Slán Agat Erin, Ciao Italia!

All good things must come to an end, and such was my latest visit to Ireland. But before we go, I want to share a funny story that happened while I was there.

In the Irish Open, our break was not quite over when I looked up and noticed that a table was in the middle of a hand. Curious, I got up and walked over to see if this was a live game placed in the middle of the tournament, or something. As I was watching the action, I realized that the players' chips were the same as the ones being used in tournament play, and I recognized a few players from earlier. This was the main event, all right, but why were they playing when there were about two minutes left on our break? I asked a few players this question, but we all quieted down, as a huge pot developed.

A player raised from early position and was reraised. He called, and the flop came Q-10-3 rainbow. The original raiser check-raised, and the reraiser moved in. The original raiser quickly called and showed pocket tens for middle set. His opponent sheepishly turned over 9-2 offsuit; no pair, no draw. When the board paired on fourth street, the river was meaningless, and as the dealer pushed the pot, we heard, "Wait! We are still on break! Why did you deal?" The floorman ran over to this mess, and a baffled dealer.

Now, you make the call. What would you do if you were the supervisor? This is a tough one, but I believe the floorman made the right call. He gave everyone his money back, as the hand never should have happened. It's controversial, I know, but what else could he do? Let the play stand? Matt Savage agreed with the ruling, as well.

Anyway … off to Italy -- Gaeta, Italy, to be exact. Gaeta is a small village about an hour south of Rome. It's home to poker great Marco Traniello, and that's why I was going there. I had about 10 days off between the Irish Open and San Remo, so Marco was nice enough to invite me to his house.

The Traniellos' home is on a mountain overlooking the ocean; it's just beautiful! There was one bad thing about this trip. After they showed me to my room and I unpacked, Marco, his brother, and his parents were showing me the rest of the home. When we were done, something occurred to me: There were only three bedrooms. Marco was in one, I was in one ... hmm. When I asked where his parents' room was, I was informed that I had taken it over and they were staying with his brother!

I was literally speechless. His parents had given up their bedroom for me. I wanted to object, but was afraid to do so; after all, maybe this was an Italian custom. I still feel guilty about putting them out of their own bed.

Other than my guilt over the bedroom, this leg of my Italian trip was great. Now, on to San Remo! San Remo is in the far north of Italy, a 13-hour train ride from Gaeta.

Once we got to San Remo, we had great rooms that our friend Luca Pagano had arranged for us, located right across the street from the casino. Poker in Italy was great! I don't want to say that Italians are bad players, but ... well, hell, they're freakin' awful! They made the Irish look like a bunch of Phil Iveys. To be fair, poker is very new to Italy; this was their first major tournament. I'm sure they will improve quickly, but by the time they do, I may have every last euro on Italian soil.

One guy in particular was great. Every so often, he would go all in like 10 hands in a row. Then he'd sit there and play tight for 30 minutes, until some bell that only he could hear went off, and the all-in onslaught would resume. He was up and down like a yo-yo until his luck finally ran out. I never did get to gamble with this madman. I had pocket threes once (about a 53 percent favorite against a random hand), but wanted something better.

With players like this, I decided that I wasn't going to gamble at all in the main event. I just sat back and waited for a spot in which I'd have the nuts over my opponent. My time came in the middle of day three.

I was slightly below the chip average, with about 35,000. There was a raise and reraise in front of me, and I had the Todd Brunson (A-K suited). I pushed, and got called by A-Q and a small pair. I nailed an ace and won a huge pot. The next hand: same hand, similar situation, same result. The next hand, I had pocket deuces and flopped a set, and won another big one.

I went from 35,000 to 175,000 in three hands! Now I was one of the chip leaders, until I took one of my famous bad beats the next day. We were down to four tables, someone busted out, and this was the final hand before we redrew for three tables.

The blinds were 4,000-8,000 with a 1,000 ante. The player under the gun made it four times the big blind (32,000), the next player called, as did the small blind. I was in the big blind with 6-5 offsuit. It was not a great hand, but not a terrible one in this spot, especially when getting laid almost 5-to-1, and no one else was likely to hold cards similar to mine.

The flop was gin: A-6-6. Unless someone flopped aces full or had a 6, I was about to win a monster! The small blind checked, I checked, and the original raiser checked. The last guy thought for about three seconds, then declared himself all in. I called his all-in bet, which was exactly 200,000 to my 199,000, and he showed A-Q. Nice play, buddy. I guess he thought someone was going to call 200,000 with A-J or A-10.



I'm sure you know the end of this story. An ace came on the river, and I lost a pot with more than 530,000 in it. That was more than double what the chip leader (Dario Minieri) had at the time, and almost would have guaranteed me a spot at the final table. Instead, I finished 23rd.

I played the next event, and was four out of the money in it. Because I made the second day, I missed the final tournament by an hour. I went back to my room to cool off, then figured I'd head back over to see what was going on.

Before I crossed the street, I ran into an old Australian friend, Billy "Crocodile" Argyros, and we sat down in a café for coffee. Billy told me how he had managed to bust out in the first two hours to these terrible Italians, when another Aussie joined us, Mel Judah. Before we could listen to his story about how the Italians had drawn out on him, here came Tony G and Jason Grey, both from down under, also. Two minutes later, yet another Aussie, Richard Holmes, appeared.

I suddenly realized (out loud, too) that this tournament was just two hours old, and I was sitting on the rail with five Aussies telling me how badly the Italians play. What's wrong with this picture?