Putting on my cape.

 I had been looking forward to the 2026 WSOP Main Event for a long time.

And this time, just getting there was part of the story.

I won my $10,000 Main Event seat through a series of satellite tournaments at the Moose Lodge, culminating in a final sit-and-go that sent me to Las Vegas. For an amateur poker player like me, that's about as satisfying a way to get into the Main Event as there is. I didn't just write a check and sit down. I had earned my way in.

This was also my second time playing the Main Event. Back in 2018, I made a run into the money, eventually min-cashing for about $15,000. That remains one of my favorite poker memories.

So eight years later, I was back.

And about four and a half hours after it started, I was out.

The frustrating part isn't really that I busted the Main Event. Almost everybody busts the Main Event. It's how I got myself into trouble.

Halfway through Level 3, I made what poker players like to generously call a "hero call."

It wasn't heroic.

It was wrong.

Worse, it was unnecessary.

The player immediately to my left had been getting hit by the deck, and I convinced myself of something that simply wasn't true. I made the big call (with no less than 2 over cards to my pair on board!) he had QUADS and suddenly a tournament that had started with so much anticipation looked very different.

The hand didn't bust me. I still had about 33 big blinds.

That's hardly dead. In fact, in any tournament, especially the Main Event with it's super slow structure, I still had plenty of poker left to play.

But mentally?

I was shell-shocked.

A few orbits later, I picked up pocket jacks and found myself post-flop on a low board with two diamonds. With two players behind I check-raise shoved about a pot size bet.

And who was there again with a snap? The same guy.

He called me with 10♦6♦ — a flush draw.

The diamond came immediately on the turn.

That was it.

Four and a half hours into the WSOP Main Event, my tournament was over.

What a drag.

I didn't play poker for the rest of the day. I couldn't.

I've certainly taken bad beats before. Anyone who has played poker for any length of time has. The JJ hand itself didn't bother me nearly as much as the hand that preceded it.

The flush draw getting there is poker. The hero call was me.

That's a much harder thing to shake.

I was pretty devastated because I knew I had made a bad decision in the biggest tournament on the planet. I had worked my way through the Moose satellites, won the final sit-and-go, driven to Vegas, sat down in the Main Event...

And then I had done something I knew I didn't need to do.

But eventually I started trying to look at the other side of it.

I've been playing poker for almost two decades. I've already experienced something most recreational players dream about: I played the Main Event in 2018 and cashed it.

Now, eight years later, I had earned my way back.

Whatever happened once I got there couldn't erase that.

I was disappointed, absolutely. But I was also grateful, and absolutely humbled by the greatest game in the world.

And fortunately, I still had a few days left in Las Vegas.

The very next day, I got right back into it with a $250 one-day Daily Deepstack.

It turned into one of those long, fun tournament days that reminded me why I enjoy this game so much in the first place. Because of the low entry point, the field was soft and also fun to play with.  I managed to make the money and pick up a min-cash.

The money wasn't really the important part.

After what had happened the day before, I needed to sit at a poker table again. I needed to make decisions, win some pots, survive some all-ins and remind myself that one terrible call didn't suddenly mean I'd forgotten how to play poker.

By the end of that long day, I could feel my confidence coming back.

The next day I played the $600 Ultra Stack, a multi-day event with a big six-figure payday waiting for the eventual winner.

On my first bullet, I managed to find a bag.

That felt good.  No, it felt great.  

Making Day 2 meant I had already locked up $1,200. The next day I managed to hang around, ladder a little further and eventually finish for $1,800.

No bracelet. No life-changing score.

But $1,800 more than paid for the trip, especially since we'd driven over from Los Angeles.

More importantly, I was playing poker again.

----

I stayed at the Horseshoe, which was exactly what I needed it to be: clean and cheap.

The casino floor? Still way too smoky for me.

But one of the great things about coming back to the WSOP year after year is that eventually you start running into people you know.  This year was no exception.

I saw my friend Jeff M., who was dealing the Series. After my Main Event bust, he helped talk me down a little and put things back into perspective.

Jeff on TV - dealing the Ladies event! 

I also visited with my friend Allen R., who you'll likely recognize from my home game blog - he was playing the Main Event as well. He made it through to Day 2, which gave me someone to root for after I was gone. Unfortunately, his run ended toward the end of that day.

That's poker.

Thousands of people arrive in Las Vegas imagining what it might feel like to make a deep Main Event run.

Almost all of us eventually walk out disappointed.

And then, remarkably, most of us want to play again.

If there is one thing poker is extraordinarily good at, it's humbling you. You can play well and lose. You can play badly and win.

You can spend years learning the game and still make a decision that, five seconds later, you desperately wish you could take back.

My 2026 WSOP Main Event lasted four and a half hours. That's not the story I wanted to tell.

But maybe it's a more honest poker story.

I earned my way into the biggest tournament in poker. I made a bad call. I got rattled. I busted. I took the rest of the day off and felt miserable about it.

Then I came back.

I cashed a Daily Deepstack. I made Day 2 of the Ultra Stack, cashing again - this time for $1,800.  All in all I spent several days doing something I've loved doing for nearly twenty years.

And I drove home with the trip more than paid for. Not bad, really. Most importantly, I came home still very much in love with poker.

Soon I'll be back playing at the Moose, where this whole Main Event adventure started. And before too long, I'll be hosting games again — this time in the garage at our new house, where a new chapter of my poker life is about to begin.

There will be more tournaments. And lots of cash games. There will be more bad beats. And I'm sure there will be more bad calls, too.

Hopefully fewer hero calls.

And maybe someday there will be a third WSOP Main Event.

If there is, I'll be there knowing exactly what I knew when I left Las Vegas this time:

I'm still excited to play.

I'm still trying to get better.

And after almost two decades, I still absolutely love this game.