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Jesse May in
Las Vegas |
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#7 Day Four & Five
I apologize for the lateness of
this article. But when I was told what the Irish instructions were for the
final table of the 2002 World Series of Poker, I immediately needed three shots
of whiskey and eight beers just to digest the information. It was that scary.
And what terrified me more than anything else was that Irishman Scott Gray had
already proven that he was more than sick enough to execute the plan. Hell, he
actually believed in it.
Now, everybody knows what the plan is. But
considering that on Day 4, when they were down to twelve players in the whole
WSOP and Scott Gray had a shot to make the final table which he had only been
dreaming about forever and his parents were in from Ireland to boot just to
watch him and his 72 year old mother was two feet behind him on the rail and
would never have understood if her son had had to explain losing his whole dosh
with nothing, and considering that Scott had 300,000 in front of him, which
wasn’t a lot, but certainly plenty enough to back in to the final table
with, considering all that you would have to agree that under those
circumstances it would take more than a fairly sick individual to come over the
top of a raiser with the jack-deuce unsuited. As Padraig Parkinson said,
everybody knows that when you get down to twelve players in the World Series of
Poker that the only thing that you’re supposed to do with the plan is to
shit on it. And everybody seemed to know that except for Scott, who later said,
“Well I couldn’t very well let myself get behind in chips, could
I?” So you might understand why I needed to be absolutely blottoed when
considering what Scott Gray might do at the final table of the World Series of
Poker. Because after his inspiring play on Day 3 and then his playing like God
on Day 4, well at that point there was no way I was missing him on Day 5 but
I’d be darned if I was going to have to go through it sober.
I
mean when they were down to ten guys at the very end of the fourth day, playing
hand for hand at two tables because the next guy out makes us nine finalists,
and the crowds are thick on the rail and cameras are everywhere, and every time
a big hand starts brewing on table two and the media swarms and the throng
presses in because it’s an all-in decision to a short stacked player, and
even the players on table one are craning their necks around to see what’s
happening and barely looking at their cards. And your man Scott is absolutely
unnoticed on table one in seat nine with his head down doing the thwunk thwunk
thwunk before the flop with the nine-five, and then sticking the rest of his
stack in when an ace hits the board. And that’s why Scott Gray started the
final table of the 2002 WSOP with nearly 600,000 in chips, when by all rights
he should have limped there with no more than 200 grand. Because you don’t
need a license to steal. Apparently you just have to be Irish.
We’ve heard plenty of new names this WSOP, but along with the
emergence of stars like Robert Varkonyi, Julian Gardner, Harley Hall, and Ralph
Perry, the preeminent new star of this World Series is a man who is not a
player at all. But Matt Savage is the best poker tournament director I’ve
ever seen. It’s a credit to Becky Behnen that she assembled the best
tournament staff in history led by a tournament director who I predict an
immensely long and successful career for. I was fairly sure Matt was good, but
when a weird situation occurred early on Day 4, I became absolutely
positive.
Russell Rosenblum had opened the pot for a standard raise,
smooth called on the button by young Julian Gardner. The flop came ten, ten,
three and Russell led out for eighteen thousand, a bet Julian promptly raised
up to fifty thousand straight. With the action back on Russell he had a good
long think, and then calmly said, “Let’s play for a hundred,”
while breaking down a stack of five thousand chips into the pot. And then all
hell broke loose.
It was a moment of bedlam at the World Series of
Poker, because Julian Gardner said, “All in!” and came forward with
his chips in one fiery motion, sweeping them into the pot with both hands and a
sitting bench press. Now, you have to understand that Julian had a lot of small
denomination chips, so though he didn’t really have all that much money,
his stacks were visually impressive. Meanwhile, Russell looks like he’s
taken three sawed off shotgun shells to the belly. Julian’s raise popped
him out of his seat, I believe his entire body actually left the ground, and he
ended up spread-eagled against the back wall, leaning there for support, and
looking like he needed an ambulance. Russell is a full eight feet away from the
table, the field has been swarmed like Fred Merkel and the bonehead play, the
dealer has had no time to even break down Julian’s chips to find the size
of the raise, and the player whose turn it is to act isn’t at the table.
And then Matt Savage was there, and Matt Savage was calm, and Matt
Savage was in control. He was behind the dealer in the eye of the storm and in
one glance he knew everything that had happened. He said, “Where’s
Russell?” And when he turned to look at him against the wall, Russell
uttered in a weak but unmistakable voice through half open eyes, “I fold.
Fold.” And he waved his arm twice.
Then something occurred to
Russell Rosenblum and he asked, “How much is the raise?” How much is
the raise. Of course. Russell comes back to the table and grabs his cards. But
Matt Savage is faster, and his hand is there too, clamping a vise on
Russell’s outstretched wrist. And in a firm and calm voice Savage says,
“I’m sorry Russell. You’ve folded. Verbal action in turn is
compulsory.” Not only did Matt Savage know the rule, he quoted it. And he
knows that sometimes a floorman should wait until he’s summoned, and
sometimes a floorman just has to take charge. It was awesome, and everybody
knew it was awesome, and everybody knew it was the right decision.
The
raise by the way, was for thirty-four thousand. Julian raked the pot and showed
two sixes. And now Russell turned an even whiter shade of green, and later on
he said that he had had two jacks. Russell Rosenblum, by the way, came back
from that blow to make the final table and take sixth place, a credit to his
ability to regroup and a hell of a lot of heart. Julian, we know, when on to
take second. But the real star of the hand was Matt
Savage.
Congratulations to Robert Varkonyi, the new poker champion of
the world. Congratulations to the Binion-Behnens, who run the most important
tournament in the world with the professionalism it deserves. As long as the
World Series of Poker is held at Binion’s Horseshoe Casino, I’ll be
there to support it.
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