So Cardiff was looking rather beautiful this morning.
Fuck it, what are the chances of the production team of “Celebrity Poker” reading this? And if they do I am sure they will realise that I am doing nothing but ensuring a few more viewers for their show when I tell you that I won my heat in magnificent fashion. Coming back from a few measly chips (with Rory McGrath having twenty times what I had in front of him) to a fantastic victory. I had some good fortune, but played confidently and with purpose and impressed both the commentator and the show’s poker expert bookie, ‘Mad’ Marty Wilson, that I was actually made favourite to win the final. I was somewhat dubious about their faith in me. I had been quite amazed to get through the first round and yesterday just being in the final was more than I’d hoped for. Plus I’d talked to some of the other finalists and they seemed a good deal more experienced than me. They knew all about odds and which hands to play and the science of when to bet and when to fold. One of them admitted that he played on-line most of the day and this was now how he made his living.
I am not a bad amateur player, but I go more on instinct than on any real understanding of how the form book goes. In fact I hoped to use this lack of knowledge as an advantage, by surprising the others with the way I behaved. My performance in my heat, plus the backing of the experts was leading me to think that one of the bigger money prizes might be mine. I was hoping to get into the last four, which would mean my prize would be at least a couple of thousand pounds, in cash, tax free. And with some luck and some bluster maybe I could trick my way through to the revised top prize (we’d all done a deal to make the lower prizes a bit more chunky) of £17,000. I also quite fancied the cowboy hat that they’d had made with “Champion” written on it in sequins or rhinestones or something.
Whilst I had greatly enjoyed my heat, even when I was losing (though especially when I was winning), the tension around the table was literally breath-taking. It was a very macho atmosphere and although I liked all the guys who were playing, they were very intimidating. I was scared shitless and my focus and my game and any vague plan I may have had went to pieces. I was terrified of the humiliation of going out first and it became apparent, so was everyone else. In hindsight I could have used this to my advantage by playing boldly and hoping to bully the chips out of everyone. It would definitely have worked. And now itÂ’s over I would much rather have gone down with my Hardee-esque balls luminous and swinging in the wind, even if this meant having to take the walk of shame. But alas I faltered and chickened out. I didnÂ’t really get the cards, but there were at least two occasions where bluster would have saved me and got me right back in the game. Instead I played like the amateur I am and whilst avoiding the ignominy of being last, I never had much chance of doing better.
But to find out if I had another epiphany and came back from nothing to win or whether I came 7th after failing to go all in on a king, ace against a pair of threes, like some kind of twat, youÂ’ll have to watch the show at the end of March. If I was you, IÂ’d just watch the heat I am in and marvel at my great play and pretend that that was the final. ThatÂ’s certainly the one that I will be keeping on video and showing to my mates.
Win or lose or come 7th, it was an amazing experience, though I truly understood the term “gutted” for the first time in the hours (and I think it might stretch to days) after it was over for me. It is a game of confidence and bravery and I had felt emasculated from the start and it was surprisingly humiliating to lose (if I did. Maybe I won). The emotional stress of it all was incredible and there was a part of me in the short term that never wanted to put myself through it again, but I learnt a lot and there’s a big part of me that wants to try again, fail again and fail better.
I had a good chat with “Mad” Marty Wilson afterwards and he was very complimentary about my earlier performance. He’s a very colourful character, as you might guess from his nick-name. Though he isn’t mad like those people who say “I’m mad, me”. I think he’s got this moniker from actually being mentally ill. In quite a good way. We had hit it off on Tuesday night when I’d succeeded in solving most of the bar-room IQ tests that he had set me. I think this was part of the reason he fancied me to win. He wasn’t to know that my inexperience would lead me to bottle it.
The prize for 7th place was £800. I’m not saying that’s what I won, but it is and that’s not too bad a payday for two days work and a few valuable poker lessons.
Even if I know now how a fish feels when it has its innards sliced out.
“His nick-name was “Red” Herring, but he ended up gutted and left out to dry”, is what I’d have said had I been the commentator.
Shit.
