My friend Gwen and I live on different ends of the country, so we don't get to see each other very often. Sometimes she comes out to the WSOP and we get to hang out there. This past week, we met in Nashville, went to Martin's for barbecue, and then an hour north to the Barrel Social Club in Franklin, Kentucky, for poker.
Gwen and I have a lot in common, but we diverge on poker – she likes tournaments and I like cash games.
It's always a bit fraught when two poker buddies go to the cardroom in the same car because, as you know, one session can end quickly while the other goes for many hours. This is particularly true if one of them is playing cash and the other is in a tournament. But I had a plan: Gwen would bust out whenever – I would run her back to her Airbnb, then drive the five minutes back to the club and play cash until I couldn't see the flop.
The best-laid plans of mice and men
Gwen had signed up for the quarterly seniors event that started at 11am. A very civil hour, especially for seniors. Apparently Nashville-area seniors like poker, because they blew through the guarantee in 40 minutes. By the time late registration ended, they'd more than doubled the guarantee, and there were over 100 entries in the prize pool.
Go, us seniors!
Not long after registration ended, I wandered over into the tournament area and found Gwen's table. She gave me a dejected look and held up a couple of chips between her thumb and forefinger. Oh man. Gwen doesn't get a lot of opportunities to degen out for a full day of tournament poker – I hoped it wouldn't end just after lunchtime. I went back to my cash game, fully expecting to get a tap on the shoulder and a request for a ride home at any moment.
No tap.
30 minutes later, I headed back over to see Gwen sitting behind a mountain of chips – this is a silly game we play.
I kept playing cash, and Gwen kept hitting flops (or rivers). The bubble came and went, and Gwen still had a chair. When I'd swing by, she'd have heaps, or a little molehill, but I never saw her go to the payout desk.
I'm pretty sure she busted the tenth-place finisher, and there she was at the final table. Whatever happened, Gwen's first visit to Barrel Social would be a successful one.
Long day's journey into night
It was well dark outside when they made the final table – I know because I took a lap around the parking lot to breathe in fresh air. Recall that these seniors had been at it since 11am. As the clock ticked, I would look across the room at the TV showing the tournament information – the 8th place player, whoever that will be, would get $660. Gwen was still sitting down. Seven. When they got to six, I couldn't take it any more – I cashed out and pulled up a chair to rail my friend.
I was quickly reminded how local tournaments go. Most of the players are not particularly studied, and they sure as heck aren't studied in short-handed short-stack play. The average stack had dropped below 20 big blinds, but it was clear that many of them were waiting for TT+/AQ+ and/or hoping to sneak another rung up the ladder. There was still a lot of limping and checking, even from sub-10 BB stacks.
Gwen's stack ebbed and flowed, but she was rarely in serious chip danger.
Five.
Let's make a deal
When they got to five, the average stack was about 15 bigs, but the basketball team slogged on. I wasn't sure if I had an ICM calculator on my phone, but I did have ChatGPT. I eyeballed the stacks (that was a professional duty in a previous life) and asked my AI buddy to do the ICM calculations. One minute later, I had my answer.
I texted Gwen: "You might discuss a deal. Y'all are going to be flipping for hundreds of dollars soon, and ICM gives everybody at least third-place money."
"They don't seem interested."
She brought it up a bit later, and the short stack said, "We can do an even chop." Gwen, sitting on about triple his stack, wisely passed on that idea. I stayed an appropriate distance back from the table, so I didn't hear some subsequent discussion, but I did hear the phrase 'ICM' for the first time.
Finally, the fifth player busted, and they were down to a bridge match. The average stack was 12 bigs.
Still, the timidness continued. I haven't played a tournament in ten years, so everything I know about them I learned from Andrew Brokos and Carlos Welch. But I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be limping off seven bigs. I'm 100% sure that when you're the shortest stack in the big blind with three BBs behind, you're not supposed to show an ace and fold when somebody jams on you.
A break in the logjam
It was pushing 10pm, and they were still at four players. We had an all-in, but that was AK versus AJs. I thought that if that snugness kept up, they were going to end up with three blinds each. Finally, Gwen brought up a deal again, and this time the tournament director said to me, "You have an ICM calculator?"
"Yep."
"If y'all wanna pause the clock, we can run the ICM numbers."
After a bit of grumbling and prevarication, all four agreed to look at the numbers. The TD and I got accurate chip counts, threw them into ChatGPT, and discovered that a $4k/$4k/$4k/$3k split was perilously close to ICM. Again, there was some mumbling. Gwen took charge: "Okay folks – is this a deal? Raise your hand." Three hands and a half-hearted wave from the $3k guy. "That's a deal, we're done here," said a visibly relieved TD.
The takeaways
I know nothing of poker tournaments, but it was clear to me that a first-tier tournament player would have run roughshod over the final table. I have no idea what the correct strategy is because there was a weird mix of passivity and fear, combined with a willingness to commit ICM suicide. In one hand, Gwen limped on the small blind, and the big blind announced he was all-in. He was the prohibitive chip leader; Gwen was the only one of the other three that could really damage his stack. Gwen quickly folded, and he proudly turned up AJs.
If you play in these local tournaments (the buy-in for this one was $250), you can gain a material edge. Do your study so on those rare occasions when you make a deep run, you can take full advantage of it.
Be assertive to arrange a deal
Unless you're playing in tournaments with five-figure buy-ins, when you get down to a handful of players, you are playing craps for serious money, relative to your buy-in. ICM numbers can be eye-opening – when the TD laid out the deal, the players looked up at the screen. You could see them realize that three of the four were getting almost second-place money. The alternative was a series of flips to see who would get $1,600 and who would get $7,200.
The new tax law in the U.S. makes it all the more important that you capitalize on those few deep runs that you get. Official fourth place money was $1,600 – the guy who was on a very short stack got $3,000.
If you have to be the foreperson to arrange the settlement, be that person. Often it just takes one individual to herd the cats and get the damn deal done.
Take the damn deal
The guy who got $3k was a little miffed, because when the original deal was discussed, he was the chip leader. Had the deal closed then, he would have gotten a couple of thousand more. But that was then, this is now. Maybe the first deal discussion falls through for whatever reason. Okay, forget about it and continue playing. If there's another deal discussion, look at those numbers – don't compare them to the numbers that would have been.
Also, get over your bad self. You think you're better than the opponents, so you want an extra 10% or whatever. I promise you that the EV of your skill edge is nothing compared to the variance of everybody sitting on 11 bigs. Did I mention the tax bite on variance?
You want the trophy? I mean, you got me there. If the trophy really matters to you – matters more than the money – then say no to the deal, and I wish you well.
But if the trophy is secondary, when deal-making time comes, be the first to suggest it and wrangle your fellow players into signing. I expect all of you will be happier.
I know that when I drove Gwen back to her Airbnb, she sure was admiring the wad of $100 bills she had tucked into her chip pouch.
