The High Roller Bucks Weekend
Bucks mission brief
The High Roller Bucks Weekend starts the way a proper send-off should: the crew lands in a private CBD apartment, full kitchen, beds for every man, and a poker table set with a topless dealer running the game, cards, chips and cheek in equal measure. From there a chauffeured Hummer collects the group, sparkling wine in hand to toast the Buck as the city lights blur past, before rolling into a private booth at a proper sports bar for steak, screens and a beer on arrival, capped with a bonus pint just for him. The night closes reserved in a laneway speakeasy, two hours of drinks flowing free. Every stop reserved, every door walked straight through, the Buck toasted twice before the boys even sit down to eat.
Real review
What Jesse’s groomsman sent us after this one
absolutely a winner thanks Josh. poker at the apartment, hummer, rooftop drinks, all too easy. Jesse went from pretending he knew poker to losing nearly every hand, which kept us going with ratting on him for the rest of the bucks. absolutely solid weekend
Caleb, Jesse’s groomsman
✓ Sent to our team after the bucks, copied here word for word.
The weekend's already built before the first hand is dealt. Your own apartment, a private table, and a chauffeur waiting when the cards are done. Your only job all weekend: making sure the Buck never lives down his poker face. He'll tell you he was card dead. He wasn't.
One crew gets this package per weekend, and most weekends book out. Check yours before the group chat.
Check your date and the team comes back with whether it's open and the right call for your crew. Never hurts to ask. No lock-in.
Game Plan
From $549.00 Whilst our weekend packages typically remain at the advertised price, accommodation pricing may fluctuate depending on your chosen date. Why? Naturally some dates are in higher demand, such as school holidays, New Years eve etc. Your friendly bucks party consultant will provide accurate pricing for your chosen dates once you send your enquiry! per person, with a minimum of 6 attendees.
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All of your package customisations will show up right here!One continuous weekend. It opens with cards, not a countdown.
Every bucks weekend claims to be different. This one actually is, because it doesn't end when the sun goes down and start fresh the next morning: it runs as one continuous stretch, and it opens with cards, not a countdown. The apartment is the base for all of it, the poker table is waiting in it, and the Hummer is out front when the cards are done.
A bed each in the middle of the CBD, and the first beers out of the fridge.
A private table, a topless dealer, and two hours of real cards and chips.
Chauffeured stretch Hummer, sparkling already poured, and photo stops.
Your booth is held, the steak lands, and the Buck cops a pint on the house.
Two hours reserved down a laneway, with the drinks flowing for every toast.
The crew lands in a private apartment right in the middle of the Melbourne CBD: proper living space, a full kitchen, and a bed for every single man in the group, so nobody's fighting over the pull-out couch before the weekend's even started. Bags go down, the first beers come out of the fridge, and the group has the run of the place before anyone's even thought about what's next.
Nobody has to run the game: the dealer and the table come with the apartment.
What's next is a private poker table, set and waiting, with a dealer who happens to be topless and very good at her job. Real cards, real chips, and a two-hour tournament that turns from a bit of fun into genuine bragging rights fast. She keeps the game moving, keeps the banter sharper than the cards deserve, and by the time the last hand's played, somebody in the group already has a story he'll be telling for the rest of the weekend, usually at his own expense. Cards down, and the night changes gear completely.
The Hummer is out front with the chauffeur in it, so nobody drives and nobody counts cabs.
Outside, a stretch Hummer is waiting, chauffeur included. Each man climbs in to a glass of sparkling wine already poured, raised to the Buck before the doors have even shut properly. Leather seats, the lights doing their thing, the city sliding past the windows while the group makes as much noise as a limousine full of blokes usually does. The chauffeur pulls over along the way for photos: the Buck out front, the boys lined up behind him, the Hummer gleaming in the background. It's the kind of shot that ends up as someone's phone background by Monday.
Straight into a booth that is already yours, with the beers on the table before anyone sits.
From there it's straight into a private booth at a proper sports bar, screens up, sport running, beer already waiting at the table when the group sits down. No standing around at a bar hoping for a gap. Then the food lands: steak done how you like it, fries, salad, a jug of gravy for the table, exactly the kind of feed that lines the stomach before the night gets serious. And because it's his weekend, the Buck gets one more pint on the house, on top of everything else, which the lads will happily remind him of for the rest of the night.
The last stop is held for two hours, so nobody is chasing a table when the night is running.
Full and fired up, the group moves one more time, into a laneway speakeasy reserved for the next two hours: low light, house spirits, bottled beers, wine, and free-flowing drinks for anyone raising a glass to the Buck, which by this point in the night is basically everyone, on repeat.
And you? You spent the whole weekend in it, in the Hummer with a glass already poured, in the photos instead of behind the phone. Somewhere around the last hand the boys clock that none of this fell together by luck, and the credit lands on you without a word being asked for.
!
The part nobody tells you
Nobody warns the best man that big nights die at doors. The plan gets the fire emojis in the chat, then Saturday happens: the venue that's suddenly at capacity, the table that turns out to be standing room, the half hour out the front deciding where to go instead. That's the night falling flat, and nobody claps for the bloke who booked it.
✓Not here. Every stop on this run is expecting a bucks party: yours. The doors are sorted before the bags are down, so your crew spends the night inside while some other buck's boys are still out the front, making their case to a bouncer.
And it's built as a bucks night, not booked as a function: nobody hands the Buck a chicken-or-beef card and calls it a feast.
Doors that stall, tables that shrink, a finish that fizzles out the front of somewhere: that's how a send-off goes mid.
Not on our watch.
