Blame Mel Judah

Mel Judah

I came to Vegas in mid-October to visit my friend Tony Holden, who was in from Great Britain. Tony, the author of the classic 1990 poker book Big Deal, was in town working on the sequel, Bigger Deal. Tony is an excellent poker player, newspaper man, opera critic, historian/biographer on subjects ranging from Shakespeare to the Academy Awards to the royal family, and a longtime player in one of the world's most interesting poker games, the Tuesday Night Game. In addition to Tony, Al Alvarez (author of The Biggest Game in Town) and the late David Spanier (author of Total Poker, The Hand I Played, and several other gambling books) played in the game. The game was so famous that Spanier bragged in print about getting kicked out for playing too tight.



But I wasn't in town just to catch up. My secret agenda was to qualify through a supersatellite for the World Poker Tour's Doyle Brunson North American Poker Championship. I would finally prove to my high-stakes friends that I could do more than just write about a good game.



It didn't work out that way. After about half the players had been eliminated, I got moved to the table with Mel Judah. Judah was also at my table for my previous WPT satellite, in Los Angeles. What a nightmare that table was! Judah – with two bracelets, a WPT victory, and a load of other tournament wins – sat two seats to my left. On my immediate left was a guy wearing a World Poker Open bracelet. A player on my right had his picture on the wall for having already won an event at the Legends of Poker. With a couple other pros at the table, it's not much of an exaggeration to say that I recognized every player at that table but me. Luckily, the table soon broke.



I couldn't count on that this time. I was low on chips and, on Mel's big blind, opened the pot with my A-6 by going all in. Mel, with A-Q, called. When I met up with Tony Holden later, he asked how it ended up for me.



"I got moved to a table with Mel Judah …"



"Mel, really? He was in the Tuesday Game a long time ago, when he was cutting hair in London. Kicked him out, we did – for being too good. So, how is Mel doing?"



"Better, now that he's got all my chips. You obviously didn't kick him far enough."



I used to think the lowest feeling in poker was being eliminated from a big tournament. Now I know better. I stayed an extra day to watch the beginning of the tournament and say hello to my friends. The feeling of walking out of the tournament area, being jostled aside by the entering players, as the tournament was starting – that's the lowest feeling in poker.



Still, the beginning of a big poker tournament is an interesting, surreal scene. Here are some of my notes, minus an occasional tear stain. My later comments are in italics:



There is not, as Jack McClelland predicted, a long line to buy in. Is poker still booming? I'm always a bit apprehensive at the start of these. How many players this time? How many last year? 322 in 2004. Is this where the bubble bursts?



Chau Giang stands outside the Fontana Bar with a cigarette. His skin is pale, eyes glassy. The $4,000-$8,000 game in Bobby's Room has been going around-the-clock for a week. Chau tells me he's slept very little. I believe him. Another player – not in the game – told me Chau was ahead $2 million in the last week. I predict an early exit; Chau needs sleep. My powers of observation are consistent in poker: Chau is the chip leader after day one.



It's three minutes to starting time, and Mike Matusow walks by. "Where's Juanda? Has anyone seen Juanda? Can someone loan me $10,000 so I can buy in?"



Lyle Berman walks by. I thank him for the anecdote he gave me for my book and give him a copy. I offer to mail it, but no, he'll carry it to the table. If he wins, how much airtime will the book get? Could it become his good-luck charm, seated on its own chair in the $4,000-$8,000 game? Berman busted out two and a half hours short of the money on day two. I'm just praying he doesn't blame the book.



The tournament has at least 400 players. Poker is safe. But … for … how … long?



Most of the action seems to be around the half of the field in Bellagio's poker room. Table 17: Erik Seidel (seat 1), Minh Ly (seat 4), Gavin Smith (seat 5), Howard Lederer (seat 6).



Players from adjacent Table 11 get up "to stretch" just to take a peek.



Table 18: Mimi Tran in seat 1, Daniel Negreanu in seat 2, T.J. Cloutier in seat 3. Sweet Lord! Is that David Pham in seat 4? John Phan in seat 9?



Mike Matusow gets up from his seat at Table 21 and asks, "Are you playing? Can you do me a huge favor? Can you get me an iced vanilla latte?"



Iced vanilla latte, $7. Maybe if I wasn't springing for seven-buck drinks, I could afford to play.



Mike almost doesn't last until the pricey drink returns. He walks to Seidel's table, complaining. "I have ace-queen and the flop comes ace-queen-five. I run into a set of fives." How did he keep from losing all of his chips on that?

While I was gone, Andy Bloch was pulled away from his table. He won't sign his release form. I'm trying to eavesdrop but look like I'm not trying to eavesdrop.



I lock eyes with Daniel Negreanu nearby and we exchange greetings. "Nice table you drew." Daniel, almost mouthing the words, says, "It's OK." I believe him. He's got his game face on today.



Bloch has signed the release and returned to his table. Is that Mel Judah on his left? A better eavesdropper told me that Andy claimed he was signing under duress, to which the tournament official snapped, "You're not under duress." I don't know what's in the WPT Standard Release now, but the one I signed in L.A. included the phrase "in perpetuity throughout the universe."


1:10 p.m. – One hour in, Phil Hellmuth arrives. He doesn't know what table he's at or even what room, but he's here. That means the tournament has really started, so it's time for me to go.



Let the real players go to work.