RJ reporter takes shot at WSOP Online bracelet

The World Series of Poker isn’t being played at the Rio this year. It’s being contested in homes and hotel rooms across Nevada, New Jersey and the rest of the world.

On Monday, the competition moved, in part, to my living room.

I played Event 27 of the World Series of Poker Online, a $400 buy-in No-limit Hold’em freezeout tournament, with one question in mind: Would it really feel like the WSOP, or is this year’s online series amid the coronavirus pandemic a pale imitation?

I’ve played several WSOP events over the years, including the $10,000 Main Event twice. I’ve made the long, slow walk back to my truck in the baking Rio Convention Center parking lot many times.

At the least, I wouldn’t have to do that Monday.

Here’s a running diary of my experience trying to win a WSOP Online bracelet:

2:30 p.m.: We are officially registered for the event on WSOP.com. It is a freezeout tournament, meaning there are no rebuys. Once you’re out, you’re out.

3 p.m.: The first hand is dealt. I don’t recognize any of my tablemates’ screen names, which is a good thing. If I’ve heard of them, they’re probably better than me.

The chief difference between live and online poker is the anonymity. I can’t see what my opponents look like or even their names. We are all just screen names and chip amounts on a screen. I could be sitting next to Phil Ivey or someone’s grandfather in Summerlin who has never played online before.

That’s why online poker is viewed as a more mechanical game than live poker. You can’t look at someone and “get a read” on whether they’re strong or not (and most poker players overrate their skill in this regard).

You stick to the fundamentals: your cards, your position relative to the dealer, your chip stack and the action in front of you from other players.

We’re starting with 20,000 in tournament chips, and the blinds are only 25-50. There’s no reason to be in a hurry.

3:02 p.m.: So, of course, I’m right in the action. I raise with king-jack and get two callers. I flop top pair, but end up losing to a deceptively played pocket aces and am already down to 17,000.

Great start.

3:48 p.m.: One thing I never worried about at the Rio: my internet connection. My Wi-Fi suddenly drops out, and I scramble to reset it. I miss only one hand.

4:23 p.m.: I raise with ace-queen of hearts and flop top pair, but I’m forced to fold on the turn when my opponent goes all-in. Unless he’s an absolute maniac, he has to have a better hand than me. (Note: I refer to my opponents as “he” because they all used male avatars. I have no idea who they actually are.)

4:55 p.m.: We are on a break. I’m down to 13,442, and the negativity is creeping in.

There is no difference between live and online WSOP events in this regard.

5:02 p.m.: I promise myself that whatever happens the rest of the way, I will not play scared.

I call a raise from an aggressive player with pocket fours. I check and call his bet on a flop of jack-five-deuce with two clubs. The turn is a three, giving me an open-ended straight draw (a six or ace will give me a straight). I check, and he makes a sizable bet.

I consider going all-in against what could still easily be a bluff on his part, but if I’m wrong, then I’ll have all of my chips at risk as more than a 3-1 underdog. Instead, I decide to play the hand as if I have a flush draw. If I make my straight, great. If a club comes, I’ll bet like I made a flush. I call his turn bet.

The river is the king of clubs. I bet 3,400. If he calls, I’ll have a meager 6,000 left.

He folds, and I exhale. I’m back above 17,000.

5:08 p.m.: Another way the WSOP Online is different from its live counterpart: You can’t berate anyone.

Telling your opponents how stupidly they played while they took your money is a hallmark of poker rooms, but not on WSOP.com. Officials have disabled the “chat” feature for the WSOP, preventing any offensive statements from being made.

If players type in the chat, a dialogue cloud appears over their screen name, but it only says “…”

Feel free to fill in your own expletives. After a few big hands, some “…” vs. “…” battles break out.

5:55 p.m.: We are playing some poker. I reraise with pocket queens and take it down. I bet the river and get paid off with pocket tens. I have 24,000 in chips, then 27,000, 32,000, 39,000.

6:47 p.m.: I reach a new high-water mark of 43,944. Registration for the tournament has ended. There are 1,940 entrants. Fewer than 1,000 remain, and 289 will get paid. First place is $110,556.72.

Is this my time?

6:50 p.m.: It is not.

As the stakes (the blind bets required for each hand) rise, mistakes become much more costly. I make a bad call on the river, then can’t pull off a bluff. Back to 20,000.

7:14 p.m.: A player raises, two others call, and I call from the big blind with queen-jack of clubs. The flop comes five-four-three with two clubs, giving me two overcards and a flush draw.

I shove my last 12,000 in the middle, the initial raiser calls, and the others fold. I get the bad news: He has king-seven of clubs, making my flush draw moot. I can still win by pairing my queen or jack, but no miracle will save me today.

I finish 824th for zero dollars.

The WSOP Online is not the WSOP at the Rio. Being able to look at your opponents and share the same space with them is a fundamental part of the game. My living room does not feel the same as the Amazon Room at the convention center.

But, I assure you, the pain is the same.

Contact Jim Barnes at jbarnes@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0277. Follow @JimBarnesLV on Twitter.