Ted Forrest: The Education of a Suicide King

Earlier this year, I wrote a book about poker, "The Professor, the Banker, and the Suicide King: Inside the Richest Poker Game of All Time." That book and this article share a focus on Ted Forrest and the title Suicide King. The "suicide king" is the king of hearts, who, in a standard deck of cards, holds a sword to his head. The term also symbolizes the fine line professional poker players walk between success and self-destruction.



Ted Forrest understands that flirtation as well as any man alive. Several readers of my book have asked me if Forrest is the Suicide King of my book, in the sense that Howard Lederer is clearly the Professor and Andy Beal is obviously the Banker.



I won't say.



The title of this article, the first part of a three-part series about Ted Forrest, one of the world's best and most interesting professional gamblers, will again raise the question.



I still won't say.



Ted's thoughts appear in italics in this article.

Ted Forrest is always a picture of calm at the poker table.



Impassive.



Unflappable.



Sometimes, however, that's only how Ted looks on the outside. On those occasions, serenity requires a little effort.



World Poker Tour, Commerce Casino, February 2005 – Forrest made the final table of the L.A. Poker Classic at Commerce Casino in February, but he had to work to keep his emotions under control. He had to play uncharacteristically tight with Michael "the Grinder" Mizrachi to his left and Erick Lindgren one more seat to the left. Both loose, aggressive players had lots of chips. As a result, it took 22 hands for Ted even to bet a flop or win his first pot.



He decided to make a move two hands later, on hand No. 24. With the K 8 under the gun, he made a substantial raise.



I thought I could pick up the blinds and antes by representing a big hand. I'd been playing tight, and figured, especially in early position, that it would seem likely I had a hand.



He then watched in horror as four of the five other players called: Grinder and Lindgren after him, Haralabos Voulgaris from the small blind, and even short-stacked Harley Hall from the big blind. But Ted remained calm, at least in appearance.



The flop didn't help him: A-9-2, only one spade. Voulgaris and Hall checked, so Ted bet $120,000, about half the pot. It was more than a simple continuation bet.



I felt pretty comfortable representing an ace. If Grinder or Erick had an ace with a good kicker, they would have reraised. It was likely that they had missed the flop. Hall was too low on chips to be a big threat if he had an ace. That left only Voulgaris.


Mizrachi and Lindgren folded. Voulgaris began to think.



Oh my God, he's got an ace. Keep your composure. Keep your cool.


Forrest's only hope was Voulgaris putting Ted on an ace with a better kicker and throwing away his ace. After what seemed like a long time, he did exactly that, throwing away A-7 suited. Hall quickly folded and Ted dragged in the large pot.



It was just part of another working day for Ted Forrest, whose threshold for risk, danger, and surprise is extremely high. "I've been in some dangerous situations and I've come through them all without serious damage. I suppose that has led me toward taking risks in poker. If you're not willing to risk everything, you limit your upside as a poker player."



The Bicycle Casino, 1991 – Even though facing trouble, even ruin, is part of the professional gambler's job, it is far from routine. Ted still remembers the autumn day at the Bike in 1991 as being the turning point of his poker career. He came to Bell Gardens to find a good $30-$60 to $150-$300 game and left a changed poker player.



He saw a remarkably favorable $400-$800 razz game. There was one top pro at the table and a bunch of wealthy, inexperienced amateurs seemingly throwing their money around. California card clubs had only recently begun spreading razz, and these players clearly had no idea how to play the game. Ted accepted Richard Dunberg's offer to take a piece of his action and sat down.

The game was so wild, though, that in just a few hours, Ted was down $40,000. The other top pro was stuck $100,000. (To understand the size of those losses, remove two zeroes. Imagine two players in a $4-$8 game losing $400 and $1,000.)



Forrest was ready to give up and take the loss, but Dunberg talked him into buying in for another $5,000. It proved to be a wise decision. He erased the deficit and left the game a $20,000 winner. While cashing out after the 25-hour session, Ted heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers song, Under the Bridge, over the PA system.



I don't ever want to feel



Like I did that day.



Take me to the place I love.



Take me all the way.



Ain't that the truth.



It was a scary experience, but it marked the beginning of Ted Forrest's career, spanning 15 years, in the biggest games in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, as well as wherever in the world a big poker game was being played. Ted got used to facing fear and uncertainty before he ever sat down at a poker table.



A Day In The Wilderness, A Night At The Bus Station, 1980 – Before Ted was old enough to legally enter a casino, he was stranded in the wilderness, robbed at knifepoint, and so broke he had to go for days without eating. Even more bizarre than that combination of events was Ted's overall impression that they were great experiences. In 1980, the summer before he turned 16, he traveled 2,500 miles by bus to the Grand Canyon and spent five weeks hiking and camping. He did this alone – no parents, friends, youth groups, or chaperones. William and Kathleen Forrest allowed Ted and his two younger sisters "to have our experiences, to make mistakes. They thought I had a good head on my shoulders and would come back in one piece."



Because Ted had not registered his itinerary, schedule, or plans with the National Park Service or obtained required permits – not to mention being an unaccompanied minor – he was in the park illegally, although he learned this only after extensively hiking and touring the area. He corrected his error by obtaining a permit, but then did not follow his filed itinerary.



He did not intend to deceive the rangers or break the rules, nor did he expect to become the subject of a manhunt when he failed to show up at a scheduled campsite one night. But Forrest's excellent vocabulary, then as now, rarely included words like "itinerary," "schedule," or "plans." He simply hiked away from the crowd and camped in a different, more remote area near the North Rim. Rangers from the Park Service confiscated his gear (including his canteen) to keep him from fleeing, and told him they would escort him to a U.S. magistrate the next day.



Ted did not want his parents to know what happened, and he especially did not want to be sent home. He had some supplies cached at the South Rim of the Canyon, but it would be foolhardy to go after them with no canteen while evading the authorities. Temperatures on exposed trails exceeded 110 degrees.



Undaunted, he spent the night thinking of which of two routes he should take to the South Rim. The Bright Angel Trail was considered merely "difficult." It was about nine miles, but offered some shade and water, and a rest stop along the way. When the rangers noticed he was gone, that was where they would go looking for him.



Instead, Ted took the South Kaibab Trail. It was slightly shorter but offered no shade, no rest, and no water. It was also steeper than the Bright Angel Trail. He found a discarded 16-ounce apple sauce jar, cleaned it, and started drinking. "I heard you need a minimum of a gallon of water a day to survive in the desert, so I filled it and drank it eight times."



Not surprisingly, shortly after starting the furtive journey, he became desperate to urinate. Afraid to "lose" the water, however, Ted simply hiked faster, covering the entire route in less than three hours. It was probably some kind of record, both because of the pace and the likelihood that few hikers would consider challenging it.



Ted retrieved his cached supplies and enjoyed the remainder of his hiking trip, although he kept an eye out for the Park Service. On the bus ride home from the Grand Canyon, he followed his parents' request to visit two aunts in St. Louis.



But in the St. Louis bus station late at night with no idea how to get to their house, he showed the address to a man who called himself Emanuel, who offered to help.



A couple of hours later, the naïve teen was in one of St. Louis' roughest neighborhoods, in a house watching heroin addicts shoot up. One of them offered Ted a needle.



"No thanks. I'm cool."



While looking out a window trying to figure a way out of this predicament, Emanuel snuck up behind Ted, put him in a choke hold, and held a knife to his throat.



"Thank God, all they did was rob me and throw me out," he later said. Still, looking as out of place in this neighborhood as he could possibly be – he was penniless with but his oversized backpack and sleeping bag – he raced three miles back to the bus station.



As anger replaced fear and panic, Forrest came up with a plan.



This guy must hang out at the bus station looking for tourists to rob. I'm going to wait for him to come back and rough him up.



Ted Forrest was a guileless kid in 1980, but he was also in superb condition, more than a physical match for some street thug. He was on the wrestling, gymnastics, football, and track teams in high school, and he had just finished five weeks of grueling physical exercise.



For three days, hungry and increasingly bent on revenge, Ted stalked the bus station looking for Emanuel. Someone asked him for a handout, 50 cents. He didn't have it, but it did give him an idea.



Ted wasn't much of a panhandler, but the dollar he collected paid for a loaf of bread and some bologna, which he instantly consumed. Thinking more clearly, he approached a policeman. Eventually, he identified Emanuel from a book of mug shots. His attacker had been arrested or convicted for a long string of crimes, including murder.



"I was really lucky I never found him in the bus station. He could have killed me." His luck continued when he returned home. The thief got only $20 cash, but $400 in traveler's checks. Because the checks clearly had forged endorsements, American Express reimbursed Ted for the entire amount.



World Poker Tour, Commerce Casino, February 2005 – Even though Ted got away with bluffing four opponents with his K-8 at Commerce Casino, they sent him a clear message: We don't care how few hands you play; you'll have plenty of company.



So, what did Ted, nicknamed Professor Backwards by his friends for doing the opposite of conventional wisdom, do? He watched the Grinder eliminate Harley Hall in sixth place four hands later, and then started attacking the blinds and antes with preflop raises, and succeeded in all three attempts over the next six hands. After Hung La eliminated Erick Lindgren in fifth place, Forrest picked up three of the next five pots with preflop raises.



Just as he was getting into a groove, however, Michael Mizrachi put a stop to his antics by bossing the table around with his bigger stack, picking up five of the next eight pots, raising before the flop and, when he was called, leading the betting afterward. Ted resolved to find a hand to make the Grinder pay for his aggressiveness.



On hand No. 52, he found the cards to do it, a pair of tens. He made a weak-looking raise. Mizrachi reraised, as Ted had hoped, so he responded in turn by moving all in. The Grinder, however, quickly called and turned over K-K. The board brought no help and Ted Forrest went out in fourth place. He earned $263,487.



Despite the money, he was disappointed that he could never develop and execute a plan for the final table. Forrest plays by feel and by constantly adjusting to the play of his opponents. At this final table, he never got into the rhythm of the different players' styles enough to make the adjustments that would have enabled him to pick a way to play.



World Poker Tour, Mirage, May 2005 – It didn't take Ted long to get another chance. He made his second WPT final table of 2005 at the Mirage Poker Showdown in May. On May 10-11, he battled a tough Professional Poker Tour (PPT) field of 174 to make that final table, then survived for three days, May 23-25, among 317 competitors to make the WPT final table. The WPT final table took place on May 27; the PPT final, one day later.



After his success with five days of patient play in the two events, he saw no reason to change his initial strategy for the WPT final table. He was third in chips with more than $1.3 million, but not far behind the leaders, Thang "Kiddo" Pham ($1.76 million) and Chris Bell (more than $1.4 million). With blinds of $6,000-$12,000 and an ante of $2,000, it cost $30,000 per round to play, giving the players plenty of time to find a good hand or let one develop. Even Mark Ellerbee, the short stack, had enough to last more than 10 rounds.

Early signs were encouraging for Forrest. The table was folding to his preflop raises, so during the 18 hands of sixhanded play, he picked up the blinds and antes three times. He took a pass on his big blind on a fourth hand. On two other early hands, he called preflop raises and saw his opponents follow him in checking the flop.



Notwithstanding the experience at Commerce Casino, Ted Forrest gets more free cards than anyone in tournament poker. His formidable package of tournament skills – quality reads, fearlessness, eclectic hand selection, and ability to shift gears – usually encourages passivity in opponents. He can scoop up pots with aggressive play, but if he's checking and calling, he's equally likely to be trapping or taking free cards that may enable him to draw out. His ability to see lots of flops (and turns and rivers) and draw out has led many tournament players to grumble that he is somehow luckier than everyone else. He is happy to leave this perception unchallenged.



In both of those early hands in which he called preflop raises, he got to see four cards without paying an additional price. The first time, he bet the turn and picked up the pot. The second time, both players checked to the end and he lost the showdown.



After Pham eliminated Ellerbee on hand No. 19, the table dynamics changed slightly. The other players began fighting back. On hand No. 37, Ted raised and Gavin Smith responded by going all in. Ted folded. On hand No. 43, he limped into a three-way pot and bet $110,000 on the flop. Chris Bell reraised by the same amount and Ted had to fold.



On the very next hand, however, the general strategy of patience paid huge dividends. With a pair of fours in the big blind, he checked when Thang Pham in the small blind was the only caller. There was $72,000 in the pot. (Gene Todd had been eliminated in fifth place a few hands earlier.)



I'm thinking here, if I flop a set, I can win a big pot. If I don't, I'll risk a small bet if it's checked to me and I think my pair is still good.



Ted flopped his set: 5-4-2, two spades. Pham checked, so Ted bet $70,000. Pham check-raised to $220,000.



I think my hand is still the best, but I don't want to keep him from bluffing off more chips, so I'll just call.



With Forrest's call, the pot swelled to $512,000. The turn brought the third spade, a king. When Pham checked again, Ted bet $300,000. He had just under $800,000 left in front of him. Pham immediately raised all in. It would cost Ted all of his remaining chips if he called and lost.



Pham started playing to the camera, the crowd, and (maybe) to Ted. He got up and walked around, going into the audience. He stood behind Ted and massaged his shoulders. He stepped behind the camera and looked at Ted through the camera lens.



When I bet three hundred thousand, I didn't think he had spades. I bet an amount that would make it unprofitable for him to call with one spade, but an amount he might call with hands I could beat, like two pair or a king.



The first thing I do in this situation is ask myself, does it feel like the guy's got it? Now I realize his betting has been completely consistent with making a flush: checking the flop, check-raising me to throw me off, checking when the third spade hit and then raising all in. His antics were consistent with the flush. I realized there was some chance he had A-3 and made a straight, but the analysis if he made a straight is exactly the same. Usually, when someone is bluffing, they try to be as inconspicuous as possible. He sure wasn't doing that. To me, he looked pretty confident.



I also want to think about the tournament situation. Are there reasons for me to fold this hand? If I fold, I still have nearly a million in chips left. That's enough even at these levels for a fair amount of play. I could still finish in the top three, instead of fourth, which is where I'd finish if I call and lose, because Pham had me covered.



My first impression was that he had it. Plus, he had so many chips that he didn't need to take this kind of risk for almost all of his chips. I played with him the day before and he played very solid.



But then I thought of the reasons not to fold. Pham could be raising with several non-bluffing hands that I could beat, like kings, kings up, or any two pair. Then I add in the fact that even if he has me beat, I have 10 outs to beat a straight or a flush with a full house or quads on the river.



I thought about it for two minutes, which seems like a long time in a poker game when nothing else is happening. I'm not doing the math or assigning percentages, but the reasons to call are adding up: the chance he was bluffing, the non-bluffing hands I could beat, and the 10 outs I still had if he made a straight or a flush.



I finally called.



Did Pham have a straight or a flush? Did he have a strong hand Ted could beat? Or, was he bluffing? How did the hand turn out? In Part II, "Everything But the River," find out, along with more insight into Ted Forrest's style of play, and the story of how he developed his playing style and philosophy during his decade and a half at the top of the poker world. Finally, learn the secret that fueled his drive to become the best, how it threatened to undermine all he had accomplished, and, finally, how he learned there was something in the world more important than poker.