little capital, so, for a time, our rule was “small bets only.” Lor! how
the coin came in! seldom did we have a losing day. Well! to sum up my
many years of experience, money has ever since rolled in. I have long
since been in a position to take any bet you like, from half a sov. to
thousands, “with pleasure,” and “thank you.” Money soon became no object
to me, nor is it now. How comes it thus? One answer only. Because betting
is a one-sided game, and is almost wholly against the backer. Thus the
“bookmaker,” be he a ready-money bookie on the course or a S.P. bookie at
home, is as certain in the long run to “cop” the backer’s coin as I am
writing this. To be sure, the bookie attending the meetings can control
his liabilities to a certain extent, which a starting-price bookmaker
cannot do; but really it matters little—the bookmakers get the cash in
the long run. Let me say that I am referring to substantial well-known
bookmakers, and not to the crowd of penniless welshers who infest every
race meeting held.
I am writing, as I have said, more particularly for the benefit of
backers; they can adopt my advice or not, as they please. Now listen. I
have attended every race meeting held in the land over and over again.
I am as well known in sporting circles as any man could possibly be
known, from the highest in the land to the lowliest, so to speak; my
betting transactions amount to thousands and thousands—I really cannot
say how much. I am known, and properly so, as a very wealthy man—money
is nothing to me—and let me candidly and truthfully tell you that I
have never known a backer of horses to permanently succeed. The backer
is successful so long as his money, pluck, and luck lasts, or until
ruin has overtaken him. He wins and loses—wins and loses. He is up and
then down—up and down. Hope! hope! hope! prompts him to go on; and he
goes on. He diligently studies all kinds of plans and systems; he also
fools his money away with “tipsters,” who have been described as a set
of race-course harpies; every system, all of them of course, certain
and sure. He tries “1st favourites,” “2nd favourites,” “1st and 2nd
favourites,” “newspaper tips,” “newspaper naps,” “jockey’s mounts,”
and numbers of other plans and systems—some his own particular fancy,
and some other people’s. He gluts over sporting news, and talks of
owners, trainers, and jockeys in a most familiar style, as though they
were his own personal friends! He becomes acquainted with horses’ names
and pedigrees, and eventually his mind is so full of Turf matters that
business, his occupation, and employment become of second importance; he
sacrifices home, comfort, occupation, and money—all! all! all! What for?
In the hope of easily making money, but in the end for the benefit of the
bookmakers. My experience is not an isolated one, but truthfully is that
of every well-known bookmaker on the Turf.
Betting is a fascinating vice, and it is perfectly astounding to what an
enormous extent it is rooted throughout the land. In every town, village,
hamlet, warehouse, office, and workshop in the kingdom you will find
the “backer” in thousands and thousands, all losing money—all in the
net of the bookmaker. Can you blame the bookmaker for carrying on his
money-making business? Why, every one’s answer is “Certainly not!”
Were the race meetings always to be held at the same place, the
bookies’ business would practically be “all up.” For why? The local
backers would soon all be “played out.” The very fact that the race
meetings are changed daily and are miles and miles apart is a veritable
god-send to the bookmaker, the trainer, the jockey, the owner, and the
dozens of others depending for existence on Turf matters. We thus get
daily hundreds, nay thousands, of new faces and fresh backers full of
excitement and hope, having “splendid tips” and “certainties,” all
ready and anxious to invest their cash with us, but, alas! the majority
of whom go home with long faces and empty pockets, whilst the bookmaker
and the “betting brigade” leave the scene of action with renewed energy,
high glee, and above all cash ammunition for a fresh attack at another
rendezvous.
This glorious state of things goes on day by day and year by year,
particularly during the flat-racing season. Now, I think it is a bad
week if during flat racing I do not clear a hundred or so per day on
the average. Some days, but really very few indeed, I make a loss, but
on other days the coin rolls in all round, and the average is as I have
stated. I have made as much as £5000 in one day! How is that, eh? I am
wise enough, of course, to make my book to win, not to lose. Still, with
heaps of money in hand, with property here and there—with everything in
abundance that I and mine may require or could possibly wish for—with
grand country and town houses, with horses, carriages, every possible
luxury, every wish and desire gratified, living up to the greatest state
of expensive excitement every day (the bookie’s very existence compels
a constant round of amusement and excitement or we are nowhere), still,
mind you, I am not happy—sometimes far from it. Conscience will make
itself heard. True! true! age is telling on me as even it is telling on
many another bookie, and we cannot stifle the thought that the grave
is in sight, and our last race will soon be run. Often and often am I
troubled with thoughts of the past—memory will assert itself—and the
questions arise:—Have I led a fair and upright life? Have I got my
money and living in an upright, honourable manner? Have I not helped
to ruin hundreds of good silly fellows? Visions of them crop up from
time to time; I think of them with any but pleasant feelings. How many
poor foolish backers whose money I have taken—taken as a business, of
course—have lost homes, business, and all; whose wives and children have
been turned into the streets through the father’s passion for betting?
How many of them have found their way to gaol through betting, and how
many have sought self-destruction?
Such must be the occasional thoughts of all old bookmakers. And for
why? Because there is not one of us, past and present, who has not
over and over again obtained our money by questionable means, even if
our inclination was not to do so. We have been, and are compelled—yes,
compelled!—to participate in trickery and deceit to the detriment of
the backer; and so crops up the thought that the backers’ money in many
instances is not obtained honourably. These facts make one feel uneasy.
What does this mean? Why, I have in my time secretly paid away much money
as contributions to effect certain ends favourable to the bookmaker and
to the loss of the backers.
The “freemasonry” amongst certain people connected with racing matters
is very strong indeed. Pray let me be very plain in making myself clear.
I do not for a moment cast a slur upon or raise the slightest suspicion
upon the host of honourable men of high position and standing whose
names are identified with Turf matters. Certainly not; the reader’s
own common-sense and knowledge must be exercised. But amongst certain
actors at race meetings my accusation is levied. Indignantly denied! Of
course it will be. We are all upright and honest until discovered to be
otherwise. It is the being discovered that is so galling. I could relate
to you most startling facts upon these points—incredible, you would say;
scandalous, wholly unbelievable! Yet, my friends, true, true indeed! My
mouth, however, is so far absolutely sealed. Think yourself how very easy
such things could be arranged, and you will cease to marvel. Consider
for a moment that all the principal actors at a race meeting are all
personally known to each other—old chums, old acquaintances, travelling
the country together and enjoying themselves, and you will fail to
discredit the fact, viz. that it is so extremely easy to (as it is now
termed) “engineer a great coup.”
What is the real meaning of this pretty modern expression? Why, in plain
language, it is arranging “to win a race.” Listen! What think you? There
are very many unfairly run horse-races. Take this statement as gospel
from one who knows, but who _cannot_ divulge the secrets of the Turf.
Listen again. Betting is simply a speculative business, two parties to
a bet. Each tries to win the other’s money, and each party adopts the
best expedient to do so. We all know who _does_ win in the long run,
and I am penning this rigmarole to show, if possible, to the small
sportsman that the odds against him are so tremendous that it is next to
_impossible for him to win_—_I mean in the long run_—and I so write in
the hope of inducing him to “turn the game up” once and for ever, which
I am sure would save much frightful distress, save the wrecking of many
a home, prevent much trouble, and would be to the happiness of thousands
who now waste their hard-earned money in a wilful way and in impossible
successful speculation.
I am not writing as a moralist or a sentimentalist, but in a purely
business way; using common-sense to prove to misguided, foolish people
that to invest their money in backing horses is a stupid, unwise,
unbusiness-like mode of investing their cash, and is a way that means
absolute loss, if not ruin, simply because the _chances to win are so
great against them, and the odds against them so fearful, that success is
next to impossible_. To convince a backer that such is the case, I know,
is a most difficult task, and really for a bookmaker to do so seems a
paradox and a right-down absurdity, but it is not so. If the small backer
could be extinguished, the legitimate abused business of betting would be
much relieved from the stigma now cast upon it through the misdoings of
the small backer, who, in his hopeless task, runs himself into serious
difficulties and causes trouble all round. The removal of the small
sportsman would be of inestimable benefit, not only to himself (I want
him to look at the matter in that light), but to the straight respectable
bookmaker.
Now with regard to the monied or larger sportsman. He it is who is the
friend of the bookie—the dear delightful investor whom the bookie so
much loves—the regular attendant in Tattersall’s enclosures and in the
members’ rings. Well, well, he can afford to lose, and is capable of
taking care of himself. The bookie does _not_ wish to lose him—oh dear
no, certainly not; so he encourages him all he can; he makes him presents
of nice morocco pocket-books, splendid purses, nicely bound S.P. diaries,
Christmas and New Year remembrances in various ways, treats him whenever
an opportunity occurs, and loves and plays with him whenever he can. Very
many of these beloved sportsmen are men who have made money in trade or
business—they are either in business still or are retired—who, having
saved a competency to live upon, somehow or other find their way, one
after the other, on to the race-course; they nearly always come into
Tattersall’s at the different meetings; they go the round of them, and
travel gaily from place to place; they get charmed with the free and open
life and excitement. They decide, as a rule, firstly, to risk so many
hundreds, but when it is gone they generally manage to find more money.
Hope! hope! These gentlemen sportsmen talk about their wins but not their
losses. Eventually, as usual, they “do _it_ (their money) all in,” then
they drop out one by one through want of money and, less often, through
being wise in time to prevent absolute ruin. So we miss their dear
delightful faces, but we keep their money.
We, the bookies, talk to each other about our said customers and
friends. “What about So-and-So—oh, he’s a retired draper. Mr.
So-and-So—oh, he’s a market gardener, got a fine business. Mr.
So-and-So—the retired grocer. Mr. So-and-So—what, the solicitor? Dr.
So-and-So—oh yes, the doctor. Mr. So-and-So—yes, the chemist,” and so
forth; then we always laugh, and the oft-reiterated remark takes place,
“Yes, he is doing it (his money) all in” (_losing it_).
We laugh ha! ha! We laugh ho! ho! We laugh at their folly and
pain.
One by one we miss them, but sure as fate others turn up from time to
time, and so the merry game goes on day by day, month by month, and year
by year. Yes, the monied sportsman, the retired tradesman, the successful
business man combining trade with Turf speculation. Yes, yes, let them
be—they can take care of themselves. If they like to lose their coin,
well, let them—in fact, they are the bookie’s chief support, his pals,
his friends. True, they drop out as I have said, one by one, sooner or
later; but what matters, brother bookies? others always crop up in their
places, and so we have nothing to fear.
Again, let me say, that it is the impecunious and needy, and poor silly
fool of a backer who brings discredit upon the business, together
with the host of thieving, impecunious welshing fraternity who dare
call themselves bookmakers and Turf commission agents, who, fairly or
unfairly, cop or welsh the small backer of his money.
Now, to point out to the said backer more precisely the reasons _why_
and _how he cannot_ possibly win at backing horses, no matter what plan
or system he follows. Let me go a little more into these points, which
will or ought to convince him, or at any rate give him matter for serious
thought upon the subject.
In the first place, there is what is termed the “law of averages,” by
which the backer’s chances to win are for ever against him; that is to
say, in nearly every race there are a large number of horses running,
otherwise the races are termed non-betting races. Now you back one horse
out of say seven or eight running, thus you have at once six or seven
chances against your winning. Look how very greatly this works out
against the backer when larger numbers of horses are in the race—say 10,
15, 20, and even 30. You back one horse to win, so there are 9, 14, 19,
and 29 absolute chances against you, and so on. Never mind about the
favourites, the complete outsiders, and so on, there are (and there is
no mistake about it) so many absolute chances against your winning, and
of course on the other hand so many chances in favour of the bookmaker.
But! but! but! listen! ye deluded, cocksure backers! The law of averages
against you is nothing to be compared to other and far greater chances
against you. I had already written, explained, and set out a number
of them, but a newspaper correspondent has very thoughtfully and very
carefully embodied them, or some of them, together with others, in a
capital letter which appeared in the _Sun_ newspaper one September, and
I cannot do better than set them out. The _Sun_ has recently permitted
a public debate in its columns upon “Is Betting a Sin?” The debate by
correspondence has been most interesting. The religious element, of
course, dominated with silly arguments, and in so doing “forgot the
subject altogether,” whilst on the other hand many letters were strictly
to the point, were eye-openers, and logical. The result was announced
by the editor, who decided that “he would give it up,” _i.e._ the
correspondence compelled him to say that he could not say whether betting
was a sin or not. My candid opinion is that certainly “betting is not a
sin,” but I _tell you what_ it is, it is a pernicious and fascinating
vice of the worst kind, and is intimately connected with if not the
direct cause of the worst kind of various sins. However, more of this
anon. Now to give the letter referred to; it is as follows:—
ODDS AGAINST THE BACKER
Sir—I do not profess to enter into the pro or con of this vital
question, which is increasing in force and imperativeness with
each succeeding year. But to those of your readers—and I fear
they are greatly in the majority—who, in spite of experience,
fondly believe that it is possible to make money by backing
horses, I append a list of 22 chances against the backer in
every race that is run.
1. The regular percentage of odds, ranging from 2 to 1 up
to 20 against one in every race. There can be only one
winner.
2. The horse may be fit and capable of winning, but not
“wanted.”
3. “Wanted” by the owner, not “wanted” by the trainer.
4. “Wanted” by owner and trainer, not “wanted” by the
jockey, who has his money on another runner.
5. Owner, trainer, or jockey in debt to a bookmaker. In
either of these three cases the horse runs to suit the
layer’s book, irrespective of the backer.
6. Horse tried to be a certainty—money on. Something wrong
with trial horse. All calculations upset. Again the backer
loses.
7. Race lost by a bad start.
8. Long delay under a hot sun. Horse irritable, nervous,
wears himself out at the post.
9. Some fractious brute who has no place out of a selling
race kicks the “certainty” at the post.
10. Jockey disobeys orders, and throws the race away, or
goes to sleep.
11. Tiny light weight, caught by steel-knit veteran, fails
through weakness. More grist to the bookmaker.
12. A lends B his best trial horse—say Bluebottle—to try
Broomstick. Result of trial makes the race a good thing for
Broomstick, but a still better thing for A’s old sprinter,
Juggler, who has got in with a light weight. A quietly
works a starting price job all over the country, and with
Juggler just nips Broomstick on the post.
13. Brown lends his crack jockey to ride Jones’s Malaprop,
and price shortens. Brown’s money is probably on Gay
Deceiver. Jockey obeys orders, and rides Malaprop in Gay
Deceiver’s interest.
14. Horse certain to win. Stable forestalled at the last
moment. Jockey honest. No help for it. Give the colt a nice
refreshing drink of water before the start.
15. Everything lovely. Mount winning easily, when he
stumbles and nearly comes down.
16. Jockey makes his effort too late.
17. Jockey secretly owner of horse, other than his mount,
running in the same race.
18. Short sprint. Bad draw for position extinguishes chance.
19. Public back the favourite. Stable wins with outsider.
See Dieudonne and Jeddah.
20. Crowding at a turn. Jockey hopelessly shut in.
21. Jockey skilfully shuts himself in. “Couldn’t get
through, sir.”
22. Horse knocked out of his stride by a cannon during the
race.
A famous trainer of the old school said, “I have been in this
business through a long life; there is little that anybody can
teach me in training. I can do all things in this world with a
horse except—be inside him.”
SCEPTIC.
What a splendid letter this is! How true indeed are the 22 reasons! What
thought each one gives to the backer if he is a sensible man and will
but think over them. How we bookies know full well the absolute truth of
them, as do also the jocks, trainers, and owners. We have referred in
conversation to the _Sun_ correspondence. What care we for it? It won’t
stop the fascinated backer. No fear; we persuade ourselves that nothing
will stop him except “running the length of his tether.”
It is almost amusing to read in the newspapers the excuses given by
the “Racing Prophets” for the predicted horses “not pulling it off.”
Almost daily you will find some of the above reasons given. I have just
picked up the _Daily Mail_. Racing at Nottingham is described as “an
unsatisfactory affair.” For whom? The bookmakers? Certainly not. For
whom then? Why, the backers of course. Then comes the usual and oft-told
excuses—amongst others—why such and such a horse did _not_ win, as
follows:—
_Excuse No. 1._—“The well-backed Shot Gun ... threw no
resolution into his work.”
_Excuse No. 2._—“Eileen Violet too ... ran a snatchy race
throughout.”
_Excuse No. 3._—“Reminiscence having missed a race at Newmarket
through the imprudence of her jockey in leaving off riding too
soon, she yesterday, when heavily backed to square matters,
had her chance entirely destroyed by the falling of Lady St.
George.”
_Excuse No. 4._—“The Bestwood Nursery ... demonstrated how
fluky was the victory of the Asteria Filly at Newmarket.”
The above are cuttings from one paper only—we get such excuses to “soothe
the backer” almost every day in one paper or another. In a case reported
in the _Daily Telegraph_, the judge of the Clerkenwell County Court made
this remark:—
I don’t profess to be any authority on horse-racing, but I know
it depends upon what the odds are and what the jockeys have
been paid as to which horse wins. (Laughter.)
I guess that judge knows more about racing than he would wish us to
believe.
What is the impecunious backer? Why, a fool of the first order. A
fascinated idiot. A sharp, flat, and very often a thief, _i.e._ he
steals other people’s money in order to “put it on.” If the above cogent
reasons and facts won’t decide him to stop backing, then nothing will,
except ruin. Let him carefully think over all I have said. Let him think
over his own experience—that’s the thing. Has he made money at backing
horses? I mean, in the long run. How much has he lost? That’s the point;
let him ask himself the question.
The backer of horses, as a rule, takes to it as a business by which to
make money, as in every other business. Every business and profession
(for a master man at any rate) is a speculation. Betting is a business,
but a speculative and, I should say, the most speculative kind of
business there is. There is nothing wrong or sinful in betting. But it
is a business so very speculative, so very much against the backer,
that, as I hope I have proved, it is a fool’s game, and for business
considerations only it is best left alone.
In addition, however, to the reasons before set out, why the backing of
horses never will pay any one (let “the sportsman” be never so clever and
cunning), there are in addition other and more potent reasons of force.
Yes! forcible reasons why the _respectable_ person should not meddle with
it, at least, until the greatest reforms have taken place.
Look, for instance, at the class and character of those regularly
participating and taking part in betting pursuits and attending race
meetings. Think for a moment who and what the majority are. I advisedly
say the majority, and I wish to emphasise it. Ask the police; ask the
railway people; ask any one who has to come in contact with them. Betting
and the race meetings collect together huge assemblies of the lowest
and vilest scoundrels on earth—thieves, cheats, ruffians, highwaymen,
vagabonds, returned convicts, castaways, ne’er-do-wells, welshers,
card-sharpers, tricksters, foul-mouthed quadrupeds, villains, and the
worst form of humanity that it is possible to get together—many of them
superbly clothed and well dressed—all, all, in some way or other preying
upon the thousands upon thousands of the fools of backers in one way or
another. This is truth; deny it who can! Can any one name an attraction
that draws together one-tenth of this scum of the earth? No; we all
know it. Don’t let me be misunderstood, for goodness’ sake! I am not
inferring that all who attend race meetings are to be classed in the
above frightful category. Certainly not. We have the very best people—the
most respectable, the politest of persons, from the highest in the land
to the lowliest—in their thousands also; but I should say that for every
respectable person there are fifty otherwise.
Every decent sportsman will, I am sure, corroborate my remarks and join
me in protesting against the apathy that exists in not clearing the
race meetings of the human filth and vile scum and villainy that they
now attract. Every respectable bookmaker desires it, for he is a great
sufferer in consequence. He goes about in fear and trembling; he has
always to be on the alert against assault and robbery; he has to pay
heavy expenses to protect himself, and, above all, his occupation is
universally condemned by “society in general” (I mean by those who do not
enter into sporting matters) as a low, detestable one, and he is looked
upon as a doubtful character, as a pest to society, principally through
the doings of the army of scamps I have referred to. A respectable
bookmaker sees a welshing job going on—a downright robbery taking place.
He sees welshing in its various forms; he would like to expose it and
the parties taking part in it, but he positively cannot do so. He must
silently acquiesce; he must not on any account open his mouth, or—or
what? Why, his life would not be worth two penn’orth of cold gin, as the
saying goes.
“Yes,” you say, “how can all this be altered? What is the remedy? Tell
the Royal Commission now sitting and inquiring into this subject. They
will thank you!” Well, I will answer these questions simply and at once.
1. You must make every race meeting “a place,” and abolish betting there
as it is now openly carried on.