A Very Irish Open

The weird thing about Ireland and Irish poker in particular is that no matter where you come from we can have you behaving as illogically as we do in no time at all. If you were any way odd at all in the first place, you’re fucked. Completely. The last time I got a good run at the Irish Open (the year Channing won I think in 1803). I was in trouble chip wise approaching the end of the first day. My table was on a corner on the rail so a bunch of my friends including Jesse May and Mad Marty were hanging about pretending to watch. Some people have way too much time on their hands. I wouldn’t watch them playing if you put a gun to my head. Well, Marty maybe. I very skilfully managed to get my remaining chips into the middle with 66 and even more skilfully got them to stand up against a Canadian guys AK. My pals were cheering a little too ironically for my liking though more promisingly there was a shout of “YES!” from behind me. When my friends started to laugh, I turned around in the direction that the “YES!” had come from to see what was happening and what was happening was tournament director Liam Flood and his assistant Dave O’Neill were standing there grinning like Cheshire cats. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not a very popular guy so I will take a bit of support from just about anywhere without asking any questions, but even I could figure out that this was open to misinterpretation. At least. When I had stopped laughing, I tried to apologise to the Canadian guy only to discover he was laughing loudest of all. “It’s ok, buddy” he said “I’ve been here four days already”. See? What did I tell you?

The Biter Bit

I took a cab in Dublin last week. The driver was a rugby nut and very excited about Ireland’s win over France. I liked it too especially as the French take it so badly when they lose to anybody. Except the Germans of course. Then they just collaborate. They seem to like that. I let it slip that I’d watched the game in the pub in Paris. He asked what I’d been doing there and I admitted I’d been playing poker except when I was watching sport in the pub which was most of the time. All of the time sometimes actually. He asked if I knew Padraig Parkinson. I couldn’t help myself and told him I did and that he was an asshole. Pretty accurate I suppose. When I was getting out of the cab he said “See you around, Padraig”. Sometimes I hate Dublin. Too many wise guys.