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Lesson 5

Do Not Bet on Scotland on Your Wedding Day

‘Merse’s gambling binge begins, big style.’

An average afternoon in the Merse household, 1991, would be something like this. If it wasn’t a Tuesday I’d leave the training pitch at 12 o’clock, have a shower and rush home by one. I was never one for hanging around, chatting with the others in the canteen. Once I was indoors, I’d sit on the sofa and put my feet up, but by three I was always bored shitless. I’d feel fidgety and edgy. Then I’d flick on Teletext, put my William Hill head on and everything would be all right again. Mate, I just couldn’t sit still until I’d laid a bet.

How Not to Be a Professional Footballer

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