Paperjam

So far the whole gambling thing has been going reasonably well, I've won now and again and even seem to be a few quid up.

Its all a bit dull though really so to liven things up I am going to use different techniques to guess the results of the knockout rounds. To this end I have procured an 18-month old child, lets call her "Maya" - I am hoping that this little girl is going to make me rich beyond my wildest dreams Mwa haaa haaa haaaa etc.

As she wouldn't stop crying about something or other yesterday I couldn't get a result out of her for the Germany-Portugal game. However now I've turned the music down and slipped her a couple of gins she has picked out the following treble for the other quarter finals:

Turkey to beat Croatia (Hmmm, I know she isn't 2 yet but even so this seems naive)

Holland to beat Russia

Italy to beat Spain

In Ladbrokes they asked what the gurgling and crying noises were coming out of my bag, I explained it away as a new trend in executive ringtones and bunged £5 on the whole lot coming in. It will be £97 if they all come in, so pints/rusks all round, or I'm going to trade the kid in for a pack of Tarot cards.

Cursing my luck at not sticking a few quid on David Villa for top scorer before he took the piss out of Russia, I stumbled into Betfred this afternoon to continue what you would have to describe as a fiscal downward spiral.

My aimless guesswork led to me sticking:
- a quid on not-quite-good-enough-to-play-for-Brazil-but-still-not-bad Deco for the opening goal at 16/1.
- another quid on the Czechs to be leading at half-time but Portugal to eventually win, because the odds were high.
- 2 pounds on Nihat to open the scoring for Turkey against the Swiss, the logic being that he appeared to be the lone striker in their last game.
- a quid on Turkey and Switzerland to draw - because they both look boring as fuck so far, odds are 11/2.

Amazingly Deco managed to scramble one home at the start of the first game, a moment that caused ne to exclaim "FUCKING YES! GET IN! SIXTEEN QUID!" while still sat at my desk in the office and supposed to be doing some work.

Now lounging on the sofa and watching the swimming gala masquerading as the second match this evening I have already missed out on the NIhat bet due to some terrible goalkeeping and an assist from a puddle allowing the swiss to get in front. Having dried up a bit the Turks have started to play a bit and OH YES just pulled level.

What I want now is thirty five minute of dull lifeless midfield drudgery. but its more likely to be a seven goal, four sendings-off thriller. It will all be updated here, either way.

This weekend has been a particularly difficult one, well it might have been. I got so drunk on Friday night that I can't remember very much at all - although I am informed that a cocktail known as "The Stepfather" played some sort of role.

Saturday was therefore mostly spent in bed with severe hangover anxiety and the dreadful knowledge that virtually everyone I know was smugly stretching their hamstrings in order to do the Two Castles run. I ran twice to the toilet, but I'm not sure that there is much of a comparison.

Luckily sporting redemption was at hand in the form of the revived paper-jam gambling challenge. Two years ago I completely failed to win a single bet during the course of the world cup - a feat described by some observers as "Statistically improbable" and by others as "Proof that you are the unluckiest person that I have ever fucking met".

Anyway, with the European championships kicking off this weekend I rapidly allocated myself £50 to speculate on the next 19 days of footy in an attempt to either redress the balance after last time or get into the Guinness book of records as the most inept gambler of all time.

Kicking things off was a double on the Czech Republic and Turkey to win their opening fixtures, while I also backed Turkish Striker Tuncay to begin the scoring against Portugal.

The Czechs did their part albeit due to an unconvincing sliced-shinned effort that (former division 2 golden boot winner) Mark Bright hilariously described as "A good finish".

Unfortunately Turkey didn't really set the world on fire against Portugal, aside from the surprisingly accomplished Colin Kazim-Richards, their man of the match was probably the crossbar.

Oh well, three quid down and forty-seven to go. On the plus side Malc's ancient herbal hangover cure of pizza, lager and jazz cigarettes did sort my hangover out.

I've set up an exciting Google spreadsheet to record my fiscal downfall over the next few weeks, you can find it at http://spreadsheets.google.com/ccc?key=psx3zVzHb7nEzr43-g5QbUA&hl=en - I will sort out some sort of graph when I have lost some more money and the visual impact will be greater.

Stumbled upon this earlier on Glumbert and was both bemused and amused. The decisive Real Madrid game last week gets the most over excited commentary I've ever heard from a taciturn American and an insane Geordie, who you know just has to be related to Sid Waddell.

Key quote "Braver than a matador in high heels in a pink tutu".

You can view this masterclass in sporting hyperbole here. I would embed it on this page - but lets be honest I'm a total dunce and I don't know how.

Too much media training in football these days. All the post match interviews are boring as anything, it's all "Well the three points is the most important thing", "At the end of the day that extra bit of quality told", or even "Smithy's put in a great cross and I've manged to get on the end of it." Yawn.

There is the occaisonal rogue in the pack:

• Ferguson sometinmes has his post match snifter a bit early and starts releasing the Glasweigan expletives on Sky.
• Big fat racist Ron Atkinson (although officially not funny anymore) once said of a linesman "I know where he should have put his flag up, and he'd have got plenty of help."
• Comic legend Gordon Strachan, who always had a sarcy line no matter how badly Cov had got stuffed that weekend, e.g. "At tiimes in the second half, we sank so low I felt like Captain Nemo."

The absolute king of the post match media scrum is Plymouth manager Ian Holloway. Armed with a south-west accent and a complete disregard for sensible answers, he dishes out all sorts of eccentric responses to the dull questions that he gets asked by footy journo's. His finest hour is probably the interview where he compared a scruffy QPR win to a night out on the pull, almost surreal in it's brilliance, you can watch it on YouTube here.

Further quotes have been collected together on a Wikipedia page, the product of a mind touched by genius. Take this motivational example: "I don't see the problem with footballers taking their shirts off after scoring a goal? They enjoy it and the young ladies enjoy it too. I suppose thats one of the main reasons women come to football games, to see the young men take their shirts off. Of course they'd have to go and watch another game because my lads are as ugly as sin."

In recent years comments like "Keith ate all the pies (and the pasties too)", "Keith is a fine figure of two men" and "For fucks sake, hide your lunch, here comes Dooley", may have lead some to believe that we considered Keith Dooley to be a touch on the portly side.

We at paper-jam are now happy to set the record straight and confirm that Mr Dooley is in fact one of the finest athletes that Runcorn has ever been privileged to call a resident. A chiselled example of muscular masculinity, not only will he be setting a new course record at the widow-making Great North Run in the near future (in the the over-30's IT Support Bloke category), but he is also doing the whole thing carrying a small child on his shoulders. What a guy.

We therefore apologise unreservedly for any confusion caused and ask that you all sponsor Keith, who will be running to raise money for the Multiple Sclerosis Society, via his page on the justgiving.co.uk web site.

Thank you for your attention.

I heard about this the other day : "Federer is wearing a white jacket on to the court, with his own logo on the front" - sounds rubbish, right?

Oddly, I think it really works. Although it does look like he's trying to compete with the Ralph Lauren designed Wimbledon uniform, which is rather natty too.

Not bad.

On the ladies front, we have Bethanie Mattek, who got slaughtered today by Venus Williams, and her rather fabulous knee-high socks. Officer, put the cuffs on now - I'm having bad thoughts.

Well the Mexico v Argentina match was great wasn't it? Although while watching it we all noted that either side would probably absolutely hammer England.

Speaking of Sven and his men, I have yet to receive the e-mail asking not to bet on them any more (after the injuries to Owen and that last minute travesty of an equaliser to make it 2-2) but it can can only be a matter of time. My demonic/extremely unlucky influence has already been called into question in certain quarters.

So for what hopefully won't be their last game, I have trudged back to Ladbrokes and (hopeless romantic that I am) have put a quid on England to win 2-0. Additionally, after watching Frank Lampard have more shots than any other player in the entire competition, there is two pounds on him to score first. Come on Frank, daddy needs a new pair of shoes, no really, I do.