Viktor Blom: The Beginning of a Wild Ride – The Birth of Isildur1

One of the earliest legends in online poker history comes to life in this article, which recounts the beginnings of Viktor Blom’s career — better known to the world as Isildur1. Long before his meteoric rise and devastating fall on Full Tilt Poker, the young Swedish prodigy was already experiencing the extremes of the poker world: rapid bankroll growth, brutal swings, and complete breakdowns.

The poker landscape has changed a lot since then, but the timeless lessons of success and failure, the importance of bankroll management, and the psychological toll of the game remain just as relevant.

We’re revisiting this classic story so both longtime fans and new readers can relive how Viktor Blom built his first serious bankroll — and how he lost it...

The original article was written by Sohello “BankTheMan” Shah, a former blogger at Expressen.se, who was the first to reveal that the mysterious online player Isildur1 was, in fact, Viktor Blom. From the very beginning, BankTheMan followed the young poker phenomenon closely and, thanks to their personal connection, was able to present this diary-style narrative from Blom’s own perspective. What follows is a full translation of that series.

BankTheMan: First of all, I’d like to thank Blom90 for sharing his story with me. I know there are a lot of rumors out there — about who he really is, and how much he’s won on the smaller sites. I hope this interview clears up some of the mystery. This is the first time Blom90 has ever spoken to anyone publicly, so I decided to leave his words completely untouched — what you’re about to read is exactly what he said.

I was first introduced to poker in middle school (in Sweden, students attend lower secondary school between the ages of 12 and 15, following six years of primary education — that’s the stage I’m talking about here). My older brother taught me the basics of Texas Hold’em, and at first, we just played heads-up against each other.

I started teaching a few of my friends as well — this was right around the time of the poker boom, and we all got completely swept up in it. From then on, we’d spend countless nights playing micro-stakes games. The buy-in was usually 1 krona (about 12 cents), and we used loose change as chips. If someone walked away with 80 kronor (around $10), they’d had a really good night.

More and more people picked up the game, and poker quickly became a hot topic at school. We even played during recess, and the number of players kept growing. Soon we were running tournaments with 20–50 kronor buy-ins. I remember one 50-krona tournament where 25 of us entered — I ended up winning it, and I was absolutely thrilled.

My brother (Sebastian Blom) and I started playing poker online. We deposited $100 into one of the sites. Our very first game was an $11 MTT with about 700 players. We finished in fifth place and won $300 — a huge amount for us at the time. We ran unbelievably hot too — early on in the tournament we got it all-in preflop with KJ against AK and flopped the nut flush.

After that, we stuck to smaller buy-in tournaments and played mostly $6 and $11 SNGs. We did pretty well, though nothing too big came out of it. Eventually, my brother started playing on his own, and I teamed up with one of my friends — we played on a shared account and split the profits. Not long after that, I started playing solo and created the username “Blom90.”

That’s when things really started taking off for me. I worked my way up to $530 full-ring turbo SNGs. Back then, the sites were full of American players — for someone who knew what they were doing, online poker was basically a gold mine. I quickly realized that once the blinds got high, the only way to win was by playing aggressively. I also tried my hand at cash games, but at the time, I still thought SNGs and tournaments suited my style much better.

By the time I turned 15 (I was already playing $530 SNGs by then!), betting had become a big thing in our group. We started gambling on everything — we held tennis tournaments, played football, and there was always money on the line.

We even had our own unique set of football rules. There was a shooter, a passer, and a goalie, and everyone rotated through the positions. The game continued until someone reached 20 points. Scoring a goal earned 2 points, an assist was worth 1, and conceding a goal cost you 1 point. Things could get pretty heated sometimes — big arguments would break out over fouls or other disputes — but overall it was a blast.

It all started with small stakes — the winner might take home $2 to $5. But the amounts kept growing, and soon we were playing $500 tennis matches. Things started getting out of hand. We even invented poker games that were completely luck-based — total madness. One of my friends once owed another guy $5,000. He had just enough left to pay rent and buy some booze.

Luckily, we all knew each other well, so the debts never caused serious problems. That friend eventually paid back what he owed through side hustles and more betting. As for me, I’ve mostly stayed away from that kind of action lately... but I don’t know how much longer I’ll hold out — I’m getting more and more interested in sports betting.

I’d been playing a ton of online poker and hit an incredible hot streak — at one point, I had $300,000 in my account. Then I lost it all… and felt a level of guilt I’d never experienced before.

I still remember that December morning (it was 2008, and I was 18 years old). I’d played poker all night and completely wiped out my bankroll. I had to go to school that morning, even though I was already way behind in everything...

When I play a lot, I often dream about poker — usually big wins. And waking up after nights like that, realizing I hadn’t actually won anything, was brutal. That night, after losing everything, I collapsed into bed and begged, “Please, just let me have one night without dreaming about poker. I can’t handle it.” Just thinking about poker made me sick. That was the moment I truly understood why you should never put your entire bankroll at risk.

That night I wasn’t even playing on my own account — I was using a close friend’s PartyPoker account. He had $2,000 on it. I told him, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this, trust me.” He just said, “Alright, good luck, gg,” and left me to it.

I started with $109 and $210 SNGs on PartyPoker. I won $3,000, then moved up to $310s. Those went well too — just like the $210s. Then I ran into this one guy at the $310s. Overall, he played pretty well, but he had some major leaks. We started playing heads-up across multiple tables. That’s when everything changed.

I lost every flop all-in. Every coinflip. I got it in with top pair top kicker and a nut flush draw — he had top pair good kicker. Blank on the turn, his kicker hit the river. That’s how it went, over and over.

Eventually, I checked the balance. I had $1,000 left.

Panic! WTF is going on!?

I tried to win it back. Fired up some $109 SNGs — and it was the same story all over again... I got it into my head that maybe karma wanted me to win it all back at $310. That didn’t happen. I busted. GG.

I got up from my chair, completely broken. I had no idea what to do. I started punching the wall — and I’m not the type to tilt. I calmed down a bit, but the nausea hit me hard.

I sat back down, cashed in my PartyPoints. It wasn’t much — just $300 — but it was better than nothing. I opened some tables and started playing again. It didn’t go well... I started stepping down the stakes: $55, then $33, finally $22. I felt like I had to play even harder — that it was the only way to win everything back. I couldn’t lose. Not this time.

And I lost.

Every $22 loss felt like dropping a $5,000 pot in cash games. I bubbled one of the SNGs — punched the wall again.

Then this overwhelming emptiness hit me.

I saw I could still afford to enter two more $22 SNGs. Part of me was starting to accept that it was over. But another part still believed I could get it all back.

Then busto. Again. %#"&/()#%

I collapsed into bed. I had never felt this bad in my life. Two hours later, I had to be at school for a meeting about my absences. I went, promised to show up regularly, and swore I wouldn't spend my student allowance again (in Sweden, students receive a monthly government stipend of around $150). Then I went straight home and fell back into bed.

When I woke up, it was already morning again — time to head back to school. I talked to a few friends, but all I could feel was shame. I felt like some kind of degenerate gambling addict.

I barely had any money left for rent, food, or anything else. I had to call home. I knew they’d freak out — I just hoped the call wouldn’t turn into a long argument. My dad was furious. My mom was a bit calmer. I don’t usually talk to my mom about these things, but this time I did, while my dad was yelling in the background.

I had lost the money. I knew I’d been stupid. Wasn’t my own guilt punishment enough?

If I ever seriously thought about suicide, it was then.

I didn’t need to be yelled at. I needed a little bit of money, just enough to survive. I even thought about never going back home again.

In the end, we made a deal: I would get $800 a month — just enough to cover rent and food.

My parents wanted me to move back home and get a job. That was the last thing I wanted. I told them, fine, I’d find a job — but I wasn’t moving back. I had a girlfriend now. I also promised I’d quit poker.

I had always imagined I’d make a living playing poker, but after losing over and over again in the $33 and $22 SNGs, it felt like nothing more than a pipe dream.

My grades were terrible, and I saw no realistic path to college. I told my parents I’d look for a job as soon as I could, but they kept pushing for me to move home.

Panic, again.

One thing was clear: I needed money. Poker? No, I couldn’t even consider it. It was a Friday night, and I barely had enough cash to go out for drinks with my friends. Wp, wp. But I didn’t care. I needed to shut my brain off somewhere, in some bar — just for one night.

It didn’t work. The next morning, I woke up with the same thoughts running through my head. I kept obsessing over my situation. I felt sorry for myself — and then felt even sorrier.

Poker seemed like the only way out. It was the one thing that didn’t require years of school or following some traditional path. I saw three options:

1. Move back home, quit poker, and go back to school.
2. Get a job and quit poker.
3. Play poker.

I needed money. Fast.

I talked to my mom. Not my dad — he insisted I come home. But my mom wasn’t as strict. She said she understood and would give me a little more time. But she added one condition: “NO POKER.”

Yes, Mom. No poker. I promise.

And yet, I chose option three.

Poker.

One last shot.

I knew I had completely lost my footing, but there was no turning back. It was December 2008. I made my decision.

There I stood, on the edge of 2009, with $1,500 to my name.

I deposited it all on iPoker.

One last attempt…

In mid-December, I managed to borrow another $15,000 for a bankroll. I focused on one thing: staying calm. I had to keep winning. I couldn’t lose this money — if I did, it would be the end of poker for me.

I deposited $10,000 on iPoker and stepped away from the computer. I sat by the window, trying to collect my thoughts. One thing kept running through my mind: I can’t screw this up. I tried to psych myself up, but at the same time, I tried to prepare for the crushing feeling of possibly losing everything again.

I started playing NL200 heads-up cash — the format I’d always been best at, at least before I started overreaching. I fired up multiple tables against the first player I found. It didn’t go great. I had to deposit the remaining $5,000 just to reload at the tables.

Now, all my money was in play.

I had to fight. Every pot mattered. This time, I felt like I truly respected the money. I was praying on every coinflip.

And this time, it went well. After two days of nonstop NL200 — literally playing during every waking moment — I finally felt some relief.

I’d built up enough to cash out a bit and settle some debts. My game was sharp, I was motivated, and in just a few days, I had the bankroll to move up to NL400.

Before I knew it, I was playing NL600.

Everything was going perfectly. I could hardly believe it — after three months of nonstop losses, I was finally on a serious upswing.

I stuck to a 20-buy-in bankroll management strategy and steadily climbed the stakes. Soon I was at NL2000. I was starting to accumulate serious money. I cashed out enough to finally live a somewhat normal life again.

Then came a bump in the road.

After a few withdrawals, I nearly lost my entire bankroll playing against BadBeatPANDA. I dropped a lot, but we kept battling. The pace was insane, pure aggression from both sides, with massive swings. We were playing multiple tables, and at times both of us had to reload just to keep the games going.

The match went back and forth. My roll dropped to somewhere between $20k and $30k.

But I won the war.

In one key hand, I hit a straight with all my money in the middle. By the end of the marathon session, I was sitting on $300,000.

It was Friday night. We went out to party. No more poker for today — taking a break felt amazing. (Well… there was a bit of blackjack.)

When I was awake, I was playing. And it was going really well. I was playing NL5000 with a solid bankroll, but there wasn’t much action — so I jumped to NL10000.

It was too high. But I had to play.

I ran into pokergirl3, a really strong player. Still, I managed to win a few buy-ins — with good timing and a little luck.

In the last pot, I 4-bet with Q5 suited. The flop came 2-3-5. We both checked. The turn was a Q. We ended up all-in on the river.

They had AA.

That’s when it hit me: I’d been running insanely hot.

Pokergirl3 angrily left the table.

The End

Before Viktor could continue the story, his computer was attacked. It became clear someone was trying to cheat against him.

Svenskaspelare — the blog that had been publishing the story — advised him to have his computer inspected by a specialist.

On April 24, 2009, Blom reported that two of his three computers had been infected with a Trojan virus. He then asked to be removed from Svenskaspelare and said he would no longer continue the blog series.

The site respected his decision.