The Perfect Punter - Week 29: Barreto, always Barreto

Italian Football / Perfect Punter / 24 February 2010 / Leave a Comment

The relationship between the Perfect Punter and Paulo Barreto took another twist this Sunday

"I will meet him one day, but the smiling picture of me and him which was supposed to adorn the top of this column will have to wait for a happier day. In the meantime, he’ll keep trying to win matches and I’ll do the same with money. And we’ll have our moment in the sun, I’m certain of that."

Dave Farrar travels to Bari to commentate on their match against AC Milan and looks forward to meeting his punting nemesis Paulo Barreto. You couldn't make up what happened next....

A friend of mine told me this week that I have some strange heroes: Alexander Guttenplan, Paulo Barreto, what kind of oddball am I? This comment came about because I was on my way to Bari to finally see Barreto in action, and I was excited about being in the same stadium as my sometime punting nemesis and hopeful of meeting him afterwards. Regular readers of this column will know that Paulo and I have history, not all of it good, but all of it burned into my soul. It was his last minute penalty miss in Genoa back in November that convinced me that gambling was all about fate and not science, and that there was really no point in trying to become a better punter. Fate, in the unexpected shape of a small, hirsute Brazilian, had me where it wanted me. I was on Bari to win that game 1-0, at a very fancy price, and Barreto missed a last minute penalty which kept the scoreline at 0-0. After he appeared in some disturbing dreams, and then won me some money in another Bari game, I decided that I was done with him, but that somehow we were quits.

I watched with no little pride when he went on an amazing scoring run and took himself into the top 4 goalscorers in Serie A, and yes, I even gave myself some credit for his form. Paulo was at peace with himself, and so was I. And then last Sunday happened. Bari were playing Milan, and on my way to the amazing San Nicola stadium I was all of a flutter. My taxi driver, an oddly shaped man wearing an impossibly big red puffer jacket told me of his love for Bari, and waxed lyrical about how great his club is. When he added his hatred of Napoli, I knew that I'd made a friend, and so I asked him in suitably chummy fashion about his favourite player. "Only one," he said, "Barreto". It turns out that Barreto spends a lot of time in Bari taxis. He doesn't drive a flashy car, he likes to stroll round the city, and often gets a cab back to his not particularly ostentatious home. He always has time for the fans, never turns down an autograph, and is loved by everyone in Puglia. This image of a Brazilian Pat Nevin made me warm to the man even more, and, with a childish zeal, I couldn't wait to see him play and then meet him. Not for me Beckham or Borriello, I had eyes only for Barreto.

Having had a pretty good weekend's punting, started off by Everton and continued by Juventus and Palermo, I really fancied over 2.5 goals in the Bari v Milan game. Milan were always going to score, but I'm not crazy about their defence, and felt that Bari could do to them what they'd already done to Juve and Inter, games from which they'd taken four points.

The San Nicola was bouncing, and it just felt like it could be a classic. I reckoned without Bari turning in their worst performance of the season by some distance, conceding two, and making Thiago Silva look like John Charles. The game was sputtering out, Milan were happy with 2-0, and my bet was slowly dying. And then, almost impossibly, fate popped up again and proved to me that I hadn't escaped from his shackles. A Pato challenge, a referee's whistle, and a last minute penalty for Bari. And guess who took it. And then guess what he did. It was impossible that a player could cost me a bet, that I would write a column about him, make an issue out of it, and then I would be commentating on another game and he would do exactly the same thing, but that's what happened. I think I managed only a strangled wail when Abbiati saved the penalty, and as Barreto hung his head I began to laugh quite strangely, and viewers around the world must have wondered what was going on. The dying embers of a nondescript game being played out with the soundtrack of a man chuckling to himself and occasionally whispering a player's name.

After the game, I wanted to meet him. I wanted to find out if there was some strange link between us, some six degrees of separation deal. He might look at me and do a double take and then I might discover that I look like his brother, and then all of it might make sense, at least to me. So I waited outside the changing rooms and watched Beckham and Borriello, Ronaldinho and Pato come out. Ambrosini walked past wearing a stupid hat and then Pirlo strolled by making a suit and trainers look cool. And inbetween times Bari players emerged, but still no Barreto. I waited and waited and finally asked a steward if all of the players had come out, and he told me that they had. "But what about Barreto?", I whined, and it turned out that there was a back door, and he had slipped out of that five minutes ago to get in a taxi. I ran to this other exit and saw a car's rear lights, and I'm sure that I caught sight of a red puffer jacket in the driver's seat. Barreto was gone.

I will meet him one day, but the smiling picture of me and him which was supposed to adorn the top of this column will have to wait for a happier day. In the meantime, he'll keep trying to win matches and I'll do the same with money. And we'll have our moment in the sun, I'm certain of that. As long as he plays and I punt, I'm certain of that.

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