Tip of the day: Don’t gamble!
I have never played the lotto in my life. When I think of it, the only time I have ever bought a scratch card was to put it in a card, because nobody likes a dry card. A few weeks back, when the big €3 million was up for grabs, it didn’t even dawn on me to buy a ticket when everybody else was rushing to the shops. Why, you ask? I’m not a gambling woman. I have placed bets for other people, in which event I would have to be told exactly what to say on the phone. Each way, win, place, what do the odds even mean? It has been explained to me several times when I have been working behind the bar counter. If I wanted to, I could understand it but I don’t have much desire to learn about this world.
I woke up on Thursday morning to the clatter of shoes pounding on the ground. Opening my eyes and coming to my senses, I got up and opened my door. I half expected to see a horse being unloaded from a box or something. The clink clanking sound going on would honestly waken the dead. I walked out to find one of the girls pacing up and down the hall in killer, hot pink heels.
“What, in the name of God are you doing?” I asked.
“I have to practice,” she exclaimed.
“It’s race day.”
The heel of the shoe was about three inches tall, with pointy toes that did not make for comfortable walking. Striding along the corridor and wincing as she went, I thought she would indeed be better off wearing a set of horseshoes. Not that I could say much, my own sandals weren’t much better.
As I went back into my room with the pink heels echoing in the background, I thought of all the groomsmen who at this moment were probably flat out feeding, grooming and preparing for the day ahead. It was student race day in Limerick, which is renowned as one of the best days out in the college calendar. By 8am we were all getting dolled up for the day ahead. Make up, hair, tan, you name it. It was strange to see the entire student accommodation alive by this time, girls running around in heels, lads suited and booted - hopping into cars armed with bottles with the intent of pre-drinking for the day ahead.
By 11am we were just about ready. With no time for photos, we headed into the college to get the bus out to the racecourse. Student officers and college personnel handed out jellies and protein bars, probably in the hopes of keeping us somewhat sober for the day. Students rushed to down their drinks before getting on the bus. The atmosphere before we even made it out to the race course was unreal.
When we arrived, ladies and gents were split up to be searched before admission. I have never seen so many people. Upon entering, stewards pointed us in the direction of the bar. We didn’t even have to ask, they knew exactly where everybody would flock to. Deciding to play it safe for the day and night ahead, I decided to go with Rockshore cider, which they had on tap. Something easy that I could sip away at for the day. There was no way I wasn’t making it out tonight.
The next hurdle was the betting counter. For the day that was in it, I decided I would stick on a few bets to for no other reason than the craic. The only issue was I had no idea who to bet on. I looked at the screens, which revealed who was the favourite to win and the runners up. Could this be trusted? I have no idea. We decided on a tactic, which probably wasn’t too smart: we would pick a name we liked and place our bets on this.
With bets on, we went out to watch the race. It was honestly unbelievable, the stand was packed. Everybody was roaring, as if the louder they shouted, the faster their horses would go. As hooves pounded over the finish line, some fists shot up into the air with these same people shimmying through the crowd to collect their winnings. Others threw their hands up in frustration and flung their betting slips away. I was among the latter unfortunately. This was the case for most of the races. Eventually we decided to change our game plan, so each of us betted on a different horse. I liked these odds better, at least somebody was bound to win.
Throughout the day, I had one big winner. I was absolutely chuffed with myself, thinking I was in for big money. I marched into the betting counter and waited my turn. The girl in front of me was after winning €140, which added to my excitement. I handed in my slip with a buoyant grin on my face. The lady handed me back €15. My heart sank. I’m not even going to say how much I spent, but I’ll tell you it was more than this.
This gambling business is not for me.
* Gemma Good is from Killeshandra and a second year journalism student in University of Limerick.
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