The troops assembled at the Cardiff Grosevenor on the Friday night. A strange venue which can’t quite decide if it wants to be a casino or a discotheque. A slot junkie has a round trip of around an hour and a half if they wish to visit the toilet. The one-armed bandits are not currently on my list of addictions. If they were, I might be well miffed at the Welsh casinos layout.
Another wee rant and then I’m done, I like my eggy-weggs and sausages when I wake up in the morning. Later on in the day, I want dead cows and chickens. Why do all the Grosevenor casinos only offer breakfasts after midnight? No curries, no burgers or pasta. Just egg in a bun on their piddily menu. Whose idea was it to sell breakfast at bedtime all across this great nation? I want names gawd-dammit!
I was dead chuffed with myself on the Friday. I was drinking, but not smoking, in a casino, but not playing their games. Temptation was rife, but I must’ve drowned it in Guinness. I did gamble a little, rude not to. 5 of us bet on how many songs some drunk dude would last before he needed to sit down. James 'Royal Flush' Dempsey picked the correct number, beginning his wave of form that would see him take the spoils in the main event the following day.
It was held at the University Hospital of Wales sports and social club. A tough event it was too, everyone taking it seriously, even though it was for charity. The competitive desire to win was still motivating us to bring our A-game.
I had the cheeky chip lead as we approached the final table and was pressing my advantage. Glass trophies were awarded to all the finalists, I figured everyone would want to get their hands on one, and that now was the time to accumulate chips.
The plan went boobies up when I re-raised the wrong chap with K-Q off. I didn’t notice that the short-stacked Tightend, in the big blind, would be priced in with any two. I also hadn‘t picked up the fact that matey-boy wasn‘t laying anything down. Tighty called, the original raiser thunk about it for a bit and then went all-in. I read him to be weak and the pot was offering we over 3-1 so I called. I was happy to see A-T from the raiser even though Tightend had one of my cards in his K-7. We all failed to improve and I was Billy no chips at the final instead of monster chip leader. Next time perhaps.
I doubled up once at the final, before shortly dumped my chips to Flushy. I moved all-in from early position with 3-6 off and he had a wee decision, but eventually made the correct call. I proudly showed my rags as if they were A-A. He gingerly turned over pocket 6’s. Go out like a lion they say (that’s probably why 'they' get a lot of 7ths and 8ths) 8th was my final position.
Still happy with the days spoils. The finalist trophy looks dead pretty, It’ll be prominently displayed on top of my television until the day I win/fluke a better one.
I knew there’d be an obligatory piss up after the poker. That’s why I booked an afternoon train home, I’d have the freedom to large it as much as I wished on the Saturday night. Einstein hadn’t figured out that my later train was due just as some dodgy cup final was kicking out next door. Carlisle vs. Swansea at the Millennium stadium, squabbling for something to put on top of their telly.
It’s very easy to just follow a bunch of supporters onto the wrong train. Not very easy to get off in time once you realise your mistake. It was far too choc-a-block to negotiate my way back to the platform in time.
The train set off, oh bugger. You’ve three choices in these situations, you can get real mad at yourself, you can get real mad at someone else or you can sing lots of Swansea songs. I opted for the last one. 'Screw it', I remember thinking, 'I’ll have a good time till I get off at the next stop.' 4 stops later and I know all the words to 'Swansea, Swansea'.
Top trip.
Another wee rant and then I’m done, I like my eggy-weggs and sausages when I wake up in the morning. Later on in the day, I want dead cows and chickens. Why do all the Grosevenor casinos only offer breakfasts after midnight? No curries, no burgers or pasta. Just egg in a bun on their piddily menu. Whose idea was it to sell breakfast at bedtime all across this great nation? I want names gawd-dammit!
I was dead chuffed with myself on the Friday. I was drinking, but not smoking, in a casino, but not playing their games. Temptation was rife, but I must’ve drowned it in Guinness. I did gamble a little, rude not to. 5 of us bet on how many songs some drunk dude would last before he needed to sit down. James 'Royal Flush' Dempsey picked the correct number, beginning his wave of form that would see him take the spoils in the main event the following day.
It was held at the University Hospital of Wales sports and social club. A tough event it was too, everyone taking it seriously, even though it was for charity. The competitive desire to win was still motivating us to bring our A-game.
I had the cheeky chip lead as we approached the final table and was pressing my advantage. Glass trophies were awarded to all the finalists, I figured everyone would want to get their hands on one, and that now was the time to accumulate chips.
The plan went boobies up when I re-raised the wrong chap with K-Q off. I didn’t notice that the short-stacked Tightend, in the big blind, would be priced in with any two. I also hadn‘t picked up the fact that matey-boy wasn‘t laying anything down. Tighty called, the original raiser thunk about it for a bit and then went all-in. I read him to be weak and the pot was offering we over 3-1 so I called. I was happy to see A-T from the raiser even though Tightend had one of my cards in his K-7. We all failed to improve and I was Billy no chips at the final instead of monster chip leader. Next time perhaps.
I doubled up once at the final, before shortly dumped my chips to Flushy. I moved all-in from early position with 3-6 off and he had a wee decision, but eventually made the correct call. I proudly showed my rags as if they were A-A. He gingerly turned over pocket 6’s. Go out like a lion they say (that’s probably why 'they' get a lot of 7ths and 8ths) 8th was my final position.
Still happy with the days spoils. The finalist trophy looks dead pretty, It’ll be prominently displayed on top of my television until the day I win/fluke a better one.
I knew there’d be an obligatory piss up after the poker. That’s why I booked an afternoon train home, I’d have the freedom to large it as much as I wished on the Saturday night. Einstein hadn’t figured out that my later train was due just as some dodgy cup final was kicking out next door. Carlisle vs. Swansea at the Millennium stadium, squabbling for something to put on top of their telly.
It’s very easy to just follow a bunch of supporters onto the wrong train. Not very easy to get off in time once you realise your mistake. It was far too choc-a-block to negotiate my way back to the platform in time.
The train set off, oh bugger. You’ve three choices in these situations, you can get real mad at yourself, you can get real mad at someone else or you can sing lots of Swansea songs. I opted for the last one. 'Screw it', I remember thinking, 'I’ll have a good time till I get off at the next stop.' 4 stops later and I know all the words to 'Swansea, Swansea'.
Top trip.
Thomas 'thetank' Stott