Saucy Punt: The 2 golden rules of gambling

Saucy Punt: The 2 golden rules of gambling


Men at the poker table
Men at the poker table

Last Thursday turned into something of a punting marathon. I understood it was a day for heavy gambling the minute I opened a tin of Alphabetic Spaghetti and it was filled with letter O’s. I suggest I’m not 100 % au fait with the laws of probability but the odds of that occurring should be off the charts so I took it as an indication to obtain cankers deep.

I placed my very first bet on the Italian bookie playing West Indies women to beat New Zealand women in the T20 World Cup at 11/8 hosed up. I then lost all my revenue and a bit more besides smashing India to beat West Indies men in their T20 semi-final.

The Premier League darts was my next port of call as I rowed into Peter Wright to beat Dave Chisnall on 10/11. As a rule, you should never bank on a male with a Mohican using clown pants but fortunately, Wright dominated 7-5. The 100 I won there was rapidly spent lavishly however as I foolishly bet Michael van Gerwen to hit more 180’s than Raymond van Barneveld at 8/13. Barney rolled back the years as he peppered the red lipstick and took out a load of maximums en route to a 6-6 draw.

While the two Dutch powerhouses were going at it I clicked that Kei Nishikori was a set down and 6/5 in-play to beat Gael Monfils in the Miami Masters. So before you could state degenerate gambler I was all over the Japanese top. The match went all the method to a deciding set as Nishikori in some way warded off five match points.

We were both at the point of fatigue as the match went to a final set tie-break. Kei from going toe-to-toe with a mercurial French shot-maker in the searing Miami Heat, from gambling 13 hours directly in my trousers. Happily, he won the breaker and while we may have been separated by the Atlantic Ocean we both went to sleep happy that night.

So it’s Saturday and I had West Ham down as the bet of the year. They were unbeaten in eight matches as well as money at home to do a Crystal Palace side who’d taken simply 2 mentions of a possible 33 in 2016.

I smashed into them with typical negligent desert and couldn’t think my luck when they went 1-0 down early on. They were controlling however and 2 fast objectives the last an absolute worldly of a free-kick from Dimitri Payet sent them into the break 2-1 up.

A buddy I was seeing the ratings with said I must think about cashing out however to a punter like me the term cash out is just a filthy expression, rather like cannot puddle or Donald Trump. I let it ride and was happy enough when news reached me that the Hammers were delighting in more than 70 % ownership and bossing proceedings at the Boleyn. It happens. Cheikhou Kouyate puts a rough challenge in on Dwight Gayle and referee Mark Clattenberg has a complete and utter fucking breakdown and sends him off. Outrageous decision and speak about a video game changer. Palace winds up equalizing, the online game ends 2-2 and all of a sudden I’m tensing and pulling unusual faces while logging onto my Paddy Power account and chasing on El Clasico. I smashed into Barcelona (unbeaten in 39 matches) to win and both groups to score at 5/4 so when Sergio Ramos was sent for Los Merengues with the video game carefully poised at 1-1 I assumed I had caught a break and Barca would go on to win. Rule one. Never assume. That’s even more essential than never punting on anybody using clown pants. The 10 men of Madrid quickly take the lead against the run of play to leave me entirely bewildered.

At that point inside (who understands I’ve been gambling all the time but doesn’t understand I’m over a monkey down) can be found in and asks whether we should go to Tesco tomorrow and do a huge shop.

A big store? At Tesco? Sit down babe and have a pikelet. I have some trouble.

By Sunday I was sick to death of gambling and swore not to make a bet, which is quite easy to do when you are potless.

I was a bit restless though so after cutting the yard and browsing the broadsheets was resigned to a day of doing not much at all. Till 2 friends of mine unexpectedly brought up after 1 pm requiring I go with them for a few oranges and water to view the football.

A couple of oranges and waters are coded speak on the Sabbath when partners exist around our way and very finely veiled ways between eight and 16 pints of lager plus shots.

We ended up in a bar out of town and it was all going OKAY as we viewed Leicester extend their lead at the top of the table by beating Southampton. Things started to go a bit pear-shaped after England lost the T20 cricket last however after an amazing final over a ginger lad who I later discovered out was a Marine in some way took exception to me dancing to Black Grape near the jukebox and provided me outdoors.

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