Paddy's Corner

Stu, Doyle, Johnny, Dan, Phil … and Billy

There's a new champion every day now; some great, some good, and some who would send you back to buying lottery tickets with new fire in your belly. That's why there is a game. Over time, you can work out which is which. Some guys get lucky once, the true greats write history. The stats never lie, but sometimes they don't tell what really happened.

I went to Binion's to play in the pot-limit Omaha tournament. I always go to Binion's when I'm looking for a bit of inspiration. It always works. You can just feel the history and what it all means. I didn't see any ghosts, but they are there, all right. Binion's is where I first met and played with Boston Billy. Boston Billy was from Colorado, but that's OK because Miami John is from New Jersey and Missouri Dave is from Tahoe, but nobody seems to care.

Billy was a real tough pro whom you could do without in a game, but his dry wit more than compensated for his lack of value. You'd expect Billy to make good money every year by being a good pro, but I, for one, didn't know that this man would produce a performance that stands up there with all the great achievements in the history of the World Series of Poker. It happened two years ago when Billy was 70 years of age. He came through 1,500 players in a three-day $2,000 no-limit event to make the final table. He was never going to win that one, because some kid had his name written on the bracelet.

That didn't bother Billy, and he immediately signed up for the next day's 2,000-runner $1,500 no-limit event when most guys his age would have taken a well-deserved break. I first noticed Billy in this event about three tables out. He came to my attention mainly because the guy beside me, a nice kid from the Internet, told me some old guy was asleep at the next table. Billy woke up in time to find and raise with A-Q, and some young Internet star, whom all the young guys seemed to really rate, came over the top with a big all-in raise with A-2.

Billy called and was almost asleep again when they shipped him the pot. The kid beside me was in a state of shock and told me how bad a call Billy had made. I told him that Billy didn't play much on the Net, so he didn't know he was supposed to pass against this guy. I was wasting my time. The next day, I was drawn beside Billy at the final table. Billy looked pretty good for a guy on the sixth day of his marathon. I know I was supposed to be concentrating on winning a bracelet, but I just couldn't help myself, and I spent the first hour having a chat with Billy. A stream of guys half his age came by and went out of their way to wish him well. I asked him what was going on. He told me he taught a lot of these guys. Being Irish, I asked how much he charged. "I just take a piece, it's better. Think about it."

The game went on around us, and some of the guys didn't notice we weren't on TV and acted accordingly, but that gave us more time to chat. Billy was talking about the Marines, the CIA, and dealings involving guns and the Irish in Boston. He said he'd tell me the full story over a beer someday. I suggested we have that beer in Dublin. Billy said he'd very much like that, but something in the way that he said it gave me the feeling that it just wasn't going to happen. Billy got a bit unlucky, took it like a man, and wished me luck. It was to be the last thing he ever said to me, because Billy had only a few months left, and knew it. The record books will coldly show the back-to-back final tables. They won't say anything about the sheer courage of a dying man who achieved more in six days than most people did in a lifetime. He wouldn't have it any other way. Just as well that the final tables weren't in November.

Whiskey in the Jar

They say God made whiskey so the Irish wouldn't rule the world. They're right, of course, but every now and again, He cuts us a little bit of slack, just for the laugh. This year he chose the $10,000 pot-limit Omaha event to give us a day out. And what a day out it was. Two Irish made the final table. Tom Hanlon drank his way through the first two days (and nights), and many consider him turning up sober at the final a big mistake.

Despite this self-imposed handicap, he didn't do too badly, but when he finally got eliminated, we were left with Marty Smyth (who'd had a gallon or two himself in the course of the event) matched against the world. An often-boring World Series of Poker came to life and turned into an Irish party. As Phil Hellmuth was trying to win bracelet number whatever it is on a quiet court 16, the Rio rocked to chants of "You'll never beat the Irish" from a good-natured and ecstatic beer-fuelled mob on ESPN's centre court.

Tom Hanlon joined the crowd with a beer in his hand, and when asked why he was drinking beer as opposed to his normal weapon of choice (vodka), he instantly replied, "I'm taking it easy. I don't have any other serious tournaments to play today." The security guys seemed to think they were involved in a riot situation, and panicked. They tried to move some of the fans out of the Irish section into the Canadian zone. They were pissing in the wind. They even tried to move honorary Irishman Neil Channing, much to everyone's amusement.

Channing stuck more players than PokerStars into this year's WSOP, and should at least been able to sit wherever the f--- he liked. When Marty closed the deal, he must have felt like the most relieved guy in the room. He wasn't. As the Irish were ordering four cases of beer at a time, that honour must have gone to whoever's round was coming up next.

Marty's interview was a classic; it was modest, funny, and very respectful, both to his opponents and the game. We expected no less. The WSOP desperately needs champions like Marty Smyth. The Irish tend to tolerate winners and love gallant losers, but in Marty's case, I'm sure they'll make an exception. ♠

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.