Chan's presence at the tournament is another in a string of Arizona gambling precedents set by the Fort McDowell Casino.
The casino was the lone holdout during the 1992 Indian casino raid, where FBI agents attempted to confiscate slot machines. The much-publicized stand-off lasted three weeks before Governor Fife Symington agreed to negotiate a gaming agreement.
Fort McDowell was also the first Arizona casino to offer poker. Previously, poker had been played in poker parlors that profited from liquor sales.
Byrne remembers ordering those initial 12 tables in April of 1992, and then having to order 33 more a few months later. Each table generates about $60 in revenue every hour. Although Byrne sees more and more professionals in Arizona card rooms here to take advantage of the relatively novice players ("A good player can easily make $500 a day at Arizona poker tables," Chan says), no side game or tournament has been big enough to regularly attract Chan.
But Byrne, who's known Chan since their Vegas days, convinced him to sign an exclusive deal with Fort McDowell. Now, he's scheduled to play tournament winners (his next showdown is in August) and help develop new games such as Action Jack, a variation on blackjack where players play against each other rather than the house. The Action Jack at Fort McDowell has had spotty attendance so far.
At the tournament table, winner Ron Holden waits for Chan. A crowd of players has gathered to watch the match, and the game will be carried on closed-circuit monitors throughout the casino.
Chan is on the other side of the card room, having shown no interest in the poker tournament. He's intent on the U.S. vs. China soccer game on the game-room television.
"I'd rather be lucky than good," Holden says. "If he's as good as they say, I'd rather have the luck."
When a commercial interrupts the soccer match, Chan comes over to meet his opponent. The two poker players smile and shake hands: a retiree in tight white socks and bifocal glasses, and an Asian celebrity sporting a pricey watch and a new haircut.
Byrne grabs a microphone to call the game, and play begins.
For a while, Holden keeps pace with Chan. There are no dramatic showdowns, and the chips swing back and forth. Those who have studied Chan's style of play, however, know that Chan is putting his opponent to the test--deciding what makes Holden fold, check, call or raise. Silently collecting this information for an upcoming showdown.
"The last time he was here," whispers a spectator, "Johnny tricked the guy into going all-in when he was holding a pair of pocket [face down] aces. It was all over in a second."
Chan draws a pair of pocket aces this time, too, and raises viciously.
Holden, sensing a trap, folds before the showdown, but not before losing a large pot.
The balance of chips, and the probability of victory, shifts to Chan. As a new hand is dealt, an employee of the casino approaches the table to give Chan the soccer score.
"I saw it," he says, loud enough for his audience to hear.
There's a television set broadcasting the soccer game on a far wall. Chan, so confident in his eventual victory, is practically ignoring his opponent and the cards dealt to him. His arrogance surely must have an effect on Holden's play as well.
More cards come out, and Holden's chip stack erodes further. It seems Holden wins only the small pots, and Chan takes the large ones.
The next hand is pivotal:
Both players raise and re-raise until a large mound of chips sits impressively in the center of the table. If Chan wins, his victory today is almost assured. If Holden takes it, he's back in the game.
The players go into a showdown, and Holden turns over his hand--a king-high.
Witnesses are positive Chan has him beat. And he does--practically any decent hand could take the pot. But when Chan turns over just an ace-high, the crowd gasps.
"Now, if you can figure out how Chan knew that he had a king, and only a king," says an onlooker, "then you'll have a story to write."
Holden's remaining chips are quickly drained away. Chan wins--again. It took about 25 minutes.
The players shake hands once more, a flash from a camera, and Chan steps aside. As he walks away, a fan asks Chan if his opponent had any tells. Chan, knowing neither modesty nor restraint, and never leaving sugar anywhere near the table, nods his head.
"He had tells," Chan says. "He had tells from here to Las Vegas."
Contact James Hibberd at his online address: jhibberd@ep.newtimes.com
