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Back in olden day times, when the Roman Empire was busy empiring, Tiberius rode along the beeches of Capri and, in awe of the beauty of the place, exclaimed, “si quando capillus ager, fas ludo ludus.” No wait, that means, “if there’s hair on the wicket, let’s play cricket.” What he actually said was, “Sol omnibus lucet,” which means, “The Sun shines upon us all.”

The Witney (inc. Carterton) Mob shared the same sentiment as we arrived at the swanky new Isle casino in Coventry, owned by American casino chain The Isle of Capri. As we entered the place, (which to be fair seemed to have a tropical theme rather than that of an Italian Island, but whatever; the Yanks do their best bless them) the reputation of the Mob obviously preceded us as people stopped, stared and pointed. “It’s the Mob,” a waitress shrieked in excitement. “I don’t like his shirt,” whispered a gay waiter. Not sure to whom that comment was aimed. Alan’s was black. I wasn’t wearing one. Paul’s shirt was pink.

The spacious poker room was deserted. My assumption that local players had heard of our intention to play and decided to save their money and stay at home proved a little flattering. We had just arrived an hour early. While we waited, Alan and I had a couple of drinks. Paul lost £80 playing Blackjack. With the registration period finally over and 60 runners chipped and chaired we were off. The danger of Mob cannibalism immediately presented itself as Paul and Alan found themselves on the same table. I was seated between a Brummie maniac on my right and a man to my left, either so tight or clueless I felt he had only come for the free sandwiches.


It would be easier to pick up a matchstick with ones arse cheeks than to understand how I managed to call off two thirds of my chips on the third hand of the tournament with the hand I had been dealt. Not quite as difficult, but still fairly baffling was how I managed to exit the tournament. With pocket Queens and under-the-gun with blinds at 300-600, I raised to 2500. With only a couple thousand left behind, my intention was to show the table I was pot committed and my bet essentially amounted to a little under 6000-ish.

Judging by the man’s play, the individual to my left, as I have mentioned, was either clueless or just there for the buffet. It was the former. After pondering for a couple of minutes he re-raised all-in for 5300. It was then folded round to the table chip daddy who called. Folded round to me and with disgust I throw in the rest of chips and what I felt must also have been the towel. Surely one of these dudes must have Queens beat.

Chip-daddy looked at me and said, “Queens”. I said, “yep.” I assumed he was predicting my hand, but the puzzled look on his face when I confirmed meant he was actually stating his own hand. Sure as eggs is eggs we’d both been dealt queens. Mateyboy to my left then showed his hand and said, “Looks like I need an Ace then.” I assumed he had Ace-King, but to my astonishment he showed Ace-Seven. I wanted to say "you need more than an ace mate, you need counselling," but I held my tongue. I was about to be busted by a ragged old fucker of an ace three days on the trot and words failed me.

Chip-daddy and I were unable to improve barring a miracle straight or flush so we prayed for an Ace-less board and a chop. Door card was an Ace and I left to have a shit for myself soon after, to try and work out what the hell had just happened. Now, I’m not one to complain about bad-beats as you know, but the previous two days I had gotten my money in with a big Ace against a weaker Ace and lost. Tonight, I had pocket Queens against a shitty Ace and with both my outs already in someone else’s hand, had lost again. Collectively this amounts to a pretty decent kick in the bollocks from the Poker Gods to be fair. Woe is me etc. From a personal point of view, this was not a good performance. But the collective performance of the Mob was impressive.

At the break Alan and I discussed our progress, or lack there of, and Paul lost £80 at Blackjack. Rather prophetically the three of us discussed a previous game where it was clearly established that only a fool, only a genuine spasticated retard, would put his whole tournament on the line with an all-in re-raise with pocket nines. The tournament re-started and with shorter blind periods we were down to the final table in a couple of hours and I had another shit for myself.

By about 2am Paul was showing signs on not being able to stay the trip. Whether he had been working too hard recently, or the fifteen pints of Carlsberg had taken its toll on him I’m not sure, but he continually fell asleep. When the action was on Paul, there was no action. That is until Alan raised his big blind with pocket Queens and he decided to re-raise all-in with ….erm…pocket nines! Finally the Mob cannibalism that promised to occur, had occurred.

A flop of 10-6-8 looked rather dangerous, but the turn and river were blanks and Paul was out and then passed-out. As Paul slept and I had a rather nice pasta dish in the restaurant, Alan manoeuvred his way through the remaining players until three-handed, when a deal was done and the tournament was a done deal. By turns lucky, unlucky, impressive and not so impressive, lucid and confused; a mongrel display of pokering by the Mob. Though a thoroughly enjoyable evening and a very impressive Casino. Next stop, Slovenia.