All In (25 page)

I couldn't allow the pressure of the moment to intimidate me. Poker is about pressure, and I wouldn't let it stop me. I was under the gun—the first to either call the big blind, raise, or fold—on the first hand, but I refused to act like it in my style of play.

“I raise, 1.4 million.” I made the first bet of the final table. Given my chip stack, this was a fairly aggressive play but not crazy.

John Kalmar called, while everyone else folded.

“Two point five million,” I said after the flop.

Kalmar immediately folded, and I took the first pot of the final table.

I acted as if I'd done nothing more remarkable than take out the trash at home, but in my mind I was breathing a sigh of relief.

This first pot moved me from next to last place to sixth place. More than that, it made the butterflies in my stomach go away. I knew I could press hard and be successful. At this point, I had no idea how I might finish, but I knew I could play my game. If I busted out, it would be on my terms. I wanted to take the initiative, be the aggressor when I could, and take the tournament to the other players. This approach enabled me to win four of the first eight hands, which shocked the experts and fans but didn't surprise me. I knew I could do this.

The real test, and my tournament so far, would come down to hand nine.

The cards were dealt. Lee Childs, the first to act, raised 720,000, putting the pot at 1.35 million.

I was next. I never look at my cards until all of the players who must act before me have done so. Lee's 720,000 bet was rather aggressive for someone sitting in the first position. That is, he more than doubled the pot without first seeing how anyone else played. That got my attention.

I glanced at Lee. I knew he'd played tight over the first eight hands. For him to make such an aggressive move, he had to be holding some good cards.

I looked at mine for the first time. Pocket jacks, a good hand, but Lee and I had gone up against one another enough times to tell me that he might have something even better. Based on his earlier play, I put him on pocket nines or tens or maybe an ace-king or ace-queen.

All right, Lee, let's see what kind of hand you really have.
I did nothing for fifteen seconds. I sat there and counted off the time in my head, just as I did before every bet. On the previous six days of play, I'd waited ten seconds before acting; for the final table, I pushed it to fifteen. I knew right off what I planned to do, but I waited as a way of heightening the emotions of the other players at the table.
Fourteen … fifteen.

“Two point five million.”

The other seven players immediately folded, which worked in my favor. If one of the chip leaders had jumped in this hand, they could have pushed me into folding or risking my entire tournament to stay in the pot. Going head-to-head with Lee meant I could be the one to apply the pressure.

My bet did exactly that. To keep playing, Lee had to kick in another 1.78 million. His reaction would show me how good a hand he actually had.

At this point, a player with a high pocket pair typically goes all in and throws the pressure back on the player who raised. Lee didn't. Instead, he called.

Hmmmm, you have a good hand but not a great hand. And
you are afraid I have something even better. Good. That's exactly what I want you to think.

The three flop cards were seven of clubs, four of diamonds, and two of clubs. I had a pretty good idea that these cards did Lee no good, and he probably thought the same thing of my situation. Neither one of us would have been so foolish as to sink over 3 million apiece in a pot with nothing more than pocket sevens or fours or twos.

I wanted him to think I had pocket kings or aces. It was about time to find out if my plan would work.

After the flop, Lee was the first to act. He paused for a few seconds, let out a small sigh, then said, “Three million.”

That was exactly what I was waiting for. Lee's bet was conservative, coming in at just under half the pot size. He was playing this hand tight. His wager told me he lacked confidence. It was time to apply the pressure.

Before Lee could move his chips into the center of the table, I announced, “I'm all in.”

Lee immediately let out a long breath, which told me, “Mission accomplished.”

A couple of days earlier, I had used a similar strategy to force him to fold pocket kings to my queen high. On that hand, I didn't even have a pair. There was no way I could have won that hand if we'd gone all the way to the river, but he folded to me anyway. He'd also made the mistake of showing me his cards after he folded that hand. I learned I could exert enough pressure to get him to fold a superior hand to me, and that was exactly what I was trying to do now.

Lee finished moving his 3 million in chips to the center of the table, let out another long breath, and stood up. He pulled off his sunglasses and paced, trying to figure out what to do next.

My ball cap low, my dark glasses covering my eyes, my hands cupped over my mouth, I didn't move. I sat in the exact same position I did for every hand.

Believe me when I say I don't have a poker face. Not even close. I have to cover as much of myself as possible to even have a chance at the table.

Because he had a slight chip lead on me, Lee could send me home if he called. However, if he called and lost, his stack would be so small that his final table would be as good as over.

I didn't know who had the better hand, but that didn't matter. I wanted him to think I did. I also wanted him to know I was completely committed to this pot. He could not pressure me into folding. If he wanted a chance at the more than 20 million lying on the table, he was going to have to risk his tournament.

Five of the longest minutes of my adult life passed while Lee continued pacing around the room. Once or twice he went near the stands to talk to his father. I couldn't hear their conversations, but when I watched the hand later on ESPN, I discovered his father actually helped me.

Lee said, “I don't know if I can lay it down.”

His father replied, “You'll know,” which I believe basically meant his father was giving him permission to fold.

If Lee had never gone to his father, I'm sure he would have
called and my tournament would have been over. That's why I say poker is all about applying pressure. That pressure makes people do things they know they shouldn't do, and when you're the one applying it, you usually come out on top.

As all of this played out around me, I sat as still as I could and repeated to myself,
Sit and fold your hand, Lee. Just fold the hand. You can do it. It's easy. Just lay your cards down and say, “I fold.”

After another couple of laps around the room, Lee sat back down, leaned toward me, and said, “Big hand, huh, Jerry?”

His eyes nearly bore a hole through me, but I didn't flinch. If I had, I would've been toast. If he'd watched the bill of my ball cap closely, he would have seen it shaking ever so slightly. I feared he might actually call, and I knew my chances of winning the hand based on luck were not good. I didn't know it at the time, but I had only a 9 percent chance of taking the pot if the hand went all the way to the river. Those are terrible odds. Of course, they were the same odds Vegas had put on my winning the entire tournament.

I didn't say a word as I sat there doing my best imitation of a statue.
Come on, Lee, fold. Fold. Fold. Fold. Just throw down your cards and fold.
My heart beat so loudly in my ears that I could have sworn ESPN's microphones picked up the rhythm and everyone at home could hear it.

After a couple more sighs, Lee said to the other players, “I'm sorry, fellas.”

From across the table, Ray Rahme said, “No problem. It's a big call.” Ray probably shouldn't have said anything, but the
fact that he did played into my strategy. His response to Lee confirmed how much was riding on this hand. No one wanted to go out before the tenth hand. I knew that; Lee knew that; everyone knew that. By speaking up, Ray was in essence saying, “I sure wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now, facing elimination so early at the final table.”

The pressure on Lee was enormous.

After what seemed like an eternity, Lee raised his cards in his right hand as if he would fold.

Finally
, I thought.

Lee looked at me. “I'm going to show you some respect, Jerry.” But he hesitated, continuing to stare at me.

I didn't flinch. I knew if I showed the slightest hint of emotion, he would change his mind and call.

He kept staring at me as if he could read my mind, which is exactly what he was trying to do.

“I think you're, oh, I don't know …” Lee sighed.

For a second, I thought he'd changed his mind and was about to call.
Oh no. No, don't call. Fold
.
Just lay your cards down and fold.

Finally, he dropped his cards on the table, faceup, surrendering the hand.

I glanced at the cards. Pocket queens. He'd folded pocket queens!

A couple months after the tournament, Lee and I ran into one another at Caesar's Palace. He was gracious and congratulated me on winning the entire tournament. The conversation turned quickly to this hand as he told me he'd believed I had
pocket kings, exactly what I'd wanted him to think. By that point, after watching the tourney on television, he knew if he'd called, he might have been where I was now.

But on the day of the tournament, when this hand played out, I couldn't let him know. As I collected my chips, I refused to show the slightest sign of relief.

Lee said, “I know you didn't have me beat,” which I took as his request to see my cards.

I never turned them. Even though this hand was over, I wanted to keep the pressure on him.

“I think I made a bad lay down,” Lee said to the rest of the players.

“Bad lay down,” Ray responded.

Stacking my chips, I didn't say a thing. And what a stack I now had. In one hour, my 8.45 million had grown to over 20 million. Only Tuan Lam and Philip Hilm had more.

Okay, Jerry, keep playing your game, and you will win this thing.
No longer did I believe I had a chance to win; I now expected to win. For the first time since play had begun a week and a half before, I knew I would be disappointed if I was not the last man standing.

This hand also placed a little bit of fear in my opponents, who knew I'd do whatever it took to come out on top. As I said, poker is about who can most effectively apply pressure. It's also about who can stand up under it.

I believe every one of us is a prisoner of comfort. We all have our personal comfort zones, and we don't want to leave them. On this hand, I was able to shove Lee out of his and
thus get him to make a decision he didn't want to. No matter how much he tried to turn it around on me, I pushed back even harder.

My brain was swirling with all of these thoughts after hand nine, but I couldn't allow it to distract me. As important as this hand was, it was now over. The dealer had already started shuffling the cards.

I didn't know it, but nearly 200 hands of poker and another 15 hours stretched out before me. This marathon was far from over.

Our first full day in America, we feasted. To celebrate our arrival, every single one of my relatives who lived in America, some from as far away as Memphis, crammed into the fourbedroom apartment my family now shared with my uncle and his family. Tables, all of them loaded with food, lined the living room from one end to another. Unlike the buffet at the San Francisco airport, this meal held no surprises or firsts. Giant bowls spilled over with fried rice and chicken and all my favorite Hmong dishes. Fruit covered another table, including bananas, mangoes—and what we'd now learned were apples and grapes. To wash it all down, we had ice-cold sodas of every kind.

I took one look at this feast and thought,
I will never have to worry about what I'm going to eat tomorrow. From this day forward, I will never be hungry again.

Those who have been blessed to have never experienced true hunger cannot appreciate the weight of this moment for
me. The cause of my little sister's and baby brother's deaths in Ban Vinai had probably been malnutrition. I myself had suffered from it in Thailand. My stomach had bloated as you would see in news footage of starving children in refugee camps in Third World countries. Going from such despair, such hunger, to this feast in the span of a matter of weeks nearly overwhelmed me.

Nearly, but not quite. I managed to hold myself together long enough to grab a plate and stack it as high as I could. Once it was empty, I filled it up again and again until I couldn't eat another bite. I'd never known how good a full belly could feel.

While we feasted, stories filled the room, leaving everyone laughing one minute and crying the next. My grandmother asked about friends and family she'd left behind at Ban Vinai. Too often those questions were answered with sorrowful news; but then another question led to a funny story, and the mood in the room swung back to joy. The entire night was like this: from tears to laughter and back again, all while stuffing ourselves silly.

Afternoon turned to evening.

My grandmother went into her room and came back dragging three large plastic bags. She called, “Xay, Xao, Kham Dy, come here. I have something for you.”

The three of us dropped what we were doing and ran to her.

“As soon as I heard you were coming to America,” she said, “I started collecting something for each of you.” She reached into a bag and pulled out shirts and pants and shoes for the three
of us. My grandmother even had underwear for us. I'd never worn it; no one had back in Laos or in the refugee camps.

I could hardly believe my eyes. One of the bags was filled with clothes for only me. I was still wearing the nice pants and shirt I'd put on the day I'd gotten on the bus to leave Ban Vinai; I had no others. “This is all for me?” I asked.