By LuckyJimm

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I left Uddevalla on a gloomy, overcast morning. I was sorry to say goodbye to my host, who'd treated me with such selfless generosity. I filmed as the bus left Uddevalla. It's a town young people pass through; but the road out is beautiful:

What had I accomplished so far? I’d got some sense of how Blom had been living when he had his first success playing as Blom90. I’d got some insights into his character. But the people I’d spoken to hadn’t been his close friends, and I sensed the closer people were to him, the less likely they’d be to talk to me. Anyway, he hadn’t grown up in Uddevalla and didn’t live there now. I’d been chasing shadows of his past.

Arriving in Gothenburg, I left my bags at the station. I’d arranged to stay with a journalist I’d met in London the previous year, but he was out of town until later that night. I had twelve hours to myself.

Blom is rumoured to live off Avenyn, the main street. I looked up at each apartment block and wondered if he might be inside, at his computer, waiting for a game. Down $200k this week, he hadn’t been on Full Tilt in a few days. That’d mean he was more likely to be outside. I turned on my heels at every passing Swedish guy. They all looked like Blom to me. I was seeing him everywhere, but I didn’t even know if he was in the city.


I sat in Condeco café drinking refill coffee. In my spam folder I found a response from the editor of the Swedish magazine I’d bought at the airport. He told me he guessed I wasn’t alone in wanting to speak to Viktor. But even if I found him, he was unlikely to talk since he’s shy and not interested in the spotlight. He’d had a quick chat with him at the EPT, but Blom had straight away said “This isn’t an interview, right?” He didn’t have his phone number and didn’t know anyone who did.

I skimmed through the Isildur1 thread on Flashback, a large Swedish forum. Posters there had called up Blom’s parents back in Dals Ed. They’d phoned Gothenburg car dealerships to see if any 19 year olds had bought a Mercedes. They’d investigated recent sales of apartments off the Avenyn, though hadn’t found any bought in his name. And one poster reported seeing Blom using his bank card in Subway to buy £41 of sandwiches. Perhaps he was sending a parcel to FullFlush.

All this made me feel uneasy. I didn’t really want to know where he lived. I thought of other, perhaps less affable characters who’d been targeted by anonymous Internet boards. Their personal information had been uncovered by collective effort of unnamed posters, and it had often been used against them. At best, they’d received a lot of pizza; at worst, their anonymous persecutors had ruined their lives. In comparison, the interest in Blom is harmless, well-meant, understandable, and will take a more ordinary form when he accepts a media profile. You don’t see people posting the address of Patrick Antonius or Tom Dwan, for example. But I can see why Blom might find the attention unwelcome.

For lunch I’d arranged to meet a Swedish online pro who lived in Gothenburg. He suggested a good restaurant and I ate meatballs, potatoes and lingonberries:


He’d been a full-time pro for three years, and now played three to five tables of $3/$6. He'd lost $4k in a hand against Blom90, who he'd seen playing a fish at $25/$50. It had been a good month so he’d taken a shot way above his usual limit. But on the second hand holding KQ he'd check-raised Blom's 15 BB continuation bet to 40BBs on a K66 board. Blom raised all-in and he called, losing to the J6 with which Blom had re-raised pre-flop. He said it wasn’t yet clear how good the undisciplined Blom might prove to be. I wondered if he resented this younger player whose rise had been so meteoric. But he was wise enough to appreciate a steady income more than the thrill of playing for the highest possible stakes.

He confirmed it isn’t true Blom would have to pay tax on every pot he’s ever won on FTP. That might be what the rules say in theory – as you can read here - but in practice it would never happen. Blom would just pay tax of 30% on his total winnings.

I thanked him for his time, and he pointed me in the direction of the Cosmopol Casino. It was mid-afternoon and people were losing their money on slot machines and roulette tables. I’ve never seen anybody winning at roulette; just the deafening clatter of the dealer sweeping the chips away after every spin.

The poker room didn’t open until 6pm. My friend told me he wouldn’t be in town until 10pm, so I went to move my luggage from the station to the casino. When you’re hoping for one improbable encounter – perhaps I’d see Blom in the street! - sometimes you find another. As I walked through the crowded shopping mall towards the station, a girl stopped, stared, and started talking to me. I said “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Swedish”, then looked and realized it was one of the stripper sisters I’d briefly squatted with in London. She was shocked to see me; and I didn’t even know she lived in this city. We swapped numbers and resolved to meet the next day, but didn’t. Sadly she didn’t know a Viktor Blom.

Back at the Cosmopol, a seated lady was singing a medley of “I'll never fall in love again” and "Do You Know the Way to San Jose" over a taped backing, to the disinterested backs of the slot machine players and distant blackjack tables.

I looked around at a room full of people who might know Blom, and would certainly have heard of him. I asked for the cardroom manager and explained my quest. He spoke fluent English and told me Blom’s older brother played at the club but he hadn’t seen him in a while; and of course Viktor is too young to be able to be a member himself. He said I could ask players in the £2/£2 game later. But I'd be better off asking at a nearby underground club.

The players in the 50p/50p PLO game also did not know Viktor Blom. But they did teach me that the Swedish for “POT!” is “POT!”

There was no dramatic ending to the night. At 10.30pm the guy I was staying with pulled up outside in a Volvo and I was pleased to renew our acquaintance and not have to sleep on the street. When I returned to the casino the next night I'd have to do a lot more talking.