So much of what we are told goes in one ear and out the other, fortunately.
This has the benefit of making the odd pronouncement impact and endure. One such was this observation made by a chairman of the panel of stewards on some north of England course a quarter of a century ago. Exasperated by the dithering of his co-stewards he murmured sotto voce: ‘Rules are made for the guidance of wise men.’
The recent warning off of a high profile English owner – convicted of laying his own horse on betting exchanges – brought that sage dictum back to mind. Why should it be ‘agin the rules’ to lay your own horse if you don’t think it can win. Logically, if you’re free to back it, then you should be equally entitled to lay it. The implication that you might consequently order the jockey not to do his or her best says much more about those who draft the rules than it does about those who are then supposed to abide by said rules.
The irony of this situation lies in its source of inspiration – bookmakers. Not content with their own, unspoken dictum – ‘the punter shall not win’ – the bookmakers have successfully ensured that the punter may not usurp the bookies’ role, laying horses to lose. Indeed, such is the influence of those layers that they have pulled the wool over the eyes of authority to the extent that the very origin of bookmakers has been successfully obscured.
Betting originated with one person contending that his horse would beat another man’s horse, and backing that belief with hard cash. These two-horse contests became known as ‘match races’.
All too soon other players sought to get involved, only to find difficulty in getting those of different beliefs to accommodate them. Enter the bookie. As long as his ‘book’ was balanced, he cared not which horse won.
He was betting to figures. He and his successors have never looked back. Their influence at every level is immense, even to the extent of triggering stewards’ enquiries into ‘improvement in form’. If an outsider wins unbacked eyebrows are rarely raised. However, if it transpires that it had been backed then questions are asked, connections carpeted and explanations demanded. Not infrequently the handicapper is asked his opinion.
Wiser handicappers insist that, in circumstances whereby a fortnight has elapsed since the horse’s last run, there are no grounds for citing ‘improvement in form’. A lot can change in a fortnight. It often does.
Some years ago two Irish stables were sending out steady streams of winners. One boxed clever, backing its fancied runners down to a certain price and then leaving well alone.
That trainer was never asked to explain his success. The other – a younger man – put no such strictures on his punters, who continued to back the ‘fancy’ down to ‘no offer’. He frequently incurred the wrath of the stewards, accused of stopping and starting his runners as it suited. Another gambling trainer remains convinced that the only way to get the handicapper to drop his horses down the weights was to have said handicapper persuaded that the horse in question had been backed with stable money on the occasions that it had finished down the field.
On a lighter note – in a three-horse race at some country course a punter kept backing one horse, only to see the bookie lengthen its odds each time. Eventually the bookie could not resist the temptation to interrogate the ‘mug punter’.
He asked why on earth the man kept backing this particular horse, for it actually belonged to the bookie. The ‘mug’ responded by lumping yet more cash on to the market drifter. The bookie quizzed him again, admitting now to his ownership of a horse that the market said would not be winning. Albeit the horse was down as owned by someone else, as is sometimes the way in this quaint little country of ours where nothing is ever quite as it seems.
The punter, having first calculated just how much the bookie stood to pay him out, explained his reasoning. “Do you now? So I heard. But that’s all right. You see, I own the others.”