Flop Sweats and Big Bets

An improvised casino by the Thames, about 500 yards from Tower Bridge. A funny thing: if you took away the red-carpet welcome, the green-felt tables, the world-famous millionaires and the almost-audible whirr of brains in overdrive, this place could be just like the Tesco warehouse Dominic Tafoni worked in till he lost his job three months ago.

Instead, it's the second day of the inaugural London poker open and this 21-year-old from Milton Keynes is vying for a share of the $2 million pot. Yesterday, 140 players were in the running, most of whom had paid $10,000 for the privilege; today, only 79 remain, including Dominic, who won his place through a competition run by FHM. Make it to the last 18 and he's guaranteed at least $20,000. First prize is $750,000.

"He's doing brilliantly," chirps his mate Pui-yan Wei, watching from the gantry above the playing area, "he played for ten hours yesterday and was absolutely knackered but he's hanging in there. Oh look, what's he doing now?!" I look towards the young guy in the cap on Table 5, straining my eyes because it's the farthest away. "He's standing up!" exclaims Pui-yan. "By George he is!" I offer, hoping I sound intelligently amazed. "Oh, he's sat down again," says Pui-yan, "I think he was just stretching."

Pui-yan and I were two of about thirty people watching from the gantry, from where you can't quite make out the cards so you follow events by studying participants' gestures and movements. Which is pretty pointless, since most of the people we're examining are professional poker players who've made their fortunes by being utterly inscrutable. Admittedly, there are also a few non-professionals left, but since the likes of Mimi Rogers and Jennifer Tilly are successful Hollywood actresses, it's fair to assume they can hide their thoughts too. Still we watch rapt, and the tension is palpable.

"OK, what's going on with The Devilfish?" An MC has picked up a microphone and is making a beeline for Table 1. "The Devilfish is all-in, folks!" The gantry crew shift their stares to the rough-looking bloke with the white shirt and enormous gold rings. It's Yorkshire's Dave "The Devilfish" Ulliot, one of Britain's top poker pros and, as one of my gantry chums tells me, "quite a piece of work; yesterday he arrived with his bodyguard, a former World's Strongest Man winner. Told me he was carrying a quarter of million pounds. Fucked if I know why."

Alas for Devilfish, his all-in gamble didn't pay off. He lost his entire stack of chips and was eliminated just twenty minutes after the start of play on the second day. He's quickly followed out the door by Willie Garson, who may be able to boast of having featured in "The X-Files," "There's Something About Mary" and "Groundhog Day" but will likely prove more coy if you ever ask him how he lost 43,600 in chips in less than half and hour. Beaten by a pair of aces.

Verily, No Limit Texas Hold 'em is a merciless form of poker. Your hand is made from five cards - the two dealt exclusively to you plus three of the five placed face up in the middle of the table. The five in the middle are dealt in three stages, with players being allowed to bet between each stage. First comes "the flop", when three cards are laid. After players have bet, checked or chickened out, the fourth card ("the turn") is drawn and more bets are placed. Then comes the fifth and final card ("the river"), which so often breaks hearts and banks.

As the morning progresses, more and more players are eliminated, mostly the non-professionals. They stick around up in the gantry and, like a coterie of jilted women, swap stories of the men who hurt them. Since their wounds are fresh, they tell their tales not just with anger but also with amazement, even awe, at just how ruthlessly they were dumped.

"Can you believe he did that, the dirty bastid?" says one New Yorker, "I mean, how can anyone possibly do that? How!?"

"That's brutal, man, but wait till I tell you what happened to me" replies Pete Padagus, a utility engineer also from New York. "Seven of the other nine guys on my table were pros. I was getting good cards but I lost three hands in a row to full houses! Man, my stack just disappeared."

"Woah dude, that's like being hit by lightning!" quips Nate from Los Angeles.

As they debate whether their opponents were freakishly lucky or incomprehensively skilfull, Greg, a crestfallen Englishman trudges up the stairs. "Just unbelievable," he rues, as the others gather around to console and condemn. "After the flop I had a pair of aces and a pair of fours so I raised to 45,000, my whole stack. The turn and the river throw up sevens and this other guy beats me with a full house. How the hell did he know that was going to happen? What was he doing betting 45,000 when he started with just a four and a seven?

"Unbelievable," we all agree.

Then, adding a flash of glamour to the failure, none other than Mimi Rogers troops up the stairs, dragging on a consolation cigarette. I rush over. No doubt in a different setting, she'd have turned away immediately, taking me for just another gawking man coming to see what Tom Cruise's ex-wife looks like close-up. But this being a poker tournament and she being an avid player, she's keen to tell her story.

"I was down to my last 16,000 and was just waiting, waiting, waiting for something to bet on," she says wistfully. "Then it came: two kings. I went all-in. And was beaten by aces on the river."

"I really like poker though," she continues once I've offered my deepest sympathy on her loss. "I've been playing Texas Hold 'em for about two years; it's an intellectual challenge like chess. I enjoy calculating the odds and trying to read the other players' faces."

Reading other players' faces: that, all here agree, is the major difference between playing live tournaments and playing online (which they all do too, as indeed do four million people in Britain everyday). It's also the big difference between the limit and no limit versions of Texas Hold 'em, since in the latter the fact that players can bet as much as they want means, as I'm told repeatedly today, "you play the players more than you play the cards."

I resolve to find out how to successfully read people's faces. And who better to ask than Doyle Carson, the 71 year-old doyen of poker, a multi-millionaire who started playing "way back in the wild west", drew admiring gasps from women and men alike when he showed up at the London Open, and who, along with fellow members of the legendary 'Texas Rounders' poker circle, is credited with inventing No Limit Texas Hold 'em.

"It's a feeling," he says, chuckling and shifting his eyes elusively, "you have to understand people." And with that he offers me a copy of his book and heads off to rejoin his table.

So instead I sidle up to the bleach-haired, tracksuit-clad thirty-something who looks like a member of Green Day but is in fact top poker professional Phil Laak, who's nicknamed "The Unabomber" because of his penchant for playing with his hood pulled over his head and impenetrable dark shades - a look designed to avoid "giving off tells."

"No limit is part mathematics, part game theory and part mind-reading." he says. "You can learn some basic reading tricks that can work on novices but a lot of it's innate. You can hone your instinct, though. It's like when you stop and ask a doorman for directions. He gives them to you but you have to ask yourself, 'does that guy have a glow or is he just saying something because he doesn't want to admit he doesn't know where the place is?'"

All a bit fuzzy - let's have the tricks that work on novices.

"OK, here's a very basic one. Say a guy raises and you want to know if he's bluffing or not. You ask him, "listen buddy, if I don't call you, will you show me your hand afterwards anyway, I'm curious.' If he says 'yes', then you know he doesn't want you to call him so he's probably bluffing." Hmmmn, or double-bluffing. "Exactly. That's why it only works on total fishes!"

The MC's on the mic again: "Jennifer Tilly's gone all-in!" he says, prompting the Unabomber to jump to his feet and dash over to the edge of the gantry. He's been dating the Hollywood actress for over a year now, and she's the reason he's been loitering around the gantry despite being eliminated half an hour ago. She wins the hand to survive, one of the last 24. "She was odds-on after the flop," says the Unabomber matter-of-factly, "it went from a 70% to an 88% chance."

Before I can ask exactly how he worked that out, an ovation comes from the floor. So far, no one who's been eliminated has got anything more than a few fraternal hand-shakes, but the latest to lose his stack is Brunson, the spiritual granddaddy of everyone here. The other players applaud and emit a kind of collective sadness at the departure of a legend. Or is it relief?

At this point I realise that Mr Milton Keynes, Dominic Tafoni, is still clinging on to his seat at Table 5. There's another break in play and, looking taut but admirably composed, he comes to offer his thoughts.

"It's brutal, really unbelievable," he says, "Have you seen who's at my table? Scott Fischman, Chip Jett, and Henrik Joern all sitting in a row opposite me! Then chip-leader Marcel Luske came to join us. I've only won three hands all day. They were big wins, though."

"Some of them have been giving me tips on poker etiquette and stuff like that so they seem like nice guys. But they're killer players, it's just raise and re-raise all the way. When I get my cards, I don't even look at them for fear of giving away tells. I wait till it's my turn to play, then glance at what I got and decide what to do on the spot."

He speaks like he's in awe, but ever since novice Chris Moneymaker beat a room full of professionals to win $2.5million at the 2003 World Series of Poker, pros have learned to be wary of players who pretend to be out of their depth. "That's what makes poker so different from most other games," says the Unabomber, "if you're into, say, golf, you know you're never, ever going to get the chance to play in a threesome with Tiger Woods in a major championship. But in poker, anyone can pay the buy-in and you can pit your wits against the very best in the world."

And sometimes, you don't even have to pay your buy-in. Dominic didn't. And he finished ninth, collecting a cool $30,000.

"I'm thinking of turning professional," he says, "but first I'm going to play a few more tournaments around the London area. After I come back from a holiday in Vegas, of course!"