A
ARROGANTICE
Rising Star
Bronze Level
YEAH, RIGHT, MASTER IVEY, AND CHICKENS HAVE LIPS…
I have been asked, being so long of tooth and having begun my poker life just about at the leading edge of the Ice Age, (hence my nom de voyage in the game,) to reminisce. Recall stories of our great game that might entertain. Essentially, this is my editorial history at both Card Player and Poker Digest, I was basically attempting to provide entertainment: Yes, I taught poker for many years, (and I am pretty fair at this,) but my forte, or bread and butter if you will, was not to insult anyone’s intelligence but to parcel some fun about our chosen life. I told poker tales. So, fellow travelers, and future stars, here we go.
ANOTHER TALE FROM THE GREEN PLAINS: (An egocentric one for sure, and kind of irresistible: Knowing Master Ivey fairly well early on, I hypothesize he would recall this with wry enjoyment as it was so reflected of his persona.
Late Spring, 2002. A mere couple of weeks before The wsop. (The timing could not be more auspicious…or charming if you will .) At the time of this “aurore de grandeur” for Sir Phillip, we had been sociable adversaries for quite some time. Perhaps five years or so. I ran across him in AC and Vegas regularly, in stud and mixed games, and we in fact had the occasional social interaction. Phillip, his then paramour/wife, the lovely Luciaetta,who was dutifully and elegantly close by his side in many long sessions, and myself would sit down for a meal now and again to reflect on the events we just concluded. Fact is, I liked Phillip and Luciaetta as people, and I lauded him as the preeminent player he was and regularly predicted his ascension to Olympus. In one conversation, Phillip had learned that years before I had dedicated my CP column to the notion that other than the Zeus of poker: The G.O.A.T., The Godzilla if you will, Chip, (Reese for the children too young to know,) who was, is, and I cannot imagine him being surpassed for reasons I will one day explain to you, the irrefutable best poker player ever, I declared Ted Forrest the best under 30 player I had ever seen. (Check the CP archives.) A chuckling aside here. A couple of years after that column, Huck won the main and asked me to change my thinking and write a new’ best under 30’ with his name on top. I declined. Huck was not.
Master Ivey pondered whether I might have a change of mind regarding himself if I were still an editor at CP or, at that time, the just deceased Poker Digest. My honest answer; yes, he was better than Ted. Better than all save Chip. Now I know many will spew rancid coffee stains at me for not putting Phillip first. Even I admit that it is so close as to be indistinguishable to almost all. Add to this the fact that I was in the room at The Wynn in February 2006 after all, when Master Phillip, who was the junior member of ‘The Syndicate’ that had been spanked by Andy Beal to that point for a cool 10 million plus. (Gospel, church folk, you can look it up.) The cartel sent in young Phillip against the ‘amateur’ who had so viciously scolded a pantheonic lineup that included Chip and Ted…and Dyole and Jennifer and Johnny World and Barry, ad infinitum. Phillip buckled up against Andy the ‘Cash Mountain’ in a 50K-100K limit hold ‘em dance, (no I did not stutter,) for 16 plus million. (and that is the number, you can look it up,) recovering the total loss of 10 mil plus, and deliver the Syndicate a 6M plus profit. (Yes, you can look this up too.) Thus, Master Phillip redeemed the juggernaut turned Titanic . No, it does not get any better than that. (Really? Anybody seen the Triton game in Macao?)
Early May, 2002. Now, I recall the irresistible that happens while such reflections are occurring. Master Ivey and I are playing virtually every day, and night, in my ‘home game’, the 100-200 stud at The Commerce. Joyfully, I am having a blossoming Spring. In effect, I am on a fairly decent months long heater. Here are the three days in question:
DAY ONE: Phillip is in seat 2, I in seat 7. A coincidentally mutual 20 hour session in which Master Ivey and I ping pong the table, no matter who sits in, for over the top numbers. I book 21K, Phillip just shy of 18K. Monster numbers for that game. We love each other; everyone else hates us. Fun stuff.
DAY TWO: Not so hot for Phillip, too good to be true for me. He loses, I win another pile, albeit not quite the quotable 21 from the day before. Now, kids, here’s the first hand that births the legend: A massive four way pot on sixth street. I make flush in five with a straight flush draw. Cannot tell where two others stood, but they took the cap that Phillip and myself demanded. To be clear, No one’s board showed my defeat. Known cards that were mucked plus the visible announced my Ace flush in spades was best. No matter to Phillip, who it turns out had rolled up nines. Fierce pressure is his mantra, his calling card if you will. You wanna play? Pay. (For those of you living in a VW bus in Nepal, Master Ivey takes no prisoners. He will never slow down when he likes his hand, even with the radar gun pointed right at his odometer. ) Then comes the dawn…
On seven I looked down to discover Xanadu, the six of spades. How lovely is 4-5-6-7-8 of the same suit? Choose your adjective. How insane is the diversion? The 4, 6, 7 are in the hole, and there is no way I can have aces full as Aces up is what’s chasing. As I pray for my combatants to receive their false blessings, a check by the likely Aces up and Phillip fires $200. Happy me. One fold, one raise from me. Second fold, Phillip fires back. And away we go…nine times until the Ivey mantra smiles and calls, finally accepting his fate. I show him my dreamscape, and he, chuckling, shows nines full of eights. “Nice hand, Ice.” “Thanks, Phillip”.
Somewhere along the way my day ended as so many that spring did, in happiness.
DAY THREE,(or when, in my not so humble opinion, the actual first chisel strike began to carve the next face on poker’s Mount Rushmore
Same game, and as all you will read here is bizarre, damn near the same time. My starting hand, 4-7 diamonds down, 5 of diamonds in the door. A raise by a king brings three callers. Master Ivey, in seven, Dr. Dennis in 8, and me in 1. (From here in you are on your own as to whether you believe this ‘who would believe it’ conte d'émerveillement.) The turn brings me the diamond 8. At this point I can see only the ridiculous idea;: “Am I going to make another eight high straight flush? How nuts is that?” Seriously, I had been running so good I considered it as reasonable.
Bizarre thought number 2: I notice Phillip’s hand more insistently, and his cobra-esque glare. Door, nine, turn eight. “What does he have down? Ten-Jack and/or any other straight combo is common. Oldsmobile for two pair? If so, we should hear about it right now if the unsuited K-3, (Dennis the menace), leads again. But he can’t have rolled up nines as in the prior day??! Not possible. I never have and never will believe in the mythical.” And the K does lead, and I limp along, and the J-2 off mucks, and Phillip agrees. We are three way to fifth. Okay, stop reading, because you already think this is BS, and my next card will pickle your herring…the six of diamonds! WTF?! Yup, same SF denomination, finished with the same numeric as the previous day! 4-5-6!-7-8 Geronimo! Sometimes poker just makes you swoon. Dennis adds a weak kicker for his K, an off suit J. Phillip banks the Queen of spades, which hooks to his door nine of S, and, of course, slams a buried Ten-Jack holding. “Please poker gods, be joyful.” Dennis, not a shy one himself, continues with $200. My duty is to call, and, prayers answered, Master Ivey rockets $400 as if he were trying to shoo away a hornet. How tickled am I when The menace calls. Me, I am there as if I am not. On six the universe bends out of shape. Dennis hit the dormant J to an obvious kings up and Phillip, (I told you that you will not…) caresses an eight, pairing his turn card. Dennis is a little more complacent now with a check, and I landed a second seven, which makes my board a creamy 5-6-7-8. I must fire, and I do. Phillip’s raise lands even as my two white chips are still air born. Dennis is in with a huff. I now know I can remain on the accelerator. My $600, Master Ivey’s cap. Dennis’s doom.
Seventh Street. I peek as though there is some upward mobility possible, but not much. Dennis checks with failing disappointment and I jump out again as though I were egocentrically, (there’s that word again’) and unwisely invincible. Again, Phillip 4 is in before my two, and it’s adios to The menace. Oh, yummy. Six from me, eight from Phillip, 1K from me, 1.2K is the Master’s answer. I do a really poor 1/2 second De Niro and insert the next level. Now Phillip offers a glare. He does not like me right now. He speaks. Like myself, this is a phrase he never, never uses. It is hateful to both of us. “I call.” and he answer my final bet. As quick as my lousy digits will allow I roll over my certainty and even Master Ivey, who is incapable of emotion in a game, goes bug-eyed at the sight as Peter the dealer, a wizened vet, chimes without emotion “Straight flush”. Phillip tables, astoundingly, nines full, of eights! Same aggressive over-betting from Mr. Rushmore. Same hands. Same finish. Same decision. Back to back days. And now, for your listening pleasure, the punchline: “Ice, you’re gonna bust me if you keep making straight flushes.” How iconically hilarious are his words? How insanely opposite the coming reordering of the poker universe? Within 30 odd days of this folderol, The Master went on to eviscerate the Series, winning three bracelets and booking other cashes all the while pillaging the cash games for epic numbers…and launching his stratospheric rise to poker Olympus. I love this game…
I have been asked, being so long of tooth and having begun my poker life just about at the leading edge of the Ice Age, (hence my nom de voyage in the game,) to reminisce. Recall stories of our great game that might entertain. Essentially, this is my editorial history at both Card Player and Poker Digest, I was basically attempting to provide entertainment: Yes, I taught poker for many years, (and I am pretty fair at this,) but my forte, or bread and butter if you will, was not to insult anyone’s intelligence but to parcel some fun about our chosen life. I told poker tales. So, fellow travelers, and future stars, here we go.
ANOTHER TALE FROM THE GREEN PLAINS: (An egocentric one for sure, and kind of irresistible: Knowing Master Ivey fairly well early on, I hypothesize he would recall this with wry enjoyment as it was so reflected of his persona.
Late Spring, 2002. A mere couple of weeks before The wsop. (The timing could not be more auspicious…or charming if you will .) At the time of this “aurore de grandeur” for Sir Phillip, we had been sociable adversaries for quite some time. Perhaps five years or so. I ran across him in AC and Vegas regularly, in stud and mixed games, and we in fact had the occasional social interaction. Phillip, his then paramour/wife, the lovely Luciaetta,who was dutifully and elegantly close by his side in many long sessions, and myself would sit down for a meal now and again to reflect on the events we just concluded. Fact is, I liked Phillip and Luciaetta as people, and I lauded him as the preeminent player he was and regularly predicted his ascension to Olympus. In one conversation, Phillip had learned that years before I had dedicated my CP column to the notion that other than the Zeus of poker: The G.O.A.T., The Godzilla if you will, Chip, (Reese for the children too young to know,) who was, is, and I cannot imagine him being surpassed for reasons I will one day explain to you, the irrefutable best poker player ever, I declared Ted Forrest the best under 30 player I had ever seen. (Check the CP archives.) A chuckling aside here. A couple of years after that column, Huck won the main and asked me to change my thinking and write a new’ best under 30’ with his name on top. I declined. Huck was not.
Master Ivey pondered whether I might have a change of mind regarding himself if I were still an editor at CP or, at that time, the just deceased Poker Digest. My honest answer; yes, he was better than Ted. Better than all save Chip. Now I know many will spew rancid coffee stains at me for not putting Phillip first. Even I admit that it is so close as to be indistinguishable to almost all. Add to this the fact that I was in the room at The Wynn in February 2006 after all, when Master Phillip, who was the junior member of ‘The Syndicate’ that had been spanked by Andy Beal to that point for a cool 10 million plus. (Gospel, church folk, you can look it up.) The cartel sent in young Phillip against the ‘amateur’ who had so viciously scolded a pantheonic lineup that included Chip and Ted…and Dyole and Jennifer and Johnny World and Barry, ad infinitum. Phillip buckled up against Andy the ‘Cash Mountain’ in a 50K-100K limit hold ‘em dance, (no I did not stutter,) for 16 plus million. (and that is the number, you can look it up,) recovering the total loss of 10 mil plus, and deliver the Syndicate a 6M plus profit. (Yes, you can look this up too.) Thus, Master Phillip redeemed the juggernaut turned Titanic . No, it does not get any better than that. (Really? Anybody seen the Triton game in Macao?)
Early May, 2002. Now, I recall the irresistible that happens while such reflections are occurring. Master Ivey and I are playing virtually every day, and night, in my ‘home game’, the 100-200 stud at The Commerce. Joyfully, I am having a blossoming Spring. In effect, I am on a fairly decent months long heater. Here are the three days in question:
DAY ONE: Phillip is in seat 2, I in seat 7. A coincidentally mutual 20 hour session in which Master Ivey and I ping pong the table, no matter who sits in, for over the top numbers. I book 21K, Phillip just shy of 18K. Monster numbers for that game. We love each other; everyone else hates us. Fun stuff.
DAY TWO: Not so hot for Phillip, too good to be true for me. He loses, I win another pile, albeit not quite the quotable 21 from the day before. Now, kids, here’s the first hand that births the legend: A massive four way pot on sixth street. I make flush in five with a straight flush draw. Cannot tell where two others stood, but they took the cap that Phillip and myself demanded. To be clear, No one’s board showed my defeat. Known cards that were mucked plus the visible announced my Ace flush in spades was best. No matter to Phillip, who it turns out had rolled up nines. Fierce pressure is his mantra, his calling card if you will. You wanna play? Pay. (For those of you living in a VW bus in Nepal, Master Ivey takes no prisoners. He will never slow down when he likes his hand, even with the radar gun pointed right at his odometer. ) Then comes the dawn…
On seven I looked down to discover Xanadu, the six of spades. How lovely is 4-5-6-7-8 of the same suit? Choose your adjective. How insane is the diversion? The 4, 6, 7 are in the hole, and there is no way I can have aces full as Aces up is what’s chasing. As I pray for my combatants to receive their false blessings, a check by the likely Aces up and Phillip fires $200. Happy me. One fold, one raise from me. Second fold, Phillip fires back. And away we go…nine times until the Ivey mantra smiles and calls, finally accepting his fate. I show him my dreamscape, and he, chuckling, shows nines full of eights. “Nice hand, Ice.” “Thanks, Phillip”.
Somewhere along the way my day ended as so many that spring did, in happiness.
DAY THREE,(or when, in my not so humble opinion, the actual first chisel strike began to carve the next face on poker’s Mount Rushmore
Same game, and as all you will read here is bizarre, damn near the same time. My starting hand, 4-7 diamonds down, 5 of diamonds in the door. A raise by a king brings three callers. Master Ivey, in seven, Dr. Dennis in 8, and me in 1. (From here in you are on your own as to whether you believe this ‘who would believe it’ conte d'émerveillement.) The turn brings me the diamond 8. At this point I can see only the ridiculous idea;: “Am I going to make another eight high straight flush? How nuts is that?” Seriously, I had been running so good I considered it as reasonable. Bizarre thought number 2: I notice Phillip’s hand more insistently, and his cobra-esque glare. Door, nine, turn eight. “What does he have down? Ten-Jack and/or any other straight combo is common. Oldsmobile for two pair? If so, we should hear about it right now if the unsuited K-3, (Dennis the menace), leads again. But he can’t have rolled up nines as in the prior day??! Not possible. I never have and never will believe in the mythical.” And the K does lead, and I limp along, and the J-2 off mucks, and Phillip agrees. We are three way to fifth. Okay, stop reading, because you already think this is BS, and my next card will pickle your herring…the six of diamonds! WTF?! Yup, same SF denomination, finished with the same numeric as the previous day! 4-5-6!-7-8 Geronimo! Sometimes poker just makes you swoon. Dennis adds a weak kicker for his K, an off suit J. Phillip banks the Queen of spades, which hooks to his door nine of S, and, of course, slams a buried Ten-Jack holding. “Please poker gods, be joyful.” Dennis, not a shy one himself, continues with $200. My duty is to call, and, prayers answered, Master Ivey rockets $400 as if he were trying to shoo away a hornet. How tickled am I when The menace calls. Me, I am there as if I am not. On six the universe bends out of shape. Dennis hit the dormant J to an obvious kings up and Phillip, (I told you that you will not…) caresses an eight, pairing his turn card. Dennis is a little more complacent now with a check, and I landed a second seven, which makes my board a creamy 5-6-7-8. I must fire, and I do. Phillip’s raise lands even as my two white chips are still air born. Dennis is in with a huff. I now know I can remain on the accelerator. My $600, Master Ivey’s cap. Dennis’s doom.
Seventh Street. I peek as though there is some upward mobility possible, but not much. Dennis checks with failing disappointment and I jump out again as though I were egocentrically, (there’s that word again’) and unwisely invincible. Again, Phillip 4 is in before my two, and it’s adios to The menace. Oh, yummy. Six from me, eight from Phillip, 1K from me, 1.2K is the Master’s answer. I do a really poor 1/2 second De Niro and insert the next level. Now Phillip offers a glare. He does not like me right now. He speaks. Like myself, this is a phrase he never, never uses. It is hateful to both of us. “I call.” and he answer my final bet. As quick as my lousy digits will allow I roll over my certainty and even Master Ivey, who is incapable of emotion in a game, goes bug-eyed at the sight as Peter the dealer, a wizened vet, chimes without emotion “Straight flush”. Phillip tables, astoundingly, nines full, of eights! Same aggressive over-betting from Mr. Rushmore. Same hands. Same finish. Same decision. Back to back days. And now, for your listening pleasure, the punchline: “Ice, you’re gonna bust me if you keep making straight flushes.” How iconically hilarious are his words? How insanely opposite the coming reordering of the poker universe? Within 30 odd days of this folderol, The Master went on to eviscerate the Series, winning three bracelets and booking other cashes all the while pillaging the cash games for epic numbers…and launching his stratospheric rise to poker Olympus. I love this game…
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