Voy Por Ustedes

So then, for those of you in a hurry, a quick summary of my evening. Well, it started poorly and sort of tailed off in the middle and the least said about latter stages the better. Nice venue though.

For those of you with more time and bored as hell:

If you haven't seen the Tarantino film "From Dusk Till Dawn," it's basically a hybrid of road movie and horror flick. The first part detailing the escape from prison by anti-hero Seth Gecko played of George Clooney, freed by his sexual lunatic of a brother Richard (huh?) played by Tarantino himself and their escape across the Mexican border with hostages in tow to the sanctity of the Titty Twister saloon. On the way a bloody mess of shoot-outs, dead cops, dead rangers and a murdered and raped bank teller. Lovely. The second part of the movie is eye-popping head-exploding horror as they happen upon a bar room full of vampires and a bloody fight for survival ensues. That's about how the tournament went for me tonight. I had a chance to escape early and ended up getting eaten.

I noticed as I waltzed into the place that everyone was rather smartly dressed. Rather embarrassing really as by comparison I looked like I was there to attend to whatever painting and decorating needed completing. My embarrassment compounded when a security dude approached me from the east and suggested diplomatically that sir might be more comfortable in a collar and perhaps I might purchase a DTD polo shirt for example?

I should have just turned round and gone home as from that moment on, this was never going to be my night. I almost caught my cock on my zip too after a piss, which would have been unfortunate.

So, sporting my new get-up and looking now like a carpenter rather than a painter and decorator, sat we down and fucking hell; who should I find to my right, Richard Stevenson!! I travel 110 miles to sit next to a dude I play against every Monday night 9 miles from my house. To my left, Richard Offless, recent winner of APAT English championship. Three Richards in a row. Well, two Richard's, I just felt like a dick at this point and we hadn't even started yet.

I order myself a bottle of Budweiser from one of the valets dressed in black silk with a top hamper desperately trying to wiggle free; offer up a cheeky wink to the young miss and look down at my cards and staring back at me as it turns out was a total fucking nightmare. Pocket Kings.

I raise and get two callers. Flop comes 10 high. I raise the pot - called from mateyboy A, all-in from matey-boy B!! Cock-fucking shit. Who's let Tim's brother in, says I under my breath. It's 3,800 to call, this leaves me with only about 800 if I'm wrong. I count the chips out, but can't bring myself to call. I assume one of these mateyboys must either have Aces or flopped a set. I was suspicious from the get-go from mateyboy A's flat call so I muck. Mateyboy A mucks also. Fuck it! Mateyboy B shows pocket queens and rake's in the pot. Fuck it. Cock. Pig pussy. Shit.

And so it goes. Up until the break I zig when I should zag, suck when I should blow and fold when I should call. Three times I fold a hand only for horrorshow flops to arrive which would have given me a full-house and one time a made straight; 5-7, Q-3 and 9-2. A kick in the bollocks, a punch in the face and a Chinese burn to the cock from the poker Gods.

At the break I'm essentially back where I started and hoping for a change of luck. Historically the first few hands after a break in these games are a cruel mistress and why should this evening be any different? From the hi-jack with 10-9 suited I make a cheeky raise. Called by the Big Blind. Flop is 6-8-9. BB bets, I announce All-in thinking I have a 7, 9 or 10 to get me out of trouble if the dude has an over-pair.

He calls and flings down 10-7; he's actually flopped a straight and true to form once again I have donked off a decent percentage of my chips in the first few hands after a break. Next time I'm gonna have my food and then take myself off for a wank. They always take at least fifteen minutes and provided I wash my hands it should see me clear of any further sticky situations.

Back to the game: Nothing much occurs for the next half-hour or so, until I get dealt Ace-Queen in the Small Blind. Now then, the correct play here, after an early position raise (from the dude who'd flopped the straight on me earlier), would have been to fold, or flat-call and push on the flop regardless of what comes down - a stop and go if you will, which is a move I used many times only last Monday with great success.

I decide, inexplicably though, to just shove it all in there and then. Mateyboy calls and shows Ace-King. Flop is Queen high! Bugger! Had I stop and go'ed I'd have won the pot as I had fold equity and the dude would never have seen the turn; a King which sent me packing. From one fine mess to another, I lifted myself off my posh seat and took myself off for a consolatory shit.

Not a night to remember, although, as the saying goes, nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it. Nice venue though.