Then two cops arrived. They seemed surprised that the place was half empty. They quickly figured out that the TV set was the biggest security headache and set about staking out the area immediately around it. They had obviously been to disguise school as they removed their hats during the horse racing. You’d never have known they were cops. If You only looked at their heads. One of them asked me how I was getting on at the poker. I told him if the poker was going well, it was unlikely I’d be in the bar talking to him. I also advised him not to waste too much time studying for detective exams. You’d need to have been a pretty good detective (or play on 888) to figure out that there was an 888 Super Stack tournament in Dublin last weekend. It was the best kept secret in the history of Irish poker. Considering most Irish players are either gossips, drunks or both it was a hell of an achievement. Those who didn’t know about it missed out on a decent overlay and a tournament played in the true spirit of Irish poker, played mainly by English players and three danes who turned up out of nowhere. Sadly, the next one is going to be open to everyone!

I fell in love with the Irish Open when I first played it in the Eccentrics club in the eighties and became its biggest fan (except for Jesse May maybe). It’s sad, despite the efforts of a dedicated and talented team, to watch it slide down the totem pole of mustplay european tournaments. I blame the bean counters who’ve cut out TV coverage, added money to side events and a few other things that made this event the best in Europe. I’d like to take them in a time machine to visit the Eccentrics club the day Furlong beat the great Jimmy Langan. Then, I’d take them to the jackpot to hear Micky Finns victory speech which showed just how much this title used to mean. After that, to the Burlington to see Marty Smyth and Neil Channing win in as electric an atmosphere as you’ll ever witness at a poker tournament. Maybe then, they’d realise that what they have is priceless.

The losing of the cup? After the celebration, my last beer for 3 months, the team all made it home safely. That’s more than I can say for the trophy.

If you think this has nothing to do with team poker, you’re wrong. It’s got everything to do with it and I’m going to tell you why. I’ve been involved in every Irish team that’s played a major international event for years now. I’ve been both the problem and the problem solver. As a player, I’ve been guilty of keeping the team up half the night. As captain, I’ve been the first to impose a curfew. Ok… I’m a hypocrite. What I have seen is that some guys up their game when playing for their country while others either crack under the pressure, shit on it or can’t leave their egos at the door and seek attention, not points. This applies to the Irish at least as much as anyone. We have definitely underachieved. One of our number threw away the PPP Grand Slam when we had it in the bag. Their have been other offences sometimes when you’d least expect them, but poker players are like that and you never know what’s going to happen till it happens. You could show six monkeys a couple of bunches of bananas in a cupboard and an empty fridge beside a laptop. With a little training, they’d ignore the fridge and head for the grub. Substitute six poker players for the monkeys and at least one of them will look longingly towards the fridge. That’s why when Ireland play team poker, you don’t hear shouts of “Go Ireland” or “Go on you boys in green”, but will frequently hear a roar of “Stay away from that ****ing fridge.”

We were asked all the usual questions like “How good is Ivey?” and “Is Helmuth for real?” etc, but I was surprised at how many guys wanted to talk about the great Stu Ungar. I’d only played an hour or two with him, which was fine by me. His buddy Mike Sexton had advised me to stay well out of his way and I did! Scott had played with him in a big NLH game in Binions back in the day. Stuey was obviously between bankrolls at the time, as there was a large gentleman sitting behind him who was hugely interested in proceedings. As a result of this setup, Scott ran a bluff on the river in a big pot against him. He said he’d never have done it if the big guy wasn’t supervising Stueys play. Stu squirmed a few times, looked at Scott, looked at the pot, looked at the big guy, looked at the pot again, looked at the big guy again and mucked his hand. Being a gentleman, Scott showed the bluff. Stu tapped the table and complimented Scott on his play. Well, that’s not exactly what happened. Stu stood up, screamed "I xxxxing knew it" a couple of times and ran out of the room. For the next week, he followed Scott around challenging him to a heads-up match (a good internet play). There was no chance of that happening, so they became friends for life!

In 1981, Stu was one of the big names who travelled to Ireland for a star-studded event that kicked off big time tournament poker in Europe. At one stage Doyle, who was also on that trip, included him in his list of the top five players in the world. He liked that but was less than pleased when he also included him in his list of the top five steamers! It’s a shame Stu is no longer with us. He could have joined us on our Irish tour. He’d have loved Claremorriss. If Doyle was right, he’d have either won all the money or at least got an 888 shirt for first visit to the cash machine. A win win situation!

The incident occurred in the Rathmines club, a spot where the bizarre was usual and treated as such. It couldn’t last and it didn’t. The guys involved in the pot were me, Johnny Suitcase and Peter Mulligan. Suitcase was so called because he developed the habit whilst in Vegas of jumping up and shouting “Suitcase!” every time he was all in which was apparently an indication that if he was called and lost he was off to the airport. As Johnny was the same height standing up as he was sitting down the standing up bit impressed no one but the shout was admired far and wide. Peter Mulligan was so called because that was his name.

We were playing a 3 table 100 quid tournament. Mulligan was dealing and I was seated directly to his right. After a while, I raised a pot, Suitcase called and then bet when 3 clubs appeared on the flop. For a second I thought this was great news. Then I realised Peter, who was at least half in the bag, had very efficiently taken my two lovely clubs away preflop. I felt like a complete idiot for not realising that this was a strong possibility and I should have been more careful. Especially as I’d been in the pub with the dealer. So I moved all-in anyway and Johnny mucked his hand.

That should have been the end of it but the Irish love a good story, especially if they can embellish it. They did. Over the years, the tournament got bigger and bigger until it eventually became a cash game. I’ve heard it told by several eye witnesses who weren’t even in Dublin at the time. Llast time I heard it the pot was 30k. Sterling.

Years later Nicky Power asked me about the pot. I told him the truth. You’d think he might have learnt something from it. You know like it’s considered a good idea to protect your hand at all times. Not at all! That’d be too simple for Nicky. A while later, he was very deep in the Irish Open. Roland de Wolfe has bet the flop. Nicky moved all in. This was ballsy of him as Roland was running like God at the time. It was particularly so as, when Roland passed, Nicky revealed that he had no cards. He went on to make the final table and is these days living happily in a lunatic asylum known to outsiders as Waterford.

It goes on. One day, I was talking to TJ Cloutier who began to tell me a story about how he won a pot after the dealer stole his hand. I swear I kept a straight face when I asked him why a player of his experience hadn’t protected his cards.