Trading Floor Memories part 1.

Pic from Domingo Rociero
Back: Lawrence, Angela, Moi, Laura (with wine ready to throw), front: Ollie


Lawrence (checking for grey hairs), Scouse Bobby (smoking), Kelan (orginal spice boy), Moi

Well Domingo Rociero came and went again but this year I was ready; so desperate was I to join in that this year I delayed getting a job until it was over. Of course I still haven’t got a job but that’s another story.

As mentioned previously Domingo Rociero is the one day of the year that the locals go and get smashed up in the name of religion and this year was no exception.
My next door neighbour Johnny Ireee and his ‘spice boys’ decided to have a shared party with yours truly and what fun it was.
After a breakfast beer and barbecue we proceeded to the our collective balconies where we had a bird’s eye view of proceedings as well as being 5 seconds from joining the madness that was going on beneath us.
We were joined by many throughout the day and special thanks to Hayley for the booze n food and also Laura for the water pistols with which we fired alcohol at innocents.

The day reminded me of 'Songkran' in so many ways; 'Songkran' being the festival held in Thailand to celebrate their new year. We were throwing water off our respective balconies into the appreciative crowd all day as well as firing and pouring booze over everyone in sight.
Things kicked on after sundown, beers in the Irish bar followed by part 2 of the party madness upstairs in our respective flats. You know you have held a good party when people you don’t recognise approach you days later and applaud you on your hosting.

On the previous night I witnessed my first Domingo Rociero parade. The parade was just one big cacophony of noise from 9pm till the wee small hours. Floats seemingly promoting nothing but a piss up were being pulled along by a variety of transport that included 4x4’s, tractors and my personnel favourite, a lawn mower.
Adults and Kids lined the streets trying to grab either the sweets that were being thrown or the wine that was being offered, it was often difficult to stop the kids from nicking all the wine so I resorted to nicking their sweets until they stopped.
Again the whole town seemed to be out for the night and in the mood for fun and like the day after there was not more than two policemen in sight, amazing scenes.

After Domingo it took 3 days to recover and so by Thursday I was ready to go out again and dip my toe in the water and it was at my 2 local and most favourite bars, Termita and Molly's that I celebrated my birthday perhaps a little too readily. I had a magical weekend climaxing in a glorious never to be forgotten Sunday.

At 5am was the Hopkins Winky Wright fight, a small sleep then I witnessed the best Grand Prix I have ever seen in my life. Why can't all F1 races be like this; plenty of overtaking, crashes, blow ups, 25 million pit stops, drivers fighting, pit crews nearly being run over, all in all give me more of the same and I shall tuning in for more in the future.
This was followed by an awesome Open final day won by all round top bloke Padraig Harrington. Sadly Sergio had to be runner up but at least we found a European winner at last.


Go on boy...

Afterwards it was a few beers with Kenny and then I joined in some more Johnny Ireee and the spice boys madness which accumulated in a few of us going from the bar to the beach with a little interlude for some frolicking with some lovely but painfully drunk senorita’s. I’m not a proud man; give me a wounded deer every day of the week.

The trip to the beach took a totally expected turn with two of our party being swept out to sea and nearly drowning followed by us all falling asleep on the beach and suffering mild sunburn as well as delayed hangovers.
After the near deaths we decided to celebrate the fact the chaps had survived by nearly killing them through alcohol poisoning.
Finally the shenanigans have ended and I am home in Ireland to regain my composure and begin celebrations for my parent’s 30th wedding anniversary.


It may have been the Blue Square liquorice allsorts incident that led me to want to work for a fixed odds firm but it would be a few years before I actually went for my first interview as playing poker for a living got in the way. After I had had enough of that it was time to fulfil my destiny and through a series of friends of friends I got an interview with a relatively new online betting company in Hammersmith.

It was here that I met someone who I shall from here on in refer to as til short for 'The Industry Legend'.

Having worked in recruitment I knew how important it is to be prepared for an interview so the night before my flatmates at the time, 'He who is Blessed' and 'Badbeat', took me to the pub and explained how the whole thing worked.
Sitting listening to 2 industry legends I became aware of the fact that I knew fuck all about the industry and that being a mug punter did not exactly qualify me to become a sports trader. It all went over my head so instead I learnt the percentages and hoped for the best.

I arrived at the company and was greeted by 'til' who took me to the boardroom to conduct the interview. As we sat down we became aware of a loud argument taking place in the adjoining room between til's boss and his boss.
Most people would have either moved to another room or apologized and carried on, not til, he did apologize, then grabbed a chair, moved it to the wall, stood on it, put up a recently acquired glass to his ear and began listening in, I was more than impressed. After 5 minutes of listening in he decided we should go elsewhere, more specifically, the pub, again I was very impressed and knew I wanted to work for this bloke, possibly for life.


Moi and til in my first week.

On the way to the pub we discussed the fact we had both been constant visitors to Spain and both shared a very high opinion of a 5 star hotel in Campamento. Things could not have been going better, especially after 4 pints of Stella and instead of talking about the role we were discussing my poker career, his betting career and the amount of people we were both mutually friends with.

By the end of the afternoon I was home and hosed until that was til remembered he had better give me the maths test all applicants needed to take. I took the test but after 4 pints of Stella I wasn’t at my best and scored about 0 out of 10.

Many would have considered this a serious setback, not til; he just laughed and said I would have to improve my mathematical abilities.

I started a few days later and walked into a trading room that had sacked the trading manager that very day and thankfully promoting til to the head position. The previous incumbent was sacked for his part in what was to be known industry wide as the one of the biggest ricks ever made in specials betting, we are talking 'Sven’s Subs'.

In Sven Erickson’s first game in charge of England he announced he would play as many substitutes as he was allowed. Our firm priced up him using all 10 substitutes at 10-1, oops. After taking thousands of pounds on the market the price of all 10 subs being used was now trading at 1-10.
Finally the market was suspended and on game day the trading manager went to watch the game. Would you believe at half time he actually phoned up the office and said " We may have a chance, he's only used 9 subs so far!' lol delusional doesn’t begin to sum it up. The final sub came on and so with it went the trading manager’s bonus and job.

On my first Friday I had had 5 days experience, enough apparently for til to leave me in charge of the trading office whilst everyone else was taken to the pub for the Friday lunchtime session. My only experience of trading horses was when I worked for Badbeat at the tracks and his policy was lay everything for as much as possible and then cross your fingers. It was a system I employed that afternoon and thankfully it worked.
Punter after punter was getting the best of it on our prices. Unbeknownst to them I had beginners luck on my side and til was joyous with the results upon his return.

Things were going swimmingly until I broke one of the golden rules in trading; never let your ego get in the way of your decision making.

The fateful market was the original pop idol heads up between the stuttering schoolgirl sweetheart Gareth Gates and the lanky lispy homosexual Will Young. It was a no brainer, Gareth couldn’t lose and I acted accordingly. We were best price throughout the week before the final and come the evening of the final I was enjoying a victory pint in a pub in Islington with my flatmate Albi Amos telling him how I had this trading game by the bollox. When Young was announced as the winner my head slowly fell into my hands as Albi gave me a rueful grin and began to explain that there was every chance I would get a job elsewhere.
I needn’t have worried, til merely told me to win it back and not be so greedy next time, lesson learnt.


99% of people who work in a trading office appreciate the same things in life, sport, betting, birds and booze. This applied in every way at our firm and the Christmas night out was made even more legendary by til’s performance which included taking his trousers down and rolling around the nightclub, losing his two front teeth (falsies) and chatting up every women in the place despite not having two front teeth or any trousers on.


The beginning of the end, the par 3 17th at Sawgrass

Like all good things of course it had to come to an end and it was merely accelerated by one or two ricks made by some of my fellow traders, the most famous being the 'balls in the water' market.
Our golf trader at the time was looking to come up with some specials for the PGA at sawgrass and stumbled upon a market where we would lay prices on how many balls would go into the water over the four rounds at the famous par 3 17th island hole. Surrounded by water this island hole is fairly simple unless of course the wind gets up in which case this relatively easy hole becomes one of the hardest in golf.
Sadly our golf trader had not thought to check the weather forecast and only did so when an avalanche of money was bet on the outsider, more than 50 balls in the water at 25-1. We were cooked before the end of the first day when about 175 went in by lunchtime.

The firm did come up with a couple of good idea's, one being the 100% market on the World Cup outright the day of the draw which led to much good free publicity and the opening of many new accounts.

This led to another rule break by a colleague that he was to pay for dearly. The racing post phoned up for a quote and he sought my advice on it. I argued that there was no upside to having your name in the paper, any idiot could see it and start phoning up whenever he/she had a problem and start asking for you. The trader understood this but thought he would like it as he could cut out the article and send it to his mother. He went into print and obviously wished he hadn’t when one week later a bookmaker he owed money to from years ago phoned up and asked him how he was; they came to a settlement.


During this time I was learning more in the pub from til, He who is Blessed & Badbeat than in the actual workplace where it seemed to be a case of the lunatics having taken over the Asylum. This was no more apparent than when the board started approving some schemes that could only lead to bankruptcy.
100% books on the Cheltenham gold cup along with your money back if your horse fell was overshadowed by the 100% book and paying of 6 places on the master’s golf outright.

The end was nigh but til kept us going for a little longer when he bet what was left of the companies money on Man Utd who obliged by going on a 10 game winning streak whilst we were following them in.
Eventually we got the 'everyone to the boardroom' call which meant only one thing and I wasn’t disappointed, I was surprised we had lasted that long. Next time we move onto my second betting firm and more carnage, for the bookmaker that is.


And so I arrived in Dublin yesterday evening to be reconciled with my parents who are this very weekend celebrating 30 years of marriage. Ciaran and Patricia have decided at their age they would celebrate this fine achievement by hosting a party at their home for 80 odd people beginning tomorrow afternoon. Food to be cooked and prepared by Mum (barbecue) Drink (everything you can conceivably think off) supplied and poured by Father and music (local bands hired plus all my family are accomplished musicians) has all been arranged. In fact they are even pouring bottles of vodka into watermelons as we speak to assist any one of the 50 odd people (who are staying in the 3 bedroom house) who may want to join in the clearing up campaign expected to start on Sunday afternoon. Now people may understand where I get it from.

On my Sisters wedding day, looking as happy as ever.

"Every time I think I'm out....

- they pull me back in!"




A parody by the magnificent Silvio

Line of the week must be from Brian, a Big Brother contestant:
Politics, that’s just showbiz for ugly people

Now a roll call of congratulations and some big thanks

Congrats to me old mucker Andy Ward on his excellent 2nd place in a World series of Poker event and the little matter of trousering a decent 6 figure sum.
Also winning in Vegas and copping a six figure sum, kudos to Bad beat Channing, my flatmate of many years in Battersea.

Also big well done to the McDonalds for their double cash in the big one and big cheers for `The Guvnor`, Willie Tann in his efforts to become the 2007 WSOP Champ.I do hope they all have my address in Spain in case they wish to me send a food parcel.

Next up a plethora of thanks to those who have kept the Spillanesters spirits up over the last few weeks.
Without a drink I can turn into a gibbering wreck that can yell and scream more than a new born baby without its bottle, so special thanks to those who made sure that this particular baby got his bottle (and filled it with Heineken and or Magners).

AJ, Bobby, PF, Kenny, Ady, Hayley, Big Paul (formerly known as Ginger Paul), Johnny Ireeeee & his crew now known as 'The Spice Boys' (Kelan, Simon, Rob), CD & Russell....cheers I salute you.

If you have seen the Godfather part 3 you will recognise the blog heading, it was of course parodied in a hilarious way by Silvio in the Soprano's.
I said it out last week as I made my reappearance in the Stan James office in a shock move that surprised many and certainly shocked a few more than that.
I have been working on a project for my old gaffer and as I don’t have a pc I asked if I could use a desk in the office and he kindly agreed.
You can only imagine some of the looks I received from ex colleagues when they saw my good self stroll in and take a seat, Osama turning up at the White House would have got less a reaction.

I nearly didn’t actually get into the office in the first place. I arrived to meet the gaffer at the appointed time and spotted a manger and a director having a discussion outside.
I said my hellos and informed them I had a meeting with the boss and they needn’t worry that I had just recovered from a long spell of amnesia and was intending to go back to work.
'Fine, no problem'
was their collective response and they informed me the gaffer hadn’t actually arrived yet (bear in mind it was only 3pm and the gaffer loves his beauty sleep even more than I do).
'Fine'
I replied and wondered if they would want me to wait in the lovely cool air conditioned office or outside in the baking heat, it was of course the latter. The gaffer turned up eventually and wondered why I was outside, when I told him he pissed himself and said both were doing their jobs better than he could have hoped for, cheeky git.




The reaction to my return

I seem to have been doing a lot of Stan’s related things recently.
First up was Bobby’s barbeque attended by all the great and good of SJ, which was until the police arrived and forced the party into early retirement.

Next up a few of my old colleagues suggested a night out at a new restaurant in La Linea, an all you can eat Chinese buffet. How they expect to make a profit by allowing greedy chaps like us in and only charging 11 euros for the pleasure is beyond me but I intend to eat their amazing food until they get wise to it.
As much Fillet steak, crispy duck, jumbo king prawns, along with a zillion other dishes for about 7 quid, definite value.
I did spot an Englishman (I recognised the football top he was wearing) who must have also paid his 11 euros but didn’t quite grasp the fact that there was terrific value in this place. The first time I bumped into him his plate was overflowing with prawn crackers and boiled rice, the next time he again had ignored all the king prawns, fillet steaks and sushi, you guessed it, his plate had only one food item on it, chips.

Tuesday evening was the football league bash and I managed to blag myself an invite.
This years incumbent in the role of manager was unwell which allowed me to fill in for the evening and how happy I was to do so, especially when those two words that send me giddy every time I hear them were mentioned, 'free bar'.
Amazingly only two teams turned up so as well as the free bar the free buffet got a decent hammering from us all as well and to make matters even better I managed to get a medal for the 'Betting Jobs, Cup Final Runners Up'.

It will not take much imagination to picture the state of the 8 or 9 of our group by the end of the free bar. Of course to go home at this stage would have been foolish and so the night kicked on into Spain where other SJ delinquents joined the party and it ended in as some may have predicted, in a kebab shop.
Now I have in my time drunk in some very peculiar places in my time, none more so than at the afore mentioned Kebab house next door to the Irish bar where at around 5.30am we got a lock in.
The owner did little to eradicate the stereotype that many Turkish men like a lump of meat between their slices of pitta. He must have hugged me at least 5 times before I could get out but I did the honourable thing and told him he would have more luck with the one remaining 'spice boy'. I did feel a little guilty the next day; I hope he didn’t get an extra sprinkling of chilli sauce he wasn’t expecting.


Leave it alone Ali!

Wednesday saw me attend the Gibraltar sports stadium to watch the SJ cricket team take on a Victor Chandlers xi in a normally very competitive 20/20 fixture.

SJ won on the bridle but the fun was as usual the banter that goes on in a fixture like this and typically it was AJ that got the ball rolling.
Stan’s had to chase a 116 and in the 2nd over one of VC's fielders on the boundary in front of us turned round and asked AJ to update the scoreboard. The answer he got was not one he was expecting, 'why?'

The Mick Hucknall look-alike (portly, red hair in a ponytail) seemed shaken by this and we had spotted that he wasn’t the shiniest euro in the till; his brain short circuited but after a couple of moments he did muster 'just do it mate, alright?'

Now if you know AJ as well as I do you will know this wasn’t the smartest remark to have made. As sure as eggs are eggs this would come back to haunt him and the following over the games began.
The Hucknall look-alike misfielded resulting in Stan’s getting a boundary instead of single, cue loud hoots of laughter led by a choir of supporters and orchestrated by AJ. A few balls later he dropped a simple catch; cue more huge cheers and roars of laughter. Next over his aggressive throw to the stumps resulted in overthrows cue all out celebrations and delirium in the stands. It of course continued all match as the ball seemed to home in on him every other delivery and by the end he looked liked a broken man but fair play to him, he shrugged it off and even took a wicket with some comical bowling before the match was won.


VC´s star performer after the match

Of course working in the SJ office has bought back many happy memories of working in the bookmaking business.

I knew I would one day end up working in a betting office but was unsure whether to try to work for the more gifted people at a spread firm or joining a fixed odds firm. There is a huge difference between both, perhaps best highlighted by the afternoon I spent at the shared officers of City Index, a spread firm and Blue Square, a fixed odds firm.

My old mucker Bad Beat was grafting away at City and had suggested I come along to watch the game between Chelsea and Leeds, as a blues fan and knowing that two other of my mates, The Camel and Tim ‘Albi’ Amos were working for Blue Square, it was a no-brainer.
I arrived a minute after kick off and not much was happening in either the game or both betting companies which were not separated by a wall but were both sharing an open floor space.

Early into the second half Leeds scored which led me to make my life long decision. The city offices went into meltdown; phones ringing off the hook, traders screaming prices at each other, throwing bits of paper at each other and generally running around knocking over anyone in their path.
Meanwhile at the Blue Square desks things were somewhat different if not a little more intriguing.

Albi was busy writing new prices down but they were nothing to do with football. Rebecca and Shannaz, the other two Blue Sq employees’ were feeding liquorice allsorts into a blindfolded Camel's mouth as he shouted out 'Orange', correctly in this case as Albi priced up the next flavour. A career working for a fixed odds firm beckoned for me at that exact moment. More trading floor tales next time.

Next week sees me sneak another single and hit 41 not out and what a year it has been. I hope it is nearly half as good as my 40th year which will definitely go down as a vintage, if only I could afford another bottle of the stuff.

Finally this weekend is without doubt one of the best reasons to live in Spain, it’s Domingo Rociero time, which translated into English means, ´one great big piss up in the name of religion`.
I wrote a piece about it last year on the SJ poker blog and its well worth a revisit methinks; hope you enjoy rereading it as much as I did.

Domingo Rociero








When I was awoken this morning by the sound of hundreds of people outside, singing after quite obviously drinking, I thought all the Ivey backers had come up with the ultimate wind-up.
It took me a few moments to realise it was actually the beginning of Domingo Rociero, a traditional celebration in Andalucía, where every town goes out and gets absolutely shredded under the guise of a religious celebration and in LaLinea's case it was in honour of the Virgin del Carmen.

What a day, what a crowd and what a party. I only recently mentioned to a friend of mine that I didn't think I had ever seen a drunk Spaniard; today I don't think I saw a sober Spaniard.
I meandered out onto my balcony to be met by a wonderful cacophony of noise; music blaring, bottles being opened, people laughing, food sizzling and then more bottles being opened.

Everyone it seemed had come out to celebrate and from my balcony I got a bird eye's view. I kid you not when I say people came armed with Alcohol and every possible devise or vessel was used to bring it; Bottles, sacks, bin bags, shopping trolleys, kegs, wine skins, all types of measuring jugs, cans, tins and what genuinely appeared to be a fish tank.

You know the best thing about it all? The people bring their booze to share. That's right, share. The idea is you get a glass attached around your neck with a piece of string or leather and when your empty people just top you up. Not only do people top you up, it became clear everyone likes to cover you in whatever concoction they are drinking; it appeared tinto de verano (wine mixed with lemonade) was the drink of choice.

The square was covered in booze so it was no surprise to see the local wino lolling about with a huge smile on his face. This must be his Christmas Day Birthday and any type of anniversary rolled into one.It didn't seem appropriate to cook whilst all this was happening beneath me so I passed on the fry-up and went with a tub of Strawberry Cheesecake Hagen Das and retired to the balcony.

I literally couldn't believe what I was witnessing, thousands of people (with many in traditional dress), dancing to the mixture of sounds that was being blared out by the drinks vendors. Local music clashed with 'its raining men', Flamenco was just about heard over 'I will survive' and to the girl in the gorgeous black traje de flamenco fanning herself with an abanico and dancing to the pussycat dolls', yes I do wish I had a girlfriend and yes I do hope she's 'hot like you'.

The Flamenco dress must be the most stylish and sexy of National dresses. I observed a Penelope Cruise look-alike Flamenco with a Salma Hayek look-alike which was nice, though not as nice as what I spotted in one protected corner. The temperature was middle 30's and one stunning local took the time to literally water herself down just below me. If a collection plate would have been passed at this stage my life savings would have gone in (£11.83).

Everyone was either drinking, throwing drink, dancing, kissing or running from an attacker armed with a jug of wine. I spied one local Antonio Banderas clone running away from his girlfriend only to bump into a local lady whom I guessed was in her 70's. Rather than be upset she planted a smacker straight onto his lips and by the look on his face she had slipped her tongue in as well. He was last spotted lying on the ground mouth open, gargling with his girlfriend above him pouring the wine.

The local wino appeared to peak to early, I saw him passed out at one stage with a couple of concerned locals giving him a gentle smack to wake him up. When this didn't work one of the vendors took matters into his own hands by emptying an industrial sized bin full of iced water over him and when this had no reaction things looked bad.
Of course I knew how he could be woken and it took one like minded local to find the cure. He approached with a full tumbler full of vino to which our hero bolted upright and emptied the contents in one slug. I last saw him with his top off jigging his way around the fountain.

Yet none of this was the highlight of my afternoon's voyeurism. That moment belonged to Clifton Green (CG) our most excellent new web designer. (Stan James employees were well represented especially our Marketing department).
I had spotted Clifton and his girlfriend enjoying the festivities when he leaned forward appearing to offer his girlfriend a kiss. As she leaned forward to kiss him he took the opportunity to pour a jug of vino down her top, little did he know what was to come.

I immediately turned the tap on in the kitchen and filled a huge mixing bowl full of cold water. I set up my angle of attack and waited tentatively for CG to reach the perfect mark. When he did I released. A few innocents were caught in the tidal wave that descended upon him but they saw the funny side. I laughed till tears were rolling down my cheeks and then laughed some more.
His girlfriend was pointing at me in a heroic way so I rewarded her by gently pouring some red wine I had opened the night before. It took a few seconds to realise I was trying to pour a decent bottle of chateau du neuf du pape into a thimble from about 7 meters and I quickly switched to a bottle of watered down ribena instead.

Then sadly I had to leave the mother of all parties to go to work. It was disappointing because everyone seemed to be having so much fun and I was overjoyed observing it all. The positive energy lifted my spirits completely and the four hours I had stood watching it all flew by.I cannot imagine an occasion like this ever taking part in England. People bringing cartloads of booze to enjoy with each other, no fighting or public urinating, no girls getting hassled; kids running around in the middle of it all screaming with joy and all members of the family in attendance. The Spanish seem to have this festival thing sussed and I for one applaud them.'

I shouldn't beat yourself up to much over this Ivey thing' some wag at work said upon my arrival today, 'PF will do it for you!' Ha-ha very funny. I did make a rick not quoting Chip Reece, I hadn't seen him play a tournament for a long time and he wasn't on the database of runners we have.As expected the gloating has begun in earnest, i will take it on the chin of course (not much choice i hear you say).

Only one punter offered to buy me a beer and so Ms.Coren i thank you for that and will collect said beer in Vegas.Good luck to my good mate Julian Gardner in tonight's final. Julian is someone I have long admired as both a person and poker player. I owe him big style after a night out we had many moons ago which would have ended in absolute disgrace for me had he not saved the day. it will of course cost us money as Julian has proved popular already at 5-2 but nowhere near the extent of Ivey job as it is now known.

I played the first of our weekly Heads Up matches tonight. It was against the league winner 'TonyCorbett'. We play for $250 and if one of the Stanspoker team wins it is doubled till the following week. The match tonight lasted 5 hands; even I can win with Aces. That’s the bar set for the rest of the team.

Finally, as we haven't shared one for a while I thought we would share this gem we received this afternoon

You can stick you f*****g chat service up your f*****g arsehole !
Priceless.