This one came from my good friend Dom. In discussing booking the opera for #12, he mentioned that Wimbledon Stadium was calling to him from his young, professional pad, just round the corner.
Greyhound racing. Never knew it actually existed in this country. I’ve only really encountered it when passing the plastic signs of the local betting agency and hanging a temporary glance through the door at the screens of numbers to notice some canine characters charging around a loop. My only other knowledge of it comes from the Simpsons with the episodes regarding their dog, Santa’s Little Helper, an abandoned racing greyhound.
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But, here we were at 19.20 on a Friday night, waiting for the inevitably late Umar and Catrin to find us. And, greyhound racing does exist. Seeing Wimbledon Stadium, I could only think of similar industrial constructions found on games like GTA: San Andreas. Complete with the greasy spoon cabin on the edge of its unkempt but extensive car park, this was the real thing.
The most beautiful thing about coming here was that they had a special offer on through April. If you have an Oyster card, they waive the £6.00 entry fee and even give you a schedule of the races. Awesome!
We arrived into this not so plush grandstand that had the décor of a bingo hall but with a terrific view of the sandy track of excitement. Many people were sat with food and drinks busily filing their bits of paper that may lead them to a mini-fortune. The great thing about it was that it was the crowd. I was just expecting greasy wrinkly men in leather jackets but the demographic was far more developed than this. Young families, teenage lads, bleach blonde gaggles of girls, and men in suits were all there having a great bit of Friday night entertainment. And, despite the alcohol being in considerable flow, the atmosphere felt very friendly.
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Anyways, we watched one race to get an understanding of what was going on. The lights go off as if a power cut has hit the grand stand, and the previously paraded dogs are sat panting and howling in their sponsored traps. The crowd begins to roar as they witness the dayglow orange hare bounce around the curve of the track before overtaking the awaiting greyhounds. The hare is given about a 20 metre gap before the traps simultaneously spring open releasing the keenest legs, the fiercest eyes and a muzzled tongue bounding away. Kicking up sand on every flex of the leg, the greyhounds perform a loop of the course before reaching a lit up finishing line and are greeted by their trainers to slow them down.
With all this excitement, I had to get some bets on. Now, being a complete novice to this form of financial transaction, I was privileged to be joined by a professional from the industry, my friend Umar. He explained the basics of tote betting before us wondering over to the ladies at the tote stand. My trust in his intuition was scuppered a little when one of the lovely ladies had to turn over Umar’s schedule so that he was actually betting on the right race… Anyways, Umar put £14.00 on various races and I placed £10.00 on various as well.
And then something magical happened. I understood why people bet. The prospect that you may be able to regain the money that you have so joyously just given away makes a boring sport interesting. This is the only reason horse racing and greyhound racing exists to such an extent. Are people coming here because they are dog lovers and love watching an animal perform it’s best speeds? Possibly. But I would happily put money on it being the adrenaline-soaked feeling of the financial potential of such an event that actually makes anybody bother with greyhound racing. I know that is quite obvious, but it was good to finally experience what people felt.
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And feel it I did. My second race, my dog Lances Josie (chosen because it looks a bit like Lewis-Jones) came in for the win! I’d regained £4.60 of the money I had given away. Wooo! But most importantly, I beat the Ladbrokes employee I had the pleasure of being with.
A few more races went past, more dogs paraded and more losses on my part. And then it came to the final race. I’d chosen Millridge Rebel for no reason other than it was the first one I saw when placing my bet in a hurried fashion. The dog was looking okay, but not as spritely as the others in the parade. But as the traps opened, the Rebel was looking promising taking an initial lead. This then diminished when another flailing tongue overtook. Ah well…
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But then Millridge Rebel was coming round the final corner to overtake like Mo Farah in an Olympic 10k. There was no gold medal for the hound but there was definitely a win for it! Awesome. But even more awesome was the screen that told me my tote winnings. £5.50 per £1. As £2 was the minimum that meant winnings of £11.00! Add the £4.60 from the LJ win and subtract the £10.00 I paid for the bets. All this equals a £5.60 profit! That wasn’t supposed to happen.
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Cashing my winnings, we watched the remainder of Umar’s dogs lose. Not only had I earned enough money for an Upper Crust tuna mayo baguette dinner on the tram home to Croydon, but I’ve also won bragging rights against my friends that I will play out for as long as I can.
A great evening of local entertainment that cost me absolutely nothing. Cheers Wimbledon!
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