MY FINAL TABLE

For a long time, the line on John Vorhaus was, "As a poker player, he's a pretty good writer." I used that line myself, in a sort of self-deprecating, self-excusing way to explain why I didn't enter a lot of tournaments and why you didn't see my name in big money final table lists. I was happy with my status and my stance: I know that a good teacher is worthy and worthwhile. But this summer my status and my stance have changed, for I have finally made a final table worth mentioning - at the 2006 World Series of Poker, no less. On my first attempt, no less.

The event was the $1000 buy-in Seniors no limit hold'em event. And yeah, I'm old enough to be a senior (barely) and yeah, I did pick the tournament because I figured it for a soft field (no young internet hotshots and all the older huge name pros - your Doyles and Chip Reeses - off playing $50,000 H.O.R.S.E.) That said, the field was no cakewalk. 1184 players began the two-day event, and if there were weakies and donkeys out there, they didn't make it to my table.

From the start, I had one controlling idea: Stay out of my own way. I knew that I didn't want to put myself in any tricky situations. I didn't want to play pots where I didn't know where I stood. What I wanted... what I almost always got... was to win pots without a fight. It turns out that this was a great strategy for this particular tournament, because the blinds and antes were always about half a step ahead of the chip stacks, and mostly no one else could afford to put themselves in dicey situations either. In fact, weirdly, I don't think I saw more than half a dozen hands past the flop during the whole tournament, excepting of course those times when I went all in.

Steve Dannenman wrote himself a note at the 2005 WSOP Main Event: "You can't win on day one." I took this idea on board and set for myself reasonable goals. My first goal was to not be a pumpkin. My next goal was to make it to the dinner break. After that, my goal was to make it to the money. Once that happened, my goal was to make it to the end of day one play. Starting day two, my goal was to make it to the first break, then the dinner break, then three tables, then two, then one. Each step of the way, I concentrated only on what came next, and I think that's a great way to go. Just think about what's immediately ahead of you. Ignore the rest. Once I got to the final table... and wow was I freaking high to be there... I just concentrated on this hand, these cards, and my old reliable mantra, play right now.

Throughout the whole tournament, I was never a big stack. I was almost never even an average stack. I was mostly a nearly imperiled stack, but almost never completely desperate. I think that being short stacked focused my attention. Knowing that one false move could leave me riding the rail, I took my time and weighed every decision carefully. This is another very important piece of tournament wisdom: Take your time. Even simple decisions deserve careful consideration when your tournament life is on the line. Also, being short-stacked really narrowed down the things I had to focus on. I wasn't interested in post-flop play to begin with, but for much of the tournament that really wasn't an option for me anyway. I simply didn't have the chips. It's interesting to think that I made it all the way to the final table using a very narrow range of tools and strategies. All of my decisions were pre-flop. I don't think I've ever been in a tournament before where that was true. I doubt I'll be again. But it's worth taking on board: Sometimes you don't need all your tools to win.

When we got down to 27 players I got some luck. I pushed my short stack all in with K-J offsuit, got called by A-Q offsuit, and rivered a king to stay alive. From that point forward I knew I was "living on borrowed time," and played the rest of the tournament with a lightness of spirit that, I'm convinced, helped me keep making good decisions, right decisions, at the match went on. Hey, you know what? No one wins big full-field tournaments without catching some luck along the way. I had my share. My K-J held up. Earlier, I had survived by catching runner-runner pair cards on the turn and the river. Hell, all the way back at level three I was all in when my pocket jacks stood up against A-x. If that doesn't happen, we're not even having this conversation. The point of which is this: Never disparage yourself or anyone for "getting lucky" in a poker tournament. The winner always does. The final tablists do, too.

My luck ran out when I reached the final table, and I'm only glad it waited till then to do so. I was short stacked. I pushed with A-Q. Everyone folded. Still short stacked, I pushed with A-T. Everyone folded. Later, still short stacked, I pushed with A-J. But this time I ran into A-A. Well, that happens. I finished in 9th place... not too bad for my first WSOP event. And not too bad for an enthusiastic poker scribe who always felt that he talked a better game than he played. Know what? I've always talked the talk, but now I walk the walk. So I think I'll put that whole "as a poker player he's a pretty good writer" rap to bed. As a poker writer I'm a pretty good player, and I'm ready to own that now.

Just one problem. Now that I've made a WSOP final table, I really want to win a bracelet. That's the way it goes, I suppose. You climb one hill, there's another hill yet to climb. Such is the nature of challenge, of course, and such is the nature of poker.

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