Brighid s Diary: The greatest Irish poker player, and the night he met Marilyn Independent.ie 10/01/2021 Brighid McLaughlin
My grand aunt Rose loved poker. When I recall her kitchen now, the green baize covering the vinyl tablecloth, the smell of wood, turf and smoke, the slow ticking of the clock, the faint pinkish heart of a flame, the banter, it had a unique country magic. I remember the room filling up with farmers, some Macra na Feirme lads, everyone slagging. Questions were asked about this man and that. Were they alive or dead? When one local miser had a heart attack, Rose, her head bent, shuffling cards, quipped, Couldn t have happened to a better man. The craic, though black, was great.