Skint

Gary Clarke, 10/05/09 | Print this article

“How ya goin’ kid?” says the Metal Man. Togged out in his latest cap and black t-shirt combo, he always shoots from the hip. I examine his attire up and down and remember seeing him dressed identically in a picture from a recent poker tournament which I didn’t attend. He had that familiar smile which made me giggle for much of 2008. Meanwhile, I answer the question with “Ah, not so bad. Could be worse”. I try give blanket answers to such questions. I cannot see any benefit discussing the immediate present when it comes to poker. Basically because it always leads to one of two subjects. Boasting or bad beats. Neither are particularly interesting I find.

“I hear you’re skint”. Okay, now he’s got my attention. Where on earth did he get that from? Who could possibly have created and spread such a story? I wonder if he has a point. After all I couldn’t remember the last time I played in the Jackpot or the Sporting Emporium or the Fitz. Gosh, maybe I am skint, I thought. Sure if I havent been playing it’s the only logical answer. But I did play the Irish Open three weeks previous for the first time in my life. Surely this means I am not skint. Or maybe because I didn’t cash it means that I am? My head is racing 100 miles an hour trying to define what skint in poker terms really means and if I am in fact a victim. Before I come up with an answer the Metal Man has vanished. Presumably to wallow in his own non-skintness.

“So how’d ya lose it?” quizzes the new card room boss at the Celbridge poker room. His Scottish accent is so inquisitive. It seems like he has both asked the question and has begun impatiently waiting for the answer by the time the question has registered in my head. “Eh, gambling, I suppose“ was the rather weak reply I mustered up. What exactly the gambling constituted to, I do not know. It is such a broad word but I guess its the appropriate answer when you are being asked how you lost all your money. It covers all bases nicely. I had already accepted I was skint by now. After all I only came to the card room to discuss writing articles for a new poker e-zine. Obviously not to play poker. Perish the thought.

“Yeah I heard you did it all gambling” again with that knowing Scottish accent. Like when Andy Gray has just proved a point to Richard Keys. He knows he’s right. All the while I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I am both broke and the reason for which is some sort of gambling issue. I get flashbacks of an episode of the inbetweeners where Neil has an addiction for fruit machines. His dad gives him £10 on the sole condition that he does not gamble it on a fruit machine. Sure enough the door is barely shut in the pub before his £10 is promptly mashed down the colourful box. 

“You’re not the only one” says the the Metal Man as he returns to the conversation. “Marc” he continues with a nod. “He’s skint too” This is news to me. I have been leading such an innocent and naive life that I just assumed everyone’s finances were in order. Where as in actual fact it was all rather grim with everyone, myself included flat-out broke. Maybe I should sell the car? In fact maybe I should get a credit union loan for a newer car and then sell that? And that old post office account, surely there’s a few punts left over in that. After all im in a financial crisis here.

“He lost a monkey the other night” claims the Metal Man, still gossiping about Marc. “A bad beat was it?” I ask. I’m still nursing my own hardships and have become distant once again from this conversation. “No he just lost it. Yeah. Walking down the street. Lost it on en route to the Casino”. Goodness. If he can lose €500 on the journey to a Casino what chance has he got once he’s in there. “And a pair of sunglasses too. He spent a monkey on sunglasses” The story gets better. “Yeah, so then he lost them and bought another pair for a monkey” Incredible. The bill is now running at €1500 and all Marc has to show for it is one pair of sunglasses. My gosh. No wonder he’s skint. On that note I decide to leave the poker room. The world now an altogether cheerless and dismal place, I ponder my financial difficulty and my gambling issues and vow to change whatever it is I’ve done wrong.

“Is there a seat in that game?” It’s Marc. He has appeared from the clouds. He must have robbed an old granny or raided his piggy bank. I wonder if he’ll buy in for the minimum or will he buy in for a normal stack and put everything he has on the table? He must be playing on such scared money. I know I would be. Maybe we could talk about our problems between us. It could be like an AA meeting for poker players with two new members. There must be more players who would join too. Maybe the Metal Man has an alphabetical list of players who are in a similar predicament to us? Meanwhile the Scotsman is back behind the desk. I wonder how many chips Marc will buy. He’ll be lucky if he can conjure up a whole €50. “How much ya buyin in for Marc?”

“Two Grand”

I guess the Metal Man was wrong.

Gary Clarke can be contacted at gary.clarke@pokerireland.ie

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