Exit Strategies

It’s a truth of poker that there is no graceful way to leave a live tournament when you’ve been knocked out. In that moment every poker player, from Phil Ivey in the World Series to a first time in the local, is reduced to a tiny insignificant shell. Whether you deserved to go out, were brutally sucked out on however the cards fell one simple truth remains you’re out and you need to leave the room.

The problem is there is no way to do this and maintain any kind of dignity or status – you’re a loser and everyone knows it. If you complain, no one cares – if you act like it doesn’t matter everyone knows differently. The problem is the last hand usually creates a surge of adrenalin and being out is such a crash that it’s very difficult to do anything competently. This often results in players flapping about like lost chaffinches, dropping personal items, babbling, knocking over drinks and tripping over chairs; classy.
I’ve been given the tip that when in danger of going out you should get everything together and be ready to leave before the decisive card falls. Recently I saw a player do this but take it one stage further putting on his coat, picking up his bag and walking off as the last card fell. It’s a good system – if he lost he could just keep walking, win and he returns to the table a conquering hero. The point is leaving a tournament is never anything less than a massive disappointment; leaving it without at least a little humiliation an impossibility.

Such negative thoughts were a long way distant as I arrived for day 2 of the $330 Caesar’s palace deep stacked event during my recent Vegas trip. This series of tournaments was something else with over 600 runners having started this event. Day one had gone pretty well for me and as we started day two there were only 30 players left with some big stacks in the hands of poor players. With a big first prize this was a great opportunity to pay for the trip and plenty of treats besides.

I arrived with my game face on – it’s a lot like my sex face, as determined but slightly less worried.. The early going went reasonably abysmally for me and I was reduced to one of the shorter stacks and began moving in over the top of opening raises. This worked well and I had the image of making big bets nothing. In the decisive hand the action was passed round to me in the cut off and I looked down to find two beautiful red kings looking back at me.

I decided to move in as an overbet given that it would look so weak and that I had a couple of weaker players with big chips behind me. All my dreams came true after one of them studied in the small blind then called showing me two threes. ‘I thought we’d be racing’ he offered in a forlorn attempt to justify giving me his chips.

And then I started to do the thing that if you’ve played poker before you should never ever do… I started counting the money. This pot would put me in great chip position, there were only 22 players left – this tourney was basically in the back, someone order the champage.

The dealer – Brad – rolled the flop, Ace-two-jack; not even a backdoor flush draw. The turn brought a four. Okay fine, he’s got an inside straight draw, that’s not a problem give him a bit of fun for his money. If you don’t know what the river brought you also haven’t been playing this brutal game long enough.
The four of spades landed like a crashing giant turd from Jesus all over my dreams of tournament glory.

I’d like to tell you I found an answer to the how to exit gracefully conundrum, that I smiled, shook the guys hand and chirply said ‘that’s the way it goes’ as I headed for the rail.
Sadly that four had a visceral effect on me as the red mist came crashing down. I jumped up almost before it hit the baize and knocked my chair flying behind me. Simultaneously I slapped my hand down on the felt in disgust. Some of the players looked more than a little alarmed. For a while I stood staring, lonely, my temple throbbing at the car crash of a hand in front of me.

I apologise for the bad beat story; I’ve taken enough of them that they don’t really affect me any more but for some reason this one really did. Maybe it was that I don’t really play too many tournaments so getting knocked out after going deep in a long event was more disappointing. Maybe it was my dreams of blowing the winnings in two weeks of Vegas debauchery being shattered. Maybe I just had my period. Whatever the reason I managed to leave the least graceful way possible – instead I left like a spoilt angry child.

Three laps of the Caesar’s Palace casino later and I’d calmed down enough to return sheepishly to the scene of my demise and apologise to the player who bust me and to Brad the dealer. ‘Hey dude I understand, I hate dealing them like that’ he offered. Yup I thought, and I bet my reaction was at the mild end of what you’ve seen.

So it turns out with 12 years of poker under my belt I still haven’t learned how to leave a tournament in style or with any kind of grace. Next time I’m going to go the other way and not hide a thing. In fact I’ve prepared a song celebrating the fickleness of poker; it has a soft show shuffle, and end’s with ‘thaaatttss poookkkeeeerrrr’ and of course….jazz hands!

Originally published in Poker Player magazine.

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