My first outing as a Boyle’s man in the WSOP Europe Omaha Championship threatened to start with a bang.
I was minding my own business in Heathrow on my way to the Heathrow Express when Mr Smyth found me and talked me into going for a drink. It wasn’t too hard. Twenty-five minutes later, we were evacuated in a security alert. Lots of people were quite anxious, but not me. I was with The Champ. Bad things don’t happen when you’re with Mr Smyth.
Bad things can happen when you’re with Rory Liffey. He had appointed himself as my host and minder on the trip. The host bit is ok, as long as he doesn’t drive you nuts, but the day I need a minder more than Liffey does will be a major milestone in my life.
On the morning of the tournament, my host served me bacon, eggs and beans (he’s been in England too long). This was going fine until I asked him why he wasn’t having anything. He muttered something about not being hungry. Less than forty minutes later, we were in the pub beside the casino. When I asked Liffey what he wanted, he ordered bacon, eggs and beans. That should be enough to tilt any man.
The tournament was what I expected. A lot of brand name sponsored players from both sides of the Atlantic trying to pick up a bracelet in a short field. The paying Europeans in general stayed away, proving that when America says “jump!” the people aren’t always as dumb as their governments. We can hold our own tournaments, thanks very much.
On the plus side, the smallish field made it great craic as I knew most of the players. Chris Bjorn for instance, quite remarkable for a Swede, he’s got a sense of humour. He came back all excited from dinner with Don O’Dea. Don had not alone paid for dinner but overpaid so dramatically that a waiter came running down the street after him, waving £50 notes. He even refused to take a tip for his kindness. He won’t last long.
It looked like The Don was in form so when play finished for the day I waited until he had a couple of scoops and nipped in to swap a small percentage with him. At the time, I told him I had over fifty thousand in chips. But I’d forgotten to fill this in on my bag, so when the official scoreboard came out, they showed me having only a hundred chips. I didn’t notice, but Don did.
The second day started a lot better I refused all offers of food from Mr Liffey. I got a bit lucky pretty early on. Lucky not to get a penalty. Some Canadian kid called a raise out of the big blind, a bet on the flop, a chunky bet on the turn when a straight came and was faced with a big bet on the river when the nuts hadn’t changed. He thought for a little while before asking his opponent where he was from. The guy said he was Swedish. I couldn’t help myself, I said to the Canadian kid that it was a very good question, but maybe he should have asked him on the turn. Luckily nobody seemed to mind and the Canadian passed. The next time, I’ll keep my big mouth shut. Until the pot is over anyway.
Several hours later, it was all over. For me at least. I finished 13th and they gave me £16,500. It may look like I got close to that elusive bracelet, but to be honest I didn’t really. I was never up with the leaders, so I probably got around about what I deserved. Maybe a bit more. Spillane had convinced me that the Boyle’s shirt was lucky and after I’d taken Mr Liffey out for breakfast the following morning and headed home I’d begun to believe.
What they’d forgotten to tell me was that it was only lucky if you played good. After two levels in Killarney, I made a mistake that even the Boyle’s shirt couldn’t get me out of. The good news was that the craic was mighty and it was proved once again that if you want to really enjoy tournament poker, there’s no place in the world like Ireland. The record numbers signed up for the IPO speak for themselves.
I heard a lot of stories over the weekend but the best of the lot came on the drive home with Scott Gray. He told me that some while back Steve Davis was playing in the Fitz en route to the airport for an early flight home. One of the regulars offered him a lift, which suited Steve fine. What the guy forgot to tell Steve was that his car was an 82 Micra and you can only gain access to the passenger’s seat through the driver’s door.
On the way to the airport, the driver told Steve that he had to stop in Coolock to wake up his kids to make sure they went to school. So Steve waited patiently like a sardine in the car while our man went about his fatherly duties. Ten minutes later, he was back and was just about to get into the car when one of his neighbours walked by. He couldn’t help himself and said “Look, I’ve got Steve Davis in the car.” The neighbour took a look, laughed and said “You’re right. He’s the spitting image of Steve Davis!”
Padraig is fixture on the international tournament circuit and one of Ireland's most famous poker pros. Boylepoker are giving all our readers $600 free. Use the promotion code MAXIMUMBONUS on the sign-up form to qualify.