General / Jack Houghton / 18 October 2008 / 1 Comments Free £25 Bet

It's not all internet you know, our man spent a day on the High Street with some interesting results...

Simon Rowlands - with the help of Stu, Timeform and a guy called Steve - has excelled himself in recent weeks. Ten golden rules of punting, converting ratings to tissue prices, good and bad gambling practice, producing ratings for unraced horses: he's been mining a rich seam of talent.

But whilst Simon and his brethren are certainly learned, they are not the only arbiters of good sense in the betting world. So I thought I'd take myself off to the betting shop today to see what wisdom lies therein.

11.07.
Perry Barr. Shangri-La. Dougie reckons trap two is a certainty. Hang on Doug, it's 4-1. It can't stand much of a chance if it's that price. Wait a second, all the traps are 4-1. That's an overround of... Talking of overround, here comes Shoeless Eddie for his morning visit. Dougie tells me Shoeless Eddie comes in just after 11 every day. He has an understanding with the manager of McDonalds next door, who gives him all the unsold and cold breakfast muffins.

Shoeless Eddie has an incredibly fast digestive system. Rule number one if you want to survive this world: if you need the toilet, go before 11.

12.30.
Rule number two: don't sit in that seat, Beryl and Doris sit in that seat dear. Doris, apparently, has a bad neck, and any positioning other than the seat directly in front of the plasma would inflict catastrophic damage to her spinal column. Sorry Doris. I'll sit over here. Oh no, not that seat either. Who sits in that seat. Who? No Who. This goes on for a while. I find out later his name is Xiu.

1.45.
No time for sitting anyway. Rule number three: time between horse races need not be wasted time. The dogs (aka dice on legs), roulette, virtual dogs, virtual racing - all present opportunity to profit. Xiu explains a complex strategy involving furious placing of little virtual red chips onto a virtual roulette table; interspersed with shuttle sprints to the counter to thrust trap six bets into the cashier's hand. He explains his chip-pattern contains divine logic, which is probably why I don't understand it. It does remind me of a Jackson Pollock painting I once saw though. I think Shoeless Eddie would appreciate Pollock.

2.30.
Amateurs consider unraced maidens horses to watch; in the hope something useful can be gleaned to inform future punting. The truly wise know there's no race that guarantees profit like a race full of unraced maidens. Rule number four: form study is overrated. Mark the builder's on his lunch break. But you've been in here for two hours Mark. Yeah, but nothing's getting built at the moment, so best drag this job out as long as possible. And anyway, Mark fancies this Stoutey maiden, so it's no time for work. The horse is making its debut and is 4-7, so it must have done something special at home. Sure enough, it wins. But how did you know 4-7 was the right price Mark? Those screens up there tell you the right price. Not the question I was asking actually, but okay.

4.19.
Steamer alert! Steamer alert! No no, Shoeless Eddie hasn't visited again. A horse is being smashed off the boards at Wolves. Smashed off what boards? When the television shows the crowd scenes at Wolves, I can't see many boards on display. Come to think of it, I can't see much of a crowd either. No time for such musings. Rule number five: if a horse is being backed, someone knows something, so get involved. This thing opened at 33s and is now eights. BUNDLE! Bollocks, I get to the counter and it's sixes. Oh well, I'll have more on to make up the difference.

4.21.
Mmm. The steamer breaks like a turd, runs like a turd and finishes like a turd. There's an unnerving silence as we try to comprehend what has happened. What deity has tricked us in this evil way? All the signs were there, it had to win. Rule number six: the gambling god can be a vengeful being, do not displease Him. Ooh look, the next from Steepledowns.

5.20.
Rule number seven: the last race of the afternoon has a magical quality. Seven rules? Xiu won't be happy. Six is his lucky number. But he'll understand. After all, it's been mathematically proven that the last race of the day favours the punter over the bookie. Especially when it's a 14 runner 0-65 sprint handicap. Xiu picks the six horse: who boasts one fourth-placed finish in 32 runs. I pick the seven, with one win in 23 starts. The six wins. Xiu looks happy, knowing and pitiful all at once.

Mark asks if I'll be back. You internet boys don't know everything you know. Sure I'll be back. It's not been a profitable day, but I've made some friends.

I say goodbye to Beryl and Doris; they ignore me. Some suit is sat in Doris's seat. Doesn't he understand about her neck? Xiu blanks me as well. He's midway through chip-placing divination and can't be disturbed. On my way out, I pass Shoeless Eddie on the way in. I glance over my shoulder to see Dougie and Mark dive for the toilet. Rule number eight: see rule number one.