Golden Post

When I was a very young lad of about 6 or 7 and my elder brother therefore 8 or 9, we went to the Goulburn Races as a family outing. Each of us was given 20 cents to bet on whatever horse we wanted. I asked of course what was the most likely outcome of the race and so the concept of a 'favourite' was explained to me. It seemed obvious to me that if everyone expected this particular horse to win, then why on earth would I know better. So upon the nose of "Golden Post" I placed my entire 20 cents for the win. My brother had much larger plans. I forget the name of the horse but it was long odds and well of course you know what I'm going to say. Golden Post won comfortably and I recouped my crisp and cool 50 cent piece winnings. Bernard's sole purpose for the next few hours was to remind me of how much he would have had had his nag beat mine. "Ï would have dollars now!!!" he would say. And my retort! " I HAVE 50 cents and you HAVE nothing!" That set the tone for the rest of my adult life for gambling. Well my life of non gambling should I say. True my biggest win of anything was a Bryant's meat pie on a radio station competition so I have not tasted the glory of a big win (just steak and kidney nomnomnom) but I dare say I'm fixed in my ways.
Last weekend at the invitation of a good friend I ventured off to the Scone Cup weekend. A road trip involving manly smells and unending consumption. Actually, I should have written the manly smells following the consumption because in real life, that's how it went down. Anyways, a 703 km journey the night prior with a stop in a small country motel. It was terrific as anyone that follows my twitter feed will attest. Upon arrival at Scone, the first order of the day was beers, then hellos, then bowling under a gorgeous country wide blue sky studded with clouds. The benefit of being with mostly air traffic controllers is that they use the correct names when identifying them. Apparently bunny rabbit or "Simpsons" cloud is not used in aviation circles. At the close of bowling (9 playing from one end is a sight to see I must say) the move to the bar was swift and decisive. So those driving could keep up with us passengers, we went back to the Golden Fleece Hotel Scone. These guys have held the same rooms for so many years, the minute they walk in the place after a 12 month break, the owner knows them by name. It is absolutely brilliant. Such a strong sense of tradition and mateship was a joy to become enveloped within. I have known these guys for about 20 years myself but as friends of a friend, did not consider myself core. Not until being with them for about 30 seconds and feel their warmth towards others all entering the fray with them. It was very cool to be included and I loved it. The obvious and relentless thrust and parry of humour, degradation and insult was intoxicating in itself. Men will be boys no matter what age or location but put them together in a pub, at the races, with money and booze and you can only imagine the conversation. It was the most fun I've had in ages.
The races the next day were at the Scone Race Track. Its a glorious  and expensive track apparently paid for with Packer dollars but is such a beautiful place to be, it would not have fussed me if the races had been on or not. Setting up a group syndicate and also individual bets was the call for the day. Now as I describe things to you, if you were aware of them before hand and think I'm just naive, so be it, but this was an eye opener for me so I shall continue.
The TAB has vans, fitted out with ABM (Automatic Betting Machines) and also houses 2 little old ladies inside to take bets the old fashioned way. This ABM was very easy to use, touch screen, accessed every possible dog, horse and trots on at that time and even gave change in the way of vouchers, never cash. Once your money went into it, that was how much you were going to gamble eventually, no change sorry! Not only was there the van, there was another, and a caravan set up the same way, and even a jeep Cherokee with a slide out pair of ABM on the back. There was no where you could not access these machines. The regular bookies with their large leather bags and 1980's digital tote board were still there but the most prolific gambling was the unseen. The mobile device gambling ap that saw lots of action. The serious gambler at Scone really did need to be with Telstra though. They were the only ones with a temporary mobile tower providing a nice clean signal for anyone wanting to access the web. Pity those with Optus or vodaphone, they were just left with the ABM's. Setting myself a limit of $20 per race was within budget and at only 8 races, left my exposure uncomfortable but not lethal. As it turns out, I was down $10 at the end so for a full days entertainment, I was OK with that. I didn't ask and have no idea what the 'serious' gamblers did in my group. I got reports of every win as you would expect, but not the losses. I was also surprised at how readily the gamblers were to adopt my 'funny and childish name' betting. Suffice to say, "Short Shaft" attracted our dollars as did any horse with a name reminiscent of any family member. The object of gambling is to have fun and that's what we were all doing. The fun just cost some of us more than others is all.
After the track and after a brilliant pub meal of lamb cutlets with 6 veg, the need to confront yet more gambling machines was put upon us. The Golden Fleece wasn't equipped with TAB or Sky so off to the pub with a wall made of LCD, CRT and ABM. It was here that the real impact/power of gambling was made obvious to me. I had no idea that dog racing, horse racing and trots were all coordinated such that one race started as the other finished. Not only they types of races but the locations as well. Dog race 1 at location X finished and then the gates open on the horses at Y then upon that race crossing the finish line, a large ute with wings tries to take off from trotting track Z. Horse race from location T may be injected there but then back to dog race 2 and X. It was unrelenting. No pause, no funny commentators to distract you, no advertisement, no rest. The screens pour out information in copious amounts as to who tips what, what bets are providing returns, what the next race is, the scrolling bar busily cites race results from non televised tracks! I did try to tweet to them but it never appeared. #whothefuckinventedthis is apparently not trending. The gamblers in the groups and also tons of others in the pub, stared glaze eyed into the bright pixels and through a drunken fog, extracted the information they required in order to make their bet. The ability to hold a beer glass upright was in serious danger of being lost but the ability to make a conscious decision on odds and returns was never lost. I did not see any signs saying intoxicated people can't bet, just intoxicated people can't get more intoxicated. It was an education I'm sure I probably should have had before my 46th birthday but even in my gut bursting, vodka drinking frenzy, the urge to join them in their gambling never hit. I simply wanted to go back to the quiet pub (the one NOT using plastic glasses) and finish my trip into stumbledom. That sounds harry potterish but its not. Oh maybe the potions can be regarded as magical yes.
I spent the weekend having an absolute blast and enjoyed every minute. Correction, the fart fog from Matt and Andrew at the golf club was most unpleasant. They know that too so we shan't prosecute the point any further. Apart from that, the jokes, laughs, drinks, food, company and education was worth every cent and if I'm included in next year's invitation list, I will be there with bells on. And if anyone wants me to bet up big, find a horse called Golden Post.