Keysey! Keysey! Keysey!

James Keys has been moving his short stack in like it's going out of style. He's shoved all in the last three pots in a row, taking down some valuable blinds and antes, much to the delight of his crowd of railbirds (whom we remember fondly from last year when Keys made the final table of this event) who shout "Keysey! Keysey! Keysey!" every time their boy rakes in some chips.