THE STING: DAQMAN’S TALE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED BOOKMAKER: Dreaming of winners and racing’s resumption, Daqman today remembers the early bookmakers in a real-life sting, a true crime story. The Cluedo characters are the bookie, a boy scout, a gang of jewel thieves and Daqman as a cub reporter on the local paper. The locations on the board are a car park, a betting shop and a telephone box.
NEWMARKET GUINEAS THIS WEEKEND: WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN: Saturday and Sunday would have been the 1,000 and 2,000 Guineas at Newmarket. Check out the probables and their history and, afterwards, see if you agree with Daqman on what might have won. You could find ante-post bets or at least get ahead of the stats and form for when the races are reinstated.
20-1 WINNER JUST A PHONE CALL AWAY
Let’s see now. We’re well ahead of the game already. It’s been a great few days: two 9-1 winners, one of them revealing yet again the value available on BETDAQ.
ELECTOR WON 9-1 at Newmarket.
ZAAKI WON 9-1 (from 14.0 on BETDAQ)
GOOD VIBES WON 11-2
Wake up, Daqman! The racing resumption is still a reverie, and those winners happened last year at this time. My excuse is that everybody’s dreaming of racing as it was, but will it ever be the same?
I’ve seen the days of William Hill (himself), Cyril Stein (Ladbrokes) and Joe Coral and managed to scrape a living from them most years as an observer or a punter, starting with the little back-street shops, such as that of a certain Mr John Caryl Evans. ‘Good Evans; the name’s above the door!’
The local kids ganged up on him and would have a Tease Old Evans Day. It was fairly harmless fun, like calling him ‘Carol’, and Tim, the gang leader, was actually a well-scrubbed boy-scout of the kind who reputedly help little old ladies across the road.
Then came a time when the town started losing its jewellery and other valuables. Very careless of it, but the incidence of broken windows was seen as a definite clue by P.C. Plod, and local detectives were told to keep an eye open for other thefts and frauds in the area.
The Tease Old Evans gang were cleared of the robberies. As a reporter, I interviewed Tim, who said they’d ‘played up’ the bookie sometimes, but just things like going into his betting shop and turning his clock back when he wasn’t looking; that’s all.
That’s all! There was no daily access to commentaries for a small man in those days, no visual or radio, just a phone and double-page spreads of the Sporting Life runners pinned to the wall.
Like Evans, they would take bets on a race, hedge to bigger bookmakers and then call one of them back a few minutes later to get the result.
One mean Monday of gaffe-track meetings and drizzling rain, Evans took a phone bet in the shop right at the end of the day. His eyes bulged and he spluttered nervously: ‘Fifty? What, fifty pounds?’ (equivalent to about £1,500 today).
‘Yes, fifty. It won’t cost you. You can lay it off. We know what we’re talking about with this horse and, if we went direct and tried to bet fifty, we wouldn’t get a price.’
“But you, Mr E, you can lay it off and pocket a bit of commission at the same time,’ said the voice on the line.
‘Yes, but..’
‘You want to see the money first; that’s no problem. Look out of your window near the tree in the market-place and you’ll see a Bull-Nosed Morris. My man will be there for a few minutes, just for security’s sake like, while I pop up to you and show you the cash.’
Evans saw the car parked outside, and waited. And waited. Mantling and pacing around the shop, excited at the prospect of joining in the supposed coup with a few bob of his own.
Finally, he lost patience and went out to the car.
There was just one man sitting in the driver’s seat. ‘My partner isn’t convinced,’ he said to Evans. ‘I think he reckons it’s risky giving you the fifty and even riskier that you will have to know the name of the horse, and I told him you’d give him the usual betting slip as a receipt.’
‘Yes, sure.. and I won’t breathe a word,’ said the bookie quickly.
‘Ah, there he is,’ said the man in the car, pointing to his partner who was just that moment entering the betting shop.
Evans rushed after him. He didn’t like anyone in the shop when he was shutting up, for obvious reasons.
But all seemed well and he closed the door behind them, breathlessly stating his case as a shrewd operator who could be trusted.
The man sniffed and sized him up and down, as the bookie locked up. “I know you’re trustworthy,’ the man said, pausing at the top of the stairs.
‘I’ve been in here before and seen a bit of action; just a bob or two like.’ Evans said he recognised him, but that was just to be friendly, as they walked down the steps together.
‘First race tomorrow: two o’clock Kempton. Don’t go into the shop; don’t let anyone else in. This has to be done clean before your usual business comes through the door. We don’t want them to hear.
‘Come to the car in the same parking space and I’ll give you the horse. That gives you 10 minutes. I don’t even want to know what you do then. Make a call; make a couple of calls..’
Evans nodded. ‘And the fifty?’
‘Here it is,’ said the man, as they huddled together in the doorway. ‘Not to mistrust you like, but I’ll give it to you tomorrow in the car in the same parking place.’
When Evans got to the car the following day, one of the men was in the driving seat. The other was in the call box. ‘He’s gone to get the horse’s name,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Wow!’ gasped Evans, ‘it’s really hush-hush, isn’t it!’
Time was passing. The man was still dialling in the call box. ‘It must be nearly two,’ said Evans nervously.
‘Don’t panic; he’s having a bit of trouble getting through. But, if we miss this one, there’s always plenty more down the line.’ Finally, the man came out and they all hurried to the betting shop.
‘It’s called Wenlock Edge. Quick make out the betting slip: £50 Wenlock Edge. Here’s the cash. We’ve just got time; they’re going down; it’s three minutes to two.’
Evans looked at the betting-shop clock and feverishly scribbled out their betting slip: £50 to win Wenlock Edge. Then he grabbed the phone and dialled his bookmaker. ‘Hello, Miss.. er 2 o’clock.. fifty to win Wenlock..’
‘Hello.. I’m sorry, Mr Evans,’ was the girl’s reply. ‘That race is over; Wenlock Edge won it at 20-1.’
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