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300 words or more you say...that's a first as usually I am told to keep it brief!
Poker for me started with a monthly home game with a fine bunch of fellows who enjoyed a drink, a laugh and a bet (and I mean besides poker - though if Mrs Abo is reading this I still maintain that poker is not gambling, well tournament poker for sure....)
These games were fun and I did ok but were not so serious and were obviously self-deal as were the pub leagues I played. However my first real proper taste of tournament poker was joining one I'd heard about at the ‘’8 club’’ near Bank in the City of London. It was down in the basement and as I made my way down the many sets of stairs I had a sense of anticipation that rivalled my urge for a soothing cold lager to help with my pre match nerves. Little did I know it, but as I made my way down to the depths of the city, my poker journey had just begun. I’ve been there many times thereafter - the club I mean not the depths though poker can be a cruel game…
Anyway I digress, back to the 8 club circa 2010...I entered the beautifully set out poker rooms clutching my cool Asahi, chose my card to denote seat and table and placed my bottle in the table drinks holder. I was very impressed with that for starters! These were lovely tables - it felt like I was on TV!. We had proper dealers too - in fact our dealer was the lovely Gemma who was soon to be a star of UKIPT tour, first as a dealer but later as a tournament director. Dealer to the left, my beer to the right, now was the start of the tourney and time to show I indeed had the bottle for this live tournament malarkey.
It was a fast played MTT with about 50 players. I was still very new to game and most others seemed to know a lot more than I did and were using phrases I had never heard...but whilst they kept commentating and occasionally cursing my card choices, I kept scooping in the pots. I also kept drinking … in fact at an impressively foolish rate that was faster than the structure! I think this all went hand in hand and was probably reason why I was getting stick for sucking out with the likes of ace 3 suited....mind you nothing changes here, fast forward 3 years later on my way to a decent UKIPT Bristol finish, I got so much abuse from George Clyde-Smith late on day 1 for playing the very same hand from the blinds (he had raised obviously and kept betting whilst I turned nut flush) that a very kind Mr Channing no less felt need to defend me at the table as I was berated and indeed he later blogged about the incident - championing yours truly as someone who typified the recreational game who just wanted to see a flop versus the younger more aggressive player in a hoodie. I can finally say thanks for that as I assume Neil will be forced to read all these entries.
Anyway back to 2010...whilst I clearly was what I would now call a fish in every sense of the word (hiccup), I did have some sense of the game and indeed remembered liking my chances when I entered a three way all in pre flop with pocket 9s to see I was up against two holdings of AK. My 9s held and I was on the final table!
I don’t remember much of what happened next but I do remember a lot of shaking of hands and then having the guy who invited me whisper in my ears - 'Andy mate, best practice is to tip them £100 or so...''. I'd won the blooming thing - £1470 quid less my £70 quid tip (I'm a scouser what can I say and it would have been rude not to leave a nice even amount!)
I was straight on phone to the wife (that's all changed!) and we used the money to take the family to Centerparcs for the week.
I have played quite a bit live since, even managed to bink one along the way at Aspers but nothing can compare to that first live tourney...I know that the Sky UKPC at DTD will be someone’s start in live tournament poker and I wish them and indeed all who play in August the very best of luck – I’ll be the guy defending from the blinds with ace three of diamonds!
I don't think anyone who has poker playing friends can ever really appreciate how hard it is for a lone player to sit down for their first live tournament. I'd gone to the Ricoh on a Friday night, explained to my wife if I did well I would not be home until the early hours, I'd read some books, played online for a while and was ready...it was a 25 minute drive. Just over an hour later I was back home, totally honest with her...I was walking towards the poker room and saw a table of players (must have been a cash game), groups of other players were talking to each other waiting for the tournament to start and I just felt it was a really intimidating atmosphere...I was nervous enough as it was and didn't like it, it was like being back at school for the first time, I headed for a slot machine and put some money in, spent a few minutes on it then went straight back up the elevator and drove home.
After a few pints on the Saturday I realised that I really wanted to try live poker and would have another go on Sunday...it can't be that bad...don't be such a wuss I thought. It was an afternoon tournament for £15, I was telling myself as I descended the elevator over and over in my head, just walk in and join, walk in and join, walk in and join. There was a handful of people in the room so I walked up to the desk and asked how do I enter the tournament, it was explained and I was in.
It wasn't until several months later I realised how lucky that very first live Sunday tournament visit had been, there were only nine players playing and as I sat down a chap I referred to in my own mind as Larry Grayson (slight resemblance) said "Hello, I haven't seen you here before". I told him it was my first time playing live and just wanted to see if I liked it, he told the entire table we have a new player and you should all remember what it was like to play for the first time, it made me feel a lot better.
I made a few mistakes...I took my own ante change from the players ante next to me, I folded out of turn and I tried to raise less than the minimum but everyone was fine with it.
The game was quite quick, like most newbie's I didn't play many hands and before I knew it there were three of us left, my only option was all in as I had blinded down my stack...as I lifted my chips I could see my hand badly shaking, I'd never shook before and it was bizarre...it happened every time I flopped well or pushed all in, I also felt my heart racing when i bet...not just fast but pumping so hard i could see through my t-shirt, the other two players were laughing saying it was a bit of a giveaway.
I ended up winning for £50 or £60 - I was behind on two shoves in a row and got lucky. Larry Grayson was playing the cash table and as I went to collect my winnings he got up to tell me most people get really nervous when they start out and after a few visits I'd be fine...and I was, the shaking stopped and my heart stayed steady.
So I enjoyed my first tournament experience when I finally made it in to the poker room, but as I said before I considered myself to be lucky...not because of the win as I know there was luck, luck and more luck in that run, but by the fact that Larry was playing that day. I've been on many a table since then where it's not been friendly and many where it has...I would be quite certain that had some of my 'less friendly' table experiences been my first one...I would have probably never gone back...which would have been a real shame.
I’d been playing online poker for a few months when I plucked up the courage to try and play live. It was before the boom and it wasn’t as easy to know where and when to play. I looked online and found there was a £10 Pot Limit rebuy on in the Liverpool Grosvenor so dragged along a few mates one Tuesday and we made our way to the casino. To register that is, as we couldn’t actually go in until we’d been members for 24 hours. The following day I was all set to go, spending the whole day in a state of excitement. I’d only ever played a few home games against mates so playing live against randoms was going to be completely new. It started late, 9:30pm, and I’d taken the next day off as I had no idea how long it would last. Taking the day off also meant I could get my wages from my part time job a day early and I took it all with me.
The old Liverpool Grosvenor was the opposite of the ways I’d seen casinos portrayed in the media. Situated just off a main road in a pretty grim part of the inner city, it backed onto a semi derelict industrial estate. Nothing like the way Vegas looked on the TV. It was just next door to the Grafton nightclub, one of Liverpool’s less salubrious establishments and home of the infamous ‘grab a granny’ nights. At least I’d have something to do if I got knocked out early…
I had little to fear as the tournament wasn’t on. Inexplicably, we hadn’t checked with the casino itself and had instead looked at some outdated website to see what day tournaments were played. It was Thursday night when the £10 rebuy was on, not Wednesday. Undaunted by this, we had a look around anyway. It didn’t take long for me to find the table games. I played roulette for the first time, throwing chips on whatever numbers took my fancy. I lost. I tried Blackjack although I was irritating the other players with my complete lack of knowledge of (what I later learned was) basic strategy. I lost. Finally, we moved to Three Card Poker. I won! Then I lost. The whole thing had been a debacle. I’d done my brains in without even seeing a single hand of poker and now couldn’t afford to go the next day.
Still, I hadn’t given up on trying. One of my mates couldn’t go the following day for some reason, so we all postponed it until the following week. Armed with a fresh (but substantially reduced) wad of cash we got there nice and early and raring to go. I was still unsure about the necessity of rebuys at this point; the online site I played at (the now defunct Bugsys Club, if anyone remembers it) didn’t have any rebuys and the starting stack in all tournaments was 10k chips. If I got lots of chips then surely I’d be unlikley to need to rebuy much. After all, I was a pretty tight player.
We walked up the steps into the cardroom area to be greeted by the Three Card Poker dealer from the week before. When poker wasn’t on he was a croupier. A great sign there then! Shortly afterwards I heard one player swearing loudly and aggressively at another and started to panic. Still it was too late now, we were here. After registering and hanging around for the obligatory 15 minutes, I picked my seat number from a hat and sat down. There were three tables of players to battle past.
It was not like Late Night Poker in which the players appeared to have room between each other. The table was circular and had ten men, with varying degrees of personal hygiene, crammed around it. I looked at my chip stack and picked them up, turning them over and over in my hands while I waited for play to get underway. It wasn’t too difficult to do as I only had six chips. Four 100 denomination chips and two 50s. Yes, I had a starting stack of 500 chips or 10bbs. After 45 minutes a rebuy got you 5bbs. The blinds were unusual too, as the button and what would normally be the small blind both paid 50 each, there were no small or big blinds. I was still getting my head around this when I realised that there was no dealer and that one of the guys on the table had started shuffling the cards. I didn’t expect this either!
Yet once the game was underway I loved it. There was something about playing live against unknowns that was completely different from the home games I played in. The lack of booze was part of it! I played tight and waited for good cards. It didn’t take me long to realise that the majority of the players of Liverpool only had three words; ‘call’, ‘pot’, and ‘pass’. Almost all the bets that people made seemed to be pot bets. The chips were flying and the cardroom supervisor was running between the tables handing out rebuys. I managed to make it through the rebuy period relatively unscathed, spending extra only for an add on. Although the general air of the place was a bit miserable, there were quite a few players who were friendly. Several of them were referred to as being from ‘the same village’ and didn’t seem to bet against each other if they were in pots together. I knew this was wrong but everyone seemed to tolerate it and I didn’t have the courage to speak out about it. Ironically, they were the friendliest players there and were willing to laugh and joke about and reduced my nerves a bit.
One of them even advised me of quite ridiculous tell that I developed early on. You could smoke at the table then and I smoked a lot when I was nervous. As a result I was effectively chain smoking my way throughout the tournament. Apart from when I wanted to play a hand. Then I left my cigarette burning in the ashtray. One of the guys mocked me about having to light a new one everytime I won a hand and I realised what I was doing, although I don’t think I stopped it until I’d become more comfortable in there.
Only a few hands stood out that I can still remember now. One was being called on a board with trips by someone drawing to a gutshot when I had no pair. He won, obviously, or I wouldn’t remember it! Another that I wasn’t involved in saw an elderly Chinese man raise and at least three players commented that he must have aces. He still got lots of callers and got paid off at the end when he showed… AA. The other hand was after the rebuy period had finished and there were 11 or 12 players left. Getting to the final table was talked about like it was an achievement, even though it was only the top three who would be paid. I’d been quite solid throughout, having the goods all the time (aside from the one time above) when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t bluffed anyone yet.
Only a weird logic can explain why I thought I absolutely had to bluff someone right then but I did. I remeber the hand quite vividly even now. I was dealt K2o with the Kc. I raised preflop and got a few callers. A rag flop with two clubs came down and I cbet (although at the time it was just an, erm, bet). I got one caller and the Ac gave me the nut flush draw on the turn. I bet again only to hear the dreaded word ‘pot’ come out of my opponents mouth. I had to fold but it ruined my stack and my confidence. I did make it to the final table but exited before making any money. The final was great though, the cardroom supervisor dealt and we played on a properly shaped poker table. Maybe that was why a big deal was made of it! I sat quietly and mostly folded but loved the atmosphere. The aggressive guy I saw at the beginning was there, and whilst he was big and loud I learned he was nothing to be frightened of really!
Despite its flaws I loved playing poker there and went back many times, sometimes going three or four times a week once they extended the schedule. I was gutted when it closed down!
Having come straight from work, I’d just spent the last three hours betting £2 a hand on the end two boxes, when a couple of Asian guys swept into the casino like rock stars, to the universal acclaim of all the dealers. Even John, the affable manager, whose booming baritone was usually reserved for “Eight Blaaaaack!” greeted them warmly.
They approached the blackjack table and put a hundred pounds down each for change and placed it all behind my two boxes. Gulp. The dealer got a 7 and my first box was 14.
“What do you want to do?” I asked them.
“It’s your call kid.”
“Card” It was a 6. “Well done”
The second box was 16 with two eights. “I’d normally…” and before I could say “split them” two crisp fifties were behind the box. The first split was a 3, the second a 10. Again two crisp fifties floated behind the 8 and 3. A 10 dropped, the dealer made 17. They scooped their chips up and departed via a corner doorway I’d never seen anyone use before.
“Where are they going?” I asked the croupier. “To play poker. Do you know how to play?”
Well as a matter of fact, I did, playing 5 card draw at university long into the early hours, deuces and one-eyed Jacks wild.
“Yes, but I couldn’t afford to play at their stakes.”
“Oh no, it’s a tournament, it only costs £10 to enter, if you lose all your chips you can rebuy for another £10, but that’s up to you. You’d better hurry though, registration finishes in three minutes.”
“How much can you win though?”
"It varies, but first prize is usually £1,800.”
Chips crammed in pockets, I rushed through the doorway and scaled the stairs two steps a time. A minute after registration, I was directed to my seat, from where I could properly survey my surroundings.
It was a low-ceilinged, wood panelled room with ten tables shoe-horned into an area meant comfortably for five, with nine people crammed on each. Between the panels were murals of cowboy-hatted, wild-west gamblers, clutching aces and bottles of whiskey, adorned with bullet belts, revolvers on the table.
I loved it.
It’s no exaggeration to say that the room had a thick atmosphere, as the chain reaction of cigarette lighting combined to produce a heavy fug, that suggested it would have been a good idea to take off the most absorbent items of clothing, like jumpers and jackets, but the arctic blast from the air conditioning scoffed at the very notion.
There was a general cacophony of men berating ‘pigeons’ and ‘fish’ for previous bad play and outrageous fortune, set to the cricket-chirping background music of chip-riffling. One Chinese man on my table was perfectly halving his stack and rejoining it so adroitly that I thought ,
“God , he must be good. I’ll stay away from him.”
I was sat next to an Asian guy who shook my hand and introduced himself as Rocky,“Your first time kid?” It was, but how did he know, and why, when I was 27, did everyone insist on calling me kid? A closer examination of my opponents would reveal that they were nearly all over 35, the average age being about 45-50. A secondary look would indicate what a broad, all embracing game this was, as long as you were over 18, nationality, religion, age and sex were irrelevant.
They even let people from Nottingham play.
I was buzzing when they dealt the first hand, but then something strange happened; the dealer stopped after two cards. What’s this? I was so confused that I just folded and turned to my obliging neighbour and asked how we could play poker with just two cards. Rocky patiently explained to me the basics of Texas Hold ‘Em and the necessity of the flop and using one, none or both of your hole cards. This is too weird for me, “When’s the draw poker competition?”
“There isn’t one.”
I endeavoured to fold every hand and just watch the action and hope to pick up what the hell was going on; this extended to me trying to fold the big blind when everyone had limped. Eventually, bit by bit, I began to piece together the process: bet on your hole cards then bet/check the flop, turn, river and turn them over.
What I could not grasp at all though, was when I was supposed to act. I kept being told not to act “out of turn”, that the action was always on the player “to the left of the dealer.” But I was nearly always to the left of the dealer, I was in seat three! How could seat seven act before me?
I was learning new languages. Words like rock, bad beat, gutshot, outdraw, tilt and backdoor acquired new meaning. A losing hand would be greeted by an “ay-yaa” from the Chinese, a guttural meshing of shs and tees by the Greeks and, from the Pakistanis, what sounded like a demand for a dessert from a valet called Serena.
Everyone seemed to have a nickname. Their sweaters, suits and leather jackets were drenched in ostentatious gold jewellery and strong aftershave. I felt like I’d walked into a Mafia social club and I was the Donnie Brasco imposter.
Then something remarkable happened. I won a hand. The feeling of relief and joy was so complete that I can’t even remember the hand or who it was against, or for what amount, but I’ll never forget that feeling, or the child like joy of assembling a colour coordinated tower. Then I proceeded to win some more chips, earning more slaps on the back from Rocky and made it to the end of the buy-in period, and then the break, when I arrived at a conclusion.
I’d spent hundreds of hours at university and since then, frittering away tedious sessions playing blackjack, but within thirty minutes of this game I knew I was done with it forever.
Why play a game where you were stuck with the rubbish two cards you were dealt, when in this game you could throw them away?
Why play a game where the worst hand always lost, when you could win with it through a bluff?
Hold on though, why are the casino laying this game on for practically free, when there must be plenty of other players who’ve come to this conclusion too? My question was soon answered in the suspiciously generous break of forty minutes, when the card room was forcibly emptied and half of the players were blasting huge sums on the tables. Ah, they do know what they’re doing.
Three hands in after the break, Jockey the card room assistant, who’d spent the previous hours rushing between players hoovering up ten pound rebuys, (applying a game theory optimal strategy by standing closest to Dave Smith’s table) approached me,
“You’re moving tables mate.”
“Why? What have I done?”
I took my new seat, near a smiling Greek guy called Kim, “Does your mum know you’re here?”
“No, and she’d better not find out or we’ll all be in trouble.”
On my right was an older, pale, thin, bald guy with a large trench coat over a grandad shirt. Between hands he sang , “Novocaine for the soul” on a loop and spat indignant fury every time he lost a hand. People addressed him as Taffy.
I raised with queens, Taffy called. The flop annoyingly came ace high, I checked, Taffy bet,
“Didn’t like that ace did you?” as he spoke, the exhausted smoke of his conveyer-belt roll ups gasped through his missing teeth. I passed, “Good fold!” he exclaimed, with a throaty laugh usually heard around a cauldron.
I waited patiently and was rewarded with pocket aces, someone with slightly less chips than me went all in and he rivered a straight. The softly-spoken professorial gent on my left called Charles leaned in, “Hard Luck. You never forget the first time you lose with aces.” He was right.
With hardly any chips left, I was soon out. It was 1.30 a.m. I’d just spent the last four hours in a fruitless pursuit, had lost money, reeked of smoke and work was going to be painful on only five hours sleep, and yet…
I Knew I’d be back.
And not just in the coming weeks or months, but next year and the year after that and for as long as I could imagine.
“Next one’s on Friday, 9 O’clock, Kid,” Taffy cackled. “Don’t be late.”
You bet I won’t.
There is no feeling like the moments before the first "shuffle up and deal"-there is almost a tangible air of anticipation, together with the sound of thousands of people riffling chips (something which, of course, I could not do).
When asked, I usually say that "I folded my way to Day 2". However, one memory stands out. A rather famous poker player was at my first table (although I did not know him). He has spotted the middle-aged noob, and proceeds to steal my blinds. For 4 hours. The best hand I got in the Big Blind in those 4 hours was J 2 off, so I folded. For 4 hours. Finally, I picked up a hand. I 3-bet, he 4-bet, and I 5-bet shoved-instantly. The other player told me that I was a bad player, that I could only do that with AA, and folded QQ face up. I said that I was learning, and what could a good player have there. He replied that JJ/A K would be common there. I said thanks for the tip, and that I felt I was learning. Then I flipped over my A K, and said something unworthy of me (even if it did get a good laugh).
I would love to say that this led to great things. However, early on Day 2, my overpair lost to an 8 2 who had hit bottom 2 pair. Now I know what you're thinking, but I didn't moan-honest!
I rarely play live. However, I have been lucky enough to play the wsop Main 4 times-2 x exit day 2s, a day 3, and a day 5 exit (I can only describe waking up on day 5 as a mixture between excitement and sheer terror!). I have had the privilege of sharing a table with many of the finest players in the world.
I do not get star-struck. However, in 2011 a well-known poker player was signing copies of his book. I could not resist queuing, and I now have a signed copy. He asked if I wanted anything particular in the message. I said no, his signature would be fine. I wanted to say "Could you put:- "A K-now GFY!"," but I am glad I did not...
Thanks for reading this. I already have a seat to the UKPC. Consequently, I am ineligible for a prize. However, I would love it if tomgoodun won, as his blog is inspirational.
Quick note to "pheelio", who wrote about his NLH baptism in Derby.
I won't comment on the quality of your blog until the winners have been results have selected & announced, as it might be deemed improper.
However, I am pretty sure the venue was that Casino in Collyer Street Derby, next to The Pink Coconut. That was where I first played, too.
I recognized all of the names you mentioned. Some stories to tell there.
"Kim" would be Kim Constantiou, who was Pete Costa's brother (Pete changed his surname), & Maria "Chili" Demetriou's uncle. Kim was just about the nicest man I've ever met in poker, a true gentleman in every way. If you got all-in with Kim in a cash game & it was your case money, he'd always chuck £25 back, so you'd have the fare home & some money for supper. Unfortunately, he passed away in January 2013. I wrote an obituary for him - if you google "Kim Constantiou poker" you'll see it.
Dave Smith also passed away, some years earlier, but I still see his son Kevin from time to time.
Taffy? Crikey, what a character he is. He's still around, but I believe he is currently unwell. That trench coat of his was crucial. He must be nearly 80 now.
Rocky & Jocky both endured some interesting times subsequently, but that's a whole other bunch of stories.
This came at the expense of school, health, and proper socialization. I had zero interest in studying anything that I didn’t think would help me improve at poker. During introductory Physics I read Harrington on Hold’em. I got barely any exercise and ate mostly pizza, oatmeal, and breakfast tacos. I lost the ability to empathize with anybody who was not a gambler.
Poker is exotic. It got me a weird sort of recognition and popularity in school. I went to Westlake, an upper-crusty, white bread, super wealthy public school. Popularity at Westlake is a function of how much you flaunt your wealth, how many AP classes you are taking, and how good-looking you are. By senior year I was playing $3/$6 and $5/$10 no-limit, and had a bankroll of $100,000. I drove a ’98 Camry and wore hand-me-downs, but I found ways to backdoor my self-made wealth into conversations. Eventually it percolated through my class that I was “that poker guy”.
My first proper live event was all the way back in 2004 when online poker was still in its infancy and part of your online poker talents included the speed you could re-boot the software which crashed on a regular basis.
The site was Ladbrokes, new kid on the block and back then had a special community feel (very much like SkyPoker now). They were running a lot of promos including the first Ladbrokes Poker Cruise. I was new to poker but hey, let’s have a go …. I bubbled the qualifier, but I had won several hundred dollars and was over the moon.
Then one evening when I wasn’t going to play I noticed a special tourney and thought, why not let’s have a go …. A $30 rebuy was there, damn hate rebuys but Ladbrokes were offering £1,000 bonus for all the final table except for the winner who got a whopping $10,000 bonus …. You guessed it, 830 players and 7 hours later I took it down for $23,500 (and without a rebuy). Now I felt sick how I had bubbled that Poker Cruise, I have to win a ticket!!!
A few weeks later and a few $$ invested the cruise ticket was mine. I was going to play with the online heroes of the time, Actionjack, TheSalmon, TheDon and Skalie as well as the big live names from the late night poker shows that had drawn me into the game. I was in my element ….. but, who to take?? Being a single man, there must be a few mates beating down my door begging for the ticket. But no, all were working, newly married or indisposed, so it looks like I am going aloneL. Then just 1 day before I have to send the passenger information to Laddies, I meet up with an old work friend, Liz, I told her how I had won a cruise and she tells me how she had never been abroad …. Could this work??? Let’s do it …..
That’s it, two old work mates who hardly know each other, in Venice to board the cruise ship. Wow is all I can say, the first night was a Gala Night where the draw was made and you got to meet your poker hero’s face to face. My name was read out “MonkeyMagic” and I raise my hand. My goodness, I am a poker celebrity as flocks of people come to congratulate me on the big win. They start talking analytics of the game and they soon realise that I am not the poker hero they hoped and within minutes they have moved on.
Proof reading this back, this looks like a bragging post but this is where it all starts to go wrong ….
I am drawn next to Skalie, a hero of mine and several other big names from the live and online circuit. I sit down, organise my chips, look around the room and ……. I completely crumbled. I can honestly say that I just completely forgot how to play the game, was shaking like a leaf and was in complete and utter awe at the situation I was in.
I managed to make it to dinner break which was longer then a Norwegian guy I had made friends with had lasted and this is where I made my next mistake. I got to the meal and celebrated my success of being at dinner break with a few beers and a nice bottle of wine. When the second bottle got opened I was a drunken mess and proceeded to take the bottle with me back to the table. Maybe I forgot to mention that I didn’t take a glass, I was drinking from the bottle!!!
I have extensively searched google as I know the Ladbrokes photographer had a few pictures put out with “MonkeyMagic having a great time at the tables” but thankfully that record has been lost.
It took only a couple of hours for me to bleed all my chips and eventually being knocked out by Skalie on my right.
To be honest it was a relief at the time but later I was gutted how I had mucked up this amazing opportunity.
However, this is not the end of the story because on this cruise I found love. Liz, who I had never fancied in the past, were sent to some of the most romantic cities in Europe and fell for each other.
I have learnt a lot from this experience, firstly I learnt not to be afraid of the occasion and I now embrace the experience. I have also learnt how poker and love can change. My live poker improved in the following years with wins in Warsaw and Tallinn to my name. The relationship however didn’t!!
So, if I do win a UKPC ticket. I will be the guy at the table who now drinks from a suitable chalice and a fiancée in tow. (Its only taken 11 years to get here)
It’s funny how the mind can play tricks on you. One of my earliest childhood memories is gently weeping as I re-watched the crash that killed Ayrton Senna, three-time Formula One World Champion, in May 1994. I was led on my front on my parents’ bed watching it on their TV, when my mum walked in to draw the curtains from the spring sunset.
She turned to me, seeing me upset and pointedly said “Oh stop crying and bloody get on with it”. Now my mother is the most kind-hearted person in the world as far as I’m concerned, so there is absolutely no chance that she would have been so dismissive. It’s just not her character, she almost certainly would have tried to console me. But that’s just the memory I have.
In thinking about how to approach this blog it came to me that I actually shared something fairly significant in common with SkyPoker – in that my first ever live tournament (in a casino) was also Sky’s.
I thought there was a nice little symmetry to that, both of our respective careers were in the early days and we’d each be diving heads first into our first ever foray into live tournament poker together. This was some 7 years ago mind you, long before the Sky Poker UK Tour, and the now blossoming UK Poker Championships. Early spoiler alert: given that I went on to win the event, I thought that was an especially poignant fact.
However, my research quickly scuppered that, as I managed track down an old blog that Tikay wrote about the event. On its opening line was a reference to the iteration of Sky Poker live tournaments this particular event was, and it was not the first. Nor was it the second. In fact, it was the third live event that Sky Poker had run, down at the Rendezvous Casino in Brighton. Like I said, it’s funny how the mind can play tricks on you.
I also find it funny how the strangest and most specific – yet often irrelevant – details stick in your mind. I must admit I can remember very little about the whole day. I can only think of two hands that I played, each of which were on the Final Table. I can’t remember whether I even ate anything during the day, though I presume I would have done as Sky have this fantastic habit of getting the venue to put on a smashing buffet for the players.
But I seem to remember Tikay strutting around the cardroom, as he often does in his own inimitable style, in a burnt orange waistcoat. I can also describe precisely what I wore on the day – a cotton, hooped sweater with two different shades of navy blue over a polo shirt, standard pair of jeans supported by one of those belts all the ‘skater’ kids wore in those times (not because I was a ‘skater’, but because I wanted to look ‘cool’) and high-top converses. I couldn’t find any photos to corroborate (or otherwise) that – but those are a couple of the small details I recall.
My friend Smith and I each qualified for the tournament through winning the 1-in-5 satellites that were running on the site. I want to say that I won the seat at the first time of asking, Smith the second, but those particular details have slipped out of my mind over time. It would have been a £55 buy-in though, so assuming that I’m right we were in for £11 and £22 respectively.
We’d each been playing a fair amount of online poker, almost exclusively on Sky, and had been cutting our teeth in live games by joining the free-to-play pub league along with our regular home games. The pub league was always a bit, shall we say, eventful, but it allowed us a risk-free environment in which to get used to the mechanics of playing live.
As such, even though this was our first live tournament experience in a casino for both of us, we weren’t particularly nervous if I remember correctly. We’d been in casinos before, just not play poker, so we were accustomed to that environment. In our youthful exuberance, we fancied ourselves as poker players so we weren’t particularly afraid of that, either.
Perhaps an indication of that was a gentleman’s agreement we made. We had already discussed it once we had each qualified, but I remember bringing it up as we were queuing en route to the casino in a nearby town to Brighton (again, small details) on the morning of the tournament. The plan was that, if one or both of us cashed – no matter for what amount – we’d split the totality of the winnings. I specifically remember saying “And that’s true even if one of us wins it, which is definitely possible”. And it was agreed, that the winnings would be split 50/50, “even if one us wins and the other doesn’t even cash”.
I want to say that we got there a little early, but I can’t remember. I want to say that we spent a little time walking around the beach – it was one hell of a location for a casino – but I can’t really remember. I would really love to say that we enjoyed some cover-of-a-boyband-album-frolicking on the beach, but I simply can’t remember.
What I can remember, is that as Smith busted not far off the money (I reckon about 10 or so places), I proceeded onto the Final Table with the chip-lead. Like I said, I have no recollection of how I got there.
I do remember heading to the FT and seeing black tee-shirts, emblazoned with plenty of promotional material for the Casino, draped over the seats surrounding it. I recall the casino wanting us to wear them. Unsurprisingly, no-one did. I actually took it home and kept it as a momento for a while, but I fear it hasn’t made one of the house-moves that I’ve undergone since then.
I said I remembered two hands. The first one was an early knock-out. I think it was luvBWFC who shoved over my raise with JJ, only to find I had KK, which held. The other was the final, winning hand. I hadn’t been heads-up with harbin1970 for that long when I flopped a middle pair on an all-club flop. Harbin was first to act and shoved. It was a limped pot, and though our stacks were quite short relative to the blinds, this was a bit of an over-bet.
My initial instinct was to call, but I first wanted to get a chip count and think about the situation should I call and lose (I think I had a 2-1 to chip lead at the time). It would have been a brave call, particularly as I didn’t have a club. But I probably just felt like I was a poker god and could do no wrong, so I tentatively made the call. In fact, I had to make it twice, because the first time I said ‘call’ nobody heard me. Like I said, small details.
Harbin had bottom pair and a single club, so there was a sweat. But just to prove that I must have been running like god, perhaps more than playing like one, I made two-pair on the turn and filled up on the river. The most memorable thing about this was, as soon as that last card hit the felt I could only hear one thing. It wasn’t Tikay’s announcing. It wasn’t any applause (though there was some). It was Smith basically shouting “YES!” at the top of his voice. Lest we forget, he was getting half my winnings – sharing a cool £2,500.
Not bad for a first live tournament. Soon after I dipped out of the poker room to call my folks and let them know the result – as I was doing so, I remember Tikay breezing passed in that burnt orange waistcoat, affording a thumbs up and a wink as he did so. Small details.
For whatever reason, we couldn’t get a hotel sorted out. So not long after midnight, Smith drove us home. Before anyone lambasts him for his greed in taking half of my winnings, he commendably offered to waive our agreement not long after we got in the car. “I’m a man of my word mate, I said this is what we’ll do even if one of us wins and the other doesn’t cash – so that’s what we’ll do”. Funny how I remember that quote so clearly. Perhaps the money’s got something to do with it...
Hi there, I’ve been a regular on the site for a while but my excursions into real world poker have been very limited. I’m observant, articulate and polite yet there’s something about live play that I find really scary.
One day I’ll make it to a sky event and put some faces to the names who contribute so much to the forum, this place has a genuine feeling of community.
My first live tournament was a £40 rebuy in a casino in Birmingham, as a microstakes player it was a big step up but it felt like a necessary progression.
I seem to find things a lot harder than most people, it seems as if I’m constantly swimming against the current. Technically, my coping mechanisms can be a great advantage in poker but right then I was too terrified to notice.
So I got underway and started relearning those things which I thought I had mastered (such as sitting and breathing).
A few cautious folds later...
I get some suited connectors and decide to try ''actually playing poker''.
I think the guy opposite me has a weak pair.
This is your chance.
Look him in the eye.
These chips are mine.
(To a casual observer I fold as always).
Many folds later...
I flop a well disguised set.
I’m playing so passively that I have to limp but someone runs into me at full speed and I get a nice double up.
The blinds creep up and I gather a few table scraps to stay in the game. During the break I ponder the ebbs and flows of the game and why I find it so tricky.
Perhaps it’s just bad luck.
First hand back, a pair of kings smile back at me,
My heart is in my throat.
I get the chips in.
One caller,
Ace Queen offsuit,
The flop is junk.
The turn is meaningless.
The river sends me home.
Meanwhile, Mr Channing & I have accepted the hospital pass & are currently trying to pick the 2 winners. Not the easiest gig, that, some great entries there.
For the record, & deffo not dissing him, because I have high regard for him in many ways, but I have invited him to numerous Live Events, even arranged Free Entry, and the TV Studio, but he always declines.
One day......
Morning all.
Quick update on this.
Entries closed on Monday morning, & Mr Ambo & I - working separately - have read through all the entries.
I've now sent him my shortlist, & he'll send me his shortlist, we'll compare notes, & then try & find the 2 winners.
Have to say, my shortlist is quite a long list (7) - there are some wonderful entries here.
If I know you in real life, or am close "virtual" friends, I have to be honest & say you'll be marked harder by me, as it'd be sad if anyone's name was slurred by suggestions of favouritism. Luckily, Neil & I know different people, so everyone has a chance.
It is a nightmare finding 2 winners, truth to tell, but we'll do our best.
I'm pretty sure of my winner already - but I shall dither a while longer, I'm an accomplished ditherer.
The Winners will be announced on Friday morning.
Ok, back to trying to find the winners.
Someone mentioned playing at Walsall, & meeting a gent called "Con".
What a character he was - real name Con Cronin, Irish by birth, went by the nick of "The Dazzling Cornelius from Smethwick".
Once saw him win £70,000 in G-Walsall in a big event, then visited the roulette tables, & left the building potless.
Last I heard he was a little unwell, & walking on crutches - he'd be 80 or more now, I do hope he is OK.
He is currently banned from The Broadway - not an unusual occurrence for him, he can get a bit excited - but still playing at Walsall. Mist be over 80 now, was on crutches last time I saw him. He was sometimes argumentative & cantankerous, but I find many old people are the same. Can't be doing with them, me.