The Million Dollar Party

Put several hundred poker players, supporters, journalists, and celebrities in a suite at the Hilton, add a liberal splash of alcohol, mix them up with a live feed from the Ladbrokes Poker Million VII final on a huge screen and the result is the party of the year. When LadbrokesPoker.com itself uses the adjective "infamous" to describe its shindig, at which everyone lives vicariously through the one player to win a cool $1,000,000, it is always going to be a good event, and they certainly closed 2008 in style.

Master of Ceremonies Norman Pace, who apparently wasn't aware he was going to be staring into the middle distance, one finger in left ear secret-service style throughout the night, handled an increasingly rowdy crowd who all had an interest in the proceedings one way or another. Unsurprisingly, there was a second screen with updated odds which presumably brought in the 10 percent of the room who hadn't already had a punt on the outcome. He introduced the final six contestants, with a cheer for short-stacked Norwegian Svein Petter Nielsen, a suitable roar for the overwhelming Irish contingent represented by Marty Smyth, Ciaran O'Leary, Eoghan O'Dea, and Liam Flood, but the largest amount of noise came from the middle of the hall when he shouted out, "Is there anyone here from Romford?"

Kevin Allen's friends, family, and most of his town had come out in force to support the dark horse qualifier, who'd snuck straight in to the semi-final of the tournament by winning a Ladbrokes European Online Championship of Online Poker event which qualified him for a winner-takes-all freeroll for the Poker Million.

While Eoghan O'Dea seemed firmly in control in the opening half hour, extracting some chips with a daring 6-4 squeeze and then slow playing queens against Ciaran O'Leary with maximum panache, the party was starting to mingle and share its stories. I had the mixed blessing of sharing a table with Abi Titmuss, who while an unexpectedly enthusiastic railer, attracted the attention of everyone with a camera, no doubt leading to lots of embarrassing background shots of the rest of the table trying to snack subtly on their three-course meal. My favourite dinner story concerned Jonas Danielsson in an earlier heat who when busted, stood up, dropped his trousers, and revealed a large corporate tattoo, announcing, "I am taking sponsorship to the next level!" Let's hope that made the final edit.

While it looked like Marty Smyth was going to be the surprise first casualty after running his A-K into the K-K of Liam Flood, it was actually Svein Nielsen riding the Cab of Shame over from the studio to the party in sixth place, after contributing the first chips to what was going to be a spectacular comeback for the Irishman, unlucky with his A-J against Smyth's K-6, and then automatically all in with an ace just out-kicked by Kevin Allen. His succinct verdict: "Meh. That's poker." He got to enjoy the freely-flowing wine, however, earlier than the rest but to my surprise I lost a bet on when the first attendee would need to be gently carried from the room. It was actually 10:07pm precisely, just after a fifth place finishing Kevin Allen returned to the Hilton to join his throng of supporters, after running tens into aces. He was met with chants of, "There's only ONE Kevin Allen!" and then what sounded a lot like "Walking in an Allen wonderland," which was, at any rate, seasonal.

Less monosyllabic than his Norwegian opponent, Allen said, "I was just getting into my A-game and they put a nice cold deck in there. Cheers." He was grinning, however, and unsurprisingly, having turned a freeroll into six figures. He was, incidentally, introduced as an "online poker professional," which was belied by his mates who immediately told me he was "a dog punter;" he sheepishly agreed that "professional gambler doesn't sound so good."

I half anticipated the pockets of hardcore railers of individual players to bow out after their man busted, but there seemed to be real interest in the outcome of the event. As Martin Green deadpanned, "It'll be interesting to see who gets the aces against A-K this time."

Attention and guests started wandering very briefly during a break four-handed, although the Irish were understandably delighted that they now represented 100 percent of the field. Our table was joined by Paul Zimbler long enough for him to offer to play James Dempsey heads up for £10k, and tell him to "stay out of my heats. You can't beat me." Dempsey's retaliation consisted of trying to win the Ladbrokes raffle instead by buying all the pink tickets. It nearly worked - but instead of winning a seat in the Killarney event he won third prize, a day at the races, to which he promptly invited Dave Shallow before realising he was only allowed one guest.

When action resumed in the studio it was to see Liam Flood removing the brakes with 4-5 suited preflop, only to be immediately busted and head over to the party. Rumours (unsubstantiated at the time but probably true) that a deal had been made started to surface, but this in no way calmed the atmosphere. Flood, whose nickname "the Gentleman" apparently surfaced on Late Night Poker where he was the only player to sport a tie, took to the stage for his exit interview, before joining one of the tables which had mysteriously sprouted a number of Irish flags during the break. In fact, we all had little Irish flags now - it had been a safe choice on the part of the organisers to get them in, although I wonder if there were a couple of boxes of English and Norwegian ones somewhere lying sadly unwaved.

Marty Smyth, at one point down to less than two big blinds, had now built his stack back into contention for the title, and with his elimination of Ciaran O'Leary in third place he looked as confident as a man who's made the Million final three years running really ought to. "How can one man run so good?" was echoed around the room, said with delight by his numerous friends and supporters, and with poker chagrin (that special sort reserved only for other players, or people who've bet against you) by the rest. There was not one bad word for the man himself, however, his outstanding record in the last two years ($10,000 Omaha bracelet, Irish Open champion, World Open winner) doesn't detract from his being an all-round nice guy with the respect of the community.

By the time Smyth was heads up with young Eoghan O'Dea the Poker Million party was going to be happy whoever took the title, and not just because when one bottle of wine finished, another magically appeared to take its place. O'Dea impressed the commentators with his sang-froid, and had himself been on form of late, taking the online European Championship of Online Poker III main event title and $315,000 that same week. So it was 'Intruder123' vs. 'Macedonia' (Smyth apparently bumped up the online winnings for his whole region one year) for the trophy and ostensible cool million. Neither player lost their composure for even a moment; meanwhile back in the Hilton the third casualty of the party was being extracted by friends, this time to a cheer from Romford.

Neither player gave much ground early on, but their cautiousness wasn't of the unnecessarily tight variety. Well aware that the tournament basically qualified as a turbo sit'n'go, they'd both picked spots well throughout the game and now with large blinds and stacks which could in two hands win the whole thing were well aware of the precariousness of the chip lead. It all tipped in favour of Smyth, however, when his push with Q-9 offsuit was called by O'Dea's K-J. He got the call, and, covered, had to wait for a queen on the river to save him from the runner-up spot and double him up to the point where it was now his opponent with his tournament on the line. A couple of minutes later it was Smyth's A-2 which held against O'Dea's J-4 auto-push and the crowd went crazy as the screens alternately showed Marty receiving the trophy and the delight of his friends and family watching him. A chant of "there's only TWO Marty Smyth's!" rose up incomprehensibly and impressively loudly.

It was like someone had opened the hall's doors on to a vacuum. A few minutes after it was all over, the crowd poured out en masse and divided into smaller groups each with their own party to head to. With the last place finisher having received $75,000, no one was leaving empty-handed and the atmosphere was something to experience. Having witnessed the celebrations in Las Vegas when Marty Smyth won his bracelet this summer, it was probably going to be carnage in the bar. I, however, followed an inebriated James Dempsey to the Kevin Allen after-party, which turned out to be a good move as despite it being 1 a.m. it did appear hard for London clubs to turn away a dozen or so celebrating poker winners with the Dubai/Flushy seal of approval on them. They tried; they failed. Unlike all the finalists, who'd waited half a year for their shot at one of the most well known televised titles around, played a great game and in the process made the party what it is.

Jen Mason is a part of www.blondepoker.com. She is responsible for its live tournament coverage in the UK and abroad.