AN UNLIKELY HERO (an obit of sorts)
Padraig Parkinson
Like many people I know, I’ve spent way too much of my adult years watching sport on tv whilst never participating in any sporting activity unless walking to the fridge for another beer qualifies. The good news is, the more you watch, the more you’ll witness triumphs of individuals or teams against huge odds. This is particularly good if you’re Irish. The Irish love an underdog, probably because we had 800 years of oppression from the British to endure. (If you’ve bet on the favourite, you are allowed to root for them. We may be romantics but we’re not completely stupid.)
The couch potatoes had a golden year in 2016 when Leicester City won the English football Premier League. The previous year Leicester had come close to being relegated and were expected by most experts to be involved in another backs to the wall- battle to stay in the top division. The bookies seemed to think so and some of them quoted odds of 5000 /1 at the start of the season against their chances of winning the League title. I don’t think there were many takers apart from diehard fans
Leicester, surprisingly, got off to a decent start though, still,no one really considered they could sustain that form over the grind of a 38-game season against the elite teams of the Premier League. After spending twenty years living and playing poker in Paris and in the US, I had returned to Dublin and frequently played poker in the Fitzwilliam Club. As Leicester reached the halfway point of the season still in contention a few of the poker players bet on them at fancy prices though I suspect they didn’t bet much and were just having the craic. It was widely expected that Leicester’s challenge would fall away as the cream came to the top. Amazingly Leicester somehow didn’t read the script.
The chatter at the poker tables became louder with the prospect of a few lads backing a big-priced winner, and the bragging rights that would go with it. As the season entered its final stages Leicester beat huge clubs likeLiverpool and Manchester City in a week and went on to become champions. It was a massive triumph for a team that took inspiration being written off as no hopers. I’ve never witnessed an upset like it.
In 2014 I was in Paris and one lunchtime I got a call from an Irish friend who lived nearby. He told me he’d collect me in five minutes. As I got into his car I asked where we were going. He said the Women’s Rugby World Cup was on in Paris at the time and we were going to watch the Irish ladies play New Zealand. I was fine with that until I discovered the bookies gave us no chance. We were 80/1. I told my friend we would be wasting our time and might be better off going to the pub rather than a humiliation. He said I’d be okay. They’d serve beer at the game. Fair enough.
The match was unbelievable. Nobody told the Irish girls they were supposed to get slaughtered. They fought tooth and nail, chased every lost cause and gave everything for each other and their country. At least that’s what I thought I saw. I am no expert. When the final whistle blew Ireland had won 17-14. Unbelievable! One of the biggest upsets ever and we were there; the celebrations went on till very late in Patrick’s Pub in Bastille. What a night! A year later I was in Patrick’s when the Paris terror shootings started outside. A reminder for sure that we should enjoy the good days when they come along.
I also witnessed a miracle of sorts at the poker table, though I didn’t know it till months later. In 2006 I was playing in a big European Poker Tour event in Dublin’s Regency Hotel. The hotel is no longer called The Regency as a few years later it became infamous; a shooting at the weigh in for a boxing match started a gangland feud which claimed lots of lives over a few years, and the owners changed its name.
During the event I was seated beside former world champion Greg Raymer and he told me popular player Boston Billy Duarte had died the previous day after a tough battle with cancer. I met the former marine turned poker player Billy when Scott Gray and I visited Vegas in 1995. We played a lot with him over the years. He was a gentleman with a dry sense of humour and fun to be around. We liked him. Billy had done really well at the 2006 WSOP but that assessment got upgraded dramatically when we realized he’d played six extra-long days of huge pressure poker whilst terminally ill. At 68 years of age, he made two final tables in a row in tournaments with fields of a few thousand runners. Now that was fucking heroic in my opinion.
I had the privilege of seeing it all. My friend Julian Gardner made the first final table with Billy. I was his cornerman so had a fair idea of what was going on. I made the second one and was sitting next to Billy. The fucker never shut up. I’m guessing he was on decent meds. Here we were playing for a million or two and he was blabbing on about dealing with my people in Boston and guns and things. Jesus!!! Who did he think I was? Then he started to tell me we’d have a pint soon in Dublin and he’d tell me everything. Jesus, I didn’t need to hear this.
Then Billy got knocked out. I missed him. I still do.
So when anyone asks me what is the best poker performance Ive ever seen, I tell them about those six days with Billy. A proper player. A proper champion. A proper gentleman.
Follow @LivePokerUpdates here on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
Once Upon A River- A SAD LATE NIGHT POKER REUNION
After turning down invitations to the first four series of Late Night Poker, I finally realised I’d been stupid to underestimate the sponsorship possibilities TV could open up and quickly accepted my invite to LNP 5.
On my way from Paris to Cardiff, where LNP was filmed, I stopped off in Dublin to visit my mother, who was in hospital. The news could not have been worse. My friends talked me into going on to Cardiff anyway, as they knew that when things are bad, poker people know how to circle the wagons and look after their own. They were right. Jesse May was there, of course. He was doing the commentary on the poker and acting as a bookmaker, laying odds on all the heats. Jesse was a great commentator and a shit bookmaker, but Jesse refused to accept that he wasn’t just unlucky. Still does.
I was drawn to play in a heat that also involved my good friend Kevin O’Connell and Phil Hellmuth, who at the time had won 6 WSOP bracelets. We all knew he had six because he told us several times, even though nobody asked him. Scott Gray and I first met Kevin and his pal George Geary in Ryan’s pub in Dublin’s Camden Street, back in the days when The Irish Open was held in The Jackpot Club. They were dressed in suits and ties, which was apparently normal poker attire in the North of England, whereas if you saw an Irish guy at the poker table in a suit, you could take it that they’d gone straight to the pub from the office and hadn’t had time to change. Everyone was in good form, the drink was flowing, the craic good, and Kevin and I formed a friendship that spanned several decades. The lads took to the unique craic around Irish poker and played a bunch of Irish Opens. I later introduced Kevin to Galway poker, and he became a regular at the IPC and The Eglinton, etc. He also, along with Jesse and Micky May and Mike and Karen Sexton, Fintan, Donal and that lot, the Party Poker crew and others, became part of the poker group who showed up in Galway to celebrate New Year’s Eve and play Fintan’s tournament every year. Great times!
In Cardiff, Kev and I prepared for our heat by having a few drinks in the hotel. Phil probably went for a run or did yoga or some crap like that. Kev was about half full of Johnnie Walker. So when we got to the studio, he immediately asked Hellmuth how many bracelets he’d won. Jesus! We eventually got started, and Kev and I didn’t hold back on the banter with Phil. I got on fine with Phil, so he wasn’t too worried about me, but between the Burnley accent and the whiskey, he had no idea what Kevin was saying. He kept looking at me, hoping I would translate. I didn’t, but mainly because I didn’t know what he was saying either, but wasn’t going to admit it. Eventually I knocked Phil out. Kev was horrified and looked at me like I’d just shot Bambi. Kev asked what we were going to do now. I suggested we take the piss out of Willy Tan. We did, but Kev was right. It just wasn’t the same.
The final was the next day. It started very late because Hemish Shah, winner of LNP4, had, very sadly, died at the age of 31, and a helicopter took some players, including Joe Beevers, to his funeral service. We often get reminded that poker is just a game. I was seated next to a very emotional Joe in the final. He had been very friendly with Hemish and was very moved when his family gifted him the jacket Hemish had won when he won a WSOP bracelet in the 5K Limit Hold’em event just a few months earlier.
Kevin was in the habit of flying first class and staying in the best suites in hotels wherever he went. He loved it! He said it was a tax write-off, but I didn’t believe him. The only exception was when he’d come to Paris. Then he’d stay in my apartment and sleep on the couch. I tried to make him feel at ease by printing PRESIDENTIAL SUITE on a sheet of paper and cellotaping it to the door, but he wasn’t fooled.
Kev was a big success in business, turning nothing into multimillions.
He applied that same judgement to poker too. He arrived at the WSOP in 2002, bringing a very good young Mancunian kid, Julian Gardner, with him. Kev stuck Julian into the Main Event and kept him calm throughout the tournament as he went deeper and deeper. Scott Gray, who knew Julian well, was also flying high. What a buzz! The two lads both made the final table. What a day! Scott was dogged by Varkoni to finish fourth. Julian lost heads-up to Varkoni, who led a charmed existence for several days. Julian and Kev won a million between them! Somehow or other, they ended up with a million dollars in a suitcase being driven around Vegas! Jesus.
Kevin hadn’t been well for some years. I flew in from Dublin and Jesse from Copenhagen three years ago just to say goodbye to Kevin. We were supposed to have lunch. It was -8 degrees when I arrived in Manchester at 9 a.m. I slipped on the steps getting off the plane, made a mess of my shoulder and finished up on morphine in casualty, and Kevin came to see me. OMG. A few months later, we flew to Dusk Till Dawn for Kevin’s last cash game. It was great fun! I was talking to Kev a few weeks ago, and we were planning a trip to the Galmont, formerly The Radisson, in Galway for The IPT Festival in early January. Instead, we were going to Manchester for Kevin’s funeral. Sad day indeed.
Jesse and I were hanging out outside the crematorium with Joe Beevers, who told us his favourite Kevin story. Joe was 33 and had a 21-year-old girlfriend, Claire. They hadn’t been going out for too long when Joe told her he was going to Amsterdam for a week to play poker and asked if she’d like to join him for the weekend. She, of course, said yes. When she arrived at the casino, Joe was in Day 2 of a tournament. He looked around for a safe pair of hands to leave her safely with. That didn’t work out. All he could find was me and Kev in the bar. Oh God. So he left her with us. Some would think Kev and I weren’t ideal minders, but what could he do? He returned a few hours later, and she was sitting in between Kev and I at the bar, a drink in her hand and laughing!
When we went inside, the lady running the show spoke very well and eventually said that Kev was a very good poker player. Jesse started to laugh. He said Kevin had waited 75 years for someone to accuse him of being a great player, and when it finally happened, Kev missed it!!
After turning down invitations to the first four series of Late Night Poker, I finally realised I’d been stupid to underestimate the sponsorship possibilities TV could open up and quickly accepted my invite to LNP 5.
On my way from Paris to Cardiff, where LNP was filmed, I stopped off in Dublin to visit my mother, who was in hospital. The news could not have been worse. My friends talked me into going on to Cardiff anyway, as they knew that when things are bad, poker people know how to circle the wagons and look after their own. They were right. Jesse May was there, of course. He was doing the commentary on the poker and acting as a bookmaker, laying odds on all the heats. Jesse was a great commentator and a shit bookmaker, but Jesse refused to accept that he wasn’t just unlucky. Still does.
I was drawn to play in a heat that also involved my good friend Kevin O’Connell and Phil Hellmuth, who at the time had won 6 WSOP bracelets. We all knew he had six because he told us several times, even though nobody asked him. Scott Gray and I first met Kevin and his pal George Geary in Ryan’s pub in Dublin’s Camden Street, back in the days when The Irish Open was held in The Jackpot Club. They were dressed in suits and ties, which was apparently normal poker attire in the North of England, whereas if you saw an Irish guy at the poker table in a suit, you could take it that they’d gone straight to the pub from the office and hadn’t had time to change. Everyone was in good form, the drink was flowing, the craic good, and Kevin and I formed a friendship that spanned several decades. The lads took to the unique craic around Irish poker and played a bunch of Irish Opens. I later introduced Kevin to Galway poker, and he became a regular at the IPC and The Eglinton, etc. He also, along with Jesse and Micky May and Mike and Karen Sexton, Fintan, Donal and that lot, the Party Poker crew and others, became part of the poker group who showed up in Galway to celebrate New Year’s Eve and play Fintan’s tournament every year. Great times!
In Cardiff, Kev and I prepared for our heat by having a few drinks in the hotel. Phil probably went for a run or did yoga or some crap like that. Kev was about half full of Johnnie Walker. So when we got to the studio, he immediately asked Hellmuth how many bracelets he’d won. Jesus! We eventually got started, and Kev and I didn’t hold back on the banter with Phil. I got on fine with Phil, so he wasn’t too worried about me, but between the Burnley accent and the whiskey, he had no idea what Kevin was saying. He kept looking at me, hoping I would translate. I didn’t, but mainly because I didn’t know what he was saying either, but wasn’t going to admit it. Eventually I knocked Phil out. Kev was horrified and looked at me like I’d just shot Bambi. Kev asked what we were going to do now. I suggested we take the piss out of Willy Tan. We did, but Kev was right. It just wasn’t the same.
The final was the next day. It started very late because Hemish Shah, winner of LNP4, had, very sadly, died at the age of 31, and a helicopter took some players, including Joe Beevers, to his funeral service. We often get reminded that poker is just a game. I was seated next to a very emotional Joe in the final. He had been very friendly with Hemish and was very moved when his family gifted him the jacket Hemish had won when he won a WSOP bracelet in the 5K Limit Hold’em event just a few months earlier.
Kevin was in the habit of flying first class and staying in the best suites in hotels wherever he went. He loved it! He said it was a tax write-off, but I didn’t believe him. The only exception was when he’d come to Paris. Then he’d stay in my apartment and sleep on the couch. I tried to make him feel at ease by printing PRESIDENTIAL SUITE on a sheet of paper and cellotaping it to the door, but he wasn’t fooled.
Kev was a big success in business, turning nothing into multimillions.
He applied that same judgement to poker too. He arrived at the WSOP in 2002, bringing a very good young Mancunian kid, Julian Gardner, with him. Kev stuck Julian into the Main Event and kept him calm throughout the tournament as he went deeper and deeper. Scott Gray, who knew Julian well, was also flying high. What a buzz! The two lads both made the final table. What a day! Scott was dogged by Varkoni to finish fourth. Julian lost heads-up to Varkoni, who led a charmed existence for several days. Julian and Kev won a million between them! Somehow or other, they ended up with a million dollars in a suitcase being driven around Vegas! Jesus.
Kevin hadn’t been well for some years. I flew in from Dublin and Jesse from Copenhagen three years ago just to say goodbye to Kevin. We were supposed to have lunch. It was -8 degrees when I arrived in Manchester at 9 a.m. I slipped on the steps getting off the plane, made a mess of my shoulder and finished up on morphine in casualty, and Kevin came to see me. OMG. A few months later, we flew to Dusk Till Dawn for Kevin’s last cash game. It was great fun! I was talking to Kev a few weeks ago, and we were planning a trip to the Galmont, formerly The Radisson, in Galway for The IPT Festival in early January. Instead, we were going to Manchester for Kevin’s funeral. Sad day indeed.
Jesse and I were hanging out outside the crematorium with Joe Beevers, who told us his favourite Kevin story. Joe was 33 and had a 21-year-old girlfriend, Claire. They hadn’t been going out for too long when Joe told her he was going to Amsterdam for a week to play poker and asked if she’d like to join him for the weekend. She, of course, said yes. When she arrived at the casino, Joe was in Day 2 of a tournament. He looked around for a safe pair of hands to leave her safely with. That didn’t work out. All he could find was me and Kev in the bar. Oh God. So he left her with us. Some would think Kev and I weren’t ideal minders, but what could he do? He returned a few hours later, and she was sitting in between Kev and I at the bar, a drink in her hand and laughing!
When we went inside, the lady running the show spoke very well and eventually said that Kev was a very good poker player. Jesse started to laugh. He said Kevin had waited 75 years for someone to accuse him of being a great player, and when it finally happened, Kev missed it!!
Photo credit : Mickey May
Follow @LivePokerUpdates here on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
THE GREATEST POKER STORY NEVER TOLD
The Mayfair Club in New York City was famous for the number of WSOP legends and top backgammon players who perfected their skills there.
Harrington, Seidel, Appleman, Lederer, Heimowitz, and Zolotow were among the poker greats. Magriel and GDG were famous backgammon stars. When the police closed the club in 2000, its fame had spread far and wide.
Meanwhile, in Ireland, The Eccentric Club was quietly punching above its weight, providing SIX WSOP Main Event final tableists from a couple of rooms above a shop on Hanlon’s Corner on Dublin’s North Side. Terry Rogers, bookmaker, visionary, and gambler, had visited Vegas in 1979, saw the WSOP in action in Binion’s Horseshoe Casino, befriended another visionary, Benny Binion, and returned to Ireland with a plan to open a poker club and bring No Limit Holdem Poker tournaments to Europe. He named the club The Eccentric Club. He saw the future and was so right! The Club held NLH tournaments on Tuesday nights with three tables in play. How this little club in Dublin produced more Main Event final tableists than most huge countries is a mystery. Unless you’re Irish.
First up, as usual, was Donnacha ODea. He made the Main Event final table in 1983. He finished sixth. Ireland’s Jimmy Langan had played too. Jimmy, along with Don Fagan, was quick to figure out tournament strategy, but on this occasion had stopped taking his tablets, which was poor strategy but usually great fun. On this occasion, Jimmy, who was hanging about, persuaded Tom McEvoy that a shoulder massage from him during the short break would be a good idea. It might well have been if you like suds everywhere, as Jimmy used shampoo instead of massage oil. A bit of Irish improvisation. Of course, Tom won.
In ’91 Brad Daugherty won, but Donnacha joined an exclusive club of players who’d final tabled the Main Event more than once. He finished ninth this time. No Jimmy. No suds.
In 1989 Noel Furlong made the final on his visit to the WSOP. He caused havoc with his swashbuckling Two Card Chicken style. Noel told me laughingly several times over the years about his clashes with Phil Helmuth, the ’89 champion, with the highlight being Phil running out of the room during a hand! Noel eventually got knocked out with 66 against Johnny Chan’s QQ. I only learnt from Don ODea recently that the money went in on a king-high flop. Helmuth told me earlier that year in Taho that he was going to win that WSOP. In fairness, he told everyone else too. And he did!
Next time the Irish made the final table was ’99, and we did it in style. Furlong was there again, as was the true gentleman of Irish poker, George McKeever. I was there too. Three Irishmen who had been used to playing in The Eccentric Club together made it to the last seven of WSOP!! What a buzz. Furlong knocked out George, Bigler, and US former Champ Huck Seed. Then I knocked out superstar Seidel, Furlong took out me and Goehring, and Noel was champion of the world. Before dinner!
TV was involved, so everyone had an opinion. The consensus was Noel was a luckbox. Helmuth disagreed. He “won” my Irish Open and “my” WSOP title, but he played an unorthodox game, was super-aggressive, judged people well, and made his own luck. Throw in two Irish Opens, so if he was lucky, he was very lucky!
Next Eccentric Club member up was Scott Gray in 2002. As well as having been a professional and a WSOP regular visitor for years, he had been my roommate and wingman in 1999. He was the only person I spoke to away from the table for four days, so had a great insight into what was going on and was a big help. He had a poor first day in 2002, but went up a gear and, after playing aggressively, including some scary clashes with Ivey, made the Final. He was winning small amounts every round of the table, leading Barny Boatman to observe that if the game lasted a month Scott would win! He was unlucky and got knocked out in fourth after getting his chips in good against eventual champ Varkoni, who fluked his win. But that’s why there’s a game.
Next Eccentric Club member to make the final was Andy Black in 2005. Andy was, and still is, one of Ireland’s finest. He was happy as a pig in shit in the middle of the Main Event. I walked by his table on Day 3. Andy had raised preflop. Ivey had reraised. Andy went all in. Ivey folded. Andy showed me Ace-five. With twelve players remaining, I thought Andy might win the lot, but he did great anyway to finish fifth. Great for him, his shareholders, and Ireland.
Follow @LivePokerUpdates here on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
An empty seat in Galway
After reliving all those happy days for Irish poker, we got bad news on Thursday.
John Skally Kalmar phoned me before 10 am. Had to be horrible news at that time of day. It was. My good friend Kevin O’Connell had left us. I had spoken to Kev and had a proper laugh on Tuesday. I told him I’d be representing the Sporting Emporium at IPT Galway the first weekend of January 2026. He loves Galway and Galway poker, and despite being in bad shape health-wise, signed up immediately. He was going to Goa via Doha the next morning. Doha was as far as he got.
I had so much fun with Kev since we met in Ryan’s pub in the nineties.
The funniest episode was about 15 years ago on New Year’s Eve in Galway.
A bunch of international and Irish players gathered to have fun on New Year’s Eve in those days. That year we attended a concert in The Quays. It was great until some clown spilled a drink over Mickey May’s coat. He and Kev got into a heated discussion and decided to take it outside. Jesse said we should go and help Kevin. I asked him what help he was going to need. He’d probably run away. Eventually he persuaded me to go in case Kev was badly injured. We did. No Kevin. Nobody. No blood. We tried to get back into the gig. No chance. We had words. Jesse vanished. I took off alone on the long cold walk to Salthill and our hotel. At breakfast the next morning we found out what happened. Kev had opened the back door at the gig. He sportingly waved his opponent through first and slammed the door behind him!
Kevin thought it was the funniest thing ever. Me, not so much.
Rest in peace, my friend. An English player suggested that the first thing Kev would do on reaching the next life was find The Devilfish and collect on their live-longer bet. He didn’t fancy his chances of getting paid. Me neither.
Photo credit: Mickey May
Follow @LivePokerUpdates here on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
Once upon a river by Padraig Parkinson-Killarney
Couple of weeks ago we travelled to one of my favourite poker venues, The Gleneagles Hotel in Killarney. Killarney is Ireland’s answer to Brigadoon. Cynics might say the locals are trained from an early age to extract the maximum from tourists by acting friendly. They are wrong. It’s no act. What you see is what you get.
Ladbrokes first brought bigtime poker to Killarney. Lots of English players qualified online, fell in love with Killarney and Irish poker, kept coming back and it took us forever to get rid of them! Joking apart, English players have played a major part in the history and growth of Irish poker and Irish poker is all the richer for having them.
The sponsors did a great job and won many Irish hearts when they donated 5,000 euro to our Poker For The Homeless charity. My favourite memory of those days was the three day party that ran in the bar the week after Fintan won the EPT Barcelona. It was hilarious to see poker players not known for their prowess on the dance floor giving it everything as they bought into the Joe Dolan tribute act. The poker wasn’t too shabby either! There was a buzz around the poker room that matched the atmosphere you get at venues like Galway and Dublin when something special is going on. Sadly for whatever reason Ladbrokes cancelled their Killarney event eventually. That’s what corporations do.
Several years later Rob Young was running the show at Partypoker. He loves Irish poker and asked me where Party should put on a spectacular event to get the Irish market kick started. I suggested Killarney so Rob, our friend Kev and Fintan flew there by helicopter. Never again! The lads didn’t take long to decide the venue was perfect. We somehow talked ourselves into saying we could make a 250k guarantee for a 100 buyin. And no. There wasn’t drink involved. A few online day 1s would certainly help. And remote day 1s around the country was a must. Even so 250k for 100 buyin? Jesus!
Fintan set about getting operators to run remote day 1s in their areas. I had the fun job of travelling all over the country telling the smaller Irish players that they owned the game, not the Andy Black’s (sorry Andy. We were desperate). I have to say it was great fun.Fitzy and Eamonn drove me around just for the hell of it. I could write a book about the things that happened on that never-ending tour and maybe I will. The grassroots Irish players are in a class of their own when it comes to friendliness, hospitality and love of the craic. The highlight was a visit to Dingle with Connie O’Sullivan. The poker game was in a pub of course where we played a 30 euro tournament in the pub. Average age of the players was close to seventy. They all seemed aware the clock was ticking and played accordingly! One lady in her seventies lowered six or seven pints while successfully hiding at least four of them from her husband. A joy to watch. I wandered over to see what was going on in the cash game. I was shocked to see senior citizens playing No Limit Omaha! They eventually explained to me they had tried pot limit but nobody ever knew what was in the pot so they solved the problem by playing No Limit. Fair enough.
Miraculously we made the guarantee. Now that was impressive. Though to be fair the magic of Killarney certainly helped!
I was delighted when several years later when Fintan set up The Irish Poker Tour Killarney was, alongside Galway, one of the must visit venues. Of course times have changed. Players now want to go from tournament to tournament rather than from tournament to cash game. If that’s what they want, that’s what they’re getting . It’s not for me or anyone else to tell them they should be pissed in the bar at seven in the morning rather than in bed dreaming of a perfect GTO day. Good news is Killarney might be even better if you can remember what happened!!!
Follow @LivePokerUpdates here on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
LEO MARGETS. IN THE BEGINNING
It took until the final days of this year’s WSOP for the real fun to start. Firstly
The Grinder was on fire and, having already won his FOURTH Players Championship a few weeks earlier, he battered his way to the final table of the Main Event with such a big lead there was an air of inevitability about the outcome. An unbelievable achievement.
The final table would have been boring had not the charismatic Spanish star LEO Margets become the first lady for thirty years to reach it. It was no fluke either. Leo had previously finished a very creditable 27th in the Main Event. AND she’d won a bracelet and €350k in a €1,500 Closer event and had almost €2 million in lifetime cashes according to the Hendonmob website. The full Leo Margets story goes back way further than her Hendonmob profile. It goes back to Maidstone in Kent and Galway in Ireland. 888poker, partypoker and the Irish Poker Championship (now part of the Irish Poker Tour) all played their part. Jesse May and I had seats in the front row.
In the noughties partypoker decided to sponsor and televise the IPC and asked me to play, comment, do a little hosting and get name players with personality from territories they were interested in developing to play. This was going to be great for Irish poker and 888, with whom I had an arrangement, saw the benefits to them of me being involved and approved so I was in.
A few months later I was in Maidstone for a fortnight working 9 hours a day commenting on the 888 UK Open. Every evening we had to suffer an hour of Mad Marty Wilson’s Play Your Cards Right or, if we were very unlucky, Win With Wilson. Then, after beer, we’d play £10 or £20 sit and go till late with 888 staff, TV crew members, online qualifiers and random walks. It was hilarious stuff.
One evening Jesse May, 888 and Australia’s favorite son superstar Shane Warne and I had a bunch of beers before we sat down in the bar to play. Hanging out with Warney was always great fun especially in Vegas! Jesse could be good value too unless hot whiskey was involved. We were joined by a young lady 888’s Jonny Natas had introduced me to a few hours earlier as 888’s Spanish marketing person. Her name was Leo Margets. She had a great personality and confessed that she loved playing poker. The usual suspects completed the table.
I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer but I spotted quite quickly that Leo not alone played well but had a great table presence as she studied every move her opponents made. Her sense of fun made for a happy table. After an hour or two I began to think she would be great on TV as I was pretty sure the cameras wouldn’t blunt her personality. It was her lucky day. Spain was one of partypoker’s target markets and I was on the lookout for a Spanish girl who could play well and entertain a TV audience. In poker, as in life, being in the right place at the right time can speed things up a bit!
I told Jonny Natas that if 888 paid her €2k IPC entry fee I would make sure she got TV coverage. It was a no-brainer. I told partypoker big boss Neil Barrett and IPC owner Fintan Gavin what was going on. They were both smart enough to trust my judgment especially when I said Jesse agreed. Then I told Jesse he had agreed. Within 24 hours Leo had a seat in the IPC, a room for her and her boyfriend in the Radisson Hotel and was even on the VIP list for collection by a driver from Shannon Airport. I didn’t hear anything about how they were supposed to get back to the airport to go home. Ah well. It was one of those rare deals where everyone was a winner.
Just after New Year Leo and her boyfriend arrived in Galway. They loved it and Galway loved them. Galway is like that. As I suspected Leo was a great ad for herself and for the game she loved. People started to pay attention. 888 stuck her into more tournaments and sponsors came calling. I told you she was smart. She grabbed each opportunity and brand Leo was born.
I bumped into her a few times over the years in Vegas. She was still the happy girl we met in Maidstone. The only difference was the unmistakable confidence you can see in those who are living the dream.
Follow @LivePokerUpdates here on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
BROTHER KEVIN CROWLEY: THE PEOPLE’S CHAMPION by Padraig Parkinson
Back in the noughties, a conversation between me, Eamonn Connolly, Brendan Murray, and Fintan Gavin over lots of pints of Guinness led to Poker For The Homeless getting up and running.
It was quite successful, but a couple of years later Eamonn called me and said there was someone I just had to meet. Having great ideas isn’t Eamonn’s strong suit, but this time he hit the jackpot.
He brought me to the Cistercian Day Centre, where Dublin’s homeless were fed daily by Brother Kevin and his team since 1969. The man Eamonn wanted me to meet was Brother Kevin, who had set up the Centre himself and was up at 4.30am every morning to get things started.
Those breakfasts won’t prepare themselves. We went to Kevin’s very basic office, where he proceeded to tell us how his operation worked. He was easily the most impressive person I’ve ever met. There was an aura about him, a serenity, an unshakeable belief that things would work out no matter what difficulties came his way. He took us down to show us where lunch was being prepared, served up, and eaten. We watched him walk among his people — a kind word here, a gentle tap of encouragement there. You could see why everyone loved him. Most of those working there were volunteers. I would come to recognise that Kevin’s goodness inspired all around him, and they derived great joy from helping him on his mission. We quickly decided we wanted to help too.
The first event we ran for Kevin took place in the Jackpot, thanks to Paul O’Reilly’s generosity. It was sponsored by Boyle Poker, who arranged a photoshoot in the Jackpot the day before the event for the Irish Independent newspaper. I brought along my friends — sports legends Ken Doherty and Reggie Corrigan — and the three of us posed for dozens of photos. In the paper the next morning, there was a lovely pic of Ken and Reggie, but no sign of me. Kevin thought it was very funny. I didn’t, as I knew I was in for a hard time from the two lads.
The turnout was great that evening. I asked for a little silence so I could introduce Brother Kevin. As soon as the little man from Cork started to talk in his soft voice, you could hear a pin drop. He said he had no time for gambling, as it was the cause of a lot of problems he had to deal with, but that he would make an exception in this case. He went on to hold an audience of hardened gamblers spellbound as he told them of his life on the front line — protecting our most vulnerable citizens and replacing their despair with hope. He brought the house down. I told Eamonn to take him to Ryan’s pub for a cup of tea. As soon as they’d left, people started giving me bundles of money for “that wee man.” This wasn’t in the script, but I took it anyway. I eventually went to Ryan’s, where I started pulling money out of pockets and giving it to Eamonn, who was in charge of our banking. Kevin was impressed and asked where all the money came from. I told him I’d worry about where it came from, and he could concentrate on where it was going. He agreed.
We carried on making the Capuchin Centre the focus of our fundraising for years. We visited Kevin as often as Eamonn or I could think of an excuse to do so. We got caught up in the whole buzz of the thing and honestly believed we were dealing with a living saint. Eamonn organised a visit to meet Kevin for Bridie and Barney Gribben, a popular Northern Ireland brother and sister who helped greatly with our efforts. They were as blown away as we were.
Many years later, the Pope visited Ireland, and a visit to the Centre to meet Kevin was a major part of his visit.
While he was in Dublin, Eamonn and I were in Skibbereen playing poker with Tim O’Sullivan and the lads. I can’t remember why. At about 5 in the morning, two cash games were still going strong in May’s pub. Eamonn was at the other table, but I overheard what was going on. One guy asked Eamonn why we weren’t in the Centre for the Pope’s visit. Eamonn said that we’d been invited but that I had said that the craic in Skib would be better. This was a Class A howler of a lie from a man known for his honesty.
A week or so later, we dropped in to see Kevin. I couldn’t help myself. I just had to tell him about Eamonn in Skib.
Jesus, he loved it. For a man who saw so much pain, he still had a marvellous sense of fun.
When he finished laughing, he told us his own Pope story. He forgot to mention that the Pope gave him ten million. His story began when the Pope had left to get ready to go to Croke Park, where a large crowd was expected to greet him. Kevin was scheduled to meet him there. The senior policeman who’d been in charge of security for the papal visit told Kevin there were still four police motorcycles outside, and he could tell them to escort him and his lads to Croke Park and get them through the traffic. Of course he accepted. As they approached Croke Park, the crowds started to cheer and wave Irish and papal flags. They thought Kevin was the Pope. I asked him what he did. He said, “I didn’t want to have them feel let down, so I waved back. If it made them happy, no harm done.”
Kevin retired a couple of years ago. He returned to his beloved Cork to spend the short time he had left close to his family. He made his final journey to Dublin to be buried near the people he had given so much to. The media focused on the important people who were at his funeral. I was watching the ordinary people of Dublin line the streets to show gratitude, love, and respect to this amazing man. He was, for sure, THE PEOPLE’S CHAMPION.
Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.
Follow @LivePokerUpdates here on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter
