All In
Authors: Jerry Yang
All In
Jerry Yang
with Mark Tabb
DEDICATION
To my wonderful wife, Sue, and six children, Beverly Nubqubci,
Justice Txujci, Brittney Nkaujnub, Brooke Nkaujntsuab,
Brielle Nkaujntxawm, and Jordan Tswvyim.
Also to the four most influential people in my life: my father,
Youa Lo Yang, brother Cher Xay Yang, Grandmother Pla Her,
and Aunt Mee Yang.
Published 2011 by Medallion Press, Inc.
The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO
is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2011 by Jerry Yang
Cover design by James Tampa
Edited by Emily Steele
Photography by Eric Curtis
Shot on location at the Pechanga Resort & Casino
®
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Sreet., Suite 200, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80920.
www.alivecommunications.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro
Printed in the United States of America
Title font set in Hattori Hanzo
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Prologue: The Longest of Long Shots
7Â Â Two Tournaments, One Prize
8Â Â Between the Rio and the Roach Motel
14Â Next Stop: The Final Table
15Â A Place Where People Went to Die
23Â Reaching for the American Dream
Postscript: The Heart of a Champion
Appendix: Jerry's Winning Poker Strategies
8 Things Beginning Players Need to Know
The Longest of Long Shots
“Hey, Jerry? Oh my gosh, I can't believe it's you. I just want to tell you, man, I think you are
awesome,
and I know you're going to win this thing. Wow, I can't believe it's you. Hey, Jerry, if it's not too much to ask, can I shake your hand?”
“May I wash my hands first?” I said to the complete stranger who'd started talking to me the moment I'd stepped out of the restroom stall in the Rio All-Suite Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas.
“Yeah, man, sure. Oh my gosh. Wow. I can't believe I just met the guy who's about to win the freakin' World Series of Poker. Wow.” I thought this stranger might pass out right there on the restroom floor. No one had ever been this excited to meet me before.
I walked to the basin to wash my hands. When I turned around, my new biggest fan had a crowd around him.
“Hey, Jerry,” one after another called out, “we're with you
all the way, man. You can do it.”
I tried to push my way through the crowd, shaking hands as I went. Finally, my older brother and my two brothers-in-law made a path to the door for me.
“Yeah, Jerry. Go get 'em, man,” the bathroom crowd cheered.
I'd never experienced anything like this in my entire life. Of all the places in this crowded casino, I'd thought the restroom would be the one where I might find a moment of peace. And after playing poker fourteen hours straight, that's exactly what I needed.
Nine players had started out at the final table at noon on Tuesday, but at two o'clock Wednesday morning, two remained: Tuan Lam and me. We had played so long, with so much on the line, that I could hardly think straight. I knew if the reception I received in the casino restroom was any indication of what lay ahead, I wouldn't have any quiet moments to myself for a very long time.
Making my way toward the final head-to-head showdown, I felt confident. I had a huge chip lead, which made me the odds-on favorite to walk away with the title of World Series of Poker Champion and the huge payday that came with it. However, I knew that in Texas Hold 'Em, chip leads disappear in a hurry. Even so, two weeks earlier when I'd arrived in Las Vegas, no one had counted on me even finishing in the money. I was just one of more than 6,000 poker wannabes. Now I was on the brink of taking poker's biggest prize. I could hardly believe what was happening.
Smiling, I turned to my brother as we walked through the hallway toward the Amazon Room and the final showdown. “This is crazy.”
I couldn't hear his reply.
“Jerry, Jerry, over here, Jerry!”
“How about a picture?”
“How about an autograph?”
“Can I shake your hand, Jerry?”
“How about it, Jerry?”
A huge crowd filled the hallway. So many people called out my name that they drowned out my brother's voice. Pressing against the rope separating spectators from players, they reached toward me as I walked by, snapping pictures like fans at a red carpet Hollywood premiere.
I almost turned around to see if Jerry Lewis or Jerry Seinfeld or some other famous Jerry was behind me, but they were cheering for me: Jerry Yang. On the first day of the World Series of Poker, tournament officials had pulled me aside and asked if I was
the
Jerry Yang, the cofounder of Yahoo. When I'd told them, “No, I'm just a psychologist and family counselor from Temecula, California,” they'd shrugged and said, “Oh, sorry to have bothered you.”
Now those same officials were giving me the royal treatment as security guards escorted me toward the Rio's Amazon Room. White dots from all of the camera flashes filled my sight.
Patting me on the back, my brother said, “This is for you, Vaam,” calling me by my Hmong name.
1
“Enjoy it.”
“This way, Mr. Yang.” One of the four security guards assigned to me pointed the way to the Amazon Room.
Calling the warehouse-sized space a room doesn't do it justice. Over the past two weeks, I'd spent so much time in it that I could have made it my permanent address.
As we walked toward the door, I remembered the first time I'd walked in. Over 2,000 poker players had sat in groups of nine around tables as far as the eye could see. And that was only one-third of the players in the tournament. Now, out of all those thousands, two players remained. In a few moments, we would start playing again, winner take all.
“Let me get that for you, Mr. Yang,” a guard said. He threw the door open, and I couldn't believe my eyes.
Dead ahead, in the glare of the television lights, sat the feature table, the one where I'd played since noon the previous day. But it looked different.
During the twenty-minute break, tournament officials had stacked $8.25 million in
cash
on the table. The little boy inside of me wanted to run and grab a stack of bills, then thumb through them to make sure they were real.
I wonder if Tuan Lam had the same thought. Like me, Tuan had once been forced to flee his Southeast Asia home to live in a refugee camp. When I'd come to America at the age of twelve, I had one pair of pants, one shirt, and the first pair of shoes I'd ever owned. Now, even if I choked my four-to-one chip lead, I would walk away with more money than my mind could imagine.
How did I get here?
I asked myself.
How did I get from the hills of Laos to here?
“Hey, Jerry,” a fan yelled out, pulling me back into the
Amazon Room.
Other fans joined. “Jerry! Hey, Jerry, you're gonna win this thing. Jerry, we believe in you.”
So many people cheered that I couldn't understand what they all said.
Then they began chanting, “Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry ⦔
I couldn't believe it. These people who had never heard of me before I'd made it to the final table now wanted me to win.
I waved, which made them scream even louder: “Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry ⦔ They all looked so happy, as if
they
were about to win no less than $4 million.
Across the room, fans from Tuan's adopted country of Canada waved flags and chanted his name.
It felt like a giant party, not a poker tournament.
I spotted my wife in the second row of the stands closest to the table and tried to get to her.
The fans in the Amazon Room, unlike in the hallway, weren't held back by ropes. Every few steps, I'd be stopped by someone. “Jerry, man, you're the greatest. Would you sign my hat?” A man shoved a Sharpie at me.
Another man pulled up his sleeve. “Hey, Jerry, how about an autograph?”
“What do you want me to sign?”
“Right here. Just sign right here.” He pointed to his bicep.
So many people crowded toward me. I signed hats, shirts, poker chips, cardsâanything and everything people thrust my way. About the time I thought the crowd was going to swallow me, one of the security guards came to my rescue.
I didn't have much time before play resumed. I had to get to my wife. I needed to touch her, to hold the one person in the room who anchored me to reality before I allowed myself to get swept up in this unfolding dream.
My wife stood and smiled.
I grabbed her and held on, almost breaking down and crying. She and I had come so far to arrive at this moment.
I had spent weeks trying to convince her to drop her objections to my taking up poker for the first time. She worked nights as a blackjack dealer in a casino near our home and had seen too many lives destroyed by gambling. With six kids, a mortgage, and a car payment, the last thing she needed was for her husband to blow his paycheck in a card room. I agreed with her. I didn't want to be a gambler, just a poker player. Who would have expected we would be standing here today?
“Sue,” I said, but she couldn't hear me.
The crowd's cheering vibrated the floor.
I placed my mouth next to her ear and shouted, “Pray for me. Keep praying.”
I pulled back a bit so I could look at her beautiful face. Her eyes looked so tired. She'd sat in this same spot since the first card of the final table had been dealt, living and dying with me through every hand.
Tears welled in her eyes. She didn't want to cry in front of so many people, but she couldn't help herself.
I wrapped my arms around her. “Don't cry, honey. Don't cry. We made it. Win or lose, we made it. You will never have
to work nights again.”
Her lips moved as she tried to say something. Even if she could have made the words come out, I wouldn't have been able to hear her.
My mother was standing next to Sue. She's actually my stepmother, but she is the only mother I have known. When I was a little boy in Laos, I'd watched my real mother die giving birth to my younger brother. As I hugged the noble woman I'd always known as my mother, I could tell she was fighting back tears.