Thanks to Sharon O Grady for the photos

The Circus has a arrived in Galway.

I got to the Eglinton early this evening to set up to cover the satellite that’s on tonight but then the circus showed up. Mad Marty Wilson and Jesse May have arrived with a massive pile of prizes spread over 2 poker tables for a raffle during the tourney break. All we are missing is a big top and an elephant, (feel free to post any wise cracks in the comments section). The attendance tonight is unfortunately a little low but there does promise to be a fairly good cash game given the stature of some of the players in attendance, Padraig Parkinson, Rory Liffey are here along with Marty and Jesse. Hopefully we can get a couple of interviews with them later.

And we're off, the pre-tourney favorite is Rory Liffey,
oh hang on, Mad Marty has just bought in, so obviously there is no alteration to the betting.

Ciaran O' Leary, a winner of a WOSP bracelet, here tonight trying to get a cheap ticket, and I tell ya if he can survive the seat he has been given he deserves 2 tickets. To his right is James "The nicest lunatic in the world" Walsh and to his left he has John "Ya want to bet I won't go all-in with this pile of shit" Ward

Ok, we have got to the first break in tonight’s satellite and have lost 16 of the 57 starters. As predicted, Ciaran O Leary found himself out of his depth surrounded by 2 of Galway’s finest. He was forced to rebuy early and then luckily got moved to a different table and is hanging in there now.

Our pre-tourney favorite, Rory Liffey, is short stacked but now that the rebuys are finished we are expecting him to start moving through the field. The chip leader is Pat Morris with 54000, enough to make the final table if he can straighten up and fly right for the next couple of hours.

Mad Marty was one of the early casualties but at least that frees him up to run his raffle desk, from which all the proceeds is going to a worthwhile charity.

The prize pool tonight is €9400, so there is a fair chance 5 tickets will be given out tonight. Hopefully I can get my hands on one. Taking a break now for so chicken ala Fintan, so if I survive that I will give up an update in a while.

Forgive me for not keeping you updated on the tourney but I was playing and actually got a few chips together. you will all be delighted to hear that I have indeed won a ticket for the IPC, yeehaw.

See you all on Friday

Even the great ones slip from time to time

I recently heard a wonderful story involving a well know Dublin poker player and MILF. Our hero, we’ll call him Tom (not necessarily his real name), was visiting Jamaica for the cricket world cup with a small group of friends. The group had booked into a holiday complex that was primarily a family resort. On day 4 while Hanlon and one of his travelling companions were descending the apartment block in the elevator, toms mate commented that there was a lot of MILF around. It was here that our hero made 2 mistakes, the first was a simple one that anyone might make, he asked what MILF was. The second mistake was far greater and absolutely unforgivable, he accredited his friend with far too much imagination and leapt to the wild assumption that he had made up the acronym MILF, and he loved it, it was their little secret.

This, of course, lead to the inevitable result of Mr T(om) standing in the middle of the pool a couple of hours later pointing at a very attractive young mother and yelling across to his mate,
“Hughie, MILF, MILF”, resulting in the entire crowded of about 100 people around the pool area falling into a complete and deeply shocked silence, broken only by the voice of an 8 year old girl asking "Mammy ,mammy, whats MILF?". As the light started to dawn on our hero, visions of an angry husband, police and having to pay a large cash fine to a local Jamaican magistrate filled his mind. But not our hero, lucky bastard that he is, he managed to pick a woman with a sense of humour, proving without doubt, I feel, that he is indeed the luckiest man alive, she simple stopped, looked at him for a few awkward moments and said,

“Yes, I do look good, don’t I”, and walked on proudly

At which every person in the vicinity roared with laugher. Tom regards the walk from the middle of the pool, through the crowd of people rolling around with tears running down his face to get to his towel as one of the longest of his life.

I suppose Tom was fortunate to have a group of friends with him that I am sure consoled him in his time of great embarrassment and who, he was sure, would abide by the credo ‘What happens in Jamaica stays in Jamaica”

Merry Christmas to all.

Just thought I would give you a quick report on the league final in the Eglinton, which was held on the 20th, please forgive the delay but just for my own piece of mind I had to embark on a rather perilous journey which involved some heavy duty mining equipment and a lot of digging, but i am glad to report that Hell has indeed frozen over. So baring this in mind I give my heartiest and unreserved congratulations to Dave "Mid-life Crises" Curtis.

I have no idea who else made up the top positions as I was only at the final table for a few brief moments, just long enough for Christy The Morbid to crack my Queens, and it’s a hard pill to swallow getting knocked out by someone that isn’t even there, and I know he couldn’t have been there, because the little trouble making shit kicker is barred. After that I was far to drunk to care what happen, actually I probably wouldn’t have known Curtis won the damn thing but for the fact that he spent the remainder of the night wandering around the club drink beer from the oversized trophy he got and singing “I am the Champions”. It’s at times like that you find yourself thinking, where’s a cataclysmic event when you need one.

But truth be told it was a cracker of an evening, with booze, some free money and as much gambling as any man could want. I mean where can you have so much fun for €3000 a night.

Anyway, I hope you all had a great Christmas and New Year.

I hope to be covering events live from the IPC, so please by all means keep an eye on the blog for updates.

And We're Back.

I have decided to move back to this blog as i never really felt comfortable writing under a different name. But it is Wednesday night again and we will be bringing you the trills and spills live from the €100 freezeout at the Eglinton Club. League points is all people are concerned with at the moment, with only 7 days remaining to get points to make the top fifty and gain entry into the €10000 tournament at the clubs Christmas party, rumor has it that money has actually changed hand to get someone who has scored points to give in a different name to the person tracking the points, seems a little sad to me, I really can't understand what all the fuss is about. And of course with the IPC just around the corner, tickets are the other thing at the forefront of everybodies mind. I tell ya, you could cut the tension around here with a spoon, big time poker is coming to the Galway, the men of the west are so nervous, there is nare a banjo being played and the sheep are fierce lonely. I for one am keen to see how many will make the long arduous journey from that smallest of english counties we call Dublin, I realise the even looking in a westerly direction makes some of the natives of this strange and often magical land go weak at the knees and the actual trip itself seems more daunting the scaling Everest, but lets keep our fingers crossed.

Just going to head into the club now so I'll be back soon.

Ok, since we last spoke, I have won a sat for the tourney and got myself onto a table with the craziest shower of bastards to come down the pipe. The Flying Dutchman to my left, Frank" I can't stop the voices" Healyto my right and Vinny Longlad looking straight across from me. God help us all.

And The Flying Dutchman has sank without a trace just 15 mins into the tournament. The voices in Franks head must have all screamed call in unison when Dutchy when all in on a stone cold bluff.

Oh dear, oh dear, the Longlad is gone, after losing most of his chips on some ass end up read, he launched the rest with 88 and ran into AA. If this keeps up there will be none of the top players left.

Acceptance Speech

One may have thought that the awards season had reached its peak with the Oscars on Sunday night, but you would be mistaken. In a poll which closed at 4am Wednesday morning, with a whopping 30% of the vote, I was crowned Boards Blog Writer of 2006.
I find myself wishing I had watched the Oscars to get a hint at how other great award winners carried themselves, but alas we will have to wing it. I believe the normal thing is to thank all the people without whom I could never have hoped to win this award.
Thanks to
Pat “I’ll be very surprised if I don’t win tonight” O Callaghan, for the nomination.
Len “The Impresario” Collins, for being lead in my favourite blog entry on bluffing.
Donal “Tight Weak” MacAonghusa and Conor “Just Tight” Maguire for (badly) proof reading my blogs.
All the other wonderful character that have made up the blogs, John “Finger Rims” Honan, Dave “Midlife Crisis” Curtis, John “The Mean Drunk” Cullinane, that wonderful Ferrari Laptop, and most importantly,
Paul “The Hangman” Roper, just for being you.
Also, I think my popularity on boards is no secret, so I really have to say thanks to the 18 bad mind individuals that voted for me in this poll.
To my fellow nominees I would like to say that there is no shame losing. Unless, of course, it’s by a lot, like a crushing defeat, ya know, if you found yourself completely outclassed and dominated. Not that this was the case here. So well done to you all and better luck next year.
Finally, I feel this award will spur me on to even greater things in 2007, I’m telling ya, before you know it I’ll be bigger then Jesus.

Poker - A game of Skill or Chance

This is a debate that has been going on for years, in university studies, the courts and I’m sure has been brought up in every poker room in the country at one time or another. Being a poker player and for the most part a sick degenerate gambler, I have always stood firmly on the skill side of the argument, but some of the things I have witnessed recently have started to make me doubt this position.
Last night for instance, I saw Pat “Connaught till the day I die” O Callaghan, an otherwise intelligent guy with a reputation as a poker player, limp first to act, call a massive raise preflop, flop 2 hearts, call bets to the river, hit a heart and move all in and get called by the poor bastard who flopped top set and turn over the 7-2 of hearts.And the cocky shit sat back with a satisfied look on his face as if he had just done something truly brilliant.
How about this one, Pat “There be no deals, I want to practise my final table play for the Irish Open” once again first to speck comes out raising and catches a massive reraise from a kid that has sat quiet for an hour without playing a hand, and I mean quiet, he had a hoody shadowing his pale gaunt face and was slumped so low in his chair he was almost under the table, he could almost have been an apprentice to Derek “The Sith Lord” Murray, Christy “The Morbid” goes all in for a few shekels and Pat calls the Kid. The Kid has AK, Morbid has QJ and Pat show AJ, no problem to him, a jack on the flop and that’s all she wrote. I realise that a lot of Pats superiority at the game can probably be put down to being from Cork, but all of it?
Moving away from my own recent personal experience, I put forward a view point of someone whom I am sure gets to witness every aspect of the game on a nightly basis. Sylvester, the boss man of the Corrib Casino, when asked who had won the €100 freezeout the previous Monday, replied “I don’t know the 2 who got heads up, haven’t seen them before, but I reckon if you tied them both together and shoved a copy of Super System II up their ass, ya still wouldn’t have the makings of half a poker player”. Almost poetic isn't it.
I am afraid it is indisputable, the idea that poker is a game of skill is simply a romantic notion we have that helps us justify the feeding of the sickness we all have within us. Remember lucky always beats good and

THE DEMON IS YOUR MASTER.

IPC Report

What a hum dinger the IPC was, 310 runners in the main event, 160 in the €750, 116 in the €500 and more sit n’go action then you could shake a shitty stick at. The hangover hasn’t passed yet but I am starting to feel almost human again.

The weekend started of well with a Mega Sat on the Thursday that attracted 140 players, a good omen or what. 20 minutes into this I found myself sitting at the bar with Lawrence Gosney enjoying a pint. This is not a bad result as Lawrence is one of the great gentleman of the poker world, who loves a pint and a joke and absolutely hates poker stories, so much so that whenever a player, Paul “The Hangman, I know this should not surprise me but he has hangman business cards” for example, wandered by and decided to stop and tell us some riveting bad beat story, Lawrence would turn to me and ask my opinion on some feature of the building architecture. Harsh but fair I feel.

The main events started at 6 the following day and it was an absolute blast. I have never played in an event this big and deep stacked before, so I was happy to make it to day 2 ,especially considering I wasn't getting good cards. I got to meet and watch a lot of very good players in the course of the event and found most to be pleasant and full of chat. I am sure this changed when it started to get close to the money. I did encounter one incident of ugly behaviour when Stephen “The Brat” McLean threw all the toys out of the pram after a hand for no apparent reason, he did win the hand, and tore into an English guy at our table called Tikay, whom both before and after the incident seem to be nothing but a complete gent. He did have some connection with the SkyPoker team that was filming the event so I don’t fancy Chalk Dusts chances of appearing in too much of their coverage.

No sooner were we out of the Main Event then we were playing in the €750, hang the expense I’ll just pretend that it was someone else’s money. This I really enjoyed, I went really deep, just missed the money, and got really corked to not cash. It was a bit depressing but I played well and feel the cash is coming. I did have the pleasure of being at the same table as Padraig Parkinson for a few hours when we were down to 4 tables, and wow that was something to watch, I recommend it to everyone that wants to play poker. In 90% of the hands he played the cards were irrelevant, he would simple put people into impossible positions where they either give up a hand or gamble for it all with no real idea where they were in the hand. He pulled of a beautiful bluff on a German dude at the table who had he own cameraman filming his tournament. After the German folded Padraig showed the outrageous crap he had played with and the German’s head started to steam. As he sat there mumbling to himself Padraig said “Jasus you’re a hard man to read………. but your cameraman didn’t think much of your hand”, I nearly wet myself I laughed so hard, and needless to say filming stop immediately.

Later that night, in a haze of alcohol, I lost my hole playing notes poker with Pat O Callaghan, John Cullinane, Eoin Olin, Mike Lacy and Keith McInerney. It was 6 the following evening before I felt healthy enough to venture out into the fresh air. Myself and Conor “I can’t believe I came up here to play poker and somehow Fintan the bastard roped me into doing live updates on the forum for the weekend” Maguire hit the road for home. As I was leaving the Poker room in City West ,just as the €500 was getting under way, a tired and broken man, I heard the booming voice of Sligo John calling after me "Hey, Manus are you not playing this Mong Fest". I was never so happy to be leaving.What a beautiful description of an event. It doesn't matter if you are good, bad or just ugly, at this stage of the weekend your brain is a pile of Kentucky fried chicken and all the players would be much better off dragging their knuckles back to their cave and sleeping for a week. Like Racing has its Bumper, now for me the final day event of a poker festival will forever more be known as the Mong Fest.

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.