The Clock Strikes Midnight
It was quarter past three in the morning when Ian Simpson finally pushed his last chips into the middle at King’s Casino Prague. The Dubliner had been nursing a short stack for two hours, waiting for the right spot. When it came – pocket nines versus ace-king – the coin flip went the wrong way.
Tenth place. €117,350. Not quite the fairy tale ending he’d scripted in his head when Day 4 began.
The 2013 Irish Open champion had arrived at the penultimate day with genuine final table aspirations. Starting 15th in chips among 39 survivors, Simpson had that quiet confidence you see in players who’ve been there before. He’d ordered a club sandwich and black coffee at dinner break, telling tablemates he was settling in for the long haul.
And what a haul it was.
Prague’s Marathon Men
The WSOP Europe Main Event had already shattered its €10 million guarantee with 2,617 entries, but Day 4 felt more like an endurance contest than a poker tournament. King’s Casino – that sprawling complex on the Czech border – had its heating system working overtime against the April chill. Inside, though, the atmosphere was electric.
Simpson spent the first six levels playing textbook short-stack poker. Shove, fold, reshove. The kind of grinding that looks boring on a live stream but requires intense concentration at the table.
“You could see him calculating every decision,” said a German regular who’d been at his table. “Never rushed, never tilted.”
The turning point came just after midnight. Simpson found ace-queen and got it in against pocket tens. The board ran out clean for his opponent.
Down to 12 big blinds.
Dublin’s Quiet Assassin
There’s something about Irish poker players and their relationship with near-misses. Maybe it’s the national character – that ability to laugh at cruel fortune while secretly dying inside.
Simpson fits the mould perfectly. He doesn’t do interviews much these days, preferring to let his results speak. Since that Irish Open victory over a decade ago, he’s been one of Europe’s most consistent performers without ever quite breaking through to superstar status.
Last year he final-tabled the EPT Dublin. The year before, deep runs in Barcelona and Monte Carlo. Always there or thereabouts. Never quite getting the rub of the green when it matters most.
The Final Hand
By 3 AM, the remaining ten players were exhausted. Simpson had managed to ladder up through two eliminations, but his stack had dwindled to just eight big blinds. The blinds were coming around again. It was now or never.
He looked down at pocket nines under the gun.
All in.
The action folded to the big blind – a young Austrian with a massive stack who’d been raising light all evening. He tanked for thirty seconds before calling with ace-king offsuit.
With flop came king-high. No help on the turn. The river bricked.
Simpson stood up slowly, shook hands around the table, and headed for the cashier. Outside, Prague was waking up. Trams rattling over cobblestones, early morning joggers along the Vltava. Inside King’s Casino, nine players battled on for the bracelet.
What Comes Next
I caught up with a friend of Simpson’s at the taxi rank outside. He mentioned that Ian was already talking about the Irish Open later this month, and maybe taking a shot at some of the bigger buy-ins during the WSOP this summer.
“He’s one of those players,” the friend said, lighting a cigarette in the pre-dawn cold. “Always planning the next one before this one’s even finished.”
There’s something both admirable and slightly tragic about that mindset. The eternal optimism of tournament poker. Tomorrow’s bracelet always shinier than today’s min-cash.
Simpson flew back to Dublin yesterday morning. The WSOP Europe Main Event played down to a winner last night – some young German kid nobody had heard of before this week. That’s poker for you. One day you’re grinding a short stack at four in the morning in Prague, the next you’re planning your summer schedule from a coffee shop in Temple Bar.
The Irish Open can’t come soon enough.
