The first time I thought about poker players not caring about money was in the late 1990s when I did a story on Stu Ungar.
I was the last journalist to interview him for a magazine article (he died soon after). Though the piece turned out great, he didn’t love it. He called the photographer and me “c***suckers.”
Especially lasting, though, was his view of dirty money… filthy lucre.
I was just a word-man on the hustle and, in the course of writing about Ungar, I heard mind-blowing stories about him being a neophyte golfer who’d blow $50,000 in wagers before getting off the first tee. Wild…
Later, he all but bragged to me about going cyclically broke by burning through fortunes, rebuilding, and repeating.
One year after taking down $1 million in the 1997 Main Event (he kept half; half went to Billy Baxter for backing him), a busted Stu Ungar tried hustling the photographer for $200. He failed.
I asked someone about Stuey’s apparent disdain for cash and was told, “Money is the cheapest commodity in Stu Ungar’s life.”
Commodity was probably being used incorrectly, but I got what the guy meant.
Not long after, I read Doyle Brunson’s great quote on the topic: “In order to be a successful gambler, you have to have a disregard for money.”
That existed in spades when online poker first blew up. I remember going for what I figured would be a simple dinner with one of the young online geniuses. Then he went and ordered every single item on the menu, loading up the table with more food than we could possibly eat.
Seeing my reaction, he told me that it was easier than looking at the menu and having to decide. Of course, he picked up the tab and left a big, fat tip. That meal probably cost more than what I was getting paid to write the damned story about him.
Where Tom Goldstein is concerned, before I knew he was the guy who folded the winning hand in a $540,000 pot at Hustler Casino, I figured that the seemingly careless contender – who, in fact, has been indicted for unreported poker winnings – was a rich-kid newcomer who had no clue.
But, of course, he was a seasoned, winning player. Who else would do that and shrug it off?
Dan Bilzerian, in his book The Setup, wrote about Goldstein (who had been Bilzerian’s lawyer). He claimed that Goldstein had a habit of playing poker without looking at his cards.
“I have never met anyone with less respect for money proportionate to their net worth than Tom.”
I’m guessing that was meant as a compliment.
Part of being successful at the table is to not think of money as money. Do that, and you’re dead. You’ll never be able to convincingly three-bet as a bluff.
How one develops that sensibility, I have no idea. But I’m guessing that enduring major swings, living to tell the tales – even to laugh at the tales – and returning for more must help. It’s easy come, easy go, on steroids.
Phil Ivey once told me about the summer when, as a 22-year-old, he put together a bankroll of $200,000, the biggest he’d ever had, and blew it by the fall. I told him that he must have been devastated.
He glanced at me, uncomprehending, and said, “I didn’t look at it as money lost. I looked at it as money used to play bigger games. I thought it was worth playing in those games.”
As for myself. I remember once telling a successful poker pro that if I ever won the World Series of Poker main event, I’d keep the money and never play another hand of poker for the rest of my life.
Sneering, he told me, “That’s why you’ll never win the World Series of Poker.”
He’s right. And I did not bother asking for the odds he’d give me of taking it down one day.
Michael Kaplan is a journalist based in New York City. He is the author of five books (“The Advantage Players” out soon) and has worked for publications that include Wired, GQ and the New York Post. He has written extensively on technology, gambling, and business — with a particular interest in spots where all three intersect. His article on Kelly “Baccarat Machine” Sun and Phil Ivey is currently in development as a feature film.
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