So Much To Say

Grand National day is upon us once again, so here is my ‘expert’ advice on how to select the winner, rather than just aimlessly picking a horse because you ‘like the name.’

The first and by far the most important trend to which you must adhere, is that you can’t back a horse carrying lots of weight. For those of you unfamiliar with racing, here are some things I’d like you to know. The Grand National is what is known as a handicap. This means that not all horses carry the same weight. The weight they must carry is related to their ability, so the better horses carry more weight than the lesser ones, the idea behind this being that it makes for a much more competitive race, and provides a more interesting betting medium. It is, therefore, the job of the punter to work out which horse is the most ‘ahead of the handicapper,’ and therefore most likely to win. The allotted weight is made up of the jockey and his equipment, and lead weights which are placed under the saddlecloths.

So, let’s begin some analysis. Only once since 1983 when the great Jenny Pitman trained Corbiere won the National, has a horse carried more than 11st to victory, when Hedgehunter carried 11st 1lb in 2005. It is unlikely a horse will buck this trend this year, and consequently we can eliminate numbers 1 to 15 as potential bets. This doesn’t mean to say these CAN’T win, it’s just unlikely as history dictates they would have to be very, very good in order to carry so much weight over 4 and a half miles and 30 fences. There is one horse we have just ruled out that I do think will run well though, and assuming a clear round, I think will finish 2^nd or 3^rd. Last year’s winner Mon Mome put in an exceptional performance in victory last year, and his Gold Cup run suggests he  may well have improved. I really do fancy him to run a massive race but like Hedgehunter in 2006, he is likely to find one or two too good for him. In fact, we have to go as far back as 1974 and the mighty Red Rum, to find a horse who has won back to back Nationals.

Now we have a field of 25 to choose from… much easier. The most likely age of a National winner is 9, 10 or 11, and not in over 50 years has a horse younger than 8, or older than 12, won the race. Cross off The Package, Piraya and Palypso de Creek, who are all just 7. Although we have seen 12yos win before, it’s unlikely, and requires a monumental effort at that age, and Eric’s Charm, Ollie Magern and Hello Bud all look to have seen better days anyway. Down to 19.

Only once in the last 20 runnings has a horse won that has either fallen, unseated or pulled up on either of their previous two starts over fences. The only exception to this was Red Marauder in 2001, who won a unique race as only 2 horses got round without falling due to the bottomless ground. So using this rule we can put a line through Beat The Boys, Priests Leap, State of Play, Conna Castle, Arbor Supreme, Irish Raptor, Flintoff, Royal Rosa and most significantly… Big Fella Thanks. The favourite Big Fella Thanks has a great chance in many people’s eyes.  Sixth last year at the age of just 7 after a bad blunder at the 4^th last, he looks bigger and stronger this time round, and although unseating on his penultimate start, it was more of a slip on landing than a bad jump. His win in the Greatwood last time out was impressive but also highlighted how much speed he has and is yet to prove he can translate this to the unique marathon distance of the National. That said, he has a favourite’s chance and I can see him being in the first four.

Assuming my assumptions thus far are correct, and this year doesn’t choose to throw up an anomaly to proven trends, you need to make your selection from the following horses:

Backstage 25/1, Snowy Morning 16/1, Can’t Buy Time 40/1, Character Building 20/1, Ellerslie George 150/1, King Johns Castle 33/1, Ballyfitz 66/1, Maljimar 40/1 and Cerium 66/1. So 9 horses and some juicy prices to get stuck into!

Further culling is down to personal opinion, but mine goes something like this… Ellerslie George has no chance on all known form and would have to put in by far his best ever performance just to finish in the first six. Can’t Buy Time has been deserted by AP McCoy after a few shocking jumps last year and I simply couldn’t trust him. Backstage has 11st to carry at the age of 8, which is simply too much for me in such a competitive race. Even given the successes of trainer Nigel Twiston-Davies in the last month, it is impossible to see Ballyfitz staying, having faded late on over shorter distances than this. Snowy Morning has posted a 9^th and a 3^rd in the past two Nationals and, while another decent performance can be expected, it would be unusual to win at the 3^rd attempt and there is no real evidence to support that he is any better this year than previously. No female jockey has ever won the Grand National, but the outstanding Nina Carberry could be considered by many to be the best to ever ride in the race. Her mount Character Building has claims, but still needs to prove he stays, and it is also the first time she has ridden the horse.

I’m down to just three now and at the prices I’m going to back them all each way. KING JOHNS CASTLE was a superb 2^nd in 2008 and his pilot Paul Carberry will be sitting on him competitively for the first time since then. He has 2lb less to carry than 2008, due to injury has been lightly raced since, and has been freshened up with runs over hurdles, a preparation used by many successful Irish trained National hopes. The only thing I have against him is his age of 11 but at 33/1 it’s worth taking this chance. CERIUM has a very similar profile to last year’s winner Mon Mome. Always considered a horse of considerable potential when trained by Paul Nicholls, Cerium finished 5^th in the race last year, ridden with restraint from the back and was staying on well at the finish. Surely a much more positive ride can be expected this year and the late withdrawal of stablemate Mr Pointment to ensure Cerium made the cut suggests that the stable do very much fancy his chances. Carrying an identical weight to what he did in 2009, he is now a year older and stronger and at 66/1 is hugely overpriced. I strongly believe he can make the first 4 this time. My final and slightly more tentative selection is MALJIMAR. He has always impressed me with his gallant attitude and this should stand him in good stead given that he is unproven over the distance. However, 40/1 is a fair price to take given I feel this is his only negative, and skilled handler Nick Williams has given him a nice long break suggesting this has been the target for some time now.

So there we have it, the Grand National 2010. Whatever happens to my runners, the spectacle of the race is sure to make me smile no matter what the outcome, but given the prices of my fancies, finding the winner would be oh so sweet. Good luck to you all, whoever you choose, and remember… gambling can become an addiction, bet only what you can afford to lose .

Selections:

KING JOHNS CASTLE   33/1 (Betfred)   -   2pts e/w

CERIUM   66/1 (VCbet)   -   2pts e/w

MALJIMAR   40/1 (Bet365, Lads)   -   1pt e/w

I also expect MON MOME   15/1 (Hills) and BIG FELLA THANKS   11/1  (VCbet) to run big races and get in the places so if you’re brave enough to does some combination exactas and trifectas, make sure you include these two!

As strange as it may seem, one of the things I had been most looking forward to throughout my six weeks in Thailand, was my last day. Not because by any stretch of the imagination I ever wanted the trip to come to an end, but simply because I’d had it all planned out for a fair while, and nothing was going to stop it being one of the best days I’d had in Thailand. Or so I thought…

In my previous post I mentioned I’d picked up a bit of a cold at the detox retreat. The flight from Samui to Bangkok definitely didn’t help matters. My ears refused to pop both on take-off and landing, my sinuses became fully blocked, and on getting off the plane, I developed that annoying sort of tickly cough where your phlegm lines your oesophagus and you just can’t seem to clear it, no matter how hard you try.

After checking into our Bangkok hotel, we headed straight to Khao San Road, which I have to say I’m not the biggest fan of at all, but the nice parts of Bangkok are too expensive after six weeks away, and Khaosan is the only area I know of that guarantees to be vibrant any night of the week. After a relaxed dinner and a few games of pool, during which we were hitting the San Miguel pretty hard, we found a nice little bar with happy hour cocktails and ordered a couple of mojitos. Now as an ex-cocktail bar manager I can be a bit of a ‘drink snob’ at times, though as I get older and wiser, I care less, and when on holiday, am barely bothered at all. Mojitos, however, are always a risk, as there are so many ways to make one and are fucking difficult to get perfectly balanced. So when our mojitos arrived blended like slush puppies, I was hardly impressed. That was a new one even for me, a ‘Frozen Mojito’ I suppose you would call it back home. Well, if I was still a bar manager, the Frozen Mojito would be top of my summer cocktail list. They were fucking amazing! One became two, two became three, three became four… and then we started buying them by the jug.

Frozen drinks are always stronger than they taste. I know this, but still insisted the quantity we were consuming was absolutely fine, and ‘we couldn’t be that pissed yet.’ I was wrong. The rest of the night is a total blur. We hit two of the clubs on Khao San Road, the first of which had a circular pool table, very confusing when you’re totally smashed, and the second we arrived at only just in time to buy a drink before the lights came up. So, feeling that we hadn’t fully finished with the night, it seemed rude to refuse the offer of a ping pong show from a random Thai taxi driver, who has probably spent his entire life targeting the most drunk English guys swaying down the street, then fleecing them for as much as he can.

I’ve always said I’d never go to a ping pong show, it has absolutely no appeal to me whatsoever, but when you’re that drunk and it’s the only option available to extend your night of drinking, why the hell not? After all, it is one of the ‘attractions’ that has made Bangkok infamous, so I decided there was no harm in experiencing one just the once.

I was expecting to be take to Patpong road, the hub of sleaze in Bangkok, famous for its go-go bars, ping pong shows and the place where Bangkok’s sex industry all began, but the taxi driver assured us that everything on Patpong would be closed up by this time, and would take us to a ‘good place’ he knew of (where he no doubt gets a sizeable handout for each customer he delivers). How nice of him to even walk us to the door.

After shelling out about three times the amount I was expecting for entry (even after bartering to half the first price the door guy asked for), we enter. The room is smaller than I expected. Seemingly full due to the dim lighting, but in reality probably only 80 punters are sat circling a centrally located stage. A naked girl is standing, legs apart, firing ping pong balls into a bucket from her lady-bits. Can anyone say cliché? I’m immediately unimpressed, especially by her lack of talent as over half the balls are missing the bucket. She’s fucking ugly as well.

Over the next hour I witness some bizarre shit, most of which has thankfully already began to fade from memory due to our level of inebriation. There’s no need to go in to too much detail, as I’m sure you’ve all heard stories of strings of razor blades being pulled out, darts being fired, bottles being opened etc etc, but what I will do, is confirm that the stories you hear are true, they really can use their most sacred of areas for all these weird and wonderful (?) feats. One thing that does confuse me is what the show intends to make you feel? It’s certainly not sexy. Am I paying to be shocked or amazed? Should I laugh or feel disturbed? From the level of applause after each act (predominantly from the raucous, pissed, ‘bloke on a stag do’ type person I absolutely hate), I assume I’m supposed to be impressed. Well in that case I guess congratulations are in order to the girls. Well done on learning to use your vagina in ways that God never intended, and also for violating yourselves to an extent that must surely result in it being no use for what God actually intended it for. Ping pong shows?… not for me.

Naturally we oversleep that night, and I awake hungover and full of cold, which the air-con seems to have made doubly worse once more. Not such a good start to the day I’d been so looking forward to for so long. Fucking ping pong show. Fucking mojitos as well in fact.

Nonetheless we get up and get on, arriving at Siam Paragon only half an hour behind schedule, and head straight to the IMAX to get our Avatar tickets well in advance, guaranteeing ourselves the best seats possible. We then head to MBK, where we get everything we need in less than an hour, leaving with at least a year’s supply of boxer shorts and jeans, for a bank-busting £30 each. Still with plenty of time to kill, we hit the bowling alley for a quick few games. It’s a fucking impressive bowling alley, no stone being left unturned. Shoe size measuring devices, socks available for those arriving in flip flops, an individual touch screen control centre for each lane, names entered for you in advance, DECENT table service, and all for the grand total of £4.50 per person for 3 games. Would it be too much to ask for such attention to detail in England?

The weirdest thing about the bowling alley though, is our company. Roughly half the lanes are full, at about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, yet we are seemingly the only tourists. The rest of the clientele consists of secondary school/university students, presumably either with free periods, or having just finished for the day. None of them are any good at bowling, but it all seems such fun to them! Between frames they sit back down, and crack on with their homework, reading and writing quietly, only breaking to applaud each other whenever one of them achieves anything even remotely resembling a strike. By day, such a refreshingly polite and well mannered nation of people, yet at night you can just wander a bit further down the road, and watch a girl fire ping pong balls out of herself. Certainly a country of diversity!

When I was in Thailand two years ago, I stumbled across the most wonderful buffet restaurant you could ever imagine. When first arriving back here just over 5 weeks ago, with only a vague memory of its location, I spent ages wandering the shopping centres trying to find it, but alas, it seemed destined to evade me. Well, on our way to the bowling alley, I stumbled across it once more, and having intentionally built up a sufficient appetite chucking balls at pins, we eagerly headed back to this hidden paradise (it’s not actually that hidden, I was just in the wrong shopping centre first time around).

Japanese cuisine is my absolutely favourite. So trays and trays of beautiful sashimi, tempura and nigiri is literally heaven to a food lover like me. Add to this as much New Zealand steak and giant Alaskan king prawns as you can possibly imagine, all cooked to order by a top teppanyaki chef, and I’m literally in heaven.  Except for the fact that due to my cold, I couldn’t taste a fucking thing. Watching my mate indulge himself, grinning like a kid in a sweet shop and continually going back for more and more, was literally hell for me. In fact, I’d been building up my return to this restaurant for two years, so the frustration I was experiencing could only be equated to fucking Jenna Jameson with a numb cock and ending with a sensation-less orgasm… utter torture.

Fortunately, time had passed quickly and it was finally time for Avatar at the IMAX. I will happily admit that I had already seen Avatar twice previously, contributing more than my fair share to make it now the highest grossing film of all time, with worldwide box office figures that are now over double any other film ever made (with the exception of Titanic, James Cameron’s other box office monster). The first time I saw it was at a standard cinema, the second at the Odeon in Leicester Square in HD, but back home, a ticket to an IMAX showing had evaded me, so since the day in December I’d googled ‘IMAX Thailand,’ I’d been very much looking forward to this.

For those of you that STILL haven’t seen it, do. It will eternally change your perception of cinema, and personally I will never forget the magnitude of the impact the 3D world of Pandora had on me the first time I saw it. From a ‘haters’ viewpoint, it can easily be dismissed as a contender for the greatest film of all time. The screenplay is hardly Oscar winning, there are a lot of cheesy one liners, and Michelle Rodriguez is annoyingly adequate as an actress (she does have a great rack though). However, in terms of a cinematic experience, it is totally unparalleled, and you leave the cinema and the beautiful, fluorescent, spiritually fascinating world of Pandora that you have been immersed in, craving more, wishing the experience could have lasted longer, and not wanting to return to the comparatively grey, mundane world that we live in.

After Avatar we head back to the hotel, drained from a fantastic, but very long day, knowing that our Thailand experience is over. In the morning we fly back to England, back to our lovely, warm, sunny climate, where everyone wears a smile and everything is so cheap that our pockets are forever full. If only… Can someone please explain to me why we haven’t all emigrated yet?…

So here I am, the start of my 7 day WBCOOP adventure. Whether I will even be awake, or in a state to play these tournaments, I don’t know. But here is how the first has started. It’s been ten minutes and I’m sat on a balcony belonging to a guy I met just a few hours ago on the beach. After sinking some Thai buckets and drunkenly challenging each other to run over burning coals, (don’t ask me what the fuck I was thinking, my feet are burnt to shit today), we got talking about poker and I mentioned I was going to try play a tournament later. He seemed interested, said he wanted to watch and had good Wi-Fi, so suggested playing at his. Anyway, after a few more buckets, some fun in the sea with some posh young English girls, lost flip flops, (I’m sure I also lost money?!) and more general drunken banter, we headed back. Now in the time I went to get my laptop, somehow my new mate managed to hook up with some Norwegian bird, who he’s just taken inside. So here I am, alone on his balcony, listening to faint groaning, coupled with the occasional sound of a bed spring popping, trying to play poker.

I’m barely sober enough to type (although I wrote this last night while playing, I’ve just given the spelling and grammar a serious once over) and far from in a fit state to be following every move at a poker table. So here’s my plan. I’m going to play it as would play a multi table SnG, tight as fuck until I get a hand, then as quick and hard as possible when I do, often jamming, and keeping it as pre-flop as possible.

It’s just over 20 minutes in now… I’ve made a good fold with 8s, but little has gone in my favour. I’m happy to sit and wait, even if it eventually means shoving any two, closing my eyes and crossing my fingers. A further 20 minutes have passed, nothing to report other than I’m realising that live event blogging is fucking boring when you’re card dead, and I’m also really drunk.

The following is written the day after the tournament.

I came literally nowhere, can’t even remember how I went out or how far from the cash I was, just remember the sun coming up and thinking it was time to gamble a bit and get back to my bungalow! Pretty shit start then to the week of tourneys. Might stay in tonight and play the next one sober. Then again I’m in Thailand so anything could happen over the next 10 hours before the tournament starts.

Speaking of Thailand, we took a 5 hour boat trip today to an island called Japanese Garden, then to Mango Bay. The snorkelling is incredible. Truly, truly incredible. I would have to say, the coral and the marine life in Mango Bay, in terms of sheer beauty, eclipses anything I have ever seen. Photos and films don’t do it justice, so if chances ever arise in your life to make sacrifices that will facilitate unique experiences, make them. I have and I’m loving it…

I’ve been staring at a blank page for nearly half an hour now so have decided that by voicing this, it may fix my block and words will just start to flow…

Fifteen further minutes have passed and still nothing interesting springs to mind. The last thing I want to do is pen a blow by blow account of the last 6 nights on Phi Phi, and bore you to death with stories and jokes that would only be funny if you’d been with us to experience them. So in summary, I thought Phi Phi was a truly awesome place. We got quite lucky in finding a centralised room at a decent price, right in the middle of all the chaos, yet confined enough to be surprisingly quiet. Much to my delight we were able to hook up to the Wi-Fi from the bar next door which facilitated countless more hours of poker and to be fair, pretty much every day followed the same pattern…

Wake up hungover. Breakfast at a place within 30 seconds walk. Few hours of poker. 5 minute walk to check out the talent on the beach. Quick dip in the sea. Cheap Thai lunch. Valium for dessert. Then a nicely floaty afternoon of yet more poker, sat in a bar catching up on all the Premiership highlights. Return to the room to shower and change. Amble over to the quieter side of the island for dinner at one of the more upmarket restaurants on the sea front. Now let’s pause for a second here, to discuss the food (I fucking LOVE food). Prices still baffle me daily, as does the quality. Last night for example, a Thai Massaman (yellow) curry, a giant plate of seafood fried rice and an even bigger plate of beef pad Thai noodles, 2 beers and a bottle of water…. how much? £2.90 each! What the fuck? I’ve paid more than that for a microwave cheeseburger on a train served by some old dear that looks like she hasn’t washed in a month. In terms of food quality, it kicked Wagamama ass, and for any Nottinghamites reading, it was easily on a par with Tarn Thai, where you’d be set back somewhere in the region of £30 a head I imagine. Anyway, enough food talk, I’m on a dark, night coach to Surat Thani, without snacks, and am suddenly growing increasingly concerned about where my next meal is coming from so let’s move on.

Dinner was usually followed by a few games of pool. Most bars have tables, and it’s always been my favourite way of meeting people when abroad, basically because I’m good at it, and pretty girls are often impressed by demonstrations of cue control. Having said that, I am playing WANK and my best mate is one game up on me overall. Anyway, after pool… Beach, bars and buckets.

If you’ve never experienced a Thai bucket, I’m not going recommend you try one. This isn’t because I don’t love them, but solely because I wish to take no responsibility whatsoever for what happens once you get fully involved with them. Price-wise they start as cheap as £3.60, which gets you a bucket, ice, half a bottle of local Thai 40% whiskey (35cl), a can of mixer (coke/sprite) and a bottle of M-150. So you are literally getting 14 shots, mixed 50/50 with coke, and 150ml of the pure shit they put in Red Bull that makes you go mental (‘gives you wings’). These buckets come with no warnings, are often free with flyers that are literally forced upon you in the street, and are even 2 for 1 in most bars at certain times. It is without question, the most irresponsible form of drinking imaginable. But, of course, this is Thailand, a care free place of cheap indulgence and a happy go lucky attitude stemming from seemingly not taking life too seriously, or more noticeably, not valuing it as highly as most people believe you should.

The strangest thought that continually plays on my mind though, is the extent of the diversity in Thailand. The exquisite beauty of the islands and National Parks, coupled with the fact that it is a nation with strong religious beliefs and an unbelievable respect for the King, really does keep you constantly pondering how it became a land of so many areas of isolated hedonism?

One thing’s for certain though, it’s a fucking amazing place…