Tomorrow I shall be heading into the big house for some pharmaceuticals. Again this means I shall become a social hermit for two weeks. In real terms I will float through these coming weeks possibly with only my nose breaking the surface of life's waters once in a while to give the real world a sniff before returning to the depths of my own little dark and eccentric world where I will wear only my cowboy hat and pants and listen to country music.
You may find my blog posts are laced with stronger and stronger outré flavourings as the days progress, but don't be too concerned. It's just a form of Oxygen starvation. Once I return to the real world some time in mid April they'll return to still making no real sense, but in a less scary way.
2-2 it's a miracle
Ricky Martin for genuinely thinking there were people out there who didn't suspect he was a whoopsie.
Jerry calls it schadenfreude, here we just say ha ha
It's usually within a couple of months of the World Cup Wayne Rooney breaks his foot, so it'll be no surprise if he hasn't done it again this evening. Possibly an injury too late from the point of view of Arsenal's Championship hopes - he's been carrying his team since the beginning of the season and without him they are but a pig arse of a team, but the draw against Birmingham seems to have dashed our hopes of a title.
However, from a wagering stand point this could save me many many purses of monies. I have an Arsenal Chelsea reverse forecast at 27.0 and two £100 wagers with some individuals that the Arse finish higher than Manchester United. And of course, when Mexico play England in the quarter finals they won't have a chance of beating El Tri without Rooney.
In other news, I had anchovies on a pizza this evening for the first time and I must say I found them very nice. I recently discovered that olives weren't very pleasant at all, so I was certainly taking a gamble with these little fishy dudes. A gamble that paid off. I of course won't be teased into thinking the Gods have been appeased and are now rewarding me. I'm not falling for that one again.
I was doing some research for tonight's Champions League games, but gave up as I won't be betting on it and I got distracted looking at pictures of serving wenches at the Munich beer festivals.
As you may know I frown upon women drinking from pint glasses, but I'm mildy aroused by the sight of a buxom blonde pounding down a 2 litre stein of frothy lager. A girl who can down one of those bad boys must be able to hold her breath for at least two minutes and I think you'll agree this can only be a good thing.
So anyway, no bets this evening, I'm still auditing my finances anyway. I fancy a red-card at some point tonight though.
If for some reason you'd planned to watch the Chancellors debate tonight instead of say, sticking forks in your eyes or rubbing honey on your face - I can sum up the proceedings for you now and save you the trouble. This picture from the Telegraph website is essentially all you're likely to hear..
Of the three of them it's Vince Cable who is the most likely to be the next Chancellor, despite his party not having a chance in hell of winning the election. This makes this whole evening's discussions completely rhetorical.
None of them dare to spell out in plain English in big fat letters how fucked we are. Alistair Darling certainly can't as his party is responsible for the state the nations arse is in. George Osborne can't because his party would then have to set out a plan for dealing with it, which would involve conceding that the country will be feasting on bread and water for the next twenty years and they'll never admit this to the proles as it'll destroy their chances of winning the next election.
Vince Cable ought to have been the only one of the three who can speak ze truth, but no. Because of this very likely event of a hung Parliament, he also cannot tell ze truth as he doesn't want to have to make promises he won't be able to keep when he's in the big chair.
So this leaves the British meeja. Why have they not set the alarm bells ringing? We should all be rioting in the streets given the state of the country's finances, but no. Not a squeak from them. This is because they're all invested in Cameron and need him to win.
The only place you will hear the truth, is here people. Blogs. Not always my blog as I speak often too much about sandwiches, but the blogs of the people who foolishly still care about the state of the nation and haven't yet figured out as I have that the Gods will have their way with us and there's very little we can do about it.
We are in many ways like a wee leaf, fallen into the rapids of a great river and our fate left to the currents of the waters indeed oh yes. Caves are the future. Caves.
A quick report of last night's pokering, but before that I'd like to share with you briefly, an observation of mine regarding young Patrik Antonius.
I'm sure he's a good looking chap and everything and there's nothing wrong at all with being proud of how you look, but personally, as the years have gone by, he looks to have too much pride for my liking. So much pride in fact he might even involve himself in some sort of march.
He seems more and more like some one you'd see working at Gary Anderson's hairdressing salon - or maybe someone you might find serving drinks at Zippers, a bar me and my parents strolled into unawares while out for a stroll in Toronto. Think that was the first and last time my father has ever been called honey by another man in fact.
Again, nothing wrong with all this, just if I was a high stakes player I'd be a little uncomfortable seated near the man. I don't think there should be any danger of catching a glimpse of a man's nipple when you're looking for tells is all.
Now then..last night. It was Deja Vu boyo all over again isn't it. There's a Welsh kid playing there who I have encountered twice. It hasn't been confirmed yet, but I think he qualifies now as my nemesis despite only these two pastings he's offered up to me.
At Christmas, sat there with his iPod and seemingly oblivious to everything, he continued to win pot after pot against me. At that time I was in the very rare position of running over the table. I do this so infrequently, but I was unable to really enjoy it as he presented himself as somewhat of a speed bump. He busted me eventually (with A-Q, I had 8-8).
Fast forward last night. Same deal, sort of. I fear then worst when in the first level with 25-50 blinds he comes in for a raise for 500! I lost half my stack early, mostly to him. Then recovered only to eventually have this kid bust me in gut churningly ironic fashion.
See now, I'd been making raising with good enough holdings. Twice against him with A-Q, but he's one of these shove monkeys who won't play down the streets, so he's shoved his big stack in against me each time and I've had to fold. I'm assooooming he has either medium pairs or worse A-K.
As the final table progressed I've managed to go a whole round without playing a hand and I find myself in the blinds again. I have about 35,000 with the blinds at 2,000-4,000. Welsh nemesis is chip leader. He flat calls in mid-position. There's a raise in the cut-off to 9,000 which I think is an odd amount. I have 10-7 spades and decide to call with a view to executing an awesome stop and go. I expect Welsh nemesis to flat as well, but he shoves his whole stack in after my call and following a five minute dwell up during which time we weren't sure if he was thinking about his hand or the valleys.
Original raiser folds. So I have a decision. I have a pot of 27,000 plus WN's stack. I have 25,000 behind. So, it's 25,000 to win 52,000 - if I win I have 77,000 and am good shape. I think he does not have a huge hand, his dwelling up was not acting, he's just a retard. I surmise he has a small middle pair he just can't bring himself to fold, or it's the A-K, the hand I tried to avoid so many times before with my A-Q.
I decide I want to try and win the thing not eek into the monies, so I decide to take my shot and call. He does indeed have the A-K. I do indeed lose. All my many hours of close quarters fighting at the Pigeons has still not prepared me for players like this. I can't beat them. I try and work them out, when in fact you can't work them out, because they don't know what they're doing themselves. I am therefore destined to lose unless the Gods for some reason want to throw me a bone,which of course, given my recent blog entries, will never happen again.
I least I don't care anymore.
Meanwhile back at the Pigeons quiz, the information I have received is sketchy, but it looks like there was more controversy. So far all I know is Paulie 'two thumbs' has been handed another ban (for being right according to the man himself). I can only assume either quiz master Colin has fucked up again, or the team on the middle table had nine players again. The Gods are angry at the Mob.
My wagering hiatus will continue for some time as I want to see where the bear sits with regard to assembling some sort of bank roll to allow me to go to Las Vegas. However, if I was still betting I'd do some serious research on the Wurzels reaching number one with their 70's classic "I'm a Cider drinker."
I don't know how many downloads or sales are required for a number one spot, but this song may have a chance as there's politics involved. This tax on Cider was dressed up as a tax to curb binge drinking by the Chancellor, but this is obviously bollocks.
It's not just alco-pop type white Ciders that will be taxed. It's also the traditional Ciders that are brewed in what are traditionally Conservative areas that Labour have no chance of winning seats in. Therefore they can tax these people and companies safe in the knowledge they're not losing out come election day.
The same Facebook type campaign that saw Rage Against the Machine win the Christmas number one spot is now being waged by Cider drinkers. They want this Wurzels song to be downloaded in protest at this new Tax that'll add about 20p to a pint of Cider and it's gaining momentum. These Tory seats have huge populations so if everyone gets their arse hairs up about this it might be worth a few shilling to bet on it becoming number one.
I of course won't be, as I must now seriously consider where my own bear sits financially. I must make the annual pilgrimage to Las Vegas or I will sulk for the rest of my life.
Today I mostly wish I was here
Now that football is dead to me, I'll be focusing on it's distant Australian cousin Aussie Rules. My team is Geelong. I'm not sure of the rules yet, but it's sufficiently violent as to be of little consequence and as an added bonus it does not appear to have the same stench of homo-erotica about it that literally dogs Rugby Union, which is fascinating really, all things considered.
Given the nature of the interaction between the players and the scanty nature of the kits worn, there is still no suspicion Aussie Rules is simply another arm of the underground cottaging movement of the early to mid 19th century from which Rugby has its roots.
You're left in no doubt that what you're witnessing is not simply a fleet of Berties masquerading as sportsmen as you might suspect during a typical six nations Rugby Union fixture. Tight tops yes, even tighter shorts indeed, groping certainly, yet some how the sport remains pure. Remarkable!
An innocent disrobing, yesterday.
Labels:
Awesome,
Sport
Only the angel who falls knows the depths of hellImagine if you will you're at the casino. You've done your bollocks and retire to the bar for two consolatory double Jack Daniels' and Coke, twice, but the Gods are in playful mood and you will be their sport. Oh yes.
There's a £100 chip on the bar, abandoned and available. You sink your two drinks and ante up again. You run it up to £1000 and then of course you lose it again. It's not the game, it's not the Gods, it's your own fault because you chose to believe and belief as Paul Merson will tell you, is unbelievable.
It's the oldest trick in the book. The Sirens used it to tempt hairy sailors into the waters, foolishly believing they were on a promise with these beautiful temptresses whereas previously they'd only been able to attract flies. The Gods have been plying us with intoxicating belief for centuries in order to make us perform for their pleasure these Sisyphean tasks under the drunken influence of ambitions and dreams. Bastardos!
Football for example; It's not Manual Almunia I blame for making David James look like Gordon Banks. It's not even Arsenal I blame for refusing to score a goal unless every member of the team has touched the ball. I don't even blame the referee for taking to the field with an almost pathological inability to make correct decisions. I blame myself.
Many weeks ago with Arsenal some eleven points adrift of first place I had surrendered the season and observed some days of mourning. It was over, I accepted this. But the Gods..the Gods were thirsty and not yet had their fill of my misery.
Under the pretense of fellowship they plied me with belief as Chelsea and Manchester United began dropping points and allowed us to creep within contention once again. I was not weak enough to resist and once again I chose to believe. I still hear the echoes of their laughter now. Laughter that rang out when Kevin Phillips scored with 58 seconds left in the game.
If Shopenhauer was right, life without pain has no meaning. Well this week I have experienced meaning and you can keep it. I choose to tie myself to the mast, fill my ears with beeswax and spread honey on my face.
I choose to forgo meaning in preference for a blissful nothing. I shall no longer be a source of amusement for the Gods. I shall not dance to their tune. I will no longer be diverted from the truth - we have but one life people, thus everything is ultimately insignificant. It's all so simple: what happens but once, might as well not have happened at all.
Barman, two more please.
Labels:
Culture,
Drink,
Feck,
Football,
Nonsense
I think I've heard this before somewhere
Hand begins at 2:00 - Blow up begins about 3:30 minutes later. Oh to consistently out play everyone all the time and get so unlucky. There's a seat in the Pigeons game anytime you want it Phil.
Nothing else to do when the floor falls out of your season
George Osborne will not be the next Chancellor of the Exchequer. I should like to lay the same price as Paddy Power (1/5) but sadly not enough punters have enough interest on this market on the Betfairs. Someone has put up £2 and wants 1.79. Big spenders.
Here's the thing people. This election will almost certainly result in a hung Parliament. Our electoral system, to me, makes it too steep a mountain to climb for the Conservatives to reverse the majority of the current Government. The Tories need to win something like 116 more seats. This is very difficult. Particularly when they seem so reluctant to give the public any reason to vote for them.
In a hung Parliament they would need to deal with the Lib Dems and this means Vince Cable is probably the man for the job, which is obviously rather alarming for the country but good for our wager.
Even if a majority is won by the Conservatives, it's still seems unlikely Osborne will be the choice for Chancellor. Fatty boy Ken Clarke is a more popular option for example. Osborne to me does not look entirely bothered about the state of the country's economy and you'd think he might be if he knew he was due to take over as Chancellor. I think he'd rather not have to deal with the responsibility. He looks to me rather terrified by it all.
So anyway, closer to the election I'd be seeking to lay this bet if more people appear interested in betting on it. Meanwhile, betting on a hung Parliament is an alternative if you have monies to spare, which, if you're like most people in the country, you probably haven't. The cruel irony of it all.
Your house is on fire. Flames everywhere. The Labour party show up and plan to tackle the flames by fanning them with newspaper initially as using water would cause more harm than good.
The Conservatives think this is crazy and tasked to douse the flames themselves claim they'd take a far more robust and direct approach, but can't explain exactly what they are until they have the figures for how hot the flames are and which areas of the house are most effected.
No one's called the Liberals so they're stood at the end of the street watching the house burn and criticising the other two parties while insisting that had they been in charge they'd have hosed the whole thing down with the finest coldest mineral waters of the Alps and made the country's richest earners foot the bill.
Meanwhile no one is actually doing anything and the house burns to the ground. I hereby declare this as a metaphor for the current economic state of affairs facing this country. The answer of course is for someone to just tell all three parties to fuck off and sort the problem out himself. Someone with a very bushy tash and a love of poodles. A dictator. It's all we have left. I want it on record that I have fore-warned we are heading for this eventuality.
The end.
(Yes I have been on the Night Nurse)
Good luck suckers: Alistair Darling, not giving a monkeys earlier todayIn real terms you would have been better served spending the hour Alistair Darling spent delivering his budget this afternoon reading a Greek romance novel, for all the sense it makes to the every day British punter.
I've spent a few hours reading Economist boffins' analysis of it and have now managed to glean some sort of idea of what it all means on a microeconomic scale. It's not looking good. We're being fucked really quite brutally and it's only going to get rougher. In his world, only having to borrow £167 BILLION is a windfall as he was expecting to have to borrow £180 BILLION.
If it's considered splendid news to only have to borrow the entire GDP of Africa you know it's time to start cave hunting. Our national debt is massive and our annual deficit is going to make it massiver.
For every household in the country this means, as we speak, an existing debt of about £32,000 on top of which the Chancellor wants to add another £2,700, £2,200, £1,800, £1,500 and £1,200 for the next five years - not to mention interest payments of another £1,000 a year. Now let's assume each household has an annual salary of only £16,000 and it's literally brown trousers time.
In order to tackle this debt the Chancellor has proposed we each buy supermarket brand beans instead of Heinz and not spend quite so much on hair gel. Essentially what he's saying here, is the size of the debt is just too astronomically large for him to really give a shit about as he's only got a few weeks left as Chancellor regardless of who wins the election.
If you look at his face in all the photo's of this morning's traditional holding up of a tatty briefcase, he looks suspiciously content for someone residing over a debt that has more zeros in a line that you'd usually find queuing up to get into a Star Trek convention.
He clearly doesn't care and why should he? I seriously think Cameron and Brown are both doing their level best to lose this election as neither one of them can barely stand to go near the nation's balance sheet, let alone figure out how to deal with it. I'm sure they both desperately want to lose the election, so they can watch the other descend into lunacy from afar.
A unique fixer upper opportunity in Australia's Arnhem Land
A tweet from Paulie two thumbs this morning has prompted me to offer up a quick preview of the post-season and possibly flag up some wagering opportunities.
As we speak my boys, my lads, my boys, the Chicago Blackhawks are sitting in first place of the Western Conference with 99 points. The Washington Capitals in the East and also have the best record in the league with 106 points with ten games to go.
This means the Caps will probably win the President's Trophy as the team with the highest points total in the NHL, which in turn probably means they won't win the Stanley Cup as this happens only a third of the time. In fact it's rarely the team that finishes top of each of the two Conferences that go on to win the cup, I feel I know why.
As the final weeks of the season play out, the teams at the top of the standings tend to coast through the games and are just looking to keep their players healthy yes? Meanwhile, at the bottom where it's all very scrappy and intense, the teams fighting for that last play-off spot essentially enter the post-season a couple of weeks early, because every game, to use a football cliche, is a cup game.
They can't afford to drop any points so they're already in a play-off mentality before the regular season ends. Sooooooooo, when the first round of the play-offs begin, the team that finishes top plays the team that finishes eighth, and it's usually the team who finished eighth who are the more focused and battle hardened if you will, so they often win the series.
Fortunately for my boys, my lads, my boys, five of the last six games are against teams scrapping for that last play-off birth. These games will be tough games and ought to allow the Blackhawks to hit the ground running as it were when the post-season begins. It looks very much like they'll play Detroit too, which is a team you don't want to be playing if you're even a wincy bit complacent.
The Capitals in the east have a similar run in to the Blackhawks, so as it stands, it's hard to see how these two teams don't reach the Stanley Cup Final - and given how the Hawks are a more balanced team and up to 15% more awesome, it's surely Chicago's year no?
Of course there are an awful lot of spanners that will be thrown at their collective works between now and then, so it's not worth backing either of them at the prices (both teams 9/2) - I myself am on at 11/1 and 7/1 incidentally - but we can use our theory to seek out the dark horses.
Phoenix for example have appeared from nowhere and are now just a point behind perennial chokers San Jose in the Pacific Conference. For a team that almost went out of business a couple of seasons ago - who'd have thought hockey in Arizona wouldn't be popular!? - they're looking really rather an intriguing bet at 25.0 on Betfair to win the cup.
They have a series of games coming up against teams fighting for their post-season lives so this will determine whether they have the sufficient volumes of spunk to seriously contend for the cup, but one might have a few shillings on NOW as this seems really rather trade-able to me, but will disappear fast in the next week if they win these games.
In the East, with a fully juiced up Ovechkin, the Capitals are so much better than the rest, but should he some how run out of steroids, one might take a punt on Buffalo at 26.0. They ought to avoid Washington until the Conference Final and I fancy them to give the two Pennsylvania teams a duffing up in the previous rounds as obviously New York teams are significantly more awesome than those Amish teams.
In other sports news, Mexico have a mighty clash this evening in Carolina against Iceland! A tie not for the faint of heart I think you'll agree. A blood and guts encounter to prepare El Tri for......OK it's a pointless and baffling fixture.
If it wasn't for Eidur Gudjonsen I'd have had no idea they even played football up there. I just assumed they sat around eating sheep's heads when they weren't stealing our cod. Anyway, if there's even a market for this game I'd lump on the Pablo Barrera to score in 90 minutes. This is such a pointless encounter Mexico haven't even bothered flying in the boy Hernandez. It's a squad players game, i.e. shit.
Finally, I shall lay Chelsea tonight. I feel given their current condition even against Portsmouth they will find a way to drop points. I will also be laying Aston Villa as Paulie two thumbs has flagged this up as buying money and since he was put on this Earth specifically so the betting Gods can have a good old laugh, this must surely see Sunderland securing their first away points probably ever this season.
Good luck with all your bets. I'm off now to the Subway sammich place. I haven't been since the weekend, they'll be worried about me.
Pompey are shit, but Grant will have the last laugh tonight
Javier "Chicharito" Hernandez: top scorer 2010 World CupMy pick for top goal scorer in the World Cup scored a great goal and 37 year old Temo Blanco a good free-kick, but without sounding height-ist, it's perhaps easier to lift the ball over a North Korean wall consisting five players all under 5ft 8 than say a European team's wall with several 6-footers.
As good a goal as this looked, Blanco cannot start any World Cup games if Mexico are to reach the Quarter Finals and give England a shellacking. He's too old and he's playing in the Mexican second division. Short of experience they may be, but I'd prefer a team of whipper snappers to lumping Blanco in their purely because he's the only one who's seen a grown woman naked.
On a more serious note, Skybet have added Javier Hernandez to their World Cup top scorer market. Others have said they will too, but haven't gotten around to it yet. At 125/1 he's a great bet. He'll definitely be playing in Europe this time next year. Hopefully at Arsenal. He'll have a corking World Cup, which is essentially a shop window, and the Spanish and Eye-Talians will be lining up to win his signature.
Brown fiddles while the country burns
What with Cheltenham and hang-overs and an inability to tolerate the reams of misery printed by the news media without inflaming my tear ducts, I haven't kept up to speed with the most recent lies and buffoonery that makes our lives so unnecessarily miserable on a day to day basis.
I'm hearing that the Unite Union is as we speak are about to hammer the final nails into this Government's coffin - those same nails David Cameron has been pounding away at since he took over as Conservative Party leader with his rubber hammer politics.
It's par for the course that a Labour Government's time in office should conclude amidst wild industrial chaos and economic despair. But it's ironic and confusing that New Labour should be, for all intents and purposes, a subsidiary of the Unite Union, and yet it will be them that could ultimately finish them off.
I think it says all you need to know about David Cameron that such a huge percentage of Unite's members would prefer him to be the Prime Minister. What with him not having a Conservative bone in his body and a rubber spine.
Meanwhile, like Nero, as the country slowly but surely disintegrates, Gordon Brown, reminiscent of James Callaghan's "Crisis? What Crisis?" delusional optimism, continues to fiddle the books, spin the facts and insist that when Jesus Christ sits down for breakfast he sees effigies of Gordon Brown in his toast.
His latest performance of Olympic standard economic gymnastics came before the Chilcot Inquiry. An awesome display of complete indifference to what is happening and has happened to our military personnel in Afghanistan and Iraq.
He knows he had no legal obligation to tell the truth and no oaths were taken. He may as well have said, "with the greatest respect, I couldn't give a toss about the armed forces, I'm not going to be Prime Minister for much longer so just jog on specky four eyes."
I spent loads on guns and stuff. Any further questions cunts, I'm due somewhere else soon?He knew of course that his lies would be uncovered, but as Chilcot is just a token gesture Inquiry all he's required to do to address his lies is write a letter with one of those thick black marker pens he uses, detailing just how bear faced his lies were and sign his derisory epistle off with a huge comedy cock drawn with some spunk ejaculating from it. It's how I'll always remember him.
Labels:
Nonsense,
Politics
I was to sacrifice a maiden not known to man to appease the Gods, but since there aren't any virgins in Carterton I murdered several pigeons instead and crossed my fingers. It appears to have been sufficient. Hoorah for place laying at 1.16. I am now only about £350 down on the last seven days. Bliss.
I shall now lay Man United to qualify as the Bosch will obviously gain some retribution for that travesty of justice in 1999. I will also lay Man United to beat Liverpool and of course head over to the Subway sammich place for two footlong meat ball subs and maybe even a cookie.
:
Drinking from the boot on St Patrick's Day
Not a terrible day as far as Cheltenham goes. No winners of course, but none of the horses I backed were destroyed so this can be considered an improvement on last year. However, all betting and luck related activities have been suspended until further notice as something isn't quite right. I fear I have angered the Gods.
The past four days have been fairly unforgiving. Not so much in how much I lost, it's been the manner of the losing. To quote Jules from Pulp Fiction,
I am zagging while the Universe is zigging. My wagering is all wrong, I keep having aggravating dreams, I've experienced significant wind, players of teams I am invested in are experiencing serious injury and I keep having irritating minor accidents myself - the stumping of toes, the banging of heads.
I had some elaborate wagering ideas planned for this month, but I have now abandoned them. I need to address my standing with the Gods before things become serious.
Just call me Calibos
If I wanted it there I'd have put it there
Well it's here, but my Cheltenham preparations have been spoiled somewhat after having a blazing row with Tony Blair this morning. Bitch thought he'd move my furniture around without asking me. "Good luck moving my bed on your own," I said to him, "there's sixty gallons of water in that mattress."
Those were my last words to him before my alarm went off and I had to get up. At least I got the last word in. Fuming I was. After I'd woken up I muttered to myself , "He's an even bigger fuckwit in real life than he seems on the telly," Quite serious I was too.
I'm laughing as I write this.
Awesomeness: great hand at 0:40 between Durrrr and Ivey
After an appalling weekend's wagering and drinking far too much from the boot, today is a new dawn, a new day....and I'm feeling good.
My queasiness and fat head this morning were almost instantly eased by the news that Mr Orange has been told in no uncertain terms to fuck off. In Germany they call it schadenfreude...here in my house, we just say HA HA.
This is a wonderful way to start a new week and such an important week with Cheltenham now just hours away. Like applying a cool and soothing balm to ones anus after being raped by a Catholic priest - metaphorically speaking. And if the good people at Hull City can appoint Steve Coppell as their new manager later this afternoon, my catharsis will be complete and I can wake at the crack of noon tomorrow, cry havoc and release the dogs of war.
These are obviously your winners tomorrow;
1:30 - Supreme Novices Hurdle - Oscar Whisky
2:05 - Arkle Chase - Riverside Theatre
2:40 - William Hill H'Cap Chase - Exmoor Ranger
3:20 - Champion Hurdle - Khyber Kim
4:00 - Too drunk by now, drinking heavily from the boot and making suggestive comments to various females.
Good luck with all your bets.
Current mood via the medium of puppy pictures
DemoralisedI layed Arsenal by accident. I layed my boys, my lads, my boys, by accident. The Betfair people have informed me I lost my bet because I clicked the wrong box. I feel quite queasy. My bet was nearly an accidental winner too without me ever knowing it. I'd rather Arsenal have the three points of course, but I was meant to have both.
How could I have been so careless? How how? I've been using Betfair for years and never ever committed such a cruel and expensive faux pas. I'd rather be actually three outered at the Pigeons.
Have the betting Gods fucked me retrospectively because I was so disparaging of Phil Brown? A cruel case of betting post hoc ergo propter hoc. I suspect I placed my wager perfectly and the Gods have meddled MEDDLED with it after the fact.
It's the Deepstack at the Fox later today. I think it's best I stay in. I'm just going to crawl up into a foetal ball on the carpet and cry myself to sleep. You win Gods, you win. If you'll excuse me. Labels: Bastards, Betting, Drink, Feck, Football
Hands up if you're an orange cuntHe's just been on Sky Sports news. He's still at it. He really thinks Hull have been hard done by. I don't think he's just trying to deflect attention away from how shit he and his team are, I think he genuinely feels an injustice has been done.
If I have understood his lunatic logic, he appears to feel that the off-side is irrelevant. That the referee's word is final and once the referee decides the play was on-side then that is it..Arsenal have to just accept it and play on. The referee's decision is final.
OK fair enough. By why does this same "reasoning" not apply to Hull and Sol Campbell not being sent off? The referee decided it was not a sending off offense, mostly I think because the friggin' ball was behind him when the challenge was made, so why don't Hull have to just accept that in the same way Arsenal have to accept the off-side not being given?
I know Phil Brown probably thinks Hypocrite is a skin moisturiser, but even for him this is embarrassing. Yet no one seems to be calling him out on any of this. The football meeja seem happy with his logic and for the fact that he is basically saying he's OK with cheating his way to a result.
Such an orange cunt. Phhhhhhh, deep breaths Richie. Woooosaah. Serenity now.
I made attempts to vent my frustrations at the betting/sports Gods via a tweet, but I ran out of room. Then I remembered I had a blog to accommodate my lengthier bitches so here it is..
Why don't the betting/sports Gods just throw me a freakin' bone? I'm glad of course that Arsenal came away from the armpit of England with three points, but I am not happy that the Chicago Blackhawks gave up a goal with three seconds left in the game and I am definitely not happy that what I thought was a winning treble has been settled by the Betfairs as a loser.
I thought I had laid Inter Milan - you may have read my tweets about how I felt they were a lay - and I thought I had backed both Arsenal and 'them.' Splendid I thought as Arsenal won, and 'they' beat Blackburn and obviously Inter Milan lost 3-1. But no...a losing wager apparently. As we speak I don't know why..I've queried this with the Betfair people. If I have backed Inter Milan instead of laying them by accident there will be some self abuse and I don't mean the nice kind.
Also Napoli are not winning and neither are Seville and the crumpets I just ate were not fluffy. Arsenal's victory has come at a heavy price.
** Finally Phil Brown, when will you learn to fuck off? Do you have any idea how intolerable the stench can be from the shit that comes from your verbals? I refer of course to the Sol Campbell incident.
It's perfectly simple - the player was initially off-side. This makes any arguments about "what should have happened" irrelevant in respect of a red-card for Sol Campbell. What should have happened was the referee should have given Arsenal a free-kick. What did happen is you got a fucking lucky bastard penalty you didn't deserve and that isn't enough you for? You also want Arsenal to go down to ten men for something that didn't happen anyway and even if it did is irrelevant because the play should be regressed back to the initial off-side. You want to win like that do you? Getting freebies from referees? You don't want to win games via the rules nor noffin? You just want the ref to sort it out for you via cheating and being shit?
You're an orange cunt.
Poor Ashley Cole has nothing to live for according to the cover of OK magazine. I can appreciate his despair. So with this in mind I'd like to let bygones be bygones. As I understand it he's banned from driving, so I'd like to offer to drive Ashley to the Gravitas clinic in Switzerland where he can be afforded a dignity in his death he never quite achieved in his life.
Hoorah, just seen the good people at Skybet have now added Javier Hernandez to the top scorer market for the World Cup and are offering him up at the splendid price of 125/1.
This is obviously buying money as he makes Christiano Ronaldo look like Emile Heskey baring down on goal after a long session of glue sniffing.
I feel a bit odd this day if the truth be known. I have an unidentifiable but deep melancholy lurking within me; it feels like something bad has happened. I feel like Obi-Wan Kenobi when he felt a great disturbance in the force after Alderaan had been blown up by the Space version of Jerry. I hope it's just that I haven't eaten any crumpets for a few days and am just missing their spongey goodness.
Speaking of Jerry...I need them to come through for me today. I need Wolfsburg, Hamburg and the Bremen to win. I'd also like to see Liverpool get turned over. If they can oblige then I will have a relatively healthy bankroll to fuck away in various upsetting stages throughout the Cheltenham week or buy more crumpets than my cupboards can store.
I've just received an email from the FA about the possible friendly between England and Mexico. Apparently if I want a ticket in the Mexico end I have to go through the Mexican FA. They also remind me that tickets for the home end are for England fans only and fans found in the home ends supporting the opposition will be ejected. Ha, fucking hell, how depressing is that? How is football supposed to adopt this new friendly atmosphere they're always banging on about with these various respect campaigns and anti-racist what nots with a ticketing policy like that?
It's probably for the best, I can only see myself provoking people. Especially if I've had a few belts of tequila before the game.
Fun times.
11/8 to score anytime! Crazyness.
I don't know what the German word for renaissance is, but the Bundesliga is experiencing one as we speak. I therefore declare officially that the Bosch will have a Champions League winner within two years.
Shorter term this means I must place a cheeky Yankee involving Bayern Moooooonshen (this evening) and Hamburg, Werder Bremen and Wolfsburg auf donnerstag.