Poker Face

God, weddings can be the most boring and drawn out things in the world, particularly the speeches. I nearly lose the will to live when I see a microphone being passed to a nervous father of the bride. All that changed the day Bridie and Eamon got married. That wedding was an extra torturous occasion where seating was directed by a table plan. It’s not so bad if you're a couple, but at Eamon's wedding, I was that awkward single workmate so I was plonked on the, Nobody Knows Them Table, all the way at the back, but at least it was near the bar.

When we were called in, I pulled out my chair and sat to the right of two elderly ladies who turned out to be spinster sisters. They were lovely, in a sipping sherry kind of way. At the other side of me were a couple who seemed to be fighting; talk about frosty. Thank God there were a few younger people at the table as well.  

Grace was said, and the and meal started. As the courses vanished, it became clear that, Brian, one of the younger men, was determined to be the centre of attention. He had a good few pints under his belt and was dominating the conversation while his much younger girlfriend tried to set a world record for free wine top-ups. The other dominant force at the table was, Fiona, who clearly knew Brian for years. Fiona was gorgeous and bubbly, if not the sharpest chisel in the box. Her boyfriend, Tony, smiled in all the right places, laughed at all the right jokes, but seemed a little distant. It was around the dessert time I found out why. It seemed, Brian and Fiona had a short-lived relationship in college. While they seemed comfortable with this, Tony clearly wasn't. Fiona didn’t help the situation when she laughingly grabbed Brian's arm to stop him recounting some saucy tidbit from their past. As tea was served, a hotel manager appeared behind the best man with a microphone in his hand.

"Oh Lord, the speeches are starting," I said out loud, my words heavy with impending doom.

"Great stuff!" said Brain and he pulled an empty wine glass toward him. "Are yea all up for a game of, The Groom Thanks."

"What's that?" I asked as Brian rifled through his wallet.

"It's easy," he said, waving a ten euro note in the air. "Yea put a tenner in the glass. Every time the groom says the word, Thanks, during his speech, the glass moves one place to the right. Whoever the glass is in front of at the end of his speech, wins the money."

It sounded like a bit of fun so I said, "Count me in," and I added my note to the glass. Fiona had hers in like a flash, Tony reluctantly put his money in, the warring couple said nothing but the man stuffed a twenty in, the spinsters had a quick discussion among themselves about the evils of gambling but still added a tenner between them; they would count as one person. Then everyone looked at Brian's girlfriend but her head was swivelling around like an orange perched on top of a toothpick and her eyes were glassy. She hadn’t a clue what was going on.

"Don't mind her," said Brian dismissively as she slumped against his shoulder.

The speeches started and we had to endure the priest, the father of the bride, the father of the groom, Aunty Peggie; whoever the hell that was, and the best man before it was time for Eamon to speak.

"Here we go," said Brian gleefully, pulling the glass in front of himself which caused a giggle of excitement to emanate from Fiona. Tony gave her a sideways and I could see why. Even to my ears, the sound was vaguely sexual.

"Why does the glass have to start with you?" Tony asked frostily.

"I was the first to put money in."

"That’s hardly fair."

"Fair me arse. Anyway, it's where the glass ends up that counts," Brian said, clearly sick of being questioned.

"Now comes the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let's hear it for the man himself, Mr Eamon Ryan." said the best man, passing over the microphone, a movement that caused a burst of feedback.

"Jesus," said Eamon when the screeching died down. He glanced over at the priest who was glaring at him. "Sorry, Father." The room was filled with the sound of rustling of paper while Eamon got his notes in order before he raised the mic to his lips and said, "How yea," in a thick bog accent that got the whole room cheering. "Thanks for coming."

"And we’re off," hooted Brian as he moved the glass to his right.

"I never thought I would see the day ..."

I have to admit I started to zone out after a while, that was until Brian thumped me on the shoulder.

"What?" I asked.

"He just thanked some auld bat who taught him in primary school. Yea got to pay attention and move the fecking glass around."

"Oh, I missed that one," I said, shoving the glass toward the two spinsters who eyed the money like a hungry dog eyeing up steak. So much for the evils of gambling.

"I want to thank the bridesmaids for looking ..."

"Whoop! There is another one! Move it on girls, come on now," teased Brian as a sad looking spinster shoved the glass in front of the grumpy married man. It had hardly stopped moving when Eamon said, "I don't know how Bridie would have done it without yea, Thanks." The man shoved the glass in front of his misses, and gave her a filthy look, as if she’d somehow cheated him out of it.

"I want to thank Father Tom for ..."

The glass moved on again.

All through the speech, the glass moved. I have to say it was getting very addictive. We hung on Eamon's words, waiting for that magic one. When he said it, a low cheer ran around our table. Even the spinsters were joining in with the fun but it was Brian and Fiona who were leading the charge. People were starting to notice what we were at.

"Th....(schreeech!)" Whatever Eamon tried to say was blotted out by a burst of feedback, but he powered through. "…as she searched every shop in Ireland for pink roses, so thanks a million." The glass moved in front of Tony, but Brian shot out his hand and grabbed the stem. "He said thanks twice there, it's got to go one more.”

"I only heard one," said Tony, trying to pull the glass back.

"Nope, there were two. One just before the static, then one at the end."

"Hang on a minute, he only got a t out. It could have been anything."

"What else could it be, for flip sake."

"Think, threw, timed, tempted, tits; who fucken knows!"

"Nobody says tits in a wedding speech," said Brian, deliberately not seeing Tony's point, and moved the glass back in front Fiona. Reluctantly, Tony let go, but the mood at the table was very much darker from then on. Tony didn't join in with the cheering as the glass moved, which seemed to make Fiona determined to make up for him.

Ten minutes later, and a thousand thanks, Eamon was drawing to a close. "So, to finish, I want to raise a glass to my beautiful bride and thank her from the bottom of my heart for having me." Everyone in the room stood, and our table was on tenterhooks because the glass now rested in front of Tony who smiled for the first time since the barney with Brian. It looked like he was going to claim the cash.

"Right, the bar is open, and the band is ready to go, so let's have at it. Have a great night everyone and Thanks again."

Eamon put the mic down on the table, and with a half-sad face Tony moved the glass in front of Fiona, which caused Fiona and Brian to cheer at the top of their voices. Lots of people looked in their direction, including Eamon, who thought they were cheering his speech. Sure enough, he picked up the mic and said, "Thanks, Lads!"

Another huge cheer came from Brian because the glass moved one last time and was now in front of him. He grabbed it and held it aloft like a conquering hero.

"Ah, hang on! That's not fair!" said Tony.

"He said thanks!" said Brian, waving the folded money in Tony's face.

"The speech was over."

"No, it wasn't, but it is now," sneered Brian.

"And that other thing earlier, if that were any other word besides thanks, the glass would have ended up in front of Fiona, not you!" he said, his eyes ablaze. I sensed trouble was coming so I shoved my chair back from the table.

"Come on guys, it's only a game," said Fiona.

"You stay out of it," snapped Tony. I saw the shocked look on her face as she glared at her boyfriend.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You've been drooling over this moron all evening, I'm sick of it. Just because you let him shag yea in college," snarled Tony. I knew a line had been crossed.

"What did you say?" said Fiona, coldly.

"What did you call me?" demanded Brian, getting up from the table. In the process, he dislodged his drunken girlfriend who woke for the first time since the speeches began.

"I said, you shagged him!" yelled Tony, pointing an accusing finger at Brian while glaring at his own girlfriend. Everyone in the room was now watching. Oh, God, why was I put at this table, I asked myself.

From nowhere the slurred word, "Bitch!" rang out and a haymaker of a puck sent Fiona sliding across the floor on her arse. The whole world then seemed to go into slow motion as Brian’s drunken girlfriend launched herself after Fiona. Pure flipping pandemonium.  

Well there you have it. That’s how the battle began. It took two squad cars and a half dozen bouncers to bring order back to the wedding. The bride was inconsolable; Brian’s girlfriend was hauled off in handcuffs, Fiona was taken away in the back of an ambulance, and I never found out what happened to the money. I have to say it was one of the best weddings I’ve ever been at.

Thinking back on it all has left me with one golden piece of advice for anyone thinking of getting married, and this is it. No matter what you do, never make a table plan. If you do, you’ll regret it. You can bet on that.