Ill Repute

There are many things I have failed to do so far in my 27 years on this planet, but probably should have got round to doing by now. One example is the fact that I’ve never been in a betting shop. It’s not because I hold any sort of moral objections to gambling, more just out of a fear of social awkwardness–of not knowing what to do in one of those slightly intimidating smoke- and old men-filled rooms. It’s probably just as well, though, because the only time I can remember even putting a bet on myself (rather than having someone do it for me) was just before Euro 2000. One of those new Internet betting websites had just opened, and they were giving away free bets (well, it was 2000, there was a lot of that sort of thing going on). I thought that sounded like a bit of easy money, so I put down a couple on England’s performance in the upcoming championships. I can’t remember exactly what they were, but I seem to remember that I stood to make something even if they only qualified for the knockout rounds. Sounded like a fairly safe bet to me, but of course I had underestimated the ability of Kevin Keegan’s England to disappoint, and they crashed out at the group stage.

This week, coming as she does from a nation of gamblers, Sal had vowed to change all this by dragging me into our local Ladbrokes to put down a bet each on the Melbourne Cup, which took place in the early hours of this morning, UK time. It’s a bit like an Australian equivalent of the Grand National, in that virtually everyone has a punt, and last year Sal (who was back home at the time) had put a bet on for me on Mamool, ridden by Frankie Dettori, which duly rode in last, true to form. This year, following on from his surprise win in Dallas over the weekend, I thought he might have the momentum to win the Melbourne Cup, and, failing to learn from my mistakes, plumped again for Mamool (at a pleasing 16/1). Sal picked the favourite, and last year’s winner, Maykybe Diva, bidding for a historic second win in a row. Her choice was for personal reasons: the horse happens to be owned by the uncle of her brother’s girlfriend, whose father, the owner’s brother, sadly passed away earlier this week.

Choices made, along with a pick for some combination 1,2,3 prediction thing involving a third horse, we duly trooped around to the betting shop to find it, um, closed.

So we had to put the bets on over the Internet instead, and I still haven’t been in a bookmakers. I guess I will have to wait until next year now. Then, as we heard at 4am this morning, the time at which Sal insisted I set the radio alarm for 5 Live to wake us up with the race commentary–see! nation of gamblers!–Maykybe Diva come home first and we ended up up by a grand total of 50p. (Mamool, of course, came in about 3 places too far back to count for our each way bet–ah well, there’s always next year).

Perhaps with my great track record of terrible betting I should start betting on things I don’t want to see happen–I wonder what odds I can have on Bush to be re-elected tonight? If I put that bet on, you can guarantee that it won’t happen, and the more money I lay down, the greater the margin by which it won’t happen–maybe I should take the hit, you know, for the good of us all…