I’m not an addict
– K’s Choice
I became the worst kind of gambler at the weekend by winning a bet, a four way combination paying about $5.50. It was the first bet I’d won since Collingwood defeated St Kilda in last year’s grand final replay.
Friday night, listening to Collingwood against Carlton, I logged into my account. Only in the last fortnight have I been able to get access without checking the account number. Either I’m good with numbers or I’m using the account too much.
Scanning the odds, too late to back the Magpies head to head, I picked the Western Bulldogs with a 70.5 point start. The bet paid $1.90, but the Bulldogs had to win by 71 points to collect. Pushing that certainty into Hawthorn at $1.30, I was too gutless to pick the line, thinking Richmond might give them a fright. Ha…
Melbourne, head to head at $1.17 over Brisbane, formed a triple. Geelong was paying $1.90 to defeat Port Adelaide by 44.5 points. Figuring the Cats would hammer Port, the line bet was added. I laid down $20 to win $109.00.
Despite betting on football sporadically since 1996, I still have a mortgage. I’m not good at betting. Last year I opened my account with one hundred bucks, hardly enough money to make a fortune. It took eight rounds before I made a bet, because betting is too much like giving money away. I didn’t want to let it go. The hesitancy didn’t help. I finished 2010 with $39 left in the account.
Through two rounds in 2011, that kitty dwindled to $22.12, so it must be obvious to all I am not betting large amounts of money. Similarly, it must be obvious I don’t have a gambling problem, which could actually be part of the problem.
When the $20 bet was confirmed, my account held $2.12. On Friday night, I looked through walls, finding my wallet in my mind. If the bet was lost by the end of the weekend, another hundred would be added to the account so I could have a few bets to make things interesting.
Only in victory does betting make football interesting. When the bet is lost questions are asked, why did I pick them, followed by swearing. Self analysis is next, I should’ve known…
Someone, probably a degenerate gambler once uttered famous words aimed at small punters, you won’t come out on top if you bet $20 a week. That statement is rubbish if punters select correctly. I’ve never been able to do it consistently, which is why I don’t bet.
On Saturday, the Bulldogs dominated Gold Coast, a thrashing by 71 points. The match was over before the season started. The Gold Coast, for all their talent, has got nothing. Had any other club been thrashed by 71 points, the media would’ve been scathing. Gold Coast are mostly kids though, so there’s nothing to get upset about.
I was plenty worried. The Bulldogs were in front throughout but it wasn’t a smack down. At the last change they led by 57 points. They hadn’t been playing well. On a trip to the tip with the expired vegetable patch, I turned the football down. No longer could the margin be tolerated. If the Dogs didn’t win by a hundred points they could go to hell.
It was two hours after the game when I nervously checked the score and discovered the margin, 71 points, the exact margin the Dogs needed to win by. It caused belief in my selections, started thoughts about collecting.
On Saturday night Hawthorn belted Richmond, as everyone expected. I’ve given up expending sympathy on the Tigers. I figure they’ll come good when they want to, so no one need worry about them anymore. On Sunday, installing an aerial, I didn’t tune into the Melbourne game until the last quarter, when there was three minutes left. The Demons were ahead. They won. It took hours before I found out Brisbane led by five goals during the second term.
That revelation made me pleased I hadn’t watched or listened. The prospect of losing money, all of $20, would’ve been too great. Avoiding football, it was after six when the computer was turned on and the result from Kardinia Park became an uplifting experience.
I had won almost $90, the most money I have ever won from a solitary bet in my life. It felt good, and that’s when the worst kind of gambler emerged. While cooking dinner, drifting to some far off fantasy land where North Melbourne wins the premiership, I won big on the game. My focus switched to boxing then cricket. As the food cooked, the possibilities were as endless as the money to be won.
Quickly, without warning, I entered gambling land. It felt good. Then I started to brag about it, the story emphasising the reliance on the Bulldogs, who won by the exact required amount. To me, the story sounded awesome.
A few people congratulated me, either from happiness or understanding the machinations of gambling. Other people frowned, or the pitch of their voice changed. There was no mirth, just worry. A woman asked me if I had a gambling problem. A man told me he’d never laid a bet in his life. Another man was shaking his head slowly, probably thinking of his kids and mortgage, how he’d never be prepared to outlay $20 without telling his wife, who wouldn’t let him do it anyway.
Suddenly I felt like calling Gamblers Anonymous. Talking about gambling to the wrong people seemed offensive. None were jealous of the meagre win, it was concern for the gambler and distaste for the bet.
Across my life I would’ve lost less than $400 gambling on football, boxing and horses. That the win, the biggest I’d achieved, couldn’t be congratulated by certain people surprised me. Nobody, it seems, respects a perceived gambler, which I am, at least in small amounts and small quantities of cash.
Without a line into the future, winning one bet won’t have an impact on my life. Winning saved me $100, money I was ready to deposit if the bet was lost. I also bragged about winning, the first time I’ve talked about gambling to anyone in a long time.
I became the worst kind of gambler, silent during the losses, the bragger and the addict in victory. The gambler might never win, but it’s better to discuss fortune and misfortune among other addicts and friends. It’s easier to convince each other there’s nothing in having a gentle bet on football.
If you don’t believe me, I’ll bet you a billion dollars…
| 19 | Matt B (7) |
| 17 | Sandra (6), Stevo (7), Neal (7) |
| 16 | James (7), Russ (7), Dave (6), Dallas (5), Anne (6) |
| 15 | Wayne (6), Paul (4), Adam L (6), Andy (7), Graeme (5) |
| 13 | Matt (5), Pam (5), Adam G (6), Eric (5) |
| 12 | George (6) |
I say congratulations on your win – revel in your victory 🙂
I barely bet on anything – two $5 scratchies every sunday when I walk down the shops with my two year old son and buy the Sunday Mail is the length of my gambling.
Win some, lose some – I rarely come out in front. Sometimes getting $7 back for my $10 investment, sometimes $12, often nothing. I think over the space of 12 months I usually end up down about $100. Would be better off putting that $500 a year into a savings account, but where is the fun in that??
Mum and Dad won $500 and $10,000 on scratchies way back when I was a kid, about 30 years ago. That $10k was a LOT of money back then! Nothing to sneeze at now either.
So my problem is, I know the money can be won, and I want it!!
Thanks Dallas.
My close mates and family were all pleased.
It was the reaction of others that surprised me.
Good luck with the scratchies.
I hope you win big…
you need to redo the pride cup results again,,,you’ve got mine wrong
Graeme,
I got your tips wrong.
You got four instead of five.
I will fix it up.
Cheers
