The Old Man...
What was I thinking...? Well, to be honest, I’m not sure what I was thinking. But what I can do is give you the facts.
Some Background...
The World Series of Poker is more than a bunch of random events strewn together. It is a test of endurance and willpower. The clever and well-prepared pro can expect every tool in his arsenal of poker tricks to be tested. He will meet better players well, unless you are Phil Ivey, I suppose), he will meet people with greater endurance (unless your name is Michael Binger, of course), and he will meet more determined vampires (unless you are Viffer, I guess).
Basically, no matter who you are there will be someone with a stronger skill set than you. And it is the combination of many different skill sets that make you a contender for the über-insane two-month-long poker blender that is called the WSOP.
The WSOP also tests your FSQ (Fugue State Quotient). This is a measure of how you deal with the ‘day in and day out-ness’ of the whole thing. It is a measure of how much one loses (or does not lose) oneself to the whole thing. When entering the fugue state the world and your personal identity sort of peel away and you are left with probability curves expressing themselves as fi nal resting states. You become a mere vessel of the curves, waiting for them to unleash their states. In essence the FSQ is a measure of overall brain state sanity/stability as charted over time.
(Note: FSQ only applies to those who arrive day one and stay until the bitter end. They are the WSOP endurance soldiers. As a random footnote it is interesting to watch Jeff Madsen’s video blogs on PokerRoad — you can actually see his FSQ shifts from time to time.)
Some of the long haulers come already insane. They get to start day one, event one insane. Seems like someone has the edge there — not sure if it is us or them. Then there are the guys that slowly go insane — maybe it happens to them after bubbling for the nth time, maybe it happens when they have their quads snapped off. Then there are the guys who just never go insane — poker is like a medicine for them (i.e., Mickey Appleman). These are the truly lucky ones. They swim in and out of it all and it actually makes them stay on keel. Then of course, there is the more traditional form of poker insanity. The type that gets you a bit here and there but it’s nothing huge. Maybe it hits you when you are shaving or maybe when you’re eating a pasta salad. Who knows? But it’s never a big deal and you end up adjusting back to reality fairly fast.
Then there are guys who take it all in stride and then very suddenly it is as if everything around them is 95% reality and 5% dream. This happens to me from time to time. I think it is a cousin to the FSQ thing. Not exactly sure. I don’t even know how common an ailment this is. I think I have met a few who share it, but not really sure. Luckily, I am highly functional when this stuff happens to me, and luckily, I enjoy it.
When I enter these states I usually fi nd a pen and paper as I get streams of ideas. I write lots down. I act on some of it immediately, and the rest usually makes its way to the discard pile real fast. (Usually, within 24 hours I can determine that over 80% of the ideas were rubbish. Oh well, at least there are the leftover ideas that, from time to time, I am quite happy with.)
The old man was one of these ideas. I knew immediately it was one of the ‘20 percenters’ and I knew that I had to start getting the ball in motion — ASAP. In a 95/5 state that was probably actually more like a 90/10 state, it hit me. I was going to be an old man for Day 1 of the Main Event. Sadly, I got the idea so late that I did not have the luxury of great preparation. In fact, Day 1A of the fi nal event was already under way when it hit me. I played Day 1D so it seemed like I would be okay time-wise.
I started calling special effects companies and people in the biz down in LA. I learned a lot in a short bit of time. The most brutal thing was that I didn’t have the seven-day lead time that one needs to get the superduper high-tech setup done. This is where they make a special casting of your face and go from there. However, I did fi nd this one woman who seemed to be the right fi t. In one day’s time, Lisa promised the next best thing — she would fl y up to Vegas with an ‘old man kit’ in tow. It would be a foam latexy sort of application for the face replete with old man hair!
She also promised me a visit to the Salvation Army where she would fi nd old man clothes. It seemed like we were in business.
Saturday night I found myself eating and drinking ‘til very late. Arghghghgh. How did it get to be 2:00 a.m. so fast? Oh yeah, I am lousy with time — bedtime doubly so. I had to be at the Venetian for hair and make up at 5:30 a.m.! So off to sleep I went. And in what felt like thirty minutes (but was actually two hours), I woke up and was not surprised to fi nd myself still a bit woozy from the previous night’s boozing. I sat in the chair for what seemed like forever. Forever turned out to be nearly seven hours. At noon I semi-panicked. The tournament had started and my hair wasn’t even gray yet. Eek. I needed to get outta there... I had to get to the Rio. I was a bit bummed as we ran short on time and did not get to work on the hands. Ugh. I was to be the old man with young hands, at least ‘til dinner break when I would be able to come back for touch ups.
So with my newly minted old man getup — complete with ‘old man clothes’ — I made my way back to the Rio as fast as I could. I arrived about thirty minutes late. Luckily for me there was a slight delay getting Day 1D going — speeches and stuff that went too long. So when I arrived my stack was only down about three percent. Not too bad.
But there was one more step to go before I could start getting hands. I had to get into my seat without showing my ID. I had a plan though, and now I got to see if it would work. Earlier in the Series I watched a fellow come to the table without his ID. He had his ticket, but no ID. For those of you that were not there, they are rather hardcore about the ID thing. It seemed like you would just be totally screwed without it but I was wrong.
The dealer called over one of the guys with a tie (they are called fl oor people, by the way) and said, ‘This gentleman does not have his ID.’ And without an ounce of fanfare he was told by the fl oor guy something along these lines: ‘Sir, we can let you play, but should you make the money we can only make a payout if you have your ID. Are you okay with that?’ The man responded, ‘Sure.’ And just like that all was good.
I was banking on this response being standard issue for the people without their IDs, and luckily for me it was. So without much fanfare at all I was sitting down and getting my fi rst hand as the old man! Time to play cards, I thought!
The fi rst hour or two went well for me. I got ‘old man credit’ when it came to my raises and reraises. I was rarely looked up and managed to chip up a tad. My starting stack of nearly 20k was now 24k and we were still in the second level. Real progress, I thought. Nice. I will just keep up the pressure until they adjust. And adjust they did. Ughghghgh.
Here is what happened. The table had settled into a very ABC style of poker that seemed ripe and ready to exploit. No one was getting out of line. An occasional raise would usually win the pot, and if there was a call the hand rarely went to the turn. This should be easy, I thought!
In the second level I found myself open-raising with 10C 2c from under the gun. The old man had a plan and there was no stopping him! (Uh-oh I am now speaking of myself in the third person . and I am not even me . I am an old man!) The timing, it seemed, would be perfect.
So I raised UTG with 10c 2c. (UTG = 3-hole). The guy to my left (4-hole) folded and the 5-hole called. He still had six people yet to act! I put him on something like a mid pair or ace-X suited. Everyone else folded and the fl op comes Ad Qh 3c.
Brilliant, I thought, I will c-bet this (internet slang for continuation bet). After all, I did have a runnerrunner fl ush draw AND a runner-runner straight draw! The 5-hole called and I could see that he knew he was not supposed to. I was thinking, Wow, Phil, amazing read! You can sense that he is weak.
The turn blanked off with the 6d and I fi gured one more decent-sized bet would win the pot. It was big enough so that any fl ush draw was going to fold. It was also big enough to insure against a total misread on my part. After all, he might have a pair of aces with a lousy kicker. I needed him to fold his real but not super-strong hands.
So much for my plan. He called. And I immediately wanted to puke. It was such a weird call as I could have sworn my read was dead-on. It almost looked like he knew he was supposed to fold but just got trapped into a calling state and did it not knowing why himself. Gross. So gross. Time to shut down. That was it. Had to cut my losses. There would be no bet on the river from the old man.
The river blanked off with another 6 and as planned, I checked. He checked as well. As feebly as I could, I said, gTen high.h He tabled his hand, 10s Jd. Wow, notched. My mind was racing, trying to fi gure out how he called such a big bet on the turn. I just couldnft fi gure it out. Why did he make that call? Especially considering that he didnft fi re the river knowing that jack high was trash? Hmmmm... Maybe I had been raising his big blind too much. (I had.) Maybe that got to him and he just decided that he was going to catch that gutter ball and crack my emonster.f LOL. Before I could get my head around how he called the turn the other players at the table were asking to see my hand. Uh-oh. I had let too much time slip. I could no longer just muck. This old man was about to show his 10c 2c and it wasnft going to be one of his prouder moments.
I tabled the hand, and as best I could I tried to look as if I sort of didn’t know what was going on. I acted confused that I didn’t win it. I even went so far as to pull the hand back and recheck the fl op. I fi gured if I was going to show it, I was going to get my money’s worth. Okay, not the end of the world. Now all I had to do was wake up with a few hands and imagine the action I would get! No one would believe me and I would chip up with no worries. Right? Wrong.
The problem now was to actually get the hands. Alas, they just didn’t come. Just as I was thinking about starting the stealing game again I got moved. What a relief!
The table I was leaving had maybe one pro and no logos. My new table had fi ve pros and four logos. Blech, this is no fun. However, the deck started hitting me so it was all good. Without getting too much into it I will just say that I had one big hand where I was 70% when all the money went in and I won. That is essentially how I made it to Day 2 with an average stack. But the poker that spun from the old man was nothing compared to the good times I had on the breaks.
How fantastic. I would drift about looking for people I knew. I bumped into my buddy Bruce Buffer and with my best old man voice said, ‘Great job at the fi ght last night.’ Cyndy Violette — ‘Nice to meet you Cyndy, big fan of your work!’ And then I would hobble away. Oh, what fun!
Dinner would have been great fun, but alas, my hands needed an old man transformation. My mustache also needed more glue. I needed the old man pit stop. So off I went to the Venetian where I met Lisa and her old man bag of tricks. Ninety minutes for dinner. With transportation back and forth I only had about an hour for the hands. Lisa told me that it takes an hour per hand. Being a righty, I told her to do the left. That way I could look extra feeble as I handled my chips!
If I had not remembered all the shortcuts from the Venetian to the Rio surely I would have been sunk. As it was, I arrived back just in the nick of time. Careful to keep my right hand hidden I went back at it and tried to play as well as the old man could.
Random anecdote... Early, early on — say about an hour into the day — one of the ESPN guys was getting chip counts. The master sheet had me at such and such a table. However, there was an old man in my seat. What’s that all about? Well one of the guys fi gured it out — hats off to the news guys. By 2 p.m. that day many of the journalists knew what was going on. I would like to give a shout out to those guys. They never gave up the ghost! I was able to drift about the whole day as the old man! Thanks a ton. The fun I had that day was about equal to four good Halloweens all wrapped up into one. Pure genius. Absolutely ace brilliant.
The ESPN cameras kept swinging by my table. It got to the point where one of the players at the table actually asked if someone had won a few million recently. They couldn’t fi gure out why their very quiet table was getting so much camera time! What fun. But I couldn’t smile or have too much expression as the makeup would crinkle and the mustache would need readjusting. No one was the wiser — other than some of the journalists. Well, not exactly no one ...
There were actually two people that fi gured it out. One was a dealer at my table. And boy oh boy was that uncomfortable. I forget her name but I remember her checking me out. I was in the 1-hole and it must have been the most uncomfortable I have ever been at poker table. For thirty minutes whenever she had a break during a hand the stares would start. She knew something was up and kept waiting for me to tell her it was Candid Camera or something. But alas, Allen Funt never appeared and thankfully she was eventually moved to the next table.
I didn’t have too much of a problem with the other players. I actually didn’t look like an old man close up — I looked more like an old man who had covered up some terrible skin disease with lots of bad make up. Or maybe I was a burn victim or something similarly unsavory had happened to my skin. But one thing was for sure — I did not look like a standard old man. I was 5% off. It actually made most people feel a bit uncomfortable looking at me. The old man had a look that actually prevented him from getting found out because people tried to avoid making eye contact with me! LOL. Wow. Talk about luck!
But there was one more person who not only fi gured out that something was amiss, but wouldn’t let it go. Another woman! Funny thing — in a room full of men the only two people to suss it out were women! Hats off to the ladies!
It was towards the end of the evening and I was taking more and more risks with how long I would talk to people. Especially risky, as it was way more fun to talk to people I knew. I couldn’t help myself. I needed to push the old man envelope. I found myself in a rather long conversation with Bryan Micon (www.neverwinpoker. com) and Brett Jungblut, both buddies of mine.
The conversation ran its course and I shuffl ed off. But needing more I returned after a short respite and kicked it up again! So sick. I was getting the knack of this, I thought. And with the cover of darkness in the dimly lit room I felt invincible.
A bit later I entered the commissary. The dining commons are very well lit, mind you! I sat with a few buddies who were in on the gag and tried to have a bit of a laugh without my mustache falling off. Next thing I knew my new friends entered — Micon and Jungblut. They were accompanied by Jungblut’s brother’s wife, Thais.
As they neared, I became aware of just how well lit the place really was, and also that I was with the wrong group for my cover. All of a sudden I could feel Thais wondering. Before I could break away she started getting quite vocal! Within moments everything was falling apart. Arghghghgh. The energy was getting chaotic. “Who are you?” shouted Thais. “You are not who you say you are!” she yelled, as she pointed and gestured to the identity crime she had newly uncovered. “What is going on here?!”
I tried my best to slink away (Jungblut and Micon were long gone now as they could see where things were going and who wants to be around for something that awkward? Not many, and for sure not these two guys! LOL!). So as I tried to slink away, Thais started following me and snapping photos like crazy! What had happened?! One moment I was chilling old man style — and the next I was in a panicked frenzy trying to break from this one soul who was about a second away from pulling off my fake hair. Arghghgh.
Wow, a whole new level of embarrassment that I had never been to before. So very much not fun. I had to escape. Where were the bathrooms? Oh no! She was following me!! Arghghgh. Eventually I got away but let me tell you, she really hung in there. Camera a-fi ring and fl ashes a-popping! “Who are you? Why are you wearing makeup? What is going on here?!?!”
Phew, it fi nally ended. I remember one line that was particularly effective: “Ma’am, you are embarrassing me, I am sorry that I have offended you, please let me be.” That bought me just enough time to duck away into the happy, old man obscurity I had grown so fond of.
(You can see some of the Thais photos at www.neverwinpoker. com/v/WSOP2008/phillaakoldman
The next day there was a multipage thread on Two Plus Two that was sort of interesting. You can fi nd it by searching for ‘1D incognito’.” The next day there was a multi-page thread on Two Plus Two that was sort of interesting. You can fi nd it by searching for ‘1D incognito’. It was a long day for sure... The poker went ‘til 2 a.m. Removing the glued-on skin took about two hours and was one of the most unpleasant experiences I have had in a long time. My skin took about three days to fully recover from the beating the glue put on it. Was it worth it? By a million miles, it sure was. Wow. Like I said, it was worth about four Halloweens plus a Christmas all wrapped up into one glorious day.
As far as the Main Event goes. I returned the next day as me, and surfed along well enough I suppose. Until, that is, my queens met aces and that was that. No more Phil. No more Series. Just memories of one of the most unforgettable WSOPs I have ever had. Full stop.
