The best poker player ever
Johnny Moss may be the best poker player ever. Some say he used to be and was for a very long time. Moss will-not contest the compliment except the use of past tense. He learned his trade growing up th that famous sporting town of Dallas, Texas. Moss used to sell newspapers for a penny on the corner of Commerce and Akafd. He delivered messages for the Mackey Postal and Western Union Telegraph Co. on Main Street. Moss took these jobs as a child because he quit school after the second grade to help support his poor family. At the age of 16, he was lookout for a poker game in a downtown hotel. By then he'd been taught many things about the life he would lead. Things that had to do with self-protection whenever he played. How flimflam deal seconds from a deck of cards and off the bottom. Or how, using thumb or forefinger, a man can make dice roll a certain friendly way. He also knew about hidden mirrors used to peek at cards. In the early days, they were stashed inside the lid of Prince Albert tobacco cans. Some even on the underside of a match head. He even discovered one in the most unimaginative place place of all in a player's lap. "You have to learn how to keep the cheats off," he says. "If you get cheated, you'll never win." That's Rule No. 1 from the Johnny Moss Guide to Better Poker Playing. He should know. He was never at east walking a safe and sedate path. Moss preferred to pit his skill and nerve against the turn of a card. For him, everything came out OK considering what he is today sort of a living icon, a poker legend who lives free at the Golden Nugget hi Las Vegas and does his playing at the Horseshoe Casino. Moss has had quite a run of cards over his near 79 years.
The top one, which even puzzles him slightly, is how he's lived this long. It hasn't been easy, and it sure wasn't dull. Moss has already bluffed four coronary attacks. He busted Nick (The Greek) Dandelos in a head-to-head game that lasted five months. He's won $870,000 in a single sitting. He's also gone Tap City from lesser and larger amounts. Within the space of four years in the '50s, Moss ran a bankroll of $12 million into minus $500,000. He did it shooting dice and staying daily drunk, pursuits he quit cold turkey thereafter. He left town to gamble on the road and it took him all of two years to repay the debt. Moss once even told an unhygienic friend to take a bath, and Howard Hughes did. He's got bank loans in West Texas using as collateral only his gambling talent. This is the only three-time winner of the World Series of Poker, the sole living member of the original Poker Hall of Fame class. Moss also was a forerunner of the Texas invasion that near dominates the World Series staged each May in Las Vegas. If it's not a Lone Star heritage, the game apparently played around the house a lot. Texans such as Amarillo Slim Preston, Doyle Brunson, Jack Straus, Sailor Roberts and Bill Smith have won the event. Smith beat T. J. Cloutler in an all-Dallas final last year. The time I saw the World Series, five of the six finalists were from Austin, Killeen, San Antonio, Houston and Dallas. Moss even came to Vegas for the first time at the request of a Dallas boyhood chum, Benny Binion, who'd migrated to Vegas to establish the Horseshoe Hotel and Casino.
When Nick the Greek hit town searching for the ultimate game, Binion called Moss so they could stage the most famous public poker contest ever played in the Horseshoe lobby. Moss best recalls one dramatic five-car stud hand among all they played from January into May. With four cars up, he held a pair of 9s, one of them concealed. The Greek's up cards were an 8-6-4; his potential best a pair of 8s or an inside straight draw. Betting had been heavy. After the fifth and final card, it went out of sight. Moss got a no help. The Greek, known for bluffing big pots, drew a jack and bet $50,000. Moss raised with his two 9s. The Green then went all in with his last $140,000. And Moss called. More than a half million rode on the hole cards. Moss turned his second 9. The Greek flipped another jack and took the pot. "He paid more than $100,000 to see that jack," Moss still marvels 37 years later. "I almost fell out of my chair." Sometimes on purpose, Moss has looked under his chair while playing. Gamblers often develop subconscious during the stress of his mistakes play. They're called "tells" because they tell an opponent whether the man is bluffing. "I used to drop a cigarette or something so I could look at feet. One guy was tapping his heel. Was he bluffing or did he have a hand? I had to find out. I called, and he did have a hand. "Next time I looked, both feet were flat. I called and he was bluffing. Only thing is," Moss said, "you don't want to get the heel and toe mixed up on different players." Moss has cut back his playing, but he remains formidable. A sixth-place finish in the World Series last year at age 78 is proof. Why did he become a gambler? The reasons are neither deep nor philosophical. Playing was a thrill, a test of the best and a living. And he was better at playing poker than anything else.
The top one, which even puzzles him slightly, is how he's lived this long. It hasn't been easy, and it sure wasn't dull. Moss has already bluffed four coronary attacks. He busted Nick (The Greek) Dandelos in a head-to-head game that lasted five months. He's won $870,000 in a single sitting. He's also gone Tap City from lesser and larger amounts. Within the space of four years in the '50s, Moss ran a bankroll of $12 million into minus $500,000. He did it shooting dice and staying daily drunk, pursuits he quit cold turkey thereafter. He left town to gamble on the road and it took him all of two years to repay the debt. Moss once even told an unhygienic friend to take a bath, and Howard Hughes did. He's got bank loans in West Texas using as collateral only his gambling talent. This is the only three-time winner of the World Series of Poker, the sole living member of the original Poker Hall of Fame class. Moss also was a forerunner of the Texas invasion that near dominates the World Series staged each May in Las Vegas. If it's not a Lone Star heritage, the game apparently played around the house a lot. Texans such as Amarillo Slim Preston, Doyle Brunson, Jack Straus, Sailor Roberts and Bill Smith have won the event. Smith beat T. J. Cloutler in an all-Dallas final last year. The time I saw the World Series, five of the six finalists were from Austin, Killeen, San Antonio, Houston and Dallas. Moss even came to Vegas for the first time at the request of a Dallas boyhood chum, Benny Binion, who'd migrated to Vegas to establish the Horseshoe Hotel and Casino.
When Nick the Greek hit town searching for the ultimate game, Binion called Moss so they could stage the most famous public poker contest ever played in the Horseshoe lobby. Moss best recalls one dramatic five-car stud hand among all they played from January into May. With four cars up, he held a pair of 9s, one of them concealed. The Greek's up cards were an 8-6-4; his potential best a pair of 8s or an inside straight draw. Betting had been heavy. After the fifth and final card, it went out of sight. Moss got a no help. The Greek, known for bluffing big pots, drew a jack and bet $50,000. Moss raised with his two 9s. The Green then went all in with his last $140,000. And Moss called. More than a half million rode on the hole cards. Moss turned his second 9. The Greek flipped another jack and took the pot. "He paid more than $100,000 to see that jack," Moss still marvels 37 years later. "I almost fell out of my chair." Sometimes on purpose, Moss has looked under his chair while playing. Gamblers often develop subconscious during the stress of his mistakes play. They're called "tells" because they tell an opponent whether the man is bluffing. "I used to drop a cigarette or something so I could look at feet. One guy was tapping his heel. Was he bluffing or did he have a hand? I had to find out. I called, and he did have a hand. "Next time I looked, both feet were flat. I called and he was bluffing. Only thing is," Moss said, "you don't want to get the heel and toe mixed up on different players." Moss has cut back his playing, but he remains formidable. A sixth-place finish in the World Series last year at age 78 is proof. Why did he become a gambler? The reasons are neither deep nor philosophical. Playing was a thrill, a test of the best and a living. And he was better at playing poker than anything else.