AND ANOTHER THING…

April 2009

READING BETWEEN THE LINES

I LIKE Reading Between The Lines  – as a title I mean. I thought I would try it out as an alternative to And Another Thing to see if my words flowed differently with a change of emphasis. This is merely a trial you understand; it does not mean that I am dumping my former epithet. I might even alternate between the two alter egos to see if it brings me out of my shell a little, allows me to emerge from the closet for a while. Not that I am gay, in truth I am not even remotely happy at present. The Scots have a word for it which, not being fluent in Scottish, I cannot spell. So I will just say it phonetically. It is dreek. As it is Scottish National Day at Ayr, I thought a word from the same language that gives you neeps, tatties and haggis might be appropriate. Trying to master a semi-abbreviated tongue seems easier than solving the Scottish Grand National.

Yesterday I was at Newbury and it was more like the Hennessy meeting than the first Flat meeting of the year. The runners swirled out of the mist down the straight and many of them went up and down on the spot as if they had just clouted the last ditch. Although I lent the bookmakers some of my cash, which is always galling when you have suffered for your art as well, I came away with a few definite pointers for the future.

If you are prepared to get blobs of rain on your glasses and shuffle from one foot to another to stamp out the chill, paddock watching is rewarding. Spotting horses that are not fully fit and then seeing them run with a great deal of promise is a sure-fire way of recognising future winners. Of course, each of us that pursue such a path is convinced they have seen something missed by others. They may not have missed it but chosen to ignore it based on the fact they knew more than you did. That is the game – the game of reading between the lines. And reading between the lines is something of a British pastime, so it is something we are accustomed to. How many times do you have a conservation with an Englishman and then have to slip away quietly to decipher what was intended? Contrast that with the upfront approach of the Americans. They seem capable of bluntly expressing what they mean in two minutes whilst we bluster all round the houses to intimate at a point. We use such phrases as, just remind me, or, so to recap. Our American cousins seem to hit the nail on the head and move on.

So I read between the lines at Newbury yesterday and came to various conclusions which appear in Track Notes. There is a small race in Lofthouse, Sonny Red should win a big handicap, Brief Encounter is of interest next time, Candy Ride and Dhushan look nailed on for their maidens. What’s that? You thought the same but didn’t have to stand in the drizzle to arrive at such conclusions. Well, good for you!

There is more reading between the lines required today. Trainers make statements in the Racing Post as to the chances of their runners. They use a kind of code which is universal in racing circles and once cracked can be easily translated. They say they are looking forward to running their horse. That means they think it will be fun day out for all concerned until the bills arrive. We all look forward to plenty of things, most of which never materialise.

Then there is the trainer that gives with one hand and takes with another. He will love the trip but I am not sure about the ground means he probably won’t win.

I have him as fit as I can for his first run translates to he definitely won’t win.

He really is better of six than today’s five means he is being prepared for something else.

I couldn’t be more happy with him is not quite the dollop of encouragement it sounds. Being happy with a horse is distinct from thinking he will win.

No, give me the Mick Easterby approach. I laid this ‘oss out for two years. He is sixteen pounds lower than he should be, is in the form of his life and I am having my bollocks on him. How many bollocks do you get for the pound by the way? What with deflation and the crunch (no, not a good choice of word in the same sentence I know), I suspect they have dropped in value somewhat. However, it still equates to a serious wager.

No such luck with the clues today. The always-informative Saeed Bin Suroor (why does he call even hacks sir?) suggests Shaweel will improve for the run.

Brian Meehan tells us nothing about Neshri except that he has a Guineas entry.

Marcus Tregoning doesn’t really wish to run Finjaan on poor ground – which is what he will get. He as good as tells us it won’t win, but sums up by saying he likes the horse a lot. Does that mean they will be sharing a whisky tonight and having a game of backgammon?

Reading between the lines, there is a lot of it about at this stage of the season…

AND ANOTHER THING

March 2009

An Irish Mystery

THIS IS A QUIET WEEK for those of us working in racing – at least the early part of it is. Monday offers Claiming and Selling day at Wolverhampton. For jump-racing fans I am told several short-price and apparent good things line up at Kempton in particular, and to a lesser extent at Plumpton. Tomorrow there is Flat racing at Lingfield, but the fields small, as are the chances of making any money. There is already the mention of the dreaded words – Gosden, maiden and fancied, although not necessarily in that order. Southwell dishes up a diet of jump racing that only warrants a second look from diehards, and there is another dollop of similar fare at Sludgefield [sic].

The week trundles along in similar but slightly better fashion until a jumping card at Ascot on Friday. It then explodes on Saturday with the start of the Flat turf season, condensed this year to a two-day weekend meeting from Doncaster. Kempton Park stages a premature part-Easter card, and from Dubai, it is World Cup night.

It would appear the early part of the week is a good time to paint the fence, cut the grass and tidy the garden. This is the time to make your peace with God or a pact with the Devil if you feel either is relevant.

If you are married or with partner, it is also a good idea to be nice to them now because they won’t be seeing much of you for eight months. It is Aintree next week, then another relatively quiet and, unusually, a five-day racing week – Good Friday interrupting the fixtures much to the annoyance of the major bookmakers.

After that, it is Craven week and there is no chance of much more than the odd day’s respite until November. You may never see your partner again. She could be packed and long gone by the time you next use the kitchen. You may notice one night, before you turn in with the sound of Nick Luck’s voice still ringing in your ears, you have a lot more room in your wardrobe and on the bathroom shelves and the bed appears wider.

It is a bit like being in jail and your sentence is about to start. If your partner is still with you by May, or even June, they might as well just leave your food – that is if they are still cooking on your behalf – outside your office door. From their point of view, your continued existence is apparent by the replacement of food for an empty tray left for collection. The occupant in that room akin to something from a Hammer Horror movie – ‘The master decried it never be opened,’ – presumably remains alive. You – that is the occupant – become the mysterious master only seen after dark. You lurk within an office equipped with a computer, a television, a desk, filing cabinets and some personal items such as bottled water, Hula Hoops, a can of corned beef, only for consumption in the case of siege or nuclear war. Maybe one of Dracula’s coffins would be handy after all.

Those knowing little of this room no one without an appointment ever enters can be confused. They believe some sort of half-man-half-beast resides within. He may be a tagged criminal, confined to this room as part of his communal punishment.

An occasional whoop of what appears to be delight emanates from this fortress of an office. This is odd as the man is alone, so such delight can only be self-induced. But more often it is the groan of frustration, or the clunking heavy sound associated with defeat. This room hosts a good deal of defeat. Perhaps, borrowing the title from the Bob Dylan song, it should be christened Desolation Row.

The man on the racing channel tells you the horse you backed was unlucky and presses knobs in his cubicle. He has an odd haircut. Like you he does not get out much, so perhaps when he visits the barbershop he has to make the cut last. He does not look over-concerned about your misfortune, so clearly has not backed the horse himself. He is earning a guaranteed wage so it would be a surprise if he backed anything for more than a fiver. He smiles as he checks one of his screens and infers bad luck is all part of racing; but there is a chance to recoup winnings in the following handicap that contains twenty runners. Before that, there is just time to take a quick break. Is there? Yes, the next race on the other channel is not due for twenty minutes.

The break consists of at least two advertisements for insurance. Sometimes the same insurance company advertises twice in one break. Every insurance company you can think of is advertising just now, so there must be more money in insurance than there is in trying to find winners of twenty-runner handicaps.

One of the insurance sites is, according to its geeky users, very friendly. That’s nice. It’s nice to have a friendly website to visit before you give them your credit card details don’t you think? One person strums a guitar, another looks as if finding this particular website has been her salvation. There is another who looks as if he is more accustomed to typing Hot Babes Dot Com into Google than Confused Dot Com. Perhaps he is confused after all, having expected Paris Hilton to pop up on his screen. All agree they have saved hundreds of pounds on their insurance. One says he has saved £200. £200! I only pay just over £200 for an annual car premium, let alone save it! Then I don’t get out much and have a restricted mileage clause.

Along comes Michael Parkinson reminding us that he has met lots of interesting people. He suggests if we are over-fifty we should consider financing our funerals. So we are back to coffins again. Perhaps this is appropriate for people watching a racing channel, but for a man that has met lots of interesting people, surely this is a bit of a comedown for Mr Parkinson. However, it is when you hear Stephen Fry and Paul Merton doing the voiceovers for Direct Line that you know there has to be more money in insurance than there is in gambling. These performers don’t come cheaply.

Why though do these insurance companies target people that watch racing? If they are watching racing, chances are they are gamblers. If they are gamblers, they do not give a fig for insurance. The only insurance they are concerned with is the type that keeps Mr Luigi from visiting them in the dead of night asking where his money is. There is no mention from Messrs Parkinson, Fry and Merton that their employers underwrite that. They cover our water pipes bursting, our cars getting crunched by articulated lorries; they want us to have a courtesy car if we crash because we lose our no-claims bonus and will have to pay even more for the next premium, but they don’t insure against concrete overcoats.

There used to be a popular saying that countries get the television programmes they deserve. Obviously, those that advertise on At The Races think we deserve insurance against stupid and elementary accidents – such as falling over on a shop floor or using the wrong ladder to climb a roof. Alternatively, they think we may be so uninsurable that we will snap up any policy thrown our way. They also think we need to stop smoking or are about to kick the bucket.

As I write, the first odds-on shot of the day, You’re The Top, has obliged at Kempton. Back on At The Races, two car insurance adverts have figured in between a squirrel trying to persuade us to invest in an ISA. Then there is an advert for cheese for those of us likely to be wasting away in our offices whilst we watch racing. Then it’s Accident Insurance, followed by another sort of insurance and ‘Everybody has an opinion, what’s yours worf?’

A 66/1 shot won the Claimer from the even-money favourite with a one-time Group-placed horse finishing last. Two dubious propositions in First Avenue and Dreamy Sweeney obliged as I was told they would; but I knew better and did not back them

Normal service is resumed: I know what my opinion is worf.

And Another Thing

October 2008

Drunk horse breathalysed

FRIDAY NIGHT and it has been a wretched day. It looked tricky, typical backend stuff this morning and I managed to keep my head until about midday. I fancied a couple of big-priced horses a bit but to be honest I could not really see them winning. But what are you to do when horses you think might win are three times the price their chances represent?

The answer is simple enough to be provided by your average schoolchild. If you only think they might or could win, you do not back them for serious money. The most you do is to have a lottery-type wager and if your luck is in fine; if not have a few less sherbets in the evening and retire to fight another day.

Well that was my intention but then messages started to trickle in at Cheltenham and I fell for them. Bang: out goes Razor Royale when travelling like a possible winner at the infamous second-last. Crunch: Donaldson loses his hind legs at the second hurdle and thereafter a horse universally considered well handicapped had forfeited whatever advantage he possessed. Spacious was too big and I backed her to win. Except she wasn’t and she didn’t and a day that should have cost a few bob ended up as a rotten example of what not to do.

I am not moaning. This is more a redressing of a balance. In the past, I have often crowed after a winning day. I hope it has not come across as such but no one really wants to hear about success. What we want is tales from the bottom of the glass. That is what we can relate to; and to be fair we all talk a good race when we know the result. So let me be honest: today I lost good money. I should have lost small but I lost more than that and that only goes to show that all the fancy talking and theorising in the world will not build the perfect betting beast. None of us is immune from the pitfalls that we all know we should avoid but that from time to time ensnare us. I think it is what is known as being human.

Tomorrow is the last big day of the year. The remaining pieces of the two-year-old jigsaw are slotted into position with the running of the Dewhurst and we have the Champion Stakes and the Cesarewitch. Now I cannot be the only person who is full of bravado the night before a meeting but senses his confidence slipping away with the passing of each hour. So tonight, buoyed up by a Jack Daniels and a small lager, I can confidently make the following predictions. Tomorrow I shall be under the sofa covering my eyes as they run these races; but for now, this is how I see it.

I reckon the first race is triple tricky. I do not like him, but it is possible Cat Junior may need this reduction in trip and that we may see him at his best here. He has Stimulation and the in-form Il Warrd to beat. At this stage, no bet.

As a specimen, Rip Van Winkle looks like a top class racehorse. However, Dewhursts are not won in the paddock and his form falls short of the required standard. Next year maybe, but for now, his price is ludicrously short so it is either Delegator or Huntdown.

The Champion Stakes is no such thing. I am sorry to say this, but in recent years it has struggled to maintain its status in the calendar. This year is no exception. The best horse is New Approach who should therefore win. Twice Over is apparently working well. This gives his unfortunate Guineas backers a chance to say I told you so. However, quickening ground and a fast pace may not be ideal for a horse whose distance has yet to be established.

Crazily, I am of the opinion that the day’s best bet is in the Cesarewitch. I fancy Liberate strongly. In first time cheek pieces and guaranteed a strong pace which will suit him admirably, I feel he can take advantage of a lenient mark. He may well have won the Ascot Stakes had they gone a bit faster and Jamie Spencer knows him well. I think I will knock off the 10/1! As for Askar Tau; yes, he is a serious contender but he has never encountered this sort of opposition and taking WFA into account has to concede 8lbs to Liberate.

Now that I am rolling into the history books, I shall leave the Rockfel but watch Marquesa with interest. She was just over four lengths behind the Marcel Boussac winner Proportional; therefore, she provides some sort of form line for those who think they saw next year’s 1,000 Guineas winner at Longchamp.

Back to a mile-and-a-half, Unsung Heroine should win the Group 2 for fillies and Host Nation looks an interesting recruit to these shores having run well at Group level in France. I presume this a prep run of sorts for a jumping campaign though so can only watch. But by this time, one way or the other I should be beyond caring.

See – easy is it not!

I cannot let this article pass without reference to one or two other events outside my own sad little world. Paddy Power have come to the conclusion that Barack Obama has won the American Presidential Race and are paying out seventeen days before the official result is known. This seems a silly thing to do. They say a week is a long time in politics. A week is seven days. That infers that seventeen days are almost three times as long. What if somebody takes a pot-shot at Obama and puts him in hospital or worse? America is no stranger to that sort of thing. Last year an American told me that there was no way his country would vote a woman or a black man into office. Well the woman ensured her own demise. As for the black man, I reminded him that no one had a problem with Morgan Freeman being president in The Day After Tomorrow. I think that was when our conversation ended. But pre-empting even what looks like a foregone conclusion in politics is notoriously dicey. Paddy Power may have done this for the publicity. Just to even it up, they seem to have a record of offering distasteful odds. I am thinking of betting on the next airline to go bust, the next Pope and other such nonsensical outcomes. Surely, some things are off-limits. How about betting on the next bookmaker to go broke?

Finally, horses have been making the news in unusual ways this week. Apparently a pony called Fat Boy (no, not the one trained by Peter Chapple-Hyam) became so intoxicated on fermented apples that he blundered into a swimming pool in Cornwall. This horrified the owner who watched as he splashed around in a mad frenzy. Perhaps it was Peter Chapple-Hyam then! The story did have a happy-ending as the horse was rescued and is currently in the next bed to Amy Winehouse in rehab.

Another drunken horse was less fortunate. In Romania, he was arrested and breathalysed after striking a man who was seated on a bench trying to work out how to fill in his application for an entry visa into Britain. It transpired the horse had been given a liberal dose of alcohol by his owners in the hope it would improve his looks prior to an impending sale. I have tried that lads; take it from me – it does not work. You might think it does, but it doesn’t.

And in Ipswich, a funeral procession had to be halted when a horse-drawn carriage overturned after one of the horses (sober this time) spooked.

So, quite a week for the beast on which many an empire has been won and lost and now exacts revenge for years of exploitation by beguiling punters into believing it is about to do what it has no intention of doing.

Time for a spot of Liberation!

Or should that be libation?

And Another Thing

October 2008

Arc Weekend at Longchamp

IT MAY NOT have escaped your notice that it is Arc weekend. That means planeloads and coach-loads of Brits will be descending on Paris for two glorious days of racing in one of the culture capitals of the world. The mix of Anglo Saxon and Gaelic has not always worked terribly well. There has been some unpleasantness between our two nations over the past five hundred years or so, resulting in muskets, tanks and ships exchanging fire. These days altercations are more likely to be restricted to the hurling of glasses after a football match or the French refusing to speak English even though, in many cases, they have a better grasp of our mother tongue than we do. Know what I mean John?

For those of you taking the cross-channel trip in whatever form to Paris this weekend, an expensive but unforgettable experience awaits. Paris is a costly city. Prices in restaurants seem to vary as to whether they like whomsoever they are serving. Wear a bulldog baseball cap or one with Manchester United written across it and you can expect to be charged £5 for a cup of coffee. Have a visible tattoo that proclaims something to the effect of, “England Forever” (or knowing the educational standards of some tattooists perhaps Eggland Forever), means the price could shoot up to £6.50.

As a racecourse, Longchamp puts many English tracks to shame. The French dress properly to go racing so do not turn up in tracksuit and trainers. You will look like a wally. Try a suit, or slacks and a jacket. If you don’t own any of those items, check that your temporary leave of absence from prison has not expired.

The purpose of being at a racetrack in France is not to get as much beer down your neck as you can. And no, they don’t serve Boddington’s

Forget football. Arc weekend is all about celebrating the racehorse. If you want to chant about Arsenal and the likes, stay at home and be your usual dildoic self.

The French take their food and wine seriously. If you order either in anything but the equivalent of a Macdonalds, the chances are the waiter will be snooty. He will relish the fact that the menu has left you clueless. Don’t leave him to choose for you. It is likely he will punish you for your ignorance by bringing you a plate of unmentionables poached in a sauce that disguises the fact you have just eaten genitals. Genitals are not for eating! You are normally safe with the fish but remember that accompanying wine should be white or rose and not red. You don’t want to appear as ignorant as Red Grant in From Russia With Love. Remember what happened to him! White wine should be chilled. Ask for it warm and it is likely to have a taste that resembles ammonia. Whatever the New World says, the French and the Italians invented wine and all grapes derive from them. Asking for Rioja in a French restaurant will not go down well. Stick to Beaujolis, Corbieres or anything with Chauteau as a prefix.

Yes, the French eat horse. It is sweeter than beefsteak and steak often means you will be eating one of the beasts that once graced the turf at Longchamp. If you have a problem with that, stipulate you would rather the plate did not contain a descendent of Sea Bird. Frogs’ legs are surprisingly nice but snails taste as you would expect something that spends it life wallowing in dirt and mud to taste.

Do not mention the war and in particular avoid any reference to Dunkirk.

If a British horse wins a race at Longchamp, don’t punch the air and shout, “Yes! Get in there my son!”

Zarkava is quite rightly the queen of Longchamp. Her task on Sunday is nowhere near as easy as the betting suggests and if she wins, it will require a mighty performance. Even if you have backed against her, be generous in your applause – she will have deserved it.

And Another Thing

September 2008

Horse Racing and Jockey tactics

FOUR ITEMS dominate the Racing Post today. Three of them represent the dark side of our game in my view. By that I don’t mean to infer they are concerned with skulduggery, more that they are rather like the idiot who moons from the back of a coach when you are driving home after a long hard day losing money at the office. It is just the time when the last thing you want to see it a white bottom staring implacably at you. I have a mirror and a bottom so I know what one looks like. On a scale of one to ten, on the basis that by giving it a zero you are stating looking at one is no worse than say, someone urinating through your letter-box, my bottom – pretty standard as they go – would be worth no more than a rating of one. So I can’t see why I would want to see anyone else’s, unless it happened to belong to J Lo. Following a male bottom along the motorway when I am tired and wondering whether to cook dinner or stop somewhere is not my idea of a laugh. It is enough to make you want to branch off at a service station and pay a tenner for a plate of steak and kidney and chips as cold as a can of Fosters.

So item one… The BHA are to quiz Johhny Murtagh and Aidan O’Brien over the allegation of team tactics. We all know the story and frankly, it is boring. Aidan O’Brien trains for the most successful racing empire in recent years. They have won an unprecedented number of Group Ones this year – is it eighty-six or sixty-eight I have lost count? In most of these, they have installed a pacemaker to ensure the races in question did not develop into three-furlong sprints and because horses like Duke Of Marmalade are bred to race over ten furlongs. On the assumption that the Duke’s rivals are similarly bred, you would have thought the inclusion of a horse that is going to make it a true gallop would be something approaching a boon to all concerned. The problem comes when the field approach the point at which the pacemaker is tiring and begins to drop back. In fact, pacemakers have a habit of dropping like a stone through water from about three furlongs out. According to the BHA – a body on all known evidence that seems to be no further down the racing line of education than the equivalent of someone sitting his GCSE’s, – Johnny Murtagh instructed Colm O’Donoghue on Red Rock Canyon to ease off the rail and let him through on Duke Of Marmalade in the Juddmonte International.

Oh Dear! Oh Dear! Is it necessary to make a meal out of this? Opposing jockeys are not clueless. The race was run over Newmarket’s July course, which, in case the BHA needs reminding, is essentially straight. It is not as if O’Donoghue was in the process of spinning off a rail and taking fancied runners wide. And the practice of jockeys calling for room happens in nearly every race every day. What we don’t want is the BHA trying to clamp down on the one outfit that has lifted an otherwise pretty drab Flat racing season from being just that – flat! What if Messrs Magnier, Tabor and Smith suddenly called time and decided, having lost their one-time stable jockey Keiren Fallon as a result of this body, that they would prefer to take their empire to America, which is a lot closer to Barbados and Sandy Lane where they spend a good deal of their time? Not very likely, but this is hassle they do not need. Put your trousers back on BHA and see if you can find any cans of Stella in the jockeys’ changing rooms.

Next, jockeys are angling for more money in riding fees. They say they are not earning enough. Note this money is for riding fees. They want some sort of sliding scale based on the importance of the race they are riding in. What if they cock it up? Can the owner push for a substantial refund due to negligence? The current riding fee is a £100 a shot. The average Flat jockey rides between seven hundred and a thousand horses a year. Assuming none of them win, that means he grosses between £70,000 and £100,000 per annum. But even Henry Puffington-Smythe would have to ride a few winners if he got that amount of rides, meaning, taking into account his percentage for so doing, he could expect to earn anything up to a quarter of a million pounds. I am sorry if that is not enough. Yes, we all know that Bruce Springsteen gets that for playing Madison Square and Wembley but, I am not sure anyone wants to pay up to two hundred pounds to watch the Hills brothers on guitars, Jimmy Fortune on bass and Richard Hughes on lead vocals. And it is no good comparing racing with football because football generates more money. When England plays at Wembley, the attendance can easily reach 70,000. When was the last time spectators reached a third of that figure at Newmarket or Ascot? Maybe during Royal Week Ascot comes close, but 70,000 or more is unheard of. Being a jockey is a highly skilled job and one most mortals would make a complete pig’s ear of if they tried it. But the same applies to surgeons and bricklayers. Each to his own. Jockeys riding in the better races are lucky to be in with a chance of carving a slice of a huge pot. So long as they don’t follow the O’Brien pacemaker, on the law of averages, there is a good chance that most of them will do so at least once a year.

One jockey that is a breath of fresh air at present is Hayley Turner. She gives a cute girly interview in the Post today. She is cute but she is no ordinary girl. Even wizened curmudgeons like me have to grudgingly admit she is rather good. In fact she is better than rather good, she is top class. She might be a girl but somehow she can galvanise a horse as well as any man and she is the exception that disproves the rule. She is also very likeable, a bit of a pin-up and, yes, she deserves her success.

Back to the dark side of the moon: Today we have mammoth fields at Redcar and Goodwood. The racing seems to start at lunchtime and just keeps going, a bit like that dance competition that goes to the couple that are the last to remain on the dance floor. I am not so sure I want to be shuffling around for such a long time listening to racing presenters wish me good luck with my selections – unless we all back the same horses, we can’t all have good luck now can we. And during this mammoth event they will be trying to get me excited over events this weekend. Look, never mind about Ascot, let’s get today over with first shall we?

As for today, you start looking at the cards with the best of intentions but end up with the conclusion that only the names have changed. We can all come up with a 6/4 shot: Latin Tinge ought to win the 6.20 at Kempton having finished behind Rainbow View last time but from her draw; it is not a foregone conclusion. Redcar makes about as much sense as a newspaper article written in Mandarin. Goodwood poses the sort of questions that have bookmakers rubbing their hands and phoning their travel agents. There are too many unraced hoses on the card, the fields are too big, too crammed with moderate horses and when we get to the Listed event (assuming we are still vertical) we have seven runners who make a living out of taking the proverbial. Well, I take that back as Many Volumes seems straightforward although he has had a long season. They say Purple Moon needs the run – after a year off that seems reasonable – but as a course winner, he could still surprise. We are told Meydan City will be better over this shorter trip but in my opinion his form needs improving upon anyway. Tranquil Tiger will only win if he feels like it, so maybe some compensation for his consistency awaits Pinpoint. Maybe not; I don’t know! Thumbs Up should win the 4.55 but at 6/4 so what?

Now I do give Riverscape a chance in the 5.30. From a mark of 76, dropped to a more suitable trip and trained locally, he should be okay on this fairground ride of a track. But of course there is a catch. He has not run for forty-two days, so where has he been? Perhaps he has been on his annual holidays. Maybe he has the representation of a good lawyer, hassling on his behalf for an extra portion of oats before he makes his next appearance.

And Another Thing

September 2008

Mistakes

RACING is a great leveller. Open your mouth and make a statement and if proved wrong, there is no hiding place.

My comments regarding Jim Bolger’s bid to win the Group 1 Coolmore Fusaichi Pegasus Stakes with Lush Lashes need repeating. I may as well draw attention to them rather than afford some one else with the opportunity.

I felt sufficiently superior this morning to tell Mr Bolger that the ground was too soft for Lush Lashes and that in running her he ran a serious risk of Halfway To Heaven confirming Goodwood form. In which case, there was the possibility of Lush Lashes being labelled unlucky on the day but unable to overturn the form next time.

Do not do it I warned! Cannot win on the ground – ground that is soft but not as we know it Jim!

Good rhetoric – bad assumption. Can do it, did do it, result: Jim Bolger, not for the first time, makes me look foolish. Jim Bolger is my nemesis. He doesn’t even know I exist but, having been caught out by the assumption that Finsceal Beo had only poor form to her credit before the 1,000 Guineas of 2007, the vendetta – initiated by me – gathers momentum. This was my big chance to prove finally that I knew better than he did. Don’t give me no Lush Lashes!

As they came to gather her in, she kept galloping and it was Bolger four – me nil. With no Joe Cole to save the day, this gap looks likely to widen. For in the true tradition of those that look like genii on occasion and idiots on others, I shall whittle away at Mr Bolger in the foolhardy belief that I shall expose him in the end.

So some advice for myself: Get over it; it is just a horserace. You have not started World War III, nor have you actually lost money as you failed to place it where your big gob was. What you have done is to get carried away with your own importance, thinking you knew better than a renowned trainer who, after winning the Group 1 for fillies, followed up by winning the Irish Champion with New Approach.

That is the nature of this beast. Get on a roll, start backing a few winners and you delude yourself into thinking you have cracked the code.

The fall to earth can be a long one, unless of course you have experienced before. If not, you are new to the game, a liar or have never expressed an opinion. For the time being, it is life as we know it Jim – it’s worse than that he is dead Jim – or to put it bluntly, he got too big for his boots Jim!

The Bookies’ role is to relieve us of money

THERE has been some comment this week from that nice firm of bookmakers, William Hill, complaining that in 2009 there will be four blank racing Sundays. Such an oversight must be a body blow to Hills and all who sail in her. Their chief executive, one Ralph Topping, a man with whom I am not familiar and one that I suspect moves in slightly different social circles to myself, lodged the complaint. Judging by his photograph, he does not appear to be the sort of man who would be too perturbed if his gas boiler suddenly broke down.

But to get back to the central point. I am assuming that one of these Sundays might just be Easter Sunday, so that means only three normal Sundays are affected. Whatever one’s religious convictions, whilst we live in a Christian society, for those who need reminding, Easter is the day when it is claimed Christ rose from the dead. This is not something that is done every day [the current record is once every two thousand years] so it seems reasonable to commemorate such an occasion with some respect even if part of that does include a visit to B&Q.

The point is we have had to witness the tail wagging the dog on the fixture list for some time now. Bookmakers have elbowed their way into this domain on the premise that the more money they take, the more they can plough, seed and scatter back into racing. How laudable, how magnamaniuos of them to be so concerned over racing’s finances! Of course, bookmakers are no different from that fat man representing the bank on television, insurance companies or gas suppliers. Their only concern is to make money for themselves and their shareholders. When bookmakers were (unfairly in my opinion) taxed on turnover, they sold the BHB the lie that the greater turnover they could achieve the more they could return to racing. This did not make a scrap of economic sense. At the time, they were taxed on the amount of money taken through the tills. So it followed that the better the results for the punter, the more money could be ‘turned over’ because it was a case of cash being recycled or re-invested. Therefore, when results were good for punters, bookmakers had to take more money to make a smaller profit margin and then pay more tax on this inflated turnover. So, it was never in their interest to increase turnover, always to increase profit. At that time what suited them was less turnover and a higher rate of profit, which for a bookmakers means a couple of big-priced results in key races. Unfortunately the BHB bought the benevolent line and increased the fixture list in the belief that it would increase turnover resulting in more Levy.

Bookmakers have always liked lots of racing. Ideally they want to turn betting shops, or even your living room if you have Racing UK and ATR, into the equivalent of a casino where something is happening every few seconds, giving you no time to think. Punters leapfrogging from one race to another, hurriedly scribbling out or punching bets into computers, will invariably make ill-considered opinions. Result? Bookmaker wins!

Even now with a re-vamped and fairer tax system based on a bookmaker’s profit, that profit can still be increased if the amount of racing on offer reaches saturation point. Saturdays are a prime example. A minimum of six meetings means punters cannot even go to the bathroom! You will watch horses you meant to back win, and horses you didn’t mean to back but did, lose. Lovely! Just what Jolly Joe ordered!

The reason Mr Topping is miffed by any blank day of racing is that it not only spoils another potentially profitable day, but it breaks the established precedent.  It gives punters the chance to spend their time and money on something else. And guess what? There is the danger they may enjoy taking the kids to the zoo, the wife or girlfriend out to lunch or watching their local football team play more than sitting in a betting office watching cartoon horses and a seventeen-runner handicap (reduced to fifteen of course) from Carlisle. And that would never do – much better to keep Betting Office Charlie where he belongs!

Bookmakers have invested a great deal of money on being smarmy. They have a legion of smarmy representatives that live a high life going from racecourse to racecourse where they pretend to be ‘one of us’. They will claim they have just done their dough on the last favourite, when it is against company policy for them to bet at all and in any case, they are earning far too much to bother.

I have never understood the classic statement made by the card player who has lost heavily at the table and then states: ‘Surely you must give me the chance to win my money back!’ Well, actually, no. I thought the object at a card school was for man A to relieve man B of his money as quickly as possible, then get the hell out of there, and start spending it. The same, I am afraid, applies to bookmakers. I can’t blame them, they are in business after all. But we need to be aware of their motives. It is not their place to compress the fixture list and dupe the racing authorities into believing they are on racing’s side. They are purely there to relieve as many of us as possible with the money we possess, and that includes the newly formed racing authority, the BHA, that seems no more able to see through them than did the old BHB.

EXCHANGE BETTING

THE YEAR OF 2008 was for many the year when the dress rehearsal stopped. They had earned their wings. Having taken the concept of exchange betting for various test flights, during which teething difficulties were adjusted, now was the time for lift-off.

It is a fact that most people who open an account with Befair lose their initial deposit. There are good reasons for this statistic and for those not familiar with the pitfalls, allow me to elucidate.

Faced with the sight of hitherto unheard of generosity as regards prices, the newcomer to exchange betting will feel compelled to bet more often and with greater abandon. Having decided a horse priced in the paper at 9/1 has a chance, the opportunity to back it at 23/1 is too great a temptation. The same applies to the 16/1 shot with a squeak that is 45/1 on the exchange; and a horse that cannot really win but is 33/1 with the books that is available at 72/1. Surely, it is only a matter of time before one of these long shots – that is even longer with Betfair than it should be – obliges. So it is a case of a tenner here, a tenner there, a fiver on that 121/1 chance, another fiver on the silly-priced 202/1 rag and before our man knows it, he is £200 behind and on his way to tendering his card again to top up funds depleted by throwaway wagers. The lesson to learn is that you should not back a horse just because it is a big price. That may sound obvious, but some horses are very big prices indeed on Betfair.

Now, I buy clothes. Too many to tell the truth, and I am a pushover at sales. A girlfriend told me that the price of an item is irrelevant so long as you can afford it. Correctly, she stated that if you would not pay full price for something then you should not buy it at a reduced one.

Sound advice! The same principle, but in reverse, applies to betting. Do not be suckered into backing a horse just because you cannot resist its price.

To keep the clothes analogy alive: it is better to have a small but select wardrobe than to possess so many clothes you forget just what you do have.      Again, it is better to back less and for a bigger stake, than to tinker about all day frittering away small money on big-priced horses in the hope one of them will win. Unless you are lucky, losses will mount and a big-priced winner is not so big when you deduct losses. Betfair encourages constant play. It is similar to a casino where the roulette wheel is forever spinning. Once players start on the merry-go-round that is the wheel, playing sequences and certain numbers, they are frightened that once they leave the table all their numbers will start to bear fruit. Pardon the pun, but one-armed bandits have the same effect on those planted before them. They have to keep playing because the minute they leave, their bad run will turn into someone else’s good one.

A certain amount of adjustment is required with the exchanges and most people pay to find out. Forget the price temptation and pick off Betfair as you would a bookmaker. Remember, unlike a bookmaker, for every winning bet on Betfair there is a losing one. Betfair matches one player against another and unless the winning and losing sequence is maintained on roughly an equal basis, the concept (albeit a brilliant one, and one of those things someone should have thought of years ago) becomes stuck in the slot marked Zero.

When launched, Betfair appeared out of the clear blue water like the iceberg for the Titanic that represented bookmakers. It offered punters a chance – a golden opportunity – to bet on what they wished, whereas the bookmaker has no choice and is compelled to bet on everything. Now punters could shun those races they considered unfathomable, or had no interest in, and lay and bet at their own discretion. Great in theory and at first it worked wonderfully. Then some punters started to get above themselves and actually thought that, with the aid of clever computer programmes, they could make a living fixed in front of a computer just like those clever City boys who retire as millionaires aged thirty-three. Some very sharp, young whizz kids, who probably could have made more money had they applied themselves in a finance house, have made a success of trading on Betfair. Plenty have crashed and burned, sometimes in the space of a frenetic three days during which they kept punching and stabbing at computer keys, only to discover that events on the screen were happening too quickly for them, sending them hurtling from the sky in a financial fireball.

Computer programmes do help and there are commercial firms that offer software that will allow you to trade on a theoretical no-lose, no-risk basis. The idea is to tie up large sums of money with a view to making a guaranteed small profit without incurring a loss. This is known in the trade as arbing, derived from the French word arbitrage, inferring it is possible to trade without risk if one buys and sells at advantageous prices. Such a practise, which involves a different skill to winner-finding, is best handled by those with little or no knowledge of racehorses, but who understand figures. A computer is programmed to trade every horse in a race for a certain amount and will ensure that, although your outlay may in some cases run into thousands, you will make a fixed profit of, say £25. Only £25!  Does that seem ridiculously low? Not if you consider there are likely to be 40 opportunities to repeat this pattern in a day – more if you want to sit in front of your screen until the man on Racing UK says, ‘No more bets.’  £25 times forty is £1,000, which is what you can earn a day if you follow instructions. Seven days a week – that is at least £7,000 or over £350,000 per annum. That is the theory and does explain why unrealistically high prices appear against the names of certain horses. This is just a computer balancing its books so to speak. You didn’t really think someone somewhere thought he would risk losing £750 just to win £3 did you?

So two types of player have emerged as those most likely to stay the Betfair course: those that operate to a pre-scheduled programme and those who make considered opinions about which horses to lay and which to back. But, with the early euphoria of this ground-breaking concept off the ground and in full flight, its pitfalls have become apparent. Because prices on Betfair are greater than those offered by traditional layers, anyone wishing to lay a horse has to provide enhanced odds to become matched. Add the commission due and they have to be darned sure they know what they are doing. And, whilst bookmakers do not allow customers to lay horses, as time has progressed they have narrowed the gap between their odds and those on Betfair without subjecting punters to a surcharge. Bookmakers are fighting back in a big way. And another sort of phenomenon has reared its head. It is because bookmakers play on every race, and more importantly, like banks, they are playing with customer’s money that their risk is far less than ordinary Betfair punters, tying up their own capital each time they punch in a transaction. Suddenly from being impoverished business corporations fighting for survival, bookmakers have found the disposal income to match so-called ‘new customers’ on a pound-for-pound basis up to a maximum figure of a £100 bet. They will pay first past the post and on official result. They will guarantee odds, paying the biggest price ever shown. They will often refund stakes when a horse is unexpectedly taken out of an ante-post event, fails to start, or in National Hunt racing whips round as the tapes fly up. In short, you can more or less make up your own rules just so long as you continue to bet. That is how confident bookmakers are that they will win in the long run. They have become Caesar’s Palace in Vegas where the house always wins!

The big advantage Betfair has over bookmakers is that business with them is anonymous. If Aunt Dolly wants to have £2 on a 50/1 shot you can put the bet on for her without having to make up the amount to a minimum total of £10 per call. No one from Betfair can run round the betting village telling tales of who did their money on what. If the bet is on the screen, anyone can avail themselves and in confidence.

However, Betfair is a drink to be taken with tonic. Prices tend to leap about constantly. You can take what you consider to be a perfectly reasonable 5/2 one minute, for it to be 10/3 two minutes later. I know people who fall into the trap of pressing up when this happens. Don’t! Chances are the odds have only extended to afford a trader the chance to extricate himself from a situation he has misjudged and that he is paying a fine to balance his liability. The price normally levels out and even if it fails to, so long as you took a considered 5/2, your transaction is finished. If you have laid a horse at 6/4 and you can now lay it at 5/4 – don’t. Again, apply the same principle. Do not be influenced by movements on the screen. Others will play games, attempt to manipulate prices, or are just being plain silly. All you need concern yourself with is that you have acted in a calm and reasoned manner and that you know what you are doing.

There are many areas of exchange betting to be considered and doubtless we will return to the subject. One piece of advice I would pass on whether betting with bookmakers or exchanges is this: Before racing make a list – be it large or small – of the bets you intend to strike and the stakes. Do not deviate from this unless you are either winning or losing so much that either prudence or damage-limitation is required. Try to avoid making off the cuff decisions. Invariably they will prove to be poor and poor decisions in gambling cost you hard cash.

Links:

Betfair Free bet: Betdaq Free bet: Bet365 Free Bet,: More Bookmakers Free Bets

Horse Racing Tips: Derby Tips: Free Trial

AND ANOTHER THING…

September 2008

Youth is wasted on the young

YOUTH is wasted on the young, or so they say. At least that well-known philosopher Robbie Williams said it! Actually, there is a paradox about growing older. You become wiser as you age but less able to utilise such wisdom as first the mind, then the body becomes a barrier.

After a certain age, when we own two-thirds of our houses, appreciate fine wine, have paid for the car and have a suit for every occasion but never wear them, we yearn to play safe. So those most able to make sound, risk-based decisions find themselves opting out. It strikes me that there must be a flashpoint in every life when the individual knows just enough and is rash enough to play the hand of cards he is dealt to their best effect. Such a point in time is akin to the launch period for a rocket bound for outer space. It is that allotted time for lighting the burners and starting the countdown. Recognising such a moment is difficult and largely only after its passing can one look back and say – that was it – that was my moment in time. This is a sad reflection on the irony of life and perhaps not wholly appropriate to a light-hearted piece of froth such as this. But I will make one observation before the nurse comes to tuck me up: If youth is wasted on the young, then wisdom is wasted on the old!

It is Saturday morning and I am about to be very wise indeed. It is my opinion today is a very difficult day as far as betting is concerned. There appear to be some good things on the cards, all spotted by the odds-compilers so their odds are cramped. These include: Major Cadeaux, Look Busy, Frozen Fire [although drifting as I write], Septimus and Contretemps, or so I am told. You may have other ideas. Some of you may be including Zacinto in this list although I am tempted to lay it, but have decided that if backing a 4/5 winner on the day is the best I can come up with, it is not worth the bother. But you see, if of the same opinion, Harry the Flash, having just cleared his head of all the wine and Bacardi Breezers of last night, would press the lay button on Betfair and get stuck in. Another day – another dollar!

An outfit of young whizz kids runs Betfair. It was a wonderful concept, rather like the idea of opening a bank and charging people for the privilege of depositing their money therein. But it seems the Hoorays that run Betfair are becoming a little too big for their brogues. In a mean-spirited and rather autocratic gesture, they are penalising those exploiting Betfair as a means to making money by increasing their commission – and I kind of thought making money was the idea.

The potential problem with Betfair was always that for it to work, for each person wishing to back a horse, there had to be someone willing to lay it. So there would be no shortage of layers for something like Zacinto today, but what about the likes of my two outsiders in the sprint races: Evens And Odds at 25/1 and Strike The Deal at 66/1? They will probably sink without a trace but that is not the point. Who needs £1 so badly they will risk losing £25 in the first case, or £66 in the second.  No one! So the mere fact such prices are available at all is because they are part of a package, a computer generated programme that has worked out how to lay every horse in the race and to produce a small but guaranteed profit for the operator. Either that or a bookmaker somewhere, using a similar system, is balancing his books. For there to be takers at such prices, those takers have to be using Betfair as a tool. So we arrive at another paradox. Betfair want to use the latter part of their name at all costs; but without the whizz kids exploiting the service they provide, layers on anything over the price of 3/1 will dry up.

Right now, what with this credit crunch we hear so much about, it seems everyone is after your money. Actually I suspect they have been for quite a while. But have you ever noticed how long it takes to get confirmation of an order, or for a query to be processed, in comparison to the speed with which the phone rings or a representative calls when you make an enquiry.

But some firms or organisations are worse than others when we come to the what’s fair and what’s not stakes. We live in a capitalist society so it is reasonable for companies to make money. It is their methods that can rankle.

It is no good complaining ad hoc about every profit-making concern but as consumers, I do feel we have the right to be aware of those bodies most likely to rip us to financial shreds.

I have a list of four. Top of any list should be the Government – any government. The only organisation that is not held accountable and can squeeze the consumer (that’s us the taxpayer) when they get their sums wrong without any or little recourse.

Second are banks. They operate a cartel and use our money to line the pockets of shareholders and have the cheek to charge us for the privilege of not having to keep wads under the bed.

Thirdly, I would add fast-food chains that sell crap food, pretend there is something trendy or healthy about what they provide and charge top prices to induce their consumers into becoming fat.

The last are insurance companies who must be awash with money right now, as it does not seem possible to turn on the television without seeing an advertisement for some firm or another offering to cover you up to your armpits. No one wants to pay insurance but if you drive a car it is, quite rightly, the law. What we want is to pay the minimum to cover us against the worst possible scenario. It is plain by the way their adverts are phrased that what they want is to make us believe we need cover for every eventuality. From the moment we wake in the morning, in case the sound of the alarm clock pierces our eardrums, until we get back into bed at night, should it collapse under our Big Mac weight and require us to be in traction for six weeks.

Those I would leave off the list include estate agents (try selling or buying a house without one), footballers and rock stars ( they can do what we can’t and people pay to see them do it) and, yes, bookmakers. Whatever we say about the old enemy, at least we have a choice. If we don’t like the price about Major Cadeaux we can let it run. If we don’t feel like guessing where you need to be drawn in the thirty-runner sprint we don’t have to bet. If they offer 6/1 about a horse and it wins, they pay. They don’t suddenly find an insurance-type clause that means they only have to pay you out at 5/2 because it won by ten lengths.

Not that I am expecting any altercations with anyone today. I have backed two big-priced no-hopers that are unlikely to trouble the judge or the adjudicator. But I shall sleep soundly, reinforced by half a bottle of French red and the knowledge I have kept out of trouble for at least one more day.