Crucified at the Crucible as potty plans for profit are snookered

Snooker loopy, nuts are we. Absolutely nuts. Crazy. Unhinged. Mad. Cuckoo. Insane. Barmy. Potty. Yes, potty about pots. Screwballs for screwballs. Snooker has sent me out of my tiny mind. But not in a good way. In a bad way.

Chas and Dave went snooker loopy because they loved the sport so much. I love the sport, too, and would play snooker every day if I could. Having a house with a snooker room has been a lifelong dream. I don't love betting on snooker, though, and I have gone snooker loopy over the last week or so due to foolishly falling off the snooker betting wagon.

I came to the conclusion ages ago that modern professional snooker was too competitive – anybody could beat anybody – and that betting on it was too dangerous. But when this year's Betfred World Championship arrived, fuelled with optimism from a winning streak on the golf, I could not resist getting involved. I still know my snookerers, I thought, and can afford a little dabble. What harm could it do?