Thursday, January 23, 2014

Curlywurly



Yesterday's four horse coup divided racing folk neatly down the middle. On one side are the romantics, myself included, who grew up heady on the fumes of past "them and us" battles with the bookmakers passed on down the generations. On the other are the cognoscenti, disciples of the formbook, appalled at the egregious conniving and scheming required to bring off such a touch.
In my time on Twitter I have rarely seen the depth of feeling that this event brought out on both sides and I thought it would be worth explaining why I sit firmly on the conspirators side of the fence.

I grew up in a town called Ashbourne, a mile from where Arkle was trained. As a boy I had no interest in horses or racing and indeed used to wonder why my father was wasting his time on winter afternoons watching brown blobs tackle various differing obstacles while a priest-like figure commentated in hushed tones.

It was the numbers on the screen that piqued my interest and the muttered phone calls: when the "odds" were explained I was hooked, line and sinker, for life. From this grew a love of all things racing as I learned a new language and began a steady diet of Friday night racing chats with Dad and Uncle Jim. Out of those humble beginnings came a lifetime of punting, owning and eventually breeding.

Jim was a heroic figure in my father's eyes: He was Paddy Sleator's form book man in the days when Paddy struck across the Channel in a series of lightning raids, mopping up races all over England. Jim's job was to tell him where his horses were best in, in the days when every course had a different handicapper. Their team were greatly feared and took fortunes from the layers in a golden period before I was born. Jim had a peripheral role in the "Gay Future" affair as well and he and my father could recall the party afterwards, when lads were dropping money on the floor, so much had they stuffed in every pocket.
Jim had without doubt beaten the bookies over his lifetime but sadly I was to overestimate his prowess without Paddy Sleator's horses and waste a considerable part of my early punting life believing that riches lay in backing odds-on"certainties" and combining them in doubles and trebles. He did however introduce me to the magic of the weekly "Irish Racing Calendar" and the Form book, which received far more of my undergraduate attention than my veterinary textbooks.

The point is that it was Dad and Jim's tales of daring coups and gambles that sparked my interest in the sport, and hence I will always have a place in my affections for those who can put one over on the "Old Enemy"  The reality is that times have moved on and taking the bookies for large sums becomes more difficult by the day with improved communications, liability controls and firms becoming more bean counter and less bookmaker all the time. I myself have hardly had a bet with a track bookmaker in 5 years and can't remember the last time I was laid to lose a sum I would consider exciting on the phone or online. The truth is it's all Betfair nowadays, even more so since Barney's coups further closed the gate.

I think people should view Barney as the end of an era. He still regards the bookies as the enemy and wants nothing more than to have them scurrying for cover as their liabilty limiters catch fire. When he goes he closes the book on that time in history, which was magical to a small boy looking for heroes who fought with their heads, not with their fists.