I WAS SITTING at a poker table in Star City Casino in Sydney in early 2009. I was fairly drunk but knew I had the better of some of the rich Aussies who couldn’t play poker.
I bought into a cash game for $500. I won a few small pots and looked down to see I had been dealt an ace and a king by the dealer.
I raised up two early position limpers to $50. They both called. The flop came down with an ace, a king and a two.
All the cards were different suits so no one was likely to be able to hit a flush. I bet big. I bet over $100. The two players called. There was now almost $500 in the pot and I only had the same amount left behind.
The next card was another ace. Jackpot! I hit a Full House. I tried to look as nervous as possible. I thought for a minute or so and then announced “all in”. Somehow I was called by both players. They both folded when they saw my hand. I won a pot of almost $2,000.
I got up and left the table. I ordered a large double vodka and lemon, went outside into the warm night air and had a smoke. I felt good. I felt alive. I had made in five minutes what it would take a regular Joe two or three weeks to earn.
I thought about calling it a night. I could add this to the $3,000 or so I had under my mattress.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to get a job, I thought, maybe I could just play poker.
As I walked across the casino floor I stopped at a roulette table. I looked at the chips being placed on black and red, on odds and evens and then all the numbers from zero to 36. I thought I’d try and make another quick few quid. I lost my first $10. Then $20. Then $50. I doubled my losses onto black for $100. I lost. I doubled it again for $200. I lost again.
Within an hour all my poker winnings were gone. The $500 I had brought was gone. My back-up $300 was gone. I went to my credit card and took out the last few hundred it would give me. Within another hour or so it was maxed out. I was literally penniless. I felt sick inside. I staggered out of the casino and wandered off towards Town Hall Station to wait for the first train home.
I spent a month or two like this. I was gambling and drinking every day. I won money in poker and then blew it playing roulette or on the slot machines. If poker wasn’t going well I would start backing horses and greyhounds. There was always something. There was always another chance.
Rock Bottom
When I eventually blew every cent I had on a 50-1 horse, I just about hit rock bottom. You see, I had been told by a gambling friend who was working with the trainers that they had been holding it back. They had been teeing it up for this race. I had insider knowledge. It was an intoxicating prospect. I could make thousands of dollars with this information. And I intended to…
The horse came in fourth. I lost all I had except for $100 I had left at home, in case. But that evening when I returned home, I took that money, went down to the local pokie machine pub and lost it inside 10 minutes.
Insider trading
When that friend told me he had inside knowledge of the condition of one of the horses, the gambler in me went into over drive. I was willing to literally gamble every cent I had, in order to get back to breakeven and then some. I was willing to risk it all. I didn’t care that the ethics of what I was doing were questionable. I didn’t care that I could possibly go flat broke.
When gambling takes over your life, it takes it over like a cancer. It eats you out from the inside and a lot of the time, no one else can see the symptoms. And like all addictions, it is not the same for everyone. Some people are able to win and lose a few quid without chasing their losses and letting the tilt and emotion take over.
The Star City Casino in Sydney. AP / Press Association Images
AP / Press Association Images / Press Association Images
So when I hear about GAA players betting against their own teams I worry. This is a massive problem. But the recent revelations by an anonymous GAA player that he was betting against his own team to win don’t come as much of a surprise to me. There are always whispers.
I have heard stories about free takers who have missed easy shots in vital games when people in their hometown know they have been betting on results of matches. These stories are well recounted in local circles. They are tough stories to prove. And so they seldom make front-page news.
Shame
I still gamble. I still play poker. I control it and spend a lot of time working on my mindset in order to stay focused and only ever bet within my limits. I only bet two to 5% of my bankroll at any one time. I have a checklist which I go through before playing poker. But it has taken me a long to get to this stage and I am still a work in progress. I still blow up from time to time. It is easy to be complacent.
I can only imagine the torture of a young man with a gambling problem who knows his team are playing shite or that he could shank a few frees and make a hank of cash and get himself out of a hole. It is a sickness and people who are sick need to be treated. They need medicine and care and to be protected from themselves.
The GAA need to act in tandem with the GPA on this issue. There needs to be tight control and no GAA players or mentors currently involved in any playing or mentoring capacity should be allowed to bet on their own sport. There needs to be clear and concise messaging about this. The integrity of the game is at stake here.
People need to be allowed to gamble if they want. But the integrity of GAA games must be protected at all costs. And people with addictive personalities need self awareness. They need to be able to open up and speak about it. They need to know there is no shame holding your hand up and asking for help.
There is no shame in asking for help.
John Leonard’s trials on and off the pitch are best chronicled in his book Dub Sub Confidential –Setanta Sports Book of the Year Winner. These days he writes, speaks, makes documentary films and is the founder of Sober Paddy, Five Point Five and Travel Kids Club.
'When I eventually blew every cent I had on a 50-1 horse, I just about hit rock bottom'
I WAS SITTING at a poker table in Star City Casino in Sydney in early 2009. I was fairly drunk but knew I had the better of some of the rich Aussies who couldn’t play poker.
I bought into a cash game for $500. I won a few small pots and looked down to see I had been dealt an ace and a king by the dealer.
I raised up two early position limpers to $50. They both called. The flop came down with an ace, a king and a two.
All the cards were different suits so no one was likely to be able to hit a flush. I bet big. I bet over $100. The two players called. There was now almost $500 in the pot and I only had the same amount left behind.
The next card was another ace. Jackpot! I hit a Full House. I tried to look as nervous as possible. I thought for a minute or so and then announced “all in”. Somehow I was called by both players. They both folded when they saw my hand. I won a pot of almost $2,000.
I got up and left the table. I ordered a large double vodka and lemon, went outside into the warm night air and had a smoke. I felt good. I felt alive. I had made in five minutes what it would take a regular Joe two or three weeks to earn.
I thought about calling it a night. I could add this to the $3,000 or so I had under my mattress.
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Maybe I wouldn’t have to get a job, I thought, maybe I could just play poker.
As I walked across the casino floor I stopped at a roulette table. I looked at the chips being placed on black and red, on odds and evens and then all the numbers from zero to 36. I thought I’d try and make another quick few quid. I lost my first $10. Then $20. Then $50. I doubled my losses onto black for $100. I lost. I doubled it again for $200. I lost again.
Within an hour all my poker winnings were gone. The $500 I had brought was gone. My back-up $300 was gone. I went to my credit card and took out the last few hundred it would give me. Within another hour or so it was maxed out. I was literally penniless. I felt sick inside. I staggered out of the casino and wandered off towards Town Hall Station to wait for the first train home.
I spent a month or two like this. I was gambling and drinking every day. I won money in poker and then blew it playing roulette or on the slot machines. If poker wasn’t going well I would start backing horses and greyhounds. There was always something. There was always another chance.
Rock Bottom
When I eventually blew every cent I had on a 50-1 horse, I just about hit rock bottom. You see, I had been told by a gambling friend who was working with the trainers that they had been holding it back. They had been teeing it up for this race. I had insider knowledge. It was an intoxicating prospect. I could make thousands of dollars with this information. And I intended to…
The horse came in fourth. I lost all I had except for $100 I had left at home, in case. But that evening when I returned home, I took that money, went down to the local pokie machine pub and lost it inside 10 minutes.
Insider trading
When that friend told me he had inside knowledge of the condition of one of the horses, the gambler in me went into over drive. I was willing to literally gamble every cent I had, in order to get back to breakeven and then some. I was willing to risk it all. I didn’t care that the ethics of what I was doing were questionable. I didn’t care that I could possibly go flat broke.
When gambling takes over your life, it takes it over like a cancer. It eats you out from the inside and a lot of the time, no one else can see the symptoms. And like all addictions, it is not the same for everyone. Some people are able to win and lose a few quid without chasing their losses and letting the tilt and emotion take over.
So when I hear about GAA players betting against their own teams I worry. This is a massive problem. But the recent revelations by an anonymous GAA player that he was betting against his own team to win don’t come as much of a surprise to me. There are always whispers.
I have heard stories about free takers who have missed easy shots in vital games when people in their hometown know they have been betting on results of matches. These stories are well recounted in local circles. They are tough stories to prove. And so they seldom make front-page news.
Shame
I still gamble. I still play poker. I control it and spend a lot of time working on my mindset in order to stay focused and only ever bet within my limits. I only bet two to 5% of my bankroll at any one time. I have a checklist which I go through before playing poker. But it has taken me a long to get to this stage and I am still a work in progress. I still blow up from time to time. It is easy to be complacent.
I can only imagine the torture of a young man with a gambling problem who knows his team are playing shite or that he could shank a few frees and make a hank of cash and get himself out of a hole. It is a sickness and people who are sick need to be treated. They need medicine and care and to be protected from themselves.
The GAA need to act in tandem with the GPA on this issue. There needs to be tight control and no GAA players or mentors currently involved in any playing or mentoring capacity should be allowed to bet on their own sport. There needs to be clear and concise messaging about this. The integrity of the game is at stake here.
People need to be allowed to gamble if they want. But the integrity of GAA games must be protected at all costs. And people with addictive personalities need self awareness. They need to be able to open up and speak about it. They need to know there is no shame holding your hand up and asking for help.
There is no shame in asking for help.
From former Tipperary teammates and roommates to current selector and scoring star
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