I don’t like brown chips

IT is without doubt the game of poker was invented by a galloping group of nutcases in order to drive all sane and sensible people straight to emergency ward 10 of the local funny farm.

No matter how much I study theory and read articles relating to how to play this game properly, every week a situation arises that turns logic into chaos theory.

I am going to tell you about BAZ.

Because Spain is a nice, hot, country and people from England come over for their holidays, we have occasionally had the pleasure of sitting and playing with people who just see something that they have never done before and think, “That looks fun, I fancy having a go at that.” So along comes Baz – a very likeable shelf-filler from Asda – to try to get a suntan and sample the local culture of Andalucia, who then happens upon a nice friendly game of cards.

Can I play please? Says Baz. Of course you can, have you played before? No but I have seen it on the tellybox and I like that one that gets upset a lot, what’s his name, you know, Foul Hellmouth; you mean Phil Hellmuth! Yes that’s the one.

So what do I do with these chips then, says Baz. Well put them in if you think you have a good hand. OK says Baz. Needless to say you know Baz wins the tourney, because he kept betting with the 5 thousand brown chips and everyone folded thinking he had made great hands.

It was only when I asked him why he used the 5k chips all the time, he said “I don’t like brown chips; I was trying to get rid of them but every time I tried I kept getting them back”

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