Paddy's Corner

Treacherous Kickers

I made my first mistake of this year's World Series of Poker about a month before we came to Las Vegas. I booked our flight on American Airlines rather than Air France. I like American Airlines, but confidence is what this game is all about, and Air France inspires a lot of it by not asking for details of your next of kin.

On the first leg of the trip, Veronique was preparing for battle by reading Harrington's cash-game book. Inasmuch as I know everything already, I don't have to bother with that stuff, so I contented myself by studying the NBA playoffs in the newspaper -- if you can call USA Today a newspaper. I was rudely interrupted when Vero asked what "treacherous" meant. I patiently explained that it was a word invented several hundred years ago by the Irish to describe the English when it transpired that they were only having a laugh when they signed the Treaty of Limerick.

Surprisingly, despite his Irish ancestry, that wasn't quite what Dan had in mind. He seemed to think it could be used to describe weak kickers. I let it go. We arrived in Chicago two hours before our scheduled flight to Vegas. No problems there -- except when we got to immigration, there was a queue a mile long. Obviously, we weren't expected. Vero was surprised, but I explained to her that in all probability, the joker who was responsible for the six-hour lines at registration for the first event at the Rio last year had made a career change. Two hours later, we were still in line, and I had a panic attack when I got to thinking that if Harrah's was involved in this mess, maybe ESPN was as well, in which case our new connection mightn't get us to Vegas until November.

The immigration guy was a nice lad, and couldn't wait to tell me that Chris Ferguson had been one of his customers. He was particularly impressed by Chris' ability to inflict unspeakable cruelty on assorted fruits from a distance. I told him I also thought that this was indeed marvellous. Vero was next up, and the guy was now really getting into the swing of things and hit her with two poker stories. Apparently, he'd lost two big pots when he had the same hand as the other guy, except there was a slight difference in the kicker department. Luckily, Vero didn't use her newfound knowledge on treacherous kickers to impress the guy, or we'd probably still be in Chicago.

The next day, I went to the Rio, and my suspicions regarding Chicago were confirmed. There was no line to get a players card, so I got one. There also was no queue at registration, so I assumed that this was a sign from the gods and registered for the first $1,500 cavalry charge. It wasn't. Three levels and one treacherous kicker later, I was on my way back downtown to see if I could get a quick read of Dan's book without Vero noticing. This wasn't a problem, because having read the book, she was still in action at Binion's.

Diplomatic Relations

I could never understand why, when poker was booming all over the world and the Irish were punching way above their weight, the Irish media en masse insisted on ignoring the elephant in the middle of the room. It was doubly mysterious because the Irish have always loved a gamble. A champion racehorse easily could have won a seat in Parliament or even become prime minister if it looked like it should be selling fruits and veg in a market.

Luckily, in the last few years, the national broadcaster had a change of heart and now shows the Irish Championship and the Irish Open almost live. This year, Mike Sexton and Doyle Brunson have been the stars of the show. They've shown how true ambassadors of the game should behave, and when they left town, everyone thought a lot more of them, the game, and the country they represent.

It doesn't always work out quite so well. Not too long ago, player A and player C decided to take a cruise on the Mediterranean. I don't know why player B didn't join them, but I'd guess he might have been a bit concerned that the ship wouldn't be carrying enough alcohol, especially inasmuch as players A and C were going to be on board. The first day at sea, players A and C tried to drink the boat dry. In the middle of this mission, they came across a bunch of Americans playing no-limit hold'em.

They got the tactics right initially, with player A joining the game and player C in charge of the drinks. Player A was the class of the field by some distance. In the third hand, he got a present of $300. Five hands later, they gifted him another $800. Player A normally doesn't play that many hands, but after all, he was on holiday. He got to thinking about this and that: this being how much money these guys had in their pockets, and that being how much they could get access to before they hit dry land.

Player C was playing the game of his life just by keeping his mouth shut, and had indeed set a new personal best in that department. This couldn't last forever, and eventually, on the 10th hand, he decided to join in the conversation. His opening gambit, "What business did you guys have invading Iraq?" could have been better thought out. It upset player A even more than it did the Americans, because, strangely enough, there was no 11th hand.

Padraig Parkinson is well-known on the European poker scene, both for his poker prowess and sense of humour. He was one bluff away from winning the 1999 World Series of Poker, but unfortunately got called.