All In Read online

  On my very first hand, I was in the third position at the table, which meant I was the first person to act. The small blind and big blinds were on the table.4 I had to decide whether to (a) raise, which meant bet more than the big blind, (b) call, which meant place a bet equal to the big blind, or (c) fold, which meant throw my cards away and not play this hand. Those were my only options.

  In this moment on my first hand, instead, I said, “I check,” which meant I wanted to keep playing in the hand without making any kind of bet at all.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the dealer said, “you must either raise, call, or fold.”

  Now here’s where this story gets really embarrassing. I didn’t know what it meant to call.

  “Okay, I raise.” It was the only term I knew.

  “How much?”

  “Uh, twenty.”

  Everyone at the table groaned.

  “The minimum raise is twice the big blind,” the dealer said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Please be patient with me. I’m a rookie.”

  “I can tell,” one of the other players said, laughing.

  I didn’t respond. For the rest of the tournament, I paid close attention to the terms and phrases the other players used. Only when I heard an opponent say “call” and then put in the same number of chips I’d just bet did I figure out what that term meant.

  Not knowing the right words to use was the least of my problems that day. In No Limit Texas Hold ’Em, each player is dealt two cards and places bets based on those cards. After the first round of bets, the dealer burns one card, which means he sets it aside and it’s not used in the hand; then he lays three cards faceup. Every player’s hand is based on two hole cards combined with the three flop cards on the table. Players then bet on the flop. The dealer burns another card and deals one, called the turn card. Then come another round of bets, another burned card, and the final community card, also known as the river. A player’s hand is based on the five best cards he can make with his two hole cards and the five cards on the table.

  In an early hand in my first tournament, I had jack-eight of clubs as my hole cards. That’s not very good. Today I’d almost always fold these cards, but in my first few tourneys I did what most amateurs do and played almost every hand. An eight turned up on the flop, which meant I had a pair of eights. The other two cards were both clubs. The turn card was something like the nine of diamonds, and the river was another club. When those still in the hand turned their cards, someone had a pair of queens. Thinking I’d lost, I turned my cards in disgust.

  A woman next to me said, “Hey, buddy. You hit the flush. You won.”

  “I did?” I was completely shocked.

  Several of the players at the table muttered things that I could tell weren’t compliments.

  I embarrassed myself further a little later in the round when someone announced they were going all in.

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  The rest of the players laughed.

  Later I threw away my hand after the river card, which was the same as folding. Only then did I look closer and realize I’d actually won. Unfortunately, by throwing down my cards I’d given up the hand and the pot.

  By the end of the day, many of the players were getting irritated with me, not merely because I kept making silly mistakes but because the cards always seemed to fall my way. Some days are like that, even for rookies who shouldn’t last past the third or fourth hand. The other players at the table couldn’t believe it when I kept winning pots and ended up finishing in the money, which means earning part of the prize because I came close enough to winning the tourney.

  I walked out with $282.

  After driving home from the tournament, I burst through the front door and announced to the family, “We’re going to Chuck E. Cheese’s tonight.”

  My kids were as happy as could be, but my wife wasn’t quite as enthusiastic. She gave me one of those looks that said, Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s great. Now quit while you’re ahead.

  She still went with us to Chuck E. Cheese’s.

  Even as I celebrated with my family, I knew I’d been very lucky. On any given day, Texas Hold ’Em can be 90 percent skill or 90 percent luck. That day, it had been the latter.

  The more important thing was that actually playing in a tournament had helped me understand how much more I had to learn. Again, I had one goal when I took up poker, and that wasn’t to finish in the money at a local $25 buy-in Saturday poker tournament. No, I wanted to play in the main event of the World Series of Poker with its $10,000 buy-in. I knew I had a long way to go.

  Once the last piece of pizza had been eaten and the euphoria of cashing out wore off, I dove back into my poker education process.

  In my first tournament, not being able to speak the language of poker had labeled me immediately as a rookie and prime target for experienced players to pick off, to say nothing of how my playing itself had been an embarrassment time and again. I didn’t want to make that mistake again.

  I turned to Phil Hellmuth’s Texas Hold ’Em, which I read from cover to cover, focusing especially on the twenty-plus-page “Phil’s Glossary,” which explains every poker term. Hellmuth also gave me insight into the personality of the players in any given poker room. Now he was speaking my language. The ability to read other players, to understand why they approach each hand the way they do, gives you a huge advantage at the table. Reading the other players goes beyond picking up on their tells, which are the telltale signs of whether they’re bluffing or holding an unbelievable hand.

  Today when I play, I spend the first thirty minutes to an hour just trying to figure out the personalities of the other players at the table. Most fall into three categories: passive, aggressive, and passive-aggressive.

  The first are passive players. They play tight, which means they fold nearly every hand and play strictly when they have a pocket pair or two very high cards. Passive players focus solely on their cards and hardly pay any attention to the other players.

  Aggressive players are the exact opposite. They play almost every hand and rarely fold. It doesn’t matter what their hole cards might be. Whether they hold pocket aces or two-three off suit, they’re in. Rather than focus on their cards, they try to play the other players. An aggressive player will bully others into folding out of fear that he’s holding the nuts, that is, the best hand possible based on the cards on the table. From time to time, but not often, a very good player will be an aggressive player. Usually, aggressive players are beginners who still haven’t learned the game. Even amateurs get lucky from time to time, though, which makes them dangerous at the table.

  However, the most dangerous players of all are what I call passive-aggressive. These are the good players who know when to push and when to let up. As I said, the aggressive players are usually beginners; the passive players are often those who have been playing long enough to know that reckless play will get them beat but haven’t yet perfected the art of reading other players. Passive-aggressive players are the ones who know what they’re doing, the ones I want to learn from.

  Knowing how each player approaches the game enables me to employ different strategies against each. This is a skill I’m still trying to master.

  Looking back at my first try at poker, I realize I was the crazy, unpredictable player who played way too many hands. I know from personal experience that those players may get lucky from time to time, but they don’t have the skills for continued success.

  Most rookies and amateurs rely on nothing but luck. They look at their eight-two same suit and immediately think they can hit a flush, so they push all in, convinced Lady Luck is on their side. Sometimes they hit the flush, or they get really lucky and a couple of eights and a two turn up for a full house. Long-term, that’s the worst thing that can happen. Hitting a lucky hand or two makes them even more reckless. In the end, they almost always end up busting out. Still they keep coming back for more, especially in tournaments and cash games with very l
ow buy-ins.

  My approach to the game changed when I decided to treat whatever money I risked as the last money I had on earth. If the tournament had a $25 buy-in, that became my last $25.

  Most of my life, I was extremely poor. I knew how hard money was to come by. Even though I had a good job as a psychologist when I started playing poker, trying to raise a family in Southern California was expensive. We Yangs do not throw money away.

  I tried to always keep this same mind-set in tournaments. I never carried more cash into the card room than I needed for the entry fee. And I always left my credit and debit cards at home so I wouldn’t be tempted to go beyond what I needed for the tournament.

  Playing as if the money I risked was all I had in the world provided the discipline I needed to settle down at the poker table. It also gave me a huge advantage over players with the attitude that “it’s no big deal; it’s only twenty-five bucks.”

  If I know I have another couple hundred dollars in my pocket I can use to buy more chips or enter another game if I go bust, I’m far more likely to call or raise on a hand I should fold. The fewer marginal hands I play, the more likely I am to survive long enough to make the final table or at least finish in the money without having to hit a miraculous river card.

  These were all lessons I was starting to learn.

  In addition to reading more poker books, I watched more and more poker on television and recorded tourneys so I could really study the action. For me, poker on television was not entertainment but poker boot camp. Not only did I watch the way competitors played their hands, but I also paid close attention and took copious notes on the way they carried themselves at the table. I decided if I wanted people to respect me as a player, I should act like a serious player.

  There was one problem: I didn’t know what serious poker players acted like.

  As I’ve mentioned, I look like anything but a card player. I knew if I dressed the way I normally did for work, everyone at the poker table would automatically count my chips as their own.

  Watching on television, I noticed most of the top players dressed in all black, so I decided to dress in black when I played. Many of them also wore dark glasses, which I thought looked cool. If it was good enough for the pros, it was good enough for me. I topped off the look with a ball cap pulled low because that’s how my favorite players on television wore theirs.

  Chris “Jesus” Ferguson, whose nickname is inspired by his long hair and beard, was one of those favorites. He really does look like Jesus—if Jesus wore all black and a cowboy hat. Of course, he can pull off the look since he isn’t a 5 foot 2 Hmong man.

  Looks aside, I learned a lot from watching Chris Ferguson, especially the way he carries himself at the table. He always takes the same amount of time to make a bet, and he never gives off any tells. He almost looks like a statue at the poker table.

  I, on the other hand, gave off one clue after another in those early days. I put my hand to my mouth when making a bet, which is a sure sign that someone’s bluffing.

  Watching pros like Chris Ferguson and another of my favorites, John Juanda, on television, I took note of where they put their hands when they bet, how they handled their chips, and even what they did after folding a hand. If you want to play like the best, you should learn from the best.

  I knew, though, that books and televised events could only take me so far. Perhaps the most valuable thing I ever did to improve as a poker player was to humbly ask for advice from players I respected.

  Back when I first started playing, several times I came up against a player named Charlie, who had been playing poker a long time. Whenever we faced one another, especially in head-to-head showdowns, it was almost as though he saw my cards before I did.

  After one tournament, I spoke to Charlie. “I don’t want you to give away all of your secrets, but I’m fascinated by the way you can read other players. Do you mind if I ask you questions from time to time about how I can improve my game?” Thankfully, Charlie agreed, and over the next couple of years, we exchanged e-mails and phone calls.

  In addition to Charlie, I asked a few others how they played certain hands. I noticed some taking notes at the table, so I asked them what exactly they were doing. They told me they noted how important hands played out and what they, along with others at the table, had done.

  At the next tournament, I broke out my own notebook. Afterward, I reviewed how I’d played and what I’d done in certain situations.

  Then I called Charlie. More than once, I asked, “What should I have done here?”

  I also learned to watch people. All of the top poker books say you should never look at your cards as soon as they’re dealt. Instead, you should look around the table and watch how your opponents react to their cards. Once your turn comes, then and only then you look. The same is true when the flop comes. Rather than watch the cards, watch other people’s reactions to the cards. Good players sit as still as statues, but rookies and amateurs give off signs. They can’t help themselves.

  Watching other people helped me see some of the mistakes I kept making. By putting my errors next to theirs, I learned how to become a better player.

  Too many beginners think poker is all about playing your cards. It isn’t. Good players play their opponents. Of course, everyone gets burned by a lucky draw from time to time. The fact that I cashed in on my first tournament demonstrates that. But as I said, I knew luck couldn’t carry me where I wanted to go as a player.

  Since I played the local cash games and tournaments, I ended up going against some of the same players frequently. All the regulars knew I was a rookie, and more than one of them planned to take advantage of that.

  Right before one of my first tournaments, I was standing in line, waiting to be seated, and one man said, “I have you figured out, Jerry Yang. I know your tells. I hope you brought a lot of money today because I’m going to take it all.”

  I smiled and didn’t say a word. I knew right off he was trying to put me on tilt, which means playing with a chip on my shoulder or with emotion rather than discipline. A lot of players use this as part of their strategy. Not long after I won the World Series of Poker, one of the top pros tried to get me to play in a cash game with the same kind of taunt. Poker players who compete with emotion soon find themselves with an empty stack.

  As luck would have it, this player and I ended up at the same table. He kept right on talking. “I know what you’ve got in your hand.”

  I refused to take the bait.

  After a while, he stopped taunting and started muttering. “I don’t know how you do it, you lucky b—.” By the end of the round, he was just flat-out mad. He hadn’t taken my money; I’d taken his.

  Because we played in a lot of the same local tournaments, this happened more than once. The guy became very frustrated. He was a good player, yet for some reason every time I went up against him, the cards fell my way.

  Finally, after I took all his chips once again, he looked at me and said, “You’re like my f—ing shadow that follows me everywhere I go.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said as politely as I could, “there’s no need for profanity.”

  “I mean it; you are my f—ing shadow.” He shot me the most hateful look.

  Afterward, I thought a lot about what this guy had said. The Shadow. I believe in turning negatives into positives. The more I thought, the more I liked that label. So much, in fact, that it became my nickname, my poker persona.

  Outside of the card room I was Jerry Yang, the mild-mannered psychologist who worked with foster families and at-risk children. But once I put on my black and my dark glasses and pulled my ball cap low, I became The Shadow.

  It took a while, but I had finally become a real poker player, at least in my own mind. By my fourth tournament, the locals I played believed it as well. I not only cashed in; I actually won.

  Instead of $282, this time I collected $4,000. I was so excited I tipped the dealer $400, more than twice as much as most peopl
e tip after a win. I didn’t care. I wanted to share my happiness with everyone.

  That night, my family and I once again had a great time at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

  I then put half of my winnings in the family savings account and the other half in my poker bankroll. The next week, I was back at the table, playing my last $25 in the world.

  It wouldn’t happen overnight, but I knew this path would eventually take me to my ultimate goal: Las Vegas.

  4. Blinds are mandatory bets placed into the pot before the cards are dealt. In Texas Hold ’Em, one player must bet the large blind, and the player immediately to his right must bet the small blind, which is half the size of the large blind. These increase in size as players move up levels of play. Each becomes part of that player’s bet should he decide to stay in the hand. Responsibility for placing the blinds moves around the table on each hand.

  5

  A Not-So-Distant Thunder

  No one else went to the farm with my father on this particular day. Only me. The two of us left our house at first light and hiked two hours through the jungle to the patch of ground he’d cleared for our next crop.

  “We have a lot of work to do, Xao,” he told me as we walked the winding trail descending to our farm. “You need to make sure you pick up every last twig, no matter how small, and put it into the brush pile. Do you understand?”

  Even though I was seven, I was expected to work like a man. “Yes, Father.” I struggled to match his pace on the trail, the small basket bouncing on my back.

  “The field must be perfectly clear so we can plant next week.”

  I didn’t realize it at the time, but I am now sure my father knew we would never plant anything in our field. Ever.

  The distant sound of cannons and gunfire boomed closer. May was the month for planting in Laos, but May of 1975 was a bad month to be a soldier in General Vang Pao’s army.