Saturday was a bad day: a parking ticket to kick things off, a broken little toe in a Shooters Hill 2nd XV defeat (I now have a little more sympathy for David Haye; it is surprisingly painful), and Europe getting their asses handed to them in the Ryder Cup.
Things got worse on Sunday: as Europe pulled off one of the most remarkable sporting comebacks of all time (shaded only by Headingley ’81 in my ‘bouncebackability’ hall of fame) I was hobbling around cursing every Poulter putt and wayward Yank drive. I’d had a pretty lumpy bet buying the US points supremacy at one in the singles. When I should have been enjoying the miracle of Medinah with all other fair-weather golf fans, I was lying in bed, half an ear on the increasingly excitable 5-live commentary, doing some hasty mental maths and dreading checking my balance in the morning.
I think it’s only me and the CEOs of Ladbrokes, Coral, Hills et al who think that Tiger Woods’ final hole concession of Molinari’s 4-footer was an act of gross unprofessionalism rather than a symbol of sportsmanship – unusual to be sympathizing with the bookies!
The weekend’s misfortunes were all a bit frustrating as, to that point, I’d had a great week on the spreads displaying a Derren Brown-like ability to predict the course of sporting events. I’d made a fair bit buying India’s supremacy as they dispatched a hapless England in the World T20; flipped my allegiance at just the right moment in the Sri Lanka / New Zealand clash; and even made a bit blindly betting on the NRL Grand Final.
Just goes to show you that the warnings are correct, spread betting can lead to losses in excess of your original stake or, as the FSA ought to phrase it, you’re never that far away from doing your bollocks.