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Why Arming Me With the Racing Post is Like Giving a Chimpanzee a Copy of the Financial Times
By Martin "the man the bookies don't fear" Kelner on Aug 10, 2014 - 11:23:25 AM

Russell Brand, I learn, has written a book in which he explains how we can "establish a personal and global utopia." The book, the tight-trousered comedian tells us, contains "the solution to internal and external turmoil."  Unfortunately it's not published until October, so I guess until then we're pretty much on our own.

 

I've tried to pre-order the volume on Amazon, but currently the only work listed by the shaggy-haired gagster and political theorist is My Booky Wook, which I am told is disappointingly short on philosophy; although in fairness to Brand it's possible people didn't take it seriously because of the title.   I mean, if Hitler had titled his evil manifesto Mein Kampfy Wampf, would the history of the Twentieth Century not have been radically different?

 

Clearly, Russell, bless him, is keen to make a contribution to the sum of human happiness, but I am reminded of a scene in Woody Allen's undervalued Stardust Memories, where the Woody character encounters an alien and asks him what he can do to make the world a better place: " You're a comedian," says the humanoid, "You want to do mankind a real service? Tell funnier jokes."

 

This is not dissimilar to the advice I offered Channel Four Racing when I came up with my sure fire method to improve viewing figures.   "Tip more winners," I suggested, and pundit Jim McGrath dutifully obliged with Vautour on the first day of Cheltenham, which those of you consulting the Martin Kelner Archive of Winning Bets (recently named as one of the world's shortest books alongside Vanessa Feltz's Salad Recipes and Interior Decorating with Sam Allardyce) will note I not only backed but tipped in this newspaper.  

 

The problem with Channel Four's coverage of Cheltenham is not a paucity of decent tips but a profusion, meaning the mug punter has to work that much harder to fix on a credible business plan.   Sometimes you feel you could do with some kind of interpreter to help you profit from the welter of information coming your way pre-race.  

 

For instance, when they say an animal "has a live chance" how does that stack up - fiscally, I mean - against another that is "not to be discounted?"  Close study of this fine newspaper undoubtedly helps a little, although sometimes I feel that arming me with the Racing Post is a little like giving a chimpanzee a copy of the Financial Times.

 

The Australians apparently like to call my type of punter "Asparagus," meaning one who arrives on course with more tips than in a tin of that delicacy.   And a further problem is I tend to handle this information rather after the fashion of American statesman Adlai Stevenson's definition of a newspaper editor.   An editor, said Stevenson, is one who separates the wheat from the chaff and then prints the chaff.   I back it.

 

But lest you worry about me too much, on the day I actually went to the Festival I ended up slightly ahead which, given the carnage going on all around, was quite a result, especially when you factor in the tenner I won off my mate Andy, betting there would be fewer than three working toilets on the Cross Country train back to Leeds.

 

The week continued to go reasonably well and had my ante-post investment, Annie Power, paid off in the World Hurdle, you would have been enjoying 900 words this morning about how I reclaimed my title, The Man The Bookies Fear.  

 

Ruby Walsh, I felt, did as much as he could to get the beast over the line first, but he disagreed.   Interviewed by Mick Fitzgerald after the race he seemed to be beating himself up over the loss, blaming himself for "getting involved in a battle too early on."  

 

"You're not too despondent are you?" said Mick, ignoring the evidence of Walsh's face which, short of having the word "despondent" tattooed on his forehead, could not have illustrated his feelings more clearly.  

 

"A fascinating interview," said Nick Luck, "Although he is being a little hard on himself." "Well, he IS hard on himself," responded McGrath, sounding slightly irritated, "It's not a game.   It's their living."

 

After Cheltenham, Channel 4's second team, Rishi Persad, Gina Bryce, et al, were left with the difficult task of whipping up interest in Uttoxeter and Kempton, which Rishi himself described as "consolation for horses that failed to make the cut at Cheltenham."   "It's hard to believe it (the Festival) is over," said Rishi, although the fact he was presenting from an entirely empty Cheltenham racecourse was a fairly strong clue.

 

And so to football.   I have placed my modest profits from Cheltenham on West Ham at 12-1 to be relegated from the Premier League.   Strange behaviour, said my daughter, for a lifelong fan of the Iron.   But I look upon it as an insurance policy.  


It's a bet I shall be delighted to lose, but if my team goes down the £260 I shall trouser will help soften the blow.  

 

I shall take two or three of my favourite children to their favourite Chinese restaurant, where I may weep over my salt and pepper squid, but the salt tears will just add extra piquancy to the dish.   I have a friend who bets against his own team every week so it's not an entirely original strategy, but as a contribution to "personal and global utopia" for the time being it's the best I can do.

 






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