I was watching “Poker After Dark” the other night when a new bad guy named Brad Booth appeared. I say “bad guy” because, well, he just looked like he was gonna be trouble; he’d somehow distilled the gamut of savvy-gambler skepticism into a wry, taunting smirk that said, “I don’t believe anything you say or do, so go ahead and try it.” Seeing that, sports fans, I got a man-crush on him almost immediately.

Well, as I expected, Booth lived up to his anti-hero image from beginning to end. He managed to wrest a literal ton of cash from his opponents early on, joined in on the table banter with an extra dash of biting wit, then made a wager that I, Phil Ivey and everyone else who saw it will never forget:

It began with Booth betting $5800 to go with a 2-4 spades. Ivey made it $14000 with pocket kings. After a stack check, Booth called. The flop was 3-6-7 with two diamonds and one spade. Obviously, Booth had the worst possible hand at that point. But unlike most players - who crumble when they miss a flop - it seems Booth's bad luck only pissed him off. When Ivey bet $23000 right out he moved all-in for half a million. It was a shining example of the old over-bet move. I guess you could technically say Booth flopped a backdoor straight-flush draw, but only if you are a fervent believer in the “glass is half-full theory.”Really, the guy was shoving on a wing and a prayer.

Notwithstanding the absurdity of the size of the over-bet, if I were Ivey I’d have called Booth. In fact, I’d have beaten him in the pot. I’m not trying to critique Ivey’s game, you understand, but it was pretty much a no-brainer; Booth did not want a call. Besides, you only get so many chances to become immortal. If Ivey had insta-called you could forget about Doyle Brunson, Doc Holliday, Wild Bill Hickok – all of ’em. (Well, maybe not Doc Holliday; forget him and suddenly Kevin Costner’s one good movie gets a heck of a lot duller).

But, anyhow, my point is that Ivey would have gone straight to the top of the list had he just called Booth then. He’d have been numero uno – the guy who’d called a quarter of a million dollars on live TV like it was a side bet; the guy with the bracelets, the cash, the balls-by-Brunswick Bowling; the guy who would go down in poker history as the kind of player you couldn’t get away with waving $100000 bricks in front of!

I punched it up on a calculator, and Ivey’s odds of winning were 80 percent before the flop. After the flop, they were 79 percent. Either Phil smelled a rat, or he didn’t like losing even 1 percent of his edge. Or maybe, then again, he just didn’t know Booth was frickin’ insane! I, for one, knew the moment I laid eyes on the guy that that “look” of his came from somewhere sickly imaginative.

If Ivey had made the call and his hand had stood up, he could have casually stacked his chips and cash, then yawned and let loose with the best all-time use of “Boys it’s getting kinda late, and I’m feeling a little sleepy…” The house would have completely fallen down!

If, on the other hand, Booth had sucked out on him, Ivey could have just tapped the table in ho-hum fashion and whipped out another buy-in, sans comment. After all, you can’t break character for a second when immortality is knocking.

Seriously, I know about these things. I’ve got a friend who dated Wild Bill Hickok in a previous life, so anything you want to know about 'ole Bill, just ask me. Same goes for the swashbuckling Booth. He’s no ordinary huckleberry, and it’s just my style to see where he’s coming from. If I'd had Ivey’s bankroll, I’d have beaten Booth in the pot like it was a min-bet, partly for the fame and partly for the hell of it.


By: Dave Cinch
dave.cinch@acehoyle.com

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