Table top betting
- Tom Bowen
- Apr 6
- 8 min read
I don’t really want to relive yesterday for many reasons that will become apparent as this blog continues. However, for your entertainment, I’ve decided that I might as well rake over the coals of my awful knowledge of horses amongst other things. I’m nice like that.
I meant to do a blog on both of the last two Chasetown games that I went to, one of which was non-league day, and the other of which was a cup semi-final. As it happened, I forgot to do the first one, and I couldn’t be bothered to write up the second one. So you’ve got to put up with this one instead which is the first since the torrid journey to Farnborough was slightly softened by three points and some pulled pork.
Since then, we’ve all realised that playoffs is no longer possible so it’s just a case of going through the underwhelming motions of seeing the season out before we went and lost an even more underwhelming game to St Albans. Great stuff. We were on the ever-so-controversial plastic pitch today, so what could possibly go wrong?
Meanwhile, I was involved with my regular gig with the Saddlers as a top-of-the-table with Port Vale was on the cards. Yonks ago, me and Robbo had also noticed this was the same day as the Grand National, so it meant we both had an inaugural crack at the annual competition that a small proportion of people know as the WCOFAAGN (basically betting on the football and the horses). Whoever returns the most off a £10 stake wins. Simple.
As a result, it was an early start and my alarm blared out at 7am. For a nice change, it was light outside, meaning summer, and all of the hay fever to come with it, was on its way. Deep joy, I’ll look forward to that. In more immediate concerns, I still hadn’t booked my train yet as they are notoriously unreliable and wanted to make sure that mine had actually left its starting point before booking it. We were already off to a bad start as the train we did plan to get on was promptly cancelled due to a shortage of train drivers. Just say you can’t be arsed lads, I’d rather you be honest.
It came to 7:30 and I still hadn’t left. Realising I’d left it tight for time to walk to the station, I went ‘sod it’ and started on anyway. It was only halfway through Derby before I was really pushing it and felt I really needed to get a shift on. Early morning cardio never hurt anyone, did it? I made it to the train with two minutes to spare, where Robbo was stood there watching me in bewilderment, arrive in an out-of-breath mess. Yeah, perhaps getting the Uber was a good idea. Still, on the way to the station, I spotted a bookies and plenty of fast food, so no need to piss extra hours of sleep up the wall when we could’ve just stayed in Derby to get the train later instead. Oh well. We’re here now. Made my bed, lie in it, etc etc.
After I caught my breath back, Robbo announced he had come prepared and was brimming with knowledge about bets I hadn’t even thought about yet. The extent I had gone to thus far was spinning a wheel to decide which horse to back for the Grand National as part of a family bet. Apparently the wheel gave me a “good first pick”. According to BBC Sport the odds were 9-1 for Iroko to win it, so I had to put a bit of faith into the Beeb’s words (at least a bit more than some people in this country), as I don’t have the first clue about horse racing.
After that, we then caught up on various details including Robbo’s upcoming holiday to Tenerife, university coursework, and even an esteemed football shirt prank came into the conversation. Maybe a story for another day. Elsewhere, a couple got on dressed in such a way that would only ever dress to go to the races, while another bloke somehow managed to break the toilet door on the train carriage. Rolling into New Street, we were held for a bit outside of the station, which was not ideal, given we only had five minutes for the connecting train in the first place.
Said train was on a platform on the other side of New Street, which was harder than we initially thought, particularly when there’s one escalator to accommodate God knows how many people, two ticket barriers in the way and security telling you to “use the other escalator” on the way back down when you’re in a rush. As I said, the earlier train would’ve been ideal, but a “shortage of train drivers” meant it was not possible.
We made the train with around 30 seconds to spare, and a relatively uneventful second leg meant we reached the Bescot Stadium station around 09:30. With my hunger getting stronger, we headed over to the Maccies for breakfast and I ordered pretty much everything I could off the breakfast menu. I don’t have one very often, so I couldn’t resist a breakfast wrap when it was available, after they reintroduced it a while back. Hash browns and McMuffins were also on the table. And of course, I finished all of it, because I’m greedy. Well, most of it. Robbo tucked into some of my food as well.
Once, that was done, we fired up the maps to find the nearest bookies and quickly realised we had significantly bought down the average age by about 50 years. None of this woke nonsense on the app. Cash deposits and paper betting slips. The shop attendee clearly knew we were young as well, as she showed us the ropes. Despite understanding exactly what she had just said, I cocked it all up and, without realising until later, I put a combination of accas and single bets on, despite meaning to put ten single bets on, all £1 each. Oh well. Can’t change it now. If neither me nor Robbo won our bets, which ever horse we picked would decide the winner.
At the time, I was pleased with my bets, thinking I could win a fair bit, or at least more than Robbo. Palace to draw with Brighton, West Brom and Birmingham to win their home games, Grimsby to beat Morecambe in League Two, and the National League representation came from Barnet and Hartlepool to win their games. I was quietly confident.
Our attention then turned back to Walsall as it was time for the lunchtime kick off against the Vale. It was initially t-shirt and shorts weather, but the wind chill was picking up, so with most of the ground in shade apart from the Poundland Stand, the coat was on quicker than you can say Marvellous Onabirekhanlen.
To put it mildly, the first half was.... absolutely mental. Even before the game, the atmosphere was the loud I’ve heard for a while at any ground, and both sets of fans were well up for it. Still, at least it was a nice gentle start to ease the fans into the game...
Never mind. Within the first 15 seconds, Jamille Matt headed the ball into the back of the net, but the goal was disallowed for a foul. Four minutes later, Vale took the lead through former Sh*ts player Tolaj with an overhead kick in off the post, which was quite something. Taylor Allen then scored his tenth goal of the season to equalise from the spot, and with just 11 minutes on the clock, Levi Amantchi poked home a finish to turn the game on its head. Right, can we all just take a breather please? Cheers.
After we all thought it had settled down for the remainder of the half, Port Vale pulled out an equaliser, as a long throw resulted in Ben Garrity smashing an effort home at the near post before Tolaj put the Vale back in front from the penalty spot. Even in added time, the sprinklers wanted to get in on the action as they came on a little bit too early and delayed play for about a minute. One of the Vale players even took advantage of it and washed his face with it. Each to their own, I guess.
At half time, I went for a cheeseburger but upon the abysmal discovery of there being no cheese left, I opted back to the traditional balti pie instead. I also think it might have been the last one in the kiosk as I have overheard someone else say that there weren’t any left. Get in.
I devoured it quickly before the second half started, but everything that the first was in terms of chances, the second half.... wasn’t. After beating Port Vale in December, Walsall went top of the league 119 games ago. Instead, it’s Port Vale that went top of the table by beating Walsall this time around. It’s destined to go down to the final day when Walsall face Crewe. Turns out on that day, Chasetown could also be in the playoff final, maybe even against Hednesford, so there might be a tricky decision to make. First world problems and all that.
Post-match, me and Robbo reunited, caught up on the chaotic first half and then turned our attention to the Grand National, which was conveniently being shown in The Locker over the road. It took me about 25 fences to actually find out which horse I was supposed to be backing, so given there’s only 30 fences overall, it didn’t give me a lot of time. However, when I’d eventually found him, it turned out he was actually doing well. Unfortunately, he didn’t win and lost out to Nick Rockett, coming fourth instead. My first mistake that I realised from earlier was not putting Each Way. I shrugged it off and obliviously still believed that bets were all singles and were winning.
We sauntered back to a sweltering bookies to watch through the remainder of Soccer Saturday and it was then that I realised my crucial error. Each time I’d bet on more than one game in the same league, I’d put it as an acca rather than a single bet. As a result, I realised that correcting that simple mistake would probably have saved me another fiver or so. Bloody hell. At least Grimsby won, so I’d made a whopping £1.60. Or rather, it was a £10 stake. So I’d lost £8.40. Look on the bright side, I suppose. Robbo had actually earned his tenner back and made profit, so I was magnanimous in defeat and declared him the winner through gritted teeth.
We headed back to the station in the sunshine with a smug Robbo claiming “You can tell who was raised on betting.” Yeah cheers pal, now’s not the time. The club I work for has been knocked off top, I’ve lost over £8 and I’ve got up early for no reason when I could’ve had extra time in bed. Great day. The mood was slightly lifted by seeing Farnborough had Angel’s Delight (that would be a good blog title) as we ripped Tonbridge apart, winning 4-1 and missing two penalties (standard). So at least there was that.
After a day full of walking everywhere, we were glad to finally have a seat on the train as I caught up on all the other results that weren’t in my bets and Robbo powered up his magic box (not dodgy box) and had a gander at the Villa game, timing it well as Donyell Malen added a second against Nottingham Forest. Villa v Forest is now a six-pointer for the top four. Not too long ago, it was a mid-table championship fixture. It’s a funny old game, as they say.
Not much happened after that, and we rolled into Derby, both of us without any intent to walk back to our respective flats as we’d exhausted our legs (station-maccies-bookies-stadium-bookies-station got quite a lot on the old step counter.) The Uber was there straight away, which was a welcome relief, and it whisked us off into the sunset.
Absolutely no idea what’s next in terms of blogs. Tends to be the way these days. It could be the Chasetown cup final, it could be something different. The real question is, who cares? It’s just a game. Only lost £8.40. I’ll get it back at some point.
Tom.
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