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.