Is that a good thing?



The first week it was hard to know what was coming or going. No plan stands for more than an hour. ESPN changes the shoot schedule every time you turn around. I'm not sure a final table has started at the same time on any day. Two day events have migrated to three day events when ESPN is in the mix. And yet, today I feel like I understand the ebb and flow of the "schedule." I am part of it. I breath when it breaths. I sleep when it sleeps.

Chaos theory maintains that under the surface of madness and disorder, a pattern, an order, prevails. I have found my way under the surface. And while the discovery yields relief, it's hard not to have that nagging feeling that I have traded perspective for the rhythm.

We all know that poker has its crueler moments: the river defeat, the two-outer bust, the bubble finish. But here at the series I am finding a more insidious poker demon: the final table finish. I always imagined that a final table finish in a WSOP event would be the capstone of a poker success story: a moment to be savored, validation of talent, and of course a financial payday to rival few others. But that's not how it plays.

To make it through a world class field, playing upwards of 25 hours of stellar poker in a 40 hour period, and end up in fourth place feels about as good as a kick in the gut. How sick is that?

I had a fun chat with Minneapolis Jim Meehan last night, after his 6th place finish in the WSOP Omaha hi/lo last night. But one of the things he said was that when he came in second in the 1997 WSOP $3000 limit hold'’em event, it took six months to get over the near miss. He said that a bust before the money takes less than an hour to mourn.

If a final table finish at poker's premiere series of tournaments is viewed as a personal failing, this sport is a lot tougher than I thought.