Easy picking on US Tour make up for footy losers

Saturday, February 6

I woke up a little dejected having devoted the previous evening to attempting the notorious Mentos-Coke trick.

I remembered my old mate Dave (everyone’s got a mate called Dave, haven’t they?) once told me it was possible to create a spectacular firework-like display by putting a few Mentos(little mints) into a bottle of Coke.

But all I ended up with when taking on the job with my mate Keith in a deserted car park (not so many people have got a mate called Keith) was sticky shoes and a feeling that after 31 years playing the game of life I should probably have found better ways of spending my Friday nights than trying to get cheap thrills from mint-Coke explosions.

Anyway, I comforted myself with the fact my golf bets were going well – Alvaro Quiros (£120 at 23) and Martin Kaymer (£215 at 12) were in contention in the Dubai Desert Classic, and Steve Stricker (£145 at 16-1) was dominating proceedings in the Northern Trust Open.

There really was no need to do any more betting – those three wagers were going to make for an absorbing weekend – but I got a late-morning text from my old football corners guru who was getting very excited about Portsmouth getting a six-and-a-halfstart against Man United in a corners match bet. He said the market was framed like an England versus Andorra game and Portsmouth had been grossly underrated.

Hmmmm, football betting, eh? I ended up having a tentative £60 at9-10 with Bet365, which could not in itself do any serious damage, but the text got me thinking about football again and I found myself having a cursory glance through the fixture list while I waited for a sofa to be delivered to my new flat.

Before long I had convinced myself Liverpool were a shockingly bad price for the lunchtime Merseyside derby and laid £150 of the Reds at 2.06 on Betfair.

Half-time at Anfield and there was still no sign of the sofa, but my spirits were high as ten-man Liverpool were looking woeful, and I decided the £150 was as good as in my bank. This misplaced confidence meant I did not hesitate in having £200 at 1.79 on Betfair on Man City to beat Hull in a 3pmkick-off.

Come 5pm, after Liverpool had defied their sending-off with a 1-0 victory, United had won the corner count by about four million to one, and City’s playboys had succumbed to Hull, I was £419 down for the day on a sport I’m not supposed to be betting on and building an unhealthy rage.

My corners guru had dropped into the end of his initial text that Aston Villa would probably rest a few players in the late kick-off at Tottenham because of forthcoming cup games, so without even looking at the line-ups I slapped my remaining Betfair balance (£392.33) on Spurs at 2.06 (trying to get all my money back) and marched up the pub for a few soothing pints of San Miguel.

Five minutes into the game, I turned to my mate Trifleface (very few people have got a mate called Trifleface) and said it had draw written all over it. He agreed with me and asked if I had put a bet on the draw. I told him I had put almost four hundred quid on Tottenham and he gave me one of those looks I’ve seen so many times before which translates to: “Oh no, Steve’s having another mental breakdown.”

Spurs huffed and puffed to no avail, I was £800 down for the day, and quaffing lager like a thirsty ferret to quell my anger.

To compound my misery, later in the night Trifleface spilled an entire plate of spaghetti bolognese on my beige lounge carpet while trying to eat and study Zoo magazine simultaneously.

He felt terrible and wouldn’t stop apologising, but I just laughed and told him I could probably buy a new carpet every week if I stoppedbetting on football.

Sunday, February 7

Scrubbing the lounge carpet while watching the final round of the Dubai Desert Classic, it looked like Quiros was going to make sure I could quickly forget about Saturday’s disappointments. The Spanish ace was one shot ahead and putting from short range for eagle on the 13th hole – the tournament was at his mercy and it seemed like £2,760 would soon be winging its way back into my Betfair balance.

But the big-hitting maverick bashed the eagle putt a few feet by, missed the return, and then went to pieces over the closing holes, smashing a three-wood into water at the final hole to completely surrender his chance.

Kaymer finished fourth, I hadn’t made a bean from the tournament, and suddenly my whole life was in the hands of Stricker, who had built a six-shot lead going into the final round of the Northern Trust.

Possibly the lowest my morale has been all year was during the American’s stumbling start to round four (his six-shot lead was down to two in no time at all), and as I started out on a long journey to Gatwick Airport for a golf holiday, I was starting to wonder whether I would even be able to afford to buy myself a bag of tees on arrival in Spain.

Text messages from pals with Stricker news were read by eyes swollen with stress, but fortunately the long-time leader recovered his composure to get the job done. Dear Steve, I love you, love Steve.

Monday, February 8

I’ve seen some things in my time but watching the Welsh Ladies Golf Union work on their short games on the practice ground at Desert Springs Golf Club in Almeria may well be the most gainful employment my eyes have ever had.

These multi-talented young princesses in tight-fitting shorts were displaying incredible technique, leaving my playing partner Steve Davies and I feeling humbled on the neighbouring putting green.

“They’re half our age, they’re girls and they’re much better than us at golf. How does that make you feel, Steve?”

Despite the humiliation, those few hours certainly gave me an idea for a possible career switch, with the role of acting as a coach for the Welsh Ladies Golf Union an extremely appealing vocation. Two middle-aged blokes were in charge of about 16 budding Annika Sorenstams.

Standing beside a bunker in the sunshine, staring at a load of pert 18-year-old bottoms while offering occasional words of advice on stance, grip, swing, etc?

How can a man get paid for that?

Tuesday, February 9

My opening drive ofthe holiday was a power fade with the Big Dog which meant the par-five green was in range (did you see that, girls?), but I drew my three-wood approach too much and nearly killed a set of builders who were working on a house to the left of the fairway.

The wheels came off after that and I shot 104 on an extremely challenging course in 30mph winds. I tried to rouse myself for a strong finish before boarding the 11th tee but went back into my shell when I saw a sign which read: ‘Beware snakes and scorpions’. It doesn’t half put some pressure on your tee shot when you know a hungry viper might be waiting for you in the rough.

When I got back to the sanctuary of the clubhouse, I turned my mind to the upcoming professional golf, placing three Pebble Beach Pro-Am wagers on Betfair.

I had £100 on Dustin Johnson at 23, £50 on Nick Watney at 44 and £30 on Davis Loveat 75.

I tried to deposit some more money, but my Stricker winnings had clearly not gone into my bank account yet, so I had to spend a couple of hours texting friends in England to get my other bets in play.

Various characters helped out and I managed to get £200 on Darren Clarke to win the Avantha Masters at 16-1, £100 on Shiv Kapur at 25-1, £75 on Gareth Maybin at 33-1, and a £145 win double on Johnson (22-1) and Clarke (14-1).

Wednesday, February 10

I nailed another great opening drive and hit a perfect five-iron lay-up, but Steve D’s third shot then crashed into thebuilders on the left and they went bonkers. With abuse raining in, suddenly my serene progress up the first was threatened, and I put my ‘don’t hit it left’ swing into operation for fear of further winding up the building community.

My third shot drifted right into a greenside bunker, I thinned my fourth over the cliff-edge, took a penalty drop, made a double-bogey seven, and we tip-toed past the angry builders en route to the second tee.

Anglo-Spanish relations improved greatly later in the round, though, when I realised I had left my pitching wedge by the side of the first green. I explained my plight to a greenkeeper and he raced off in a buggy to try to find the stricken wedge.

The language barrier between us was so enormous it made the Great Barrier Reef look like a slither of seaweed, but I gave him ten euros for his trouble and we were soon bestest friends, and while pointing at my ball he said in broken English: “Now in the hole!”

It was a beautiful moment. I didn’t quite manage to hole out from 100 yards, but used the rescued club to hit a punch shot under the wind which set up a birdie, eventually shaving three shots off the previous day’s round.

I hobbled off the course with so many aches and pains – I had forgotten how physically demanding playing 18 holes on consecutive days can be – my shoulder was knackered, my legs were like jelly, my feet were covered in blisters, and I even had some cactus injuries on my hands and shins (I would advise against attempting miracle shots from behind cacti).

Never has a hot bath been so welcome and asI lay in the tub I started to comprehend what all those pleasure-pain enthusiasts are so hooked on.

I had never really understood their peculiar ways, but I suppose if you have someone pouring candle-wax over your nipples for ten minutes, it is going to feel wonderful when they finally start stroking them with an ice cube (even more wonderful than it would have done had you not gone through the initial candle-wax agonies). Anyway, it was the most satisfying bath I’ve ever had in my life.

Thursday, February 11

Back in Blighty just in time to watch some Premier League darts. I had £70 on James Wade to beat Raymond van Barneveld at 2.2 on Betfair, which lost, and then £140 on Phil Taylor to beat Simon Whitlock at 1.54, which won.

The Power at 1.54? I’ll do well to place a better bet than that this year. I’m so ashamed by the paltry stake.

Friday, February 12
When I discovered my Stricker booty had still not reached my bank account, I rang Victor Chandler to discover they have a new rule whereby you have to request winnings to be paid back to your bank (they don’t return them automatically).

Oh yeah, great idea – you hang on to my £2,465 lads, I don’t really need it. Let’s see if I can bet it up to £100,000, then I’ll take it off your hands. If not, just keep what’s left for your Christmas party.

Angered by having to wait for my cash, I messed about on some horses anddogs in a Coral shop, losing £50 on an 8-13 shot called Quantitativeeasing, which was ridden by AP McCoy at Kempton. It got beaten in a tight finish – it’s probably the only time in history McCoy has been beaten in a tight finish – and I walked out dejected.

Saturday, February 13
Clarke put his second shot in the water at the 18th hole in India to get my day off to a shocker. Another yard or two of carry, he would have been putting from ten feet for eagle and had the tournament by the gonads.

Still, with Johnson leading at Pebble and Clarke only two shots behind going into the final round of the Avantha, there was certainly scope for clearing my scope of spittle all over my boss (a £55,725 return if they both won) the following evening.

Sunday, February 14

Clarke was bang in contention until racking up a bogey six at the 14th hole, and I returned to bed knowing my retirement plans were back on hold.

I later pressed up on Johnson with £212.05 at 2.1.

I couldn’t believe he was not odds-on with only flaky fruitcake Paul Goydos for company on the leaderboard – and I was pleased to see big Dustin birdie the final hole for victory.

Outrageously, having pocketed four-and-a-half bags in two weeks on the US Tour through Stricker and Johnson, I was feeling a little flat that I hadn’t nailed the life-changer. Greed is such a disgusting sin.

Monday, February 15

Gathered my Accenture Match Play tanks on the lawn – £200 on Ross Fisher at 35-1 with Blue Square, £200 on Kaymer at 22-1 in a Coral shop, £150 on Stewart Cink at 42 on Betfair, £150 on ErnieEls at 40-1 in a Ladbrokes shop and £100 on Alvaro Quiros at 46 on Betfair – then had £100 on Charles Howell to win the Mayakoba Classic at Stan James’s enhanced win-only price of 21-1.

Tuesday, February 16

Had a £50 each-way double on Fisher (33-1) and Howell
(20-1) with Bet365, then several pancakes.

Wednesday, February 17

Had some more pancakes for breakfast. My way of showing my love for The Lord is slightly different from the norm. Rather than fast through Lent, I eat pancakes every day to celebrate all that is great about his kingdom (pancakes, sugar, lemon juice, forks, etc).

I had no intention of betting on any football but having been called into service at the Racing Post’s London headquarters, footy talk was all around me, and I ended up having £75 on Bayern Munich to beat Fiorentina at 1.46 on Betfair and £25 on Reading to beat Crystal Palace at 3.15.

Football betting is so easy, eh?

Thursday, February 18

I had been offered front-row seats for the Premier League darts in Bournemouth but had to sit in a steel tower in Canary Wharf instead.

As soon as my transatlantic golf double motherload hits planet Earth – and I’m confident it will strike this year – I’m going to spend every day doing as I please. Gosh, I can’t ruddy wait.

Friday, February 19

Tiger Woods’s statement disturbed me – I had urged my colleague Mark Langdon to steam into Elin not to attend at 5-4, “I’m sorry” to be his first cliche at 5-1 and Tiger not to cry at 1-4, but I didn’t have a bean on myself.

Trying to win money from my former hero squirming in front of the cameras just didn’t seem right.

That said, my conviction that Phil Mickelson will win the Masters at a canter was strengthened by Tiger’s apparent lack of lust for competition and I was straight on Betfair to have £300 on Leftyat odds ranging from 8.4 to 9.6.

I can see myself having another zero on that stake come the second week of April.