Bill is a pain in the Haas as Clark ensures that Hope turns to despair

Saturday, January 16
Moving house is not straightforward, is it? I think it’s definitely one of the most challenging tasks a human being can face. I would say creating another human being (the giving birth bit, not the preliminaries) is probably the only assignment one can face that is more traumatic thanmoving house. I’m so glad I don’t possess a womb.

My move was made slightly more bearable, though, by the fact my dad works for a funeral directors, so we could use a big van which usually transports dead bodies around to shift my treasured possessions to their new home. Not only did this speed up the process but it also provided much comedy value as curtains twitched manically while my concerned new neighbours tried to work out who the coffin carrier had come to pick up.

To confuse the onlookers further, the first item I removed from the hearse was the life-size and very realistic cuddly-toy tiger I purchased from Longleat a few years ago.

“Who’s died, Doris?”

“Not sure, love, but they’ve just taken out a dead tiger to make some extra room. Maybe it’s Tubby Turner from No. 24.”

Once I had reassured the locals that none of their friends had passed away, I downed tools to watch the Masters semi-final between Ronnie O’Sullivan and Mark Williams, which turned out to be one of the best snooker matches in the history of the sport. I probably wouldn’t have taken that view had O’Sullivan lost, but with £150 at 4 on the Rocket to win the tournament, along with £125 at 2.64, watching him edge through 6-5 in a thriller was the highlight of my year so far.

Unfortunately, Mark Selby beat Stephen Maguire, the other player I had backed for Masters glory, in the second semi-final, so I couldn’t count any chickens yet.

Sunday, January 17
Charl Schwartzel’s Joburg Open win was a crippling blow. I noticed he had drifted to 11 on Betfair on the eve of the tournament despite having impeccable credentials, but I wanted a chunk on Richard Sterne, so had £210 at 16. Why didn’t I have £110 on Schwartzel and £100 on Sterne?

Because I’ve got a mental problem, of which I’m fully aware, yet seemingly powerless to overcome. When it comes to outright golf betting, a little devil inside my head always tells me any return of less than £2,000 is not worth the trouble. The devil insists that if I successfully predict the winner from a massive field of golfers, then I should get at least two bags for my efforts.

But if you win £1,000 a week, that’s £52,000 a year, and you wouldn’t need to work for a living. I know I should put my eggs in more baskets, but the “get rich quick” devil is forever residing between my ears to stop me doing so.

After Schwartzel’s comfortable triumph, my mood dipped further when the clutch on my car snapped as I was moving some more stuff to my new flat, leaving me stranded on a dual carriageway. O’Sullivan winning the Masters suddenly became even more important with the cost of a new clutch now looming over me.

The Rocket secured a 5-3 advantage over Selby after the first session and then went 9-6 up in the first-to-ten-frames final in the evening, so it was looking like a trying weekend was going to end on a high. I was particularly pleased because I had got £40 at 11-4 ‘O’Sullivan to win the Masters’ vouchers for a few friends as Christmas presents and they were all texting to thank me for their £150 festive windfall.

But then Ronnie lost the plot, took on a ludicrously tough green left-handed, and Selby went on to win 10-9. The Jester from Leicester, eh? Yep, he’s hilarious.

The match ended just before midnight and I found myself as depressed as I’ve been in a long while. Another Rocket-backer texted to inform me that O’Sullivan traded at 1.05 on Betfair. I often wish betting exchanges had never been invented – losses were always much easier to swallow when you knew you hadn’t had any chance to avoid them.

Still, the final round of the Sony Open golf was to come, and I had Rory Sabbatini (£105 at 28 ante-post) and Steve Stricker (£110 at 8.8 on Betfair after round three) in contention.
I stayed up until 3.30am to watch a man named Mr Palmer end the night a winner. He was called Ryan, though, not Steve, and I was awash with sadness.

Monday, January 18
I was short of funds and morale, but I knew I needed to try to get my brain around the golfing week ahead because the Abu Dhabi Championship had been a lucky tournament for me in the past (I had £125 at 66-1 on Martin Kaymer when he won in 2008 and £200 at 28-1 on Paul Casey when he won in 2009), so I ignored the plight of my stricken car and weighed in with three Abu Dhabi wagers (£125 on Kaymer at 16-1 with Betfred, £45 on Alex Noren at 48 on Betfair and £30 on Alvaro Quiros at 70).

I later made three Bob Hope Classic investments (£75 on Tim Clark at 26 on Betfair, £65 on Justin Leonard at 28-1 with Stan James and £40 on Brian Gay at 42 on Betfair)and had a £100 double with Bet365 on Kaymer (14-1) and Clark (22-1).

Tuesday, January 19
Unfortunately, I found myself in front of a TV screen as the line-ups for the Manchester derby Carling Cup first leg were announced, and with midfield destroyers everywhere I could not resist having £90 on under 1.5 goals at 3.9 on Betfair.

The match provided a perfect illustration of why football betting is bonkers. United’s opening goal was entirely down to Craig Bellamy slipping over as he went to challenge Antonio Valencia – it was a goal so soft it should be used to advertise cotton wool – and then just before half-time Man City were awarded a penalty for a foul outside the box.

When I placed my bet, I hadn’t factored in Bellamy might be wearing the wrong studs in his boots and that the referee wouldn’t know one of the most basic laws of Association Football. Silly me.

At half-time, I had £30 at 4.6 on Betfair on City to win the leg and I got my money back on the game, but I was castigating myself for being foolish enough to bet on football again.

Wednesday, January 20
Lesson learned? Evidently not, because 24 hours later I had the teams for Liverpool versus Tottenham in frontof me and had £50 on Spurs at 3.35 on Betfair. Tottenham’s line-up was superior to Liverpool’s in every position bar goalkeeper, but Liverpool won comfortably. It’s a mad sport.

I immediately switched to a much safer betting medium – Celebrity Big Brother – having all my Vinnie Jones lay back at 2.1. I had some more on Dane Bowers at 16 and Nicola Tappenden at 5.8, so they were each winning me about £500.

Thursday, January 21
Kaymer, Noren and Quiros all made superb starts in Abu Dhabi and I was left wishing I could have made larger investments. The Thursday night Bob Hope coverage was rained off, so I had to find some alternative television, and I stumbled across Slumdog Children Of Mumbai on Channel 4. It was one of the most harrowing programmes I’ve ever seen and had a seriously deep impact on me.

A seven-year-old girl, who was once poisoned when a rat chewed off one of her toes while she was sleeping in the slums, was working a 15-hour shift during the monsoon season, dodging traffic as she tried to sellflowers to more fortunate souls. She made the equivalent of 40 pence for that shift, then went back to the slums to help her gran care for her younger siblings. Her dad died years ago, before her mum abandoned her.

And yet despite enduring such hardship, she was so cheerful and courteous to the Channel 4 team as she guided them through life in the slums, steadfastly refusing to wallow in self-pity. There are a lot of spoilt brats I see on my travels around England who could learn a lot from this poor girl.
It was an instant dose of perspective for me personally. I made a vow at that point to never feel sorry for myself again.

There are so many people worse off than you and I – we should not be getting downcast about any of the comparatively trivial matters we have to deal with when children are starving to death on the same planet as us.

Friday, January 22
While moving house you find all sorts of strange things you never knew existed.

A newspaper cutting of me posing as a dashing young 17-year-old after being awarded the Snickers/Channel 4 Young Sports Broadcaster of the Year honour had me cursing the ageing process, while an ‘official matchday programme’ I had compiled in 1993 left me utterly bemused as I was clearly under the impression back then that I was the manager of Northwich Victoria. I had even written a ‘View From The Dugout’ for Victoria fans in a 22-page programme!

No wonder I’ve never amounted to much if at the age of 15 my greatest ambition was to manage Northwich Victoria.

Saturday, January 23
I finally completed the house move before spending all day and all night watching golf on my own. Bliss! Kaymer and Clark were going jolly well.

Gosh, I said to myself, I hope they win.

Sunday, January 24
Yeeeeeeeeaaas Martin, as Graham Taylor once famously screamed after Martin Keown had converted a penalty kick in training. Kaymer held his nerve and Fred Done owed me £2,125.

I felt like I was back in business and after casting an eye over the latest Bob Hope prices I had a further £200 on Clark at 10.5 on Betfair, meaning I would make £40,000 from the weekend if the little South African could finish atop the leaderboard the following night.

By now word was spreading on the Racing Post sports desk that I was on a course for a ‘face-spitter’ (a winning bet so large that you can spit in the face of your boss because you don’t need a job any more) and I was regularly receiving texts of support and encouragement from colleagues.

Monday, January 25
I quickly evaluated the Welsh Open snooker, having £140 on John Higgins at 8.6 on Betfair and £60 on Ding Junhui at 20, but it was hard to think about anything but the possibility of landing a £40,000 booty from the golf.

Most Monday nights are pretty dull, but thanks to weather delays in the Bob Hope, this was going to be the most manic Monday of my life. The final round was being staged on the Palmer Course, which I had convinced myself must be a strong omen for good, and even though Clark, one shot behind, was trading around the 4.3 mark on Betfair as play was about to commence in California, I was confident enough to let the bet ride. I had, though, placed some savers on Matt Kuchar (£150 at 18.5 on Betfair) and Mike Weir (£150 at 15) as I considered them the biggest threats.

Just as the man carrying my hopes and dreams was about to tee off, a ladybird landed on my chest, and again my fluffy mind marked this down as The Lord’s way of saying this was going to be my night. I didn’t have any windows open in my flat so was stunned to find an insect had forced its way inside. In my excitement I picked up the ladybird and circled it around my head a few times. I know it’s money spiders you’re supposed to do that with but I didn’t have one of those to hand, so I thought I’d take my chance as the next best thing had presented itself.
I played some Pan-Pipe Moods on the stereo to calm myself down as Clark scrambled a par at the first, but even downing a tumbler of sedatives would have had no soothing effect on me after he missed a four-foot birdie putt on the second.

Clark putted like an elephant on the front nine, spurning countless birdie chances, so I was pleased my Rod Lavers (Kuchar and Weir) were making strong headway up the leaderboard. Bill Haas and Bubba Watson were the only real bogeys in my punting nostrils as the event turned into a five-runner affair. Haas, in particular, was doing my head in. I’ve never rated Watson and have never backed him for anything, but Haas is a player I’ve supported on many occasions and victory for him was going to hurt more than any other.

Clark’s chip-in for birdie at the fifth kept him hot on the heels of the leaders and for the first time my thoughts turned to the possibility of doing a spot of trading. But it is only rich men who can trade these positions properly anyway – I haven’t had more than £20,000 in my bank account since a particularly glorious run in thesummer of 2004 – so all I could think about doing was to lay off the potential Clark winnings in Betfair (about £3,700) and mess about with another few hundred quid. The real meat of the potential winnings was sitting in Bet365’s vaults waiting to be presented to me once the double had copped.

Clark slowly eased his way into the thick of things on the back nine and the £40,000 dream remained alive, but I felt compelled to get further involved with Kuchar, who was looking the likely winner as he boarded the tee at the penultimate par-five. I had £500 at 2 on Betfair, which left me winning almost £5,000 on the weekend if Kuchar won and almost £40,000 from a Clark triumph.

The following hour or so will live long in my memory. My new neighbours must have been disappointed with the latest addition to their block of flats when I greeted Clark’s successful birdie putt at the 15th hole with a huge outpouring of emotion.

I was extremely touched by the messages of support which were flooding underneath my blog on racingpost.com – I felt like Happy Gilmore trying to win the US Open (anyone who hasn’t seen the film will not know what I mean) and Haas was playing the role of Shooter McGavin.

Didi Hamann, a contented man having just backed a winner in the Charlton-Leyton Orient game, even phoned to offer his support as Clark was standing over his birdie putt on the 17th. I think I scared the ice-cool German with my passionate reaction to that one finding the bottom of the cup.

I hadn’t felt so alive and engrossed by the world since falling into a midwife’s arms 31 long years ago. For once it seemed that I was actually playing an important role on planet Earth, landing a significant blow for the humble punter right on the nose of the mighty bookmaker.

Itwas all looking so rosy – Clark and Kuchar were sharing the lead – £40,000 or £5,000! It was like being a contestant on Deal or No Deal. Kuchar was on the 18th green putting for birdie, while Clark was in the centre of the 18th fairway waiting to hit his second shot.

I was thrilled when Kuchar missed his putt (looking back now that was the opposite emotion from what I should have been feeling) because it meant all Clark needed to do was knock a fairway wood on or around the green of this par-five, take two more shots from wherever it landed, and seize the lead on his own at 30 under par.

But then everything went from looking very rosy to looking very, urm, thorny. The final few moments of the tournament are a bit of a blur, but when Haas holed for birdie at the 17th to make it a three-way tie for the lead and then Clark pulled out a seven-iron with which to lay up at 18, my world fell apart and I dived into some frantic last-gasp trading.

As soon as Clark elected to lay up, I knew he had left the door wide open for Haas, so desperately tried to salvage something from the week. A look back at my Betfair records show that in the space of about five minutes Igot £103.97 on Haas at 2.38, £396.03 on Haas at 2.2, laid £500 of Clark at 3, had £23 on Haas at 2.2, £477 on Haas at 2.1, then laid £61.25 of Clark at 2.7.

This may just sound like sour grapes, and yes, my grapes have never been so sour, but laying up was a stupid decision by Clark. If he didn’t know about Haas’s birdie at the 17th and that knowledge would have influenced the lay-up decision, then the caddie should be sacked forthwith. But even if Clark was oblivious to the threat of Haas and thought 29 under was going to qualify him for a play-off, surely he should have been pulling out all the stops to make birdie anyway to reach 30 under par and win inregulation play.

He only had about 220 yards to the green for goodness sake. I could have got it on the green with a five-wood and I’ve never been to a gymnasium before!

With his natural draw he wouldn’t have even needed to fly it over the water on the left – a three-wood aimed right of the green, drifting gently towards the putting surface would have done the job. An up-and-down from around the green or a long two-putt was always going to have more chance of success than a pitch from distance, no matter how good he is with his wedge.

But timid Timothy couldn’t get the water out of his mind. Most golfers carry bananas in their bag for sustenance on the wayround, but I think Clark prefers to eat fairycakes.

I’m extremely proud with the way I dealt with the disappointment once Haas had birdied the last to win by one. In times gone by, such a savage blow may have left me in a dangerously dark mood, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the slumdog children of Mumbai, who would happily have swapped places with me at that point.

I put an REM album on, nibbled on a pot of Muller Rice, and then turned my mind to the Qatar Masters, placing £200 on Quiros at 30-1 with Bet365 in the early hours, confident another chance to win big would not be too long coming.

Tuesday, January 26
I woke up in terrible pain. I had a thick head, a sore throat, and was going through Kleenex like nobody’s business (not in a good way). It was the most sudden arrival of severe man-flu I have ever encountered and I wondered whether the mental trauma of the previous night had resulted in this physical meltdown. Suffering seemed to be literally oozing out of my body.

I turned my phone on to find all sorts of texts – ‘hope you took a decent profit’, ‘did you lay off a big chunk?’, etc – which didn’t aid my recovery. I know I could have guaranteed winning more than I did, but my loathing of laying off meant I almost let the whole lot ride all the way to the finish. Even with the O’Sullivan debacle fresh in the memory, my natural instinct was to take the gamble. I don’t think I’ve got a trading bone in my body.

Many thanks for all the messages of condolence on the website. The best things in life are free anyway, eh? And wasn’t it a beautiful moment when Jay Haas finally got to see his son follow in his footsteps as a US Tour winner?

Who am I trying to kid? It was excruciating! To take my mind off the Clark calamity, I fiddled with my CBB position on Betfair, meaning I won £400 on Bowers, £300 on Tappenden, £200 on Alex Reid and lost £250 on anyone else.

My other golf bets were gradually getting matched on Betfair too – £100 on Noren for the Qatar Masters at 55, £70 on Soren Hansen at 36, £50 on Johan Edfors at 85, £15 on Ricardo Gonzalez at 300, £310 on Phil Mickelson for the Farmers Insurance Open at 7.6, £60 on Charles Howell at 36, £50 on John Rollins at 38 and £45 on Brandt Snedeker at 42 – and I had a £100 double on Quiros (28-1) and Mickelson (13-2) with Bet365.

Wednesday, January 27
I was still feeling very ill. I would advise against getting yourself in a position to win £40,000. It’s not good for your health.

I had another £15 on Gonzalez because I was so annoyed he had drifted to 400 on Betfair, then my fears that I was still unable to put football on my TV without punting on it, proved justified when I had £40 on Kieran Richardson to score at any time for Sunderland against Everton at 10 on Betfair and £30 on Boudewijn Zenden any time at 10-1 with Paddy Power.

Richardson was playing just off the main striker but limped off injured after 26 minutes, at which point I switched over to the Manchester derby. Full of regret at throwing away £70 with spur of the moment decisions, after 35 minutes of play I had £17 at 5.1 on Betfair onUnited to win 1-0 to try to get my money back.

Then just after they had gone 2-0 up, I had £13 at 8.6 on United to win 2-1, and Carlos Tevez gave me hope that I would indeed get all my money back on the night with a crackingfinish.

But then Wayne Rooney popped up with an injury-time winner, so I lost a total of £100 on four silly, pointless, boredom bets. If ever there was a game for the neutral to savour without a betting interest, this was it. I’ll never learn. The football losses, along with Ding’s defeat and Tappenden’s eviction, made it a poor day.

Thursday, January 28
I tried to get my Players Championship darts bets on and Blue Square’s stand-out 18-1 about Adrian Lewis interested me most.

I put £95 in my internet account to have on Jackpot, but kept getting a message saying ‘stake too high – please amend’.
This was infuriating because they didn’t even indicate how much they were prepared to accept, so I kept reducing my stake by £5 and having another go. Eventually theytook £55 at 18-1, but the price remained the same. I don’t know why bookmakers chalk up stand-out prices to attract customers, then turn them away. Why didn’t they just go 16-1 Lewis like everyone else if they didn’t want to lay him for much?

I had the other £40 on Lewis at inferior prices on Betfair, £20 on Michael van Gerwen at 100-1 with Blue Square (they were happy to lay that one even though it returns £920 more than £60 on Lewis), and £35 on Mark Walsh at prices ranging from 42 to 50 on Betfair.

Then, just for the ruddy hell of it, I pressed up with another £35 on Gonzalez, who was still trading as high as 400 on Betfair despite lurking in 25th place.

Friday, January 29
Wrote this diary while Quiros finished tamely in Qatar on just three under par at the halfway stage.

At least thatmeans I can probably forget about my double and won’t be waking up with a fresh bout of misery-fuelled man-flu on Monday morning.