Daniel Negreanu stood form his seat and leaned forward. His face sowed he was not happy, or at the best he was resigned. His tournament life looked poised on a knife edge.
Play up to this point had gone without much incident for the Team Pro, save the gradual decline in the size of his stack. He’d gone quiet, and so too had the crowd. They’d come to watch him do what he does best, but so far there had not been much to cheer.
Then the announcer said he was all-in.
Negreanu turned over ace-king while Omri Moga showed pocket sevens. He stood and so did the audience, now on the brink of an early dinner. Somebody somewhere whistled.
The ace-high flop seemed to solve Negreanu’s immediate problems, but the three clubs were a snag given that one of Moga’s sevens was also a club. Negreanu had a sweat. The crowd called for all sorts of cards to help the Canadian, except for one voice that demanded a seven. But the seven, or the club missed the turn and the river.
Negreanu sat back down, the smile having returned to his face. He was also talking again. Even more so when the two black aces he found on the next hand moved him up even more. Negreanu looks like he’ll be sticking around a little longer.