The Isle - £30 double-chance - Tuesday 31st July

View from Mob member, Golden Delicious

With a rather embarrassing display at the Pigeons still hanging off the Mobs back like a Monkey, it was off to Coventry again on Toosday where were would set things right again at the Isle Casino’s £30 d/c freeze-out. A quick stop at the Esso for some fuel where the early summer evening had brought out a lovely pair of buttocks attached to a young Miss, thinly veiled in white cotton and baring an uncanny resemblance to two boiled eggs in a handkerchief, and suddenly I felt warm inside and kind of funny in the tummy and hoped this was not the only juicy pair I’d be seeing that evening. Meanwhile, Alan hadn’t noticed at all.

Now, you’ll notice that so far I haven’t yet begun my recount of the Poker Tournament. Well, unfortunately there is very little to say.

I managed, astonishingly, to give away half of my stack again with pocket jacks and again on only the third hand of the night. I was stunned into an almost unshakeable paralysis from thenceforth and slowly bled myself away as the twenty-minute anti’s gobbled up my stack and out I went when my Ace-three was dominated by a Brummie mateyboy’s Ace-Jack. Just as in my Mothers favourite desert, Golden Delicious had been crumbled.

Alan was unable to repeat his previous victory and took a seat next to me on the rail after his all-in raise of over 7000 from the Big-Blind with the anti’s at 400-800 was called by the Small-Blind who had pocket fives!! We agreed this was a loose call on the young misses part, but in her defence she must have had half her head caved in from some hideous road accident judging by the look of her and so was probably missing most of her brain. Then there was one.

As Alan stood up, Paul was all-in himself with pocket fives. His caller, holding king-jack, was unable to catch and a juicy pot was taken down and the mobs last remaining hope for success was left to it while Alan went off to win his buy-on back at the Black Jack tables and I bumped into my future wife dressed in curtains.

Unfortunately Paul was unable to progress to the final table and joined Alan and by now, myself at the Black Jack table where a dealer, who incredibly, was unable to count to 21, was taking our money off us nonetheless. Alan eventually recouped his buy-in, I lost a bullseye and Paul eventually took down nearly a £750 profit, which he promised to give to his father.

Not a very successful display from the Mob (again), we died a slow death but a thorough poker autopsy on the way home showed significant mental illness in our opponents and it was agreed that the pleasant surroundings and quality of the card-room is not commensurate to the quality of the play and we had all given too much respect to the collection of Brummie wife-beaters and beaten wives masquerading as poker players.

The Mob will be short handed for it’s next assault; the August Cup at Barrington as Alan is off to Scotland to remind himself how the English used to live five hundred years ago. Man down we may be, but things can only get better.