Thought for the day: If someone rings you on a Thursday lunchtime talking about a ‘fixed’ snooker match in Germany, always put the phone down.
Last Thursday I received a call and then a follow-up text alleging that Stuart Carrington’s first-round clash at the German Masters might not be 100% on the level and was advised to “lump for all you are worth” on the former at even money.
After my hotel-trashing debacle the previous weekend and subsequent bill for damages, what I was ‘worth’ was pretty pathetic. I soon got a few pals involved and The Big Woodowski staked me to the tune of a century. He himself had £300 and another pal had £400. Carrington raced into s 3-0 lead (it was a best of nine frames affair) and we thought we were in the know. Ridiculously though baldy veteran Mark King, whose performance was (sadly for us) absolutely 100% on the level, then reeled off four consecutive frames to leave me gob-smacked and my pals furious. Carrington levelled up at 4-4 and I again briefly thought my source was legit. It’s the hope that f*cking kills you though. King won the deciding frame and we were left looking like complete and utter idiots. The following text from my mate Woody will live with me always:
‘These ‘inside jobs’ you keep throwing my way are f*cking disgraceful. It will be some scruffy fat 50-year-old c*nt sat in his mother’s box bedroom, in his duds, fancying Carrington to win and suddenly it’s Chinese whispers that’s it’s a fixed match. Idiot.’
I was really low and potless once more. So at 7pm I collected my tears from the day and heated them up to make myself a nice warm sadness soup.
So after my hotel meltdown the previous weekend I vowed to have a few weeks off the sauce and give my head a wobble.
It’s hard work staying off the peeve and doing ‘normal’ things on a Saturday. However, inspired by the baldy bloke who used to present Gazzetta Football Italia I thought I would kill some time in the morning by perusing the broad sheets and having a civilised cup of coffee while watching the world go by. £7.80 for a cappuccino and a giant cookie? I don’t f*cking think so. Who am I, the Wolf of Wall Street?
My ‘can’t lose’ treble for the day consisted of Spurs, Northampton and Bayern Munich. Bayern, who are about 112 points clear at the top of the Bundesliga, somehow blew me in by drawing 0-0 at Bayer Leverkusen. I don’t know what the German translation for ‘bag of sh*te’ is but if you do, please post in the comments so I can use for future reference.
The whole ‘sober Saturday’ thing was a depressing let-down. Thinking about it there is something wholly unnatural about being dry on a weekend. I mean if God had wanted us to be sober beings, why did he invent Apple Sourz?
Sunday night of course was all about Super Bowl 50. I’m not normally a fan but after nicking a few quid in the afternoon punting the draw in the Chelsea-Arsenal game (using one of the top rated betting sites by the industry experts), I thought I’d steam in. There were no pre-match texts claiming the game between the Carolina Panthers and the Denver Broncos was fixed (thank f*ck) but given that the former had gone 15-1 in the regular season and scooted through the play-offs without any dramas, I thought they would be safe bets despite being heavy odds-on.
‘Er indoors bizarrely offered to stay up and watch it with me. I don’t know about you but when I’m gambling to excess wearing just my pants I like to do so alone so I reasoned if I got really annoying she would go to bed. I therefore put on an American accent and began stomping round the front room shouting “DEE-FENCE, DEE-FENCE, DEE-FENCE”. She took the hint and was in bed before it started.
I stayed up to watch the whole thing but for me it was just a load of big blokes in tight pants interrupting some pretty decent commercial breaks.
In the event the Broncos went over for a touchdown early doors, stayed in front and won 24-10. Then a big bloke from the Panthers cried. Then I cried. Then we all went to bed.
Cheeky’s Punt of the Week: Leicester City to win the Premier League at 5/2 (Ladbrokes)