me. I looked at my cards: pocket eights. The clock in my head counted down:
four … three … two … one …
“I'm all in.”

The small blind folded.

Alex Kravchenko sat in the big blind. He thought for a minute or so, then said, “I call.”

I shook my head and prepared for the worst. He turned a king-queen of diamonds.

My eights won, and I doubled up.

Kravchenko took my place on the short stack for the tournament with 1.3 million.

Unfortunately, before I could even enjoy the elation of winning that hand, two hands later, he turned the tables and went all in on me after I'd raised half a million.

I called with my king-nine of clubs.

He showed pocket tens, and I ended up doubling him up.

Most of the night, the two of us had almost the same amount in chips, which wasn't saying much. Neither of us looked like contenders to last until day seven.

Another hour had passed. Out of the thirty-six players who started day six, eleven were still alive. Kenny Tran, the player who'd tried to throw me off my game twelve hours before, was not one of the eleven. He busted out at 9:30, finishing in sixteenth place. A funny card on the river knocked him out, a lowly two of clubs.

As play continued at one in the morning, I found myself in eleventh place. Dead last.

The good news was that even if I went out on the next hand, I would take home almost half a million dollars, but I refused to let myself think like that. I didn't care how much I would win if I busted out. I had one goal, and that was to
claw my way up two more spots to the top nine.

The blinds had climbed to a level where I couldn't be as patient as I might have liked. Each cycle through the small and big blinds left me a million in chips poorer and that much closer to elimination.

Unfortunately, I couldn't bluff my way up those two spots. Everyone always calls the bluffs of the short stack.

Over the past several hours, I had so frequently gone all in to take the blinds and antes that I'd lost count. It was the only thing keeping me in the tournament. I won a few other hands, but the longer play continued, my day turned more down than up. Such is life on the short stack.

The cards were dealt. I sat on the button, last to act before the blinds. Only six players remained at my table. The first two to act folded to me.