I'd Have Never Predicted That - Humble Pie Time.

I have to eat humble pie, but as always with the tastiest part of a meal it sometimes pays to save that bit until last.

Some outcomes are very hard to predict, and what I’ve learned this past week is that it could prove costly to act on ‘sure things’ in haste.

I was working writing betting ring reports for Star Sports for the first four days at Royal Ascot, they took some eyewatering bets from various sources, those big punters were good at predicting, every single bit of good luck and tight photo finishes went with the money, even when the firm might have pulled put mission impossible in the last race of the meeting when Illinois looked to have been reeled in only to find just enough to get his had back in front at the line under a masterful ride from Ryan Moore. OK, you could have predicted that one.

One that I don’t think anyone would have got was the result in the last on Friday. The 3/1 favourite Bacio bolted up to compound the mounting pain for the bookies. They’d not only finished paying out but had started packing up when the announcement came that there had been an objection by the Clerk of the Scales to the winner, a huge groan went up from the ring. As every punter knows there wouldn’t have been a price short enough on the exchanges the 40/1 runner-up Sandal’s Song getting the race. Not today, it was certainly a first for me, the winner kept the race, don’t ask me how, though Harry Stewart-Moore did a good job of explaining how the stewards might have reached the keep the race conclusion they did on the AK Bets podcast. The first leg scuppered there was no need to pontificate if the punters would have formed an orderly queue to return their erroneously paid winners for the double.

Finally, the tasty bit of humble pie. I had been having my usual recreational staked bets on this week, but had been following Neil Nostradamus Channing’s Betting Emporium selections, blimey, to say he’d had a good Royal Ascot would have been an understatement, he had forecasts and a tricast up in some of the week’s hardest races. I’d won a nice few quid by my modest standards. After a couple of staff welfare funded beers on Thursday night, I decided to withdraw some of the winnings and have a pop at Neil’s selections again on Friday. I did this late at night.

The next morning, I was incensed to find that my withdrawal had been refused and not only that not returned to my account but withheld in limbo. I was furious so got onto the chatbot, who had me waiting for what seemed like 40 minutes to speak to a human. Then I was told I needed to send bank statements in and ID etc. Hang on a minute ‘Didn’t they know who I was?’ Don’t worry I didn’t actually say that but did protest that they could see who I was as I was permanently online shamelessly self-promoting. The worse thing was, all my remaining tank was still in that account, I F’d and blinded and even used some earthier words to my racecourse colleagues about said firm but luckily didn’t broadcast their name further.

Out of desperation I tried and was surprised to find I could carry on punting and as there were no dark secrets lurking in bank statement, something I was always adamant I’d never pass over to a bookie I carried on punting, thanks to Neil I won again, and again on Saturday. When I sat looking at enough money to buy several records, I had a go at withdrawing my winnings and after a few tiptoes in I got the lot out.

Today it transpired that I’d fat fingered the wrong payment method under my withdrawal and rather than being a bookie trying not to pay me because I’d managed to back a winner they were following the correct procedure. Who’d have predicted that? Not me obviously, what a wally.

I’ve now been paid. I’m so glad I didn’t jump any guns, lesson to self don’t do Internet financial stuff having had more than two pints and certainly don’t be too up yourself.

Simon Nott

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