Mike was complaining that Americans don’t have a sense of humour. Admittedly, the Yanks don’t have a German royal family, but on the plus side they almost elected George Bush twice, which was a pretty tasty effort on their part. He had been out for dinner with an American friend. When asked why he hadn’t ordered a starter, he said he’d be quite happy to do so if Americans ever realised that after killing an animal for eating purposes, it was legal to divide it into more than four pieces. His friend wasn’t amused but I kinda liked it myself.

Later in the Rio, I was chatting to Peter Costa and Mark Napolitano, mainly because there was nobody interesting to talk to. The subject of American humour came up and Peter made an excellent case for the defense. He’d been at a table in the afternoon Rio tournament near the end of last years WSOP playing with an American guy who’d played the event nearly every day without cashing once. He announced that to avoid further disappointment his new ambition was not to cash but to be still involved just one time when the prize money was announced so that he could at least see what he could have won! Case dismissed.

A few years ago, Bono was doing a gig over here (as far as I know, Bono calls the band Bono. The rest of us call it U2.) Being a bit of an ****, Bono paused the music to lecture the audience. He stood there slowly clapping his hands until he eventually said “Every time I clap my hands, a child dies in Africa.” One of the audience shouted up : “Stop xxxxing clapping then.”

I have a European phone a bit like that. Every time it rang last week, somebody died. On Monday it was an old friend of mine from Dublin who passed away. By Thursday, things had got even worse. A devastated Mad Marty told me that his lifelong friend and right hand man Spivva wasn’t going to last the day. He’d just come from the hospital where he said there were ten people standing around Spiv’s bed. When I asked if had used this golden opportunity to organise a sit’n’go and Marty didn’t try to laugh, I realised the worst was about to happen. Sadly, it did. Those from the 888 family (and the Party guys) who played in or attended the Matchroom TV events will remember Spiv. He was the kind, gentle, quietly funny guy who did all the work while the rest of us hung about having the craic!
He will be sorely missed by his family and everyone whose lives he touched. He will be missed by Dublin’s homeless too. Even though they never heard of him. A few years ago, when we were organising a Poker For The Homeless event, I was telling Marty and Spiv we needed a good turnout as that would make raising money from outside the event a lot easier. They told me not to worry, and I needn’t have. They showed up 28 handed (23 players and 5 supporters). Spiv had spent three months organising satellites, collecting cash, booking flights and figuring out how to fit 28 people into 5 rooms in Bewleys Hotel. When I tried to thank Spiv, he just shrugged his shoulders, said “Don’t be silly. You needed help, didn’t you?” and quickly changed the subject to football. That just about says everything abut this lovely man we’ve lost. In his own words.

Soon, our vehicle was a burnt out shell. On the plus side, the cops offered to take us to the next town. I usually avoid travelling in the back of squad cars unless of course they have a warrant, but I also don’t like walking. As my cousin got into their car, one of them asked if he’d remembered to lock his car. Everyone’s a comedian these days.

I usually visit Binions on my first day in town for old times sake, but I decided to give it a miss this time as I’ve figured out I rarely win a bracelet after visiting that joint. Nolan Dallas articles on the last days of Binions did bring back a couple of memories that seem funnier in the light of stuff that’s happened since.
Nick Behnen was not considered suitable material for running a casino by the Nevada Gaming Commission, but apparently he considered they must have made a mistake because he was around a lot of the time doing whatever he does. One of the things he did do was have a conversation with Howard Lederer, which resulted in Howard decamping to the Bellagio for the rest of the series. A lot of players had a bit of sympathy for Howard (though I did think he might have talked himself into exile), though after the Full Tilt fiasco Nick could probably be elected to the Gaming Commission in a landslide.

Late on in that trip, I was playing at a table beside a chunky PLO game. There was an Irish guy in that game called Chris who was drunk as a monkey. I’d been with him a couple of times when he was full of brandy and he invariably went into his party piece which was naming the ten Irish republican prisoners who’d died on hunger strike in Long Kesh prison. I don’t know if he could perform this feat sober, but drunk he never got as far as the sixth guy without inventing at least one Irish martyr. I was wondering if he’d get into this one before he lost his money and, more importantly, if I could get a bet on when a huge pot developed. Chris was leading the charge and threw a small fortune into the pot on the river. After a few minutes, Russ Hamilton passed whereupon Chris announced that it was an excellent fold as he had four fours. Then, he turned his hand which was pretty ugly to say the least, grabbed all the money and two brandys and announced he had to be in the airport in half an hour. I don’t know if they let him board the plane but if they did I feel sorry for the poor **** who had to sit beside him. It was great timing from Chris because in later years Mr Hamilton became famous for his hand reading skills and was never successfully bluffed. That’s the luck of the Irish for you!

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.”