World Series Of Poker
Tournament reflection as a first time female entrant
Welcome to the game, green hat snarked as I raised in position with pocket queens. At my first World Series of Poker tournament, I didn’t play a single hand for the first half hour. My hands shook so badly I would’ve splashed chips everywhere trying to bet. Experts advise fresh players to claim its their first ever playing, but this was another level. I couldn’t show my table how out of my league I truly was. As predicted, everyone folded to my queens. But that’s part of the game — I wanted to be marked as the tight, naïve girl.
I had only decided to play a week prior, after my Fourth of July weekend plans were cancelled. I’ve played on and off my whole life, but never seriously — had never even studied game theory optimal strategy.
I planned to buy into the $400 Colossus. So named, because it was, well, colossal with more than 16,000 players. My dad had played in a $300 tourney a few weeks prior and dubbed it a dogfest with players shoving on anything half decent. Given my biggest failing is lack of aggression, I resolved that this entry was a money sink to revitalize my passion for poker. Rather than cashing, my goal was to last through 4 levels, where each level is 40 minutes of play.
Goal — last for 4 levels, or a little over 2.5 hours
I spent the week being intentional about my goals, for once. I always tell myself I want to do big things, but had found myself slacking recently. I was religious — coffee with two hours of poker, focused workday, hard workout, an hour more of poker, bed. By Friday, when I arrived in Vegas, my head was buzzing with GTO charts and betting profitability calculations and poker axioms to remind me to stop being emotionally committed and play smart. Which, still ended up being my biggest downfall. Harnessing my own psychology continues to be my biggest challenge.
I’ve been to Vegas probably thirty times in my life and have learned — you don’t want to waste any time. So I rolled onto the plane wearing a mini dress, false lashes, and a little too much perfume. I went straight from McCarren to Paris Hotel to buy-in. And that’s when I really started feeling my greenness. I waited in a long line underneath the crystal chandeliers before overhearing a guy say he had to show his player’s card. I saw a sign for Player Services and assumed that’s where I got my card. After waiting in another long line, the lady told me I had to go to the cage on the floor to get my player’s card. With my suitcase in tow, I asked three separate dealers where the cage was, expecting it to literally look like its name, before I finally found the bar where I could get a card.
You get a free drink or ten bucks on the slots for signing up, which do you want?
I need a drink after these lines I thought, as I opted for the slots. Finally, three girls complimenting my dress and fifty guys staring at my chest later, I ponied up my four hundred bucks and bought into the World Series of Poker.
I confidently sat in seat 8 at table 562 (I’d later find out I had literally forgotten to count the seats, and sat in seat 9 by mistake) and intentionally set my body position. Feet flat on the floor, hands in my lap, upright posture, no leaning forwards or back. The position I’d keep in an attempt to hide my tells, though let’s be honest, I don’t have the best poker face.
An hour and a half in, at level three, I’d hardly played any hands and got dealt KQs of spades as the big blind. That’s a great hand, even out of position. But playing into my own stereotypes I became a scared little girl — what if someone hit an ace? What if another flush came and my spades were useless? So I limped in, disobeying my own intuition and neglecting the raise any half-decent player would have done. The flop came:
My hand: Ks Qs
Flop: Kd Qc 10s
Woah! I had top two pair and minor potential for a straight. Once again, I became emotional. The only other player in the hand — we’ll call him Sunglasses — raised to 1/2 pot, and I called rather than re-raising him. The turn and river didn’t help, but I found myself in for 3/4 of my chips. No ace had come and Sunglasses was a bit of a fish, so I felt confident flipping my two pair at the river. My heart dropped as I saw him turn over pocket tens, for a set of tens that beat my top two pair. I looked down at my short stack, far less than anyone else at my table, and thought damn I’m not even going to make it to my end of level four goal.
I should have controlled the board in that hand — re-raising and getting Sunglasses to fold, but instead I continually made myself seem weak. So while I had the pot odds, I didn’t play them correctly.
The first break came 20 minutes later. As I began packing up my things, the guy to my right pointed his phone directly at my face and took at photo. Weirdo, I thought as I beelined to the women’s restroom, dying for a break from men’s prying eyes. A path magically opened as hoards of men swam around me, giving me head to toe once overs. I practically raced to a stall and locked myself inside, putting my head between my hands as I breathed deeply, trying to calm down.
I called my dad — as I did at every break — to review my hands. I complained about my lack of aggression, while he told me to keep following the axioms. Be patient. You’re doing great. I sat back at my table refreshed, and ignored weirdo best I could.
Fortunately, he busted two hands later and a woman took his place. She looked to be a rainbow incarnate — with a matching shirt, bracelet, watch band, three tattoos, and hat. She capped her cards with a “Women’s Final Table” chip so on first look I was intimidated but on second pass found myself rooting for her — finally a woman to talk to. I asked who she was in Vegas with and pretended to be surprised when she said my wife. Unfortunately she was out within an hour, choosing to bluff every other hand out of the gate and being called down by those who actually hit. Bluffing is necessary, but tough in a 10-handed World Series table where one hasn’t established a player profile yet.
Frankly, I got lucky, getting strong hands when only weak players limped in against me. In the next five hours, I got KK, QQ, AA, and a variety of suited connectors. I eliminated three cocky dudes in three separate hands. Including Sunglasses — the guy I lost 3/4 of my stack on the KQs. By the end of my variance-favoring streak, I was chip leader at my table (and unfortunately, too excited to remember to take a photo). I had made it to level eight, two times past my goal.
Now I was feeling confident enough to employ a bit of aggression, having played ridiculously tight for hours. Given 65s of hearts in position, I raised and got one caller, a guy who had become my only friend at the table that we’ll call Patagonia. The flop came:
My hand: 6h 5h
Flop: 3h 5c 7h
Once again — woah! I had a pair, flush draw, and straight draw. My opponent bet half pot. With my 54% chance to hit, it was profitable for me to call. But there’s a reason the GTO bots don’t beat the pros — you have to play your opponent, not just the stats. This guy was reasonably tight and wouldn’t have bet so much without a straight or two pair. I called him, and then called again when he went all in on the turn, an unconnected, non-heart, useless card. That was my blunder — my odds of hitting had gone down and I should have known he had a straight. On the river, after I once again missed, he turned over a straight and I lost most my chips.
I kicked myself for getting cocky and went back to being tight for another level. Come level 10, I got AQs and raised out of position. A guy who’d been dubbed Ninja (black hoodie, sunglasses, and face mask) called. The flop came:
My hand: Ad Qd
Flop: Qh 2c 6d
Short stacked, I went all in, breaking my own rule to only go all in with two pair or better. He called and turned over Qc 2d — two pair. Fuck — I started standing up, and continued to leave when two threes came on the board. Patagonia stopped me, exclaiming wait you won!
My hand: Ad Qd Qh 3c 3d
Ninja’s Hand: Qh Qc 2c 2d 6d
My A and pair of threes on the board beat his pair of 2s — leaving Ninja short stacked and me doubled up. I felt humbled and played tight once again. Unfortunately, I played too tight for too long and found myself getting more and more short stacked. Still, I lasted through the dinner break.
I came back and went all in on the first hand — K8s. Given I only had 5BBs left, I didn’t have time to wait for something better. Frenchie to my left eyed me for a minute, then folded. Everyone followed suit until a guy decked out to head to toe royal blue, with a crystal blue elephant card capper, paused. Finally he folded, and one of the guys called him out — you just wanted her to stay in, didn’t you? Frenchie piped up, saying he should have called but he too wanted me at the table. I smirked to myself and coyly smiled at them.
Unfortunately Patagonia wasn’t as sympathetic to my smiles and called my next all in on AQs. He flipped queens, a queen came on the board, and I sighed, looking at the clock and my level 13 bust. I stood to leave, wishing them luck. After a few inquiries where I was staying, if I was going to play other tournaments, I walked away from the men desperate for female attention.
I meandered out of the Horseshoe through the empty pizza boxes and stacks of high society. I resolved to come back next year — with a lot more studying, a lot less emotion, and the same advantageous smile.
Katie Mishra is a former AI gaming founder who grew up writing books. Follow for musings and experiments while living in the arena.