Another week. Another ridiculous betting coup rumour that I fell for hook, line and sinker. On Tuesday evening I got word that Barney Curley was behind a horse racing sting that could net those in the know some serious, serious dough. To the uninitiated Curley is the OAP scourge of British and Irish horse racing establishments who twice took the bookies to the cleaners for absolute fortunes in well-organised betting coups.
The horses to follow were Feeltherhythm, Miss Phillyjinks, Seven Summits and Highwayman. The first nag went in the 1:40pm at Southwell while the other three went later in races at Kempton. 80% of my psyche knew this would be bullsh*t but the other 20% had genuine aspirations to slay those pesky camel coats once and for all.
Feeltherhythm was backed in from 6/1 to 6/4 favouritism on Wednesday only to be pulled out by an on-course vet just before the off. That meant the conspiracy theorists everywhere started beating their meat and the rumour mill went into overdrive. Somehow I convinced myself that there must be some gravitas to this particular ‘coup’ given the suspicious way Feeltherhythm was pulled. So before you could say ‘Mug Punter’ I smashed into Seven Summits in the 5:25pm at Kempton. That limped home in sixth. Miss Phillyjinks and Highwayman also failed to place, meaning I was £110 down for the day and unable to make good on my promise to ‘er indoors to “have the mortgage paid off by the weekend”.
Barney Curley? I’d have been better off taking gambling advice off Barney f*cking Bear.
I kept off the sauce Friday and Saturday night so was in peak condition for ‘Super Sunday’, even managing an hour in the gym before camping out in the front room to watch the footballing extravaganza being offered up by Sky.
Money was tight (it was a day before payday) and so I could only manage a rather pathetic £8.30 punt on Arsenal and Leicester to draw 1-1 at 13/2. The Emirates of course erupted when Danny Welbeck came off his sick bed to score a 95th-minute winner for the Gunners but the mood was rather more sombre in Chez Punt. I’d promised ‘er indoors a Valentines Day meal out if Leicester held on so we both had faces like slapped a*ses when ‘Welbz’ nodded home in the dying embers of an absolute storming game. A romantic two-courser with a nice bottle of wine had morphed into Mini Kievs and a glass of dilutey orange apiece.
Thankfully my missus doesn’t need a slap-up meal to remind her how much I love her. As I remarked to her father just a few days previously, I would walk five miles over broken glass for that woman – just to hear her fart through a walkie-talkie.
As an aside I also received a spam email from Sports Direct on the day. It was along the lines of ‘Treat your loved one this Valentines Day…’ Treat her to what? Three pairs of Nike socks and a Slazenger sports bra? Pricks.
Monday was indeed payday, and after opening my eyes I initiated a silent prayer to the gambling Gods for them to be good to me. Some hope.
The day began when a 4/9 favourite in the tennis from Marseille, Joao Sousa, fell to a shock 6-4 6-0 defeat. I then chased on some Finnish League Cup football, which ended rather inevitably in disaster.
But the piece de resistance was on the gee-gees. I have been getting some decent tips from a geezer named Shaka and he had three to follow on Monday afternoon. A 9/2 shot, a 5/1 shot and a 10/11 poke. Ridiculously I left alone both of the bigger price fancies (both won – the 5/1 shot by some 26 lengths) and instead had a lazy lump on the 10/11. That was beaten by a neck.
I was in full breakdown mode by this point – talking to myself in the car the lot – and so smashed into Aberdeen to beat Inverness at 5/6. The Dons have been absolutely flying in the Scottish Premier League, but fell to a 3-1 defeat. My misery was compounded by having £60 on Jordan Rhodes at 5/2 to score anytime against Leeds. Rhodes missed a host of chances and had a legitimate goal chalked off after 19 minutes after Emilio Nsue’s cross was judged to have gone out of play before Rhodes applied the finish with a header. I was over £350 in the hole for the day and at times like this the problem gambler tries to justify their behaviour. A classic of mine is to remind myself that I’ve never smoked. Or taken crack cocaine. Just imagine how much money I would have squandered if I was a crackhead I tell myself, with zero certitude.
In a nutshell, the day sucked balls. Big time. But for me every day above ground is a good day. So farewell payday. And don’t forget to go f*ck thyself on the way out.
Cheeky’s Punt of the Week: Everton to beat Bournemouth at 13/10 (Coral)