This blog is about seven years overdue, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. Back then, I intended to write a piece using this exact headline to let the world know how I felt after I suspected I had been duped by the poker website.

Well, life went on and I didn’t get around to it. Now, I wish I had. As it turns out, I was far from the only one who had this sort of experience with online poker.

While interviewing poker legend T.J. Cloutier earlier this week for a piece on this site, he relayed a story to me in which he lost money under “suspicious circumstances” while playing online poker. He didn’t go into detail, and I didn’t pry, because it seems anyone who played the cyber game for any period of time has at least one similar tale.

But the exchange got me thinking about that incident seven years ago, especially since it involved Full Tilt, which earlier this week was accused of operating a “Ponzi scheme” that lined the wallets of its executives to the tune of $440 million.

At the time, I had just ventured into the online game for the first time. I decided to try both PokerStars and Full Tilt. I had heard better reviews of the customer service at PokerStars but decided to give Full Tilt a try, too, in no small part because of the star power behind the site. One of my favorite players, Phil Gordon, was a pro on the site, and I was also a fan of Howard Lederer, Phil Ivey and Jennifer Harmon, among others.

Here’s what happened: I decided to take a shot at a $330 buy-in tournament that drew 360 players and a first-place prize of about $40,000. I had been running well in live games and felt like it was carrying over in this tournament.

It was one of those days in which everything falls in place for you at the table. I was getting my fair share of good cards, playing them well, dodging trouble when I needed to, and winning all of those proverbial coin-flip hands.

With just 40 players left –- the tournament paid 36 –- I was the overwhelming chip leader and had the $40K prize in the crosshairs. I was renting a condo in downtown Reno at the time, and my deck had a nice view of the casino neon from one corner, and the site of a graffiti-tagged garage from the other. Needless to say, the money would have made a difference.

I was pumped and, shortly after returning from a break, eager to play my first hand. I believe I had A-Q or something decent. As I tried to put in a raise, I noticed my cursor was frozen and I couldn’t do anything. I tried furiously to check the Internet connection and reboot my computer to no avail.

Nothing worked. I had no idea whether the problem was mine alone or something on the site, I just knew I couldn’t play anymore. I figured if the mishap came from my computer, I’d probably just get blinded off but still likely finish around 15th or so for a decent payday.

It never happened. Several hours later I received an email from Full Tilt, explaining that the site had crashed during the tournament and in the interest of “fairness,” the resolution was to give all 360 players a full refund. The note stated that if the field already had reached the money, meaning 36 players or fewer were left, we would have been paid according to chip count. Such a scenario would have made me the first-place finisher. But Full Tilt insisted its decision was the right thing to do.

Hogwash. If a similar instance happened in a live tournament, say they ran out of cards or all the dealers simultaneously dropped dead from some bad roast beef in the employee lounge, I guarantee you the remaining players would be paid. They likely would have extended the pay table to include all remaining 40 players, and paid by chip count. Anything less, and the tournament organizers would have to fear for their personal safety when they left the property.

No such threats existed in online poker. I took the course of action that most people might. I responded to their email saying the decision was unacceptable, demanded to be put in touch with a supervisor, etc. You can imagine how that worked out. I received no real response other than the same form email sent from about six different accounts at Full Tilt.

For a long time, I couldn’t quite figure out how I was scammed, though I was sure I had been. Now, I get it: If they refunded entry money to the remaining 40 players, how would the 320 who busted out ever know the difference? They wouldn’t, and the site keeps about $105,000 in entry fees.

I pulled my money from the site and vowed to relay the story to anyone I knew who was considering trying online poker. It’s worth noting that I never had any problems with PokerStars, as my results seemed to mirror those I had in live games, and they never failed to make good on payout requests, up to and including the aftermath of Black Friday.

I’ll also admit that I was of the camp that believed we should hear from players like Lederer and Ivey regarding their roles with Full Tilt before we passed judgment on them. Well, we haven’t heard anything, and the evidence is getting worse by the day.
  
For a long time, Lederer was one of my favorite players. I played alongside him once, and met him on a few occasions while covering the industry. He always was approachable, generous, insightful and had a sense of humor not often found in what can be a cut-throat industry.
 
I still don’t want to believe he did the transgressions for which he is accused, but if Full Tilt’s executives are ever ordered to pay restitution, I might put in a claim for $40K.