My horse, Perfect Candidate, pulled up before 27th in the Grand National.
I am an innocent abroad in the ways of the turf accountant. I was astounded that a £5 each way bet cost me a tenner, and when the woman in Ladbroke's asked me if I wanted the odds, I thought she was just checking if I wanted to know them. It turns out she was trying to find out if I wanted to strike then rather than the starting price.
All pretty academic as the pony didn't finish, but, like Damon Runyon, I long ago came to the conclusion that all life is 6 to 5 against.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment