I was poker manger at Boyles when we revamped the IPO and turned it into what most people would call a great success, so when Neil – a friend of nearly 20 years – asked if I wanted some work as a paid consultant to Black Belt Poker on Nottingham Live, I was more than happy to accept.
I drove up on the Friday from North London with Black Belt Poker stakeholder and poker legend of more than 20 years, Tristan McDonald. Check out his Hendon Mob here – he’s probably played less than treble that amount of tournaments in his lifetime.
Tristan’s good at many things; being punctual is not one them. We set off late and I was surprised that he was surprised there was traffic on the M1 on a Friday, which made our ETA even later than expected. I made a mental note not to swap a percentage with someone so clearly off their game
Approximately seven minutes away from arriving at Dusk Till Dawn, Tristan boasts that we will be there in four minutes - I buy at four and wager a thirty-minute massage. After directing him to Nando’s, we arrive seven minutes later and I make way to my seat, initially very impressed with the setup.
When I took my seat, my first mental note was just how welcoming everyone was at the table. I felt relaxed immediately and was now looking forward to my first live event since Vegas. I even carried the honour of being a bounty. The chocolate bar is used as a symbol that a bounty is on your head and whoever knocks you out of the tournament receives the bar and a prize. People asked to be bounties are either brilliant poker players or owe Neil money; obviously, I belong to the former category.
Three hands in, I call a raise from seat 9 (Sky Poker pro) with 3-3; seat 7, a young girl wearing sunglasses, also calls. The board runs out 3-4-10-8-5. There’s been small betting and raising on all streets and I min-raise the initial raiser’s river bet of 1,200, only for seat 7 to shove for 12,000. After a brief dwell, I decide that I can’t be good here and make the fold, two factors being that she hasn’t played a hand (okay, I’ve only been at the table for three hands, but that’s enough history for me) and she’s wearing sunglasses.
I receive a pleasant surprise in the form of a masseuse who has been paid for thirty minutes to unknot my shoulders. The lovely Sarah (Mr. Bradpiece’s better half) replaces another unfortunate and begins some banter with seat 7. They were discussing deals (backers, etc) and now I gave myself a little pat on the back for my earlier fold as seat 7 has definitely become feistier, three-, four- and five-betting routinely.
In a coup involving the same players mentioned above, I mange to isolate Sarah’s short stack and knock her out, scooping some dead money from seat 7 in the process. A hand or two later, I again shove on seat 7 to isolate a short stack with my K-K, but this time she insta-calls while saying something along the lines of, ‘I can’t pass now.’ Her hand? Well, read this and you work it out.
You cant explain to humans the pain of being knocked out of a poker event in such horrid circumstances, so I won’t, but one thing you can explain to them is how absolutely stunning the waitresses were at this event.
I got a chance to catch up with the Black Belt Poker team, listen to communications, read up on the blog, and say hello to Simon T from DTD who was one of my adversaries from back in the Reading poker school days. I have a lot of respect for Simon as a poker player and a geezer, though it was weird that it was the first time we had met each other as business counterparts.
I then decided to take a shot at the £50 side event. Warren W is in seat 10 and I’m in 9. A quick check with the floor staff confirms that WW has tried to pull a quickie; I reseat myself in seat 10, and he moves to seat 9.
On the first hand, I call a raise with 6d-2d and call a c-bet after flop of 3h-5s-Td. The turn brings a 9d and I raise the original raiser’s bet. He calls. The river is a 4 giving me the straight and he dwells hard trying to work out my shove. Seeing as the bet doesn’t make too much sense, he calls and his A-A is no good. I feel that warm glow poker players receive when they manage to fluke a pot after being inches away from donking off a stack. Nevertheless, I still bluffed off my stack four levels in and wonder why I forgot to swap a percentage with WW as he obviously goes on to chop it.
I amble around trying not to explode from the amount of tea consumed having so far been unable to say no to any waitress who asks if I would like anything. I smoke a few cigs and am about to decide on an early night until Chufty convinces me that a Friday night out in Nottingham is what’s called for.
We persuade the bouncers to let us into Yates’s after convincing them that Chufty’s trainers are worth more than the bar so he’s unlikely to want to start fighting the locals, although when greeted by the sight of a bare-chested Dan Elder ordering 72 Jaegerbombs, we wonder why the bouncers were so reticent about letting us in the first place. After consuming a few Jaegers, the rest of the evening suddenly becomes somewhat of a blur, although I do hold some memory of visiting the local casino.
On Saturday, I arrive late for the High-Roller satellite (not Tristan’s fault this time, but rather Dan’s Jaegers) expecting a decent overlay, so am a little disappointed there isn’t one, although pleased that there will be seven seat winners instead of five. Despite the good banter with both players and dealers, I bust out in 10th and endure some immediate pain, which is soon diminished by ordering copious amounts of tea and water. Mental note: I still need to work on bankroll management as I’m currently doing more money in waitress tips than buy-ins.
Another Nando’s dinner ensues, this time with old sparring partner and Main Event pre tournament favourite Ciaran Corbett from Boyles. I cry with laughter at CC anecdotes and realise what a great time I’ve had so far in Nottingham. I go to rail Tristan in the High-Roller and switch from tea to Budweiser whilst borrowing money so I can keep tipping.
Later that evening, Black Belt Poker decide to hold an impromptu staff £20 Sit ‘n’ Go. I make the cut as a consultant and enjoy trying to win the £5 bonus for best slowroll. In the end, CC takes that prize, but I fluke the overall win and now have £100 more in waitress tokens. Meanwhile, Tristan bags up in Day 1 of the High-Roller, and we hit the hotel at a reasonable hour.
Sunday arrives just before the Chelsea match, during which I have time to tip around 17 waitresses. I rail the High-Roller which has an incredibly tough lineup at the last two tables including my chauffer. On a break, we discuss the nightmare treble for Tristan: a Chelsea loss, him bubbling the High-Roller, and both of us missing the late entry into a massive online guaranteed tournament on a rival site.
I jump up and cheer thinking Drogba has put us ahead only to have to suffer the guffaws and rubdowns of various ‘Pool fans at the club as the free kick has gone wide, which fooled both commentators. ‘Pool go on to win, FML. Part two of the treble is completed when Tristan makes the final table, but bubbles the money, so we say goodbye to everyone and dash back home to try and make the online tourney and avoid the treble.
We get there in time to play, but I don’t last long, so at least it will be an early night. I ponder the fact I spent more on waitress tips this weekend than I have during my lifetime on lap dancers, before basking in the glow of a well-run tournament and my small contribution to it. I rail Tristan in the above-mentioned tourney as I’m on a 10 percent funker’s fee. He tortures me for the massage by coming 14th for 7.5K at 8.30am; maybe he’s not off his game after all.