Before the surgery, I would have classified myself as a slightly better than average player. However, after that ordeal, something happened. Everything seemed to click, and I was playing better than I had ever played in my life. My playing became almost instinctive. I was reading my competitors more accurately, and I felt a self-assurance I had never experienced. My brush with death had apparently triggered innate abilities that had never surfaced before.

The most important thing of all was that I discovered my true vocation. I had finally dispelled any doubts about what my profession in life was going to be. Because of pressure from my family and friends, I had thought about returning to "legitimate" work. But now I knew I never would. I was never going to be a working stiff, nor was I ever going to have a boss. I was going to make my way through life my way.

During the next few years, I shuttled between Fort Worth and Las Vegas, where more and more of the action was developing. I was still doing most of my playing in Texas, but it was getting difficult to find the really big games there. I was beating them so regularly that they were finally saying, "We can do without Doyle." The action, for me, was really beginning to dry-up.