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About Doyle Brunson

A lot has changed since publication of my first Super/System in 1978. I'll tell you about that in a few minutes. But, first I'd like you to read how I felt back then, in mostly the same words I used to tell my story at that halfway point in my poker career. It went like this…

Before 1978
I suppose at some time in our lives we all reflect on the good and the bad that has happened to us and ask ourselves the question: If we had it to do all over again are there things we would change? I'm no exception.

There's no one alive who could have had it much tougher than I had in the early years, long before the publication of the first Super/System in 1978. I was in a photo-finish with death. That's as close as you can get to the ultimate "bad beat". And accompanying my early poker adventures, there had been near-tragedy in my life, due to health problems with my wife Louise and my oldest daughter, Doyla. (We lost Doyla a few years after Super/System came out. It was the biggest heart break in my life.) I've been so broke early in my marriage that I couldn't afford bus fare from Las Vegas to my home in Fort Worth. . .and could barely scrape up the dime to call my wife to send me money for the ticket.

Two sides to the coin
But. . .there are two sides to the coin that's been flipping my life around.

I finally got to the point where I got my bankroll up to One Hundred Thousand. . .and I've never looked back since. Even years before Super/System was born, my wife and family lived in relative luxury. . .and now they'll never have a hungry day as long as they live.

I've made many millions playing Poker. . .at times, early on, lost most of my bankroll betting on Sports and Golf - but I've always done "my thing". And.. .I'm a happy man because of it. The pleasures have definitely outweighed the pain.

Through it all, I've learned that, in Life, a man's not beaten even though he's all-in. You can't count him out until the fall of the last card.

I've been tested time and again on many "battlefields." I've lost a lot of little skirmishes. . .but I've won the big ones. That's what really counts.

The adversity I've faced has been a blessing in disguise. It's strengthened my character. I've had to draw on that strength many a time at the Poker table. I'll continue to draw on it for the rest of my years.

I'll need that strength too. You see. . .I'm a gambler. I'll always be one. I couldn't be anything else. So, my life will always be filled with wins. . .and losses. I wouldn't have it any other way. It's exciting. There's almost never a dull moment in my life. And I can't imagine anyone having a better life than the one I have right now. I've got just about everything I want.

That elusive something
Yes. . .the deck's been stacked against me at various times in my life - but I've overcome every "cold deck" I've faced. I'm enough of a dreamer to realize it might have been that elusive something a gambler calls luck. But, I'm also enough of a realist to know that in general we make our own luck - through knowledge, skill and experience. And that goes for the game of Poker as well as the game of Life.

In the summer of 1933 I was born in the West Texas town of Longworth, a spot on the road consisting of a few houses and a general store. I don't suppose the population ever exceeded 100. We had only two industries in the area - farming and a U. S. Gypsum plant. My dad worked for Planters Gin Company, and while he didn't make much money, there was always food on the table and a little extra for the kids once in a while. We lived in a four-room frame house at the time, with an outhouse at the back. I remember thinking when I was little that if I ever got any money, I'd bring the plumbing indoors. It used to get mighty cold on those prairies during the winter.

There were five of us living at home when I was small: Dad, Mom, my sister Lavada, my older brother Lloyd, and I. It was crowded but we didn't mind. There was a lot of warmth. . .and a lot of love.

My mother was a religious, God-fearing woman who did her best to raise us with a sense of moral values. I suppose a good deal of that has remained with me. She used to tell us that you'll find good in every man if you look hard enough. I've always tried to remember that and act accordingly. . . although sometimes it's been mighty difficult considering some of the unsavory characters I've come in contact with.

My Dad was perhaps the calmest, most even-tempered individual I've ever been exposed to. Nothing ruffled him. I can't remember ever seeing him get angry. When things went wrong he'd take it in stride, smile and say that setbacks were only a temporary thing. Tomorrow would always be better. Of course we kids would get into a little trouble every once in a while (as all kids do) and he surely would have been justified in whaling the tar out of us. But, he never even raised his voice. Not once. Nor did he ever hit us. He had a capacity for making us know we'd been out of line without raising as much as one finger. He was a truly remarkable man. When the Good Lord made my Dad. . .HE destroyed the mold.

Three kids in a classroom
I attended grammar school in Longworth where several grades were held in one room. I recall that my third grade class consisted of only three kids - two boys and a girl. We got a lot of individual attention. That's for sure.

After grammar school and Junior High, I entered Sweet- water High School with two of my closest friends from Longworth - D. C. Andrews and Riley Cross. We turned out for the Basketball team. It didn't take long to become known as the Longworth triple-threat and the three of us took over the varsity team. Why not? We were in prime shape. We were always working out, running and swimming. D. C., Riley, and I would run non-stop from Longworth to the swimming hole on the Barclay Ranch (about eight miles away). Sometimes we'd run from Sweetwater back to Longworth after school, but the coach didn't take too kindly to that. He gave us a station wagon so we'd be sure to make the practices on time. Sports were my whole life in those days.

In addition to Basketball, I also turned out for the Baseball team.. .and at the suggestion of my coach started running Track. I was never much interested in Track, but the Basketball season was over and I needed something to do to keep in shape… so I took on the mile run. It seemed like a fair distance and, with all the running I was doing, I felt I could do all right. I honestly didn't realize at the time how well I'd actually do.

In 1950, as a Senior, I entered the Texas Interscholastic Track Meet as a mile runner and won it in a time of 4:38. Without really trying, I suddenly found myself the best high school miler in the state of Texas. In the meantime, I had also been chosen as one of the five best high school Basketball players in the state - a rather heady experience for a boy of sixteen.

Riding high
After that, the scholarship offers started coming in. There must have been a hundred or so all told from various colleges and universities throughout the country. I finally settled on Hardin-Simmons, a Baptist-affiliated college in Abilene that was primarily known for turning out teachers and coaches. At the time I felt my life's work would be in one of these areas. In my Junior year at Hardin-Simmons I was voted the most valuable player in the Border Conference and the Pro teams were beginning to show an interest. The Minneapolis Lakers (now the Los Angeles Lakers) were making overtures and I began to set my sights on a career as a professional Basketball player. Dell Basketball Magazine picked me as one of the top ten college players in the country. I was riding high. In addition to the Basketball honors, I had run the mile in 4:18.6. That put me in contention for a spot on the National team. I often wonder what would have happened if I had trained as hard for Track as I did for Basketball. I was only eighteen years old at the time. Thinking about it now, I'm sorry I didn't. I think I missed my true calling in Sports. There's no doubt in my mind that a four-minute mile was possible.

The future looked bright indeed. In the summer, I got a job at the U. S. Gypsum plant. It wasn't any great shakes as jobs go, but I planned on saving enough to last me through my Senior year. I had been assigned to unload some sheetrock one day and as I was hauling the sheets off and stacking them. . .suddenly…the pile began to shift. I tried to stop it with my body, jamming my knee into the lower half of the pile to keep it in place. What a dummy I was. I couldn't stop it. Two thousand pounds of sheetrock crashed on my right leg. It snapped in two places. I remember my first thoughts were, "My God, I'll never play Basketball again." My leg was in a cast for two years due to complications. The fractures finally healed. But, when the cast came off, my speed and coordination were gone. So were my hopes for the Pros.

My first poker game
I'd been playing Poker off and on since my high school days. In fact, I still remember my first game. It was five-card Draw and I ended up the big winner. I recall thinking at the time what easy money it was. After I entered Hardin-Simmons, I'd play in the usual Saturday night games. In general, I seemed to do pretty well. I got caught once or twice and was disciplined for gambling. . .but, since I was one of the Basketball stars nothing much came of it.

After breaking my leg, Basketball was out of the question and I spent a lot more time playing Poker. I began paying more attention to my studies also. Prior to my injury I felt that Basketball would carry me through school. But, from here on in I'd have to use my brain. My Poker winnings paid for my expenses and in 1954 I graduated with a Bachelor's degree. I stayed on at Hardin-Simmons receiving my Master's degree in Administrative Education the following year. With these credentials, I felt sure I'd be offered a job which would lead to a superintendent of schools or at least a principalship. It didn't work out that way. In fact, the top job offered to me was that of a Basketball coach at Dalhart (Texas) High School at a salary of $4,800 a year.

It didn't make sense, I was making more than that just playing Poker. I used to travel around to the different colleges in Texas setting-up games and making a fair living by my wits. At that time, however, the idea of becoming a Professional gambler had not occurred to me even though it was apparent I played better than most.

After graduation, I went to work as a business machines salesman… a profession which could ultimately make me some twenty five or thirty thousand a year - or so I thought. But, it wasn't in the cards. My first day on the job I called on a few prospective accounts. I didn't get much further than the front door and wound up in a Poker game before the day was out. It was a Seven-Stud game where I cleared a month's salary in something less than three hours. "My God", I thought, "what am I doing trying to sell machines nobody wants to buy from me when I can sit down at a Poker table and make ten times the money in one sixth the time?" It didn't take me very long to figure out what to do. I quit the company and began my career as a full-time Professional Poker Player. I've never regretted that decision.

First games as a pro
The first games I played which amounted to anything were down on Exchange Street in Fort Worth, Texas. I'd be surprised if you could find a tougher street in the whole world. There were shootings, muggings, robberies, and just about every kind of violence imaginable. The stuff we see on TV today is tame compared to what Exchange Street was like almost any hour of the day. But, at the card table, amidst all that violence, everything was as gentlemanly as could be. It was literally two different worlds. My buddy, Dwayne Hamilton, and I would frequent a Card Room run by a gangster named Tincy whose main claim to fame was having killed half a dozen people. He ran an honest game, though, and Dwayne and I did fairly well. No-Limit Hold 'em was our main game. After we accumulated a good sized stake we moved uptown to the three hundred and five hundred buy-in games where we played with Doctors, Lawyers and other Professional people.

For the next five or six years we made the Texas circuit, playing bigger and bigger games throughout the state. Occasionally we'd drop into the big games in Oklahoma and Louisiana. During this period I met "Amarillo Slim" and "Sailor" Roberts - a couple of the finest Poker hustlers I've ever met. We hit it off from the start and after Dwayne moved back to Fort Worth.. .Sailor, Slim and I decided to go into business together. We must have hit every town in Texas relieving the locals of their money. It was a sight to see, the three of us taking on all comers. And not just at Poker. We got to the point where we were gambling on just about every game there was - Golf, Tennis, Basketball, Pool, Sports betting. . .just about everything. As long as we thought we had some sort of an edge… we'd bet. And, we made money. Pretty soon we got to know most everybody in the games no matter where we played. You kept running into the same guys all the time - Jack Straus, Johnny Moss, Bob Hooks and a lot of others.

Reputations grew
As our reputations grew, we were invited to games in private clubs and homes. These were for the most part rich oil and cattlemen who had a hankering to take on young Professionals like us. It was safer playing in these games than playing in back rooms where you took a risk every time you won a fair amount. I've been hijacked a few times and I can tell you it's not a pleasant experience to be looking down at the business end of a shotgun.

Sailor, Slim and I stuck together for six years or so and we had some mighty fine times. Once in a while we were down, but mostly we managed to hold our own better than most. Our partnership finally broke up after our first big trip to Las Vegas. We lost our entire bankroll (close to six figures) and believe me there's nothing more cantankerous than three broke gamblers. We went our separate ways after that.

In 1960, I met my wife, Louise. She was a Pharmacist in San Angelo, Texas and I courted her for about two years. She was something worth winning, you see, and I can tell you I had an uphill fight persuading my sweetheart that I was her one and only. She was convinced I was married and it took a heap of testimonials to convince her I was single and available. I worked harder for our first date than anything I've ever done in my life. After I asked her to marry me she had to think twice about permanently hitching up with a Professional Gambler. She had a lot of doubts. It wasn't what most girls were doing at the time. I finally convinced her and we were married in August of 1962.

About four months after we were married, I woke up one morning with a sore throat and thought I was coming down with a bad cold. There was a little knot on the side of my neck about the size of a pea. Louise insisted I go to a doctor and so for about three weeks I was taking heavy doses of antibiotics every day. That didn't help… and the knot grew to the size of a hen's egg. By that time, I was plenty worried. My brother Lloyd had died of cancer a short while before and I couldn't keep that off my mind. We consulted a cancer specialist in Fort Worth. He took one look at me and scheduled me for surgery the following Monday. He didn't think the tumor was malignant, but said it would have to come out.

Something awfully wrong
I went into the operating room at 6:30 a.m. When I woke up in the recovery room it was dark. Even though I was very groggy, I could tell things weren't going too well for me. Not only was my head and back in bandages, but my entire chest was wrapped in gauze and completely covered with tape. I remember thinking, "Doyle, there's something awfully wrong". Louise was there at my side telling me everything was going to be all right, but I knew she was trying to hide something. I was in a lot of pain. . .and with the drugs they kept feeding me I was fairly stupified for the next few days.

I remained in the hospital for quite a while. My relatives and friends were always coming by to see how I was doing. That was a comfort. Still. . .nobody had the courage to tell me what the real situation was. The only thing I knew was that I was going to be taken to Houston to the Cancer Center at M. D. Anderson Hospital for further study of my condition.

What I had not been told was that when the doctors opened me up they found massive cancer spread throughout my body. It had reached close to the base of my brain and my chest and stomach area were riddled with it. Four surgeons had been called in and they all agreed that it was useless to proceed further. The cancer had attacked so much of my body that it was only a matter of a short period of time before I died. I was a big "dog" to live longer than four months.

They came to say goodbye
While I suspected the worst, it wasn't until I was taken home for one day (prior to flying to Houston) that I really knew I was going to die. Over two hundred people came to our house that day from all over the country. I was really surprised. I didn't think I had that many close friends. From the way everybody was acting it was obvious they came to say goodbye. My friend Dwayne Hamilton just broke down and cried.

Louise was pregnant at the time and I thought to myself how sad it was that I'd probably never get to see my baby. By all rights I'd be dead and gone before it arrived.

Louise was thinking the same thing and had made the arrangements for further surgery at M. D. Anderson. Though the doctors had told her there was no hope of my living, there might be a slight chance of prolonging my life a few more months by radical neck surgery. With that operation, there'd be the possibility I'd be able to live long enough to see my baby before the cancer reached my brain.

We flew to Houston the next day. For the next two and a half weeks, I rested in the hospital to build myself up for the surgery to come. I went into the operating room at 10:30 a.m. I spent eight hours under the knife. At 6:30 p.m., they gave Louise the news. I was going to make it. But. . .it had been touch and go.

The impossible had happened
At one point during the operation, my blood pressure dropped to zero.. .but they pulled me through. What was truly incredible was that there was no longer any trace of cancer in my system. The doctors couldn't believe it. The impossible had happened.

The odds against my merely surviving the operation itself were very high. That the cancer, melanoma (whose black corruption had been visible to the naked eye a month before) had disappeared was incomprehensible to the staff at the hospital. Five doctors had unanimously agreed that it was a medical impossibility for me to live longer than a few more months - with or without the operation.

For the next two weeks, Louise and Sailor took turns watching me 24 hours a day since we couldn't afford a private nurse. I had to be observed closely. The tubes that led to my body had to be checked constantly. . .and my vital signs had to be monitored continuously. I don't know when Louise and Sailor got any sleep.

After leaving the hospital, I recuperated at my sister's. When my strength returned, I reported back to the hospital in Fort Worth for a checkup. The doctor who had first operated on me was at a complete loss for an explanation. The only thing he could say was that occasionally spontaneous remissions occur, but in my case he could only believe a miracle had happened. Later we found out that during the operation several friends had spoken to their church pastors about my case and entire congregations were praying for my recovery. Those prayers surely must have been answered.

A higher power
Louise had always been a religious woman, but this experience (and two others in our lives) reinforced her conviction that there's a higher power that watches over us.

Shortly after my recovery, Louise developed a uterine tumor. That normally requires extensive surgery and removal of the female organs. She was scheduled for surgery. . .but the operation wasn't necessary when it was discovered that her tumor had also disappeared. Another miracle.

In 1975, when my daughter Doyla was 12 years old she was found to have a debilitating spinal disorder, idiopathic scoliosis. That affliction causes extensive curvature of the spine or permanent crippling. Specialists were consulted and radical procedures were recommended - including implantation of a steel rod in her spine or a full body brace. None of that was necessary.

Louise organized a marathon prayer session for Doyla which included radio broadcasts and correspondence with the late Katherine Kuhlman (the famous faith healer). Within three months, Doyla's spine had straightened completely. The doctors acknowledged that hers was one of only three known cases of such an occurrence without surgical assistance. The third miracle in our family.

Since that time, Louise has been extremely active in Christian ministry - heavily involved in work with foreign missions. She spends as much (or more) time as a servant of the Lord as she does in taking care of our family. She's said time and again: "It's so exciting to be a Christian. It's by far the most exciting part of living," And, I know, she believes that as strongly as any person on earth.

Fortunately, money was not a problem when the mountains of medical bills came pouring in for Louise and Doyla. I did very well at the Poker table during all those years. When I left the hospital after my operation, I recuperated for a while and then I returned to the Poker circuit with a zest and appreciation for life I had never had before. Each day when I woke up the sky was bluer and the grass was greener. The world was as bright as could be. I was alive. From the first session I started playing again, I won 54 times in a row. I never booked a loser until the 55th session I played. Never before - or since - have I had such a streak. I won enough to completely clear my immense doctor and hospital bills - and had plenty left over to keep my family comfortable for several years.

Everything seemed to click
Before the surgery I would have classified myself as a slightly better-than-average player. However, after that ordeal something happened. Everything seemed to click and I was playing better than I had ever played in my life. My playing became almost instinctive. I was reading my competitors more accurately and I felt a self-assurance I had never experienced. My brush with death had apparently triggered innate abilities that had never surfaced before.

The most important thing of all was that I discovered my true vocation. I had finally dispelled any doubts I had about what my profession in life was going to be. Because of pressure from my family and friends, I had thought about returning to "legitimate" work. But now I knew I never would. I was never going to be a "working stiff" - nor was I ever going to have a boss. I was going to make my way through life my way.

During the next few years, I gravitated between Fort Worth and Las Vegas where more and more of the action was developing. I was still doing most of my playing in Texas, but it was getting difficult to find the really big games there. I was beating them so regularly that they were finally saying: "we can do without Doyle". The action, for me, was really beginning to dry-up.

Also, in 1970 Congress passed legislation making it even more difficult for a Poker Professional to make a living. The law which directly affected me was one that made it a federal offense to run a large scale Poker game from which five or more players derived an income - except of course in states where such gambling was legal. The handwriting was on the wall.

So, in 1973, I moved my family - Louise, Doyla, Pamela (my youngest daughter who was nine years old at the time and a year younger than Doyla) and my little boy Todd (who had his fourth birthday on the road) to Las Vegas where we established our home. It's a good place to live - good weather, good action and good people.

Competitive by nature
I'm known as a Professional gambler rather than just a Professional Poker player. . .and I have to admit that I am. I've been known to bet on just about anything. And because of that. . .I've surely had my share of losers. If I had stuck to Poker, I'd probably be a far wealthier man today. But.. .old habits are hard to break. I just like to gamble.

But, it's more than just liking to gamble that's in my blood. I'm very competitive by nature. As long as there's a contest - any kind of contest (even if it's a marble shooting contest) - I want to be a part of it. If I couldn't be an active participant as I am at Poker and Golf (when I'd be betting on myself)...I'd have to bet on one side or the other of a Football team, a prize fight, or whatever.

One of the reasons I feel I've been so successful playing Poker is because of the competitive instincts that are within me. You've got to play hard to be a consistent winner at Poker. And I'm able to do that instinctively. I was a very hard competitor as an athlete in High School and College. That competitive spirit remained with me. In fact, I'm sure it has a lot to do with my success at the Poker table.
I've never lost the feeling of exhilaration that comes when you're doing the best you can and gambling real high. There's no feeling quite like it.

Next to Poker, Golf is my favorite game and I'm considered a pretty good player - probably a little better than the next guy. Unfortunately quite a few of those "next guys" have played a shade better than me when we got to betting on the course. I remember going back east with my best friend Jack Binion one year and ending up playing Golf with a millionaire. We kept raising the stakes until finally we had $180,000 riding on one hole. He putted out for a par to my bogey and all that money just flew away. And that's just one of several such stories I could tell you. Now, the title of this book is "How I Made over $1,000,000 Playing Poker." The title of my next one is going to be "How I Lost over $1,000,000 Playing Golf" -- there's definitely a moral in there somewhere.

A lot has been written about my winning the 1976 and 1977 World Series of Poker (a total win of some $560,000). You may have read some of the many stories. They were tough games against tough competitors. The best players in the world sat at those tables and the pace was grueling. That kind of playing is not something I would care to do every day.. .but for a sheer gut-level contest, it can't be beat. There's a certain pride in knowing that you've taken on the best and come out on the top. But, with this pride also comes the realization that you can never afford to become complacent. In both the 1976 and 1977 Series, I made a Full House only when the final card was played. And, perhaps, there's a moral in that too. As I noted, in Poker as in Life, you can't count a man out until the last card falls.

1978 and beyond
Life is always changing, never constant. You really can't count on anything staying the same. Late in 1977, I added finishing touches to the original Super/System, and its publication would change poker for me forever in ways I hadn't anticipated.

The people closest to me - both my friends and my poker opponents - continued to see me in pretty much the same light. They saw me the same. But it was the people and the players I'd never met before who began treating me differently. For the most part, they treated me with more reverence, and that was flattering. Nobody ever sat in a poker game anymore who didn't know who I was. And so many strangers had read my book in the first months after its publication that I never knew when one was a student of my game plan, who was expecting me to play poker precisely as I had described. And eager to take advantage.

I kept winning
Although I had to adjust my strategy a little to keep these players confused, I was able to pretty much stick to my game plan, to usually play just as I had described it. It worked, because the strategy was so powerful that you could almost tell your opponents what you're going to do -- how you're going to bet, how often you're going to bluff -- and there wouldn't be much they could do about it. I had devised a proven world-class game plan for winning. And when you have a world class game plan for winning… well, you just win. Hardly anything else can happen, and I wasn't about to change my style of play dramatically, just because I'd shared my secrets with the world.

Strangers could take my secrets and beat almost everyone with them, but I was determined that they weren't going to use them to beat me. And they didn't.

But things changed some. Poker changed. More and more, a new type of player was coming on the scene - more literate, more refined. Old gamblers were "true gamblers," ready to put all their money on the table anytime, anywhere. Most of them had no other appealing option as a livelihood, either. Poker was a path out of poverty.

Many were uneducated, as opposed to today's players who often have higher degrees and treat poker as a business rather than a pure form of gambling. Today's players are growing up in a world of the Internet, and many even play poker online - something that would have been beyond anyone's wildest imagination when the first copy of Super/System was purchased.
And poker has grown so vastly in recent years. So vastly. How it used to be is quickly fading - those seedy games in the back of pool halls, in taverns. Those private home games and the ones held by fraternal organizations like the Elks and the VFW. It was so much more difficult to get good back then. You got good the hard way.

Today, you can take a shortcut to winning - just by reading what the experts and proven players have contributed, rather than developing poker talents through trial and error.

Big money
After 1977, I started accumulating big money. The regular games were good, and the side games at the World Series of Poker were excellent. But this golden era for poker profits didn't last.

Did you know that satellites ruined the cash games at the tournaments? The players who previously came to town eager to risk their bankrolls in side games against the top pros suddenly discovered they could get their adrenaline rush by playing in these one-table shoot-outs, trying to win entries into the tournaments just by beating everyone at a single table. It was addictive for them. And it worked perfectly to increase the number of entrants in the tournaments. But, it didn't work well for those of us who had previously benefited when these inexperienced players bumped heads against us in side games during those tournaments. Satellites had arrived, and that kind of easy profit was gone. A few adventurous players still sought us out, wanting the challenge. But, mostly, the opportunity for super-soft side action at tournaments was over.

Despite this, my poker bankroll continued to grow. It was almost all smooth sailing, almost all success. Everything went straight up, except when my beloved daughter, Doyla, died.

It was a time when my poker playing profession gained enough mainstream acceptability that I hosted a professional golf tournament. And it was also a time when the "Gamblers Invitational Golf Tournament," hosted by Jack Binion brought all the gamblers together and boasted some of the biggest golf games in the history of the sport. Those who think that there's big money of the PGA tour have no idea what goes on when a bunch of golf-crazed gamblers get together. And it didn't matter how well or how poorly you played the game, if you had a bankroll and a set of clubs, we'd figure out a way to make it a fair gamble.

Not everyone was reputable
I made a load of money golfing, partly because I had a reputation for giving action. You've got to give action to get action. I used sheer mental toughness and competitiveness, as well as a God-given gift for athletics, to come out on top. There were million dollar days.

Back then, not everyone we wagered with at golf belonged in the "reputable gambler" category. Take Jimmy Chagra - a convicted drug dealer who was later revealed to be one of the biggest suppliers in the United States. We're talking boatloads from Columbia. Well, that was the "successful" side of Chagra. On the less successful side, he had his golf game vastly overrated. He was so wrong about his ability that he demanded to play $100,000 Nassaus with automatic presses anytime someone got two holes down.

Nobody else could easily afford to play that high, so I decided take the challenge and also to stake the legendary poker player Puggy Pearson from Nashville and Jerry Irwin from Indianapolis - both participants in Jack's tournament. Now, Puggy had a dubious reputation for taking advantages that were… well, let's just say they approached the grey area on a scale of golfing propriety. All three of us beat Chagra the first two holes and, on the third, the automatic press started.

Next hole. Puggy and I are on the green in two, while Chagra finds himself in a sand trap. There's a meaningless spot of sun-dried grass in front of Puggy's ball, blemishing the green path to the hole, but not hindering his putt in any way. For some reason I'll never live long enough to understand, Puggy moved his ball a few inches away from the sunspot, to no advantage. Maybe it's just Pug's nature. Chagra had his bodyguard riding in the cart with him.

"Jimmy, Puggy moved his ball," the bodyguard announced.

Well, Chagra went ballistic, screaming, bellowing, threatening, "I'm gonna blow all you [blankety-blanks] away!"

I figure Puggy cost me $2 million in future earnings that day, maybe more, and I've never let him forget it. While I personally had success against Chagra after that, Puggy never got another chance - he was banished forever from our group.

My saddest hour
Life's like poker sometimes. Just when things are going so good that you think you're supposed to win every pot, you get a monster hand cracked and it spells the beginning of a dizzy downward spiral. That's how it was when Doyla died at 18.

She'd been attending UNLV. We knew she had a valve problem with her heart, but it wasn't supposed to be serious. She died in her sleep, in her dorm room. It was so unexpected, like being kicked in the gut so hard you don't think you can ever stand up again, breathe again. You know how each of us sometimes searches for the meaning of life. Losing Doyla started my search in earnest. Doyla was a devout Christian, as is her mother, Louise. To be sure, I had Christian beliefs, too. But I wasn't really practicing them. I guess I had strayed about as far away from God as you can and still be a believer. Thinking back, I was too caught up in myself and my quest for success, my desire to be rich and famous and such.

I sunk into a long depression. During this time I studied the Bible and other Christian literature. It awakened me. Gradually, so gradually over the next year, my strength returned, and with it my resolve and my spirit.

I finally came to understand that Doyla's and Louise's Christian beliefs were right for me. And I was ready to revisit poker with a new vigor.

I remember Doyla every day, and the shock and the sadness of losing her will never end. But I'm at peace with God. Had I not come to accept that peace, I could never have returned successfully to poker.

I moved to California and found very soft action at the poker tables. At the Bicycle Club, I won over a $1 million very quickly. I was back.

Essex England
I've become more reflective about life as I've continued to mature. It's strange to realize that a man can get to be fifty and sixty and now seventy and still find himself maturing. But that's what happens.

About 20 years ago, I took an interest in genealogy, wondering how I came to be. I learned that the first historically recorded Brunson in America - Roger Brunson -- could be traced to Connecticut in 1625. And you could trace my lineage back to Essex, England in the 1500s.

Actually, the early surnames in my family weren't quite Brunson. They were Brownson (meaning "son of Braun") and Bronson. But these were all related, all from the same family tree. I discovered that, except for Native Americans, no families can trace their roots to this continent further back than the Brunsons.

Sometimes I wonder if many Brunsons who preceded me had gambling in their natures. Were they great risk takers? Did they overcome adversity or get buried by it? What anguish did they face that involved their families? What victories made them proudest? History doesn't provide me enough detail. Still, I wonder.

As for me, life's path has been peppered with pretty panorama and disastrous detours. Maybe everyone's life is a little like that and things that happen to you just seem magnified and out of proportion when compared to events that happen to others.

Thinking back
The events that I most remember play out in my mind like sound bites that bind my experiences. I usually can't recall details or events until one of these monumental moments in memory gets me started, and then that trigger leads me to the next remembrance and the next.

Like my children leaving the nest. Like when my closest friends and some of my family started to die off - Sailor, D.C., Mom, three aunts and four uncles, all within two years. And this, once again, got me to wondering briefly about the meaning of life. What's it all about? But this time, my newly discovered strong faith brought me through.

Then there were those bad investments. Television stations. Mining and oil ventures. Race horses. Camera technology. You name it. Despite my advanced education in business, I just couldn't seem to get it right. Maybe the Lord intended for me to be a poker player. Maybe poker is my path to greater awareness. Maybe whenever I stray from that poker path, the Lord decides to yank me around a little and remind me to stay on course, doing what I do best. It sure seems that way.

And I've noticed this in other great poker players, too. They yearn to take a shot at something beyond poker, and as likely as not, whenever they do it, they end up getting yanked around, too.

Enter the World Poker Tour - the tremendously successful televised series that's helped as much as anything else in poker history to popularize our game. When Lyle Berman, founder of the WPT offered me a chance to buy in, I was so gun shy from failed investments that I turned it down. Life's strange. Here I am, all my life, taking shots at shaky investments having nothing to do with poker. Many of those shots are doomed from the get-go, and here's one with the right people behind it, with the right vision, at the right time, involving the right game - my game - and I turn it down. Yeah, life's strange and so are the choices that people make in life. You never know what the next deal brings. Sometimes you play hands and wish you hadn't. And sometimes you throw away hands, only to see a perfect flop, and you wished you'd stuck around to enjoy it.

More twists and turns
My best friend over the past 30 years has been Jack Binion, who took over as principal owner of the Horseshoe after his legendary father, Benny Binion, died. Maybe you've heard about the family dispute that pitted Jack against his sister, Becky. It was very public. Naturally, my friendship dictated that I side with Jack, and when he left the Horseshoe in his sister's charge and opened casinos down South, I deserted the World Series of Poker for four years.

It was a hard thing to do, because I was the leading money winner lifetime at the tournament, and I knew that, with ever- growing tournaments and bigger prize money, other players would likely be passing me as I sat on the sidelines. Yet, even today, I remain in a tie for total first-place bracelets won with Johnny Chan and Phil Hellmuth. We've each won nine.

That family dispute has blown over, and maybe I'll be able to add more bracelets in the years ahead - although with the number of entrants per event often approaching 1,000 nowadays and surpassing 2,600 for the 2004 main event, that becomes a much tougher challenge. I remember the last year I played in the WSOP before my boycott. I finished first, second, and third during the series of events. But, on the negative side, I was robbed at gunpoint - beaten, and hit over the head. But the night it happened taught me just how saintly and brave Louise really was. I'd always known it in my heart, but this time she proved it in a way that will always haunt me.

You'd think I'd know better than to carry large amounts of money… and I do. Being held up and hijacked, rolled and robbed from my earliest poker days in Texas has taught me caution. But apparently not enough caution. It wasn't cash I was carrying six years ago - just chips from the poker games at the WSOP. Big chips. Lots of them.

One of the worst nightmares
And I got home with them safely. Almost.

One of the worst nightmares, not only for a poker player, but for any citizen is a home invasion. It was midnight. As I left my car, heading for my door, I was confronted by two men and a gun. They wanted the keys. I flung them far into the bushes, but not far enough. One of the men retrieved them. I decided I simply wasn't going inside the house. No way. So, I faked a heart attack. It was a convincing act, and they bought into it. But that didn't send them scurrying into the night. They simply unlocked the door and dragged me through it.

Naturally, we have all sorts of security features, as most high-stakes players do. One of those was a delayed alarm, which had been set by Louise, who was upstairs sleeping. When I didn't deactivate it, the alarm sounded, just as I'd hoped.

They demanded to know how to turn it off. I kept feigning semi-consciousness and giving them the wrong combinations, asking them to call the paramedics. Sympathy from them was not forthcoming, however. I was pistol whipped and they broke my nose in the process. My face was badly cut up when Louise came downstairs to investigate the commotion.

The phone rang.
"That's the alarm company," one of the men growled. "Tell them everything's all right or we'll kill you right now!"

It was, indeed, the security company, responding to a standard electronically transmitted alert. In order to determine whether this was a false alarm, they asked for a password that would let them know everything was OK. Louise took the call and had the presence of mind to give the wrong password, just as I had. But, instead of this providing the correct clue that something was terribly amiss at the Brunson's residence, the woman on the other end admonished Louise, saying she had been given the wrong password. "Yes, I know," Louise confirmed politely, hoping the intruders wouldn't divine the direction of the phone conversation. She again repeated the invalid code and hung up.

Phone rings again
Now, you'd think that was enough to send help on its way. But, no. The phone rings again. And again it's the security company. This time one of the robbers answers and tries, pathetically, to sound like a woman. He is told that the code previously given is invalid. Belatedly, the agent gets suspicious and figures it out. Finally, she hangs up and calls the police.

Slamming the phone down, the robber losses his cool, charging back into the room where the other bandit has a gun to my head.

"Don't kill him, kill me!" It's my dear Louise's voice. When the man had stepped back from me, she had jumped between me and the gun. The robbers seemed flabbergasted. They threatened us again, then took chips and some money from my pockets. They didn't search the house, and they wouldn't have found any cash there, anyway. I don't keep cash at home, mostly because it could endanger my family. They sensed they were running out of time, and so they fled.

Even through the pain, one thought struck home - it was my astonishment at just how courageous Louise is. I'd always known she was like that, but this night set a new standard.

By the way, I'd learned that heart attack trick from another legendary gambler, Titanic Thompson. It was in his book. But he would take it a step further, coming out with a hidden pistol. They say he killed five guys that tried to rob him.

A reunion
My life has been a long adventure, linked by shorter adventures. And I think back. And I realize that the things you experience are your gifts to remember. Permanent gifts, like diamonds. They sparkle in your head, and they are yours forever.

And I journey back to my youth, to my college years at Hardin-Simmons. It's as if I can remember it all, the games, the glory, the shots I made, the shots I missed. It all plays out again, like brand new, on a basketball court in my mind. Everyone's there. My friends. My teammates. The crowds.

It had been like that for many years, those vivid memories. And, so, I invited my whole team to a reunion. Surprisingly, all but two were still alive - 25 of them. Would you believe that 22 showed up at my home, more than 50 years after we'd had our championship season in the Border Conference? Our conference included big-time schools such as Arizona, Arizona State at Tempe, New Mexico A&M, Texas Tech, and UTEP (then known as Texas Western). Our Hardin-Simmons team made the elite 16 teams that comprised the NCAA basketball tournament at that time.

My old teammates had become educators and preachers and businessmen. None was a poker player, and that's what you'd expect. I was the black sheep of the university. In fact, I was run into the disciplinary board five times for gambling. They managed to live with my indiscretions, though, probably because of my success on the basketball court. Hardin-Simmons has strongly religious roots, and I'm betting I was the only one who turned out to be a professional gambler in the whole history of the school.

No wonder I've been passed up for my college Hall of Fame, despite my accomplishments in track and basketball there. But the reunion made up for it, turning out to be one of the fondest experiences of my life.

We all reminisced about that championship year, and time stood still. And for a brief, whimsical, magical moment, I believed - maybe we all believed - we could still do it. We could do it again.

Heartbreak and peace
And so my time on earth so far has been a journey. Along the way, I've faced heartbreak and found peace. I've struggled, but ultimately conquered. And now, having completed my seventh decade on earth, I reflect.

That's one of the two things I do most nowadays. Reflect. And play poker.

I don't play in a lot of tournaments outside of Nevada these days, but because the WPT has grown so popular, there's a sudden interest in poker. I've been invited regularly to TV shows, the interviews for major publications have become commonplace, and they've just completed a movie script about my life. Poker is hot.

And I'm proud of my part in it, honored by every award that ties me to our great game of poker - Poker Hall of Fame, Seniors Hall of Fame, Texas Hall of Fame, Tropicana Casino Legends Hall of fame. As I wrote this section, I even was honored to be interrupted by an invitation from the Commerce Casino, near Los Angeles - the biggest poker palace in the world. I was one of three "players" to be inducted into their new Poker Walk of Fame, along with actor James Garner (who played Maverick on the most popular TV series in its day) and Gus Hanson who won three major televised tournaments last year. That's an amazing feat, especially in light of the increased number of competitors per event. This poker popularity means more players to beat, and you can go a long, long time before winning just one major tournament, no matter how skillful you are. Winning three in a season is remarkable.

And to show the importance of all this exposure, not many would have named Gus as a top contender until that. Today if you play well and get on a streak, you'll be in the spotlight and can stay there for a long time. Gus will. People's impressions of those televised victories linger and are long remembered.

Gus' performance is the most extraordinary feat since Johnny Chan won two WSOP main events back-to-back in the same 12 months that he won the two prestigious Hall of Fame main events and then finished second at the WSOP the following year. With the dramatically increased number of entrants, a performance like that will surely never be repeated.

Changes My life has greatly evolved since the days that Slim and Sailor and I traveled Texas and the South in an old Fairlane Ford. Things have changed so much. So radically.

I still play poker regularly. But often I decide to escape, even though it means sacrificing some profit. Then I stay at my place on Flathead Lake in Montana, out of the Las Vegas heat, relaxing. At those times, life is passing me by, and I feel renewed. And there, as everywhere, I reflect. Reflecting on my life, and just life in general, has become almost an obsession with me in recent years.
What good is life, you know, if you can only live it once. You own your experiences. They are yours to keep. You should think about that as you go through life. What you do now will become a permanent part of you - the good things and the bad things. I can't tell you that the cards you're dealt will be the ones you want, but whatever they turn out to be, play them wisely. That's the secret.

It all goes by so quickly, life. Things flash through my head. Not so many years ago, I hosted an annual golf tournament. Memories. A while back I used a card protector at the table that included a photo of our cherished toy poodle, Casper. It's just an inexpensive little weight like those that players put on top of their cards to keep their hands from being fouled. Well, I got so lucky whenever I used my Casper hand protector that an opponent named Howard offered me $3,500 to put the Casper weight in my will. I wasn't sure he was serious, but he actually paid me the money. And he actually is in my will. Memories.

My son Todd and my daughters Pam and Cheryl were just kids yesterday. Now they're grown. And I've watched Todd quit college to follow his father's footsteps in the poker arena. He's impressed me greatly, ever since he triumphed in one of his first tournaments at the Bicycle Club. Many world-class players have told me that Todd is one of the best young players today. So, don't just go by what I say. I could be biased. Todd has proven himself to the poker world, and that's why he's in this book.

I think back on why I liked poker in the first place. Memories. It was the freedom, I think. You're as free as a cloud floating in the sky. That's the most beautiful part of being a gambler.

Middle it at 120 As you probably know, I've been very heavy most of my adult life. People kept warning me of the health problems that go along with carrying around those extra pounds. But, it didn't really strike home with me, because I was able to move about swiftly, golf with a low handicap, and stay active.

But recently I sat down and mentally chatted with myself. Things were not as they had been. I was over 70. In recent years, like a classic car, my chassis wasn't in good shape. My legs weren't carrying me well and my shoulder ached. But my heart was healthy, like a great-working, tireless carburetor. Maybe that's because blood has flowed very fast through my veins during the pressure situations at poker. Maybe that cleansed me.

Two different doctors have told me that my body must be programmed to live 120 years, as badly as I've treated it. (One said 125; one said 100; so I middled it at 120.)

Then I decided that I may as well plan for a lot more hands of poker, and I decided to have gastric bypass surgery to reduce my weight. I did that six months ago, and I feel a lot healthier now.

But what happens after those 120 years? I'll be gone and perhaps some aspiring players will read this book and new poker stars will be created. They'll keep poker's flame flickering, and if the Lord allows, I'll observe from above and share their adventures.

As for now, I'm looking forward to the next 50 years. And while that may not be exactly realistic and may not happen, in life and in poker, the best you can do is try. And I'll be trying.