Poker: 2004 College World Series of Poker Diary -- A comedy of errors

I've discovered the world's deadliest sentence: "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

An old classmate of mine once thought he could break a board with his own weight if he jumped off a two-story wood bin onto it. He landed on the concrete floor instead and broke his leg. His reasoning for this inane, and certainly insane, stunt? It seemed like a good idea at the time.

My best friend decided to drive his car at speeds of over 80 miles an hour across our high school campus, leaving skid marks in his wake and scaring the dickens out of everyone else. His reasoning for driving like a maniac was that it seemed like a good idea at the time.

A short while back, I got a hold of my sociology professor to ask if I could skip his class. I adore Dr. Schneider, and I love his class, too, but as I explained, there was a poker tournament going on across campus that started at the same time and I hadn't played anyone face to face in weeks, if not months. He said it wasn't a problem, so I headed on over to the Cal State San Marcos satellite of the 2004 College World Series of Poker, half-hoping to prove my mettle, half-thinking I could report it all back to you later, win or lose.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

You see, ever since I picked up poker in December, I've had these ideas. I wanted to play in "Celebrity Poker Showdown" even though I'm not a celebrity, just to hang with people and have fun for a good cause. I wanted to play with the likes of Phil Gordon, Paul Phillips, Howard Lederer, Paul Rudd, Ron Livingston, et al, because they are all very talented people who could teach me a lot, and I'd have fun at the same time. In fact, I have my dream table picked out. And I once had a nightmare where I was heads-up with Gus Hansen and he beat me soundly. In other words, yours truly has some delusions of grandeur.

So, I figured, I'm a poker analyst and commentator, I'm not a half bad player, perhaps it's time for me to step back into the arena and test my skills. I'm one of those "actions speak louder than words" people.

This was a good idea until I got to the tournament and realized that it was some weird cross between one of my World Poker Tour nightmares and open mike night at a comedy club.

I immediately fell into a huge pitfall when I realized that the College World Series of Poker was not something the strange people in my school administration had made up. What I learned then, and what they failed to make clear, is that it's an actual tournament. The winner of this particular satellite goes to the CWSOP in Reno.

My brain crawls out my ear as I simultaneously think two things: "Gee, that would've been nice to know so I could actually prepare," and "Please, God, don't let me give Phil Gordon any occasion to mock me at all."

(I'd soon see about that last part.)

I figured that at this point I had nothing to lose. The competition was a paltry 16 other people, so my odds were good, and I did need the practice. Besides, win or lose, I still got to write this and get the last word in. So why not shuffle up and deal?

Because it was all insane, that's why. More insane than David Cross at the "Celebrity Poker Showdown" final table, and that man showed up wearing a bathrobe.

Things finally get underway 45 minutes late, and some jokes arise when we realize we're playing with cheap cards rather than the usual Bicycle rider back decks and some of us get the cheap chips from those mass-produced poker sets. It's kind of funny. Everybody's used to playing with the good stuff. We have standards. At my table, we ditch the rectangular felt that doesn't cover the table and isn't level. At least I'm playing with people who have come to play, which is simultaneously cool and worrying.

This, by the way, is where my poker theme, Jane's Addiction's "Just Because," drains out of my head, leaving me with nothing but static. I suppose I should've played it more. There's that whole preparing thing I didn't get to do coming up again.

I think I could possibly be the tightest poker player ever. I stick to Phil Hellmuth's strategy of only playing the pairs, A-K and A-Q, for one, and I fold whenever it becomes clear there are a lot of players or some high bets being made. This makes me look like a huge wimp, but it does keep my stack at a reasonable size while the four other guys at my table come out firing back and forth at each other.

They all know each other, too, so while the chips and the barbs fly, I sit back and try to read them, knowing there's an advantage I don't have. I spend a lot of the time sitting there doing absolutely nothing, which means I have plenty of time to psychoanalyze every single move anyone makes. I'm an overthinker by nature, so that's probably a habit I'm going to have to quit if I'm going to make an effective poker player. I swear, I am the person most on edge in the entire room.

There's one person that quickly becomes somebody I have to watch out for, a guy that does a lot of bluffing. About an hour in, I do a little Danny Negreanu act and decide I need to make a stand before this guy pushes me around even more, and while holding a strong two pair, make a charge at a pot. Unfortunately for me, it's the one time he's not bluffing. My chip stack takes a huge hit, and it will never be the same again.

Eventually, with my back to the wall, I draw dead and my first poker tournament experience lasts something like an hour and a half. The only thing that makes it salvageable is that I finish a respectable 13th, outlasting brutal brawls at the other tables. Scraping my pride off the floor, I make my exit knowing it might be the first, but isn't the last time I'll be on the felt for something more than fun. It may have been tough, but it's started a drive in my mind: the genesis of a seasoned poker player.

After all, I remind myself, I didn't get here because I was screwing around. I'm a poker analyst and I've seen my share of tables. So I need more practice. It was only my first tournament.

Who knows, maybe someday when I get old enough to get serious casino play under my belt, I'll come back to get my revenge, or maybe the tables will be turned and I'll be the next random person at a World Poker Tour final table.

There have been worse ideas, haven't there?