One of a Kind; The Rise and Fall of Stuey "The Kid" Ungar, The World's Greatest Poker Player

by Nolan Dalla; Peter Alson; Mike Sexton

• ISBN13: 9780743476584
• ISBN10: 0743476581
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2005-06-28
• Publisher: Atria

Summary

Stuey Ungar, the son of a Lower East Side bookie, grew up in a New York of the 1950s and '60s that was straight out of Damon Runyon. By his early teens, he had dropped out of high school and was spending most of his time in the city's under- ground car

Author Biography

Nolan Dalla is the lead sports handicapper for Casino Player and has written for Gambling Times, Card Player, Poker Digest, Poker Pages, Poker Player, and The Intelligent Gambler. He was the head of public relations for Binion's Horseshoe in Las Vegas and is now media director for the World Series of Poker. A native Texan, he currently resides in Las Vegas. Peter Alson is the author of the highly acclaimed memoir Confessions of an Ivy League Bookie, which chronicles his life from Harvard to the back rooms of an illegal book-making operation. Alson's work has appeared in a wide range of national magazines, including Esquire, Playboy, and The New York Times Magazine. A native New Yorker, he currently resides in Brooklyn.

Table of Contents

Foreword	p. xi
A Note to the Reader	p. xv
The Kid	p. 1
Bookmaker's Boy	p. 5
Gin Joints, Big Dogs, and Monkey's Business	p. 23
A Made Man	p. 45
Beginnings and Endings	p. 59
Raising the Stakes	p. 69
Both Ends Against the Middle	p. 81
The Second Time Around	p. 97
World Champ	p. 117
A Taste of Honey	p. 133
High Rolling	p. 145
Cards in the Air	p. 167
The Hand of Death and the Sport of Kings	p. 181
Get Up, Stand Up	p. 197
Heart of a Champ	p. 211
Chasing the Dragon	p. 227
The Comeback Kid	p. 241
Stuck	p. 263
The River Card	p. 283
Epilogue	p. 295
Acknowledgments	p. 297
Selected Reading	p. 301
Index	p. 303
Table of Contents provided by Ingram. All Rights Reserved.

Excerpts

Chapter 1 The Kid No one noticed him at first. It was May 1997, fifteen hours before the start of the $10,000 buy-in at the World Series of Poker (WSOP) championship event, and in the satellite area, a low-lit collection of baize-topped hold'em tables in the back of Binion's Horseshoe casino, most of the players were too caught up in the business at hand to pay attention right away. When one player did at last recognize the diminutive man wandering around the periphery of the room, he muttered something to the fellows at his table, and a couple of them turned to look. Then a couple more looked. Stu Ungar, the two-time world champion of poker, was not unaccustomed to drawing stares in a poker room. The man they called "the Kid" was the most feared tournament player in poker history. Yet here it was, the eve of the championship, and this was the first time he'd been sighted during the more than three weeks that poker's greatest stars had been gathered at the Horseshoe in Las Vegas for their annual shoot-out. As Stuey continued to navigate his way through the room, the whispers grew louder. He tried to ignore the eyes that widened at the sight of him. It wasn't easy. He had once been dubbed in print the "Keith Richards of poker," both for his rock-star aura and for his spindly little-boy body and mop-topped boyish good looks, and he had always loved the attention. But this was different. This was not the kind of attention he was used to. Starstruck awe had been replaced by morbid fascination. Those who knew him were appalled by what they saw. Up close, the boyishness was gone. Stuey's face was sickly white, ravaged by years of hard, careless living and drug abuse. One side of his nose was collapsed from snorting too much cocaine. His skin was papery and looked as if it might rip at the slightest touch. More disturbing, in a way, was how he'd let himself go. He was unshaven. His fingernails were long and dirty. His clothes looked slept-in. And he smelled. For a man who had won millions of dollars playing in the highest-stakes games in Las Vegas, it was humbling to have to walk into this room this way -- and worse still because the millions were gone, squandered on drugs and outrageous sports wagers. In a matter of hours, Jack McClelland, the tournament director, would utter his famous command "Shuffle up and deal," and the twenty-eighth annual championship would commence. Unless Stuey could persuade someone to back him, he'd be watching the action from the rail with the rest of the poker world's unwashed masses. The night before the main event was a time of feverish desperation in the satellite area. Players who hadn't yet won an entry were taking last-gasp shots at scoring a seat in an event that happened only once a year. Most of the players who had already won seats, or who had the luxury of buying in for the full ten grand, were upstairs in their rooms, or across the street at the Golden Nugget. They were resting up, getting a good night's sleep, taking baths, getting massages. They knew that they were going to need every ounce of energy they could muster if they wanted to make it through the grueling four-day marathon. Those still playing satellites were the luckless losers who hadn't been able to catch a break for three weeks but didn't want to admit defeat. They were stubbornly pursuing the dream -- a dream that, even if they achieved it, would put them at a huge disadvantage relative to the rest of the field. Imagine a runner needing to win a three-mile race in order to qualify for a thirty-mile race later the same day against opponents who had