‘Yes, she’s got her period. So I’ll lay her and the other girl will win. That’s my tip for tomorrow, my friend.’
‘Um, okay. Well, good luck, buddy. I’m keen to see how that pans out.’
That was the most outrageous prediction I’d ever heard. And that was Arturo for you – a funny, intelligent guy who liked to analyse everything and tried to use any form of knowledge to his advantage. He was never a close friend but we became acquaintances and got to hang out in many locations over the next few years. I respected the guy for his sheer ingenuity and free spirit.
I told a few mates of his prediction and we all laughed about it. The beauty of it was – Vera came out the next day and absolutely obliterated her opponent. At one stage, I thought it was going to be a double bagel! I think the match was over in forty-one minutes. I have no idea if she was on her period that day but, if she was, she managed to channel some intense energy into the right aspects of her game!
While traders often take a player’s form, fitness and history into account, I think studying a female player’s menstrual cycle is going a bit too far. Lucky he didn’t get it right – would have been a bloody good guess!
*
With the Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne tournaments at an end, I pack my suitcase to leave Australia, knowing I won’t be back for at least ten months. I’ve been away longer than that before but I’ve always had bases – places in which to relax and unwind, to stop and actually unpack my bag and get settled for a bit. This year will be different. The longest I’ll spend in one place will be two weeks. Apart from that, it will all be one-week stopovers and backpacking holidays. So I pack the usual: clothes, shoes, toiletries, books, my laptop, iPod, headphones, wallet, passports, documents, and so on.
There are a few other essentials that need to be squeezed in if I am going to enjoy the year, though. First and foremost is my snow gear for weeks off in the mountains. (I am well and truly addicted to snowboarding by this stage.) Then there is my slackline. If you’ve never heard of slacklining, try to find a video. It’s a challenging and enjoyable sport to learn. It improves your balance, core strength and is just plain fun. All you need is some nylon webbing, a few carabiners and two trees or posts to set it up between. It’s like tightrope walking but more versatile. This is the perfect travel sport as you can do it anywhere in the world, provided you have a park or some trees about. People love to watch it, too, and often during sessions I’ll end up teaching an inquisitive spectator or helping kids to have a go at it.
A few travel adaptors, a pocket knife, a harmonica and, of course, my tennis racquet make up the rest. Last but not least are my new phones: every trader’s essential tool. They are my licence to trade. I have learnt the ropes and become familiar with the scene. Now it is time for the real test – I am ready to hit the road.
5
VIVIENDO EL SUEÑO
‘Mierda!’ yells a frustrated David Ferrer before smashing a ball up into the stand. I’ve already put the score in but look down to check it’s gone through accurately: 30–40. All’s well. I look up just in time to see the ball flying straight at me! Reaching forward with my free left hand, I attempt to take an awkward catch at the last second … and drop it like a complete butterfingers! The Mexican crowd goes wild, giving me the grief I deserve for such a pitiful effort. I shake my head in disbelief and try to concentrate on the next point when my phone vibrates.
Nads: Nice one muppet! I just saw that on TV haha!
Me: Dammit! Ah well, if that’s my darkest moment of the week I can’t really complain. I’m soaking up sunrays with nothing but palm trees, surf and sand in sight. Acapulco is insane!
Nads: Nice for some innit? Fkn rained all week here. It’s miserable out.
Me: I’m trying to decide whether to go jet skiing or scuba-diving tomorrow …
Nads: Enough out of you! Just shut up and concentrate on the tennis, cabrón!
*
This job really was the dream. The road was my home for the next ten months and I liked that just fine. After leaving Australia, I got through a few more tournaments and started to feel like I belonged on tour. I could read points more quickly and easily than before. I knew which tickets would give me the best view on court and I started to get a feel for predicting matches. Hitting the buttons became second nature for me, and I felt at home in the stands watching that little yellow ball bounce back and forth.
I soon realised that one of the main challenges of the job was being able to adapt to and blend into a new environment every week. The last thing we want is to stand out (which can be pretty tough when you’re the only white boy in a crowd full of Mexicans). The key is to look like you know exactly what you’re doing and where you’re going. You need to pretend that you belong so nobody will question you. Easier said than done. With foreign languages, alphabets and customs, you’re thrown into the mix from the moment you leave the hotel until the moment you get back. Negotiating taxis, ticket sales and venue layout are all a challenge when you’re rushing to get onto the right court for the start of play.
Two weeks earlier, in Memphis, I’d experienced my first security run-in. The tournament director walked up to me as I was leaving one night and said, ‘Look, I know what you’re doing here and it isn’t allowed. There will be no more gambling at my tournament, and, if I see you again, I will personally escort you from the premises.’ I played dumb but he was no fool. In the end, I just took his warning and let my co-workers trade the rest of the week.
From Memphis, we flew to a location I’d been looking forward to since I’d first laid eyes on my schedule: Acapulco, Mexico. Tournaments such as Acapulco epitomise the extravagant lifestyle the tour offers. Play started at 3 p.m. every day, so we had plenty of spare time for swimming at the beach, slacklining between palm trees, jet skiing and watching the famous cliff-divers send themselves off thirty-metre ledges. If we wanted to relax, we could chill back at the hotel. Lush gardens, lakes, pools and palm trees surrounded our resort, and the restaurants offered some amazing Mexican fare. The tennis venue itself backed onto the beach, offering a picturesque setting with beer tents and greenery all around.
I didn’t learn much as a trader at this tournament, but this was the week when it really sank in for me. I was a lucky bastard and I was determined to make the most of it. To our surprise, we met a couple of Mexican traders – Carlos and Tony – who became good friends. They only worked tournaments in the Americas and were happy to act as our tour guides for the week.
On the Friday night, Carlos and Tony took us out to sample some local food and (in typical Mexican style) to drink tequila shots at the beachside bar. Tequila is the devil as far as I’m concerned. It has made me do outlandish things in my time. But I welcomed it that night to build up some Dutch courage for the bungee jump. It was right next to the bar and hung out over the ocean, staying open late to attract drunken tourists like myself. As soon as I saw it, I vowed I wouldn’t leave without doing it.
An hour later, I’m standing on the platform looking out over the dark ocean with alcohol and adrenalin coursing through my veins and sweat beading on my forehead. The gentle sea breeze feels cool against my skin on this warm summer night. Disco music thumps way down below me as the moon glints off the Pacific swell. I draw in a deep breath and try to lower my heart rate. Good fucking luck! My toes are dangling over the edge and I’m all set to jump. The only thing saving me from certain death is the bungee cord wrapped around my legs.
‘Let’s do this!’ I hear myself saying. I’m psyched and ready to go. I’ve skydived before but bungee jumping is definitely scarier. The mental challenge of overcoming your instincts and throwing yourself into oblivion is both terrifying and invigorating.
‘Okay, look out at the camera on that pole and I’ll count you down,’ says the guide. ‘Three. Two. One.’
‘Fuuuuck!’ gushes from my mouth as I swan dive
off the ledge and plummet head first into the darkness below. Just another day at the office in Acapulco!
*
The next day, David Ferrer defeats Nicolás Almagro in an epic, three-set clay-court final – it’s an amazing match. A battle between two top-ten players is always a spectacle to watch. Acapulco has been my favourite tournament to date. I never expected a working week to be one of the best weeks of my life.
6
KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE BALL
The text messages I was receiving from the back end read quite similarly to my thoughts: Shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, goddamit! Motherfucker! You stupid son of a bitch! We’d just lost a lot of money, and it was entirely my fault. I stood up and looked over the railings at the back of the Miami stadium down to the concrete below, feeling like I was about to throw up. Thinking back to Acapulco, I remembered how I’d been so anxious to bungee jump that my mouth had dried up and a swarm of butterflies had bloomed in my stomach. That was nothing compared with the nausea welling up inside of me right now. Give me the bungee any day. I didn’t even want the cord after what I’d just done.
Acapulco was a distant memory as I stood on centre court feeling utterly dejected and miserable. The weeks leading up to Miami had been some of the best of my life. Now, I’d just made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
*
Player fitness is a major factor in a highly physical sport such as tennis, and one of the main reasons why sitting court-side and being able to see the players up close and personal provides such an advantage over gamblers at home. Some gamblers trade off internet scoreboards without even using a television feed. Others watch a television feed but still have the distinct disadvantage of telecast delay and advertisement breaks. If the camera misses a player injury or retirement, those gamblers at home are stranded in their current position. By the time they realise what has happened, they will most likely be unable to trade out of a poor position and their money will be lost. The court-siders, however, will see all of this unfold and have the edge over the rest of the market. If a player calls for a trainer to assist with an injury or cramp, then the court-siders can instantly throw money on the other player, knowing with almost guaranteed certainty that their position will improve. Even if a player grabs at a muscle or grimaces to show some sign of discomfort, the court-siders will be aware and prepared while those at home may not even know it’s happened.
The importance of player fitness cannot be overlooked. Gambling thousands of dollars on an injured player is simply not an option. It is an incredibly risky if not entirely foolish one. The best way to prevent this is to simply keep your eye on the ball. Easy, right?
*
It’s Saturday and I’m approaching the end of a lacklustre week of trading. I’ve made a few frustrating mistakes and am yet to secure a decent win at this tournament. Miami is a very cool place, so I’m enjoying the scenery, city, culture and event, but I’m feeling a bit disappointed with my professional performance.
Today, I’m on centre court, which is a treat as I get to kick back in the giant stadium and relax. There have been no security problems thus far, and I’ve no reason to stress. I grab a seat right up in the top tier so I can trade to my heart’s content without the fear of prying eyes. Palm trees and blue water surround the venue, which sits on the picturesque isle of Key Biscayne. There’s a light breeze and the sun is beating down, but the heat isn’t quite as oppressive as it has been for the past few days. I enjoy a great display of tennis skills from Roger Federer as he defeats Radek Štepánek in straight sets. I snap a few photos, reapply sunscreen and get ready for the next match.
The crowd favourite and reigning champion Andy Roddick is taking on Pablo Cuevas of Argentina in a second-round clash that also promises to be a quick one. A-Rod is currently ranked number eight in the world and I am hopeful of a swift victory so I can take another small win from a straight-sets affair.
Play commences and I trade away. Andy is playing to quite a mediocre standard but I’m not close enough to notice the subtle signs of physical discomfort. That was my first mistake. Sitting up the back may be a cosy retreat but it’s definitely not the best option if you want to keep an eye on everything. So I continue to trade as per usual. Cuevas is playing quite well and manages to break Andy’s serve towards the end of the first set. It is slightly unusual yet not completely implausible to see Andy in a losing position.
During the next changeover, my co-worker Felix pokes his head around the gate and waves to me. I’m stoked to see him as he’s bought me some lunch. What a guy! A pulled-pork sandwich is just what I was craving, too. I’ve been stuck in the stand for a few hours without a break and am extremely excited to tuck into a tasty meal. While we exchange some idle chat about the day’s tennis and tear into our lunch, Andy Roddick calls for a trainer and doctor to assist him on court. I’m too busy stuffing my face and hearing updates from around the grounds to even notice. I didn’t realise just how hungry I was until the food arrived. Now, I can’t get enough of it. I’m famished.
‘This pulled pork is amazing!’ I mumble through a mouthful of food.
‘Yeah, figured you’d be hanging for a feed, mate. Enjoy. I had a retirement earlier due to heat exhaustion,’ Felix fills me in.
‘You lucky bastard! So, what, you’ve got a bit of spare time before the next match?’
‘Yeah, thought I’d bring you some lunch and check out the action on centre.’
‘You’re a champion, mate. Thanks a lot. This sandwich has saved the day.’
Meanwhile – unbeknown to me – down on the court, Andy gets his pulse and heart rate checked by the doctor. The market goes wild.
‘No worries, mate. What match do you have after this one?’ Felix gestures towards the court but I don’t bother looking up.
If I had done, I would have seen Roddick take a few tablets and inhale from a respiratory puffer. The odds are swinging like crazy. Our system is none the wiser, so we keep taking bets on A-Rod. Here’s the problem with using computerised models to gamble – they don’t know when a person is injured. They just do what we’ve programmed them to do, and, without any human intervention, they will keep on doing it. That’s one of the main reasons I’m here. Apart from putting in scores, I need to monitor player health and performance. Instead, I’m chowing down on this sandwich like it’s the last one left on earth.
‘Umm, I’m not sure. It’s a women’s match but I can’t remember who’s playing next.’
I’ve missed the boat. The favourite is looking ill and the market has jumped on an opportunity to back the underdog. Andy has a nasty chest virus and is nowhere near fit enough to play to his full potential. This scene has been unfolding for two minutes on the televised centre court without me paying attention.
When the word ‘SHIT!’ comes up on my phone’s screen repeatedly, I know I’ve made a big mistake. Considering Roddick’s seeding and ability, and due to my lack of attention, we’ve continued betting on him while the rest of the market has reacted to a sure sign of his poor health. My carelessness has cost a large sum of money in a very small amount of time. To be more precise: in less than two minutes, we’ve lost around twenty thousand pounds.
That’s a lot of people’s yearly salary. Gone in two minutes.
‘Ohh, sweet Jesus, holy fuck, you have got to be kidding me!’ I gush as I read the text.
‘What’s up?’ asks Felix. He’s been equally naive and has no idea about the roller-coaster of woe I am currently riding from the core of my brain to the pit of my stomach.
‘Oh. My. God,’ I manage.
It gets worse as I find out how much damage has really been done, and I go from wanting to shrink into my shoes to craving a quick death via the stadium railings. Felix apologises for distracting me and I assure him the fault lies exclusively with me. My profit margins for the day are well beyond redemption. This whole g
oddamn week is beyond redemption!
*
I was deservedly chewed out for the blunder and lost my personal bonus that quarter. But that was nothing compared with how bad I felt. Knowing I’d just cost us twenty thousand pounds because I was tucking into a sandwich instead of concentrating on the court-side action was sickening. I felt guilty as hell for a long time after that, and it took over an hour before the sickness in my stomach went away that day.
That particular incident outlined very clearly to me the need to be alert to player fitness and keep an eye out for trainers or signs of injury. I learnt the hard way, but (taking the only positive I can from the experience) I’m glad it happened early in my trading career. I never missed a trainer after that day. Trading is a cut-throat game of numbers, percentages and observations, and if you’re not quick enough you stand to lose a lot. Lesson learnt.
*
Andy Roddick never retired that day; he finished the match and was gracious in a straight-sets defeat. Despite his ailment, he went out there and tried his best to give the crowd a show. Unfortunately for Andy (and me), Pablo Cuevas was in great form and took the win. While retirement could have been an easier avenue, A-Rod saw the match out like the good sportsman he is.
However, during tournaments with scorching climates and gruelling match-ups, it is not unusual to see a player retire due to fatigue or injury. In these cases, court-siders can cash in by throwing as much money as possible onto the remaining player. The rest of the market will be oblivious to this development and a large amount of the court-sider’s bets may be matched. This is free money because the court-siders know they are betting on the only horse left in the race. They’ve seen the player retire and are still making bets before the market is shut down. It’s not an overly respectable practice because it blatantly takes advantage of less informed people. I can honestly say I never had anything to do with milking a retirement, but I know guys who have made over five grand in a couple of seconds without risking a cent.
Game, Set, Cash! Page 6
