Cheeky Punt: The French hospital bill arrives

Date published: Wednesday 20th July 2016 9:27

Probably the last thing a problem gambler needs is to be involved in a WhatsApp group with other problem gamblers. A group that comprises of males that work different shift patterns with work and therefore spews out tips and odds 24/7. A group in which £500 singles on Australian A-League matches before 8am on a Tuesday morning are the norm. A group that collectively lost £6,000 on the European Championship final.

Thankfully, as the old saying goes even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and again and the group does throw up the odd touch.

This is largely thanks to a young whizz kid in his 20s. ‘The Kid’, who in the interests of confidentiality shall remain nameless, spends his days in a dressing gown eating Honey Nut Loops while researching obscure football markets.

Last Wednesday the advice was to back Jarota Jatocin in-play against those bastions of the European game, Unia Swarzedz. They were trailing 1-0 at the time and freely available at 13/8.

I smashed into them to the tune of £120 and then watched (on a bet365 updates screen) in delight as the team from the fourth tier of the Polish league suddenly started playing like Galacticos. They won with a bit to spare. I won £195. ‘The Kid’ presumably celebrated with another bowl of Honey Nut Loops. The crowd went home happy. Bosh.




Saturday. Newcastle United giveth; Hopital Europeen Georges-Pompidou taketh away.

I was buzzing after seeing that Newcastle were 13/10 to cover a three goal handicap against Bohemian FC in Dublin. I knew the latter had played a derby against Shamrock Rovers the previous evening and therefore assumed they’d be putting the kids and ressies out against the Toon.

That is exactly what transpired and Newcastle battered them 6-0. Start the f*cking car!!!

However my joy was short-lived. For when the post arrived on Saturday afternoon I spied a letter from France. I figured this was the dreaded hospital bill for when I spent time in casualty after nearly losing my finger doing Klinsmann dives for the masses in Paris during Euro 2016 a few weeks back.

Of course it was. So how much were the Frenchies billing me for keeping me on a bed overnight? No meal. Not so much as a glass of water or even a blanket? 1300 euros. That’s how much. Thirteen hundred euros for basically putting a bandage on my hand. The itemised bill was 36 euros for the overnight stay. And the rest for seeing a doctor the next morning. That’s over 1250 euros for seeing a specialist who basically told me to get it sorted back home as I was flying back the same day. For that money I could have surely got the f*cking injury tended to by Jay Z and Beyoncé couldn’t I? Using diamond encrusted bandages?

Now I don’t know who this Georges Pompidou character is, but basically he’s going to have to cross the channel himself and try and drag my sorry a*se to jail as it will be a cold day in hell before I square that bill.

In the immortal words of Alan Partridge…. ‘I’ll see you in Strasbourg’.




Sunday was one of the truly great days of sport. We had Davis Cup tennis, Test match cricket and the final round of the Open golf. Now I’m not normally an avid follower of golf but I do like a punt on the majors and The Open at Royal Troon was set fair for a day of high drama.

My pre-tournament selection – Rory McIlroy – had to contend with some of the worst conditions South Ayrshire had to offer over the first three days and his prospects on Sunday, rather like the three-wood he smashed to bits mid-round on the Saturday, looked doomed.

Thankfully I had myself £40 on Henrik Stenson at 11/4 on Saturday morning and the Swede – looking to land his first ever major – was leading by a shot from Phil Mickelson.

With ‘er indoors at her mum’s I watched an amazing final round with only two packets of T-bone steak Roysters and some Maltesers for company. And what a round it was.

The pair produced a performance for the ages, matching each other shot for shot, birdie for birdie, until big Henrik completely lost his sh*t towards the end and reeled off a load of birdies to post -20 under par – the joint lowest score in Open history – to claim the famous old Claret jug.

A commentator said it was a shame there had to be a loser, which of course was a load of old fanny given I had hard cash on Stenson, but I kind of got where he was coming from. We had just witnessed arguably the greatest final round in the history of the game. There was literally nothing left to say. So I won’t.


Cheeky’s Punt of the Week: Manchester United to beat Borussia Dortmund at 5/4 (Stan James)

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