Hand Analysis

Okay, we're down to eight on the final table of the 2006 UN Nuclear Non-Proliferation Tournament. Money pays top three.

Blinds 300/600. Small blind, Blair. Big Blind, Bush.

Under-the-gun, Ahmadinejad. By far the shortest stack, perhaps only 5xBB. Without hesitation he raises to 1200.

Chirac looks at his cards, 74 offsuit. 'Pah!' he exclaims, and with a petulant flick, tosses his cards at the dealer.

Merkel looks unsure. She's holding KT off. But she's a newcomer to this level. Ultra-tight. No risks. She'll wait for a better opportunity, and quietly pushes her cards across the table.

Next up, Jiabao. 45 suited. He would love to see a flop, but it looks like it could be an expensive one, and his stack isn't looking too clever. Pass.

Putin clenches and unclenches his fist, his jaw set firm on his expressionless face. Without emotion, he mucks his cards.

Next comes Sharon, on the button. He's been quiet all night. An absolute rock. Not a flicker. Well, perhaps his eyelids. The table waits patiently. Ahmadinejad calls for the clock. Everyone waits. The Israeli railbirds stir anxiously at the sidelines, trying to cajole their leader into some decisive action -- but time is called, and Sharon's hand is folded.

Small blind Blair turns nervously to Bush. And then looks at his cards. 7 2 offsuit. Dreadful. He knows full well that Bush will re-raise. He remembers a similar situation in the Iraq Open in 2003 – perhaps this time he should fold and let George go heads up against the Iranian champion.

Oh what the hell, it's two live cards after all. Besides, before the tournament started George bought into him for 30%. 'Call' says Blair.

Bush draws himself up in his seat and ruffles his chips, all the while giving the implacable Iranian his hardest Texan stare. Ahmadinejad, oblivious, gazes straight ahead, a faint smile tracing across his face. He's concentrating on a thin strand of drool escaping slowly from the corner of Sharon's mouth.

Bush clears his throat. 'How much you got there, son?' Ahmadinejad blinks, but makes no reply. The dealer does a quick count. The Iranian is outchipped by 10 to 1. Bush counts out a pile and pushes them over the line. 'I don't know what you've got, but if it's pocket rockets, they'd better be nuclear'.