I first met Stuey Ungar in 1978, at the Dunes Hotel in Las Vegas. Sadly, twenty years later, I was a pallbearer and speaker at his funeral. During my eulogy, I said, “Let’s forgive Stuey for his weaknesses and drug problems and remember him for what he was—the greatest player to ever grace the green felt.”
Forgive, but don’t forget.
Stu Ungar was a legend in the gambling world. He had an aura and mystique about him that turned heads in every room he entered. Ungar craved action and bet on everything. Whatever he gambled on, whether it was poker, gin, blackjack (if they let him play—he was barred from just about every casino on the planet because he was too good), horses, sports, or golf, he was the highest of high rollers. Stu Ungar stories are legendary.
Physically, Ungar was small; but mentally, he was a giant. He had the quickest mind of anyone I’ve ever known. When it came to cards, Ungar had no equal. He was a genius and had a photographic memory. His raw talent was overwhelming. I still smile when I think of some of the plays he made in big tournaments, with hundreds of thousands of dollars on the line. And I have tears in my eyes thinking about what could have been.
Ungar was known for being fearless and aggressive—two traits that are very easy to talk about but almost impossible to display on a daily basis. Simply put, Stuey Ungar was the greatest gladiator in poker history. He took command of every table he played at and dominated his opponents heads-up (the final phase of every tournament comes down to two players facing off mano a mano).
For years, the second-largest poker tournament in the world (behind the World Series of Poker) was Amarillo Slim’s Super Bowl of Poker. Only one player in history has captured the $10,000 championship event in both the World Series of Poker and the Super Bowl of Poker. That man was Stu Ungar. And he won each three times.
Remarkably, as great as he was at it, poker wasn’t even his best game. Gin rummy was. He originally came to Las Vegas to play gin, not poker. Soon, however, after beating everyone, he couldn’t get any games.
Unless you had seen Ungar play gin rummy, or talked to those who played against him, it would be difficult to imagine his artistry at that game. I’ve never met or talked to any people who played him who didn’t consider Stuey to be far and away the best player they had ever seen. After one or two discards, he could place virtually every card in your hand. As the Poker Hall-of-Famer Doyle Brunson once said about Ungar’s expertise at gin rummy, “It’s scary to watch him.”
Not long before he died, Ungar said to me, “Fifty years from now, I suppose it’s possible that a better poker player may come around, but I can’t see how there will ever be a better gin player. I really mean it. Michael Jordan won—what—four or five MVPs? If they gave an MVP for gin rummy, I would have won it every year since I was sixteen years old.”
I spent a lot of time with Stu Ungar and Nolan Dalla the summer before Stuey died. Ungar wanted to write One of a Kind for several reasons. He was hoping there was a chance that someone would read it and it might change that person’s life by leading him away from the self-destructive path that he had taken. He could also see the possibility that this book might become a movie, and he liked to picture himself at the Hollywood premiere and the Academy Awards. But mostly he wanted to write it for his daughter, Stefanie, whom he worshipped. Stefanie never really got to see the beautiful person that was her father in his prime—brilliant, daring, generous, kind, compassionate, and mesmerizing. Yes, Stuey was an addict, but he loved life and loved the people around him. And most of all, he loved and respected the game.
Stuey never got to finish his autobiography. But what you find here is the official biography of “the Kid.” It’s a powerful and remarkable re-creation of one of the most fascinating lives ever lived. Enjoy.