#791 – 2009 WSOP #49 – Seen and Heard #15 – A London Werewolf in Vegas, Part II

It had been a year since I visited Roland de Wolfe when I saw him playing Chinese Poker with Phil Ivey at what was supposed to be my work table at a London television studio. The general buzz was that Roland had lost a bundle to Ivey so I kept quiet and let them play. Over dinner at a local dim sum restaurant, someone asked how much Phil had won from him, “A lot,” Roland said with kind of a stunned smile, his eyes a little glazed.

I was later told Ivey and de Wolfe flew to London together in a private jet, playing Chinese Poker all the way. Roland lost so much during the flight that he had to pay for the jet. At a tapas bar the next night, they were playing Roshambo for $5,000-$40,000 per series. Ivey was taking delight in backing patrons in the restaurant in matches against Roland, for similar stakes.

At one point, the degenerate pair argued whether a woman at one of the tables would throw rock, paper, or scissors on an opening throw. Phil bet $10,000, getting 2-to-1, that she would throw rock. Without revealing the wager, they got her to throw one time.

Rock.

Score $20,000 for Mr. Ivey.

Clearly de Wolfe loves to gamble and deserves the gambler’s ultimate accolade: he has a lot of gamble in him. Maybe I’m reading it wrong, but it seems like Ivey doesn’t lose. He gambles all the time, on everything, and is supremely skilled at getting and exploiting any edge, either in the terms of the wagers or in psychologically dominating his opponent.

So at dinner, I asked Roland if it was possible to get into to Ivey’s pocket. “Sure, you can get the best of it against Phil. But whenever I have, he just comes back stronger and beats you.”

“I guess you can’t exactly quit him after you get ahead?” I asked.

“Why would you want to quit,” de Wolfe asked, uncomprehending, “when it feels so good to win?”

This got us to the crux of the issue: Was Roland’s willingness to give action simply a professional gambler’s method of good marketing, or was he hooked? “I think it’s usually the latter,” he admitted.

So it wasn’t all a ploy to make opponents feel comfortable gambling with him? Roland shrugged. “Action follows me around.”

FRIENDS

Action was already waiting for us in Encore’s high-stakes salon, where some pals were playing roulette and the pit boss quickly posted a “RESERVED” sign when Roland sat down at a baccarat table. This high limit area of Encore is a favorite of Europeans, focusing on baccarat and single-zero roulette.

The evening we spent together is a testament to the concept that, though Americans live longer, Europeans live better. We were playing (or in my case watching) high-stakes gambling in a relaxed, elegant atmosphere, with fine wines and excellent Havana cigars.

The company was marvelous. Roland de Wolfe hangs around with an eclectic and fascinating circle of friends. When we arrived, Peter and Amanda were already playing Roulette. Peter, an excellent poker player, resembled a retired middleweight boxer: prominent nose, solid and compact, bouncing energetically on the balls of his feet. His girlfriend Amanda, with her piercing blue-grey eyes, sultry voice, and bone-crunching handshake (she rides and breeds horses) was casually sexy.

John Duthie also stopped by. John, the founder of the European Poker Tour, is a warm and friendly person. Even if he wasn’t such a nice fellow, he is difficult to dislike. With his salt-and-pepper long hair and large and angular facial features, he could be mistaken for an aging rock star.

There was also the Brazilian, whose name I never caught and who might not even have been from Brazil. Roland knew him and told me, during a previous baccarat session together, the Brazilian removed his Corum Bubble Poker watch and gave it to de Wolfe as a gift. When it was clear refusing to accept it wasn’t an option, he got the man to take some chips for it. Roland, who wears no other jewelry, immediately fell in love with the watch. Despite their friendship, the Brazilian had no problem criticizing Roland’s baccarat decisions. “How can you increase your bet on the bank when the player always wins two in a row on this shoe?”

THE SQUEEZE

Roland had explained at dinner that he had been playing a lot of baccarat at Encore. What attracted Roland to baccarat a game at which he would never have an edge?  “I guess it’s the squeeze,” he explained, and then we moved on to another subject. At the baccarat table after dinner, I came to learn what the squeeze was all about. Playing baccarat without the squeeze is like horse-racing without the betting.

A game of baccarat consists of two two-card hands, one designated “Player” the other designated “Bank.” The object has something to do with the totals of the hands, but what you need to know is this:  all the decisions about standing or taking cards are mandatory, so the only decisions you make are whether to bet Player or Bank and how much.

Because we were at a reserved table playing for high-stakes, Roland and his friends were allowed to take a long as they wanted on each hand. The ceremony, and its attendant superstitions, was unending.

 Based on Roland’s choice of betting Player or Bank, he would first ask to look at the other side’s cards. Sometimes he would tell the dealer to flip them face up, or flip just one face up. Other times, he would slowly look at one or both of them, covering the corners with his thumbs and slowly revealing picture-or-not and then the number of pips.

The real ceremony was reserved for Roland’s own cards. One at a time, thumbs over the corners, he would slowly turn up the short end of the first card, maybe one-sixteenth of an inch every several seconds. He would first determine by the smallest glimpse possible if it was picture card. If it was a picture card he quickly went to the next card. If he saw either empty space or pips, he turned the first card on its long side, and still covering the corners with his thumbs, very slowly turned up that side, determining the number of pips along the one side. From there he could start deducing if, say, there were four pips along the side, that he had either eight, nine, or ten. He would then repeat this with the other card.  And, of course, when either side had to draw a card, he would have to do the same thing – sometimes taking even more time because this was the decisive part in the hand.

The squeeze was an agonizingly slow process; it could take several minutes to play a single hand. On one hand, whether the card in question was a four or a five determined the outcome. Because the distinguishing pip would be in the middle of the card, there was no way he could slowly turn up any part of the card to reveal whether there was a pip blank space in the middle. So he very slowly tore at the center out of the playing card, tearing just enough so he could turn up a tiny bit of the tear and determine whether it contained blank space or a pip.

Winston Churchill said “To be shot at without result is one of the greatest pleasures a man can experience.” I mentioned this to Roland, and he quickly agreed. “It’s about the sweat,” as if nothing more needed to be said. And it didn’t. That sublime moment when the outcome is uncertain, and something – hopefully something substantial – is riding on the outcome is what Roland de Wolfe lives for. It was clear at the baccarat table that night that he directs his life around experiencing that moment and prolonging it as much as possible.

POSTSCRIPT

Less than one week later, Roland de Wolfe won his first World Series of Poker gold bracelet. He won it in Pot-Limit Omaha Eight-or-Better, a relatively new form of poker that he had almost never played. Roland said in an interview immediately after winning that, because his opponents, Brett Richey and Scott Clements, clearly had more experience in the game than him, “I knew I would have to gamble.” That was something at which Roland De Wolfe had much experience and, win or lose, could derive enormous pleasure.

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