The other night I was watching the "World Series of Poker," and the ESPN hosts did a feature on Dan Smith, the world's No. 1-ranked poker player.

Smith has won tournaments in Barcelona, Monte Carlo, Australia, Las Vegas and his apartment in Toronto - from where he rules the world of Internet poker.

He can play all night long and wear you and your wallet out. If you're sitting at an online table, and you see "KingDan" next to you, better get up, cash out and leave. His biggest payday for one tournament came in June, when he won $2.04 million at the Bellagio Summer Super High Roller in Vegas.

Smith is only 25 years old. He's already won $10 million playing poker. And that's just official tournament prize money. That's not counting online games, endorsements and late night poker parties. Wow.

I used to know a guy who could play poker all night. His name happened to be Smith, too.

David Smith … we called him Smitty. We met in the seventh grade at Hamilton Junior High in Elizabeth, N.J., and became tight friends. After college, Smitty and I got an apartment together, which turned into four different apartments. Obviously, there was a problem. I'll tell you later.

His other nickname was "Village," from Longfellow's poem about the "village smithy."

It wasn't from the "Village Idiot."

Although Smitty had days when his nickname could have gone either way.

Like the time we were watching "Monday Night Football." The Jets were playing the Dolphins in Miami. The announcer said it was 82 degrees in South Florida.

It felt like 82 below zero in New Jersey. After the game, Smitty said, "Road trip. Let's go to Miami."

I said, "I'm in."

We drove to Newark Airport and caught the red eye to Miami, and checked into the Deauville. Smitty knew the guy who handed out towels at the swimming pool, so we stayed for free. I have no idea how that happened.

That morning, we called Prudential Insurance in Newark, where we both worked, and we told each of our bosses, "(cough cough) I've got a terrible cold, I'm sick as a dog, I'm not coming to work today."

Smitty actually had a pretty good job at Prudential. He was an auditor. I was just a new guy who answered letters from doctors about their retirement funds.

We hung out at the pool all day. We arrived in Miami as pale New Jersey ghosts. We left that night looking like lobsters. If you haven't seen the sun for three months in Jersey, it's not smart to lay out in the sun for eight hours in Florida. It hurt to open our mouths to eat a pastrami sandwich at Wolfie's on Collins Avenue.

We flew back that night and went to work at Prudential the next morning. One look at us, and they knew we were lying about being sick. I got yelled at. Smitty got suspended for a week. Smitty was more important than me. That's what you get for being a valuable employee.

A Yankees fan

We were "asked to leave" our first apartment because Smitty decided to paint his bedroom completely black. That was against the rental agreement. We also had a dog we weren't supposed to have.

We were evicted from our second apartment because Smitty decided to get a barbecue grill, set it up on the kitchen table and grill hamburgers over charcoal. We had cookouts, I mean cook-ins. It's amazing that the fire department didn't come when Smitty made ribs.

I don't know why we were told to leave apartments No. 3 and 4. I do know that we never got one penny of our security deposits back.

Smitty was extremely bright. If only he had used his powers for good, instead of trying to figure out which horse would win the fifth race at Freehold Raceway. He liked to bet the ponies. He liked his poker games. He liked the casinos in Atlantic City.

He loved the New York Yankees. He always wore a Yankees cap. Smitty could tell you the batting average of every Yankee ever. He was almost "Rainman" about the Bronx Bombers.

Family man

Smitty met a girl named Joan Vella from Clark, N.J. Dating a girl from Clark was social climbing for us guys from Elizabeth.

Smitty and Joan got married. I was the best man at their wedding. Then I took off to try to become a newspaper reporter.

Smitty and I stayed close, by phone. Joan had a baby girl, then a boy. They bought a house in Manalapan, which is even farther up the New Jersey social ladder than Clark.

He would brag about his kids all the time. His son was a chess prodigy. I remember Smitty telling me how his kid would beat teenagers and grown-ups in tournaments. Smitty dragged his kid to chess tournaments all around the Northeast.

One day about six years ago, I called Smitty. Joan answered the phone, and we talked for a few minutes. I could tell something was wrong. She sounded tired and beat and sad.

I asked, is everything all right?

"David died yesterday."

I did the eulogy. I mean I wrote it, and Joan's sister-in-law read it at the memorial service. I don't go to funerals. I went to one, and I'll never do that again. I can't take it.

I made Smitty's eulogy funny, probably the funniest thing I've ever written. It was easy - I just told stories about Smitty. I was there when all of those things happened. Man, we were close.

Time passes

It's been a few years since I called Joan to check in. Our lives went in different directions. People drift apart. The last I remember, she told me that her son was enrolling at the University of Maryland.

Back to the "World Series of Poker" on TV: Dan Smith, the No. 1 player, was making his move, winning pot after pot.

The announcer said, "Smith started as a chess player."

Started as a what?

"And he went to the University of Maryland, but quit to devote all his time to poker."

Wait a minute …

Hold on, Smith is wearing a Yankees cap on ESPN. Is this possible?

I called Joan.

"Joan, I'm watching ESPN and … "

She said, "So am I. Isn't he cute?"

Smitty's kid is the No. 1 professional poker player in the world!