Generosity at the G
Luther desperately needed a sabbatical away day from the Arctic Wasteland that is West Watford. Espying a 5k guarantee, as part of Jaws’ Kwissmas Quacker Festival, on a Turdsday night (traditionally the worst attended night of the week @ Looton) he engaged ‘Overlay overdrive gear’ in the haste to arrive at Junction 10 on time.
Registering to a very pleasing field of less than 20 with only 5 mins to go before the off, attention was switched to the ‘Chompy Pickup Area’, the coffee machine. The Fenland Flagman appeared to be molesting that dashingly handsome circuit pro, Nick Crisp.
Wandering past, Luther was reassured as he overheard Nick say, “I haven’t got a phuqqin clue who you are baldy, I only give autographs to members of my Official Fanclub”.
Alas, the 2k earlybird gambling tokens quickly went west, quickly followed by more of their kissing cousins, mainly to a flame haired young gun - who persisted in calling bets down to the river with third pair, and a consistently better kicker than your wondrous author ….. The GB Ginger Haters Society had gained a new member ………. Chompy pleaded for a chop!
Six k adrift of starting stack by level 2, Loofah sigh called for an add on, and by the first break had rodgered half the table, notably the Satanic Spawn of Chris Evans’ loins, and was sitting pretty with 55 thousand+ overlay heat seeking missiles ….. standard.
Moving to Table Twiggy, an impressive attempt to TIDMOF by level 5, left our hero wondering where 45k had disappeared to …… variance, obviously!
A young Oriental gentleman caused much consternation (nay, hilarity) as he dwelled up forever with the difficulty of his ‘poker decisions’. These revolved around how much to open the betting as the initial raiser. At 150/300 he had concluded that 3.5k was about right, and seemed totally unperturbed as his opponents jeered at his weak, passive, play – unfortunately, being the chip daddy on the table he remained remarkably unfazed …. even advising Your Noble Scribe to play some sort of child’s computer game, called Poker Stars, to improve his skillz.
The chips started to dribble back, as is only right and fitting, and Loofah cunningly unleashed Operation Pink Panther ………. Chompy pleaded for a chop!
His new found friend was renamed Cato Fong and, ‘Sellerseque’, Clouseau was on the fiendish one’s case. After much four/five bet skirmishing Confuscious was slain with an 8 9 off roundhouse kick to the kidneys …. He confided that he had more outs than the Inspector’s flopped two pair – Clouseau consoled him with, ”Zose thit chiss zer Ferlosh, catch zee burse”.
Before Loofah even had time to badly stack these Fruits of the East some Skinhead Random had impertinently raised his BB with the old ‘Raise ‘em while they’re stacking, theft routine’. Harassed by this multi-tasking burden, a sexy little A Q of clubs induced the ‘GTFO whilst I’m stacking, burglar bashing’ retort ….. all in for 150k ………. Chompy pleaded for a chop!
Well the insta 100k+ call, with KK, didn’t quite fit the script …….. And Tom the dealer created perfect Hitchcock-like high tension drama as he waited right till the river to furnish the Ace from Space.“Never in doubt …… ”, our hero commented, as Sid Snot got an earlier night than he expected to polish his oxblood Doc Martens, to a Guardsman like sheen.
Bored with the carnage, Loofah decided to help Dean Morris get to the FT with a few more chips than was necessary (Dulux promptly scuttled off to beg his identical twin, Gavin Can Can, for poker winning strategies) ………. Chompy pleaded for a chop!
Onto the FT, and there was a catatonic shock for the Luton Regs …. Graham Wheldon was sitting at the table. Concluding the Cardroom Manager had delegated Chompy to guard the chips whilst the proper players went for a pre-final smoke, Loofah dismissed the unthinkable without a thought.
When we returned …. He was still there! ………. Mumbling, in some ancient East Anglian dialect, about chopping up Hendon with a flag.
An old style Looton FT ensued, with Vinny, Deano, Malcom Gee, Goatee Phil, St Neot’s Finest, a coupla randoms, and yours truly in fine form (Form having nothing to do with poker, but the measurement of how much sarcastic anti-railing fun can be had at each other’s expense).
Being as Grosvenor had been generous enough to add £875 to the pot (Johnnycomelatelys had diluted the initial overlay somewhat) ……. (Headmistress Carmel is beating Head Boy Jaws as we speak) – we created two bubble prizes for the victims of our vitriol.
First to go was Cato’s sidekick, Sunglasses Sammy …… I think he had a piste to ski, because he clearly couldn’t see anything through the crash helmet visor some surgeon had welded to his ears ………. Chompy pleaded for a chop!
“Oh dear”, blurted Malcolm as he called a Deano raise to his BB.
“Oh dear”, blurted Malcolm as he called a Deano bet on the flop.
“Oh dear”, blurted Malcolm as he called a Deano bet on the turn.
“Come on The Rug”, encouraged Vinny – as Dulux physically sagged down to his pre-steroid abuse size in doom, gloom, and thorough despair.
“Oh dear”, we all proclaimed, and Celtic fistpumped the table, in celebration as Morris bubbled …. Pwned by the Gee ………. Chompy pleaded for a chop!
Wheldon was in Wonderland, a flag was his, at last ………. and pleaded for a chop!
Down to six and a deal was proposed by …….. I bet you can’t guess who?
Being in third spot chip wise I tried not to laugh, as The Posh Professional Sports Gambler worked out ‘my share’ at £800 ………. Chompy pleaded for a chop!
As ‘official third place’ paid less than what was on offer, it wasn’t a bad deal, just badly worked out.
Chomps promptly convinced all and sundry of the ‘validity’ of his figures, and one by one they fell ‘in line’ as a massive St Neotesque smile spread across his face – till he came to Loofah!
“No way, I want eight hundred and ………. (panic furrowed Chompy’s brow, and he looked even older than he usually does) ……….. (dramatic drumroll) ………. FIVE pounds, or NO DEAL!”
Wheldon’s chest exhaled with a jolt, without the need of Nina’s defibrillator, as he babbled, “I’ll pay, I’ll pay, I’ll pay you out of my share”.
And that was how Chompy got his flag!
(Your author has emailed THM pointing out that crappy, cheap, side events have nothing whatsoever to do with The Luton Christmas Cracker – and to ignore any malicious spam emails from East Angleshire, requesting dubious entries onto their revered database)
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