If Anyone Was Going To End Up Addicted To Gambling

You’d think it would be my dad

“Alex, you need to come with us.”

“Sorry, I’m not into horse racing.”

“No. You need to come.”

“Sorry, I don’t gamble and I’d rather stay here.”

“No Alex. You need to come.”

“Why?”

“You are the only one with a car.”

So on his day off, my dad drove his three friends to Catterick Racecourse. He was doing his National Service, and he had to drive them there one-handed because they’d strong-armed the other one up his back.

He didn’t know how to choose a horse, far less put a bet on. His friend picked his horses for him. For the first time in his life, he put a bet on a horse. Five horses, actually. There were five races.

He stood by the track and watched the first race. He didn’t even know which was his horse.

“Your horse has the jockey with the yellow cap.”

He watched the yellow cap bobbing up and down around the track in the middle of the pack. As it rounded the last bend, it was in the lead. That little yellow cap passed the finish line before all the other colours.

My dad went up to the bookie’s stall and collected his winnings. His horses won the second race and the third. He watched his chosen horse romp home in the fourth race, too.

“I’m not too sure about your horse in the last race, Alex. We’ll use some of your winnings and put it on this other horse.”

Dad watched the chequered pink cap cross the finishing line. He’d won again.

“Can we go, now?” He asked his friends.

Dad collected his winnings and no sooner had he pocketed the money than the tannoy announced there was going to be a steward’s inquiry.

Moments later, a further announcement declared his first horse was disqualified and the second-place horse was awarded the win. This was his second bet.

My dad had six winners from five races.

Fifty years later

It was the day of the Grand National.

“Are you not watching the big race, dad?”

“When have you ever known me to be interested in horse racing?”

“Do you mind if I watch the race?”

It’s the only time I gamble. I put an each-way bet on for everyone in the family, including the dog. They get to choose their horse; I pay for it, and they get to keep any winnings.

My dad nodded, and I switched his TV over to the race. He buried his head in his newspaper.

Ten minutes later, One For Arthur won and earned my dog treats for the next three months. He’d chosen it because he liked the name of the jockey, Derek Fox. Toby wagged his tail in delight.

My dad smiled. Gave him a pat and asked me to switch the TV back to the cricket.

“Do you never put a bet on, Dad?”

“No. I can’t be bothered with horse racing.”

My mum chipped in, “Tell him about that time during your National Service,” and gave me a mischievous smile.

I wrote this after reading this delightful piece by Uvebruce.