06/09/2025
Just before turning 70, I finally let myself look back.
“They said I was flashy. They said I was too aggressive. They said I played like I was born lucky.”
But the truth is… I played like a man who knew every day could be his last chance.
I grew up in Houston, the son of immigrants who believed in hard work and quiet respect. But me? I was drawn to noise, to lights, to cards. I didn’t want quiet. I wanted the felt, the action, the fight.
At 21, I walked into Las Vegas with nothing but a dream and a bankroll that could vanish in a single night. I didn’t care. I believed in myself more than in luck.
At 30, they called me “The Orient Express.” I won back-to-back WSOP Main Events, something no one thought possible. People saw the bracelets, the glory. But what they didn’t see was the loneliness of the grind, the nights when the cards cut deeper than any knife.
At 40, I battled the new blood. Kids who thought they had no fear. I smiled. Because I had already played with gangsters, hustlers, and killers in backroom games. Fear was my oldest opponent — and my oldest teacher.
At 50, I wasn’t chasing fame anymore. I was chasing legacy. Every hand I played was a reminder that poker wasn’t about winning once. It was about surviving long enough to win again.
Now, nearing 70, I understand:
Poker is not a game of cards.
It’s a game of heart. Of courage. Of refusing to fold when life tells you to give up.
🗣️ If I could pass one truth, it would be this:
You don’t have to be lucky to win.
You just have to be brave enough to play.
Because in poker, as in life —
Fortune favors the fearless.
— Johnny
