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Jeff Haney on Ted Forrest, whose Heads-Up play trees Chris Ferguson in the final round of the second annual tournament at Caesars Palace
Published: 2006-03-08
 By Jeff Haney
Las Vegas Sun
It's not about the money, Ted Forrest said after winning the second annual National Heads-Up Poker Championship at Caesars Palace.
And for once, that timeworn phrase was spoken with sincerity.
Forrest, a regular in the Strip's high-stakes cash games, had entered the heads-up tournament with his confidence broken, with questions swirling in his head about his competence as a top-level poker pro.
His dour mind-set was the result of a disastrous run in a big one-on-one poker game last month against Texas billionaire Andy Beal at Wynn Las Vegas, Forrest said. After beating Beal for $7 million early in the match, Forrest's fortunes turned. Beal rallied to erase the $7 million deficit, then won $3.8 million more from Forrest.
"Basically, he beat me for $10.8 million straight, so it was really important for me to get my confidence back," Forrest said, savoring his heads-up tournament title in Caesars' poker room early Tuesday.
Forrest outdueled runner-up Chris Ferguson, two matches to one, in the best-of-three championship round after those two players emerged as finalists from the 64-person field that started the tournament Saturday.
Forrest, a 41-year-old native of Syracuse, N.Y., who has won five World Series of Poker bracelets, collected the top prize of $500,000 for his victory.
Ferguson, known as "Jesus" for his beard, long locks and gentle demeanor away from the table, earned $250,000 for placing second.
Each player put up an entry fee of $20,000 in the invitation-only, no-limit Texas hold 'em tournament that will air on NBC starting April 16.
"I'm very happy with the way I played," Forrest said. "I thought I played pretty well throughout, even though it was not an easy field.
"Everyone in here was a great player, and I think that brings out the best in me."
Known as one of the more low-key and soft-spoken players on the poker scene despite his fiercely competitive nature, Forrest characteristically declined to showboat after winning the title, though he did manage a big smile and some fist pumping.
"What it means to my career, or my exposure, I don't really know," Forrest said. "It does mean a lot for my confidence."
For Ferguson, the 2000 World Series of Poker champion, it was a second consecutive runner-up finish. In last year's tournament, held at the Golden Nugget, he lost to Phil Hellmuth in the final round.
But Jesus was just all right with that outcome.
"It is so much harder to come in second two years in a row than it is to win it once," Ferguson, 43, said.
"Still, I am a little bit disappointed."
NBC poker analyst Gabe Kaplan compared the mano-a-mano appeal of heads-up poker to prizefighting, and the clash between Forrest and Ferguson - which began Monday evening and continued well past midnight - was indeed like a riveting 15-rounder.
Forrest clinched it when he moved all-in on the final hand with king-7, Ferguson called with queen-jack and two more kings hit the board.
The pivotal hand had come moments before, when Forrest made trip sixes on the river to deal a devastating blow to Ferguson's chip stack.
Ferguson won the first match of the championship round, although he found himself down to a mere $125,000 in chips after losing a dramatic showdown.
Forrest, holding a flush, made a big bet on the end. Ferguson, impassive behind his signature sunglasses and black cowboy hat, thought long and hard - what will Jesus do? - before calling the bet and revealing just pocket sixes.
"It's interesting that Chris chose to turn them over face-up," said tournament consultant Eric Drache, watching the action from the NBC production truck behind Caesars. "It's his way of saying he's not going to be bluffed."
Ferguson called Forrest the toughest player he faced in either year of the heads-up tournament, which is single-elimination in all but the final round. Ferguson advanced past Freddy Deeb, Chip Reese, Josh Arieh, Jim McManus and Huck Seed before meeting Forrest.
Forrest defeated Erik Seidel, Chad Brown, Ernie Dureck, Sam Farha and Sean Sheikhan along with Ferguson. His grueling match with Farha lasted 3 1/2 hours, a tournament record, and featured 14 all-in situations.
"Ted is one of the most talented, fearless poker players out there," Ferguson said. "He deserves all the credit in the world."
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http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/03/12/AR2006031200980.html
Published: 2006-03-13
By Jonathan Krim
Special to The Washington Post
Monday, March 13, 2006; Page C10
In the world of high-stakes poker -- the one where you get on television and win millions of dollars -- there's a name for amateurs like me: Dead money.
It's the term for those who don't have a prayer, whose bets merely build bigger pots for the pros to win. Yet, every day, an absurd number of us chase the dream, playing in card rooms, casinos and on the Internet, hoping for a shot at all that celebrity and financial freedom.
Because, hey, we've seen it happen, right? We've watched some guy from nowhere, a student or an accountant or a construction foreman, knock out a poker legend and hoist piles of cash in the air. We've seen dead money come alive.
So, here I am, in San Jose, playing in one of the World Poker Tour's big national tournaments. If I make it to the table of six final players, I'll be on TV and make at least $200,000. If I win, I'll earn a cool $1.2 million.
Never mind that of the field of 500 players, about 100 of them do this for a living. Doyle Brunson, who in his seventies remains the high priest of poker, is at a table over in one corner, smiling under his 10-gallon hat. Phil Hellmuth Jr., the game's enfant terrible, arrives late as usual, finds his table and immediately dons his headphones. And at my table is David Williams, a brilliant twentysomething pro who was a math whiz in school.
But Williams was an unknown college kid two years ago when he finished second in the World Series of Poker. Last year's average-guy success story was Maryland mortgage broker Steve Dannenmann, who took second and pocketed $4.25 million. So I'm confident that at least for this tournament, in the words of the first President Bush, I am that man.
I mean, look, I earned my way here. About two years ago, I wrote a story for The Post on the poker boom and the incredible business it was generating, especially online. This required me, in the name of research, to try it out. As my wife likes to say, I'm still researching.
In fact, I research several nights a week, sometimes to the detriment of sleep. I had played casually for years and even supported myself one summer during college by playing five-card stud at Stockman's Bar in Missoula, Mont.
But the online game is always on, right there in your house, with hundreds of thousands of players from around the world at any given moment. Part of the charm is wondering who all these people are behind screen names such as DyslexicCrow, grandma of 3 and BLESS YOU. (One I occasionally use is Bill Gates, which elicits some amusing banter in the chat window, such as requests for loans or the claim by one player that Gates plays in casinos frequently and never tips the dealers. That's just ridiculous, I reply; I tip generously.) Plus, when it's just you and the computer, you can yelp, gesticulate, throw stuff around the room, and do it all in your skivvies.
Honestly, I don't get my thrills from taking risks, nor do I expect poker to supplement my income. What captivates me is the intellectual challenge, the match of wits, the analyzing of probabilities and the sheer guts of a well-timed bluff. Mostly, I seek the zen of playing well.
Okay, except when there's a chance to get on TV and win a million dollars and rub elbows with the pros and meet some poker-playing Hollywood stars like Jennifer Tilly and James Woods and Shannon Elizabeth and, and, well . . . you see what I mean.
So I took aim at qualifying for one of the big live events, which like this one typically cost $10,000 to enter. The online sites buy seats to these and then run their own (much lower priced) tournaments with the seats as top prizes.
It took about a year. I came heartbreakingly close several times, which won me just enough to keep trying. My play improved. And then, at 3:43 one Saturday morning, it happened. I beat out a field of more than 100 people and was heading to the World Poker Tour's Shooting Star tournament.
My bathrobe and I did a little jig.
The weeks leading up to the tournament were madness. I was obsessed with finding the right sunglasses (dark enough to hide my eyes, but not too dark), after agonizing about whether to wear shades at all. I crammed with my favorite books on tournament play. I solicited advice through a blog on washingtonpost.com.
I arrive in California a day early, get a massage, see friends and try to relax. By the time I find my table on tournament day and sit down, I feel ready.
With only a couple of minutes before the first hand is dealt, David Williams arrives at the table. Immediately, he starts counting out an enormous wad of bills that he pulls from an envelope.
I can't for the life of me figure out why he's doing this, since there's no money involved in these tournaments. You prepay your entry fee, and everyone gets the same number of chips to start. Once you're out of chips, you're gone. I wonder, is this a pro's way of trying to psych out the table?
I soon learn that many of these pros carry around giant rolls of money. When they are not in tournaments, they are often only moments away from a high-stakes cash game. Some of them are such inveterate gamblers that they'll bet thousands of dollars with each other on anything from card-tossing contests (professional Chris "Jesus" Ferguson can slice a banana with a card thrown from several feet away), to whether one of them could stand to live in a town in Iowa for a month. (He couldn't.)
The tournament begins, and it's only about the fourth hand when I'm dealt pretty strong starting cards, a pair of jacks. In Texas Hold 'Em, everyone is dealt two cards each that are face down. Then a total of five common cards are placed face up in the middle of the table, and each player tries to make the best five-card poker hand using any combination of his first two cards and the community cards. There are betting rounds throughout this process, with no limit to the size of the bets.
I raise the pot a bit with my jacks, and everyone gets out except . . . David Williams, who calls, or matches, my bet.
Oh my God, it's only the fourth hand and I'm mano a mano with David Williams! Easy now, easy. I have a powerful hand, and one of the neat little wrinkles about this tournament is that many of the pros have "bounties" on their heads. If an amateur knocks one out, he or she wins $5,000.
The first three common cards are turned up -- known as the flop -- and it still looks good for me. So I bet again, a little more aggressively this time, but he calls again. Oh, man, what's he got? WHAT'S HE GOT?
The next community card is placed on the table and, again, it's not especially scary given what I have. But now I'm wondering if Williams is conning me, letting me bet right into his, oh, I don't know, pair of queens?
So I decide to check, or pass. He does the same, and we're down to the last card, known as the river. It's another seemingly innocuous card that is unlikely to help either of us. But now that I've planted a seed of doubt in my head, it's flowering. I check again, and so does he. I show my pair of jacks, and he shows a pair of threes. The dealer pushes the pot to me, and Williams gives me a congratulatory nod.
I won! I beat David Williams! Except that really, I didn't. He intimidated me out of betting more, and possibly winning more, because he's David Williams and I'm, well, not.
The rest of the tournament, which ended earlier this month with Williams finishing fourth, is uneventful frustration for me. I last 10 hours, longer than many of the pros, but never get on a roll.
I briefly play with one other big poker star, Antonio "the Magician" Esfandiari, and chat with a couple of others. Poker professionals are, with one or two exceptions, tremendously gracious, respectful and engaging people. It's an honor, and humbling, to play with them and with dozens of other terrific players who haven't quite reached star status.
But I'm inconsolable that I didn't play better, and as I'm waiting to board my flight back to Washington, I'm reminded of the old saying that poker is like sex: Everyone thinks they're good at it, when in reality . . .
Then, I look down at my boarding pass and see I'm in Row 13. Well, sheesh, no wonder!
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