Inside the Mind of a Poker Player: An Immersive Experience

Ten hours. In front of the Double Mixte, in Villeurbanne, a queue stretches, almost endlessly. Poker enthusiasts – some coming from far away, from Le Mans, Nîmes or other parts of the country – have a hard time waiting. The air is filled with the strong smell of cigarettes, a strange mixture of anxiety and habit. The atmosphere is electric: this free tournament, which is rare in the world of poker, attracts both the sharks of the virtual tables and passionate fans. To get the place, these players fought on the Winamax application, doing sit-and-gos and qualifying multiple tables. A few pro and semi-pro players slipped in among the competitors. The stakes are high for good players, as entry tickets for the Winamax Poker Tour grand final, worth €500, are available.

Given my barely adequate level – the result of a few games with family or friends – I am not an expert grinder. However, I am ready to defend my meager foundations against this army of strategists.

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After half an hour of waiting, tricked by bits of strategy watered down here and there, I finally enter the arena: a large room filled to the brim, introduced with neatly bound poker tables. The feeling is electric, as if each player is already carrying the weight of thousands of chips to come or lose. Table 84 and seat 1 are waiting for me.

Hard from the start

My starting stack, like one of my nine competitors, is 40,000 but from the first hands, the game promises to be difficult. The cards only offer me women with small meaningless companies (2, 3, 4, 6). Not enough for me to launch into bold replacements. My tokens melt over the turns, carefully sliding toward other, better-stocked piles.

Frustrated by this series of mediocre hands, I tried to make a splash with a decent Ace-3. The flop smiled briefly at me: a pair of Aces. Enough to be excited and bet big. But my opponent, an experienced club player, returns full 10-J. My pair of Aces is tripping. A bunch of big blue chips (worth 5,000) join his already formidable stack.

Here I am at last at this warm but ruthless table. However, I persist. I am learning to save every chip and choose my moves carefully. A few good decisions give me a chance to breathe, to build something to stay in the game. The first ones to be eliminated are already leaving the adjacent tables. As for me, I continue to sail against the tide, following and relaunching with calculated pragmatism. Little by little, my small collection of chips stabilizes and I even catch up with some players.

When the first table opens, the big room comes alive: the players get up, take their chips to complete the tables still active. The competition is approaching. After more than an hour of play, our record 84 has been released. My new coin? Table 8.

Turn and turn at table 8

This is where I meet Moundir, who was an activist at But Lanta and now Winamax ambassador. He has his back to me, talkative and eager, a little provocative. His outbursts burst, his dramatic moves catch people’s eyes, and he often calls out the referees. This scene amuses me more than it attracts me. At my new table, the faces are round, and silence returns as soon as the cards are dealt.

My arrival at this table marks a turning point. It seems that the cards, finally, want to flatter me. A good match combined with favorable flops allows me to triple my stack in about ten hands. I feel this adrenaline rush that is unique to poker, this moment when each successful bet causes a hidden but exciting euphoria. Within two hours, my stack climbed to 61,700, well past the initial 40,000. But my opponents, in the meantime, have refilled their stacks. I am still not in a strong position.

Welcome relief

The one-hour lunch break allows me to catch my breath, a welcome relief as fatigue begins to take its toll and my light-headedness increases at times. Around me, a third of the 903 participants have already left the competition, each one with a respectful applause, an unstoppable ritual after each elimination.

Back at the table, I begin my progression, adopting a more aggressive playstyle when the opportunity presents itself. My stack, which is now moderate, pushes me to play tight but strategic, while the blinds reach 2000/4000, far from the 100/200 at the beginning. Twice, I found myself opposite a thirty-year-old acquaintance who weighed me down with bold memories. But I do not bend. Better yet, I manage to rebuild myself bit by bit, grabbing chips where I can.

Again, the tables are rearranged. I leave my current enemies behind to settle in a new environment, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. But it seems that luck has definitely turned its back on me. The games are still putting me at a disadvantage, while the blinds, now at 2500/5000, are steadily eating away at my stack.

Bad luck until the end

The fierce hand will come. In the big blind with a small K-8 suit off and only 10,000 chips, I no longer have a choice. All in. My opponent returns K-9. The tension is rising. The flop gives me a pair of 8s which revives hope, but the river, cruel, reveals a 9 to seal my fate.

It’s 5 pm After six tight hours, I left the competition, among the last 350 survivors. Not so bad, knowing that much more experienced players didn’t last as long. And all this in spite of fatigue and headache. Reverend?

Gambling carries risks: debt, isolation, dependence. For assistance, call 09-74-75-13-13 (free call)