Clubbed to Death
With a gargantuan pot hovering around the 200,000 mark, we had a showdown, and one that inevitably garnered the interest of both press and rail alike.
Whilst Thorel tabled for a pair and a flush draw, he was going to need to dunk himself in a vat of Vaseline to squirm his way out of this one as Montgomery revealed for the flopped set.
But squirm he did, the crowd-gasping on the river awarding him an absolute monster of a pot and prying a unified gasp of horror from the onlooking rail.
As a deflated Montgomery slumped his head in devastation, Thorel simply couldn't hide his emotions. Not since my mother met my first girlfriend have I witnessed such relief, the Frenchman raising his arms in victory and quite literally wiping the sweat from his brow.
As a result, Thorel is now chasing the chip lead with 225,000, whilst Montgomery has plummeted back down to 30,000.