Trivial Pursuit at the 1997 WSOP

I was leafing through the latest issue of Card Player, the one with Eugene Katchalov on the cover (March 29, 2011), when Phil Hellmuth’s “Hand of the Week” column about the final hand of the 1997 World Series of Poker Main Event caught my eye. That was the one in which Stu Ungar incredibly won his third WSOP ME title, hitting a fortuitous river card to beat John Strzemp.

Like a lot of WSOP ME runner-ups, I suppose Strzemp has become the answer to a trivia question (perhaps a tad harder to spell than most). He’s also become a lot more, though, having served as an executive with several casinos before taking his current position as Executive Vice President and Chief Administrative Officer of Wynn Resorts.

One reason I found myself stopping to read Hellmuth’s discussion was because I’d just heard Strzemp interviewed on the Two Plus Two Pokercast (episode 164, 3/15/11), and among other topics he talked about that final table, played in the heat and wind on Fremont Street, the only time the WSOP ME final table was ever held outdoors.

There Strzemp referred to playing that final table as “a pretty cool experience,” noting also how during the earlier days of the Main Event he’d seen them setting up the grandstand when taking his smoke breaks. He also pointed out how “you had to protect your cards more so than normal” at that final table, “because it was breezy.”

Hellmuth summarizes the action for that final hand in the third paragraph of his column, a summary that actually includes one small slip-up. Here’s the hand, by the way, as shown on ESPN with commentary by Gabe Kaplan and Jim Albrecht.



Hellmuth notes that the blinds were 10,000/20,000 with a 2,000 ante when Ungar opens with a raise from the button. Here Kaplan says “Stuey’s gonna raise... 40,000,” and then “it’ll cost 40,000 for John to call.” In other words, the raise was actually to 60,000 total, with Strzemp’s call making the pot 124,000 when the flop came . (Later in the column, Hellmuth refers to “Ungar’s raise of 40,000,” echoing Kaplan.)

Strzemp is first to act and quickly puts out 120,000, nearly a pot-sized bet. Ungar then takes a while to respond. “He keeps looking back at that one card,” Albrecht observes, “as if he’s... maybe got an ace but doesn’t like the other... his kicker.” Finally Ungar raises to 800,000, enough to put Strzemp all in. I believe Strzemp has around a half million left -- it isn’t clear -- and he makes the call.

By the way, the ESPN footage says there is 1.85 million in the middle after the call, but it’s probably no more than 1.5 million. As Strzemp notes in that Two Plus Two interview, Ungar had about a 3-to-1 chip lead to begin the hand, which would be about 2.4 million to Strzemp’s 700,000-plus chip stack

Turns out Albrecht’s suspicions about Ungar’s hand were spot on as “The Kid” turns over . Strzemp meanwhile tables , meaning he is well ahead of Ungar. Hellmuth notes that “Ungar needed to catch a 4 or deuce to win,” then reports how the came on the turn.

Here is where Hellmuth makes that small slip, writing that “The 3 on the turn meant that Ungar now needed to catch a deuce, and only a deuce to win.” The then happily arrives for Ungar, giving him the straight and the title, but obviously a four would’ve still done it for him there, too.

In his analysis of the hand, Hellmuth questions Strzemp a little for just calling Ungar’s preflop raise, and criticizes him more directly for leading the flop rather than check-raising. Meanwhile, he likes Ungar’s post-flop shove.

Hellmuth additionally says how looking at the ESPN footage he believed Ungar was looking at only half of his card (see pic above), noting it was a “two-spotter” or “two across” (like lowball players sometimes do), something he says he later confirmed with Ungar. In other words, the suggestion here is that Ungar knew he had an ace and either a four or a five, meaning he knew he either had aces up or a pair of aces with a gutshot to a wheel, enough to encourage him to make the reraise.

I’m guessing the whole “two-spotter” observation was more than likely the reason why Hellmuth decided to write about the hand, though it has to be considered no more than interesting trivia here. Having paired his ace, Ungar’s probably pushing regardless. Indeed, Strzemp’s flat-call before the flop makes it much less likely he, too, has an ace in his hand.

(At the end of the column, Hellmuth corrects the earlier mistake by noting that either a four or deuce on fifth street would save Ungar.)

In the Two Plus Two interview, Strzemp is quick to point out that had he won that last hand he still wouldn’t necessarily have won the tournament. “The chips would have been even,” he says, “and who knows what would’ve happened from there.” Strzemp also adds, quite humbly, that had he won the event, “it probably would’ve screwed up my life a little bit,” a comment that resonates more strongly given Ungar’s sad fate.

I call the “two-spotter” observation “trivia.” Spotting a slip in Hellmuth’s summary, well, that’s certainly trivial, too.

But such is poker, in which a single hand can present a mass of minutiae, with the tiniest details potentially relevant, even crucial.

On This Date in History

Was reading the morning paper today, and as always is the case on November 22nd, there were stories about John F. Kennedy. It was 45 years ago today Kennedy took that last ride through Dealey Plaza. Caught a bit of one of those conspiracy theory shows this week, too, this one devoted to sorting out via disturbingly vivid reenactments whether others besides Oswald may have been involved in the president’s killing.

In the poker world, today marks another anniversary. It was ten years ago today that a desk clerk at the Oasis Motel discovered a destitute Stu Ungar had died of coronary atherosclerosis, his condition having been “brought on by his lifestyle” of heavy drug taking (so said the coroner). While Ungar’s name is often evoked in the poker world even today, the anniversary of his death usually doesn’t gain much notice. The fact that it has been a decade, though, has caused some to stop and marvel at both the length of time since Ungar’s passing as well as the profound changes that have taken place in poker since that fall day in 1998.

For those interested in learning more about Ungar, I again recommend One of a Kind by Nolan Dalla and Peter Alson. The book originally began as an autobiography, with Dalla interviewing Ungar on several occasions during the summer and fall of 1998. After Ungar’s passing, Dalla brought Alson on board and the pair did a terrific job reworking the interviews into a coherent chronicle of Ungar’s “rise and fall” (as the subtitle describes his life).

For a full review of One of a Kind, click here.

Can’t really see much reason to compare Ungar and Kennedy if not for the coincidence of their death dates. Kennedy was just 46 on the day he died; Ungar was 45. I suppose with both we wonder what the world would have been like had they survived, though I think with Ungar that argument frequently gets overstated. Poker players speculate about how Ungar’s hyper-aggressive tournament style would have served him against today’s crop of players, and while he may well have enjoyed a significant share of success, thereby further establishing his place as one of the greats, one can only hypothesize.

Would Ungar’s presence on the scene have altered the history of poker’s development over the last ten years in significant ways? Perhaps. Ungar’s connections ran deep, and just about every major player whose career in poker extends back either to Ungar’s heyday (the early 80s, when he won back-to-back WSOP Main Events) or his swan song (the 1997 WSOP comeback victory) could be said to have at least had some contact with the man, in some cases quite significant. Am more inclined, though, to think the poker “boom” and all that followed probably wouldn’t have played out that much differently.

For those of us born in the 60s or after, the spectre of “JFK” has always been there hovering behind us in history, an utterly astonishing emblem of “what might have been” (and/or America’s violent nature). For poker players today, most of whom picked up the game since Ungar’s death, the “Kid” has also -- in a way -- been quietly haunting the game, particularly as the rise of aggressive tournament play has helped evoke his memory as the prototypical “young gun.”

To be honest, though, when thinking of the coincidence of Ungar and Kennedy having both died on the same date, I’m more inclined to contrast the two than look for similarities. Particularly with regard to their respective deaths.

One was spectacularly brutal and public, occurring at a moment of intense power and vitality, and unmistakably affecting the lives of millions.

The other was private, desperate, the culmination of a long downward spiral, coming well after whatever potency or influence the man had left had deserted him.

Both are to be lamented.

Money is Nothing, Money is Everything

ESPN finally to show the final table of the 2006 WSOP Main Event tonight. Should be interesting. Still hard to imagine playing poker for that much money . . . .

As I alluded to in the last post, I find it difficult when playing not to remain concerned about what the chips on the table actually represent. I am almost always acutely conscious of the amount I am up or down in a given session. I am certain that this awareness is one (of several) factors keeping me playing lower stakes ($0.50/$1.00, mostly). There I can play my cards and the players without fretting over the size of the pot or what my stack might look like after the hand. And knowing that I am always playing with money I have won -- I have never had to reload since that initial buy-in long ago -- makes me even more comfortable with handling whatever risks I allow myself to take.

We often hear about how players of higher stakes are somehow able to avoid such distractions and focus on the game rather than how much scratch is moving back and forth across the table. “Money means nothing,” says Chip Reese to Al Alvarez in The Biggest Game in Town. “If you really cared about it, you wouldn’t be able to sit down at a poker table and bluff off fifty thousand dollars. If I thought what that could buy me, I could not be a good player. Money is just the yardstick by which you measure your success.”

Sounds like a hopeless paradox to me. Maybe to you, too. Money means nothing, but money is the ultimate “yardstick” -- the primary means by which we evaluate our play? Of course, what sounds paradoxical to us probably doesn’t seem that way to Reese or other high stakes players. They instinctively reconcile whatever contradiction most of us see there, then put it all in with nine-high.

Reminds me of a passage from Charles Willeford’s 1967 novel Pick-Up. The novel is one of the most intense examples of “hard-boiled” fiction you’re going to find, rivalling Camus in its exploration of existentialist thought. I recommend the book wholeheartedly to anyone interested in the genre. Those looking for “feel-good” stories need not bother. Nor should anyone who doesn’t like to expose him or herself to graphic, emotionally-draining descriptions of violence. I won't give away much in the way of plot details here. You've got to read this one to believe it. Trust me when I say this is one of those books that once you’ve reached the last page and have read the final lines, you will sit shaking your head for several minutes afterwards feeling a mixture of shock and admiration. And then you’ll never forget it. (Incidentally, do not read any reviews or analyses of the book first, as they may give away information that will affect your experience reading it.)

The story is told by Harry Jordan, a failed artist who now finds himself living a dissolute existence working odd jobs while dwindling into alcoholism. Late in the novel, Harry sits in prison waiting to be tried for murder. He’s convinced he will be found guilty and sent to the gas chamber. As he repeatedly tells jailers, lawyers, and other visitors to his cell, he actively desires such a fate. Knowing that he is about to die finally permits Harry to stop concerning himself with life -- something that had only barely concerned him previously, anyhow.

The day before his trial, Harry receives an unannounced visit from a man named Mr. Dorrell, an editor for something called He-Men Magazine. The magazine is interested in an “as-told-to” exclusive from Harry. They are willing to pay Harry one thousand dollars for such a story.

Harry rapidly dismisses Mr. Dorrell and his offer. He then reflects on the editor’s visit. “What kind of a world did I live in, anyway?” Harry asks the reader. “Everybody seemed to believe that money was everything, that it could buy integrity, brains, art, and now a man’s soul. I had never had a thousand dollars at one time in my entire life. And now, when I had the opportunity to have that much money, I was in a position to turn it down. It made me feel better and I derived a certain satisfaction from the fact that I could turn it down. In my present position, I could afford to turn down ten thousand, a million . . . ”

As Harry here explains, money no longer has significance for him, thus affording him a freedom to act as he wishes. Money meant little to him before (i.e., the rent, bottles of booze, the occasional steak). But now that he’s “in a position to turn it down,” Harry can act without worrying about consequences. Ironically, it is only here in prison that Harry finally begins to feel free of the constraints holding most of us back.

We think back to mythical characters like Stuey Ungar, the man Johnny Moss said had “alligator blood in his veins.” (Rounders steals this line, actually, when Teddy KGB says the same thing -- with undue hyperbole, I’d suggest -- to describe Mike McDermott.) At the end of The Biggest Game in Town, Alvarez describes Ungar’s victory in the 1981 World Series Main Event. When asked by reporters what he planned to do with the $375,000 that came with the bracelet, “Ungar ducked his head again, giggled, and muttered into his chest, ‘Lose it.’” The reporters don't seem to understand, so Ungar quickly revised his answer with a facetious “I’m gonna put it in the bank and give it to my kids, what else?”

Ungar, of course, mostly lived his life the way Harry Jordan is finally able to there in prison -- as if perpetually aware of an execution looming in the not-too-distant future. According to James McManus, Ungar played in only thirty or so NL hold ’em tourneys with $5,000 or higher buy-ins, and he won nine of them (including the three WSOP Main Event titles). Ungar obviously possessed enormous natural gifts (“preternatural,” actually, says McManus). But he also believed himself nearly always to be in a position not unlike Harry Jordan’s near the end of Pick-Up, able to “afford to turn down ten thousand, a million” (even when -- as explained in Nolan Dalla and Peter Alson’s biography of Ungar, One of a Kind -- that wasn’t always precisely the case for Ungar).

Enjoy the show tonight, if you happen to watch. And, as you evaluate the play, try not to think about the money.

Image: Pick-Up (1955), Charles Willeford, Amazon.