As Lee Davy reviews the Kid Poker documentary, he ponders why on earth a 90-minute documentary about a poker player reduced him to tears?

As the credits start to roll so do the tears.

Why?

Why has the story of a man, who I still have never met, reduced me to tears? I think about it over my cold cucumber soup and in between stinging eyes, and sensitive teeth, I realise that each droplet is a lost opportunity. The compass point has never changed; rusted to the same spot. I can see it. I know where I am supposed to go and yet here I am.