October
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Horrendous press of late reflects a fact of life. Many or most betting schemes are promulgated and promoted by schemers, and end in tears.
When such shysters and tricksters were known as tippers, there existed a policing squad to protect a gullible public from their pernicious predations. Sadly, a Nixonesque decree saw police stopped from this policing. However, some iterations of the genre bring forth fond memories for a good trier, who spotted an "Edge" for a nice little earner, and embraced it with the zeal of a streetfighter (kick where you see a head).
It was some years ago that many race clubs formed on-course punters clubs, usually with a $20 subscription fee as the unit, to promote interest and boost holdings. Guest tipsters provided selections to bet on and all communal collects were pooled at the end of the day, for a proportionate distribution parimutuel style.
Unfortunately, the experts were beset with a handicap all but impossible to overcome. Foisted on them was the condition that all investments had to be with the on-course totalisator. (This requirement was not always adequately policed, but that is the subject of another sad story.)
Serious punters scoffed at the system, but it did cater for a mindlessnes which is often popular.
The good trier referred to prior was solidly in the scoffers society, with nary even a remote intention to be a joiner-in to such nonsense. But his failure to tune in sooner saw him wear a fine.
One day at Moonee Valley, while upstairs putting himself outside a Devonshire tea before the last, our trier was astonished to see a milling throng of what were clearly punters clubbers sussing divvies for the quaddie.
Soon a resounding collective cheer heralded a result for the throng. A live runner had savaged the judge. Extremes of merriment ensued with declaration of weight and dividends. The joyous horde sought to chair the tipsters around the room.
Interest piqued and pondering on what significant multiple of the $20 subs might be payable, the trier was stunned to learn, given the reaction of the subbers, that not a multiple but a mere percentage of the stakes was returnable. This day just $14 plus Kembla was coming home!
He felt the pumpkin that had replaced his head on entering the track leaving his shoulders as he experienced a Damascus moment. A business opportunity had fallen in his lap.
The very next week saw him set up shop selling tickets for $18 each or $35 for two, and discounted further to $16 per sub for five or more, with all tickets payable at the club’s declared dividend.
This consumer service shortly thereafter was even extended to telephone bettors.
But wait — there’s more: latecomers who missed the club cutoff time could buy in, even after the first leg had been run, for a modest premium. If the club found a roughie to win the first leg, main-chancers and other triers were keen to buy in late, which of course attracted a higher premium.
Intriguingly, such premium subscriptions often resulted in a skinner for the vendor, as loading up the first leg often saw a favoured runner left out of a later leg, and it would do the British thing and win.
As indicated earlier, a nice little earner.
Rutherglen (Vic)