British pro Nick Gibson has given himself six months to crack Vegas & the World Series of Poker
This month, with the WSOP fast-approaching, he was faced with a tough choice and an encounter with David Hasselhoff in a dress…
Chapter one
Dead money walking
With the LA poker classic, the Wynn Classic and Reno WPT all a painful memory for me, the $25,000 buy-in WPT World Championship took on more importance than even this tournament would normally command. Despite my recent poor form I was still confident of claiming my place in the prestigious event for a knockdown price. The top 100 places are guaranteed a minimum of $40k in prize money, so by simply claiming my seat cheaply and finishing in the top 100, I could see my way clear to a profit on the trip.
I say cheaply, but with satellites at $2,620 a pop that’s a little misleading. However, as soon as I entered the satellite, my hopes that there would be a lot of dead money at the table were confirmed. In the fourth hand of the day, a chap in middle position raised to 175. The button called, and the flop came 2-3-6 rainbow. Middle position bet 300, button raised to 900, middle position re-raised to 2,000 and the button moved all-in receiving an immediate call.
Clearly the only possible hands here were for the original raiser to have pocket 6s and the button 4-5 suited. But as with so many of my reads on this trip, I was miles off. The button revealed a perfectly acceptable set of 3s, but the other player turned over 10-10. The most amazing thing was his reaction when he saw the set. He couldn’t believe he was behind. It’s this standard of play that’s made my trip so very frustrating. I’ve played badly, therefore not capitalising on the large number of bad players.
With such easy chips on offer, a golden rule during these satellites is not to gift your chips away. But sure enough, before the end of the second level I had bluffed enough of my chips off to put myself on life support. Left with one move, I raised with pocket 10s and got set all-in by a geezer on the button. I knew he had a hand, but had put myself into a position where I had to gamble. I was about to call when this geezer shouted for a clock. I have absolutely no problem with a clock being put on me under normal circumstances. However, 30 seconds is ridiculous and I told him so. He flipped A-Q and flopped a queen and that was that for me.
As I left, the grumpy fucker offered to shake my hand. I passed up this gesture and instead told him he was an ignorant twat who needed to learn some etiquette. Naturally he took offence and an ugly set-to developed where ‘pleasantries’ were exchanged. I bring this story up because although provoked, I behaved pretty badly in the poker room. I would normally laugh at someone who behaved like this guy. I disappointed myself by reacting to him and decided not to play for a couple of days before getting my focus back.
Chapter two
The show’s the thing
A good way to take your mind off poker in Vegas is to go to one of the many shows on offer. Don’t ask me how, but I ended up with two tickets to The Producers at the Paris Hotel. Although David Hasselhoff was in it, I couldn’t bring myself to turn down free tickets for the Mel Brooks masterpiece, and stiffened myself to simply ignore the permed, bronzed, German pop idol. But Hasselhoff ’s performance as a camp choreographer was amazing. He appeared totally at home in a long silver ball gown and made such an impression that I feel compelled to watch all the reruns of Baywatch when I get home, as I feel I have disregarded a fine thespian. The ’Hoff: an extremely talented stage actor and drag performer, as it turns out
Paris was less impressive, and I think they have taken the French theme too far. To recreate genuine ‘toilettes’ by encrusting the bowls with faeces shows what an eye for detail the designers must have had. Had they gone one step further and removed the toilet completely, I swear I’d have believed I was actually in the French capital.
Back to the poker and two further super satellites went by without me troubling the scorers. A battle with my conscience ended with a pretty straightforward decision. I either paid into the $25k WPT event, thus putting all my eggs into one basket, or I missed the best event of the year in favour of still being liquid come the World Series. The thought of being broke during the WSOP this year made it a troubled, but logical, decision. So I remain a nice even $50,000 in the hole for the trip. But what the hell – you can’t put a price on seeing David Hasselhoff in high heels.
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