I was lucky enough to make friends with a well known poker player who’s name shall remain a secret – we’ll call him “Marty”. During a recent festival “Marty” and I were drowning our sorrows at the bar. “Marty’s”
just got whooped by KK to knock him out of the main event (“I’m so unlucky if I fell into a pool of bare-breasted Swedish nymphos I’d surface sucking my own thumb”). My sorrows were much more trivial (according to “Marty”). As a devout catholic I felt great personal loss at the recent death of the Pope. After much soul searching by the two of us “Marty” agreed to accompany me on a weekend visit to Rome whilst I paid my own personal homage to the deceased pontiff (“as long as we can throw a coin in that lucky fountain too!” was “Marty’s” only prerequisite).
The following weekend, as we were strolling around the Vatican Visitor Centre, “Marty” notices a rather grand gold emblazoned door slightly ajar and takes a peek. Curiosity gets the better of him and he beckons me to follow him along the polished marble corridor that lies beyond the door. Several doors and corridors later the we arrived in a room and see in the far corner several priests praying around a magnificent four-poster bed, complete with pasty looking Pope.
“Blimey, it looks like the new Pope as gone and died too!” exclaimed “Marty”.
My wild sobbing soon caused a minor commotion and we were immediately surrounded by priests and Swiss Guards (who have at last decided to make an appearance!).
“What you have seen here dear friends,” stated one of the priests “must not under any circumstances become common knowledge for 7 days. The whole of the catholic world has overcome one great loss already this week and another this soon may throw too many lives into turmoil. You will both only be allowed to leave here on the understanding that you must be sworn to secrecy until the official announcement.”
After overcoming the initial shock, nuff said, think we, that’s something we can do for the good of the church.
On the journey home I thoughtfully turned to my good friend, ““Marty”, I think this is a sign from our God. We’ve been given this information to use for our benefit. Everything happens for a reason”.
“How d’you mean?”
“Well, how about this!? We’ve been chosen to, well, make loads of money and to use it for good causes and the like, after we’ve taken care of our own of course. God, knowing that we like the odd gamble now and again has decided that this is the best way to help us achieve that aim.”
“Go on..”
“We get all the money we can in the next couple of days - sell the car, remortgage the house, pawn the jewellery, rent out the wellies, you know anything you can think of and pop down to the bookies and ask him what odds he’ll give us on the new Pope dying before the week is out. We should make a fortune.”
“Brilliant, I’m in.” said an excited “Marty”
“Just one thing,” adds Mick “we should go to different bookies so as not to arouse suspicion”.
So, plan in place “Marty” and I went our separate ways, mustered all the cash we could lay our hands on and wandered off to our own designated bookmakers shop. We both got very good odds on our chosen occurrence. I get a generous 50-1 for my £20,000.00 from Wee Angus McCoatup, whilst Sean “The Sheep” Murphy was apparently willing to give “Marty” 3,000-1 for his £167.24 (since his advisors told him “the new Pope is a health-conscious, marathon running athlete who’s so fit he parachutes and wrestles bears”.)
Sure enough, the shock announcement is soon made to a stunned world that the new pope was “suddenly taken from us by a mystery illness whilst on a goodwill visit to Kodiak Island as guest of the US marines.”
The following day, as I pushed a wheelbarrow full of a cool £1 million to the bank I saw “Marty” coming in the opposite direction, hands in pockets, head bowed, kicking an empty tin can down the street.
““Marty”, what’s up? Didn’t you put all you could on the Pope dying?”
“Yeah… I had a bit of bad luck though - I had him on a double with the Archbishop of Canterbury!”
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