Jack Ury - What a legend

This is by far the funniest thing I've ever seen on TV Poker before. I was literally cracking up, the best slowroll I've ever seen haha:



What makes this even more funny is that the guy who got completely slowrolled later that day wrote a blog entry about the ordeal. Here's a snippet:

About 15 min into level 6 at 200/400-50 I get into the hand with Jack Ury that is reported on Pokernews and should be on ESPN. I raise EP with 67hh to 1100. Jack doesn't really know what is going on- he can't seem to hear, he can't seem to see, and he can't follow the action. How he got to day 2 I don't know. After I raise he throws out 4 black chips, as if he is limping. The dealer informs him (several times) that the pots been raised and he can't limp. He then says "well, I just go all-in" Obviously he can't do that either, so he ends up calling.

Before the hand started I think he had about 8-9k and I was sitting around 27k or so. The flop comes 6-6-7 and now I have mixed feelings cause I'm gonna be the bad guy who busts the old man. Oh well, his chips will really look good in my stack. He fires out 1k, and then I say "Hey Jack- lets just go all in- you wanted to go all in before the flop right?" Now, I'm not sure how this really came off. I assume that if I did this to any of you that you would take it in stride and fold most holdings. I felt like I was really taking advantage of him. Not respecting my elders. So, I shove, and then he takes a few seconds and gets his chips together to call. As soon as I see he's actually committed I table my cards and the table gasps. Wow. Flopped the boat on the old dude- Seat nine looks at me and says "You had to be the one"

Now I'm not even paying attention to Jack's cards because as far as I'm concerned, I'm a total lock. But I hear him mutter under his 96 year old breath-- "I think your in trouble" as he table pocket 7's for a bigger boat. OMG. The table explodes and I just have to laugh to myself eventually because a spot this sick just doesn't come around very often. At least he didn't stack me!


I think if I was actually there in person I would never have recovered.

I've had a couple of days playing poker. Last night was a bit uneventful but the previous night I finally broke through in the Ladbrokes €20r! I must have been in the final 2 tables of that tournament so many times but just couldn't reach the final table. Well in the end I got there!



I still think it's funny there lobby looks like an old calculator screen from the 1980's. Anyway, I played a good game and when we got heads up I was a 3:1 under-dog. My opponent was pretty terrible though, like some manic aggro fish. Bet pot every hand, min re-raise pre. Yeh, thats right I open the button and he min reraised every hand. How the fuck I didn't take this down I don't know, especially given we were like 40 big blinds deep+. Oh yeh, the reason I didn't take it down as because I spewed hard involving 4betting ace rag. Patience is a virtue, so I hear...

Other than that I came 7th in another $20rebuy on full tilt hardly worth mentioning and final table bubbled that $109 turbo again. Man, I love that $109 turbo, I think I just run pretty good in it and I like the fast pace of trying to assign ranges to people, making sick calls, running into the top of their ranges then sucking out. Hehe, it's how I roll.


Well anyway, I was supposed to be going up to Nottingham tonight to get the keys to my new flat which should have been issued on the 1st September. I just rang up to check before I made the 3 1/2 hour drive up and apparently they can't give me my keys now anyway. Mofos! One of my flat mates hasn't paid the rent or some bullshit. Now I'm stuck lol. I'm playing the £330 DTD deepstack this weekend with no where to stay thanks to this dodgy student accommodation I got myself involved with. Goddamn. So I'm trying to find out if there is any floor space at a friend of a friends house that I can camp in over the weekend. If not I'll just have to book in to a hotel I guess which will bump the price of the trip up a fair bit I expect. Oh well, suppose it doesn't matter as I'm shipping the £330 this weekend anyway.

Next year I'm unsure what I'm going to do poker-wise. I think I might just really cut out online during term time. There just seems to be too much happening and I'de love to spend more time chilling with my friends in the last year of uni. The problem with online grinding is that it really is solitary and I don't think I can waste good drinking/chill times on the regular grinding online despite the attractions of the money/fun/sense of achievement. I need to get my head down and study (which I epically failed at last year) and more importantly spend lots of time chilling with my uni mates in the last year of term. Don't worry I'm not fully quitting, just cutting down time online from October onwards and probably play some more live when I get that tingle for action. Good ol' Dusk Til Dawn! Long may you live!

Just before I go, I've been reading this online pros blog and he linked this song:



Such a tune! There was one a vid on youtube with much better quality than this one, but they seem to get taken off everyday. So if its not on there search "Drake Feat.Eminem, Lil' Wayne, Kanye West-Forever" if your into your hiphop/rap you'll love it.

If you're also interested, this is such an epic story from the old days on playing poker in the deep south. It's probably not real, but so well written I just thought it had to be included:

It was a hot and dry day in El Paso when I played that hand in 1849. I'm not sure why I decided to return to the saloon, and once more risk losing it all; maybe it was boredom, days on end of seeing nothing from my porch besides hot, dry sand and desert lizards reflected in the rising steam. God knows where that steam came from. There wasn't water for miles.

I burst through the doors of The Broken Spoke holding all that i had earned from my 3 long months working on the ranch of Dallas Bill, one hundred and two dollars. I looked down back to my usual table: the usual suspects were at it again: Switchblade Joe, Tumbleweed Tim, Vegas Black, and Double Dee. Me? They call me Six-Shooter Sam.

I took my seat. The name of the game was $100 NL, the highest stakes in town. I shouted at the bartender. "Hey Lady, bring me some goddamn whiskey." Luckily, she had it. I would have taken horse piss. Anything to rid myself of the grit on the back of my throat.

First hand I'm on the big blind, and I look down to find the king of hearts and the ten of spades. Folds all around to me, except for Vegas Black who makes it three to go. I eyed him over carefully. He was a smooth one, that Vegas Black; unpredictable, like a cross-breed between a rattlesnake and a scorpion: you never quite could tell which way he was slithering, but one sting from him and men were pushing up daisies. Vegas Black was known in Texas to raise pots with any old hand, he could be sitting on anything from 2 7 offsuit to a pair of bullets. I saw a drop of sweat roll down my forehead and hit the felt. Vegas gave me a sinister grin. "Call." He urged. "I dare ya."

I called his raise. The flop comes 10 clubs, 7 clubs, A spades. Vegas bets out strong, $6, clearly trying to bluff me out.

"It'll take a lot more than that to get me out of this pot, partner," I said to Vegas in a raspy voice, my throat raw from the sand and the whiskey. "$20 to go."

Vegas lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke through the gap where his left front tooth used to be before he lost it taming Memphis, the wild black stallion that townsfolk rumored Vegas found at the gates of hell after getting shot by Kentucky Jack on the longest day December. "$50."

"I call."

The turn comes up, the Ace of diamonds. Vegas checks. Now I'm in for it. My pair of tens is looking worse by the minute. I check behind.

The river comes, the ten of hearts. Vegas checks again, settting his trap, except this time I can fight back. "I'm all-in."

Vegas looks at me and gives another wicked grin. He stands up from the table, pulls his pistol out from his holster, and pointing it at his own head says to me, "I raise you your life."

A lot of things went through my mind at that moment. My wife, my children, my future goals of saving enough money to move out west to california and strike it rich, but for some reason, I knew Vegas Black wasn't holding an ace.

"Vegas," I said, with shaky hands, pulling out my six-shooter from its brown leather holster, "you're a dead man." I pointed my six-shooter at my own head with my right hand, and flipped over K10 with the other. Vegas flipped over 88 and shot himself dead, in the middle of The Broken Spoke, on that hot and dry 1849 day in El Paso, when I made the biggest gamble of my life.