Stephen is missing

I turn the light out at midnight for a shot at my first good night of sleep. Around 3 am I have the feeling that something is wrong and realize that Stephen is missing. There are only two possibilities: 1) he is doing really well in a small evening tournament he entered, or 2) he has busted out and is stuck in some side game, playing grimly on. In either case, he needs me, either as a rescuer or a rooter, so I throw on some clothes. As I reach the Brasilia room, Stephen has just made the final table. He is shocked to see me and I give him a big hug for luck. I watch for about 45 minutes and when they get down to three players, Stephen and a couple others chop it three ways, netting Stephen $14,000, twice his previous best cash.

Stephen musters a high five or two, and I know both how exhausted and how thrilled he must be, yet ten minutes later he is acting as nonchalantly as if he just returned from a trip to Whole Foods. Maybe that's why he's so hard to read at cards! I am practically bouncing off the walls with contagious enthusiasm but cannot bear to witness the tedious cash-in process so I head back to the room for another sleep attempt.