The Perfect Punter Week 23: An eye-opener from the most unlikely of sources

Italian Football / Perfect Punter / 13 January 2010 / Leave a Comment

The real Brian Conley

"And of course they both won, and my profit was massively reduced, and I thought that I’d be furious, but somehow I wasn’t, and I felt oddly serene. Because discipline works two ways: you lose less when you lose, and you win less when you win, and it’s all controlled."

The Perfect Punter meets the perfect woman and learns more about his punting habits than he would normally have expected when meeting a beautiful woman in a bar...

Before getting all dewy eyed and romantic (the Perfect Punter has had an unsettling week), let me add a note to last week's comments about staking plans. Some of you have been in touch on Twitter to say that you like the idea of every bet that you place being to win the same amount of money (£10 on a 10-1 shot, £1 on a 100-1 shot) and others have suggested fairly stridently that it should be level stakes on whichever bet that you have (£100 on a 10-1 shot, £100 on a 100-1 shot). It's a mildly interesting debate, and other systems clearly exist, but all I can say is that one approach suits one type of gambler and the other a different kind entirely. One cautious, the other more gung ho. The right answer, woolly though it may be, is probably somewhere in between the two. Suggestions are welcome as always, and I suspect that the staking system debate will run until the end of time.

So, onto the dewy eyed bit. At the weekend I was in a bar and, moments after being insulted by a Brian Conley* lookalike, a devastating girl sat down next to me. And I mean devastating in all of the right ways. For a few moments I only saw her out of the corner of my eye (I still had my gaze firmly, and, I hoped, scarily, fixed on Conley*), but she was sitting so close to me that I felt duty bound to turn and talk to her. Although I found it quite difficult to talk to her as she was what Martin Amis would probably call a Takeyourbreathaway. I couldn't believe that a girl like this would have come all of that way to talk to me, and was indeed proved right when she whispered: "Can you keep standing there please, I'm hiding from my boyfriend."

Conley*was already annoying someone else and she had my full attention (like she hadn't already.) What followed was a story of addiction, and of doubt, of a wedding that she hoped for, and a boyfriend who she loved dearly but who was a hopeless alcoholic. She was hiding from him because he was drunk, and she hated it when he got like this. And as I struggled with my initial reactions of fear (I didn't need a drunk bloke thinking I was cracking onto his girl), and anger (how could someone even THINK about running the risk of losing a girl like this), she looked me straight in the eyes and asked me if I was addicted to anything.

I stuttered and said that I liked a bet, but scientifically rather than recklessly, and she said is that possible and I said of course it is and she said I don't think it is and I know a bit about betting as I like horse racing and I thought god, she's more perfect than I thought and she said don't you love the thrill of having a big priced winner and I said of course I do and she said you must be addicted to it then and I thought god maybe she's right and maybe my head is just as messed up as the boyfriend I could now see whirligigging his way around the bar falling into people and a long way from dangerous. And then I paused for breath and said: "Maybe I am, maybe you're right." And she said: "you've got to stop. If it gives you a buzz then you've got to stop." And ever since I spoke to her, I've thought about her, and about what she said.

I'm still not sure that she's right: after all, the whole point of Perfect Punter is to try and become better at something that I was pretty bad at. So, the following day, fancying Milan to beat Juventus at [3.15] and to win 3-0 at [50.0] (if you don't believe me, you can read my Serie A column on this site) I reined myself in and stuck rigidly to a staking plan, rather than just throw my day's profit at both bets. And of course they both won, and my profit was massively reduced, and I thought that I'd be furious, but somehow I wasn't, and I felt oddly serene. Because discipline works two ways: you lose less when you lose, and you win less when you win, and it's all controlled. And by having a controlled win on Sunday night I think I proved to myself that I'm not an addict. Close to it, but not quite. I'm drunk and a bit too chatty, not falling over and glassy eyed and in desperate need of help. She gave me her phone number, and I'd love to ring her, if only to say thankyou for making me think. But even though I've looked at my phone a few times, and my finger has hovered, I won't. She has problems enough of her own, as I continue to travel down the road of solving mine.

You can follow the increasingly melancholy Perfect Punter on Twitter. To join up and feel the love, and the happiness, simply go to www.twitter.com/perfectpunter and sign up

• Given that this week's column is sad and ruminative, and given that I feel bad for associating Brian Conley with that arse in the bar on Saturday, I would like to share a Conley joke that a friend of mine told me a couple of weeks ago. It proves that he's end of the pier, but still pretty clever, and I think it'll make you laugh, so here goes:

A man walks into a newsagent and says: "Can I have a Twirl, a Boost, and a Topic."

The newsagent spins round and says: "You're looking fantastic, and the war in Afghanistan"

I thank you, and see you next week