Five Star Poker

My poker roots go back to The Eccentric’s Club in Dublin and Binion’s Horseshoe in Downtown Las Vegas.

First person I met in Eccentric’s Club was Colette Doherty, who was already a legend having won the first ever Irish Open. We became friends. Still are forty years later. Scott Gray had told me I was born to play in Binion’s. For once, he was right! Phil Helmuth once said it’s all about the history. For once he was right too! You only had to walk into Binion’s to feel you were walking in the footsteps of The Greats. The pioneers who made poker the wonderful game it is. A decade later, when the WSOP moved to The Strip, I got into the habit of visiting Binion’s on my first day in town to get inspiration from the pictures of previous champions. And the ghosts. Especially the ghosts. It never worked. But I kept doing it. It’s not my fault, I’m Irish.

They say you should remember where you came from to better understand where you’re going. It helps. When I was talking to The Sporting Emporium people about becoming an ambassador for the club, we were in total agreement that, as well as the club being the best situated and most luxurious venue in Ireland, we all wanted poker played in the friendly and fun atmosphere that made Irish poker simply the best.

I recently attended the Coinpoker sponsored Irish Poker Festival event in the 5 star Intercontinental Hotel in Ballsbridge (right beside the prestigious RDS, the new home of the Irish Open). Fabulous venue. Within easy walking distance of town and a stone’s throw from Ballsbridge’s excellent restaurants and iconic pubs. The event had 700k guaranteed for a 3k buy-in. Gutsy stuff indeed. If they had a Russian Roulette tournament, I’d have gone all-in betting on Fintan Gavin to win as any man with the balls to guarantee 700k for 3k in this day and age in Dublin would be a near certainty to win that side event.

Running alongside the poker tournament was The EDGE Europe Gaming Expo. I was asked to be one of the speakers. You may be wondering why. I certainly was. They will probably up their research game for next year. I chose to talk about the good poker can do and has done to help people and maybe keep them alive while all the bad stuff makes the headlines. I can remember some guy who quite fancied himself with a pen coming up with:

“The evil men do lives after them
The good is oft interred with their bones”

That’s rubbish. Who says oft these days?

It started well enough. I talked about Poker For The Homeless raising over 300k and our experiences of dealing with the most amazing person by far I’ve ever met. Brother Kevin. I did mention most of the people helping out at The Capuchin Day Centre were volunteers and most of them would take a bullet for Kevin if it came to that. I pointed out that despite the fact Kevin is from Cork I could not think of anyone who’d want to shoot him. I should keep my mouth shut and not be giving people ideas.

I moved on to talk about how poker can help in the battle against suicide. I was invited a few years ago by a guy called Simon who runs Clifden Poker Club to attend a charity event in aid of Pieta House, the suicide prevention people. Clifden? Yes, please. It was great craic. I was invited back the following year with Mary, as well as Eamonn and Willow Connolly, themselves no strangers to suicide. In the meantime, my baby sister had taken her own life. At least this time when I was asked to speak, I for once knew what I was talking about.

On stage, I told the story of how it became so clear to me how poker could help those in trouble. In the couple of weeks after Orla died, I didn’t leave the house. Eventually, Mary and our friend Fitzy talked me into going to Joe’s Bar in Ballinasloe to play a Friday night pub tournament. I’d been in Joe’s before. They’re nice people and great craic. But this time, they were too nice. After half an hour, I asked them to please stop being so effing nice. I said I’d like to bet I wasn’t the only one who’d suffered a loss through suicide. I was right. A lot more than I thought.

On the break, we were approached by a giant. I hoped he wasn’t looking for a fight as I didn’t think Mary could beat him. Luckily, he wanted to tell us a story. He said that a few years back, he’d been living happily with his 18 years old girlfriend. And when she became pregnant, life couldn’t be better. Then, the wheels came off .They lost the baby. His girlfriend was devastated. He took every days holiday he had coming to be with her around the clock. After three weeks he had to go back to work. When he came home after his first day back, she had taken her own life. The giant didn’t look so big anymore. But he did look relieved. I wonder how long he’d been waiting to unburden himself by telling his heartbreaking story to two complete strangers. He thanked us, shook hands and walked away. We think of him often. I hope he’s okay.

I’m not the sharpest tool in the box, but I did explain during the speech and subsequent Q and As that poker can play a huge role in the war against suicide. A harmless weekly tournament can form a community that looks out for each other. We are stronger together for sure. Also, the creation of awareness that no-one is alone and help is there both from friends, poker buddies and professionals. Forget about the harmful stigma that was built up around suicide. Its’ nonsense. Don’t be afraid to ask someone if they’re okay. It’s better to look like an idiot than to be one.

I was lucky my friend Luke Ivory was sharing the stage with me. It was emotional stuff. Someone said afterwards that it looked like I might cry. I didn’t care but I told them it was because I remembered the hand in which I got knocked out of the main event. That was a poor lie. I hadn’t even played the main event yet! I did remember to announce we would be holding two charity events soon. One in the Sporting Emporium and one in conjunction with Fintan and the Irish Poker Tour.

After the ordeal of the conference, the tournament was a walk in the park. Unfortunately, it was a shorter walk than I expected. I’d like to blame the structure but I can’t. Unless complaining that it’s too fair works. I still had a big interest as my friend Philip was involved till he was eliminated close to the bubble. My old pal George Mckeever, one of the Irish Class of 99, finished not too far off the bubble too. Fair play to him. If he was a car, the clock would be going around for the second time. I was in the tournament long enough to see that, as expected, it was excellently run. I already knew the cash games had excellent floor people who were very friendly and kind to me, as well as being good humored. I don’t know who they think I am and hope they never find out.

I had great old school craic in a hilarious cash game with an English guy, a German, an Italian and a guy from a place called Jameson. Apparently his surname was Andgingerale. He kept repeating his name. God help him. We finished up drinking at the bar with Bobby Willis, George and Don O’Dea. It’s not often I bring the average age down by so much! We were joined by Philip and Jameson who had changed his name to Adrian.

Adrian insisted on telling a story about a guy whose car broke down on a country road. A horse standing nearby told him the problem was spark plugs. “You can talk,” said the guy. ”Yes,” said the horse, “And your problem is spark plugs.” He gave the guy some instructions and soon the engine started again. The guy thanked the horse. “You were lucky,” said the horse, “If you broke down a little bit down the road you’d have met a white horse who also can talk. But he knows nothing about engines.” That sent everyone to bed. One talking horse story is more than enough.