A Farewell to Corinth

My certificate of professionalism

‘I spent a lot ofmoney on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered’

George Best.

I have never been much of a gambler. It’s all a bit complicated for me. I went to Ascott once and finally managed to pick a winner in the last race of the day, but for some reason my winnings didn’t cover my stake and I ended up having to pay the bookie. I still cant quite work out howthat happened. I guess it might have something to do with a hot sunny afternoon, a liquid lunch and free champagne since breakfast. But then, I had never put abet on before so I guess I can put it down to experience.

When John Daly picked up a $750,000 runners up check at agolf tournament in San Francisco, he drove to Las Vegas and blew it all, in one sitting, on the slot machines. But 750k didn’t really touch the sides, so he frittered another 750k before he figured that lady luck was not smiling on him that day. Shortly after he cut his losses and called it quits. In total he lost $1.65million dollars.

$1.65m. In one sitting. On the puggies. I don’t even know how to play the puggies, too many flashing lights, buttons and twinkly noises. It’sall a bit too much for me. But how do you manage to drop $1.65m on the puggies? In one night? That’s a lot of pound coins.

Its not like John Daly was a beginner, either. In his career he reckons he has lost $60m through gambling. You’d think by now he would figure out how to play the slot machines and realise that he’s really not very good at it. He’d have been better off following Georgie’s lead and spending his prize money on booze and birds. At least with a hangover and a dose of the clap, he’d have something to show for his endeavours.

My sporting career has not been particularly successful. The closest I have ever come to winning a prize was as a 6 year old in the St Andrews Botanical Garden, 1982 Junior Hortus Daffodil growing competition. I got a ‘highly commended’ certificate which, if memory serves came with the princely sum of two bob. I have recently discovered that Junior Hortus was actually run by a kindly reactionary socialist, who was fighting a solo war against Thatcherism. Her bid to engender an agrarian revolution amongst the youth of St Andrews involved ensuring that everyone got a ‘Highly Commended’ certificate for their Genus Narcissus. This has somewhat devalued my achievement. Added to the fact, that I have recently discovered that I unwittingly cheated. In a horticultural equivalent to performance enhancing drugs, my mother was up all night with a hair drier encouraging the daffodil to flower. So I am not sure I can even include my champion daffodil growing exploits on my CV. I should really return my highly commended certificate and 10 pence prize money to the Daffodil Society without delay.

This Saturday was a red letter day in my sporting life, however. Marking as it did, the end of my amateur career. A gentleman no longer, I have thrown my lot in with the players. An eighth place finish in the Gifford Road Race brought with it the princely sum of £15.

“Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube.”

Hunter S Thompson. Kingdom of Fear.

It was not a pretty race. A big peleton on narrow roads and a field who, to a man, showed not the slightest interest in being shot out of a cannon. We rode round for nigh on 50 miles at a pedestrian pace, meaning that the entire field was there at the end for a mass kamikaze cavalry charge in the last 2 km. It was pandemonium. The group became a heaving mass. Riders barged and elbowed their way to the front. Not through malice, just through lack of space. Both sides of the road were taken up by riders jostling for position. Thank goodness no cars were coming the other way. Wheels touched, riders would have fallen, had there been room to fall into. Slower riders were at their limit and could accelerate no more, faster riders had more to give, but had nowhere to go. The effect was as if the peleton was a tube of grease being slowly squeezed. Who came out first was more a reflection of chance than ability.

I was delighted to come away with an 8^th place finish but more relived to come away without a crash.

All that remains is to figure out what I am going to spendmy winnings on. I would gamble it, but I don’t know how. I could spend it onbooze, except I’m off that until the end of the tour. And £15 is hardly likely to attract Miss World.

I do have a notion to plant a few daffodils, mind you.

From Gifford,

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