Tikay who during all of this has been silent at the back of the room suddenly turns round and says “What about Fessie week?”
The room starts to warm up and everybody to a person agrees to put Chompy into the £150 on Monday. Nirvana takes the money. He leaves the pub and heads up to pay for the buy in.
The rest of us have a quick drink and go our separate ways. I decide to take the Oxford route back when my mobile starts warbling just outside Witney. Oh FFS.
“Boris we have a problem. The silly bar steward has already gone and bought himself in and this money is burning a hole in my resolve not to spend it on the red wine antifreeze mix that they serve behind the bar at the G”. I can tell that Nirvana is cracking. “Just hang on five minutes Glen” and I ring off.
I get hold of Vinnie’s number and explain the situation whilst getting pulled over to the side of the road by the boys in blue for speaking on the phone without a handsfree. “Don’t worry Boris. I just got to the G. I will sort it!”
And sort it he has.

Dear Chompy

From the participants of this year’s  G Blondeite poker League we would all like to say thank you. As a small gesture of our appreciation for your hard work on this thread we have bought you into the £150 for Monday night. It was a unanimous decision and we hope you will accept this token of our gratitude. As you have already bought in, the money is in an envelope in the poker room for you.
If however you ever write another piece of drivel like that what was written in the posting lifing sport Daily you will have your legs broken and you will be banished to the Western forever
Love

The girls and boys of the G blondeite poker league

“We have all come here tonight because we care. Oh I know there are plenty among us who think that the league elder has gone too far this time but we in this room care. When I read the story I have to admit I felt anger. He knows as League Elder that the members expect more self control, more class and much, much better judgement.

Ladies and Gentlemen on the face of it, it looks pretty bad, but before we condemn him to a total Luton ban and a life trying to make conversation to the warm inhabitants at the Vic I think we should question a little further our motives. Did Chompy come up with the league idea? “No he bloody didn’t” shouted Celtic.

I felt my cheeks flush a little.
“Well was he the one who put it up on Blonde?” The room was silent again. “He has nurtured and loved the thread. He has brought us laughter and merriment. He has brought us controversy and acts of random kindness. I say that this article is nothing more and nothing less than a cry for love. What we need to do is give him a great big collective G Luton hug.”

At which point the door bursts open and in walks an out of breath TFOP.
“I know” he says whilst playing six tables simultaneously on his lappie.
“Why don’t we buy him into the £5 rebuy on a Sunday afternoon. After all he always wanted to play in the big game. Murmurs round the room until Claw pipes up with the fact that Chompys luck combined with the full hour and a half of rebuys could lead to it being a £1000 touch.
What to do?

Tikay was being shunned by the rest of the group for being singled out as a poker guru. Of course the old guns amongst us remember when he couldn’t win a sit n go on Stars to save his life and for him to have become the Val Doonican of poker was well earned in these his twilight years.

TFOP had disappeared on a seventy two hour binge fest in Europe somewhere, and was blissfully unaware of what was going on. I could tell there was trouble. Xpressman, Celtic and Snat were sitting at the table shoulders hunched like some sort of scary poker playing front row forwards. “What you going to do about it?” said Snatty. “Only I am allowed to say who is the best and who is the worst player in Luton”. Yeah and look at the crap job you made of it I thought remembering an incident not so long ago.

The girls were even more up in arms. “Not even a bloody mention of how good the women players are now” bemoaned Dingdell. Hold or fold was nodding agreement. None of the blokes said anything.

At the other end of the table China Mug was drinking a cup of tea and Gamblor and Galloway were shooting angles on what the odds were on the outcome of the meeting. Michigan Jeff had even flown in from a golfing holiday. Lucky, Nirvana, sicillian and Winkie sat motionless like in the middle of some kind of semi bluff that they realised was not going to get through as it was Wednesday night. We all know what happens to a semi bluff on a Wednesday night. I coughed and all eyes turned towards me. It all became clear. I knew what I had to do.......................

“Boris you gotta know that I had nothing to do wit it?”

“Wit what my little Italian stallion?” Says I.

“Chompy gone and sold out to press. Named names and everything. Man he really lost his marbles. Said his nickname was “Best Player in Luton”. Named me, Alex and some of the other young tearaways. Called Tikay one of his poker hero’s.”

This was worse than I thought. The guy was delusional. I had been warned by one of my predecessors that players of a certain age lost all sense of reality as the hands just merged into one large hand of bad beats and suck outs. What was to be done. Take control Boris. “Deano gather all the crew at the “Old Bull and Bush” in happy old Hampstead. Make sure they all have the password “come and make eyes at me” and to gather at the little room at the back for 8.30pm.

Dean left with relief etched across his face like a bad tattoo and I went in search of a Racing sporting life post. It really was horrendous. Short of giving up the secret rituals of the blondeite poker league meetings it was all there. Venues. Faces. All pretty incriminating. I park the Saab in the car park of the Bull and Bush and make my way to the room at the back. I knock on the door which creaks open an eighth of an inch and I can see Tighty there. Password please. Given and acknowledged. I walk in looking calm and collected with not the faintest idea of what to do next. They are all there and the air is heavier than a G Casino Luton burger........

It was with some trepidation that I left my little cottage at the top of the hill in Redmarley d’abitot. It was a filthy evening with the wind sharp and the rain lashing down. Maisemore was bound to be flooded and navigating round Gloucester would be a right royal pain in the backside.

London was a million miles away and yet it was an ever present thought. One of our Italian brethren had alerted us to a potential problem with our beloved league elder. He had not seemed himself for some time. Firstly claiming and then spurning points entitled to him and then finally claiming them. The biggest clue that all was not right was the annual poker “Hajj” to the temples of the Venetian, which to everyones surprise finished early with some sort of man cold.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Boris aka the spider. I am a diminuitive five foot four with a shock of black hair that makes me look like I have an overlarge spider on my head. Hence the name. I am the league fixer. Anybody has a problem then they call me and just like Michael Clayton I go and sort it. By the way I really enjoyed that film.
I am already past Cirencester as I realise I have forgotten Samson and Delilah my two big enforcement sticks. I mean if you are going “sorting”, you just can’t beat a big stick and sometimes two. Still my trusty knuckleduster weighed heavy in my pocket. Edna and I had been in many dust ups together and she really is truly evil.

This project though was not an external threat by the sounds of it. I headed into the smoke and guided my battered old Saab towards Palais du Jardin in Covent Garden. A restaurant that had filled me with disappointment when they had taken the French onion soup off the menu. “What were they thinking?”. I sat quietly at my table watching the Chefs working in the kitchen. I gently sipped on my aqua minerale when the sicillian sidled in. Furtive glances all around. He had walked past the front of the restaurant twice casing the joint before coming in. There was a thin bead of sweat on his forehead and he was almost breathless as he blurted out....................