Sportsbook & Gambling Information

he Hidden Deal
Underground Poker on Long Island
JB McGeever 07/28/2005 12:01 am


There's a trick that experienced card players like to play on kids or novices. It's a way to let beginners know that they're not yet a part of things and still have a ways to go.

"Ever play 52 Pickup?" an insider might ask, holding aloft a brand new deck of cards. The outsider looks wide-eyed at the deck and says, "No."

"Wanna learn?"

"Sure."

There's an important pause here. The deck is tapped from its box. The cards are flexed and expertly shuffled. The novice watches intensely. Rituals are being performed right before his eyes. Something important is about to take place.

"Okay, now watch.... There's 52 cards in this deck, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now pick 'em up."

The deck is tossed into the murky air of the room, performing a series of twists and flips over the novice's head. For a baffling instant, the room is raining aces, jacks, kings, an entire stack of cards flitting past his face. An explosion of primordial laughter fills the room and then he gets it. There are cards scattered under tables, beneath chairs and caught in the lampshades. The novice has a choice. He can leave the room with dignity, forever remaining an outsider, or drop to his knees and pick up all the cards.

TAKE ME TO THE RIVER
The story was supposed to begin here at an illegal poker hall in Hicksville called The River, but The River ran dry and I'm left staring at a blackened door with a mailbox next to it that says, "Fish." It must have been a marker or tag for new players to locate the building. Fish swim in the river, right? Fish, in poker terms, also means chump or sucker, which is how you feel when an entire casino packs up all its cards and plays an invisible hand of 52 Pickup on you. More than likely, The River is flowing somewhere else, yet I have no idea where to look.

"Everybody loves to gamble," says Peter Dunn, a professor of criminal justice at the Katharine Gibbs School in Melville and a retired New York Police Department lieutenant. According to Dunn, the level of interest an illegal gambling activity generates from the law is based upon its organization.

"We weren't concerned with the office Super Bowl pool or the five doctors who got together to play a few hands," Dunn states, recalling his years working vice in Manhattan South. "Our primary concern was any organized game where the house took a percentage. Some guys, if they're smart, can get away with it for a while. But sooner or later, everybody gets popped."

My source for the casino in Hicksville, "Ace," isn't old enough to buy beer, yet he's been sinking and swimming in The River for over a year. He wears a gold charm around his neck that resembles the ace of spades and has been counting the days until his 21st birthday since he was 16. "I just can't wait to get to Vegas," he often says, toting around the latest poker bible and quoting random passages.

"It's a game of skill," he insists. "I could make a living off this if I didn't have to go to school."


Ace had just completed finals at an area college and was willing to take me to watch a tournament. He said they'd have a few games running at once and that there would be no problem getting in. If there were, a guy named Pretzels would let us know. Pretzels ran the house at The River and worked the door. Pretzels was a problem-solver and I couldn't wait to meet him. I was en route to the place when I got the call from Ace. "No good," he'd said. The casino was dark and no one was returning calls. "They must have been shut down. Sorry." Ace said he'd try to find us another game, but I haven't heard back from him. I decided to take the drive anyway. The River is situated among a row of interlocked storefronts tucked neatly behind an upscale Italian restaurant and a strip mall. Other than the quizzical Fish marking on the mailbox, there was nothing to distinguish the place as a den of iniquity. Completely hidden from the workaday world of Hicksville, yet right out there in the open, it was perfect. The River had it all and I wanted it back. I needed to see how a tournament was run. I wanted to see how Ace handled his action, picturing him as a character out of that old Scott Baio/Jodie Foster movie, Bugsy Malone, where the kids all dressed and spoke like old-time gangsters and shot whipped cream at each other. I wanted Pretzels to size me up, flash me the old fish eye once or twice. I wanted to make him a star. Without Pretzels and Ace, all I had was a door and a mailbox.

I began to see Long Island as this map with an enormous deck of cards flexing over it, waiting to burst across two counties, one enormous hand of 52 Pickup with me chasing down all the cards. Then I got a better idea.

It didn't take long, exactly one Google search, before I stumbled upon www.HomePokerGames.com. Once on the site, you simply pick your state; Long Island pops up within the New York listings, then you're on your own. Each location contains a box for sponsors to describe the level of play at an upcoming tournament and the buy-in to enter. Buy-ins range from $20 to $1,000. It's typical of fringe subcultures to absorb innocuous, everyday words into their jargon to put minds at rest. Many of the locations describe their respective atmosphere as "friendly." Friendly, in this particular case, means you can visit their club or tournament with an excellent chance of not being robbed, cheated or murdered.

I made several picks based on proximity to home and a desired buy-in range ($300 to $500). I steered clear of the contact who called himself "Goodfella," having no immediate urge to see the trunk of an Eldorado from the fetal position. I admitted total beginner status to everyone, figuring this would bring me the most nibbles. During this time, however, two popular Manhattan poker clubs had just been raided and closed, so my first week of trolling brought little results. I needed to sweeten the bait, stating this time how I had no problem with losing just as long as I learned a little something. The result was like pouring chum from a rowboat off the coast of Australia. I had half a dozen games to choose from by the end of the day.

GOING UNDERGROUND
The clock on the wall says 8:30, but the time here is always now. It's nighttime and I'm somewhere in the heart of Suffolk County seated at a poker table in somebody's basement. There are certain precautions and alerts the body goes through when entering the unknown. I'm absorbing my new surroundings, still waiting for the nerves and goose bumps to settle. The Internet may be an extremely helpful tool, but it's still a little bit creepy. One minute you're on your way to play poker with total strangers; the next minute you could be hanging upside down in somebody's dungeon. After several minutes, I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. The inside is decorated like any other basement on Long Island, wood paneling on the walls and support pillars, a pool table opposite the wet bar, with pictures of Marilyn, Elvis and James Dean swooning, sneering and squinting from every conceivable angle. I could have had my first kiss in this basement; I could have gotten drunk here in high school.

"Relax," the dealer says from the opposite side of the table. "We play a friendly game here."

If you say so.

The dealer is a big guy in his early 40s who will be referred to as Mike. This is Mike's house, Mike's basement, and everyone here is his guest. Mike runs the game from his wheelchair and pays himself 5 percent of every hand played—all night long. His guests, in return, get to play poker until their money runs out, drink as much beer and coffee as they like, or wait until Mike's wife serves her Chicken Parmigiana in catering tins warmed over a Sterno flame.

I pay my buy-in to the dealer and he slides me my chips. The chips themselves are a minor miracle in seduction. I just handed Mike grocery, gas and rent money, but now I've got all these wonderful chips stacked before me and anything is possible. There are seven other guys seated around the table thinking the same thing, only they're totally serious about their chances. The conversation revolves around the evening's possibilities, all lost possibilities of the past and any possibility dealt in the future. There are tales of going bust in Atlantic City, merciless beatings taken at Foxwoods and last-minute winnings in Vegas—that's right, Vegas, baby. Someone mentions the remote chance of a casino being built on the Island's East End by the Shinnecock Indian Nation and the room falls silent with possibility.

"Hey, you gettin' a job for the summer or what?" a heavyset lifer asks the fresh-faced 20-something to my right.

"Me?" he says. "A job? Why would I do that when I can be checkin' and raisin' people all summer long?" Laughter spreads across the table like a free round of chips, the type of guffaws shared by people with similar lifestyles and addictions. A cell phone goes off three heads to my right. A laid-back guy in his early 30s answers, his neck and face covered in a dark working-man's tan. He tucks his chin into the phone and turns from the table.

"Yeah," I hear him say. "You knew this is where I'd be.... I told ya I was workin' tonight."

SHARK BAIT
It's probably time to admit that I've never played a true hand of poker in my life. I showed up here looking for a story and have more interest in the players than the game. My subjects, however, are into winning money—my money—the way I'm into stories. I'll get what I want eventually—and so will they.

There is one thing, however, that I did in preparation for my first card game. I created a poker starter kit for myself. Since my knowledge of the game began at zero, I went with the obvious choices. I bought a copy of Poker for Dummies, rented Rounders with Matt Damon, then stumbled upon a decent memoir/how-to book, called Poker Nation and written by Andy Bellin, on the underground game. My kit was heavy on atmosphere, but details on the actual game were still whizzing past me. Damon loses the girl but comes to terms with what he is, a card fiend, then heads out west for the World Series of Poker. Bellin introduced me to the underground life and taught me some important jargon, and chapter one of Poker for Dummies is just plain hysterical:

"Poker has always been a microcosm of all we admire about American virtue.... Call it the American Dream—the belief that hard work and virtue will triumph.... It is an immigrant's song, a mantra of hope; it is an anthem for everyone."

Back in Mike's basement, the first hand is about to begin. I'm peering around the room, taking in all these proud Americans, the sons of immigrants reaching for their slice of freedom pie, and I realize the true hunger of the place. Mike shuffles the deck and lays down the button. My first two cards come sliding toward me. I have two pair of something or other, but I'm not sure where it falls in rank. There's a crumpled piece of paper in my pocket that lists the hands from lowest to highest, but I don't dare pull it out. Mike quickly realizes my ineptitude by the way I hold my cards right out in the open like some Hollywood cowboy. He picks up on my reckless ignorance by the way I repeat the phrase, "Hit me," like Danny DeVito's character during the poker scene in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Mike understands poker as though it were his second language and he silently agrees to become my interpreter. He lets me know when I'm up, and when it's time to check, raise or fold. After each hand's been played, he tells me whether or not I made the right choice. Through some fluke of nature, I end up winning the first two hands. Then the razzing begins.

"What kinda beginner's luck is this?"

"He ain't no beginner. This guy knows exactly what he's doin'."

"I know. I think I seen him at Binion's last week." (Binion's is a hardcore, no-frills casino in Vegas.)

"He's probably a mechanic." (That's slang for professional cheat.)

"Yeah. Or maybe he's workin' undercover—for the bunko squad!"

"Hey, what exactly do you do?"

I identify myself as an English teacher, and the table immediately does its best to mind its grammar and syntax. When one of the younger players, who had been shoveling down chicken and pasta in between hands, announces with a full mouth, "Yo, these freakin' meatballs are retarded!" another player looks him over. "Is that supposed to mean good?" The kid wipes his mouth and nods. "Well, maybe you could speak English from now on, so the teacher over here doesn't have to shoot himself."

I'm learning the game, making fast money and winning new friends. I start to relax, settle into my seat, then proceed to lose $350 in approximately one hour and 10 minutes. My chips disappear at a steady rate; the other players' stacks grow high, and Mike clinks another 5 percent for himself into the bucket next to his wheelchair after every single round. I take my beating quietly, thank the table for the evening, then leave Mike's basement for good.

It wasn't anyone else's fault but my own. I had shown very little patience, even with Mike's guidance, and often stayed in the action just for the excitement, despite having junk cards. There's a cherished quote that veteran poker players often repeat. It was used in the movies I watched and in the books I read, and goes something like this: If you look around the table and can't figure out who the sucker is, that sucker is you. But what do you call someone who volunteers for the job? I had kissed that money goodbye long before I ever stepped through Mike's door. It was story money, a well-spent investment. Mike, for his part, turned out to be a very good host. He was good at his work and seemed genuinely pained when I was wiped out. So much of the night revolved around men trying to win something, reaching for some kind of victory again and again, until it became an obsession. I wonder if Mike or any of the others could understand a guy who set himself up on purpose, someone who actually wanted to lose. I wonder if their psyches would even let them entertain such a notion.

"Well," they would probably say, studying my empty seat, "every deck of cards has at least one joker.... Awright, who's in?"


All In The Game

Poker's Popularity Pushes Legal Limits
By Mo Ibrahim

BRYAN STELLWAGEN beat out 255 other poker players who entered the 2004 Long Island Poker Club (LIPC) Championship tournament, earning himself a seat at the World Series of Poker in Las Vegas this year. There, the Huntington native placed 90th out of 5,619, winning a total of more than $91,000.

Stellwagen was not the only one who beat the odds. According to New York State law, the LIPC tournament that got him to Nevada was illegal. Yet John Baerlein, president of the LIPC, did not attempt to hide the tournament—or any others—from law enforcement. Neither did the Brookhaven entertainment complex Sports Plus try to hide its poker tournaments, when the Suffolk County Police Athletic League planned on holding a charity casino night there with a Texas Hold 'Em tournament in April.

But when officials for the Town of Brookhaven, prompted by the flurry of poker tourneys, asked the New York State Racing and Wagering Board about the legality of poker tournament fundraisers, the board responded that because a poker tournament is not an authorized game of chance, they would not license such an event. Both the LIPC and Sports Plus have stopped holding the card games.

These aren't the only entities that have misunderstood the state's—even the federal government's—stance on Texas Hold 'Em and other poker games. In April 2004, the U.S. Marshals Service seized $3.2 million from Discovery Communications for airing TV ads for online casinos.

There are no statutes that specifically ban Texas Hold 'Em in New York State. Gambling opponents interpret this to mean that it isn't allowed, while gambling supporters say the lack of mention means it isn't technically prohibited. In fact, the law prohibits any entity from holding public games of chance without a gaming license, which is obtained from the state Racing and Wagering Board. Here's a guide to clear the smoke, so your fondness for poker doesn't land you in the pokey.

SOCIAL GAMES
Don't call off this Friday's poker game just yet. Social games among friends where nobody gets a profit, or "rake," are perfectly legal. According to the New York State Constitution, "[persons] who gamble at a social game of chance on equal terms with the other participants therein" do not break the law when they invite people to play, let people play in their house or supply cards and chips—as long as they don't receive a fee or payment for such activities.

POKER TOURNAMENTS AND CHARITY EVENTS
Public poker tournaments are basically illegal, even if they are fundraisers. How is poker different from the blackjack, roulette and craps played at many a charity casino night, or from that old church mainstay, bingo? The New York State Legislature prohibits the board "from authorizing any game of chance involving wagering of money by one player against another player." Blackjack and craps pit players against the house, not each other. So how can entertainment complexes like Jillian's in Farmingdale hold poker tournaments? Simple: There's no buy-in or entry fee for the tourneys.

POKER CLUBS
Underground poker clubs are underground for a reason: They're illegal! What if the club does not make a profit? According to Sgt. Chris Love of the police commissioner's office of the Suffolk County Police Department, "The definition of profit is expansive." Even using money from gamers to maintain the storefront or pay overhead is illegal. A poker club that is successful must be making some sort of profit, according to Love.

ONLINE POKER
Online gambling is to the U.S. federal government what MP3 file sharing is to the Recording Industry Association of America: an omnipresent, endlessly regenerative enemy that won't let up. Some say that websites such as www.PokerStars.com violate the 1961 Interstate Wire Act, which bans the use of wire communications technology for placing bets, but the 5th Circuit Court of Appeals has ruled that the Act covers only sports wagering, not online gaming. Moreover, Poker Stars takes a rake from players, which is illegal in New York State.

These operations are difficult to crack down on since most of them are offshore companies. Where law enforcement has an "in" is with the peripherals: the banks that move the money and the media companies that run ads. After the $3.2 million Discovery fine, other media companies, including Clear Channel Communications, Google and Yahoo! stopped promoting online gambling. And in February 2003, New York Attorney General Eliot Spitzer signed an agreement with 10 local and national banks to block gambling-related credit card transactions. American Express and Chase Manhattan each had a similar policy, even before Spitzer's deal. But determined capitalists can always find a workaround. PokerStars.com refers players to an online banking site called NeTeller, which will gladly handle gamblers' money.

INDIAN CASINOS
Indian-run casinos such as Turning Stone Poker Club, in upstate New York, can legally offer poker. That's because the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act allows licenses for games that pit players against each other. This makes Indian casinos including Seneca Niagara Casino one of the few places where Texas Hold 'Em can be played publicly without interruption.

THE GOOD NEWS
No matter what, players cannot get arrested. Whether you play in an underground poker club or online, nobody has the right to arrest you if you are uninvolved in bookkeeping or promotion. But don't expect to keep your chips. On May 26, New York City cops raided the Play Station poker club and the New York Players Club. Police officers seized $100,000 of the players' cash as evidence.

But if you're not prepared to lose money, perhaps you shouldn't play poker at all.