NOT SUCH A
MAGNIFICENT 7
THERE were better times, and many of them. There was one week in Ireland when we had enormous fun and collected plenty of money into the bargain, always a satisfying combination. At the time I had a hugely profitable account over there that laid large bets at morning prices. To avoid detection from the bookies’ Veitch radar, I’d opened the account in the name of my assistant, Stuart Hudson.
Unfortunately, I’d spent weeks chasing payment, and had decided that if the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed would … well, you know what I mean. Two friends from university, David Craggs and Richard Lamb, joined me on a boys’ week in Ireland, with the first two days encamped in the Dublin pub run by the bookmaker concerned. We drank his beer and got on his good side while waiting for him to pay up. During this time David and Richard had to remember to call me Stuart which, as the beer went down, became harder for them to do and also more hilarious.
After he paid up, we went on a trip round Ireland before meeting up with the bookie and his pals for a last night in Dublin. We were led astray in the bars and pubs and I became separated from David and Richard. Not only that, but at 4am I found myself being driven increasingly erratically round the dark and utterly unfamiliar suburbs of the city by the by-now-very-drunk bookie, with three of his equally hammered mates wedged into the back of the car. I got back to my hotel at about 7am, with barely enough time to have a much-needed dose of caffeine before heading off for the ferry.
The 1993 Derby was very profitable for me. That year, the racing world seemed obsessed with the unbeaten Tenby, the long-time ante-post favourite trained by Henry Cecil. However, he’d not impressed me in winning a five-runner Dante Stakes at York and I couldn’t understand why he was set to start odds-on at Epsom. Cecil had another runner in Commander In Chief, a lightly raced colt with plenty of room for improvement, and I’d had a whisper that he was improving fast. His victory was very satisfying, as so many seemed convinced that Tenby was a good thing. It was well known in racing circles that I had backed and tipped Commander In Chief.
Wardara’s victories in October 1994 created waves in a number of directions. She won a nursery at Newmarket for trainer Gay Kelleway and landed a bit of a tickle for some friends of mine who owned her. I wasn’t involved that day, but the result produced a public storm of protest from tipster Ron Dawson, another owner in Kelleway’s stable, who had been left out of the gamble and fell out with the trainer as a result.
Shortly before this furore, Dawson had ruined a gamble for another stable. I had been asked to place thousands of pounds on behalf of connections only to find that Dawson, an owner in that yard, had selected the horse as a maximum bet on his tipping service, something he had promised not to do. This torpedoed the gamble, yet Dawson was unrepentant, so the decision by Kelleway not to tell him about Wardara had been an astute one. Dawson was to get into serious trouble in later years over his handling of Classic Bloodstock and certainly didn’t appear a popular figure in racing.
A follow-up win for Wardara at Newbury nine days later produced further controversy after I was asked to place some business for one of the owners. The winnings came to more than £10,000 and I had it posted in cash to the owner in Scotland. They say you should never send cash through the post – perhaps I should have taken the advice. A couple of months later, to my astonishment, a call came from an assistant of mine who had sent the registered envelopes. He was alarmed that Customs and Excise had arrived on his doorstep and were quizzing him in detail about the envelopes, as they suspected the owner of evading the betting tax in force at the time. Fortunately, we always kept meticulous records, and I was able to furnish my assistant with statements from the major bookmakers detailing every penny that had been placed. It was never going to be a problem, but it was a scary moment nonetheless for my assistant, who was just out of university and very shocked to find the authorities knocking on his door, suspecting him of illegal practice.
I was always scrupulously careful to ensure that I obeyed all the rules regarding betting tax and would not even agree to place a tax-free bet at the races for friends. Such activity was fairly commonplace at the time. Nor would I agree to any side bets with friends for fear of being accused of not paying the betting duty. It was thus very frustrating when Betfair set up years later and I heard that they had discovered that legislation had not in fact been drafted to prevent parties betting with each other without tax, as long as no bookmaker was involved. This was annoying in the extreme, as I had spent years going out of my way to follow guidelines that turned out to be incorrect. Whoever drafted the original legislation for Customs and Excise should hang their heads in shame.
At around this time, a Scottish friend used to come down for Newmarket races with a group of pals, and this invariably led to a riotous couple of days. When they stayed with me they would arrive back at my house in dribs and drabs at all hours and mostly pass out downstairs. On one occasion they were receiving constant calls from a friend who bet heavily and successfully on football, and whose bets had all gone down when Cambridge United fielded a team of reserves. Their friend Tommy had phoned the Cambridge Clubcall number before the game and there had been no mention of reserves.
The next evening he was still livid and phoning his pals to complain as we were having dinner, breathing fire about the Cambridge manager who had failed to announce the changes. Thinking quickly, my friend said: “Well he’s here the noo actually, do you wan’ a wud with him?” He then passed me the phone. I must have done a convincing impression of an apologetic Cambridge manager because my bollocking from the world’s most irate punter lasted fully 15 minutes.
Frankie Dettori’s ‘Magnificent 7’ at Ascot in September 1996 was considerably less amusing, and unprofitable into the bargain. While virtually everyone applauded his extraordinary feat in winning every race on the card, I was left counting the cost of opposing him in the final race on Fujiyama Crest. As the odds about his chances in each of the later races tumbled, I was able to bet on the field against his mount, as bookmakers were keen to balance their books. Getting odds of 1-2 about Fujiyama Crest not winning the last race, when he had been 16-1 a couple of hours earlier, was too good to miss. Sadly, I didn’t miss out.
I was not alone in thinking that Fujiyama Crest could not win under top weight in such a tough handicap. By the time of the last race the bookmakers were running for cover from a series of doubles, trebles, four-timers and accumulators on Dettori’s mounts. As a result, a horse whose true odds should have been at least 16-1 was trading at 2-1. Any professional worthy of the name had to oppose Fujiyama Crest at those ridiculous odds, so by the time the race started I stood to win around £13,000 if any of his opponents won. Equally, I would lose £26,000 if he proved to be Dettori’s final winner of the day.
I would not say that his fellow jockeys handed him the prize, but nor did they cover themselves with glory. Dettori’s chance on Fujiyama Crest was certainly improved by the fact that not one jockey chose to take him on for the lead when he set such a slow pace. I absolve Pat Eddery of any blame here, as no-one could have tried harder than he on Northern Fleet to spoil the party in the finishing straight. Indeed, in the final 100 yards Fujiyama Crest was out on his feet, but somehow he hung on by a neck to complete a fairytale day for his jockey. With the inclusion of another losing bet, my losses of nearly £30,000 were a big hit. It was the most I’d lost in a day at that stage of my career – but it could have been worse. Several bookmakers took the same view as me, and some were put out of business when Fujiyama Crest scrambled over the line. Gary Wiltshire, for one, famously lost more than £1m by fielding against Fujiyama Crest. At least he survived to fight another day.
That June, I’d attempted a monster touch in the Wokingham Handicap at Royal Ascot with Green Perfume. He was drawn in stall two and there used to be some massive draw biases in the days before Ascot was redeveloped. It was an enormous advantage to be drawn under the stands’ rail and, even better, there was a no-hoper alongside him in stall one. I’d backed Green Perfume at all rates down from 20-1 – he returned 13-2 favourite and I stood to win well into six figures and thus smash my previous biggest win. In addition, I’d made sure that the message had been passed through to the horse’s connections that staying tight on the stands’ rail would be an enormous advantage.
At halfway, Richard Quinn, who’d ridden the aforementioned Tregaron, was perfectly placed on the rail aboard Green Perfume, but he then seemed to panic and switched off the fence to manoeuvre past the leader. This took him off the magic carpet of faster ground and, in my view, easily cost him the length or so by which he was beaten. To add insult to financial injury, the eventual winner Emerging Market (drawn 7) came storming through on the rail where Green Perfume should have been. The BBC coverage made very little reference to the draw, as was often the case at the time, but I was certain that Quinn had blundered by switching off the rail.
The early days were a lot of fun, win or lose, but possibly the most fun day of all was when Clifton Fox won the 1996 November Handicap at Doncaster. Doubts had been expressed about Jeremy Glover’s contender staying the trip of a mile and a half, seemingly because he’d won the Cambridgeshire over three furlongs shorter a month earlier. I wasn’t worried that he was stepping up in distance, as I’d long thought that a mile and a half would suit him.
I backed Clifton Fox to win around £30,000 and advised Michael Tabor to have a thick bet as well. My friends at Pertemps, a recruitment company, had a box at Doncaster and on this occasion they entertained some local office staff who were being rewarded with a day at the races for achieving recent targets. Before the race, Pertemps chairman Tim Watts announced that he was placing £500 on Clifton Fox for the ten or so employees to split between them if he won. This produced a shocked silence, as the guests were mostly girls and I don’t think any of them had bet more than a fiver before.
When Clifton Fox got up under Nigel Day to win a desperate finish by a neck there was uproar in the box, and I spent much of the next 20 minutes trying to celebrate while being hoisted off the floor by a group of revellers. We had managed to get the bet on at 10-1, and watching Tim count out £5,000 in cash for the overjoyed group was some sight. I’ve never seen winnings received by so many rapturous faces. I’ve only received two marriage proposals in my life, and both of them came in that 20-minute period.