Hail The Conquering Hero’s

Team Galway took home the trophy in the Pub Teams Championship, held in the Central Tavern in Loughgeorge on Friday night. The Galaxy of Stars that made up Team Galway were,
Captain: Pat “I’ll be very surprised if I don’t win every tournament between now and the end of time” O Callaghan
Fintan “The Suicide Bomber” Gavin
Donal “Two Suits” MacAonghusa
Dave “Hells Angel” Curtis
John “Milkybar Kid” Cullinane
Manus “World Best Loser” Burke

This event was an absolute cracker, well organised with a great structure that rewarded top class play and good looks, was there ever any doubt who would win.
The event did stand out as the loudest tournament I have ever played in, with the cheers of joy and screams of anguish continuously echoing through the sea of beer that was flowing from the bar. But in amongst all the craziness there were a few truly beautiful moments.

Dave “Flapping Gums” Masters committed the ultimate sin in a team competition, when, in what can only be described as a retardedly botched attempt to dump chips to one of his fellow team mates, he called John “Do not go on the piss with this man without full health coverage” Weafer’s all in with 92 and hit 2 pair on the flop. Oh how we all laughed. The East Coast Cowboy never recovered from this setback and were ultimately undone by the infighting and discontent brought on by this innocently stupid mistake by the Flapper.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I would never have believed it possible, but on Friday, as God is my witness, Fintan “The Suicide Bomber” Gavin actually play like the ultimate rock and blinded away until he was knocked out in 17th place, and even more bazaar is that when he eventually put the chips in he was ahead. This amazing feat was the result of a superb team strategy devised by Donal “Two Suits” MacAonghusa, if we could just keep a full pint in each of Fintans hands he wouldn’t be able to get the chips over the line. This did of course have the slight drawback of Fintan being unable to walk by the end of the event, but we were men enough to make that sacrifice.

The end of the tournament saw a closing ceremony in Tarahouse Loughgeorge that would have been fitting for the Olympic Games. Actually considering the condition of most of the participants, possibly the Paralympics might be more accurate.
Cards, pool and video games, no bet was too big, no drink was too poisonous. The highlight of the events was Dave “Hells Angel” Curtis taking on the Dublin Flapper for €100 a pop at the arcade game 1942. This was not the only bet being place on the outcome, watching the side action it was like being at a Mexican cock fight, with 50’s flying all sides.

Other notes
Fintan cleaned up at the pool, when will you suckers ever learn, he owns the fucking table.
Well done Corky the Clown on taking home the individual prize, you’re a lucky little bastard.

Unlucky to the Milkybar Kid who finished second, you’re an unlucky little bastard.

Well done Caroline on some fine results on the side tables, some justice after the incredible shoddy treatment but the numbnuts on team Bodkins, if you put the lot of them together you wouldn’t make a decent halfwit.

Finally well done to everyone who took part, it was great to see teams travelling from Limerick and Dublin just to enjoy the crack.
I’d like to say sometime deep and meaningful, like the real winner of Friday was poker, but that’s bollox. We know who the real winner was, The Central Tavern, Mike ya lucky git you cleaned up.

Accessories of a Poker Player

Rings, bracelets, necklaces or nipple rings, if you ain’t got some of these then you’re just a part-timer, treating the game as a hobby, not truly a part of the real poker world, the world of the gambler.

I suppose this harkens back to the days when a poker player needed to constantly travel and this was the easiest way to carry large sums of money, if times got hard there would always be a pawn shop nearby. Even today in the states you will always find a pawn within a 2 minute walk of any casino. Maybe we can even blame the WSOP for encouraging this phenomenon by giving out gold bracelets to the winners all their events.
Whatever the reason, sometimes it seems the only difference between a winner and a loser is, the winner’s gold doesn’t turn his skin green.

It's not that I have anything against jewellery as such, it's more a question of taste, or maybe more the lack of it that sometimes reduces me to tears.
One of my absolute favourite pieces of bling is sported by John “The Brawler” Honan, it’s a ring he wears on his thumb, yes his thumb, that has a platinum outer band that supports an inner gold band that spins around, and has the 4 suits engraved on it, top class. Two words come to mind every time I see it, “Pike” and “e”. I’d really love to meet the dodgy Turk that sold it to John, I bet he’s still doubled over laughing.

But whatever about outlandishly vile and gaudy jewellery, which at the very least will give someone a good laugh, matching sets are just wrong. Tom “Kinder” Hanlon, one of Irelands foremost players, sports a rather fetching gold necklace which would be just fine if it wasn’t for the matching bracelet he wears with it. Combine this with the torn jeans he likes to wear and it’s not so much a pro poker look or even a tarmac your driveway in the middle of the day look, no, it's more a slip in the back entrance in the dead of night look. Hey, maybe this is the secret of his success, you’re less worried about his cards then you are that he’ll start rubbing your leg under the table, nice one Tom.

But of all the daft thing I have seen in the poker room, rings with rims, tee-shirts with a players own bloody name on it like Paul “The Hangman, really all the lads called me that at school” Roper, the single most embarrassing thing I have seen is a guy walking around the room with a Ferrari laptop, this belongs to Tom “The Opinion, and everyone knows what they say about opinions” Murphy, I mean good God man, what do you think goes through peoples minds when they see that thing. I am looking looking out for the new TV program, Pimp My Laptop.

Of course maybe I have it all wrong, maybe I shouldn’t be taking the piss out of people because of the ridiculous things they chose to adorn themselves with.
Should I instead celebrate the differences in people, be thankful for the dazzling variety of people you get to meet in the poker world, embrace the individual in everyone?

Bollock, it’s that kinda dumbass thinking that got women the vote, and see where that got us.

A little more culture then normally appears on my blog
but i like it.
This was send to be by an anonymous source, simply signed
"your no.1 fan"

A poem by Ogden Nash

The Hunter

The hunter crouches in his blind
'Neath camouflage of every kind
And conjures up a quacking noise
To lend allure to his decoys
This grown-up man, with pluck and luck
is hoping to outwit a duck

Another fine mess

Why do we do it, I mean it seems like a good idea at the time but come on, we know better, drink and poker don’t mix. Fuck sake, the very clicking of the keys as I type this is causing an ache behind my left eye, Christ I need doctoring.

Anyway, despite all the promises I made to myself, I once again ended up in the Westwood last night, and had the mixed fortune of starting at the same table as John "The Milkybar Kid" Cullinane, Dave "Never leave your mobile unattended around this Bastard" Curtis and Pat "The Galway Man" O Callaghan. The company and crack was great for the 3.6 seconds (may have been a little longer but not much) that I lasted in the tournament, but it all went pear shaped fairly quickly as I found myself in a round with the 3 stooges.

The Kid and the mobile bandit were already well on it after enjoying some post work cocktails, so of course the Galwegian and I felt honour bound to attempt to catch up. So 1 hour and 4 pint after I got to the Westwood I was signing up for my first side table, oh man what a train wreck, a five hander winner take all €100 sit n’ go containing Fintan “The Suicide Bomber” Gavin, and good to his name he blew up on the second hand (he was playing ultra tight) and took 2 poor innocent bastards with him. I missed most of what happen over the next 10 minutes but suffice to say I was soon back at the bar celebrating my second place finish.

It wasn’t long before the 3 stooges became the gruesome twosome when the Kid joined me on the sit n’ go circuit. This of course meant that I got lumbered with the shitty job of having to go to the bar for John every time it was his round to save him the embarrassment of being asked for ID. A real pain in the ass but the Kid was on Jack and coke at this stage and he’s a mean drunk so I didn’t have much choice.

Soon enough Dave “I just bought a Harley, oh why oh why can nobody hear my desperate cry for help” Curtis and Pat “I’ll be very surprised if I don’t win tonight.” O Callaghan had also joined the minor leagues, the gallon mark had long since come and gone, and everything was starting to get a little hazy.
I remember playing notes poker, which is a little strange as I don’t remember every being able to play the game, also there was definitely some unlimited re-buy games that bore a closer resemblance to a riot the a card game. It all started to get darker from then on.

I woke for work this morning with a pounding headache, an empty wallet and a vague recollection of a cash game, Jesus I hope that doesn’t come back to bit me in the ass, and thought to myself, ‘”Why do I do it”, surely I am old enough and ugly enough at this stage to know drinking and gambling don’t mix. I’ll probably never learn, but it will be all worth will if even one young player reads this and learns from my foolishness, “Beware the demon drink”.

As for me I can’t wait to get pissed up at the Super Sat on Friday.

Mobiles At The Table

Synchronised Drinking
Mobile phones, how did we ever live without them, can anyone even remember what life was like before the mobile phone? I can, it was bliss, and it didn’t take 16 calls to arrange to meet someone in pub.
“Hey Bob, having trouble tying my shoe laces, I’ll be 3 minutes late”
“That’s ok Fred, I am just getting into the car, I’ll ring you as I get to the bridge, I’ll only be 2 minutes from the pub then”
“Great, but make sure you ring me if you are delayed, God knows I’d hate to have to sit in the pub having a pint while waiting for you.”
We all do it and we should be ashamed.
It’s simple really, when you make an arrangement, keep it.

Sorry I’m Late
The mobile phone is the tool of the asshole that always turns up late. We all know someone like this, they are always at least a half an hour late, and they ring every 5 minutes to let you know how sorry they are for being late. Well I say fuck um, next time you arrange to meet them turn your phone off, allow them 10 minutes leeway and then leave. It won’t teach them anything but you’ll feel a lot better about yourself.

I do have a Life
Then there is the person who just can’t resist having their private calls in public, allowing the world to know their arrangements, they are in some way desperately trying to prove that they have a life.
I would like to point out that before mobiles we had public pay phones, you may still see one around now and again, which were sensibly situated in phone booths because the public in public pay phones referred to their availability and did not imply they should be used for public broadcasts.
Please just give us all a break, you clearly don’t have a life so keep your mundane day to day activities to yourself you sad, sad, little twat.

They real story behind the Mobile phone
Who came up with the concept of the mobile phone, most people would probably tell you the technology was developed by the military for use in battle, but this of course is complete bollocks. It was women who came up with the concept of the mobile phone, as the perfect gift for their man, isn’t it nice to be never more then a call away from the one you love. Especially when you’re out playing poker, no good can every come from receiving a call at the poker table, they should be completely banned from all poker rooms.
You know, you’ve been there, its 8:30am, you're sitting in a cash game doing your nut, fatigue has long since been replaced by that numb out of body feeling that can keep you going till noon at least, and the no smoking laws have long since been abandoned. Through the wisps of smoke you stare at your opponents weary eyes, you know they are better player then you but it doesn’t matter anymore, the chip are going in on any shit now, all judgement left with the smoking ban. Now its pitch and toss and your in with a chance, your going to get those chips back… and then the silence is ruptured by the shrill screech of the Crazy Fucking Frog.
“Ah shit what does she want” as he presses the reject button.” She knows where I am, Jasus, its not like I’m of screwing some other bird”
“Damn right, there’s no other woman desperate enough”
“Other then your sister”
Everyone is smiling now maybe even the odd chuckle, bodies start to groan and creak as players begin to stretch and shake themselves awake, your starting to loose them. And then some fuck monkey rams the knife home.
“What time is it anyway?”
You slump back in your seat groaning, your chance has slipped away. This is the question that has killed more poker games then the cops. Its time to start worrying if you’ve got enough left for breakfast and a cab.
Curse those phones and the women that shackle us with them

True Dedication

Recently I find that my mind is never far from the upcoming appointment of the new Galway hurling manager, which I feel is the most important decision for the counties hurling in 20 years. But as everyone is talking about or praying for the appointment of the Clare man Ger loughnane to the post, I can’t help but think back to the last time I witnessed truly great leadership by a Clare man.

That act of, dare I say heroism, occurred a month ago in the Irish Poker Cup, when the Clare captain, after paying €560 to play in the event, got himself knocked out of the tournament so he could be available to advise and support the other players on the team. Whereas some people would say that there was a number of flaws in this strategy, I applaud the single minded dedication to win shown by the captain, Keith “I can’t win a fucking thing since I lost my lucky hat” McInerney.

Whether this tactic will be adopted by all Clare men and, that given the job, Ger loughnane would break one of his players legs, don the colours and a helmet, and roam around the pitch during the games giving support and tactical advice to his team remains to be seen, and if he wants to let him. Lets face it, we’ll try anything to get our hands on Liam again.

A Sad Day I was very saddened by the recent news that one of the biggest names in Irish Poker, Donal MacAonghusa (wow 16 letters, now that’s impressive), retired from Poker Events. The letters, emails, telegrams and forum posts have been streaming in for all around the world since, thanking Donald for his hard work and wishing him well for the future. On hearing the news, speaking for his home in Paris, Padriag Parkinson, one the most renowned names in world poker, simple said “Jesus, how much did he steal?”. A beautiful sentiment that I feel we can all share in. But never fear, pokerevents spared no time or expense in finding an able replacement for Donal in the form of Ross “Mighty Mouse” O Boyle. MR F(intan) has decided to go with the Alex Ferguson methodology and rather then pay big money for outside talent, he has plucked his man from the relative obscurity of the pokerevents youth team and, one can only assume, will personally take him under his wing and groom he to be the next great midfield general. The difficulties with the suddenness of this appointment were very apparent this Wednesday night in the Westwood, as Ross wandered around the room looking a little dazed, wearing his sky blue confirmation shirt and his new black pants that desperately needed to be taken up and have the price tag removed from the arse. But give him time, I feel that if he could show just a little less regard for the players and their wishes he could be one of the greats. But seriously, best of luck Ross. Just two small pieces of advice for ya, buy a tie and never ever listen to a poker player about anything, if their lips are moving they are trying to pull a fast one or, worse, tell you a bad beat story.

Irish Poker Cup

Hell of a weekend, an absolute humdinger, holy shit was I drunk on Saturday night, the Galway captain and I went on a little bit of a bender, as did most of the 310 player that had taken part in the weekends main event. The crack at the sit n’ go tables on Saturday night was fantastic, you certainly wouldn’t want to have been the sensitive type, as the offence was being piled on by the barrow load. I should apologise to the ginger from Wexford that I meet in the €200 multi table, I’m not going to, but I definitely should. I actually split 2 of the €200 multi tables, to salvage a weekend that was well and truly in the crapper, yeehaw.

The Highlights of the weekend for me were:

I got to meet the impresario for the first time since I pointed out a small weakness in his game on this blog a few weeks ago. As expected, he thanked me for the help and said he had been working on that part of his game ever since. We then decided that the best way to test Mr. L(en)’s new game was to have a last longer bet in the €400 freezeout on the Saturday. I unfortunately was unable to resist the urge to get the chips into the middle after playing so tight in the teams event, with the result that I was out after about 20 minutes.

This week’s event saw the unveiling of Ireland’s newest pro poker player, not so much a new player but a new name, yes ladies and gentlemen the player formally know as Tony “The Shafter” AKA Tony “The Cartoon” Rafter has , and this is very important, renamed HIMSELF, Tony “The Pirate, no I’m not taking the piss I’m deadly serious” Rafter. Where to start on this uummmmm. I have had a lot of nicknames over the past 30 or so years and they have rarely been complementary. Some examples would be, Shortfinge, Dom, Chops, Shithead and currently Duck, and these are the nice ones. All of these names have 1 thing in common, they were given to me by other people and this, as far as I can see, is the unbreakable rule when it comes to nicknames, you cannot give one to yourself. I mean I would much prefer to be called “El Bandito” then Duck, but what ya going to do. I don’t lay all of the blame with Tony “The Pirate, please try not to laugh in my face” Rafter, as we must remember that he is close personal friends with one of Irelands most famous players, Paul “The Hangman, this is actually a registered trade mark” Roper, who is currently trying to put together an Irish version of the Hendon Mob, I can only assume they will be called something like “The Irish X-Men” or “The Justice League”. I’m just waiting for the day he pays some guy to play theme music as he enters the poker room. But this is our big chance to help out. I think we should have a competition to name this Irish Hendon mob for “The Hangman, yes I actually paid a film crew to follow me around Monte Carlo” Roper. I will start a thread on the Irishpokerforum.ie. and Boards. Please post any suggestions there.

Mr N(icky), I can only assume, was the most disappointed man in the Citywest, not only was his the first team to be completely eliminated from the event, but it appears that due to a lack of communication about a planned protest of the event by the Limerick team over an extra €10 on the registration fee, 2 of there team, the Brothers C(osgrove) chained themselves to the railing outside the casino in Galway and missed the event completely (one can only assume there is a Darwin award somewhere in their future). But despite this massive stroke of good fortune which allowed them to replace the Brothers C(osgrove) with 2 random people off the street, the team simply underperformed. I can only assume that Mr. N(icky) will soon announce his resignation a Limerick Captain and not make himself available for selection for next years team after what has been described by some as, "a complete failure as a player and a leader".

By the way Leitrim won the team event.

Oh ya, nearly forgot, the 20 minutes I lasted in the €400 was 15 minutes longer then the impresario. Thanks Mr L(en).

Lord Protect Me From Optimist and Lunatics.

It taken until now for me to get over the Westwood on Wednesday. I can never just lose the easy way, oh no not this shithead. Pair against to suited over cards, could he not just hit an Ace, no, runner runner flush, 2 big cards against 2 little, an Optimist, Mr F(intan) of course, Lunatic, (not bitter) could he hit a small pair, no, straight on the river. But the worst is the Optimist Lunitic, Mr A(lbert), who, after I bet out my top pair on the flop, raises with bottom pair like a man that had already seen the 2 pair coming on the turn. And just to put the tin hat on it The Nuts(ginger from Athlone) cracked may Aces with A5 (dead on the turn), there was plenty watching the hand, nobody gave me a chance pre-flop.

But today is a new day and it Irish Poker Cup day. Off to the City West to represent Galway. Hopefully the Westwood took care of this weeks allotment of shitty luck, Ya right. Anyway every character in the game will be there, so there will be plenty of material for next week.

Tune in Monday to find out all about the story the other sites won’t share.

The Verbal’s

The majority of poker players say sweet FA when they are at the table, and then you have the talkers. We’ve all meet them at the table and for the most part they make the game a more enjoyable experience. I can tell you for a fact that a tournament without them is the most horrible experience.

Case in point, the €300 Freezeout at the IPT in June, after sitting quietly at a table I had been moved to for 20 minutes I made a raise, the dealer looked at me for the first time since my arrival and in a surprised tone said “Oh hello, I didn’t recognise you there”. (Its not that I’m famous like Mr N(icky), it just the fact that I was one of his bosses that tipped him of to my identity). I simply explained that today I had decided to disguise myself as an incredibly handsome fat man, whereas normally I am just an annoying little runt (oops another reference to the prima donna, better be careful or he’ll come looking for royalties). Ok perhaps not the funniest joke ever told at the poker table but Jesus not one player even blinked. After a few hours of this you’re welcoming the warm embrace of death.

Anyway back to the talkers, I have broken them down into 3 categories:
The Player, the Gent and the guy I met last night.

The Player makes talking a part of his game and without a doubt the best I have even seen is Mr F(intan), whom I am sure you all know. His ability to talk a player into calling or folding is amazing, but the most impressive thing I think is the way he gets a player to show his card to him at the end of a hand. He truly is a master of the gab, and it is a huge part of his game. Some would argue that it is the only part of his game, but it’s not my place to judge his awful plays or the rancid hands he chooses to make them with.

The Gent is the player you always want at your table, his foremost intention is to enjoy his tournament. Playful ribbing of his fellow players and the absolute ripping the piss out of the above mentioned "The Player" is the order of the night. You almost don’t mind losing your chips to The Gent, almost.

And then we have the guy I met last night, you’ve all meet him in one form or other, he is invariably young and always freakishly dense. The guy just can’t shut his gob, verbal diarrhoea of the worst kind. Every hand he has an opinion, advice or a critic and nothing you can do will stop him. If you get loud and aggressively rude to him he will just get louder, in an attempt to drown you out. If you start taking the piss out of him, he will either be too stupid to notice or he will attempt to take the piss out of you in return, but of course he is so bad at it, that with every word you can feel the old ulcers starting to flare. The more you insist he shut his face the more he genuinely believes you jealous of his obvious talent. I often wonder how this guy hasn’t tripped and accidentally strangled himself with his own lips.

Last night he was in Athlone and by God was he on form, world class form. A regular in the game that I know to be a rock managed to last 49 minutes listening to this guy before he called an all-in on the blind in the hope he would lose and be able to escape the agony. Thankfully his wishes were granted and as he stood up from the table a content smile spread across his face, he had no pity for the rest of us.

Something has to be done and I am sorry to say I am at a loss. Does anyone really know how to shut this guy up, or is this like the search for eternal youth, am I seeking Holy Grail of poker.

Bluffing.

An art form in the game of poker, and last night I was lucky enough meet one of the greatest bluffers of them all. As with all bluffs, if they get through you a genius, if your exposed you feel like a complete tit. Last night we got to see the tit end of one of the best bluffs I have ever seen.

A well know poker journalist (to save any further embarrassment we won’t name names. But you know who you are Len) who writes for PPP online poker site got into any interesting debate at the end of a hand, which is the better hand, a house of Kings over 4's or Kings over 8's. He held the k4 at the time. Don't get me wrong, he didn't take a complete leap from his senses, not for a moment did he feel he had won the pot, but the debate about whether or not he was entitled to half of the chips in the centre went on a little to long for comfort.

Often I have misread a hand I hear you cry, take it easy on the poor guy you say. Oh and what is this bluff I was talking about. Well here is an excerpt from this players bio on PPP. "Poker player extraordinaire, actor, impresario and beloved member of the paddypowerpoker.com family! Pro-Player Mr L(en) is not only a force to be reckoned with at the poker table he is also a larger than life personality who has gained the respect of his peers and the love of the team at paddypowerpoker.com."
And in truth he doesn't even know the Poker Ladder. I put it to you, surely this is one of the greatest bluffs of all time. I tip my hat to you sir. Makes me wonder though, does my Doc really know what he’s doing when I am undergoing my prostate exam.

The impresario is also captain of the Mayo team in PokerEvents up coming Irish Poker Cup. Shortly after explaining the Poker Ladder to Mr L(en), I was offered a place on the team, which for personal reasons I had to refuse, a desire to hold on to what little remains of my sanity. Mr L(en) has always maintained that I am the unluckiest poker player he has ever meet, but I feel after last night there may be 9 Mayo men who feel their in with a shot at that title.

But the impresario is a top class gentleman, so I implore PokerEvents to post copies of the poker Ladder on the walls in the Citywest in the hope that our friend can avoid further embarrassment. I am sure those Dublin player would be far less sensitive to his feeling then I.

I always wondered what it was like to be a tosser, now I know.
I have my own Blog.
Why you may ask have I joined the ranks of those suffering from the cyber induced impotence that is Blogging?
Is it to bore you all with mind numbing bad beat stories.
Perhaps its to analyse the sanity of the players that week after week in blinding flashes of stupidity make crazy calls and knock me out of tournaments.
Or maybe I will give a voice to the legion of luckless and talentless players of which I am one, that the rest of you anonymously refer to as Fish.
Oh god how I wish it was something so noble, but the real reason is this seems to be a side effect of working a day job in front of a computer.
So much time and so little will to live.

Ever since I retired from the high flying glamour of running poker tournaments and took up the day job I have found myself doing things I swore I never would.
It starts with small simple things like reading a post on a forum.
Soon you find yourself checking on it every day, then maybe before and after lunch, until
within the week the browser window with the forum never closes.
The it happens, some idiot posts something so offence to the intelligence of mankind in general that you feel honour bound to spring into action and correct this injustice.
I mean my god man what if someone was to read it an actually believe it and maybe even pass on these wildly inaccurate statements as fact.

The post that broke me was someone suggesting that poker tournament organisers should listen to the wishes of players. Maybe, if there is an unexpected lull in the mayhem that is the running of a tournament, you might think briefly about what the player might prefer.
But to actually listen to them, you must be out of your mind. Nothing would ever get done. There is no creature to have ever graced this beautiful planet that can moan, whinge and bitch like a poker player. They could win Olympic medals in it.

Hang on, sorry about that, started ranting slightly off topic, plenty of time for that later.
So here I am, finally fallen into the abyss, no longer a person but a festering opinion waiting to inflict itself on any cyber traveler unfortunate enough to happen by.

So another adventure tonight for me in the Westwood, I predict my first win tonight(this prediction is likely to become a regular here). Promise not to tell you about a single hand tomorrow, but if any of the usual suspects get up to anything interesting I will let you know.

Hey this might be fun...

Christ I'm lost forever, remember me fondly.