All In

by Jerry Yang

  Play started at ten in the morning. By the afternoon, I found myself in the top 25 percent in terms of my chip stack.

  Be patient. Do not overplay your hand. Let the cards come to you, I reminded myself.

  Too many players who start off strong get themselves into trouble by letting their adrenaline get the best of them. They start playing marginal hands and soon find themselves in the short stack or worse. I fought the urge. I knew I didn’t have to knock out all the other players myself. Sometimes the best play is to fold, sit back, and allow the other players to destroy one another.

  My patience paid off. For the third time in five months, I made the final table. I was determined to force a different outcome.

  When play began at the final table, I had the sixth or seventh largest stack, which is another way of saying I was in the bottom third. One player held what appeared to be an insurmountable lead. No sooner had the final nine taken our places at the table than one or two players brought up chopping the pot. That means they wanted to end the tournament immediately, divide the prize pool evenly among the nine of us, and let the chip leader have the seat at the main event.

  I hated the idea. Luckily for me, I wasn’t alone. The chip leader, a man named John, stopped the conversation dead in its tracks. “Let’s just play and see what happens.”

  That was fine with me. I wanted to win, not settle for one-ninth of the prize money.

  Two hours passed. The final nine were now pared down to four.

  “Let’s chop,” a player said.

  John still held the chip lead and shot the idea down once again. Since he’d maintained his lead throughout the final table, he didn’t see any reason to lessen the pressure on the rest of us.

  I now held the second largest stack and didn’t want to chop the pot either.

  Play continued for a long time. Finally, two other players busted out, leaving only me and John. He still held the chip lead, but I’d closed the gap considerably.

  “I’ll tell you what, Jerry,” he said. “The casino gives a cash prize of $1,700 along with the seat at the main event. Here’s what I’ll do. You give me the seat, and I’ll give you the extra cash. You put that with your second place money, and that’s a pretty nice payday. Wadda ya say?”

  “I appreciate the offer,” I said, “but playing in the World Series of Poker is a dream of mine, too. Let’s play the cards and see what happens.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Head-to-head play is different from going up against nine or ten players. You must be cautious, but at the same time, you can’t sit back and fold time and again. The blinds increase every few hands, which forces more and more of your chips into the pot. If you never take a chance and play a hand, the blinds alone will knock you out of the tournament.

  John and I went back to the game for about an hour. I managed to grab a two-to-one chip lead, which meant now I could dictate the action. Yet I still had to be cautious. Leads have a way of disappearing fast in Texas Hold ’Em.

  Sometime around four in the afternoon, the dealer gave me an ace-nine in the big blind. If not for my dark glasses, John would have seen my eyes open wider. I’d been waiting for a hand like this.

  John acted first and raised.

  “I re-raise,” I said.

  John thought for a moment, then said, “I’m all in.”

  Now it was my turn to act. With a sizable chip lead, I could afford to take a chance, even though losing would mean flipping from the chip lead to the short stack. I looked at my opponent, who fidgeted in his seat and rubbed his face with his left hand. I didn’t know for sure that he was bluffing, but I decided to find out.

  “I call,” I said.

  I could tell by the look on John’s face that those were the last words he wanted to hear.

  As soon as I turned my cards, he shook his head. He knew he was beat. “Good call, Jerry.”

  I looked at his cards. He had an ace, which meant he hadn’t bluffed. But his other card was a lowly five.

  I pumped my fist. “Yes.”

  Another ace came up on the flop, which was good for me. However, a three or a four also came up, which meant John might possibly hit a straight. The turn card came: a jack.

  He couldn’t make his straight. Only a five on the river could beat me now. The dealer burned a card, then turned a seven.

  I jumped and shouted, “Praise the Lord,” at the top of my lungs.

  I was on my way to Vegas.

  The poker room manager shook my hand. “Congratulations, Jerry. You played a great tournament.”

  “Thank you.” It was all I could say. Honestly, I was in shock and couldn’t believe I’d just won.

  “Now, Jerry, the grand prize can be paid out in one of two ways. You can take the seat at the main event, or we will give you a check for $10,000. Which do you prefer?”

  Oh my. Answering that question was my toughest call of the day. On the one hand, the main event had been my goal since the day I’d first discovered poker two years earlier. This was truly a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. On the other hand, $10,000 is a lot of money. If Sue had been standing next to me, I knew she would’ve said, “Daddy, what are you waiting for? Take the money.”

  But my wife was not standing there with me, and I didn’t call her to ask what she wanted me to do. For a moment, I wanted to say, “Write the check,” but I didn’t. “Playing in the World Series of Poker is my dream. I will take the seat at the tournament.”

  The manager smiled. “Well, it looks like your dream has come true. You are going to Vegas, Jerry.”

  I could hardly believe it. In six weeks, I, Jerry Yang, would take my seat in the biggest, most prestigious poker tournament in the world.

  8

  Between the Rio and the Roach Motel

  When I won my seat at the main event of the World Series of Poker, I won just that: the seat. I didn’t win an all-expense-paid trip to Las Vegas. The $1,700 cash prize that the Pechanga Resort & Casino gave me didn’t come close to covering the cost of a hotel room and food for the twelve days of the main event. If I’d stopped and thought about it logically, I would’ve realized $1,700 was more than enough for an amateur player to drive to Vegas, see the sights, and then get knocked out on the first day of play. The thought never entered my mind.

  The main event lasted twelve days, and that’s how long I planned to stick around. I may have had a million-to-one shot to win it all, but in the back of my mind I kept thinking, You never know. Stranger things have happened.

  I searched hotels online and made a few calls. The Rio All-Suite Hotel & Casino, site of the World Series of Poker, offered a special room rate for players, but even with their 50 percent discount, the $200 a night price tag was way out of my range. Other hotels in the area around the Rio were just as expensive.

  “Wow,” I said to my wife, “this is going to cost more than I thought.”

  That’s when I had an idea. I’d go back to the Pechanga and ask the manager if the casino might help cover my hotel expenses. It seemed logical to me.

  Not to him. “I’m sorry, Jerry, but that’s not our policy.” End of discussion.

  In my lifetime, I’ve learned the value of persistence and having a backup plan. I drove back up Interstate 15 to the Lake Elsinore Hotel & Casino, where I’d busted out in half an hour trying to win their qualifying tournament. I hoped no one there remembered that little fact.

  I found Pat Wilmes, the poker room manager. “I won a seat to this year’s World Series of Poker at Pechanga,” I said, “but they won’t give me a hotel room in Vegas. You know how much I play here in your casino. Would you be willing to cover my hotel room for me?”

  To my surprise, Pat said yes. “All we ask, Jerry, is that you wear a ball cap with our logo and one of our shirts.”

  “I’m happy to do that. Thank you very much.” Wearing a hat in exchange for a hotel room sounded like a sweet deal to me.

  “Do you care which hotel we put you in?”

 
I’d been to Las Vegas only one time, and that had been to make my marriage official.

  Sue and I had been married in the traditional Hmong way, with the elders coming to our home and us making our vows. Since the state of California doesn’t recognize the traditional Hmong wedding ritual, though, we had also needed to get married someplace that would give us a state-approved license. Since it’s cheaper to get married in Nevada than California, we went there. Even then, we didn’t spend the night in Vegas. We basically rushed in, went through the ceremony, and drove home.

  Judging by the little I’d seen in my brief time there, I decided one “hotel and casino” was just about like every other. “As long as I have a place to go to sleep, I’ll be happy,” I said.

  Pat called me a couple of weeks later and gave me the name of my hotel and driving directions. “It’s not on the Strip but downtown. Is that all right?”

  “Sure,” I said. On the Strip or downtown: how different could one be from the other? I was going to Las Vegas to play in the World Series of Poker. Nothing else really mattered.

  The 6,000 players competing in the main event start their tournaments on one of four days, July 4, 5, 6, or 7. That is the only way to fit everyone into the Amazon Room. When I won my seat, I could choose any of the four days. I almost chose the third start date, July 6. I figured even if I busted out, I would have at least one extra day to hang out in Las Vegas and enjoy the sights and sounds of the World Series of Poker.

  Right before I wrote July 6 on my form, though, I remembered a dream I’d had back in 2005. In my dream, I was riding in a helicopter with several of my friends. Thick fog covered the ground below. We had to get to the airport, but the pilot couldn’t find it in the thick fog. Everyone in the helicopter in my dream panicked. Low on fuel, the plane was about to crash. The pilot radioed the control tower and cried out for help.

  In my dream, I heard the voice of the air traffic controller. “Don’t worry. I know exactly where you are. Descend slowly through the fog until you see the numbers on the runway. That’s where you need to land.”

  The pilot in my dream did as he was instructed, and the gray fog obstructed my view through the window. Suddenly I saw the numbers on the runway, just as the air traffic controller had said. I never forgot that sight or the numbers: 7–7–7.

  That dreamed flashed in my mind as I stared at my main event entry form. I knew when my tournament needed to begin: July 7, 2007.

  Even though I chose the fourth and final day, I drove to Vegas a day early. I wanted to give myself plenty of time to walk around the Amazon Room and take in the World Series of Poker before I actually started play.

  Before that, I wanted to check into my hotel. I took the downtown exit off Interstate 15 and turned right. I nearly made a U-turn. This can’t be right, I said to myself when I pulled up in front of my hotel. It looked like a scene out of an old cop show. Trash covered the parking lot, and the asphalt was all broken up. A couple of drunks leaned against one of the dilapidated buildings neighboring the casino.

  No, no, no, this can’t be the place. How am I going to stay here … for twelve days?

  I got out of my car, locked it, and walked toward the hotel lobby, leaving my luggage in the trunk. I thought, If the inside is as bad as the outside, I have to find another place to stay. This won’t work.

  When Pat from Lake Elsinore had told me the hotel was downtown rather than on the Strip, I hadn’t realized the difference. And when he’d told me he was able to get the room for just under $700, I’d thought, Wow, this must be a really nice hotel. Clearly, $700 wasn’t much in Vegas.

  On my way to the lobby door, I stepped around a couple of prostitutes working the street in front of the hotel. Inside, stains spotted the carpet. The lobby itself was dark, even in the daytime. The fluorescent lights gave off a dingy, otherworldly glow. Off to the side of the check-in desk, repairmen worked on one of the two elevators, a large “Out of Order” sign hanging above them.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” I said to no one in particular.

  I walked to the check-in desk but paused before ringing the bell. Part of me wanted to turn around, walk away, jump in my car, and find another place, anyplace, besides this broken-down dump. But I didn’t have a choice. I’d brought enough money to cover only my food.

  I let out a long sigh. Okay, Jerry, this place leaves a lot to be desired, but at least it’s paid for. I took another look around the lobby. Besides, I’ve stayed in worse places. A lot worse.

  On my way up to my room, the one working elevator creaked and moaned like a rope about to break. I fully expected it to stop at any moment.

  My mind jumped back to the nursing home in Fresno where I’d worked when I was in high school. Back then, I’d clocked in at three in the morning, worked for four hours, then headed off to school. One morning my mop bucket and I had gotten stuck in an elevator for two hours. The Otis Elevator guys had finally shown up and pried the door open, setting me free.

  Back then, I’d only been late for class. Listening to the hotel elevator groan now, I wondered, What if I get stuck in this thing and miss my start time? But what’s my other option? Walking down a dark stairwell and getting mugged?

  I wished I’d been more specific about where I wanted to stay.

  The second I opened my hotel room door, a stench hit me. The room smelled as if a chain smoker had left a pile of wet towels in one corner for a week or so. I flipped the light switch, but it didn’t seem to make the room any brighter. The light fixture had turned yellow years before.

  How will I ever get any sleep in this place? I can hardly breathe.

  I went into the bathroom and turned on the light, which sent roaches scrambling for cover. Mildew crawled up the cracked shower tile. Just great.

  I walked back into the room, sat on the bed, and grabbed the television remote. Let’s at least see what channels they have. I began pushing buttons. Nothing happened. That’s it.

  I picked up the phone and called the front desk.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, this is Jerry Yang. My room has several problems. Would it be possible to move me to another?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re already in one of our better rooms.”

  I laughed.

  I don’t think the desk clerk caught the joke.

  “Can you at least send up a television remote that works?”

  “Coming right up, sir.”

  Nothing could dampen my excitement. I wanted to get to the Rio as quickly as possible. Before taking the fifteen-minute drive south on the expressway, though, I stopped at a drugstore and bought a large can of air freshener. Then I went back and emptied all of the contents into my room: in the bathroom, on the drapes and carpets, all around the bed, even a little into the hallway outside my room. If it stunk, I sprayed air freshener on it.

  Then I tossed the can in the trash, shut the door, and headed for my car.

  When I first walked into the Amazon Room of the Rio, I felt like a four-year-old boy walking through the gates of Disneyland. The place was like a carnival. Brightly colored booths lined the walls, filled with every poker-related thing you could imagine. Everywhere I turned, I saw free giveaways: poker chips, water bottles, magazines, key chains—you name it. I grabbed a plastic bag and went from one booth to the next, collecting free stuff. This way, even if I busted out the first day, I’d have something to show for my time in Vegas.

  Once my bag was full, I headed into the room where play actually takes place. The first day was well under way, and I could feel the excitement in the room. Poker tables went in both directions as far as the eye could see. Giant posters hung on the walls, each one maybe 10 or 12 feet high, showing photographs of all thirty-eight main event champions.

  I stood and stared at the giant photos of Johnny Chan, Doyle Brunson, and my favorite player, Chris Ferguson. On the far wall was the photo of Joe Hachem, who’d won the main event that had introduced me to poker two years before. In a sens
e, he was the one who’d gotten me started. Now here I was, a player, not a spectator, in the very room where he’d won over $5 million.

  Like every other player who stands and gawks at the champions’ photos, I let myself dream a little. If only my picture could hang up there.

  Before I left the main area, I stepped out of the tourist mode and tried to think like a poker player. I wandered about and watched a few hands at different tables, making a mental note of where ESPN’s cameras were, how the room was lit, the spacing between the tables, how the cards were dealt, even the conversations among the players. Basically, I wanted to become familiar with everything so that when I came back the next morning to play, I wouldn’t be so in awe of my surroundings that I’d make a fool of myself.

  Outside the playing area, I stepped back into the poker carnival. I wanted to meet some of my poker idols. I didn’t have to wait long. Standing there in the hallway was Chris “Jesus” Ferguson. A crowd gathered, one after another taking pictures with him or asking for his autograph.

  I waited my turn. At 6 feet 3 inches, Chris towered over me. “Mr. Ferguson,” I said as I held out my hand, “I want to tell you what a thrill it is for me to meet you. I’ve watched you play on television many times and have learned many things about the game from you.”

  He politely thanked me. “Are you here as a player?”

  “Yes, I am. I start tomorrow.”

  “Well, good luck to you then.” He smiled.

  Only after I walked away did I realize I’d forgotten to ask him for an autograph.

  Back at my hotel room, I found another surprise waiting for me. The musty, old, wet towel and cigarette stench had now become the musty, old, wet towel, cigarette, and air freshener stench. No matter what the label on the can may have said, the spray didn’t eliminate odors. It simply added to them.

  At least I won’t be tempted to oversleep. I laughed. I just hope the smell doesn’t follow me back to the Rio.

  The following morning, my eyes popped open before my alarm sounded. Though I tried to treat this like any other morning, my body didn’t want to cooperate. Six hours before play began, the adrenaline was already flowing.