Since the WSOP ended I haven’t played much poker, but in the times I have I’ve gone about 0-for15 in all-in confrontations. I’m not complaining. How can I? I had a wonderful three-day stretch where things lined up and I was lucky enough to win a bracelet. Some of my friends say I can never complain again. But, the truth is, although I’ve never considered myself a particularly lucky poker player, I’ve never wasted time bemoaning that fact. If I’d never won a bracelet, or if I’d won ten, my poker varience is relatively meaningless. I won my most important showdown a long time ago. Here’s my story:

 I grew up in upstate New York. When I was a senior in high school, one of my friends who was a year older had gone to college and joined the rugby club. During the summer he talked a bunch of us into playing the game and put together the Troy Rugby Club. Since he was the only one who had ever played, and only for one year, we stunk. However, especially back east, rugby parties were legendary. In fact, we recruited players through the parties, which usually worked because they were so good that guys wanted to be a part of the scene. While we never came close to winning a game that first year, we never lost a party. When I went to college I played at Cornell. The quality of play was much better, and the parties were as good as ever.

Besides being a great game, the rugby community is very open and supportive. When I got out of college in 1976 I put my shit in my car and, with $400 to my name, drove west. I didn’t know anyone, but I knew if I found a rugby club I’d find friends and assistance in finding my way. I bounced around California for a few years, working various jobs and joining rugby clubs in Riverside, San Jose and Palm Springs. I enjoyed the game and met many good people who remain close friends to this day. The only disappointing aspect was that the parties were pretty tame compared to what I was used to back east. In 1980 I had a job offer in Las Vegas and jumped at the chance. While, in general, post-college rugby clubs consist of mostly professional, responsible, solid citizens, the Las Vegas Rugby Club at that time was a collection of rogues, miscreants and maniacs, with a few normal people mixed in. I’d found a home. One of the guys played for the Raiders for a time, and was a scary man. But he was simply too crazy and is in jail, probably for life. Others had addictions and manias of varying types and degrees. In Vegas the party generally started before the game. Like my first club, we weren’t very good, but we never lost a party.

 One of the normal guys on the club was Mark Harrington, who was a professional pilot. In addition to flying some of the zanies to the away matches (who was going to drive?), he flew tourist flights to the Grand Canyon. He kept inviting me to take a flight with him, but at that time all I wanted to do was work (I was a craps dealer at the El Cortez), play rugby and play poker. I finally decided to take a day off and go with him. We took off early in the morning. I was riding shotgun and there were six Korean tourists in the back. The flight to the Grand Canyon airport was mostly through canyons. It was thrilling, but I couldn’t help thinking that this was a single prop plane and if something happened there was no place to land. We got to the airport and the tourists took a tour while we hung out. The flight back was over a plateau for a short time until getting back in the canyons. Suddenly I felt a jolt, but Mark never moved a muscle and the prop was still spinning so I figured it was nothing. Then Mark said to me very calmly and quietly, “We just blew the engine. See if you can find a place down there to land.” I looked down and saw a dirt road and told him as much. He expertly got the plane down on a road that was slightly wider than the plane and ended abruptly about 20 yards from where we finally stopped. Mark was so cool that I never had one iota of fear that we weren’t going to be ok. It was the most profound example of composure under pressure I’ve ever seen. When we opened the hood we saw that the engine had thrown a rod and there was oil everywhere. The hard part was that they sent a helicopter to pick us up and bring us back to the Grand Canyon airport. Then we had to board another single prop plane to get back to Vegas.

Benny Binion said that the only bad luck is bad health, and anything else is a temporary inconvenience. I’ve got my health, as well as a wonderful wife and great friends. As I look back at that Grand Canyon flight, I figure that during about 70% of the time there would have been nowhere to land and my health would have been in real jeopardy. So, ever since I sucked out on the Grand Canyon, I figure I’ve been on a freeroll, so I really can’t complain.