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Jesse May in
Las Vegas |
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Day Two
There’s fifteen players left
in the $1500 stud tournament, fifteen left at two tables from 258 starters and
someone will walk tomorrow with $111,000. Men “The Master” Nguyen has
a whole load of chips. He’s knee deep into his umpteenth Corona, but it
doesn’t matter. He’s Men the Master. On his left is a spindly Maureen
Feduniak, she’s got a hunting vest on and nursing a stack so small it
needs a midwife; she’s hanging by a thread and standing up to stretch her
legs when she folds, which is often, and she has plastered to her face the
tight tired smile of someone who’s been sitting next to Men the Master for
far too long. I’m thinking to myself, that’s the definition of heart.
Men is excited. He’s the best there ever was, according to him,
and everybody should know it. Men bounds up from his seat, chattering
excitedly, a little bundle of energy wearing a tan jacket zipped up tight. He
prances to the next table, where a mellowed Ted Forrest has his head bent down
over the game. Men demands, “Ted! The last ten year who win more
tournaments, me or TJ?” Ted Forrest looks up and has no idea what Men has
just said. He raises his eyebrows, a bit embarrassed. Men answers himself.
“Me! It’s me!” And then goes back to his seat. That’s Men
the Master.
Ted Forrest, meanwhile, always says volumes without opening
his mouth. He’s the chip leader right now, or very nearly so, and wears a
permanent expression of a man holding back a burp. First player to reach one
million in chips at the Bellagio last week, he was shortened up with about
three tables left, and here he is a few days later in black sneakers and a
green work shirt and the chip lead again. Tournament official Jim Miller walks
by as Ted’s raking a pot and just says, machine. And in stud games,
that’s pretty much what Ted Forrest is. 7-card Stud, Stud Eight or Better,
Razz, Ted’s about the best. He tilts back in his chair, arms folded,
unshaven, and tries to shake twelve hours of play off his body for the final
push. After midnight at the WSOP. If you’re still in the tournament, throw
tired out the window.
The cards are dealt out. The limits are 1500-3000
with a three hundred dollar ante, and after a fellow brings it in with the low
deuce of hearts, a grizzled old timer makes it 1500 to go with a door card six.
Todd Brunson in the eight seat folds without a whimper but a jack calls the bet
cold bringing the action to Ted. Forrest is showing the deuce of spades, the
only spade out there, and he considers briefly and then calls the bet. Three
flush, definitely a three flush, I’m thinking, which is probably why
I’m on the rail. Now a king on Ted’s left reraises to 3000, called by
the six called by the jack and back to Ted, who now sticks in a reraise to
4500. The pot gets capped, it’s four way action, and now a crowd gathers
around as the pot is the biggest one we’ve seen in about thirty minutes
and it’s still only third street. All I can tell you is that Ted had
rolled up deuces. One man went all in and the others went deep, and there were
bets and raises all the way and Forrest beat two kings with three deuces, the
three case deuces, and raked a pot so large that it nearly broke the
table.
Todd Brunson has watched the whole coup silently, but as Ted
motions to rake it he finally leans in and asks in all earnestness, “So,
do you think you’re just like the biggest spook ever?” And then Todd
just breaks up laughing. “Absolutely,” says Ted, equally serious. The
biggest freak ever. Because that’s what they used to call him. Don’t
forget that when Ted broke on the scene he won three WSOP bracelets nearly all
in a row. He won tournaments in California and Vegas, and so thoroughly
dominated the poker scene for a time that they had no option but to call him a
freak. And that’s Ted Forrest.
If the final table sets up like it
should, you couldn’t find much more interesting viewing than to watch Men
the Master take on Ted Forrest, with the son of Doyle Brunson thrown in for
good measure. They should sell tickets for this one, they really
should.
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