Poker News

Susie Isaacs

For those of you new to the poker world or relatively new, you won’t recognize the name Bill “Bulldog” Sykes. Let me tell you about a poker legend, not because of gold bracelets or the millions he won but because he was a memorable character, he was the Bulldog.

Bulldog was a poker humorist for years. He wrote for the original Poker Player back in the eighties. His popular column was called “Bulldog’s Bark.” He was rough and gruff but as lovable and gentle as a big ol teddy bear. I was always especially fond of Bulldog because he was from the South and his humor was served up Southern style — he was born in Tennessee, as was I. Being funny seemed to be in his nature. He was a colorful character, and he wore color-coordinated western outfits and suspenders with card symbols all over them. I once asked Bulldog where he got the nickname. “Look at this mug, kid,” he said. “Be honest with yourself. I look like a well-fed bulldog, and frankly I’m just as stubborn.”

It wasn’t so much that Bulldog told jokes or funny stories that made him such a comical character, but that he told stories funny. I ran into him one afternoon in Binion’s poker room. He was having a bad run of cards, and I was his opportunity to vent. “Junk!” he roared. “Been looking at hundreds - no, thousands - of little ol’ puny junk cards. And these chairs!” he continued, as he squirmed and growled. “Do you know where they got these chairs?” he asked me and anyone else who seemed the least bit interested. “From chiropractors … a coalition of chiropractors … it’s a chiropractors’ conspiracy!” He was on a roll. “And these cocktail waitresses - today is their survey day. They come around to all the poker tables and ask who would like a drink. That is question number one on their survey, and then they ask question number two - what everyone would like to drink. That’s it. They have completed their survey and they leave - never to return.” Shortly thereafter, Bulldog’s puny ol’ junk cards turned to jewels, and he began to stack chips and smile again.

One night at dinner, I complained to Bulldog about players who wanted to tell me all about their bad beats. “I don’t want to be rude,” I told him, “but I want them to stop.” He looked at me and drawled, “The next time one of those crying magpies starts to tell you a bad beat, look him square in the eye and say, “Brother, you can’t unfry an egg.’”

Tom, a Vegas dealer, tells of the night he met Bulldog for dinner at the San Remo while their wives played slot machines: “Just as the waiter approached the table with a tray full of our food, one of Bulldog’s friends hurried over and told Bulldog that his wife had just hit a big jackpot. In his excitement, Bulldog jumped up from the table and collided with the waiter, covering himself from head to foot in hamburgers, French fries, chili, drinks, and chocolate pie. He looked at me a little shocked and said, “Well, Tom, it looks like dinner is on me tonight!’”

At the 1994 World Series of Poker, I spotted Bulldog wearing a jogging suit for the first time to my knowledge. I rushed up to him and said, “Bulldog, this is the first time in all these years that I have ever seen you without your trademark suspenders!”

“Wrong, young’un,” he said, as he unzipped his jacket to expose a bare chest and a pair of suspenders holding up his jogging pants.

On September 28, 1994, the poker community unexpectedly lost our beloved Bulldog Sykes. Gone but not forgotten.

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