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Should we feel sorry for Chris Moneymaker: an icon whose dignity is challenged every day; a hero who is constantly mocked for his one heroic accomplishment? He’s in a position where he can’t possibly win, in part, because he already won.
Moneymaker was David taking down Goliath. More than anyone else, he is the emblem of poker’s success. It was his win that gave the thing wings; the impossible reality that was stranger than fiction. An amateur, playing against the best in the world overcomes the odds and obstacles to become champion. He gets rich; he gets famous; he gets to live the dream.
But it wasn’t all sunshine and lollipops. The itinerant lifestyle that followed his victory effectively ended his marriage. The donkeys he’d so capably run over en route to his victory now called every bet, eager to take down a champion who didn’t make the necessary adjustments. Privacy was a thing of the past; every flaw that had made him so endearing was now subjected to the media microscope. Then there were his critics.
“I feel bad for them,” Chris told me, speaking about the railbirds who follow his every online hand, taunting each play, regardless of justification. “They should have something better to do with their time.” They should, but they don’t; they expect world champion play, and every perceived letdown gives fuel to their jealous hatred. It’s a burden he has no choice but to carry, and he bears it well.
Moneymaker’s detractors point to the few lucky hands that allowed him to survive, despite being the underdog when the money went in – hitting a set of eights against Humberto Brenes’s aces; or making the better full house against Phil Ivey’s nines full of aces. There are arguments that he could have gotten away from the Brenes hand, but to fold against Ivey would have been tantamount to admitting he didn’t have the will to go for the victory.
The thing is, everyone gets lucky, but it was skill that got Moneymaker into those situations in the first place. He sat with Johnny Chan, Howard Lederer, Dan Harrington, and other titans of the game. He took advantage of his unknown status, roughing them up with unadulterated aggression. He went to the final table with the chip lead and, once there, he thrived. “I’d rate my play a B+” he’d remember later. He may have been underestimating himself.
Once he’d taken out most of the table, with Harrington the last of his victims prior to the final, he was down to one opponent, Sammy Farha. A seasoned pro with Brat Pack style, Cheshire grin, and that trademark unlit cigarette, Sammy was considered the clear favorite by all, despite going into the finisher with a chip disadvantage. Sammy apparently agreed with the experts: Moneymaker offered a straight-up cash split; Sammy declined.
They started up again and Chris took control, wielding his superior stack effectively. Still, Farha seemed confident in his professional label and superior experience. They played into the morning, when just past 2am, what Norman Chad would later call “the bluff of the century” finally went down.
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hen Moneymaker reached for his chips to raise his Ks 7h, Sammy joked, “Don’t do it!” but Chris didn’t listen. With the blinds $20k-$40k, Moneymaker’s raise to $100k was a small one. Sammy called and the flop came 9s-2d- 6s. Both players checked and the turn came 8s.
Sam couldn’t have liked the turn. Sitting with Qs 9h, he still had top pair, but now he was staring at some very real straight and flush possibilities. He wanted the hand to be done with, and to that end, he bet of $300k into the $210k pot. Chris quietly announced a raise, and then a second time with a little more emphasis, after Tournament Director Matt Savage announced a call. It was $500k back to Farha. He called the bet, adding, “We said it was going to be over soon.”
The river was 3h. Moneymaker had missed every draw and there was a cool million in the pot. Farha checked and Chris moved all- in, putting Sam to a decision for his tournament. Sammy didn’t skip a beat; “You must have missed your flush, eh?” he guessed correctly. “I could make a crazy call on you. It could be the best hand.” Despite his efforts though, Farha couldn’t get Moneymaker to give up an inch. Finally, convinced there would be better moments, he picked up his hand and threw it into the muck.
Moneymaker exhaled as he looked to his family in the audience. He’d read his man right; Farha was waiting for the perfect moment to set Moneymaker up, and this was hardly perfect. Chris wasn’t shy about showing his bluff, sending Farha on an emotional rollercoaster. Before Sam had calmed down, he’d lost the match and the championship.
So, back to that question: Should we feel sorry for Moneymaker? For all the good that came out of his win, he’s constantly pestered, constantly questioned, and chided for being lucky. Even so, the answer is no, because like the man admits, he lives one of the greatest lives in the world. Still, maybe the next time you want to trash on this scapegoat, you should remember that his win was lucky for all of us; without it, I probably wouldn’t be here writing this and you probably wouldn’t be reading it.
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