Echoes of The 'Dam

I was totally knackered ahead of the Loose Cannon £50 freezeout last night. After a 3am cash session there on Wednesday night (in the books as a £210 win), I’d only had 3 hours sleep before heading to work. At the grand old age of 32, this meant I was running on empty come kick off time at 7:30pm the next night. In years gone by I’d have been good for another late one, but I was starting to feel the same disconnected and spaced out feelings of my Amsterdam disaster a decade earlier…

Back in 1997 I had been attending a thrilling course on structured corporate tax schemes in Eindhoven, while working for Arthur Andersen (pre Enron scandal of course). In my younger years, I’d always pushed the boundaries of human endurance when it came to enjoying myself, but even by my standards this was extreme. Over the course of the week I had led my hardy band of revellers on a 4 day stint of heavy drinking ahead of a weekend in Amsterdam. My “hours of sleep” over the 4 days had read like a space shuttle launch…three, two, one, zero.

As a result, I arrived in Amsterdam for the end of course party having had 6 hours sleep in 4 days. Clearly I wasn’t feeling on top form, but decided I could make it through one more party. What followed was slightly embarrassing, to say the least.

One minute I am drinking a pint in the bar, and the next I am travelling down a “tunnel of fire”. Whilst I was going down this tunnel, back in the real world I had collapsed in the middle of the bar and was passed out for about 10 seconds, I am told, having some kind of seizure. I remember thinking the “tunnel of fire” was scary. When I came round, I could just see Sweaty Wally’s face shouting in my face and slapping me. At this point, I had convinced myself the “tunnel of fire” was my descent into Hades, and Wally’s face therefore must be Lucifer. I scambled away hyperventilating, but was grabbed by Wally and Greg from the Glasgow office and bundled in a taxi, en route to Amsterdam hospital.

During the journey, my hyperventilation became worse, and I started to lose all feeling in my arms and legs, as my body overflowed with oxygen. I informed Wally/Lucifer I was dying. Wally did what he thought was best at the time and held my hand and sang “twinkle twinkle little star” to me (!?) . The taxi driver was clearly delighted at the passengers he had selected.

We arrived at the hospital and a crack team flew out of the front doors with a bed, as the taxi driver had called ahead and informed them that I was indeed about to pass over. :(

However, the Dutch doctor immediately realised what was going on, and spoke in an accent just like the guy in that Grolsch advert.

“Schtop. Young man - you are hyperventilating”.

He babbled in Flemish to the cleaner, who returned with a brown paper bag which was plonked over my mouth.

“Breath into thish - you will feel better”.

Within about 5 minutes, all the feeling was back in my arms and legs as my oxygen levels returned to normal. I was diagnosed with “extreme fatigue” and my doctor friend left me with some worthy advice.

“Young man - I recommend that you get some schleep”

Another proud moment in my life ;) Wind forward ten years, and here I am sitting with the same dizzy feeling of a decade earlier, so I was pretty keen to bust out early and go home to bed. Of course, this would have to be the tournament to run good and I ended up winning the thing for £340 and some big league points.

The only big hand I recieved was KK, but that worked very well early on. I was in the big blind and my shove against a raiser and 2 callers looked just like a squeeze play, and I got looked up by pocket 9s. It held, and this got me up to 6k at the break (from a 4k start).

There were only 12 players left, so we are playing 6 handed and I was able to steal a fair few blinds after the break. I get up to about 8k when I get completely owned by Shazbo. She wins 4 hands against me in a row - the worst of which is a blind on blind battle where I have top pair, and she shoves over the top of me with middle pair and I pass. Outrageous.

I arrive at the final table with about 8k in chips. Tony Shep has a HUGE chip stack, but seems to be raising very light, almost every hand. At one point Jody makes a champagne move, shoving over the top of him and showing the mighty 72off when Tony folded.

We soon get down to the money as people bust left and right, Dan B particlarly unlucky in particular to lose AA v 96 suited of Tony all in pre-flop (due to stack sizes and initial raise size Tony had to call).

I build up most of chips by finding raggy aces and shoving over Tony’s frequent opening bets. Eventually he snaps and calls with 67 suited when I have A8. It holds and I am now chip leader.

I also luckily bust Hugh with K8 v A8. I made the initial raise, and had the odds to call in most situations, but was very lucky here.

The final hand is interesting:

Tony raises to 4k (blinds 1k/2k). I call with 4♦7♦

Flop is 6d8c9d

What a flop for my hand - open ended straight, flush draw and gutshot straight flush draw.

Tony bets 4k, and I make is 12k hoping Tony either shoves or folds. However Tony flat calls which puts me in a bad spot if I miss.

The Turn is the 10d though, completing the straight and the flush, still with straight flush redraw. Tony has made 2 pair and all the money goes in and I hold up. I am exhausted, but happy with my win.

Honest Dave beckons me over to the cash table. I am about to go over when I suddenly see a little Dutch doctor in a thought bubble above my head:

“Young man - schtop! I recommend you get some schleep”. And so I did…