07-18-2005, 11:22 AM
By JEROME WEEKS / The Dallas Morning News
The Texas banker just wanted to play some Texas Hold 'Em.
Sixteen of the world's top-ranked, champion poker players were happy to oblige Andrew Beal. As a new book recounts, if the chairman of Plano's Beal Bank wanted to play for pots of $20 million or more – some of the biggest in history – then the pros were eager to take it from him.The poker pros made up an all-star team from a game that has become a pop-culture fixture the past decade – even The New Yorker is covering it these days. The Vegas heavy hitters included Doyle "Texas Dolly" Brunson, known as poker's Babe Ruth, and Howard Lederer, nicknamed the "Professor" for his intellectual approach.
One of the wilder Texas gambling tales around, the contest is the subject of Michael Craig's The Professor, the Banker and the Suicide King: Inside the Richest Poker Game of All Time (Warner, $24.95). Starting in February 2001, Mr. Beal faced off against the champs 10 times until their matches culminated in a May 2004 game. More than $21 million was piled on the table. Bets were made at $200,000 a pop.
Compare that to the World Series of Poker, the annual high-stakes contest that concluded Saturday in Las Vegas. To get a shot at this year's $7.5 million top prize, most of the 5,600 players risked $10,000 each.
On his biggest game, with his own money (not his bank's), Mr. Beal risked more than $10 million.
In a recent phone conversation, Mr. Beal insisted that his poker exploits were "not much of a story. I went to Las Vegas, got interested in playing poker and that's it."
It's true, says Mr. Craig, that the Bellagio often has executives dropping thousands to play with the best. But Mr. Beal took this to an unprecedented level. And not just with his supersized stakes.
"He was interested in immersing himself in the game," Mr. Craig says, "finding out what made the pros special and learning ways to cut into their edge."
To beat them. Systematically.
Other than his millions, Mr. Beal has two advantages. First, he's a math whiz. In 1993, although he never finished college, he studied number theory on his own. He used his bank's 15 computers to work on a theory that became known as the Beal Conjecture. He put up $100,000 as a prize to anyone who could find a mathematical proof of it. No one has claimed the money yet.
Second, Mr. Beal's career in investing and banking has been tied to taking and minimizing risks. He began in real estate, buying homes and apartment complexes at HUD auctions. In 1985, he chartered a savings and loan and eventually bought the loan portfolios of institutions that had closed in the S&L crisis. Beal Bank now has assets of more than $5 billion; it's the largest privately owned bank in Texas.
He even took a $200 million shot at rocketry, trying to develop a profit-making way of launching satellites. But Beal Aerospace was one of his few large failures.
"I happen to love rolling the dice sometimes," he says of his risk-taking.
If that rocketry venture had flown in 2001, Mr. Craig speculates, Mr. Beal might not have been caught up by high-stakes poker. "He had this void," the author says. "He needed a challenge."
The banker started playing at the Bellagio in 2001 more or less on a whim, Mr. Craig says. But after reading up on the game, he decided that the pros were better at figuring out the psychology of their opponents than figuring the odds involved. If he could reduce their ability to "read" him while increasing his knowledge of the odds, he had a chance at winning.
In an e-mail interview with The News, Mr. Lederer writes, "I have never seen an amateur try this kind of methodical approach. I give Andy much credit."
But the pros had their own problems: None individually had enough cash to match Mr. Beal's wallet. The banker deliberately kept pushing up the stakes to put the poker champs out of their comfort zone and give himself a psychological edge. He started at $1,000, quickly doubled and tripled that, and ultimately moved to $100,000 to $200,000.
Even so, the champs rushed to get a crack at his bankroll. But after the first few games, the Texan decided to play only one-on-one matches. Multiplayer games involved too many variables.
Respected as the winner of 10 World Series of Poker titles and author of the classic guide, Super/System, Doyle Brunson devised an unusual solution. Mr. Craig calls it "an uneasy alliance": The shifting group of poker pros pooled their funds and took turns playing Mr. Beal one-on-one.
Outside the group, poker circles called it "the Corporation." Inside, Mr. Craig says, "they didn't like the implication that they were ganging together."
In fact, when some of the pros started losing against the banker, the Corporation nearly fell apart.
Still, Mr. Lederer insists, "I think the team aspect actually went quite well. Given that we didn't have any professional experience acting as team players, our team held together nicely."
When it came to winning matches against Mr. Beal, the author says, Mr. Lederer may have been the most formidable foe, taking the banker for $9.3 million one day. But although he initially rolled over the Texan, "Andy's game improved a great deal," the gambler writes. "I had to constantly adapt."
The banker started employing more direct, even eccentric methods to neutralize the pros' advantages. He wore large sunglasses to hide his face and headphones to block his hearing. He also used a random-number generator to keep his playing choices unpredictable. His game improved: On one day, he won $11.7 million.
In May 2004, Mr. Beal finally got his big game. Over four days, he faced Todd Brunson (Doyle's son), Chip Reese (youngest player inducted into the Poker Hall of Fame) and Jennifer Harman (two-time World Series champ).
Andrew Beal
In that match, the Texas banker won nearly $6 million, Mr. Craig says. Indeed, the majority of the pros had losing records against Mr. Beal. But over the course of the three years, the author says, Mr. Beal still lost money.
Mr. Lederer generally agrees with the assessment: "He actually might have passed us in pure technique. But I think the pros were able to prevail by calling on people skills developed over decades of play."
A rematch for last fall was discussed, Mr. Craig says, but fell through a bit rancorously. The Corporation wanted to keep the games in Vegas and didn't want Mr. Beal to pick the players. Plus, some of the champs had been bragging in public about the millions they said they'd snagged. Todd Brunson told the New York Daily News he won $20.5 million.
Mr. Beal fired back in CardPlayer Magazine, telling them "to put up or shut up." He challenged them to come to Dallas to play him, "and I will play until one of us runs out of money or cries uncle."
It's these "fish stories," Mr. Beal says by phone, that anger him. When people come back from Vegas, "on average, half lost money, half made money. But that's not what you hear from them. They're really like fishermen."
Mr. Beal is very private, very press-shy. He built his billions without courting the media.
In opening his recent phone conversation with The News, he promptly asked whether there was any way the reporter might not write the story.
Why, then, did he talk to Mr. Craig?
"Because you're almost afraid not to," he says. "You're afraid of the b.s. that'll get in otherwise. But once you cooperate, it just grows. So how can you stop it?"
Beal Bank remains profitable and privately owned. And the money Mr. Beal bet was his own.
Even so, the Wall Street Journal reported earlier this year that Danny Payne, head of the Texas Savings & Loan Department, had called a Beal Bank official to express concern about the games.
In an e-mail to The News, Mr. Payne says the state regulatory agency has a policy not to "discuss any aspects of our bankers' personal lives" or "any other issue not directly related" to their banks.
His concern, Mr. Payne writes, had been entirely about whether the games were played in the bank itself "and the related reputational risk involved." He was told this was not the case, "and I have not seen nor heard anything to the contrary since that time; therefore my concerns are belayed."
Any rematch between the Texas banker and the Vegas pros remains stalled. It may never happen. Compromises were rumored, but Mr. Beal insists that "they say we're in negotiations, but I gave them my offer, they've declined it, and that's it."
"We shall see," Mr. Lederer writes. "I think we'll play again, but I wouldn't venture a guess as to when."
The Texas banker just wanted to play some Texas Hold 'Em.
Sixteen of the world's top-ranked, champion poker players were happy to oblige Andrew Beal. As a new book recounts, if the chairman of Plano's Beal Bank wanted to play for pots of $20 million or more – some of the biggest in history – then the pros were eager to take it from him.The poker pros made up an all-star team from a game that has become a pop-culture fixture the past decade – even The New Yorker is covering it these days. The Vegas heavy hitters included Doyle "Texas Dolly" Brunson, known as poker's Babe Ruth, and Howard Lederer, nicknamed the "Professor" for his intellectual approach.
One of the wilder Texas gambling tales around, the contest is the subject of Michael Craig's The Professor, the Banker and the Suicide King: Inside the Richest Poker Game of All Time (Warner, $24.95). Starting in February 2001, Mr. Beal faced off against the champs 10 times until their matches culminated in a May 2004 game. More than $21 million was piled on the table. Bets were made at $200,000 a pop.
Compare that to the World Series of Poker, the annual high-stakes contest that concluded Saturday in Las Vegas. To get a shot at this year's $7.5 million top prize, most of the 5,600 players risked $10,000 each.
On his biggest game, with his own money (not his bank's), Mr. Beal risked more than $10 million.
In a recent phone conversation, Mr. Beal insisted that his poker exploits were "not much of a story. I went to Las Vegas, got interested in playing poker and that's it."
It's true, says Mr. Craig, that the Bellagio often has executives dropping thousands to play with the best. But Mr. Beal took this to an unprecedented level. And not just with his supersized stakes.
"He was interested in immersing himself in the game," Mr. Craig says, "finding out what made the pros special and learning ways to cut into their edge."
To beat them. Systematically.
Other than his millions, Mr. Beal has two advantages. First, he's a math whiz. In 1993, although he never finished college, he studied number theory on his own. He used his bank's 15 computers to work on a theory that became known as the Beal Conjecture. He put up $100,000 as a prize to anyone who could find a mathematical proof of it. No one has claimed the money yet.
Second, Mr. Beal's career in investing and banking has been tied to taking and minimizing risks. He began in real estate, buying homes and apartment complexes at HUD auctions. In 1985, he chartered a savings and loan and eventually bought the loan portfolios of institutions that had closed in the S&L crisis. Beal Bank now has assets of more than $5 billion; it's the largest privately owned bank in Texas.
He even took a $200 million shot at rocketry, trying to develop a profit-making way of launching satellites. But Beal Aerospace was one of his few large failures.
"I happen to love rolling the dice sometimes," he says of his risk-taking.
If that rocketry venture had flown in 2001, Mr. Craig speculates, Mr. Beal might not have been caught up by high-stakes poker. "He had this void," the author says. "He needed a challenge."
The banker started playing at the Bellagio in 2001 more or less on a whim, Mr. Craig says. But after reading up on the game, he decided that the pros were better at figuring out the psychology of their opponents than figuring the odds involved. If he could reduce their ability to "read" him while increasing his knowledge of the odds, he had a chance at winning.
In an e-mail interview with The News, Mr. Lederer writes, "I have never seen an amateur try this kind of methodical approach. I give Andy much credit."
But the pros had their own problems: None individually had enough cash to match Mr. Beal's wallet. The banker deliberately kept pushing up the stakes to put the poker champs out of their comfort zone and give himself a psychological edge. He started at $1,000, quickly doubled and tripled that, and ultimately moved to $100,000 to $200,000.
Even so, the champs rushed to get a crack at his bankroll. But after the first few games, the Texan decided to play only one-on-one matches. Multiplayer games involved too many variables.
Respected as the winner of 10 World Series of Poker titles and author of the classic guide, Super/System, Doyle Brunson devised an unusual solution. Mr. Craig calls it "an uneasy alliance": The shifting group of poker pros pooled their funds and took turns playing Mr. Beal one-on-one.
Outside the group, poker circles called it "the Corporation." Inside, Mr. Craig says, "they didn't like the implication that they were ganging together."
In fact, when some of the pros started losing against the banker, the Corporation nearly fell apart.
Still, Mr. Lederer insists, "I think the team aspect actually went quite well. Given that we didn't have any professional experience acting as team players, our team held together nicely."
When it came to winning matches against Mr. Beal, the author says, Mr. Lederer may have been the most formidable foe, taking the banker for $9.3 million one day. But although he initially rolled over the Texan, "Andy's game improved a great deal," the gambler writes. "I had to constantly adapt."
The banker started employing more direct, even eccentric methods to neutralize the pros' advantages. He wore large sunglasses to hide his face and headphones to block his hearing. He also used a random-number generator to keep his playing choices unpredictable. His game improved: On one day, he won $11.7 million.
In May 2004, Mr. Beal finally got his big game. Over four days, he faced Todd Brunson (Doyle's son), Chip Reese (youngest player inducted into the Poker Hall of Fame) and Jennifer Harman (two-time World Series champ).
Andrew Beal
In that match, the Texas banker won nearly $6 million, Mr. Craig says. Indeed, the majority of the pros had losing records against Mr. Beal. But over the course of the three years, the author says, Mr. Beal still lost money.
Mr. Lederer generally agrees with the assessment: "He actually might have passed us in pure technique. But I think the pros were able to prevail by calling on people skills developed over decades of play."
A rematch for last fall was discussed, Mr. Craig says, but fell through a bit rancorously. The Corporation wanted to keep the games in Vegas and didn't want Mr. Beal to pick the players. Plus, some of the champs had been bragging in public about the millions they said they'd snagged. Todd Brunson told the New York Daily News he won $20.5 million.
Mr. Beal fired back in CardPlayer Magazine, telling them "to put up or shut up." He challenged them to come to Dallas to play him, "and I will play until one of us runs out of money or cries uncle."
It's these "fish stories," Mr. Beal says by phone, that anger him. When people come back from Vegas, "on average, half lost money, half made money. But that's not what you hear from them. They're really like fishermen."
Mr. Beal is very private, very press-shy. He built his billions without courting the media.
In opening his recent phone conversation with The News, he promptly asked whether there was any way the reporter might not write the story.
Why, then, did he talk to Mr. Craig?
"Because you're almost afraid not to," he says. "You're afraid of the b.s. that'll get in otherwise. But once you cooperate, it just grows. So how can you stop it?"
Beal Bank remains profitable and privately owned. And the money Mr. Beal bet was his own.
Even so, the Wall Street Journal reported earlier this year that Danny Payne, head of the Texas Savings & Loan Department, had called a Beal Bank official to express concern about the games.
In an e-mail to The News, Mr. Payne says the state regulatory agency has a policy not to "discuss any aspects of our bankers' personal lives" or "any other issue not directly related" to their banks.
His concern, Mr. Payne writes, had been entirely about whether the games were played in the bank itself "and the related reputational risk involved." He was told this was not the case, "and I have not seen nor heard anything to the contrary since that time; therefore my concerns are belayed."
Any rematch between the Texas banker and the Vegas pros remains stalled. It may never happen. Compromises were rumored, but Mr. Beal insists that "they say we're in negotiations, but I gave them my offer, they've declined it, and that's it."
"We shall see," Mr. Lederer writes. "I think we'll play again, but I wouldn't venture a guess as to when."