THE
DAY I BACKED THE CARD ( ALMOST! )
Long gone
are the days when I used to spend the afternoon at either
the Doomben or Eagle Farm races in Brisbane and then hurry
home after the last, have a quick shower and go out again
to the Albion Park trots at night - to either punt up
the winnings from the afternoon's adventure or try to
"get out" on the trots.
Yes, correct, a recipe for financial disaster but, in
my defence, it was a long time ago.
Quite often I used to get a lift with a bookmaker whose
name was Frank Warniminde. The guy who owned the shop
across the road from our house pencilled for him. He drove
a maroon coloured 1976 V8 VIP Valiant Regal sedan, one
with a black vinyl roof - quite a "toffy" car
in those days — and while he tried to pass on the
occasional gem of punting wisdom, my young ears were too
tuned to other things to listen.
One of the
highlights was that, at the end of the night, you used
to be able to get the first edition of the Sunday Sun
newspaper together with a bag of hot donuts, the ones
with the cinnamon and sugar and cooked while you waited
in this very fancy donut making machine.
It was at Albion Park one magnificent night many many
years when I backed the card—well, as close as I
ever have to backing the card when eight of my “certainties”,
one for every race on the card, ran second. After all,
anyone can back eight winners but it takes a particular
talent to back eight that run second. Just a sensational
night - not.
This evening
of bad luck (note I refrain from taking responsibility
and writing poor judgement) culminated in backing
a thing at 12/1 in the last race in a really desperate
bid to “get out”. It was a pacer called Snowy
Oro and driven by a fellow named Noel Croghan who trained
at Redcliffe, north of Brisbane.
His racing
colours were pale blue with a dark blue star and blue
cap, and Snowy Oro flashed down the outside with my last,
and I mean my very last, and was unluckily beaten a half
head second. Aren't they always? And isn't it amazing
that forty years later I can still see the colours?
Croghan protested against the winner which then involved
all we desperates sitting around for another 20 minutes
while everyone else went home and they started turning
the lights off. The protest, of course, was dismissed.
Then the
realisation that I sadly didn’t even have the bus
fare home and it was long way to walk from Albion Park
to East Brisbane. Up Newstead Road, through the city,
across the Story Bridge and past the Shafston Hotel. I
still remember every trudged step. It was 2 in the morning
when I fell in to bed.
Even worse
than not having the bus fare home, was that there was
no newspaper and those hot sweet donuts were just a fading
memory.
The lesson that was
learned during that long walk home? Your punting money
MUST be separate from your living money. Using the mortgage
money or rent money or the food money to punt with is
silliness in the extreme. You have to have somewhere to
live and food to eat. And so does your family.
At the very
least, you have to keep money aside for the paper and
donuts!
