When Harrah's released the '06-'07 WSOP Circuit schedule, I was immediately surprised and amused to see "Harrah's Council Bluffs" listed as an early February tour stop. I also immediately got the feeling I'd likely wind up playing it, as there has never been a closer major tournament to my home and the field would likely be softer than the snow sure to be falling during the event. Right away I had two visions - one of me crushing the field and cruising to a dominant win, and one of me watching episodes of "Lost" on my computer in a lonely hotel room looking out on the plains.
Sure enough, when February 2007 arrived, I booked a flight to Omaha and a room at Harrah's Council Bluffs. From the start, the trip felt like a business trip/mission. There was none of the vacation feel that usually accompanies my poker expeditions to more attractive climates and locales. I alluded to this in a blog entry, noting there was only one reason to go to Council Bluffs in February, and that was to get first place.
Of course that didn't happen, I got my money in quite badly in two places, and I was back in the hotel room before the end of the first day (not knocked out the last hand of the night as I previously reported). The next day I woke up, constructed the Top 15, ate a lunch at a decent buffet, and fired up an afternoon session of online poker. Things went smoothly, as they tend to on Kazakhpoker, and it was not long before I redeemed the money lost buying into the tournament. I then took a short break, took a shower and a walk around the casino, and then went back to business. This was to be a marathon day of online poker, my longest session since a disastrous bleedathon a couple days after exiting from the WSOP main event.
The night session went poorly from the start. I did not run well, and I'm sad to admit I exacerbated the losses by continuing to play while hungry, tired, pissed off, and hellbent on chasing down my losses. This was amateurish behavior, activity I accost my pro friends for doing, and certainly something that I know should always be avoided. Playing long hours trying to dig out of the red almost always leads to a deeper hole, and I've known that for a long time. I don't want to ever let this happen again.
When I finally wrapped up the session, it was 1:30 AM and I was starving. I called down to the front desk for a late check-out, a shuttle to the airport the next morning, and a list of dining options. I was given only one: "Aces" 24 hr Diner.
"Aces" was exactly what I thought and feared it would be - a mildly repulsive Midwestern greasy spoon serving up a predictable menu of "country favorites." I quickly ordered eggs with bacon and toast, and sat back in the booth listening to a disappointing array of hollow modern pop tunes on the restaurant'scruddy overhead speakers. There is a time for Chingy and the Pussycat Dolls, but sitting alone in a booth in Council Bluffs Iowa at 2 AM in February watching an old sweaty man exhaustedly fry food is not that time. It was, however, an appropriate soundtrack for the three drunk kids at the next booth who saw that I was alone and asked/bludgeoned me to join them.
I'm polite, lonely, and always looking for a good story, so I readily agreed and sat down with them. The crew consisted of a loud, friendly, mildly obnoxious, and overwhelmingly mediocre young cocktail waitress; her BFF (best friend forever), a spectacularly unattractive lifetime Omahan; and the waitress's boyfriend, a pretty calm and regular dude who was the only one I found remotely tolerable. While doing my best to fend off the advances of the beefy BFF, I learned only a few notable tidbits from the natives. Omahans look down on Iowans, for one. When I asked what was the best thing to do for fun in the area, I didn't get much of a response. They asked me if I wanted to take the third wheel to my room, then asked if I wanted to get high. I considered the latter - it would have been a satisfactory end to a troubling day - but ultimately elected the company just too undesirable to pursue anything but minimal social relations.
I waited more than half an hour for my food, and couldn't eat it fast enough when it finally arrived. As I sat there eating the greasy food, listening to and participating in the inane conversation, trying not to be rude to the nasty girl coming on to me, head pounding from staring at a computer screen all day, it occurred to me that I may have reached a new low point on the poker tournament circuit. But really, and especially now as I write this, I realize experiences like this are what "it's all about."
I remember my senior year in college my friend Nick had a day where he went around the Twin Cities on buses and his bike, just poking around. I'm not sure I've ever seen him more excited than he was when he got back to the college after his day interacting with different strangers around the Cities. He told the story of his day with great excitement, and nothing he said sounded remotely exciting. But it was a REAL experience,and that was what had him so pumped up. Macalester was quite a bubble, and he had popped it for one day.
Most of my time is spent in the high-stakes poker bubble, where no one cares about what most people care about. It's pretty nice really - real life isn't really that cool for most people, I don't think. But the bubble is better with a taste of reality. Council Bluffs was a fairly shitty experience overall, but I was able to find a bit of something real and American. I enjoy having a lifestyle that allows me to see the high-class Omahans as well as the simple Iowans.
I'm not a big enough man to be happy for my friend Paul. I'm a petty, competitive, frustrated jealous little boy. Paul is better at poker than me and oooh, it hurts. I hate it when I'm not the best at something. It's especially troubling because this is what we do for a living. This is our career, our identity. If Paul wasn't the outstanding, wonderful person he is, I don't think I could tolerate his presence. It kind of makes me sick to see him do well. There is definitely a demented part of me that wants to see him lose on days like this (playing down to the WPT Final Table). Why? Like I said, I am weak inside; I do not have the strength of a better, more mature man. His success more clearly defines my failure.
