Since the semifinals were scheduled to begin the next morning, the tie-breaking games had to be played that same night. Fourteen tired players reported to a banquet room at the Sands for the tie-breaking games which started about eight o�clock at night. I understand there was an additional player with 15 and 5 who, for reasons I have never learned, did not show up. Possibly he threw in the towel too soon by not waiting to find out if fifteen wins would make the grade. I won one of the six open finalist spots in the play that night. Another of the spots was won by Bert Shubin, a realtor from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, whom I was to see again in the final match. The next day I breezed along to reach the semifinals. The other three survivors were Jos� Lass man, a Mexico City sweater manufacturer; Ronald Sleater, Sati Lake City businessman; and Bert Shubin. The semis and finals were covered by closed circuit television cameras. The audience followed each card player on large TV screens. This acted as a slight healing balm to the kibitzers, but they stii fidgeted and whispered excitedly among themselves, casting longing glances at the area directly behind the players� chairs. Veteran gin enthusiasts called my contest with Jos� Lass man the most exciting game of the entire Tournament. Lass man was a strong favorite to win the tournament. Earlier in the day he had elemi note Hank Green spun, editor of the Las Vegas Sun, another favorite. I was considered an underdog. Toward the end of my gin rummy game with Lass man, when we were both within twenty-five points of victory, I heard a loud cry from the audience watching play at the other table. One of the officials walked by as I was shuffling the cards. �What happened?� I asked him. He informed me, �Mr. Sleater needed a few points to go out and made a quick knock, but Mr. Shubin undercut him.� Acting strictly on a hunch, I made a mental note that I would not nsk losing the game by an undereut. I would wait for Lass man to knock or I�d get gin on him. It was a decision I was never to regret. After a few minutes I was able to knock. But I didn�t. A few plays later Lass man picked a card from the deck and dropped it face down�meaning it was a hot card. Instead of putting it in his hand and studying it and taking bis time, he seemed to panic and threw it in the discard pile. I picked it up faster than I ever picked up a card in my life, went gin�and I was in the finals. Later I met Lass man. He was wandering around in a daze mumbling, �I should have won... I should have won.� He sorrowfully related that he had his cards analyzed and that if I hadn�t played my intuitive flash and had knocked, he had a layoff on my hand that, while it wouldn�t have given him the game, would have stopped me from going out.
