So far, I have played in one World Series of Poker event this year, and it was the first one of my life. In short, it was an amazing experience. The Rio Hotel's enormous convention hall was overflowing with poker tables, and they ran out into an outdoor pavilion. Thousands of people were gathered, many to play, some to observe, others to deal, and other still to take photos of the event.

The field of the $1,500 buy-in No-Limit Hold 'Em event #3 was a mixture of all types of individuals. Old, young, male, female, expert and novice flocked together to compete in the first pure-NLHE event of 2007. I was seated in the outdoor pavilion, at table 125, in seat 2. Nearly 3,000 people had registered for the event, and it was hotter than the devil's tail out there. In the main room it remained cool, but not everyone can be a luckbox for a seating arrangement.

I was rather nervous about the whole ordeal before I arrived at my seat. But as soon as I looked around my table, my nerves were calmed and my focus was sharp. I had drawn an incredible table: not a single person with a shred of a clue. Everyone a complete fish, playing with their cards face-up, and playing those cards poorly all the while. I was thrilled, and I knew that if I ran even the slightest bit good, my chip stack would quickly fly through the roof.

In the words of Mike McDermott, my opponents wore their tells "like signs around their necks." With the exception of the player immediately to my left, everyone looked at their cards before the action go to them. And without exception, every person who looked at their cards immediately reacted to them in a transparent way. With a good hand, I would see a relaxation of the face, eyes darting to the left, resting the face on a hand, quickened breathing, more stillness of motion. And then I would see all of that, followed by a limp UTG. When action got to me in the hijack, I had noticed similar behavior from the button.

I looked down to see TT. Easy fold! I was only playing AA at that point. I knew I couldn't raise, because the UTG player was going to limp/reraise. I couldn't limp, because the button was going to raise. I could only fold. So I did, and what did I see? The button raised, and when action folded back to the UTG player, he quickly shoved. After a lot of thought, the button folded and UTG showed AA. Surprise, surprise...

The next orbit, I picked up JJ in the cutoff and the exact same thing happened. I knew UTG (a different player this time) was going to limp/reraise. Since I had no read on the button or one of the blinds, and I only had 13 BBs at this point, I couldn't limp for set value either. It was too likely somebody would raise, and my stack just wasn't quite deep enough to hope to stack UTG's aces. Sure enough, though, after three players (the blinds and UTG) saw a limped pot and a dry flop, the big blind led out and was instantly overbet shoved on by the UTG player. When the small blind folded, UTG showed AA. These clowns were making me feel so sure of myself, it was baffling.

At this point, I was beaming with pride and confidence. It was amazing to me, to have such an immaculate read on so many players, and to even be able to garner so much information out of turn! Everything was going great. I stole the blinds when the blinds didn't have interesting hands. I raised over limpers when they were praying nobody would raise. I increased my chip count by 33% in the first hour and only ever saw one flop.

Then I ran cold for the next hour and watched my opponents run hot at various times. It was like their cards were on their foreheads, I knew everything that was going on, but I had no opportunities to capitalize on that information. Or maybe I missed them because I'm not sick enough. Either way, the blinds were climbing and my stack was not. Before I knew it, I had entered the "red zone" and my M had dropped below 7. Taking the advice of my good friend Ryan Daut, I began to re-raise all-in preflop over raises that I suspected were somewhat weak, as long as I held a decent coinflipping hand. I also shoved all-in preflop over weak limpers. Things were going alright, until a short streak of bad luck hit.

There were two players to my left who never looked at their cards before the action got to them. That caused the following two problems. First, at 100/200 with no ante and a stack of about 2,800, I raised ATs to 600 in the cutoff because I knew the big blind was weak, and the small blind was a tight player anyway. But the button min-3bet me, and his mannerisms made me certain he wanted to wet himself. He had KK+ and it was time to get away, being out of position and forced to put so much of my stack in preflop. The next orbit, I had gotten a walk in the big blind and won the big blind on the next hand, so I was back at 2,400. I raised AQo in the cutoff again, to 600 with a stack now of 2400. The small blind, who had only shown down QQ+ so far in 3-bet pots, confidently 3-bet me all-in for almost all of his own chips. Once again, a narrow dodge I think I had to make.

I wasn't 100% certain at the time that those were both laydowns. I didn't know if I was supposed to take a possible 92/8, likely 72/28, or possible coinflip with that much in already, but I doubted it. So I folded and waited. When the antes kicked in, we were at 100/200+25, and I won a pot to move from 1,800 to 2,300. Then, I encountered the following action in the small blind.

Two loose limpers, who have been limp/folding a lot and are showing me respect, limp in the hijack and cutoff. I have A2 of spades in the small blind, and decide it's time to take this pot down or put my tournament life on the line as a 28% dog. So I pulled the trigger and shoved all-in. The big blind folded, the hijack called, and the cutoff folded, and I found myself heads-up against red 77 for a pot of 5,250 chips. The flop gave me two spades, and the turn brought me a 2, but my nerves were calm. The river bricked and I lost the hand, and finished my first-ever major live tournament -- broke, far from the money, dejected, sweaty, and $1,500 in the hole.


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