So that's it for another year. We're back in Blighty now with no time for R&R as we're thrown straight into preparations for WSOPE. Momentum at the Series was maintained when my good friend Jon 'Skalie' Kalmar played a faultless game, deservedly final tabling, ensuring his place in poker history.
I first met Skalie and his poker playing wife Kila, on the Ladbrokes poker cruise a couple of years ago. A bunch of us formed our own regular sit+go tourneys and even though Skalie was going deep in the main event, he'd be there with us every night ponying up his 50 bucks, invariably going out first hand with 7-4 off or taking the game down in record time. Skalie doesn't do anything by halves.
His tale of the WSOP 07 is already the stuff of folklore - broke and about to go home, Skalie decided to play one final satellite, won a seat, came fifth, and left Vegas $1.25 million later. Without this win, he was about to go back to work and Kila's beloved Mini was going back to the garage. A lot can change in a week in the poker world, which Jamie Gold knows only too well.
When we first met, he seemed nervous and edgy, but as we'd chatted before when I'd interviewed him for the magazine, I managed to peel back one layer of mistrust based on the fact I hadn't done a hatchet job on him.
Over the next few weeks, each time we saw one another the defences would come down a little more. Watching his play at last year's event, like many people, I found his behaviour questionable and irritating, but in person, even though he's (understandably) extremely guarded, I have to admit, I really like the guy.
He knows he's made mistakes and has apologised for them. Witnessing his play this main event, my heart actually bled a little. He was a shadow of his former self, getting involved in way too many pots he never should have been anywhere near, frittering away chips he had little hope of seeing again. The self-destruct button was engaged from the start. The one thing Jamie Gold did succeed in doing this WSOP, was bringing out my hitherto undiscovered maternal instincts. Every time I see him I want to stroke his forehead, tell him it'll all be ok, and buy him a big bowl of soup.
Poker has no respect for jet lag, and so when all I really wanted to do was sit in a big old slouchy chair, staring aimlessly into space with a little bit of dribble oozing out of the corner of my mouth, my pseudo-poker manager duties were called upon. The Poker Million is once again descending upon us and the celebrity heat takes place in a few days time. One of my 'boys', Hotel Babylon's Dexter Fletcher is taking part, and freaking out that his game's rusty, we arranged to go to The Vic so he could practice at the £50 freezout tournament.
We drew the same table so the trip was worthwhile as I ferociously took notes on his game, which he then implemented fruitfully at the cash tables when he'd bust out of the tournament. I didn't pick up a single hand, and because the structure's not great, chose to throw it all in with two barely marginal hands. I found it really hard to go from playing a $1,500 at WSOP to a £50 crapshoot and never got into gear. I left Dex to it, as he was finding playing cash really useful for his game. Hopefully, he'll put all his newfound knowledge to good effect this week. Norman Pace has just signed up to play, so he's the only threat for Dex to worry about in terms of being outplayed, but as we all know, anything can and invariably does happen in poker.
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