Continued from Part One...
We were starting to get into the swing of things now, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to inquire about a potentially awkward subject – the infamous champagne story. During this year’s World Series, my good friend and fellow journalist Rod Stirzaker wrote a piece entitled ‘The Cristal Balla’, in which he outlined a prime example of Ivey’s lavish lifestyle.
According to Stirzaker’s secret source (ahem... Barry Greenstein), Ivey was enjoying dinner at the Wynn Casino when a group of businessmen and poker fans sent him over an expensive bottle of champagne along with their compliments. In acknowledgment of the gesture, Ivey returned the favour, and more, by sending over five bottles of champagne, which, at $500 a pop, would set him back $2,500, a mere drop in the ocean to someone of his extreme affluence.
The businessmen were impressed, but not to be upstaged, ordered the waiter to send over twenty bottles to Ivey. But it didn’t stop there. Later in the evening, several members of staff arrived at their table holding two hundred bottles of champagne, retailing at the whopping price of $100,000. The waiter passed a note to the businessmen. Aghast, they opened the note: “...and I won’t stop.”
Further proving both the increasingly tabloid nature of the media and also the public’s demand for anecdotes of exuberant opulence, this became the most popular news item of the World Series, bouncing ahead of any benign report of bracelet triumph. This is what people wanted to read; this was the world they wanted a glimpse into – the desirable life of a high roller. Eager to jump onto the bandwagon, I had several questions prepared regarding Champagnegate, such as why he did it, how important $100,000 is to him, and how he felt about his actions receiving such wide publicity.
“Could I ask you about the champagne story?” I inquired with a squeak.
Ivey paused, swallowed part of his sandwich he’d been eating and looked at me pensively. I felt myself shrink in size as I became yet another recipient of the Ivey stare.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” he declared abruptly, but honestly, before returning to his sandwich.
“Er… OK, no problem, that’s fine,” I replied like a nervous school kid encountering his first sexual rejection. With others, say, Daniel Negreanu, I would bounce back with, “Oh, gooooo on,” or something similarly jovial, but with Ivey, I felt I had to accept his response and move on, almost as if I did urge him to divulge, he would rip the head off my body. He has a genuine aura of someone who you just don’t mess with, and it’s probably this intensity that makes people fold up like cheap suitcases when facing him at the table.
Swiftly moving on, but remaining on the topic of money, as, after all, that is what most people are interested in when discussing Ivey, I asked what he thought about his wins and losses being detailed on sites like the High Stakes Database. To my surprise, he pleaded ignorance: “What, they do that? What do they say I’m up at the moment?” I conceded that I couldn’t recall an accurate figure. “I don’t really care to be honest, I don’t even know what they’re reporting. I have no idea about that.” I was, one, somewhat shocked that he wasn’t aware that those type of sites existed and, two, that he had no quibbles with his financial success at the tables being placed on public display. This was one of the factors that turned Guy Laliberte away from online poker, yet Ivey just shrugged his shoulders. It was becoming clear that Ivey simply didn’t care what people thought of him or his game. His goal was simple: be the best at what he does, and nothing else particularly mattered to him, especially his profile or public image.
Without directly saying that he was rich (I assumed he already knew), I asked Ivey the same question I once asked Patrik Antonius: “Do you have trouble motivating yourself for smaller buy-in events?” Whilst the Finn confessed to being unmotivated – “I’m going through a period where the tournaments aren’t interesting enough” – Ivey’s answer was slightly different, and showed no signs of battling motivation. “Because I wanna win, man,” he answered decisively. “I could play a 30 dollar freezeout on Full Tilt, but it would depend on who’s in the game. If it were one of my friends or something, then I’d want to beat them. I’m a competitive person and I want to win any tournament I enter regardless of the buy-in. WSOP, no problem, I can remain focused throughout most of the events, whether it’s the $50,000 HORSE or a $1,000 freezeout.”
With that said, I wondered if Ivey planned to tackle the Durrrr Challlenge. I sensed I already knew the answer would arrive in the affirmative and without hesitation: “I’d gladly do that, no problem, we’ll see what happens. I think I’d do all right.” “What do you think of durrrr?” I continued. “I think durrrr’s a very talented player, but he only really plays Pot Limit Omaha and No Limit Hold’em, so you can’t consider him one of the best players in the world. You need to be able to play all the games in poker. He’s definitely one of the best No Limit Hold’em and Pot Limit Hold’em cash game players though.” “Who do you consider to be the best?” “Patrik Antonius, David Benyamine, Doyle Brunson. That’s pretty much it.”
Ivey’s nonchalance bewilders me; nothing seems to faze him. The Durrrr Challenge, his results being publicised, forums scrutinising his every move, losing millions at craps – nothing. I had to ask if he ever swivel-chair-fist-pumps or, more importantly, throws a tantrum upon being dealt a bad beat. We all do that in the privacy of our own home, don’t we? Even Ivey?
“Not really, I mean, I’ve thrown a bottle of water across the room and it’s hit the wall or whatever. That was pretty much my limit. I think I was in a bad mood from something that had happened earlier in the day and I escalated it, but that was my only violent reaction ever towards poker. Immediately after I did it I started laughing and thought to myself, ‘What am I doing?’ I just logged off the computer and that was the last time I did anything. I understand poker, how it works, it’s just the way it is, and you need to accept that going in to things. You have to everything in your power to make that possible, but sometimes it’s not easy.”
Well, I guess not. But this is perhaps the attitude and approach that has enabled him to reach such high levels of play. Of course, there’s more to Ivey’s game than composure and an understanding of the ‘long-term of poker’. “I’ve got pretty good instincts,” he revealed. “I know what people are thinking, what they’re doing, what they’re trying to do, how they’re feeling. I put myself into that person and figure out what their brain is thinking, what they’re thinking, I’m thinking. I can live in the moment and know exactly what’s going on right now at the poker table. Online I can play enough with someone to be able to figure out what they’re doing, why they play hands a certain way and, you know, make adjustments.”
“How about things like Poker Tracker?” I asked. “Do you take notes?” Ivey smiled. “I don’t take notes. My notes are up here.” He points to his temple. “There’s plenty up there.”
Although I respect Ivey, I wasn’t here to simply massage his ego, so, without hesitation, I decided to ask him if he had any weaknesses. As I asked the question, Ivey stared at me intently. I reached the end of my sentence with a vocal stumble. There was a deft silence. I went to speak, but stopped. He continued to stare, his mouth slightly ajar. After his previous answer, I sensed that he was seeing into my soul, reading my mind and piercing through my very being. It was a creepy, yet intimidating experience. “Crap, he didn’t like that question,” I thought.
The silence continued before…
“Erm…” he bumbled suddenly. “Huh… sorry, my ADD just kicked in. What was the question?”
Phew.
I repeated the question with a sense of relief.
“Erm… well, yeah, of course, you have some weaknesses,” he said, desperately trying to find a flaw in his near-perfect game. “Against certain players, because I play a lot of heads-up matches against them, they can exploit your weaknesses, so you have to turn your weaknesses into positives. So, eventually, I turn my weaknesses into a strength and they don’t know it’s a strength, they still think it’s a weakness. You see what I’m saying? So, you kind of like change everything around.”
At this point, the Full Tilt lady returned to signify the end of the interview. I pleaded for another question, which she reluctantly, but kindly granted. Normally I’d turn my last question into a conversational piece that sneakily involved numerous questions, but I felt she’d see through my plans if I attempted to head down that route. Thus, my final question was simple and one that I hoped would elicit an opinion rather than a simple yes/no reply: Is there anything you’d like to see changed at WSOP?
“Yeah, I’d like them to have more HORSE events, that would be nice. I never thought WSOP would be this commercial when I first went. I was playing, then all of a sudden, it became popular to where it was being shown on TV. I didn’t think anything about it, I was like, ‘Who’s going to be interested in watching poker on TV?’ You know, ‘cos I play all the time, I’m like, ‘How is this going to work?’ I like the way it’s progressed though, it’s got bigger and bigger. It’s flatlined now though. It’s maintained.”
On that note, I decided to make my exit. I could sense a queue forming behind me with the next journalist silently ushering me away as if to say, “Come on, dickhead, you’re slicing a minute off my interview.” Admittedly, a minute might not sound like much to our lives, but when it’s being shared with Ivey, it’s actually quite valuable, if you ask the right question, that is. I felt that pressure throughout, knowing that any second the interview could be cut off. The problem with interviewing someone like Ivey is that there will never be enough time to ask him everything you want. I just hoped that I’d used what time I’d been generously given wisely. I doubted that I’d ever have the opportunity again.
So, what did I learn about Phil Ivey. Did my preconceptions change? Although our exchange became more relaxed as it progressed – Oh, how I would have killed for an extra five minutes – he’s the only person I’ve interviewed who I’ve genuinely felt intimidated by, that I had to watch my step and be careful of how I asked my questions. At times, I had an urge to call him ‘Mr. Ivey,’ and certainly wouldn’t dare to call him Phil and pretend we were best of pals. This wasn’t necessarily the fault of Mr. Ivey. He just has an aura of importance around him that strikes fear into your heart, whether you’re sharing the same felt or interviewing him for a website. It’s as if he has a message across his head that reads: “I’m the best player in the world, don’t fuck with me.”
Heading into the Soho Hotel that day, I’d been admittedly nervous for the first time in years, much like I had when I stood in Doyle’s queue at that first World Series. The difference is that when I see him at tournaments, I don’t have any qualms about having a casual chat or giving him a gentle nod of acknowledgement upon passing. Yes, he’s an icon, but he possesses a comforting quality that distinguishes any initial fears. Despite being coated in history and prestige, you can’t help but feel that Doyle is just one of us, a player, enthusiast and fan of the game.
Ivey, meanwhile, is different - he remains an intimidating specimen and sits perched on a tier that makes him seem and feel untouchable. He comes across as a very private person, someone who doesn’t wish to massage my tabloid urges, or involve himself in frivolous discussions about his personal exploits. In many ways, he’s a very simple man: he just wants to do whatever the fuck he wants, and anything that gets in the way of that most basic of goals is little more than a nuisance or an uninvited obstacle. Despite putting on an amicable face, I felt that that was me – just a hurdle to be jumped so he can get back to playing poker or shooting hoops.
The truth is that Ivey isn’t one of us. Yes, he shares a passion for poker, but he boasts a lifestyle and level of fame and respect that I’ll never experience. He lives a different life to me and inhabits a world that I can only peek into. Because of this, I predict that if I cross Ivey’s path again, I might be too shy to even say hello. I’d still be slightly on edge. I might attempt a hesitant nod, but that would be it. Why? Well, it’s Phil Ivey of course.
For more high profile interviews see:
Patrik Antonius
John Juanda
Annette Obrestad
James Akenhead
Richard Ashby
Sammy George
Roland De Wolfe
Jeff Lisandro
Freddy Deeb
Barry Greenstein
Phil Laak