Alive but Crippled

Day 1B has just finished; there are 35 survivors from the starting field of 151. I’m one of them, but with about half the average stack. No one likes a bad beat story, but all the same this is my blog and you’re going to get one. A couple of hours ago, I was cruising along quite happily; I was in the small blind, everyone folded and I called with QJ. My new friend, Gustav from Brazil, who was sitting on my left throughout the day and who has an enthusiastic interest in psychedelic music, recommending the 60s Brazilian band The Mutantes to me, made no raise. The flop came down QJ9. I bet, Gustav raised; I reraised, putting him all-in. After some consideration, he called. Gustav had Q9. So we each had two pairs, and he had two outs to win the pot. You wouldn’t be reading this unless one of those 9s hit on the river.

So, the 62 remaining players reconvene tomorrow. 27 will get paid, and I’m going to have to do a lot of work, and get lucky, to be one of them.

There’s a lot more to say, about the craziness of some of the players: early on, an opening raise to 1,000 when the blinds were 25-50 was standard at my table. Every now and again there was screaming. A fight broke out on the casino floor. I played horribly early on, quite well later; and probably my best achievement of the day is having over twice as many chips now as I had after Gustav hit his 9. But, I’m tired, we start again in 10 hours’ time, when I’m going to try not to feel forlornly small-stacked, there’s a Boris Karloff season on late night TV here, which I’m going to try to ignore in the interests of sleep.

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