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I have traveled to many places the last few years. Ever since I got my American citizenship, I’ve been on the go! One of the places I had the pleasure to visit was Ireland. I was there about a year and a half ago and have since wanted to revisit this beautiful country. What better excuse than the Irish Open?!? My good buddy Liam invited me down, along with Phil Laak and Jennifer Tilly. I also brought my father Bijan and my little brother Paul. Why not make it a family affair, right?
Our flight to Ireland was out of San Fran through London, on Virgin Airlines. I grew up in San Fran, so I flew into town a day early to spend some time with the real deal old school homies. The night before my flight, two of my best friends, Tony and Lee, decided we should go on a midnight adventure. A little hike through the woods. Sounds fun, right? This was one adventure I would soon come to regret. BIGTIME.
Tony and Lee are both the kind of guys who are always up for anything and want to take everything to the next level. If you’re going to do something, you might as well push the envelope. Everybody has these types of friends. We jumped Tony’s fence (he lives in the mountains in the San Jose Hills) and started drifting around). They had, of course, packed a backpack full of goodies: flashlight stereo, Red Bulls, a jug of vodka, water, and some other goodies I probably shouldn’t mention… And off we went. For a solid three hours we stumbled into little nests of trees and streams and herds of cows. I was having a blast. It was as if I were 14 again. Not a care in the world. During the 4th hour, I started to get a little tired. Not Lee or Tony, of course. And so my lazy ass decided to lie on the ground (somewhat of a grassy-ish ground). They kept pushing me to keep going, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. I told them to keep going and to get me on the way back. I was going to take a nap. It was a beautiful night, so why not?
I don’t know how long I passed out for, but it was definitely a while. At least an hour, if not more. I woke up in a frenzy, not knowing what was going on, only to realize that I was not dreaming — that I DID fall asleep on the ground in the middle of nowhere. I got up and somehow managed to stumble my way back to the house. I went in and went straight to bed. I could not function on any level (usually at this point I would ALWAYS take a shower, but not this time… the ONE time I miss).
I meet my father and brother at the airport. The great thing about Virgin Airlines is that in their upper class section you get your very own bed. I kid you not — you are on an airplane with a BED. It’s the coolest thing. And so I pass out… sleep like a baby… only to wake up to a slight itch on my arm. I give it a little scratch and go back to bed, only to be woken up again by a slight uncomfortable itch. I look at my hand and see a small reddish rash. Not good. REALLY not good. Could it be? Did I get poison oak??? I had it once as a kid and it was NOT fun. My entire body was ruined for a month. As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew it had to be. It made sense… I went through the woods… I didn’t shower right away. I mean what else could it be?
By the time we got to Ireland, there was no doubt it was poison oak. And not just on my hand. It had spread to my arms and slightly on my neck. Meanwhile my brother is laughing up a storm, enjoying my misery. Can’t blame him. I would do the same if it were him. I quarantined all of my clothing as soon as we got there. Showered twenty times. Did EVERYTHING I could to make sure I did not come in contact with the oil from the plant.
The next day was Day 1 of the tournament. The Irish Open pulled in massive numbers, with over 700 international poker players. It was also the day I realized the poison oak had spread to more than just my hands and neck. My chest, stomach, lips, eyes, eyebrows, ears, behind the ears, fingers, all up and down my arms, and of course down to places you would not want to have poison oak. Let’s just say my manhood was out of commission for a while. This rash was EVERYWHERE.
Although this was a great tournament (biggest to date for Europe, as far as entries go), I could not concentrate. I was just too itchy. I was miserable. I made a few very questionable plays and selfdestructed my way out in just a few hours. I went back to the room where I would spend the next week of my life lying in bed, wishing I could scratch myself. I don’t think I left the room for five days. I had the doctor come and give me some medicine. He injected me right in the ass with the biggest shot I’ve ever had. It was pure misery. If I didn’t have internet during this time, I literally would have LOST my mind. Two days before we were to come back, my good friend Michael Caselli from London showed up for a little fun time in Dublin. I had forgotten to tell him that I had this poison and would not be able to do anything. I felt so bad because I had previously invited him to come down.
Michael (editor of this mag, BTW) had come up with the perfect solution to put an end to my misery. He had a plan. That plan was to drink as many pints of Guinness as possible. After hours and hours of trying to persuade me come down to the bar, he finally cracked me. Although I looked like a mutant with lips the size of the RIO, and a face as red and puffy as Joan Rivers after a facelift, and nasty oozing arms, SOMEHOW I managed to get my ass to the bar. I must have downed four Guinness in less than thirty minutes. I have to admit, it DID take the pain away. There was no more itch. Well, until the next morning when I woke up, of course. Now not only was there an itch, there was also an insane hangover. Double trouble. Only one way to get rid of a hangover (again Michael’s idea) — more Guinness!!! The next two days in Dublin were filled with pure intoxication.
I would have to say my last night in Ireland was the best. Since my dad has learned the game of poker, he has become quite the degenerate (in a good way… he is always asking questions, trying to learn), and he wanted to play cards; and so my brother and I took off and hit up the town. We started boozing and walking around having a blast, talking to randoms. I was teaching the kid the ropes… (he is going to kill me for that one!). We must have hit up six or seven different spots. It was some much needed high-level brotherly bonding that I really enjoyed.
As I write this, twenty-one days have passed and there are still some (however very minute) signs of the rashes from the oak on my skin. The itch is gone, but the marks are still there. About another week or so I shall be free. Don’t ever, ever get this stuff; it’s not pretty.
Moral of the story — don’t get wrecked and go on a midnight adventure and fall asleep in the woods.
I want to personally thank Orla Roache and Liam Flood for making the Irish Open such a wonderful tournament. And although I personally did not get to enjoy its full potential, my family did and so did everyone else there. It was a great event. Looking forward to next year.
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