"You know what's going to happen, don't you, guys?" I say. "One of
us is going to get pocket aces early in the tournament. We're going
to have to put all our money in. And we're going to get unlucky and
lose to a much worse hand."
True to form, an hour into the tournament, I look down and see two
aces. I raise. One person reraises. I put all my money in. He
calls. He has two queens. A queen comes on the flop. An ace never
shows. Three queens beats two aces. I'm done. Out of 1,449 players,
I think I finished 1,813th.
As I walk off the floor, I run into Clonie and some of her friends
- including
Karen, the sister of and manager for Robert Williamson
III, a fantastic all-around player and perhaps the best pot-limit
Omaha High player in the world. (Omaha is like Texas Hold 'em,
except you get four cards down instead of two.) Williamson is one
of several pros who are fond of Tunica, and not just because Joan
Rivers is performing later in the month.
"The Horseshoe is one of the few boats in the world that doesn't
make me sick, and it has a great poker scene," Williamson says.
"Not just the tournaments, but the live action, too."
Clonie exchanges niceties with passersby. ("I've seen you on TV,"
one smitten man tells her.) She says that she and Karen will make
it to the cocktail party that night in High Roller's room.
High Roller is having a cocktail party? Sweet.
I wander over to The Raccoon's table. True to his name, The Raccoon
had been more rumor than man the first few days.
He was gambling until daylight and sleeping till sundown. "Bluffing
too much," he says. He was soon out. Only Señor Cowboy lasts more
than a few hours. But soon he busts out, too. We freshen ourselves
for High Roller's cocktail party.