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Confessions of an ex-punter…

January 14, 2015

horse racingOk. I admit it. I once had a bet on a horse race.

Or, to be brutally honest, three bets.

It was many years ago, when I was number two honco on the Sunday Mail editorial staff. (No, that’s not the confession, though perhaps it should be!).

Anyway, during  the Saturday afternoon, a call came through from a mystery man advising us that it might be wise to place some of  the folding stuff on a certain hayburner.

Cautiously we scraped together a few notes, and watched as the named nag came from last at the last  corner to win by a head.

“Now wasn’t that good?”, said the voice at the other end of the line.

A few days later came another call, with an identical result.

After  (yes, you’ve guessed it) the third anonymous call came through  there was a trio of successes to seriously celebrate at a late-night session at an adjacent hostelry where the opening hours were, to put it mildly, somewhat lax.

And there the fairytale ends. No more calls. No more tips. No more celebrations.

Luckily I learnt a valuable lesson about the sport of kings. There are also a LOT of knaves. It’s  more than 40 years ago now, and I’ve never donated a dollar since to the trackside fraternity. Mind you, there’s another large building on North Terrace that does occasionally relieve me of the ready stuff. But cards can’t talk or ingest performance enhancing substances.

And  it goes without saying that the above has NOTHING whatsoever to do with  a reflection this week on the news channels of possible, shall we say, questionable goings-on  in the turf world.

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