After four arduous tube journeys to the awkwardly located Marylebone Station, I side-stepped an aimless ramble around the surrounding area by asking the man behind the baguette stall, “Do you know where the Landmark Hotel is?” “It’s over there,” he replied, sighing as he pointed to a giant building across the street.
As I approached the entrance, I realised my mistake. Dressed in my grubby, pink fuchsia trainers with unironed trousers and a T-shirt that still bore the strains of last night’s curry, I wondered if the three knuckle heads guarding the door would even allow me to enter. As I neared, I was reminded of my early teenage years, my breath held as I armed myself with my fake I.D. and the misguided advice of ‘don’t look them in the eye’.
Thinking the Ritz was a type of cracker and with my geography based solely on the layout of the tube mat, my Brummie ignorance of all things London-related had caught up with me once again, as I had no idea that the Landmark Hotel was such a prestigious location. What was I thinking? Did I really believe Freddy Deeb would be a Holiday Inn man? He may have a deceptive profile as someone who doesn’t bask in the celebrity light as much as others, but Deeb is a millionaire, a multiple bracelet winner, and someone who has even appeared on High Stakes Poker. Nothing less than the best should have been expected.
As I made no signs of heading into the hotel, one guard turned to another and I lapped up my opportunity, swerving through the glass doors at the last second and scurrying into the lobby where I’d arranged to meet Freddy. Sadly, these guys were pros, and I was quickly hunted down: “Excuse me, sir,” he said politely, although fully braced to chuck my grubby ass back out onto the street. “Can I help you?” At no point was the possibility that I was a guest considered.
“I’m just here to meet someone,” I replied. “He’s staying in the hotel.” My answer clearly didn’t suffice. “Who are you meeting please?” “Freddy Deeb, although his real name is Kassem.” “We’ll just give him a call for you,” he declared, gesturing towards the receptionist, “just to let him know that er… you’re here.” The hesitation spoke volumes, he was a non-believer, and I was clearly a threat to the Landmark Hotel. Fortunately, I was vindicated, Freddy was, of course, a guest in the hotel, and I was asked to wait in the lobby, with a silent appendix of, “but don’t you fucking touch anything or speak to anyone.”
On my best behaviour (I didn’t even sit down, as I wasn’t sure if one was allowed to perch on the seats available), I waited patiently for Freddy to emerge. The Landmark Hotel was, naturally, rather magnificent, exuberant in fact with it’s lavish interior, exquisite furnishings and unique décor that saw beautiful balconies weaved around the inside of the main hall. I can confirm 100 percent, this wasn’t the Holiday Inn, and the calibre of clientele was high.
A phone call later, and there he was, Mr Freddy Deeb, casually strolling across the hall with a piece of trash held in his hand, as if patiently waiting for someone to take it off him. Of course, Freddy looked like a guest, and not some tramp off the streets, so a member of staff quickly obliged, kissing his feet as he departed.
“You want coffee?” asked Freddy, his eyes barely open as his yawn attempted in vain to recover from what I expect was a night of playing cash at the Vic. “Sure,” I nodded, and on that note, we headed towards the dining area, Freddy leading the way in attire that would be more fitting for a summer vacation in Vegas.
We sat, head-to-head, almost like Smith and Jones, but without the comedy, and after the usual pleasantries, I sprung into action. Initially, I ambushed him with questions about Stu Ungar for my feature ‘I Played With Ungar’, but there was something about Freddy that made me want to speak about him too. So, after I’d dried up my questions on Ungar, I turned off the dictophone, brushed my notepad to one side, and decided to start a general chit-chat, hoping for a more laid-back atmosphere away from the generic questioning of your average interview.
“Where are you heading next?” I started. “I’m going to Dubai for my brother-in-law’s wedding?” he replied. ”How about the Irish Open?” I continued. “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Who knows, I like to make a decision of where I’m going a few days before, or just jump on a plane at the last minute.”
It was quite obvious, that despite his many years in the game (many more than most of us have lived), that Freddy still embraced the fast, unpredictable lifestyle that poker brings. He has four children, two of each gender, with the youngest being 13, so he’s been a busy boy, but this hasn’t stopped him from globe-trotting around the world, prising as much fun and enjoyment out of the game of poker as he did when he was a fresh-faced newbie.
In fact, Freddy loves his job. He’s about as laid back as you can get, and you just get the feeling that he’s reached a point in his life where everything is tickety boo. Family, poker, money – he seems so content with everything that it would take a herd of rhinos to put him off his stride. A guess, of sorts, but one that was perhaps given away by his continual smile as he spoke of his adoration for what he does.
And why shouldn’t he be anything but delighted? With over six million in tournament winnings including two WSOP bracelets, a WPT title and a consistent presence in the cash games that would match Bruce Forsythe for staying power, he has plenty to brag about. But whatever title he’s won, it’s that monetary figure which remains the most important to him.
“It’s all about making a profit,” he says confidently. “I’ve been living in America since 1975, whether it was in Vegas or California. I’ve never had a job in my life. I’m still looking for one. If it make enough money, I’ll do it, I might have your job.”
After reassuring him that my job doesn’t quite match his current income (it’s very close, though, perhaps), he continues: “Money is the most important thing when I play. I will play a game even if I don’t feel like playing, as long as it’s profitable.”
“How about the prestige of a bracelet?” I ask. He winces slightly before replying. “Bracelets are nice, but I’m not particularly worried about them. I was never a tournament player anyway. Years ago, I’d play in a tournament, and when I saw a good cash game, I’d throw my money off and go and play in the cash game. That’s how it was. Cash games were good, that’s where the money was. In those days there weren’t many players in the tournaments. Even at the World Series, I’ll only play a few tournaments. I love to play cash more than I do tournaments.”
At this point, I began to notice a paradox of sorts – Freddy claims to not have a job, but, in many ways, sees poker as exactly that, a job, a way of earning money. The difference, perhaps, is that it’s a job he enjoys, in a world where many people detest their job to the point of depression. “Why would I not like making money?” he concluded with a chuckle.
Even during the week building up to our interview, Neil Channing reported that Freddy was a regular presence at the highest stakes the Grosvenor Victoria had to offer. “I really like playing at the Vic,” confesses Freddy. “I remember playing there 15 years ago with people like Eric Dalby. It was the biggest Vic cash game, and you could lose 50,000 in one night.” Similarly, a love affair with the Aviation Club in Paris, aided by a friendship with Frenchman Bruno Fitoussi, shows that Freddy isn’t the type to hide in Vegas and embraces the option to travel to play poker.
As an old guard of the felt (there is no avoiding that fact), I asked him what he thought of the young, teenage hotshots exploding onto the scene, with the likes of Tom Dwan and Ilhari Sahamies taking the game for millions and dominating the nosebleed stakes. He almost shrugs off the question and claims, “There were kids with lots of money back in the day, it’s nothing new.” Cleary not threatened at all by the new generation of poker player, I wondered if he ever struggled to adjust to the poker boom and the influx of aggression that was injected into the game.
“If you’re a good player, you’re a good player,” he summarises, “whether you’re young, old, an experienced player, a new player. You’ve just got an instinct for the game, nothing changes about you, you’re a good player, that’s all. It’s automatic, like putting a programme in a computer to do something. The right way all the time, the computer never makes a mistake, because it’s programmed, and you mentally become programmed on all the tricks of the games, and the moves you have to make. Sure you make a mistake and miss out on certain things some of the time, but overall, the more good things you do, the more you’re going to win. A good player adjusts to his surroundings. Good players adjust to every game, every day.”
It seemed evident that whilst he may respect the abilities of some of the game’s younger players, he still considers himself to be superior, and rightly so, as he’s been winning for a such a long period of time, showcasing a consistency that a relatively new player, however successful, simply can’t echo. It reminded me of a comment made by the late Chip Reese when he was asked about the calibre of a rising star: “Ask me again in 30 years.”
It was indeed Reese who won the WSOP $50,000 buy-in HORSE event the year prior to Deeb, a tournament that is regarded by most as the “real main event”. Of course, the $2,276,832 payday for first prize probably came in handy, but for Deeb, winning a tournament that tested multiple forms of the game will have meant a lot: “If you’re good, you’re good - an all round player is a good player. When you’re a player who plays anything, then you’re considered to be a top player in my opinion.”
After hearing his thoughts on what makes a good player, I go in for the kill and ask, “So, who do you think is the best player the game has seen?” “There are good players,” he answers, “a lot of good players – who the best today is who had a good sleep, is the best rested, is in a good frame of mind, is mentally and physically fit today – could be Doyle [Brunson], Chip Reese, or Stu Ungar – but certain days I want to play with these people, and can see they’re off balance, or off edge. If they’re irritated, off their game, they’re the best to play with, because they can throw off a lot of money. It all depends who’s playing good on that particular day. We’re all humans, we all tend to make mistakes, or not be perfect that day to play poker – those are the things you look for and take advantage of in a poker game.”
In conclusion, my time with Freddy was brief, but eye-opening in many ways. In a short space of time, I learned that Freddy is far from the image of a veteran we’ve come to imagine: disgruntled, bedraggled, beaten down by poker, and refusing to adapt to the game he’s played for years in order to keep up with an ever-changing industry. Instead, Freddy is about as content with life as he can get, both with his ability as a poker player and his life away from the felt. He exudes satisfaction from every pore, and is happy to go on doing what he is doing, enjoying the unpredictable, but simultaneously laid-back lifestyle while continuing to rake in “da crazy dimes”, as the kids would say, at the cash tables. He’s in a position that all upcoming, young players hope they are in 25 years down the line.
With our time drawing to a close, I took my last sip of coffee and with a strategic aptitude unparalleled in the world of journalism, asked my final question: “Have you lost value of money at all?” “I’m never tight with money,” he replies honestly. “Some are, not me.” “Okay, well that’s about it,” I say dipping into my back pocket. “How much is the coffee?” “A fiver should cover it,” he commands. Oh, all right, he told me not to worry about it and took the bill, but my version was much more amusing.
As for the Landmark Hotel, next time I’ll be sure to bring my suit and briefcase in order to evade a security ambush. It’s just a shame I don’t own either of those items.