Now that's said:
I find when I return to my former table to collect my chips that it's actually my current and future table - livestream here I go again. I feel disappointed but much less daunted than when I first sat down two hours ago. Not much to report here except when I fell afoul of the rules. Sort of. I stepped away from my seat to text my friend Nat again "They didn't move me! :( At least I can wave to mAoife!". I see the new dealer finishing the shuffle and step back to my seat and place my hand on the back of my chair, scrolling down to 'send' on my phone. I see I don't get my first card and say 'Hey!?' to the dealer. He says, "you weren't at your seat." I say, "I'm clearly at my seat!" He says, "You weren't in your seat." Cards are finished dealing at this point. I flump into my seat grumbling weakly "First dealer said AT the seat. Even you said AT the seat before you changed it!". New not-a-chance-I-can-like-him dealer doesn't reply. After a few moments of internal grousing I feel WONDERFUL because I am not even close to crying!
I have to say this is the only time I'm landed on uneven ground by way of dealers/rules. Though in some ways I wish I'd called the floor to find the ultimate "AT v. IN" ruling, I elected to make sure I was always IN after this. (I did witness 'AT' being good enough plenty of times over the next many hours and never saw an issue about this again for what it's worth.) I settle in and the rest of the time at this table is uneventful for me.
After four hours of play, my TV table does indeed finally break.
Things I've learned so far:
= Jac Arama is of course a real human being person with a kids he loves and everything. (Still a brutal player to have on your left though.)
= Stowjon was missing from breaks because he was out and playing cash.
= The massive turn-out had confused procedures for Genting staff a bit what with the two venues and the announcements betwixt and between.
= It really was just like the Hendom Mob forum league games. Mostly.
By the dinner break I'm feeling much more comfortable in my skin and more able to play poker now that the unruly crowd of mad thoughts flinging rotten tomatoes my way has tired out. I have a wonderfully relaxing dinner break with Nick (Ripple22) and Joe (Beevers) with some truly inspiring poker conversation which I won't forget (and won't share any time soon- wahaha it's mine, all mine for now!).
Pardon the expression, but it could be that the urge to 'not be a pussy wallflower' feeling can hit at the wrong time...maybe. Sometime after 9pm and 8+ hours of play, I decide that I'm being run over and the message "BE STRONG." thumps into my head. So, I ship it all with AQoff in late position with 18 BB against a mid position standard sized raise by...? It's a blanket 'Take me seriously!' beligerance that's come over me. I have no read on the guy or the play whatsoever and he has me covered. Shove for my tournament life with AQoff here? I know in my regular tourneys online I'd consider very many more factors before I shove than I did here. At least one more factor than '...grrrr!' The only reason the 'maybe' enters the picture is that I know I have a leaky tendency to 'BE SAFE' my chips away. But not tonight!
Anyway, original raiser calls my all in with QQ. Nothing helps and I'm out.
As I stand up from the table and hear the dealer shout "SEAT OPEN!" maybe I should feel gutted. But what I actually feel is... strong. And stupid. But yes, definitely gutted. 18BBs! Not 12 or 10 but 18! With many hands to see before the blinds hit me again! I didn't even look to see if a level change was coming! But, then again, salve to my wound if not really healing: 18BBs wasn't anywhere near average stack. I went out fighting, I didn't limp to an 'at least I made day 2' finish line.
It then occurs to me that I'm exiting at approximately the same time as I arrived at the Fox the night before to see Joe Beevers being eliminated from day 1a. Betcha he wasn't blinded out.
And so I find some perspective before the seat formerly-known-as-mine is even filled. I hear Grampa Arthur's voice very clearly, "Hey, you did alright. Time for a beer, kid." Of course, according to him, I was always pretty much alright no matter what I was up to. He was just that kind of guy. I do go get a bottle of beer and settle in to being out. I lurk around the tables trying to see who's still in that I know. Quite a few. I mull over what it'll be like coming back to rail tomorrow for the final day 1 and then day 2 and...
A whispered chant starts in my head: "re-buy". I'm unsure. I picture Grampa Arthur reaching up under his cap to scratch his head and he says, "I don't know tournaments, kid. I'm regular poker." The chant swells to a shout. I'm in London for 3 more days and I just want to live and breathe poker, and my poker is the irregular kind - tournament poker.
As I walk to the cashier to re-buy I feel him smile and shrug and say "Ok kid. See you later."
I stand holding my re-buy receipt and look around the room. I realize there's no one speaking in my head. Sure, if I look for him, Grampa Arthur will lift his cap in a wave but, really, I've stepped out on my own. And it feels right. A little bit 'gambly', but alright. I couldn't care less about sunny holidays with siestas and beautiful landmarks to see and romantic music in the air. I want to spend my time in over-crowded spot-lit rooms suffering neverending temperature issues filled with mostly cranky men and their 'issues'... as long as there are cards in the air.
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