I was sitting in the hotel lobby bar of the Casino Copenhagen last month at noon on the day before the big EPT tournament was due to start. I couldn’t help likening the scene to the movie Ocean’s Twelve, a big-budget caper that can spawn 13 sequels, all with the same comedic cast.

 

Dave “El Blondie” Colclough was already there, coming in a day early to get over travel lag, and he was on well-purposed beelines between his room and the poker, a bemused smile and owlish expression on his face for the faces he knew. In strode Kevin O’Connell straight up to the bar, loud and forthright and seeming to say, “What’s this country all about, then?” The Hendon Mob zipped in, four abreast, shaking hands and telling stories as they spread through the room. You always know the Devilfish is coming long before he arrives; he’s the king, and he sends advance notice to instill fear in the others’ hearts so that when he finally does step into the scene, with a behemoth bodyguard clearing a wake for his path and keeping the minions at bay, you know that the champ is in town. And the Scandinavians, of course, entered the premises in groups of two, three, and five. You can spot a Scandinavian poker player from a mile away: jeans, suitcase, expensive boots, and a laptop; spiky blond hair, not a day over 25, and a front pocket bulging with a rolled wad of cash.

 

By 8 p.m., most everyone was present — the English, the Irish, the Dutch, the Swedes, and some random Americans, Finns, and French. The bar was packed, with draught beer flowing, cigarettes smoking, and laughter to beat the band. You could step into any group, any scene, …