World Cup 2010 Blog Day 5

Written by Joe Berg Friday, 11 June 2010 12:07

England World Cup Blog

The year was 1999 and I was a fresh-faced (not really fresh-faced. I believe pizza-faced is the correct term) boy of 15 or 16, navigating my way through year 10 of school.

It was a warm spring morning and I was sat outside the head teacher’s office in a chair that by this point I felt was my own. I could hear the muffled voices but not quite make out the words being spoken on the other side of the closed the door by my mum and a couple of school staff. I knew, however, that I wasn’t going to be allowed back into class later that afternoon, but was instead probably going to get a little holiday. I smiled to myself.
 

My maths teacher, a young bloke who, despite being obviously white middle-class English, supported the Brazil football team with a passion, had confiscated a notebook from me the previous day. Unlike most books taken away from Year 10 male pupils, this one contained neither pornography nor obscene words. Unfortunately for me, though, it did contain the previous couple of months’ betting history of my classmates. Detailing the odds I’d given and the money I’d taken off of them. 
 

If the notebook had been found by the history teacher Mr. Greenshields, surely all would’ve been fine and I might even have been commended for my business savvy, for Mr. Greenshields was our resident degenerate. The teacher who slept in his car in the school car park, shaved and showered only after he’d had a win, and spent the whole time in class giving us stuff to copy out of a book while he immersed himself in the Sporting Life. 
 

At last the head teacher came out and invited me in. “Joe, this is obviously very serious. Bla, bla, bla. Taking the lunch money given to your classmates by their hard-working parents. Bla, bla, bla. We’re going to have to give you a holiday, ahem, I mean a suspension.”
 

What I didn’t tell them, as I didn’t want to embarrass my mum, was that I’d learnt the life of gambling many years before, growing up in a family completely owned by addiction and that way of life. Holidays to camps on the Isle of Wight with my nan and aunty had taught me to play cards for money. Entire Saturday afternoons sat outside on the step of the local Ladbrokes with a Britvic 55 (remember them?) while my dad flitted away his meager wages inside had given the other side of the multi-coloured ribbons (remember them?) almost mythical status. And working Sunday mornings in my uncle’s greengrocer’s, covering for him while he disappeared to the bookies for hours on end, returning with wads of cash that I’d then be given a share of, had made me want a piece of the action.

Incidentally, that same uncle later lost his business and his home to gambling, before getting on the wagon. He hasn’t had a bet now for over 10 years. His son, my cousin, also lost everything through gambling and ended up in counselling. He still practically lives in the bookies, though. 
 

From that fateful day in the head teacher’s office, things pretty much escalated rather than being tamed. I gambled my way through my late teens, and just kept on going. It was never the horses I was into, but rather football, tennis and other sports that I could watch and enjoy. I’d also play roulette, blackjack, and any other table game, but always stayed away from the slots. I lost big, I won big, I lost big again. 
 
 
Years later and things had got out of control. Stupidly, I’d let things get to a point they really shouldn’t have got to, as to the outside world it looked as if I had it all. I was playing 3rd and for a while 2nd division football in a national league, scoring goals for fun, I had an amazing fiancée to go home to every evening, and a beautiful flat that looked right out onto the city’s castle. I was also in debt to the bank, and slightly more worryingly, the Montenegrin mafia. I’m not sure if they were real, official mafia (can you be official mafia. I mean, who would give the accreditation?) but I did know they were nasty guys who carried guns, had slicked back black hair, and wore suits with trainers on their feet. I was scared for my fiancée, not least of all because she didn’t know my predicament. 
 

I left the country. Left my flat. Left my football team. And left my fiancée behind, arranging for her to leave her life and join me back in England a few months later. I was hurting people I loved through gambling. 
 
 
By 2007 all had failed and I was in a hole. But nevermind, at least I had my old lover, Gambling. She’d always been there for me, always kept me away from boredom. I didn’t need to be playing football in front of cheering crowds, I didn’t need a flat overlooking the castle in a beautiful city, I didn’t even need the love of my life. Not as long as I still had Gambling. 
 

And that’s pretty much been my philosophy up until this day. I’ve hurt everyone, stolen, lied, deceived, lost jobs, lost friends, lost family, lost my mind, but I’ve always remained loyal to my vice. My vice, the bitch that has taken everyone I’ve ever owned. The bitch that has head-raped me since I was a child. The bitch that has reduced me to tears, has made me physically and mentally ill, and has given me the worst advice of all time. 
 

The bitch whose bags I now have to pack and chuck out on to the lawn, changing the locks before she comes home. I have to get her out of my life. But how can I? How can I get rid of something, someone, who has fulfilled my needs for so long? 
 
 

I will do it. I will stop thinking with my heart and start using my head. She’s no good for me. The events of the past week have confirmed that. She almost killed me this week. I broke down, literally, feeling my life wasn’t worth it anymore. And then with the help of a select few, I picked myself up again. Gambling didn’t help me, Gambling didn’t offer any words of support, Gambling cackled in the background. 
 

So it’s the World Cup starting today. So, it’s the time that comes every four years where gambling is even more fun than usual. So, there’s an absolute sack full of easy money to be made on the outcome of the group stages. So I want to take a week off work and just sit in front of the telly watching football in my pants and socks, constantly logged into my online betting account, lumping piles of money on throughout the 90 minutes of each game. So, I’ve picked the hardest time imaginable to try and kick the habit.
 

So, I’m going to do it. 
 

And so, reading this back, I realise that I’m making the right choice. 
 

Join me next time when I might actually talk about something World Cup related.  

World Cup 2010 Blog Day 4
World Cup 2010 Blog Day 1

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