(This week I’m still reminiscing back to 2006, where I played my solitary WSOP main event)
Yesterday I told you how my only appearance to date in the WSOP main event resulted in a day 2 knockout. A day 2 knockout in less than an hour’s play of day 2 at that!
But do you remember I told you about my mate Mike who I qualified online by winning a freeroll in an account we set up in his name? And how at the point of discovering he was going to play the Main Event he had never played a tournament in his life?
Well of course it goes without saying that he lasted longer than I did. Not by a lot, but he did outlast me. Well let’s face it that was always going to happen. So Mike came ooooh let’s see, about 2800th compared to my approximate 3000th place.
I watched Mike start playing Day 2a and there were a couple of funny incidents in his tournament. Unfortunately, I disappeared to get alcohol during play and when I came back quite a bit later he’d moved tables. I looked for him in every corner of the room but just I could not find him anywhere. It’s a massive place and I had been gone a while so I
wasn’t 100% sober, plus my eyesight isn’t that great and so on. I spent about two hours wandering round, beer in hand, looking for him but I had no joy and I was just getting more drunk and less likely to spot him. I eventually assumed he’d got knocked out and shuffled off to drown his sorrows.
Eventually I got so hammered I needed to sleep. It was only about 6 or 7pm but time doesn’t really matter in Las Vegas – you just carry on until you drop. So I staggered off to my room to crash out.
Did I say “my” room? Ooops a daisy!
I woke up to the dulcet tones of an extremely angry man swearing and shouting and generally freaking out at me. It was surreal. All I could tell was that he had a Birmingham accent, which just made everything weirder. I was in Las Vegas wasn’t I?
I hadn’t quite come to just yet. There were so many questions. Why is this Brummie in my room? What did I do to him? Why is he so angry? Well you know what it’s like when you’re woken up in a stupor…..
Of course I’d wandered into the wrong room by mistake. So easily done after a dozen beers! Well they are identical rooms and he’d left the door open. I summoned up the wit to realise what had happened. (It might also have been due to the fact he was screaming that I was in his effing room so perhaps I shouldn’t take too much credit for the realisation). I apologised and said it was easily done, you know, could have happened to anyone,etc. But there was no calming him down. He just kept freaking out. I must have said “sorry” about 8 times. There really isn’t a lot else you can say.
But he wasn’t accepting the apology. I thought about telling him to get a grip. I’d got over the shock by now – why couldn’t he? Probably the best thing to do was just leave. So I did, the noise of his screeching voice still ringing in my ears as I shut the door.
I staggered off to my own room and passed out. Oh well, it could have been worse I suppose: he could have been from the Deep South with a love of religion and guns.
(to be concluded tomorrow)