Every time I come to Las Vegas for the World Series of Poker, I tell myself the same thing: this could be the year everything clicks.

This trip was no different.

I showed up expecting to make a deep run, battle for another bracelet, and hopefully give everyone following along something exciting to watch. Instead, poker reminded me why it’s the most humbling game on earth.

I busted tournaments, lost flips, fired a $25,000 bullet that lasted exactly one hand, and somehow ended up spending the afternoon walking through the place where my entire poker career began.

Looking back, maybe that’s exactly how the day was supposed to go.

Taking One Last Shot

My daughter’s birthday was coming up, and I was getting ready to head home. I figured I had one more chance to finish the trip on a positive note, so I took most of the profit from the night before and jumped into the WSOP $25K 6-Max High Roller.

By the time I registered, they were already on Day 2. About fifty players remained, and because I max late-registered, I started with just fifteen big blinds.

That’s poker.

You don’t have time to settle in or get comfortable. You’re immediately looking for a spot.

The field was exactly what you’d expect: some of the best players in the world, six-handed, playing fast and aggressive. There wasn’t going to be much room for waiting.

Then I looked down at pocket eights.

The button opened, and with fifteen blinds, it was an automatic shove.

He called with ace-nine.

I stood up, watched the board run out, and of course the ace showed up on the river.

One hand.

Twenty-five thousand dollars.

Game over.

The Part Nobody Likes to Talk About

People see the highlights.

They see the World Series of Poker bracelets, the televised final tables, the interviews, the celebrations, and the big scores.

What they don’t see are the days like this.

The days when you make the correct decision and lose anyway.

The days when you fire multiple tournaments and never get any momentum.

The days when you’re walking out of the tournament area ten minutes after sitting down wondering what just happened.

I’ve been fortunate enough to experience some incredible moments in poker, but I’ve also lived through plenty of days where nothing goes right.

That’s part of the job.

Fortunately, I’ve learned something over the years: never play an amount that losing will change your life.

Was I disappointed?

Absolutely.

Was I frustrated?

Of course.

But poker is a game where variance doesn’t care who you are or how long you’ve been playing.

Sometimes you just lose.

Trying to Reset

The funny part was that I had already registered another tournament earlier in the day.

The plan was to let it blind down while I focused entirely on the $25K.

Instead, after busting on my very first hand, I suddenly found myself walking over to play the lowest buy-in event I’d entered all summer.

It’s amazing how quickly your mindset has to change.

One minute you’re sitting with some of the biggest names in poker, and the next you’re trying to convince yourself that a $500 event deserves exactly the same focus and energy.

Because it does.

Every tournament deserves your best game.

Unfortunately, the poker gods weren’t interested in giving me a comeback story that day either.

More lost flips.

More frustration.

More reminders that poker has no sympathy.

Running Into Old Friends

One of the best parts of the World Series is always running into people you’ve known for years.

I caught up with Joe Stapleton, who somehow manages to be just as entertaining off camera as he is behind a microphone.

We joked about bad beats, old memories, and my tendency to enter tournaments that don’t last very long.

Joe always finds a way to make me laugh, even after I’ve just punted a five-figure buy-in.

Sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

Poker can be mentally exhausting, and having friends around who understand the swings makes a huge difference.

Going Back to Where It All Started

By early afternoon, I had nothing left to play.

I could have gone back to the hotel.

I could have found another tournament.

Instead, I decided to do something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

I drove downtown to Binion’s Horseshoe.

The moment I walked through those doors, twenty-plus years disappeared.

This is where I won the 2003 World Series of Poker Main Event.

This is where everything changed.

Back then, the casino looked completely different. The space that now holds slot machines was filled with poker tables stretching as far as you could see.

I remembered exactly where my first table sat.

I remembered the little café where I’d grab breakfast.

I remembered the nerves of walking in surrounded by players I thought were larger than life.

Johnny Chan.

Doyle Brunson.

Phil Hellmuth.

To me, they weren’t just poker players. They were legends.

And somehow I was sitting in the same tournament.

Before Everything Changed

People forget how small poker felt back then.

I hadn’t been playing very long.

I started in home games, playing with friends, then online, and before I knew it I was standing inside the World Series of Poker wondering if everyone else could somehow see my cards.

There were no smartphones updating chip counts.

No social media.

No live reporting every hand.

Every night we’d wait until the tournament staff posted sheets of paper with the next day’s seating assignments.

I’d find people who knew the players and ask questions.

“Who’s this guy?”

“Is he aggressive?”

“Should I stay out of his way?”

Everything felt mysterious.

Everything felt bigger than life.

The Birthplace of Modern Poker

Walking through Binion’s today was emotional.

The building still stands, but so much of the history is gone.

The Gallery of Champions is gone.

The Poker Hall of Fame displays are gone.

The famous poker room is gone.

If you didn’t already know what happened inside those walls, you’d never guess this was the place where modern poker exploded.

That’s hard for me to wrap my head around.

This building changed my life.

Without those tables, that tournament, and that incredible week in 2003, I honestly don’t know where I’d be today.

The Trip Didn’t Go the Way I Wanted

I’ll admit it.

I came into this World Series expecting more from myself.

I expected to make a final table.

I expected to contend for a bracelet.

I expected better results than I got.

Instead, I found myself filming every high and every low, including a $25,000 tournament that lasted exactly one hand.

And honestly, I’m glad we did.

That’s real poker.

Not every trip ends with trophies.

Not every session ends with a bag full of chips.

Sometimes the biggest takeaway isn’t a cash or a bracelet—it’s remembering why you fell in love with the game in the first place.

As I head home, I’m excited for what’s next. There will be more tournaments, more travel, more World Series events, and hopefully a lot more winning.

But if there’s one thing this trip reminded me, it’s that poker doesn’t owe you anything.

You show up, make the best decisions you can, shake off the bad beats, and come back tomorrow ready to do it all over again.

That’s the only strategy that’s never gone out of style.