#204: “Narcojacksy”

There is a chronic condition, the sufferers of which feel terrible shame and social stigma, the symptoms of which cause worry and confusion to those around the sufferer and the treatment of which requires abstinence of the most basic human needs. I am, of course, talking about ‘narcojacksy’, the compulsion to fall asleep in toilet cubicles, not be confused with ‘narcojackziyang’, the compulsion to fall asleep in the presence of Jack Salter.

I always thought that things like this happened to other people, that conditions like this would never affect my life. At least not directly. Well that all changed yesterday.

It started like any other morning. Okay, not really. This was one if those dreadful mornings that all poker players put themselves through once in a while. My alarm went off at 10.43, I showered and met Tim Farrelly in my new favourite brunch spot. We were going to play the Celtic Poker Tour Grand Final in the beautiful county of Carlow. Daragh and Clayton would join us a little later, Daragh tired and scowly (so normal) and Clayton squinty, wobbly and still drunk after a night’s revelry in Slapper-Face-Knacks.

Clayton ordered French Toast but did not eat it. Instead he spent the majority of the meal in the bathroom, we assumed being sick but it turned out he was just catching some Zs. A one-off occurrence, sure he would get some slagging for it but it transpired this was no isolated instance. Clayton had a good sleep in Tim’s car on the drive down, punctuated only by a couple of ‘please pull over’ requests, during which he would dry heave to chants of ‘USA, USA’ emanating from one unsympathetic passenger.

On arrival at the Dolmen Hotel, Clayton struggled from the car to the nearest couch where Daragh and I found him at the first break and explained that it would make little or no difference if he rested until the next break, such was the brilliant structure. With eyes half-open, Clayton grunted in a way that suggested he was agreeable to our recommendation. At the dinner break, Clayton explained to us how despite falling asleep twice at the table and once more in the Dolmen’s bathroom, he had added considerably to his stack. By the end of play, Clayton had over 120k, much to the shagrin and jealousy of Tim and I who had exactly none.

He held the pre-bubble chiplead earlier this afternoon but at the time of writing this blog, Mr. Mooney has 16bbs and a dream as the Celtic Poker Grand Final gets down to the nitty gritty. Watch this space and his twitter handle @mooneymillions for updates. And also, if you happen to be there at the event, watch that he doesn’t disappear as the final table approaches. If he does, well at least now you know where to find him.