WSOPE Storytime: Will and Jack's Excellent Adventure

Published on 17 October 2013 by Pokerlistings 498
Gather 'round children. Uncle Will and his friend Jack are going to tell you a story. Will "The Thrill" Failla and Jack Effel tell the tale of a kebab mission gone horribly wrong a few years ago at the World Series of Poker Europe in Cannes. The story has street brawls, chases, headbutts, sucker-punches and Jack Effel sprinting through the streets at 3am. Simply put, it's not to be missed.
Will: People ask me to tell my stories a lot because I'm a little animated in my stories. So this story is about a little place in Cannes, France where we're at the WSOPE. I was about 120 lbs. heavier. The floor people that I always hang out with were on the larger scale at the time, too. Jack Effel was, like, 120 lbs. heavier and Dennis was 80 lbs. heavier. And basically, we went there and we were like five fucking Shamus. And what fat fucks like to do is we like to eat at the end of the night, that's just the thing that we do. I mean, poker players do it, the floor people do it and it's a camaraderie time for everybody, just let their edge out. So we walked up and I'm looking at this fucking menu and I'm going, "Oh my God." It looked so fucking good, you have no idea. I'm seeing the sauces they use, the french fries. I mean, just everything seemed fucking amazing. Well, Jack Effel outta nowhere comes in, speak of the devil.

Jack: Will, what are you doing, man, are you telling the story?

Will: Jack, they asked me to tell this story, Jack, and with you here it makes it even that much better.

Jack: Well, what story you telling?

Will: I'm telling about our fucking kabob story. Our kabob story, you know, our famous kabob story. Now mind you, this fat fuck was fatter, a lot fatter then. Now, he's lost about 120 lbs. from then. So I want you to imagine him looking like that, okay? That's number one. We're at the kabob place and we're about to order. We didn't order yet, we're about to order. And Jack comes whispering in my ear and he goes, "Will, you better take care of this situation, Dennis is about to get into a fucking fight." I turn around, and Dennis who's 6'4 1/2", I'm a fucking midget next to these guys. He's 6'4 1/2" and he's got this IRA militant motherfucker staring him in the eyes like this, who's bigger than him, like a fucking amazon who's like 6'5" built like a gorilla saying to him, "Yeah, how about them Dallas Cowboys down there?"

'Cuz Dennis has a little bit of a southern accent. He sounds like when he talks he's got three teeth in his mouth so, whatever. So Jack says to me, "You better diffuse the situation." So as I look over, out of fucking nowhere, Tommy Anokolopoulos [SP], whatever the fuck his Greek last name is. Great guy but I can't say his name, he's got like 17. . .

Jack: Polychronopoulos.

Will: Yeah, Poly whatever the fuck. Anyway, he comes out of nowhere. We didn't even know he was with us, we didn't know he was near us. Comes out of nowhere and, "bang", hits the guy that's staring at Dennis. Out of nowhere, it sounded like the smack of a lifetime. This guy gets hit and he's a monster, goes like this, like it's a fucking slow motion cartoon. And goes back over these motorcycles and fucking melee broke out like you've never seen before. And we're just standing there watching it all happen.

Jack: Wait a minute. What about the kabob stand? The kabob stand fell.

Will: Oh, he's right, he's right. As the fucking first punch was thrown the fucking kabob door goes slamming down outta nowhere. Motherfucker, that's all I cared about is a fucking kabob that night. I didn't even wanna eat it, I just wanted to rub it all over the fuck of my body. They're fighting right in front of us as we're walking down these street. So we make the first left, we gotta make another left to go towards our hotel. We're down about 20 yards down that street and those guys are still fighting. They go, "You fat fucking Americans, we're gonna kill you." So I turn around to look who's yelling at us, I think it's the big IRA guys again.

And I turn back to look at my four friends, they're fucking gone, and I mean gone. This fucker looked like, what's his name, Bolt, Usain Bolt? Whatever the fuck his name is, I don't know his name. Took off. This guy was like a 280 lb. fucking OJ Simpson running through the motherfucking airport. He was gone, running like that. I couldn't even catch him. He had the fear of God in his life. This guy chased us all the way into the Majestic Hotel, head butted a fucking security guard, never got us, never got us. This fucking guy, he was hiding underneath the fucking poker table somewhere, Mr. Tough Guy. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Jack: Now, wait a minute. Now, as we were running I ran through Doc Sands, and Doc Sands waited. A few minutes later he said the thing that you would never imagine you would ever see in life, Jack Effel running through the streets of Cannes at 3:00 in the morning.

Will: With his capezios on, with his capezios on, yeah.

Jack: Man, I had a blue suit on and I swear . . .

Will: He looked like a fucking blueberry running through the fucking streets of Cannes, I swear to God he was a fucking hippopotamus. By the way, I've never seen a hippopotamus to this day run as fast as he did that night. That's pretty much the end of our stories, Dennis.