Nick is a cash game player, content creator and part of 888poker’s Stream Team. Each week he shares his thoughts and experiences as a player dedicated to the daily grind. This week he picks up where he left off last time, as he tried every trick and move he knew to make it into the money at the 2022 WSOP…
Last week I set the stage as we approached crunch time in my favorite poker story: my 2022 World Series of Poker Main Event run.
After dodging bullets for the best part of three days, and hanging on for dear life, the reality was setting in that I could potentially make it to the money. Now, a min-cash is usually not that lofty an ambition, but as I mentioned previously, I won my seat through an 888poker competition for our Stream Team. This means that, for me, it would be a ‘min’ cash in the loosest possible sense of the word.
After buying myself some time after blatantly lying to my table mates and earning some much needed walks, we were around 100 players from the money. It was late on day 3, and people were busting slowly but surely. Unfortunately, the brief facade I had engineered - where I had seemingly convinced my table I didn’t care about busting - came to an abrupt halt.
With around 100 left until the bubble, and about 9 big blinds remaining, it folded to me on the small blind. Everyone covered me, including the big blind, and I peeked down at my hole cards, hoping to find some absolute rubbish. Unfortunately I found AQ offsuit, and I genuinely had no idea what to do.
I couldn’t hide the excruciating pain that my decision was causing me, and I physically couldn’t bring myself to stick the money in, even though I knew I really should. After what felt like an age, I ended up tossing it in the muck, much to my own disgust, especially when the big blind tabled KQ suited. In some ways I was kind of relieved, even though I would have been dominating, as the primary goal was to reach the money in any shape possible.
No more hiding
But now everyone knew this was a much bigger spot for me than I was letting on, and there was no hiding behind the mask anymore. Stressed and with my emotions peaking, it folded to me again on the button in the very next hand, and the strangest thing happened. I looked down at two jacks, and fist-pump jammed within a second. I suppose I couldn’t bear laying this one down after folding AQ previously, and thought if I spent any time at all I might talk myself into it.
I felt like I was going to pass out as the small blind folded, and the big blind entered the tank. After the previous hand, he knew I wasn’t jamming light, but it still seemed like he wanted to call. After a couple of minutes he folded AT, and I was finally able to ‘unclench’.
At this stage in my career, I was unfamiliar with the gamesmanship that rears its ugly head at the latter stages of a tournament, particularly nearing the bubble. Of course I should have spent a customary 30 seconds before jamming those pocket jacks, but that aside I was folding at a somewhat regular speed, partly out of respect for my opponents, and partly because I found it so awkward to be blatantly holding up proceedings.
I had a few of my teammates on the rail at this point, and they noticed my relatively speedy play given the circumstances. They were quick to point it out and encourage me to slow down, but I was still reluctant. That was until they told me that another table near them had a player on 1 big blind, and the rest of the table was voluntarily refusing to act to try to get him into the money. That was all the motivation I needed.
Hitting the brakes
Around 20 off the money, and severely bleeding at this point around the 5bb mark, I stepped up my game. I took as long as I possibly could every hand, with the clock being called almost every time. I didn’t care. I could smell that $15,000 and I was going to do whatever it took. It was time for one more Oscar-worthy performance as we approached hand-for-hand play.
I just needed to buy myself a little more time, but I thought if I looked in genuine pain I could stave off the clock-callers and get myself over the line. I looked down at my hand, let out an audible sigh and began to writhe, seemingly in sheer agony. Five minutes passed with no clock, and my teammates were bobbing up and down on the rail. I finally released my hand into the muck, and got the immediate inquisition from the group chat.
“Man that was intense, what did you fold? Queens? Kings?!”
I started giggling in my chair.
“62 offsuit,” I replied.
Hitting the money
Shortly afterwards we were hand-for-hand. With how many short stacks were in the room, all I had to do was fold my way to eternal glory. I had decided at this point that there was no hand I would play, even aces, so each time the dealer pitched me my cards, I’d politely pass them back without so much as a peek.
“I don’t need those, thanks dealer.”
I skipped back to my rail after every glorious, unashamed no-look fold, until the bubble finally burst, and I’d done it. I’d cashed the Main Event for $15,000, an achievement I’m yet to top. I barely lasted any longer, but I didn’t care: my job was done.
So this year I’m hoping to channel some of the resilience that got me my payday two years ago, and who knows, maybe I can dream just that little bit bigger this time.
