From time to time during the World Series, we’re giving members of Team PokerStars Pro a chance to have their say here on the PokerStars Blog. We caught up with Victoria Coren, who is getting ready to make the trek to the World Series…and it can’t come soon enough
by Victoria Coren
When I’m playing on PokerStars, people often stop by to chat. I’m happy to do it – it’s nice to ‘meet’ my fellow players – though sometimes it can be hard to answer lots of questions at once. This is especially true when I’m multi-taking in traditionally female style: simultaneously playing a sit & go, making a salad dressing and talking
to my mother on the phone. (Thank God for the sit & go, or I’d think I had accidentally turned into a sitcom housewife from 1973). In that situation, when the questions ‘FANCY A $20 HU?’,’WILL U MARRY ME?’, and ‘Y R U SUCH A DONKEY?’ come scrolling onto the screen in quick succession, I usually miss a couple of answers.
Generally, though, I enjoy the chat function. But it’s been very depressing for the last couple of weeks, and I’d like to plead with my PokerStars compadres to stop coming into the chat box and asking ‘R U AT THE WSOP?’ Because the answer is no! And that’s an answer that fills me with gloom every time I type it! I will be making it out to Vegas for the main event, and a couple of other tournaments just before, but it’s a flying visit for me this year. I’ve got too much work in London to allow myself the luxury of six weeks in the sunshine. Six weeks of live poker. Six weeks of glittery bracelet-chasing. Six weeks of eating lobster buffets at midnight, laughing at Celine Dion impersonators, and shopping for gold Buddha money-boxes.
Hurray for the internet, I think to myself as I click onto PokerStars. At least, in 2008, I can find 24-hour poker without leaving home. It is my little respite from working, paying bills and putting the bins out. In the rain. But every time someone asks ‘ARE YOU AT THE WSOP?’ it reminds me that I’m not. It reminds me that as soon as this particular sit & go finishes (usually, for me, when there are four of us left), I will be returning to the work and the rain and the bins.
So ask me anything else, please. Ask me the capital of Paraguay. Ask me how to make a good salad dressing. Ask how my mother is. But please don’t ask if I’m in Vegas, or I might start sobbing into the keyboard and fuse the machine while there are still five of us left.