Teach
12-17-2013, 04:03 PM
When I started gambling on the horses, I was 15-years-old. My first bet at Foxboro Raceway was the summer of 1958. I was then a $2 show bettor. I've come a long way, since. I'm not sure if it's been for the better or for the worse. In fact, the first race I bet on, a $2 show bet, I didn't even watch the race. Instead, I just listened to announcer Clayt Smith and discovered after the race that the horse I had bet on, #3 Adios Lucy, had finished third and paid. $2.60. I'm rich!
Over the years, a lot of things have happened since my first bet.
In my early years, one of things I did, along with my friends, was something I called "drafting" (I may have written about this). The bunch of us were like street urchins. We knew who the high rollers were. I was the operations chief. For example, I'd say to my friend Pete: "Get in behind 'Foxy'" (we had nicknames for the bettors we "drafted" behind). Basically, we wanted to know whom they were betting on. Some were
owners, others had connections. One or two were the wives, girlfriends or relatives of the driver. We knew who they were. We'd slip in behind them, listen to whom they were betting on and then we'd come back and share that information. We'd often make a $2 show bet on the horse "the high roller" was betting to keep the line moving. If time were short, we'd usually make the bet without consulting. There were problems, however. First, we usually had limited funds so it was hard to really score; second, the "high rollers" would sometimes go to a secluded $50 window that we had no access to; and third, these "marks" got wind of the kids who were tailing them. Sometimes, they'd get out of the line; that's why we often brought in new recruits. In the end, it was hardly worth the effort. I didn't keep a tally. I doubt the whole exercise made us any money at all.
Later, I'd do some "stooping". Hey, I was a poor kid! All that ended up doing was to give me a bad back that I still have to this day. Oh, I'd occasionally nail a discarded winner or two. Yet, there were specific times you needed to be on your toes. That's when the tote board order was changed through a foul, disqualification, etc. It was at times like those that you were scurrying around like a squirrel hiding away acorns.
Another "game" came with self-betting tote machines. I would scoop up some discarded tickets and feed them into the machines. Most got rejected, but there were other times you heard "the click"; that meant that you had nailed one. It was usually a "small fish," but I landed a couple "biggies" doing this, too. One paid over a hundred dollars. The best time to do this was when you sensed there were a lot of newbies around. When you did use this approach, it had to be on a slow day when hardly anyone was using the machines.
When I served as publicity director, I would sometimes get a piece of information, i.e., a tip. Yet, you never knew. Frequently, people you thought were reliable would give you information that was bogus. You could be taken to the cleaners if you weren't careful. That's why I didn't bet much (although it was legal) when I worked at the track. Too many games. Too much misinformation floating around.
Earlier, I had an experience at a flat track that confirmed my suspicions. There's a bull-ring track that's part of the Massachusetts Fair Circuit called The Marshfield Fair (south of Boston). Worn out, broken down horses, for the most part. Second-tier jockeys. Kinda sleazy.
Anyway, I'm there with my friend and his father. It's around 1960. My friend's father owns a couple horses. Neither of them is racing at The Fair. But he has serious connections. He puts out some "alms" (read into that what you want) so that a particular horse, a medium longshot can win.
As I recall, it's all set. Sit back, watch the race, collect the money and we go out to one of the fanciest restaurants in the area to celebrate. The race goes off; it was a sprint. "Our" horse is in contention. He's running nicely behind the two front runners who are locked in a speed duel; I'm counting it. Top of the stretch. Maybe a furlong to go. The front-runners open up a hole that a Mack truck coulda fit through. He doesn't. He didn't. I don't even think he hit the board. Goes to show you.
Another example: I used to hang around the bar in the Suffolk Downs clubhouse. One of the regulars was a DJ in the Boston market. At the time, he owned a horse that was almost ready for the glue factory. A bottom claimer. Well, the guy's horse is in a cheap claiming race; yet, the trainer tells the owner, that his horse is most capable of finishing in the money in the large-field; the bet to make is the superfectas. the DJ-owner subsequently gave us the info. I say, "What the heck." I put a "few" bucks through the windows. The owner bets the race with "both hands and fists" putting his horse third and fourth in super. Big bucks. Wouldn't uou know it... off the board. As for the owner, I never seen a guy so pissed.
Another story: We sometimes got info from the security guys. They could go into the jock's quarters. Off limits to just about everyone else. The security guy made like "a fly on the wall." Sometimes, he'd come back with something worthwhile. If it popped, of course he was "greased".
Finally, I would occasionally get "good" information from a former owner who knew all the trainers. I'd reciprocate by treating him to both solid and liquid refreshment. His information was most reliable. If I questioned him at all about his info, his frequent reply was: "Is The Pope Catholic?" Nuff Said (sounds like the name of a horse).
Over the years, a lot of things have happened since my first bet.
In my early years, one of things I did, along with my friends, was something I called "drafting" (I may have written about this). The bunch of us were like street urchins. We knew who the high rollers were. I was the operations chief. For example, I'd say to my friend Pete: "Get in behind 'Foxy'" (we had nicknames for the bettors we "drafted" behind). Basically, we wanted to know whom they were betting on. Some were
owners, others had connections. One or two were the wives, girlfriends or relatives of the driver. We knew who they were. We'd slip in behind them, listen to whom they were betting on and then we'd come back and share that information. We'd often make a $2 show bet on the horse "the high roller" was betting to keep the line moving. If time were short, we'd usually make the bet without consulting. There were problems, however. First, we usually had limited funds so it was hard to really score; second, the "high rollers" would sometimes go to a secluded $50 window that we had no access to; and third, these "marks" got wind of the kids who were tailing them. Sometimes, they'd get out of the line; that's why we often brought in new recruits. In the end, it was hardly worth the effort. I didn't keep a tally. I doubt the whole exercise made us any money at all.
Later, I'd do some "stooping". Hey, I was a poor kid! All that ended up doing was to give me a bad back that I still have to this day. Oh, I'd occasionally nail a discarded winner or two. Yet, there were specific times you needed to be on your toes. That's when the tote board order was changed through a foul, disqualification, etc. It was at times like those that you were scurrying around like a squirrel hiding away acorns.
Another "game" came with self-betting tote machines. I would scoop up some discarded tickets and feed them into the machines. Most got rejected, but there were other times you heard "the click"; that meant that you had nailed one. It was usually a "small fish," but I landed a couple "biggies" doing this, too. One paid over a hundred dollars. The best time to do this was when you sensed there were a lot of newbies around. When you did use this approach, it had to be on a slow day when hardly anyone was using the machines.
When I served as publicity director, I would sometimes get a piece of information, i.e., a tip. Yet, you never knew. Frequently, people you thought were reliable would give you information that was bogus. You could be taken to the cleaners if you weren't careful. That's why I didn't bet much (although it was legal) when I worked at the track. Too many games. Too much misinformation floating around.
Earlier, I had an experience at a flat track that confirmed my suspicions. There's a bull-ring track that's part of the Massachusetts Fair Circuit called The Marshfield Fair (south of Boston). Worn out, broken down horses, for the most part. Second-tier jockeys. Kinda sleazy.
Anyway, I'm there with my friend and his father. It's around 1960. My friend's father owns a couple horses. Neither of them is racing at The Fair. But he has serious connections. He puts out some "alms" (read into that what you want) so that a particular horse, a medium longshot can win.
As I recall, it's all set. Sit back, watch the race, collect the money and we go out to one of the fanciest restaurants in the area to celebrate. The race goes off; it was a sprint. "Our" horse is in contention. He's running nicely behind the two front runners who are locked in a speed duel; I'm counting it. Top of the stretch. Maybe a furlong to go. The front-runners open up a hole that a Mack truck coulda fit through. He doesn't. He didn't. I don't even think he hit the board. Goes to show you.
Another example: I used to hang around the bar in the Suffolk Downs clubhouse. One of the regulars was a DJ in the Boston market. At the time, he owned a horse that was almost ready for the glue factory. A bottom claimer. Well, the guy's horse is in a cheap claiming race; yet, the trainer tells the owner, that his horse is most capable of finishing in the money in the large-field; the bet to make is the superfectas. the DJ-owner subsequently gave us the info. I say, "What the heck." I put a "few" bucks through the windows. The owner bets the race with "both hands and fists" putting his horse third and fourth in super. Big bucks. Wouldn't uou know it... off the board. As for the owner, I never seen a guy so pissed.
Another story: We sometimes got info from the security guys. They could go into the jock's quarters. Off limits to just about everyone else. The security guy made like "a fly on the wall." Sometimes, he'd come back with something worthwhile. If it popped, of course he was "greased".
Finally, I would occasionally get "good" information from a former owner who knew all the trainers. I'd reciprocate by treating him to both solid and liquid refreshment. His information was most reliable. If I questioned him at all about his info, his frequent reply was: "Is The Pope Catholic?" Nuff Said (sounds like the name of a horse).