Welcome!

To the mystical magical world of tcp

(TC-Poker game report 9^th February, 2005)

Greetings to all (both?) our readers, especially those who play with their own talisman, lucky icon, crappy sprig of pikey heather, lucky rabbit's foot, or even a charmed Sponge Bob Square Pants pair of socks. This is the report for you, giving the low-down on events in the Magic Kingdom (no, not one of Peter Stringfellows gaffs) - 'tis the home of the leprechaun, witchy-pooh spells, and general hocus-pocus that made up tonight's TCP game. Mock all you like, but luck plays a large part in poker, and tonight was the mother of all battles to see who's the luckiest, lucky, lucky slag in TCP (at least out of those who rode their broomsticks, waved their magic wands, and transported themselves in other, erm? magic-based ways to the game).

Which means the jury of fortune is still out on Kris, Emily, Pete, and Andy - none of whom could make it. That may be lucky for them. Or not. Or something. Maybe they all had a premonition, or perhaps they were lulled into thinking England vs. Holland might turn out to be something more than mind-numbing tedium and dullness - fat chance! Anyway, the remaining core (all 5 of us - is that a lucky number?), set about creating mischief & mayhem for our opponents. That's the Boy's Own version, others would call it a battle royal in the Flukey Stakes, with disbelief and incredulous pain for the vanquished, and cheesey-grinned smugness for the victors.

So, let's cut to the chase. Phil (Mr. Consistent, remember) has been very consistent lately. He's consistently had shite cards for a number of weeks, and I know many in TCP are expecting an imminent turnaround in his fortunes. Tonight, however, his consistently crap cards kept coming, and left him without a prayer. I say that, but he might have been praying - he certainly seemed to be muttering something under his breath, but how many prayers are made up entirely of four-letter words? (Note: not sure if these count or not: Dear Gawd! Holy Shit! Yorr Kidn! - none of which I actually heard, but which would all have been appropriate as Phil checked his hole cards. He was probably thinking "arse-hole cards" but he's far too polite to bandy such filth about, so I have to make it up and put words in his mouth for the purposes of entertaining our vast entourage of hangers-on, interested readers, concerned professional players (yeah right! Where does this cack come from?), and any other muppets sad enough to want to read about our rocking poker nights.

OK, so you'll have gathered it wasn't Phil's night. Let's get to the main event - Lindz and Graham. Following a few recent friendly games, Lindz has taken to, ahem, casting a mysterious and magic spell on the cards whenever she finds herself in a big hand. This consists of 2 parts. Firstly, she waves her hands around in a circular motion in the general direction of the deck (listen, don't take it out on me, I had to put up with this bollocks all night - and not for the first time, either). Next, and this is the important bit, she adopts a low, eerie, edge to her voice, and utters the previously secret cry that has been handed down through generations of the Psyche dynasty: "Wooooo-ooooo!"

Yep, just "Woo" although it appears you have to stretch it out over a few seconds for the magic to actually kick in. Now before you go thinking we've all lost our marbles, consider the facts. That's the actual, real & very genuine outcomes following the casting of The Spell of Psyche. The jammy little so & so just keeps on winning huge hands. However, in order for the spell to work, she has to be heads up with G, her boyfriend. The reason for this is that he's the only one that gives a rat's arse about the whole ridiculous palaver. But why would he? I haven't the foggiest idea, but psyched he is. Superstition? Nah. Its probably the fact that he keeps losing his all-ins when he's way ahead of Lindz - clearly brought on by the Wizardry of Woo.

I can detect mutterings of derision, so let me explain tonight's events to give you a flavour. Having already successfully Woo'd G on a previous hand (in which her chances looked slimmer than a gnat's toothpick), Reading's answer to Scooby Do villains went all-in with Jack 10 off (by the way, Lindz, that's not any kind of sexual innuendo).

G should have been laughing with A10 off - if only he wasn't dreading the mighty Woo. Sure enough, the spell was cast, and we all sat around waiting and hoping to see the bullshit get its come-uppance. But no! Surely some mistake? Sadly not. There was a full house on board, but G wasn't seeing any part of a split pot. Jacks full of 3s gave Lindz 4 Jacks! G was beside himself. I'd say speechless, but in true Disney style, you can guess the ending, which was that we never heard the end of it. Fair enough I suppose, as G and Adam were both challenging for Master of the Rebuy. That's a title I've held for a few months, but these chip shopaholics were teaching me a lesson in throwing the cash about.

There was only one thing for it - someone with immunity had to stand up to G's nemesis. Someone had to stand up to be counted - a selfless hero who would put their chips on the line to stop the evil one, and save all our ears. There wasn't one available. However, being half-deaf already, I felt I was more at risk than the others, and decided to give it a go. Hurrah! Self-interest to the rescue!

Daubing myself in chicken shit and wearing the merkin of Pubis was all the protection I needed. In fact, I successfully managed to avoid any Woo coming my way by taking on Lindz whilst she was ahead. Big slick gave Lindz the top pair on the flop - I was holding QJ off (poker jargon really is riddled with smut, don't you think?) Whether she was trapping or simply being cautious, her bet on the turn wasn't quite big enough to put me off trying for my straight draw (there was a 10 with the A on the flop). The river brought a K, making Lindz 2 pairs - aces & kings, but it also made my straight. A voice in my head said (cue Paul Daniels): Now that's magic! I told it to shut up.

Unsurprisingly we both ended up all-in, and suddenly my lucky Teabag of Kismet didn't seem quite so stupid. The last 3 were G, Adam & myself. Adam was low stack, and after a combination of some aggressive play from G, and a bit of chip-leader bullying on my part, we got him out. It suddenly dawned on me that I could easily beat G. Not because I had a healthy chip lead. Not because I'm any better at poker. The reason was that I'd had great hands virtually all night (ladies, please take note). I think I got all Phil's luck from the past few weeks in the one night. G was soon at the point of no return & went all-in on a Q high, shit kicker. Luckily, my K2 held up, and I had my first win in 2005.

So, farewell Steve Deadmoney (my previous alias), your time has come and gone. I took on and beat not one, but two, WSOP title winners (eh? Wycombe Series Of Poker, why do you ask?). So the Deadmoney tag has to go. From now on, I shall be Lucky Luke, the luckiest, lucky slag, although that's Mr. Slag to you.

Woooooooooooo----oooo-oooo!  

Bollocks!