Thursday, October 27, 2005

The Regulars
There comes a time when you clock up so many hours in an establishment that you get made 'one of the regulars'. if that establishment is a bookies then being a regular means that you can exist without fear of physical harm. Ever go into a strange bookie shop on a saturday afternoon and can sense the tension in the air and get that feeling that you could be on thin ice, when thoughts of backing a winner and saving your skin from imminent attack are in equal measure. The first few moments when you enter a bookies is crucial, you have to look all tough like youre not one to be messed with then when you dont get challenged by anyone you can relax a bit and start concentrating more on why youre there in the first place, to back winners. But when your a regular you dont have these inate concerns for your safety. The day i knew i was in was when during the middle of a race a girl came in to try and collect money for charity and just as i was funking my selection she came directly up to me shaking the tin. I had to contend with this girl who didnt realise what she was interupting. So i was trance like living the race while being interupted like this for spare change when 'The seagull' turned around with arms crossed pencil perched on ear and told her half jokingly to leave me alone. I call him the seagull because his hair is the colour of seagull shit. He knew what was going on, he knew that you dont interupt someone when they are in a quiet funk. I lessened the blow of the seagulls words and told her if this horse wins i'll give her something. "Which horse" she asked and the seagull replied to a cakkle of laughs "the brown one"!. Well after that i knew i was on the inside.

It wasnt always so smooth, saturday is always a day to steer clear. The atmosphere was always very heavy on saturdays, The faces in on a saturday werent the usual weekday rogues they were hardened criminals staking their hard stolen money. One such saturday late in the afternoon i wandered in and i noticed a grade one scumbag going up to people asking them to place a bet for him. I overheard him ask random auld fellas "you wouldnt do us a favour bud and place this for us cause they barred me from doin any bets the bastards". The general reaction from the auld fellas was half ignoring him half brushing him off. I made the mistake of not looking busy and he approached me on the blind side and put the same question to me and i answered "no", big mistake. He went into a violent rage in full voice "You fuckin dirt bird, your a dirt burd you are ....ya FUCKIN DURTBIRD". Maybe my "no" was a bit to direct a rebuffal!. Just as it was looking sure to end in physical violence he backed off muttering the same bile.

Here are just some of the main weekday regulars and the take i have on them through casual observation over the years, bare in mind despite knowing them for some years i dont know a single first name!

The Evil Bloke: Doesnt speak in long sentences, but despite his voice being unaudible at times and talking in tangents i usually enjoy our snippets of conversation. Usually shows up after long periods of absense looking like he's on the tail end of a 3 day bender and slept in the coal bunker for refuge. Wears good suits despite the suits being to big for him un-ironed and unwashed. Always with a tale of some dog that just let him down for a bundle in a tricast. Specialises doing forecasts, tri-casts, trebles and accumilators. His way of greeting is to come up from the blind side to pinch you on the nipple with uneering accuracy.

Yer Man With The Eyes: Closely related to the evil bloke in some way ive yet to learn, i presume they are half brothers or foster brothers or something because they look in no way alike. Along with a forlorn look he also looks like he's undergone a labotomy the way his eyeballs are in his head. Always shabbily dressed wearing outdated jumpers and curly grey hair despite being in his thirties. Its nearly impossible to go into the bookies and he not be there. He does somehow have a job in the nearby supermarket but he must have a flexible arrangement with his employers. Is the definition of gormless, is probably one of the dullest people i know and he has yet to say anything that has remotely interested me. He has a bad habit of breaking the unwritten bookie buddie code of ethics by occasionally asking your plans for the weekend. Specialises on backing whatever the next race is and his bet types are forecasts, tricasts and accums.

The Jew
The Jew is a dedicated gambler. Looks like a young Mel Brooks. He researches formlines with a fine tooth comb and goes from shop to shop to get the best prices. The Jew is a storyteller and when he gets into one he's unstoppable. He means to be serious when talking about everything fixed but i find his stories to be hillarious, he always talks like he knows things that he shouldnt. He's a conspiracy theorist and a bad beat teller, always tales of the jockey dropping his hands, the trainer being a gangster or the horse being doped or liking/not liking the ground etc. He's an arm toucher. Arm touching is a fine art and an art that the jew has honed to perfection. He's world class at it and doesnt even know it. While he's talking to you he regularly just taps a fleeting glance to your forearm to make sure your on the same hymn sheet as him. The arm touching keeps the intended listener focused and he uses it like a maestro. He's a self employed window cleaner and is never without his push bike. He slightly exagerates the amount of money he has on his selections, when i say slightly i mean hugely, its his only glitch. He always tells of ton+ bets and 2 grand wins but i never see that kind of loot changing hands when i see him bet. Before he goes into a story he covers his mouth with a betting docket and before starting he has a quick look left to right to make sure the authorities arent listening in.
Bet types are singles, doubles, forecasts, and specialises in first goalscorer bets along with making cases to back 33/1 shots each way.

The Sailor: The Sailor is named because he looks like one with his crew cut short spiked hair and navy admiral coat. For whatever reason he always seems to be carrying a birthday cake. Looks the most affable of fellows until he starts to talk and the bitterness soon becomes apparent. Another conspiracy theorist who believes all jockeys and trainers are crooked. Often likes to talk about who he's sueing for 50 grand. His prefered way of greeting is to throw pencils at his target from an ever decreasing distance until his presence is acknowledged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So i went in to do a bit of research into a winning distance bet on a long odds favourite later in the evening and the sailor was looking like he had a winner and was lookin for prey to tell about his good luck. My avoidance strategy was working for a while but it wasnt long until the first pencil hit me in the back, i turn around and the sailor approaches with a contented grin telling me about the win he pulled off despite the jockey trying to throw the race. He cut his story short when the prices came out for the next race and he was off to the papers on the wall. With that the jew made his entrance, i look in his direction and he catches my eye and darts over to tell me about what he's learnt. He ghosts me away from the tellers glass window before telling me hand over mouth he went to the A.U.L to watch the Ireland squads final training session before an international group game. He told me that Gary Kelly is a great bet to be the first scorer as he watched Kelly taking free kicks all morning and scoring them all with such accuracy. He told me he had already backed him at corals and ladbrokes and i should not miss this oppertunity at such a good price.

So later on that evening im on a second date with a girl i drunkenly met in a niteclub and we were eating out in temple bar and ive already backed this horse to win by any distance under 12L. The food is ordered and the race is about to start, so i make my excuses and go to the jacks to ring my brother to get a bit of commentary but the jacks was in a cellar and there was no coverage. I left the jacks and gestured to my date that im taking a call on my mobile outside and that i'll be back in a second. As soon as i was out the door and out of sight i legged it to the bookies just a few doors away and watched the closing stages as the long odds on shot was hacking up clearly by more than 12L. And like rubbing it in i look up at the tv screen on the way out to see Gary Kelly scoring a beautiful curling free kick around the wall!.

Dirt Bird!

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

That's pure class rounders. I seen em all in there! The jew cracked me up!

Monday, 14 November, 2005  

Post a Comment

<< Home