The Adventures of Small Pot Morrow

The Adventures of Small Pot Morrow

We generally just play poker for charity and a bit of fun. Sometimes, like Harry Potter, there’s a magical story. This is one of those stories.

We generally just play poker for charity and a bit of fun. Sometimes, like Harry Potter, there’s a magical story. This is one of those stories.

The Adventures of Small Pot Morrow
By Clinton Gibson.

After months of torment, dealing with the often vengeful poker gods, Small Pot Morrow (also known as the grinder) finally began the day with what dreams are made of
The grind was finally worth it, as today, he began to make the Everest like climb to the final table

Phase One – Dealing with the part time players
The first table was arduous. In a battle of epic proportions, the grinder, not only had to navigate through the “I will call anything players” (A mammoth task in itself); Small Part also took up some of his valuable time to impart poker knowledge on those less privileged than himself.
The kindness of this great man (some might say….a saint), was repaid in lost pot after lost pot, as a new enemy grew on the table. Korda Mentha representatives had come along, trying to take what was rightfully Small Pots, his place at the final table.

Unperturbed by the growing darkness lingering at the end of the table, Small pot soldiered on, and like a snake in the grass, seized upon his first opportunity.
“We are leaving soon, and need to lose all of our money”, said the large Korda Mentha enemy.
“I will take your money”, mumbled small pot, soft enough so that only a few heard, as this strategy was one that could only be implemented by a poker professional;
Pushing in with marginal hands, Small Pot used all his might, and slayed the dragon that was Mentha, taking lead of his table.
Little did he know, on the horizon, a growing threat would potentially stand in his path to glory

Phase two – Finally, People who know how to play
With a smile that could not be denied, small pot pranced to the second table, knowing only 8 more players stood between he, and his moment of glory.
His happiness was tough to contain, but his demeanour was of a seasoned veteran. For SPM had been here before, and this time, he was ready.

The smile grew. Sitting at a table of former champions, all hell bent on destroying each other, SPM held his own, and grew his stack to an empire in stature.
But too his left, there was one player that everyone wanted. With a target on his back, String Bet (G-String for short) still survived the initial onslaught, and along with Morrow, began to pick off the competition.

One by one, they fell at his sword of vengeance. The Goal was clear.
“If I sit and wait….the final table is mine”.

This continued until the final 9 remained. Only one player left, and the months of ridicule; the hours of torment; the players that call his raise with a 7/2 off suit; the lines and lines of string bets; they all would have matter not. For he was there, ready to bask with the champions.

“Just wait….you’re time has come”.

With glee, he exclaimed “We are on the bubble”. His below could be heard around the world….for he was there, and everyone needed to know.

But nobody mentioned how long the wait would be.

He sat, and he waited, for he was no longer the small stack. He did not have to force his way. He was there.
Still he waited.

“How are they surviving this battle, surely, one will fall”

Still he waited, but grew increasingly anxious.

“Will I have to end this”.

During this time, G-String steadily grew his chips to become the leader of this pack.

But SPM could not be deterred. Still he waited, with a calm as still as the water that sat in front of him. Little did he know, that water, would become his other love….the water of soda. Things were about to shake up.

The moment had come. It was time for SPM to make his move…the move that would make him the subject of song for generations to come.

“I raise”…he exclaimed, knowing that he had the goods to back up his claim. He did not need to know what was coming. He had the goods in hand.

“I too raise”. Not this man. Not G-string…destroyer of worlds. For he would be the final test. “I’m all In”.

It was fate…the man that started it all stood in his way. From the beginning, G-String led SPM down the path of sleepless night. He would wake in a shiver thinking

  • “why would he call that hand”
  • “I raised and he is still here”
  • “that’s a string bet…take your money back”

So many of life’s lessons could be learned on the battlefield that is a Texas hold’em tournament. G-String had learned none. This undeserving champion was finally going to get what he deserves, what has been coming to him for so long. Only the pure of heart, SPM deserved to hand out such punishment.

Taking a moment to ponder the virtues of life, Small Pot Morrow gathered up his strength, and with a bellow, proclaimed….”I call”.

G-Strings heart sunk, as he turned his 10/8 off suit in disgust. He had been found out for the liar, and conniver he was. Justice was about to be served with an iron fist.

For a second, Small Pot Morrow celebrated. He then turned his A/10, knowing the domination. Knowing the odds, and therefore the gods must be with him.

But did his celebration go too far. He began to dance, angering those that had helped him on this journey to enlightenment.

The dealer quickly tried to calm the situation. He pleaded, “do not anger poker god, for she is vengeful”. But Small Pot, now in his moment of bliss, began to jig.

One final warning was issued, “stop” the dealer pleaded, “don’t tempt fate”

But Morrow was now lost, lost in a world where Math now ruled. There was no place for a poker God in a world where he would win 70.17% of the time. He was now poker’s leading Atheist.

The Dealer began the march to glory.

Burn the first card.

Looking Small Pot Morrow in the eye, the dealer said “eight”.

The first card, and eight.

Morrow now saw the error of his ways. Ecstasy turned to fear. Time moved slower. The pain was real and endless

Through the flop, no Ace. Only two cards remained. Two cards that could save his life.

The turn, still no ace. Now, turning back to his forsaken poker god, he pleaded for forgiveness. Hands together he prayed to be forgiven for the errors of his ways.

The river, still no ace….It was too late.

Phase 3: The stages
First, there was denial. Did that just happen
Then came the emotion of the loss. “I will never live this down” he sat and whisper. Shoulders lowered.
Then came blame. Did you burn a card before that “8”, unsure if the dealer had been playing him all along.
Then came anger. “This guy called me with 10/8 off suit…who does that”. Sheepishly, in the corner G-String smiled
Then came guilt. He walked, shaking the hands of all parties. G-String, the dealer, those that refused to fall when they knew they were undeserving, those that offered poker training, to sharpen those declining skills. He shook all hands, for he knew, it was he that was at fault.

The poker gods had spoken. The crime, unforgivable. Small pot was left, to wonder the earth in despair. Contemplating, will my chance ever come again.

What will be the next chapter of this enthralling story.

Find out at Carbons Charity Poker, all are welcome!
Register here:


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