Doug Laing: Nothing like a flutter on a fine filly

Photo / Thinkstock

If the Auckland Boxing Day races were the most successful ever, as was reported, then it follows that record numbers will show-up at racecourses around the country over the few weeks of the holiday season.

It also follows that, given that the promotion is all about family days out at the races, it is likely record numbers of young people will be introduced to gambling, for it is at such race meetings they dip their toes.

Is this healthy for the future of this country? Is it?

Of course it is. When you head down to the track in Hastings on New Year's Day, you must feel good about the fact that when you take that $1 coin from your children's piggy-banks to bet on the hot favourite to guarantee them some sort of entry-level triumph, about 18 cents of it will immediately disappear in taxes to the Government.

Some of it, even, is assigned to stopping people gambling, or, at least, slowing them down.

The thing about punting on the nags, or any other form of gambling, is you've got to have good advice.

But it's not like learning to drive. Punting doesn't have professional instructors. It's likely your adviser will know very little more about the horses than you do. You must, then, rely mainly on good luck.

Aha. Now that's where I can provide some advice, best gleaned from past endeavours around the oval track.

Horses weren't much of a thing around home when I was young, although mum's dad, who had died before I was born, would have been a handy adviser, an accountant with an interest in making sure the horses balanced the books.

It was a family adventure when we went to the New Year's Day races at Tauherenikau about 1969, and started a day of picnicking. Somewhere I was given a chance to pick a horse, upon which a dollar would be bet, and, should I be so lucky I would get to keep the winnings.

It was so "hot" you could have done the barbie on it. It was second and paid 75 cents for a place - 25 cents less than the bet.

Despite the absurdity of winning and losing at the same time, I was hooked. I had three more bets for the day, but doubt I made enough to even buy an ice cream.

By 1975 I was much more of a regular at this game, despite the absurdity of losing most of the time and it was then I excelled myself. At the beach and listening through the static on the radio, I determined a tiring horse named Timon would win the Wellington Cup three weeks hence. I maintained that stance, but at Trentham on the day inexplicably changed my mind, only to see Timon rush home along the rails and win, paying $55 at the tote.

I left clutching my last possession, a $1.08 train ticket and returned home to Masterton where no one could understand why I remained a pauper. No Rolls, and no chauffeur.

This was just a prelude to the many hard-luck stories that followed, of which I was reminded last month when a Facebook message popped-up a mate at the Waipukurau, and wanting the tips of the day. Moments before Race 3 I messaged back: Ripe, Legs Eleven, change of rider. It sounded informed, but until a split-second earlier I'd never heard of Ripe, which was to bolt in and pay over $38 to win.

My mate was rapt, but pity the poor tipster at home. Not a single cent on it, again!

It can be a lot of fun, and like life itself, it is about choices. But as for advice: Just enjoy the day at the races. What else could I say?

• Doug Laing is a senior reporter at Hawke's Bay Today

- Roger Moroney is on leave.