Voy Por Ustedes

Back in Nam they used to say "what happens in the field stays in the field." This was possibly because the G.I's used to go around arbitrarily cutting of the heads of villagers and raping hogs and they didn't want these minor indiscretions discussed where prosecuting ears may be listening. So with this prudent agreement in mind I shall have to miss out one or two details of my trip to Slovenia, it's best this way and while other events described in this entry will be true, names will be changed to protect identities.

I must concede that in my youth I was a bit of a rascal. I gave not much thought to the consequences of my actions and consequences there were plenty. I developed a habit of finding myself on the wrong side of the law whenever I went anywhere and so, even though I have matured and been civilised since, on this trip I decided I would not leave the hotel. I would be safe from my own inner demons if I kept them confined to the mirrored walls of the casino and I would leave the drinking and debauchery to the other 14 members of our party and I would return to Blighty safe and if the poker gods were with me, I may even return with a few quid, or euros in this case.

As George W. Bush once mistakenly announced; MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Not once did I even see the law, let alone venture towards the wrong side of it. And I did return with euros. Phew! So to recap, the plan was to play in two tournaments; the €360+40 freeze-out and the €550+50 double-chance freeze-out. In the €360+40 freeze-out I got nowhere and once again I didn't make the dinner break (I missed it by 35 seconds) ...I wasn't paying attention to the time and threw my few remaining chips in with nothing only to run into..erm..let's call him Donald, who had pocket kings.

At this point I decided that the bargain 80 cent glasses of wine looked appealing and subsequently donked off about 50 euros on the stuff and a further 300 euros at the cash tables. It's hard to take this currency seriously so at this point without fully comprehending how much I had lost and how much I had drunk, I laughed, said my goodnights and negotiated my way to my room where I think I may have slipped into a mild coma. I heard tell the next morning of a small British gentleman almost drowning in the fountain after miscalculating its depth, but as yet this rumour is unconfirmed.

The hang-over that greeted me when I woke up on Friday morning was brutal. Imagine waking to find an Orangutan straddling your chest and him punching you in the face as soon as you open your eyes. With only a few hours to go before the €550 tournament, the chances of my even being able to dress myself let alone play poker were about the same as an Italian man moving out of his mother's house before his 30th birthday.

But play I did, and thank fuck for that as I dodged and weaved myself to fourth place for €2,782, very narrowly missing out on at least third place and a €6,000 pay-out when my AK was beaten by an AJ. It was still the biggest pay day for me at the poker tables and although for the most part, it was a tedious attritional grind, I was pleased with the evenings work and there were at least a few pockets of comedy and excitement to keep me from slipping back into my earlier coma.

As the later stages of the tournament progressed a hand brought an astonishing outburst of Incredible Hulk proportions from a guy who did actually look like the Hulk. Sort of a cross between Fabrizio Ravanelli and the Hulk. He lost a pot when his pocket 5's were between by an AQ. It was nothing to get excited about, but the Italians are a passionate people and this guy was very very Italian. The gist of his rambling yet beautifully sounding diatribe was basically, "you cunt, how could you call with Ace Queen?" The poor chap who had made the call though was short stacked and wearing pink jeans so what was he supposed to do?

This was great theatre though. In England in any of our regional accents you'd have wanted the guy escorted from the premises, but in Italian it sounded like a contemporary opera and I was in awe. I've said this before, the Italians, however cowardly they may be by nature, are the coolest people. They can wear the shittest clothes and look fantastic, except for some of the older dudes who wear leather jackets and just look like the worst kind of sexual predator. Anything they say, even if they're just ordering a glass or Orangina sounds beautiful.

Their coolness is exceeded only by their baffling religious fanaticism. As we got down to 12 and with the final two tables six handed one lady had her friend sat next to her. She was short stacked and every time the chips went in, her lady friend busted out her rosaries and started praying. No shit! I thought this was hilarious. I tried to explain that if their was a God, first of all, would he not be pissed off with your gambling habit? Is God really going to help you sin? Secondly, even if God didn't mind, you're up against another Roman Catholic, so why should he help you more than the other dude? Finally, if he wanted you to win he wouldn't have allowed you to get so short stacked in the first place.

She didn't speak a word of English so my arguments were lost on her, but the dealer agreed and winked at me which I took as a sign that she'd like pour olive oil on me and slide around on me for an hour or two. But anyway, I digress. So I finished fourth and with 4 members of the Fox card club on the final table of nine - 3 finishing in the top 4 - we were all rather impressed with our performance and I felt it gave credence to my opinion that if you can win a game in the Fox, you can win anyway. Right on!!

Meanwhile, out in the dirty world, it was carnage. I shan't go into details but suffice to say there was a brothel about 100 yards from the hotel. When I got home I found a message from er..let's say, Clive, on my mobile which I hadn't taken with me, that simply said, I have just received a blowie from the best looking women in Slovenia.

An image in my mind of such an encounter still remains and will put me off my food for some days to come. Almost as sickening as the image that greeted Donald as he return to the room he was sharing with Clive. I think his exact words were. "fucking hell, there were two sets of bollocks flying around in the room." Thailand it seems does not have a monopoly of dual-gendered intrigue.

Evidently, things were also occurring elsewhere...immoral on the scale of the old testament and by golly thank god I wasn't near it all. I mean really, who wants to spend an entire three days drinking and thundering away at the local brass, stopping only for a short nap and some toast? Not me I tell you. Not me. I mean the thought of nibbling away at the succulent starboard poont of some foreign whore of babylon when I could be in my room watching Superman in Italian just seems ridiculous. No regrets from me, that's what I always say. God didn't want that woman to win at poker so I'm sure he wouldn't want me indulging in such immoral miscreance. Oh but wait.."Rejoice oh young man in thy youth" -- Ecclesiastes 11:9.

Wooooo - one ticket back to Slovenia please.