Fiendish Games

Wednesday night was like the old gag about the bloke who is frequntly to be found banging his head against a wall.

"Why do you do it?" I asked.

"Because it feels so good when it stops."

I enjoyed about one nano-second of the Spurs versus AC Milan match; the moment when the referee's whistle blew to signal full time.

I was scrunched up and tense throughout the whole game, convinced Spurs were going to let in a goal and half wishing they would so they would stop defending so deep and stop endlessly lumping up high balls to the big gangly lad up front.

For some reason I only enjoy watching my team when they are behind in a match. Don't psychologists say the fear of losing something you've gained is greater than the fear of losing something you've always had, or something along those lines? Which accounts for why many people from poor backgrounds who become fabulously rich become such skinflints.

When the game finished I phoned a friend (who supports Pompey) and insisted he come out down the pub so I could unwind. It was only after he joined me down the pub for an hour of drinking that he told me he had barely had time to get his coat off having returned that evening from Holland before he got my phone call.

Being a sad sort, I got back from the pub and trawled through an English language AC Milan supporters site to see what their reaction was. Most of them were philosophical, and generally of the opinion that AC Milan were far the better team at White Hart Lane whereas at their gaff the Yids just shaded it.

There was, however, one splendidly splenetic AC Milan supporter whose every contribution to the match thread was a blood vessel bursting diatribe against Spurs, their ground, their supporters, the English in general and red faced beligerent drunken yobbish English in particular, and the English women, who are all sluts, apparently.

I may have had a rought time watching the match but that guy must have been close to a heart attack, or maybe not, seeing as he had vented so much spleen on the site.

When I sit down of a week-end at the PC to do some work, it is my habit to start off with three games of St. Petersburg before starting work.

Not only does it allow me a bit of time to wake up and become more alert before starting work but it also determines the next Spurs result. If I win all three games (my win percentage is about 55% but I got off to a slow start) then Spurs win their next game. If I win two of the three, then the game will be a draw. If, God forbid, I lose all three then something truly horrible happens like Gareth Bale getting a season-ending injury to his hairstyle.



Of course, I have no statistical proof to back up my assertion that how I perform in a computerised version of a board game is the deciding factor in Spurs' fortunes - quite the reverse, in fact, as yesterday's 1-1 draw with Newcastle proves (after I won only one out of three games on Saturday morning) - but, a bit like religious belief, it is an article of faith, and I am not going to let inconvenient facts get in the way of the perpetuation of my fantasy.

It occurred to me today (Sunday) that I really ought to update the Fiendishgames web site. This qualifies as work, after a fashion. Yet, with Spurs having played only yesterday, is there any pressing need for me to start off with three quick games of Saint Petersburg? Probably, as they no doubt have a midweek match.

It did occur to me, however, that the Saint Petersburg time could be more productively spent updating this blog and, you know, leaving Spurs to their own devices.

As it happens, today I have done both. Spurs' next game will be a draw, by the way.

Get your motor running, head out on the highway

Those of you who have known me a long time will know I am not one of life's natural car drivers. I did not learn to drive until I was well into my forties and even then I only learnt to drive an automatic because I could not be bothered with all that changing gear nonsense.

Turns out I could not be bothered with all that changing oil nonsense, either, as I managed to crock my engine last year by ignoring that horrible whining noise I was hearing whenever I drove - I thought it was number one son in the passenger seat.

I must admit, I thought a little light would come on and tell me when I was running low on oil, and maybe it should have. Nationwide Autocentres, now renamed Halfords Autocentres, seemed to think my oil gauge was knackered.

Anyhoo, all other bits of the car were working well so instead of buying a new car I decided to replace the engine at a cost of £750. In the way of things, this became about £900 once the garage had found some other things wrong with some of those complicated looking black bits under the bonnet.

As it is a refurbished engine I was instructed to bring it back after 500 to 600 miles for a service, and not to take it above 50 mph or 2,500 rpm in the meantime.

That was quite an interesting experience, and I am sure I cheesed off quite a few car drivers by pottering along the A10. More worryingly, I had a habit of watching the revs when I should have been watching the road.

This happened most often when the car - which is an automatic, remember - always seemed to be on the cusp of shifting gears, while not quite making it. I'd be easing my way up slowly from, say, 35 mph to 45 mph, and the rpm would be hovering somewhere between 2.5k and 3k.

Automatics seem to be quite conservative when it comes to changing gears, as if they want to make sure you really are going to keep belting along at 50mph or more before changing gear.

Apparently, Smart cars are semi-automatic, which I presume enables the driver to flick up or down a gear and override the automatic system.

Have I proved I know feck all about cars, yet?

In order to ensure that I would remember to take the car back for a service on time, I set the "trip" facility on the dashboard to keep track of how many miles I have done.

Normally I have the dashboard utility set to calculate how many miles per gallon (why not miles per litre? Just does not seem right, somehow, does it?) I am doing, but on this occasion I set the utility to track my average speed. As I was not supposed to go above 50mph, I was interested to see what average speed I would clock up.

Answer: 18 mph

Admittedly, I did not get off to the best of starts, picking up my car from the garage in Leyton in the middle of the evening rush hour. I think my average mph on the 20 mile or so trip to Leyton was 11.

A few trips up and down the A10 got it up to 19 mph. Another trip to and from Leyton got it back down to 18 mph again, but in general, since hitting 18 or 19 mph and using it mainly to poodle around town, to the station and back, the average has stayed on or around 19 mph.

If you had asked me what my average speed would have been for the duration of the exercise, I guess I would have gone a bit higher, somewhere in the mid twenties. Somewhere around 20 mph seems about right for motoring around town but the odd blast on the A10 or M11 should crank the average up a bit.

I've now had the 600 mile service, and had the 50 mph and 2,500 rpm restrictions removed. I need to go back for another service in six months or after 6,000 miles, whichever comes first, in order to maintain the warranty. So, in theory, I no longer need to keep track of how many miles I have done; there is no way I am going to do 6,000 miles in less than six months. However, I have now become absorbed with the whole average miles per hour experiment.

I reckon if I can get my average up above 25 mph before the end of May, Spurs will win the title.

Well, I nearly pulled off a coup with my punt on Sporting Braga to beat Spurs. With effectively their first attacking move of the match after about 35 minutes the plucky Portuguese team went one-nil up, thus evening up the aggregate score and leaving them only one goal short of taking the lead. The odds on them going through to the next round shortened to 4-1. Seeing as I had backed them at, effectively 16.5-1, I immediately offered to lay Sporting Braga on Betfair at 4-1, which would have secured as 12.5 point profit had someone matched the bet. Unfortunately, those twats in white at White Hart Lane equalised within 4 minutes and the market was suspended, and my offer to lay Braga cancelled.

The odds extended to 35-1 and the window of opportunity had passed. Even when Sporting Braga pulled back to 2-2 on the night, the odds on them going through never shortened enough for me to lay my bet off, so I had to settle for Spurs scraping through 6-4 on aggregate in a tie which, all bias aside, they should have won about 10-1.

I have spoken before about the agony of watching the team you follow play, but last night was a relative pleasure. There's a popular saying down the Lane: "We want our Tottenham back". Essentially this means we want a team that plays fluent, attacking football, which wins the odd cup and which once a decade makes a seemingly plausible challenge for the title. Based on the football I have seen Spurs play over the last 5 matches, we have our Tottenham back.

I am sure none of you are wondering what has inspired the sudden improvement in form by Tottenham Hotspur. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you. I have just started backing against them. Not against Everton, of course. Only a crazy fool would back Everton to beat Spurs, although they did win at White Hart Lane earlier this season for the first time since decimalisation was introduced in this country (spurious “fact”). No, it started with the FA Cup when Spurs, who were on a terrible run at the time, were drawn away to Fulham.

Now, Fulham were unbeaten at home in the preceding 9 games, and Spurs had beaten only one Premiership team away all season (Manchester City, the north-west’s underachieving equivalent to Spurs). Spurs had just been knocked out of the Carling Cup semi-final, been thrashed 0-4 at home by Manchester United and had thrown away a 1-0 lead away to mighty Sheffield United. £50 to win £58 (plus my stake back) seemed a very sensible investment.

So I felt a bit foolish when they won 4-0. However, football is rife with superstition so I now felt compelled to bet against them at home to Bolton Wanderers. Even when they were a lower league team, Bolton used to make a habit of inflicting comprehensive defeats on Spurs. On the first day of this season I remember sitting alone in a bar in Greece watching Bolton brush Spurs aside with ease, so I thought I’d lay Spurs to win (on Betfair) as I was only obliged to offer 5/4, which I thought was stingy (looking at it from a punter’s perspective; I was laying them, so I was looking at it from a bookmaker’s perspective). I also laid Spurs to keep a clean sheet, though I could not get much business for this, as Spurs clean sheets are as rare as a sex-crazed teenaged boy’s clean sheets.

I didn’t have as strong a feeling about this game as the Fulham bet, so I could watch the game on Match of the Day with a certain amount of sang-froid about the money lost; thanks to the clean sheet saver, I barely lost a tenner. Yet again, Spurs scored 4 in a match where I bet against them.

Coming up soon is the away game against Chelsea in the FA Cup. Chelsea ought to be about 2-5 to go through I reckon, so I’ll have to lay a large sum to derive any sort of satisfaction from winning a bet at the expense of Spurs’ cup ambitions. Not that I know yet whether I will derive any pleasure, as I have not won a bet yet betting against Spurs. Long may it continue.