Image courtesy of PokerStars (Danny Maxwell)
I got back to Los Angeles, having not won the Main Event of the Irish Poker Open, to discover that I had also not won the lottery for tickets to the 2028 Olympics, which are taking place here. The way the lottery works, for LA residents, is that you request tickets online to the five Olympic sports you most care about and then, a few weeks later, pay 500 bucks to watch Badminton or Dressage.
If you don’t know, dressage is that equestrian prancing and dancing where you root for your favorite mare or stallion to stomp the people making them do this. It was going to be a hard pass for me, but then I saw that the event was taking place at Santa Anita Racetrack, where I’ve previously enjoyed throwing away money, so I said, “What the hell, maybe we can bet on it.”
As I recounted last week, I was lucky enough to win a seat in the €1,150 Main Event of the Irish Open by playing a €140 milestone satellite. For those new to poker, a milestone satellite is where players who reach the milestone of 10x a starting stack win a chance to be dead money in a bigger tournament. Maybe instead of milestones, these satellites should be called tombstones. Tombstones marked R.I.P, short for Re-entry Is Possible (until level 9).
Okay, perhaps I’m being a little too cynical. Satelliting into a big tournament can be the chance of a lifetime if your name is Chris Moneymaker, but the odds are heavily stacked against you, and everybody seems to know it. Over the course of my week in Dublin, I heard many players describe an opponent’s bad play as that of someone who, “…must have satellited in.”
Though I am loath to admit it, this judgment may well be accurate because the very style of play that helps you win a satellite is the exact opposite of the way to play deep-stacked multi-table tournaments, at least until you are so short-stacked that you’re either folding or shoving every hand.
A player could easily be great at satellites, aka dragging the dead money of all the satellite losers into a big tournament, and horrible at regular multi-table tournaments. Being inclined to play tight, avoid risk, and only get it in with the virtual nuts or big draws is the profile of a proficient satty player, but can that rock change gears to a more complete game once in a big event? That seems like a big ask.
Now, can a good or great tournament player shift into low gear and be great at satellites? Absolutely. Not all satelliters are punters. Many prominent, talented players, like Dara O’Kearney, who, along with Barry Carter, literally wrote the book on satellites, put themselves into action at bigger buy-in events by winning satellites. Satellites are not just for losers!
In fact, you know who else satellited in last week? The crew of Artemis II. (Yes, a rocket ship is a satellite. Accept the premise, enjoy the bit.) It’s not easy to satellite in, be it into a tournament or onto a planet. It takes determination, innovation, and always folding to a three bet. I feel a real bond with the astronauts from Artemis II. After all, during a few orbits, we were all forced to pee in a cup.
The Main Event
I played Day 1C of the Irish Poker Open Main Event, beginning at noon. With a starting stack of 50,000 and levels lasting 40 minutes, I felt invincible. Then why did I play so timidly and lose my whole stack by the end of level 5? Simple. As described above, I forgot that the satellite was over and the real tournament was underway. I was playing not to lose, instead of playing to win. The skills, if you want to call them skills, that got me there were killing me.
But could I adjust? We were only a few levels in. The blinds were still relatively low. I had the euros burning a hole in my pocket that I had planned to plunk down if I hadn’t won that saddy. I marched up to the re-entry window and counted out the buy-in.
Now I was going to play well, I told myself. And believe it or not, I played pretty well. My second starting table definitely had some softer players (f-in satelliters, no doubt). I steadily worked my stack up, remaining near or above average chips. I still played pretty tight and cautious. The leopard can’t change his spots, but at least he looked for some spots. I made moves when I could, and won a couple show downs.
Then, they broke our table. I was moved to table 5, seat 5. The players were better, and the blinds were getting bigger. You do the math. By dinner break, I was down to around 20 big blinds, alive but definitely in the danger zone. Also, I was exhausted.
To rejuvenate, I sipped wonton soup across the street at the really good restaurant, Baan Thai, Ballsbridge. I did some four-square breathing exercises my wife had taught me. I recharged my phone, and for once, my phone recharged me. That is, I glimpsed the screensaver as it lit up, and saw these two:
The big dog is Chloe. The little guy was named Rocky. He passed away last year. A good boy gone too soon. As always, the photo brought a smile to my face and made me a little sad. Not too sad, though, to ask Rocky for help from the Beyond. I said, “Rock, I need your help on this one.” I was kidding. Or was I?
I returned to table 5, seat 5. I hung in there with my stack rising and falling, but the blinds went in only one direction. With about 22 big blinds behind in the hijack, I called a raise from early position with pocket sevens. The button and the big blind came along, and a flop of 3-2-2 was spread. The big blind checked, and the original raiser bet less than half the pot.
He probably had a good starting hand, but with an overpair to the board, I decided to go all-in, hoping he had two big cards that would fold. The button and the big blind got out of the way, and the player in early position called, turning over….pocket eights. Wow! Good call, I said. And then a seven spiked on the turn, more than doubling me up.
“A seven from heaven,” said the guy to my left.
Thanks, Rocky, I said with a peek at my phone. I haven’t ever believed in those kinds of things. I’m a bit of a skeptic, in case you haven’t noticed. But now I was on the verge of finding religion. I thought, “Dog is God spelled backward.”
Okay, let’s not go crazy. It was probably just blind luck finally coming my way.
The evening ground on. Through plays that failed and the rising blinds, my stack had again dwindled into the danger zone. After another raise from early position, I looked down at AQ off-suit. The raiser was very active and had a big stack. I just called, and everyone else folded. The flop was K-10-9 rainbow, and the guy bet out a few blinds. I called with my gutshot.
The turn was a queen, adding a pair to my gutter. The original raiser put in an overbet. It seemed like he really wanted me to go away, or he had a jack. Feeling emboldened by my added outs, plus the potential that he would fold thinking I just got there, I pushed all-in for around a total of 100K.
He had to call about 70k. He thought for quite a while, almost folded, and then reluctantly called, turning over pocket queens. He had made trips when I made a pair. As the river was being dealt, all I could do was yell, “Jack!”
And dammit if a jack didn’t hit the board, giving me an ace-high straight.
The guy to my left, who had so eloquently said, “A seven from heaven,” was absolutely speechless. And so was I.
The player who had had me the whole way until the river very graciously said, “Nice hand,” as he sent me a third of his stack. I ended up bagging and tagging 195,000 chips, which would be about 33 big blinds when Day 2 started.
Thanks, Rock.
To quote those greatest of all theologians, The Monkees, “Now I’m a believer.”
Day 2
When the totals were in for the four Day 1s, there were a total of 5003 entries, besting the previous year’s record. There were 1,200 plus players remaining. 735 would get paid. I was determined to be one of them. After all, my freeroll had turned into an investment of 1290. A min cash was 1800 euros. All I had to do was wait for 500 players to be eliminated. I’m a satellite player, man, give me a break.
My table assignment was pretty tough, as one of the chip leaders, an Irish pro whose first name was Thomas, was at our table. He played about 75 percent of hands, including three against me. I had a good hand every time, but he bested me two out of three, winning at showdown with a pair of jacks to my pair of nines, and pushing me off a draw with his big stack.
I tightened up, even by my own nitty standards, and when I looked up next, the field had dwindled to around 800. They were dropping like flies. I had barely played a hand when I picked up AK of hearts in early position. I winged in about 15 big blinds. It folded to Thomas, who peeled his cards.
He smiled and picked up a stack of chips. Then set them down. “I’m just kidding,” he said. I won the hand uncontested, meaning I was batting .500 against Thomas. Then pretty soon, we were here:
On the bubble. We played hand for hand. I folded hand for hand. And then the money bubble burst! We were all getting paid at least 1800 euros.
A very few hands later, with 12.5 big blinds left in my stack, it was folded to me on the button, and I looked down at A3 off-suit. I stuck it all in. The small blind called. The big blind folded. We turned our cards face up. He had AJ. I was hating myself, especially when the flop was jack high. But then a 3 hit the turn. I had two outs to make three threes. I thought, “Come on, Rock!”
The final card was a deuce. Pretty close.
I cashed my ticket and walked back to the hotel, remunerated modestly in the financial sense, but bountifully in the spiritual sense. Thanks to Rocky, I had a new leash on life.
And that’s all she wrote. And that’s all I’m going to write about the Irish Poker Open. Until next year.
Have a great week…
