don't chase losses

Every piece written by any so-called gambler includes this little nugget. 'Don't chase, there's always another day'. Cobblers. A proper geezer will chase down any amount on any subject in a desperate attempt to get his wonga back. The sense of relief at regaining your niagaras in the last race by backing 6 horses in a combination exacta at Towcester is a draining experience, but something everyone should experience at least 200 times in their life, as it is exquisite agony. Self-loathing and recrimination give way to a declarations of sobriety, discipline, study, and an end to frivolous wagering.

A boatload of lager is then required to 'celebrate' not winning anything. The next day starts with an earnest perusal of the Racing Post(dismal rag though it is), with the confident belief that two hours spent reading about every runner in every race to identify horses that 'can win', 'won't win', or are just 'bad value' and therefore must be laid, will reap dividends. If this 'research' is strictly obeyed, then profitable results are GUARANTEED.

Every time a delusional hilman happens to have a successful days punting he immediately ascribes his extremely short-term success to the fact that he 'did his homework' and if he only performed this task assiduously every day, and 'specialised' in 'what he knew' and he would be on the way to punting paradise.

Poor misguided fool. Analysis of gaily-attired midgets beating dim animals with sticks until they reach an oversized lollipop is not a scientific exercise.

Contrary to popular perception, gamblers are optimists, and it is an eternal verity among them that no matter how much they have lost, or how deep the soup they find themselves in, the situation is always redeemable.

Muesli

Formula 1. Dontcha hate it? I mention this only because it has been in the news recently, one for excellent reasons and the other a commentary on the degradation of the BBC. The news that the Beeb has splashed out 96 billion saucepans on this infernal excuse for a 'sport' further reinforces my view that it is run by screamers and mad feminazis.
When you think of the number of sports they have let go or chosen to ignore. Horse racing has been turned into a fashion show. How many racing fans are interested in haute couture? Zero. And how many non-racing fans will turn on thinking 'I'll just look at the fashions'. Also zero, so whats the point?
You could also purchase the greatest game of all(RL) for the price of one series of Eastbenders or Coronation Farm.

F1 is not a sport. It is hideously expensive Scalextric; squalid, garish, nasty, and pointless, much like its supporters. Have you ever met a motor sport enthusiast who wasn't a berk and a crashing bore? Neither have I. It is sport for the sort of illiterate philistine poof who reads Loaded or GQ.

The more edifying reason for it being brought to my attention is the story about the boss of F1, Max Muesli, son of the great Sir Oswald Muesli. Apparently, he has been filmed indulging in 'Nazi-themed sex parties involving whips, degradation, and bondage with 5 German prostitutes'.
The main reason he is being condemned of course is because of his old man; a 'fascist', and 'supporter of Hitler'. If he had been one of the many 'communists' and a 'supporter of Lenin' the bastards would probably join in. Anyway, sounds like a giggle to me. And no-one ever had a sexual fantasy involving 5 social workers and a rolled-up Guardian.

I agree that he should resign, but only because he sounds far too interesting to be wasting his time with the grotesque carnival that is F1. FU.

Attheraces

ATR (aka adtheraces), the world's worst TV channel, strikes again. I wanted to back the field right on the off(prices bigger) but missed it because they were more interested in trying to rake in 35p by showing an ad for 'Shark Finance'. Hard to believe a dedicated racing channel can still be showing adverts when a race has started. They must be potless because they squash in more ads than they do races. Even the 'presenter'(geezer shoe-horned into what looks like a toppled phone box) looks embarrassed.

It is apparent what a dismal channel it is by the state of the ads they carry: 'are you a moron? having trouble juggling all your benefits? fancy another layer of stone cladding on your house?want to take your assorted step-kids to Dismal-land Florida before they get pregnant or go to jail? no problem: phone DirectSolutions where one of our highly trained financial advisors will explain how to consolidate your debts into one daily payment, payable for life, and still leave enough for 20 Lambert&Butler superkings. Never have to worry about money again!' You won't have any.

They justify their interminable breaks on the grounds that, unlike Racing UK, it is free.
What is the virtue in having a free-to-air racing channel anyway? No casual observer will watch it, and any billy bunter will quite happily pay £15 a month for his fix. Actually, it isn't free, because you need Sky to receive it.

Some people never learn

Certainly not me. Being the world's greatest billy bunter and a blithering idiot are not mutually exclusive. After a particularly egregious example of 'fat fingering'(hitting the wrong button on the computer and chucking away 9k) the lid came off and I proceeded to do me tonsils, me conkers, me niagaras, me absolutes, and finally me wibblies, all in double-quick time. I am now abject and even more grumpy than usual. Gambling and playing poker when puddled has cost me brewsters over the years, yet I persist. It is either arrogance or masochism, I haven't figured out which.

Even the return of Samantha, back after her month-long(!) skiing holiday in the Swiss alps has not lifted the gloom. Apparently, she received quite a bit of attention, and I can well understand it. The sight of this golden vision gliding elegantly down the slopes, and then wafting into the VIP bar, and unleashing a coruscating smile that serves to bring into focus her glowing skin, gently burnished by the alpine sun, must have reduced the assembled troop of Eurotrash poseurs and sleazebags to gibbering wrecks.

Actually, even though she is looking as pulchritudinous as ever, she is somehow a tad less jolly, even a bit careworn. What is it that irks her? Maybe re-aquainting herself with the jabbering baboons in here has served to remind her of the fact that she is associating with her social and intellectual inferiors? Because, By Jove, she is. Or is it something more deep-seated? Maybe the constant hassle and attention from every male, and spiteful jealousy from every woman is giving her the pip? It must be tiresome holding a conversation with someone knowing that the person you are speaking to is only thinking of rogering you or scratching your eyes out.

If this is the case, I hope she sees this and comes to me for advice. I too used to be the focus of unwanted attention; enough to upset the balance of my mind. This may seem like the ultimate male fantasy, being pursued by hordes of women not interested in 'talking', 'love', 'commitment',or 'respect', but who just want to gratify every sexual desire you can think of, and some you hadn't. At first, one thinks, Jeepers! this is a giggle, but it soon loses its lustre. It is actually soul-destroying, and leaves one feeling empty, worthless, uninteresting, a mere plaything, used as a sexual acrobat, casually discarded after 'performance', similar to a champion racehorse that is retired to stud and wheeled out thrice-daily to service a panting mare.

Eventually, things became so bad that I resolved to do something about it, and it was a drastic measure, one that Samantha probably wouldn't be able to accept. I decided to force people to judge me for what I am, not what I look like. I chose plastic surgery. And I had the lot. Lipo-injection, a facedrop, nose-flattening, hair removal, tooth-blackening, you name it. The change was dramatic. I was unrecognisable(handy for avoiding my creditors). People started ignoring me rather than perving; no more ogling, groping, staring or unsolicited attention. I felt valued, enthused; I have found myself. I am comfortable with who I am, and happy in my own skin.

Greed

Another lifelong mental foible that I manage to carry over into my wagering activities is something that is, in me, the most over-developed of the seven deadly sins(of course I perform all of them). This one is greed. Yet another example of this showed itself at Kelso today. Laid a nag in a laying strategy outlined in an earlier notice (see 'Racing certainty' if for what is actually very sound advice) and then watched the race at SportsTraders, grubby mitts hovering over the mouse in readiness for evasive wagering should the race go against me.



As usual the beast went off in front, but was surrounded by rivals approaching 2 out and layers over-reacted, pushing the thing out to 100, even though it stays longer than the mother-in-law, and is as game as a pebble. A gilt-edged opportunity for a nice trade; laid at 4.8, chance to back it at 100, a veritable no-brainer, as people with no brain are wont to remark.



Not good enough for old greed-guts here though; couldn't bring myself to part with a miserable ten quid to remove all risk and guarantee a reasonable profit. You know what happened, the blasted nag battled back and held on all-out to win. Instead of whoops of delight, all that could be heard from behind my trading station were muffled squawks, growling, a long drawn-out sigh, and disturbing declarations of self-loathing.


Too greedy. Not parting with a few saucepans ended up costing a me a lump.

Greed is most definitely one of my top 20 personal defects. In fact, it is probably in the top 3(no mean feat).

So rare is it that my rancid gob is free from obstruction by alien objects that it is surprising I still manage to bore everyone rigid with with my demented rantings.

Racing Certainty at SportsTraders

Here's an easy way to guarantee that your notfair account is constantly topped up. Select the 'most popular nap' from the Racing Post each day, lay it for a uniform amount, and you will see a steady accumulation of your cash with a return of 2000% normal.

The only nuisance is having to buy the Racing Post every day(it is a dismal rag) and selecting the correct time to lay the wretched nag. Sometimes it will be efficacious to lay the thing early on in the anticipation of a drift(bad weather, proximity of Ladcrooks price), other times the price available might be too big, necessitating a watch to be kept on the market, which is not convenient for the casual billy bunter.

Fortunately for the lazies amongst you, or for those who do not have any interest in racing(apparently such creatures do exist out there in Poofterland), notfair have introduced an SP option, which means you use the guidance of other users to determine the price at which you lay. This will lead to a diminution in your return, as the SP is open to a small amount of manipulation by traders, but is still well worth doing as I don't expect it to amount to more than a few %.

Should have started on January 1st, but joining now is still a good idea.

NB, do it every day, or not at all.

Trauma at Tramore

If it looks too good to be true........

Another example of why I/R traders are wary of Irish racing. Tramore is a sharp track, necessitating 3 circuits for a 3 mile chase. Most tracks are 2 circuits for this distance, something obviously ingrained in the small brains of leading jocks(but rare visitors to Tramore) Davy Russell and Davy Condon who went flat out for the lollipop a circuit early, and causing less experience riders in the race to cast doubts aside and join in, the upshot being all 14 horses pulling up a circuit early.

Shrewdies who were aware of this were able to lay the 'winner' at 1.8 safe in the knowledge that the result could not stand. Anyone who availed themselves of what seemed the amazing value of 1.8 about a clear winner should have smelled a large rodent(1.01 being the normal price on the line). Backers worst fears were confirmed when half a dozen runners started off on the 3rd circuit, no doubt galvanised by shouts from angry billy-bunters of 'you ******* dwarf ****, gerron withit'.
The eventual winner traded at 350/1, but only for small amounts, as traders were understandably wary of participating in a farce.

Afterwards a shocked and stunned Davy Russell, who thought he had won, was interviewed by ATR's David Duggan

Duggan; 'Davy, how do you feel about your part in that shambles'?
Russell; 'Shocked'
Duggan; 'Is that all you have to say'?
Russell; 'And stunned'

Lesson for all sports bettors; Why would anyone be offering such big odds about a horse that has already won? Those paying close attention knew there was something amiss, and were able to take advantage of others jumping on what appeared to be 'free' money.

'If it looks too good to be true.......

Patience

I don't have any. So anxious am I to have a trade, I will seek one out and find something that I am not too bonkers about, but is a reasonable wager. After losing several of these half-hearted trades I will alight upon something that really gets me grooving, but then look at the state of my account and see that I have wasted large portions on frivolous wagering-for-the-sake-of-it.



After cursing myself for being such a berk, I have to reduce the size of my investment because another loss would leave me in the soup. Even though I have located what I believe to be a good value trade, the volatility of this game dictates that one cannot go for broke just because one has found a bit of value. You can make some very sound trading decisions and still lose your money, but keep doing the right thing and you will emerge from the betting jungle with plenty of bananas.



Lord knows, I've said this every day for longer than I care to remember, and I wonder if this simple, irrefutable logic will ever trickle into my thick cranium. If not I am doomed to endlessly repeat the errors of the past. Depressing thought, but one I feel almost fatalistically resigned to. Strange. I think I might be barmy.