The night Stuart cried salt tears in the buckets of blood

Hello, I have been thinking a lot about cards lately since joining the site, which I love :slight_smile:
Got me thinking, and I thought I would write this tale down, never before told and maybe nobody interested anyway, its nothing like some of the story’s that some of the wonderful contributors here could tell, Las Vegas, gangsters and guns under the arm, mine is more down trodden.
When I left school age 16 I started work and back in the mid 80s things were still unionised (which I wish was still the case), and when I got my first union card(book) they sent me the wrong type and I got an HGV drivers card by mistake, this was the golden ticket for me, it basically gave me proof I was 21, which as a spotty 16 year old was unlikely, but no one cared as long as you could prove your age and I was big, the keys too every bar in the city :slight_smile: for a young man.
I loved playing pool and was pretty good, so wandered around the city playing pool at night. I ended up playing pool and drinking in a bar nicknamed the buckets of blood, I think every city on the planet has one, it had a reputation, but mostly from an earlier era and by the 80s was pretty down at heel, but it was still a pretty rough shop.
I was popular there because of the pool and was the man(boy) to beat at the time and place, which was a good learning curve in my life mostly on how too deal with people in a nice respectful way and therefore avoiding being beaten up when you win.
Anyway, we also played 3 card brag for low stakes, the winner of a nice hand might buy himself and his pal a couple of pints that would be about it, it was the 80s everyone was unemployed and skint around there.
One Friday night pay day, I was playing pool for a bit then sat down and was having a game of brag with a few friends chatting, joking having a Friday night.
The newish barman finished his shift and asked too join the game, he had worked there a few weeks, no one really knew him and not local but a nice enough guy.
So, we’re playing away for our low stakes no one really cares who wins or loses and then it happened, Stuart the barman said, “why don’t we raise the stakes?” Too what? was the answer, “lets make it .50p and a pound” were all looking at each other, at that time a manual worker would be taking home about £65 a week. This guys mad was the general opinion, none of my fellow players wanted too know and he was roundly put in his place, which is a form of art in a Scottish boozer :slight_smile:
Except for me, I took up his offer as did a couple of onlookers, we played a few hands, people winning maybe £10-£15 a hand.
On the fourth hand it was just him and me, we were dealt, the pub is watching now, as I said people were skint.
The rule was you couldn’t see a blind man, so if you didn’t look at your cards you payed half, we bet a few then I looked at my cards, I had the 222, in brag 3 anything is a monster, Stuart remained blind for a few more bets, he’s betting .50p me £1, he then looked and we continued, the rule was that you both had to agree to see or you had to continue till one of you was skint. When the money was at about £50 each I offered to turn the cards he refused, it went to all his wages plus about £70 all his money. We turned and all he had was AKQ which is a great hand, but all your money? His poor wee face just collapsed when I turned over the trips. And this is the story!
If he had flipped the table and attacked me, it would have made sense, if he had remained cool and brushed it off would have been the best way, roundly verbally abusing me would have been great, but no, he sat in the roughest pub in the area on a Friday night, everyone watching, and he burst into tears. Not one of us knew where to look or how too deal with this, anything else, but this was beyond us, old guys in the corner who remembered the old pub when it was hard looked over open jawed, someone went over after a few minutes and put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “are you awright mate”. I bought a huge round of drinks and him a double. He stopped blubbering after a bit.
I ended up lending him £25 of his money back to pay his rent and eat, my first meeting with a proper maniac gambling addict.
A sorry tale, indeed,

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Great story. Buckets of blood sounds like a bar where you would find Bad, Bad Leroy Brown, “Big” Jim Walker and Willie “Slim” McCoy. Basically all the characters from a Jim Croce song.

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Thanks SilentOutlaw
I’m embarrassed to say, I had never heard of Jim Croce until I heard the song I Got a Name used in the film Django, I’ve listened too a lot now though,
Cheers
Mark

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Great story,and the lesson of course is never bet something you can’t afford to lose.

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Thanks for sharing your story Swamp Trash; loved it, and loved the life lesson along with it. Your story is well crafted, and I encourage you to write more, unless of course you all ready do. It might be time to publsih something or start a blog…
Cheers Mate!

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Hi Ikf64, thankyou for the kind words.
I came up with this wee tale in 5mins while waiting for a game to start. Never put my life in writing before. I enjoyed contributing something and will give some thought to some more. I love telling a tale, just not put it them in the written form before.
All the best, Mark

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Hi Mark,
It was nice of you to take the time to reply to me. In my opinion it’s not a wee tale. Written five minutes before a game is incredible! It’s taking me ten minutes just to write this email ! You Mark have a God given talent. Thanks again for sharing your “Wee Tale” with me; I hope you keep writing and sharing your Gift.
Lee Field

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P.S.
I’d like to play “Texas Hold Em” with you sometime.
Lee

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Thanks Lee, I maybe exaggerated a wee bit, took about 15mins :slight_smile: . Thankyou again for your kindness.
I’m afraid I rarely play holdem only the odd freeroll on my phone, I do however play either of the Omaha games and always up for a game,
All the best Mark

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Hi Mark,
I’ve played Omaha before and would play with you sometime. I honestly play online poker while reading the news, forums, or “how to do” articles. My oldest son lives in Amsterdam and he invited me to play with him as a way to still do stuff together and catch up on our current lives.
Peace,
Lee

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