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You want pain? I'll give you pain.
We've all had our bad moments at the poker table. Poker's luck element necessitates that we all get unlucky sometimes. It wouldn't be the game it is without the three-, two-, or one outte, and the agony of those things are what make the adrenaline rushes it provides so profound. The losses make the wins all the sweeter. Doesn't make the losses hurt any less though.
The good news, for most of us at least, is that it evens out. The math says that over the long haul, assuming you’re playing a lot (really would you be reading this otherwise?) for every one-in-forty-five shot you take, you’re going to win forty-four, even if it doesn’t feel like it. It’s only human to remember the beats; they stand out from the crowd.
Regardless of the math, there are a few unlucky souls for whom things will never even out. For that to happen means that either a) They walk away from the game after taking their beats or b) Their beats came in a heightened environment and/or buy-in event which their normal mathematic near-certainties can’t make up for. With that in mind, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Hans “Tuna” Lund.
Big Tuna is the lucky guy who was on the receiving end of the most horrifi c river card in World Series of Poker history. A Nevada native known for fair and excellent play, a penchant for picking up pennies (his family was in the scrap metal business — it’s a habit he retained from childhood), a massive 6’5” frame; and the thickest glasses ever seen on a human being’s face, he’d become an immensely popular fi gure in the card rooms of Vegas leading up to the 1990 World Series. It was an event he was resolved to win, much like everyone else who entered.
Thing is, Tuna got closer than the others did. He entered the fi nal table as the sentimental favorite, then entered the heads-up portion against London’s Mansour Matloubi as the tactical favorite, a chip leader with home fi eld advantage. He was on his game, feeling good and was ready to take down the title he held up as the greatest goal of his life.
It never happened. Holding a 2-1 chip lead, Tuna started what would turn out to be the fateful hand with a limp from the button. Matloubi chose to raise his big blind to 75,000 and Tuna made the call before the fl op came 9♠2♣4♠. Matloubi led out with a bet of 100,000 into the 150,000 bet, but Tuna wasn’t backing down. He raised another 250,000.
Matloubi lay back, took a drink and weighed his options. Chip Reese, doing the color commentary for ESPN, surmised that if Mansour weren’t folding, he’d be moving all in. Not too shockingly, Chip nailed it:
Matloubi counted out his chips meticulously, maintained his chain-smoking pace, then fi nally moved all in for 375,000 more.
Tuna more or less had to call unless he was on a bluff, but he took his time. His life had to be fl ashing in front of his eyes; after all, he held A♣9♦, good for top-pair, top-kicker, a hand that could easily win him his world championship. He counted his chips then counted again and fi nally stacked up for the call and made it.
Tuna fl ipped over his hand, hoping to be told he had the lead going to the turn, but to no avail. Matloubi’s hand was better by the slimmest of margins, with 10♣10♦ leaving Tuna fi ve outs in the deck. Don’t worry; that’s not the aforementioned beat. The turn was a lightning bolt. The ace of spades, in all its glory, came off the top of the deck, giving Tuna the card he needed and an overwhelming advantage. Suddenly, Matloubi had gone from being far ahead to holding two outs for his tournament life. He stood, hands on hips, with a little incredulous smile on his face, hardly believing the way his tournament was about to end. Turns out it didn’t end for another seven hours. The river was 10♠.
I told you I’d give you some pain.
The crowd exploded. Regardless of their disappointment for Tuna, they knew they’d just witnessed a remarkable turn of events. Reese, usually amongst the most composed men I’ve ever met, exploded in the announcer’s booth, gushing, “I don’t believe it! A 20-1 shot to stay alive in this tournament! Back from the dead! This is without question the most incredible hand in the history of the World Series of Poker.”
After the beat, ESPN showed one more hand, the final one, in which Matloubi took the title once and for all. What they didn’t show was the seven grueling hours of heads-up play that went on between the two. Despite the setback, despite being down 3-1 in chips, Tuna regrouped and fought his way back, eventually taking a slight chip lead for a moment. But that lead was erased also, and he finally succumbed. Tuna Lund, barring a Main Event victory, can never get back to even. For all the money he has and will win, he can’t get his dream back from the two-outer that robbed him of it.
A few years later, faced with the daunting task of raising two children by himself, Tuna made the remarkable decision to give up tournament poker to devote himself to the kids full time. For seven years, he dropped off the face of the poker planet to do the right thing. Now, on occasion, you can see his massive frame lumbering around the occasional $10k. He still loves the game. He still loves the Series. He still loves his kids.
He just hates the memory of that hand.
Pain.
Gary Wise is a regular columnist for BLUFF Magazine and ESPN. You can read more of his word and get linked to his poker podcast at www.wisehandpoker.com.
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