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Jesse May in Las Vegas |
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Championship Day 5
It wasnt so many years ago
that the fifth day at the World Series of Poker was also the last one. And the
guys who jumped in the air and pumped their fists on that day, they got the
money. But this year its seven, seven long days, and as one whos
been there just watching, Im spent. I probably peaked too early.
Dont worry about me; Im not in the hunt for the five million
dollars. But when the clock wrapped up after midnight of Day 5, there were 32
players who still were there, and its the ones who showed lots of fire
and vim that Ill dismiss out of hand. Theyve peaked too early.
Chris Fergusons on the emotion already. He calls all-in with four
clubs on board to double up with a flush, but his reaction is way too soon.
Its not like hes won the tournament but he flies from his chair,
does high fives with guys he barely knows and jumps around with adrenalin. When
his sunglasses come off we see behind the mask that his face is drawn and
haggard. Fair enough, it was a tough call, a great call, he had only a ten, and
Chris has been hanging low all day and is now up to one million. But Gary Jones
is on the other side of the table and picking his nails. Sitting around and
picking his nails.
In a marathon race, youd never want the guy
whos ahead at the start. And you wouldnt often want the guy leading
the 19 mile mark, either. Its called peaking too early. You want to pick
from the ones who are tracking the leaders, using their draft and using their
energy to carry along. Feed off the leaders and make your move at the end. The
last move is the best move, time and again. The important thing is to be within
yourself still. You must stay within, and keep in control.
But people
are starting to forget where they are. The 22 year old Swede, Mattias
Anderssen, the one who busted Gus Hansen, he comes tearing over to the rail in
a dither an hour into a new level. My chips are not right! he yells
to his man. Im missing one hundred to two hundred thousand!
His hair is matted, his eyes are wilder. The strain is cracking him like a
cantaloupe. Not even average chips seem like enough at this stage.
Contrast this all to the Choirboy, Gary Jones. Hes smiling and
laughing and showing his teeth. He brushes the hair back from his 70s do,
and do I dare say it? The mans having fun. Arms easy and relaxed,
watching every hand with brown eyes that see, and hes playing his game
like hes at the Vic Club in London. The sign of a champion? I quote Boris
Becker. Its the ability to play like its nothing when
everythings at stake. Gary hasnt had chips in a big tournament
since forever and hes doing what he should. Nipping. This is the second
hand in a row hes raised to 30,000. Hes now one off the button and
a fellow in the big blind senses Garys at it but doesnt have the
will. Garys sitting there looking at your man with half raised eyebrows,
eyebrows half covered by his girlish brown hair and an impish smile that says,
lets play. Id love to play, Im having fun. Your man is
tightlipped and tense and mostly staring at his chips in grimaces of pain. He
counts out for a call then counts out for a reraise, and then he folds. Gary
takes the pot. Two blinds in a row are worth 72,000. Now is the time for
nipping. Jones is wearing a black Pokerstars shirt, jeans and sneakers. His
complexion hasnt seen the light of sun since I dont know when. But
this is his home. Garys a denizen of the dark, and lights, cameras,
pressure? They dont bother him.
The TV table. Theres only
one guy left in the tournament with a suit and tie and its of course
Marcel Luske. The top button is open and the tie is loosened but his suit is
well pressed and $1,000 if a dime. How Harry D is limping in at this stage of
the tournament, Ill never know. But he does it, second to speak, and
Julian Gardner has eyes for Harry alone. Folded around and Marcel calls off the
button. The big blind cant believe it. A free flop. Marcel wins the pot.
Harry is sinking. Harrys stretching, turning in his seat, aware of the
camera and without a plan. Hes looking for someone to talk to, anyone,
and moves his body in exaggerated motions. Hes gone, near enough, and
needs to hold on until tomorrow and get a new plan. It aint easy. Once
over that cliff and its so hard to come back. Folded around to Julian on
Harrys big blind and Gardner makes it 50,000. He sees that Harrys
got his head on his hand and his mind is elsewhere. Good blind to steal. Julian
takes the 42,000 in dead money gladly.
Today was gut check day for
Julian Gardner. How to hang on. All his skills just spent staying even. And the
words of a great tournament player ring in my head. You can only do what the
table will allow you. Not a thing more. Julian might have had the worst seat in
the tournament. And he had it all day. Sitting to the left of The Flying
Dutchman Marcel Luske. How many people have gone broke in that seat since this
tournament started one can only guess. Because Marcel doesnt let a man
breathe. Luske is always there in lots of pots, with little raises before the
flop. If its a good steal position hes on it, if you reraises him
he might just call. And nearly the only way to play from his left is to just
take a stand. And then its him or you. So how Julian managed to tread
water all day, while Marcel was a tide rising, Ill never know. But I can
tell you this. I never saw Julian turn over his cards. Not once. The guys
watching the hole card cameras may have been laughing themselves silly, but for
the players on the TV table Julian was a mystery. He survived. Thats all.
And as the only man whos made the money three years running youd be
sick to count him out. But Gardner certainly wasnt the happiest in the
world when Matt Savage announced at the end of the night, no redraw, not yet,
when you come back tomorrow you can take your same seats. A few more hours of
pain on the left of Marcel.
One hour left and Gary Jones takes a banana
from a plastic bag. Five thousand miles away some French Open athlete is doing
the exact same thing to prevent cramping between sets. Its 11:30 pm and
the Choirboy is a poker athlete. Says hes gonna retire if he wins the
World Series of Poker. At age thirty-something. Double bracelet winner Scott
Fischman was in an interview and talking about Tiger Woods. After Tiger came on
the scene, Scott said, all the golfers found the weight room. They never lifted
weights before Tiger, he said. Scott likes the young guys. The guys that can go
seven.
A feel good story ended my day. Ive seen Al Kruxs
name on the list for three days running, but never did see him. Id only
met him once or twice before and that was years ago, but I remember the boys
from Syracuse use to speak of him with reverence. The best player from Syracuse
by far, they used to say, and in those days it meant lots. Syracuse, New York,
was a hotbed of gambling, and days there were when if you had a Syracuse poker
player show up in your game, you just cashed in. It was ten years ago when Krux
got fifth in the WSOP to Russ Hamilton, and not long after he won some
bracelet. But that was years ago and Krux has been gone, gone from the scene,
and it wasnt until I met his lovely wife on the rail that I got the
story. Shes been not well, and Al quit traveling and playing so he could
take care of her. Some years hed come and try and win a seat for the big
one, and then be so spent that he never had a chance. This year she told him,
just go buy-in. You deserve it, you deserve giving yourself a real chance. She
knew how bad Al wanted it. And hes thanked her every day of this World
Series for that vote of confidence. Als short stacked.
Alleycat Krux caught a ten on the river to stay in the tournament
late in Day 5, but he still aint got much. Hes freerolling now, and
maybe a little past his prime. But if you go down to Syracuse and mention his
name, theyll tell you to watch out. Theyll say dont give him
an inch or hell swallow you whole, Alleycat Krux is on the
loose with the last of his nine lives at the World Series of Poker.
Further Championship details on the Championship page |