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What’s The Story: Goosen remembers betting coups

Published by charl on April 26, 2009

HERE is Part 2 of Louis Goosen’s entertaining ‘Memories From A Racing Yard’, brought to you by Fourie’’s Sporting Club, where good service and good prices meet.

(Louis remembers his days as a youngster with his father Danie Goosen, top trainer in Port Elizabeth).

Uncle Rowan Gardner was coming to town. He would arrive on the Friday afternoon flight from JHB, and be at the races on Saturday. This was great news and I immediately knew that there was some “business” on for Saturday. Uncle Rowan owned some very nice horses with us, including Cameraman, King of Pearls and Uncle George.

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I bunked the last class on Friday, raced home, changed and got straight to the stables, where I reported innocently, to come and help my Dad with afternoon routines. At about 3.30 pm I was ordered to accompany Maxwell, our driver, to the airport to pick up Uncle Rowan, who refused hired cars and insisted on staying with us on Friday nights.

Uncle Rowan arrived, smoking his port tipped Brazil cigars, slipped me fifty bucks (huge money for a youngster in 1976) and instructed Maxwell to first stop at the Hotel Elizabeth, where he paid for his booking of the entire top floor of rooms and also for the luxurious “room at the top”, for the Saturday night’s post racing celebrations, live band, five course meal, open bar and all.

From there, to the stables where my Dad and Uncle Rowan went into the office, whilst I was ushered out and told to go and take the runners bloods. I wasn’t too bothered, as I would eventually find out what the business was.

The two of them were very quiet about racing that night, at home. In fact, they were most irritating as they had a whiskey or two and kept up long conversations about cricket, rugby, Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley. I gave up and took my race card and studied our runners.

Newspaper clipping from the 1960s

We had about 9 runners on the day. The best of them was Open City who was a two time winner running in a graduation plate. The rest of the runners in the field were very weak. Open City had just run 3rd in The Derby, so he was an aimer in the race. Whilst I cannot remember our other runners’ names, there were two more which should win on form, which would also undoubtedly be favourites, especially with Uncle Rowan being down.

There was one other runner which I just could not identify, from the yard. Probably a new horse, but it had the appie up, so no bother, as Dennis Reed was up on the stable companion, which would be favourite.

The next morning was a bit of a historical occasion because I was up, ready and on my way to track before my Dad was even out of bed.

Throughout the morning, I still could not find out exactly what the business was. All I new was that the appie, Squeeky Butler was riding a “dill” from the farm which had to go down to the start in a martingale. He had never seen the horse as Uncle Solly Potgieter would be bringing him in by float, for races. This was the “mystery” horse which I never knew. Open City was 1 to 4 on and would win in a canter and was everybody’s Jillpot (PA) and Jackpot banker (there was no Pick Six in those days).

After first string, my Dad stopped at Uncle Albert Oldfield’s ring, instructed me to stay in the Ford and had a few words with Uncle Albert. Uncle Albert had a small string of horses and never had many winners. However, when they arrived, they got the money.

In the end, I went with Open City and each of our other two form horses, with two separate doubles and the treble. I bankered all in my Jillpot and Jackpot.

The whole world had bankered Open City. Then came the shock. He was scratched in the parade ring as he had a slight swelling on his upper suspensory and was slightly lame. Mysteriously, Uncle Albert Oldfield’s horse was backed to tote favourite, in spite of being 33 to 1 and proceeded to run last.

Squeeky Butler won on the “dill”, which was backed from 20 to 1 to 3 to 1 and our stable companion, which was early morning favourite, ran 5th. Our other fancied runner won.

Stewards’ enquiries after the Open City furore came to nothing. This was simply because Uncle Rowan was too clever by miles. He produced losing tickets on Open City and the double and treble.

Ultimately, they scooped the Jillpot and the Jackpot as well as the double and the coup on the “dill” with the appie up. I lost R30 on the day, which was OK because Uncle Rowan and my Dad loved every moment of it and Uncle Rowan gave me a chop of R150. The after party at the “room at the top” was open to all in racing and my dad went straight from there to stables, the next morning.

Danie Goosen (right) receives a trophy.

Even in those days, I was fixated with finding out “What’s the Story?”

My Dad simply explained the following:-
1.Â Â Â Open City had hurt his upper suspensory on Thursday morning and my Dad had picked it up on Thursday afternoon and told nobody, not even the head groom.
2.Â Â Â Uncle Albert had assured my dad that his horse had absolutely no chance and would be lucky to run 2nd last. He did get a slice of the action.
3.Â Â Â The “dill” from the farm, “Grantham”, was ex JHB and classy. He went on to win 4 in a row. The stable companion, which was a false opening favourite, was working very poorly leading up to the race.
4.Â Â Â A lot of trainers would not have picked up the injury to Open City as they would either have been too lazy with their stable management or might have not seen the lameness until the horse was on its way to the start, where it would have been scratched anyway or run poorly and done more damage to the leg.
5.Â Â Â The punters could have backed Grantham, as he shortened and in so doing, got their money back.

And the final lesson which I was taught was that betting opportunities would jump at you, from the race card and hit you bang in the face. Don’t go looking for big bets, let them find you. Here, I am writing as a trainer, in terms of how horses are working and their well being as opposed to the field in the race card, on paper.

Whilst the fundamentals remain the same, it was a very different era in those days. The single biggest challenge facing racing was the vast endeavours of the catering and beverage staff, as they ensured that food and drink was available in excessive quantities and that all beer, wine and champagne was served at exactly the correct temperatures, come raceway.

It was also imperative that suitably enclosed VIP parking was reserved for the stewards and that their guests, who would be business associates, were treated as royalty by a host of waitrons which confirmed their status in racing, whilst they closed deals on behalf of themselves and their non racing interests, but at the expense of racing.

There were no challenges facing racing, in terms of other forms of gaming. Punters had to come racing in order to bet and the racecourses were full. There was no Lotto or Bingo, there were no casinos and no TV to distract punters.

In those days punting was the only survival option for most trainers and jockeys. Jockeys only earned R7 per ride and no share of the stakes. They had to have a punter or two betting on their behalf.

This resulted in jockeys riding work 7 days a week. And whilst riding work, they were not only concentrating on the horses they were busy with, but on all others working as well. This is why most trainers had a “leadbag”.

Simply put, the “leadbag” would weigh around 8 kg’s and would be fitted/ disguised into the numnah and you would not be able to tell the difference and you would not know that horse A was carrying this extra weight, when working with horse B. The leadbag was there to confuse the “watchers”, who would inadvertently “steal” the price on the wrong horse or refrain from backing the right one.

Duncan Howells’ dad, Uncle Trevor, weighted his set of brushing boots which his horse ran in. During the race, the boots came off and were picked up by a handler, who duly brought them to Uncle Trevor. At the time, Uncle Trevor denied they were from his horse, so the handler took them to the stipes, who immediately felt the weight. The film of the race was reviewed a few weeks later and Uncle Trevor was in hot water. Hindsight is the perfect science and many trainers thought that Uncle Trevor should have just taken the boots from the handler and got them out of there.

Andre Ferreira was a Springbok showjumper and held the world record for the longest jump on a horse called “Something”. He also rode all of our horses in hurdle races. Andre had been campaigning in the UK and returned with a few sets of aluminium grippers. These are, essentially, a set of shoes with gripping edges on the front and backs of the horse’s shoes, to stop slipping with showjumpers. They are illegal in horseracing. My dad grabbed a few sets from him and locked them in his safe at home.

In those days, jockeys did not protest against the going and rode in all weather. In PE, there is a simple thing about the weather. The wind blows like hell on most days. But, beware the overcast, windless day. That’s when it rains all day and probably also all night.

Come raceday, it was raining and windless. Uncle Roy Curling was on our fancied runner, the favourite, over 2400m. The stable companion, with our appie, Duncan Taft up, was at 12 to 1. The horse had been working very well and loved the wet. Racing was at Arlington, as were our stables, which were right behind the parade ring. The grippers went on 30 minutes before saddling, the horse coasted home, after being backed down to 3 to 1 and the shoes were removed 10 or 20 minutes after the race. In that pouring rain, nobody was going to check anything. This process was repeated two or three times during my youth, but sparingly, on the right horses and with winning results.

Rowan Gardner was in a different league, though, in those days. Cigar toting and suave, Uncle Rowan was an operator of note. He was extremely sharp and was always scheming.

Fairview Racecourse in PE, as we know it today, was opened in 1977. The “old” Fairview Racecourse was the first racecourse in SA under Jockey Club rules and was closed down as it became engulfed by the growth of the city.

When the “new” Fairview Racecourse opened, I found two press boxes, one of which was always empty. In this press box, there was a phone with direct dialling. And when Uncle Rowan heard about this, his face lit up and the cogs started working, as the Owners and Trainers section of the grandstand was right below the press box and if you were standing on the top step of the grandstand you would be right up against the wall of the press box, which had an open window.

My job was to dial the telephone box at Turffontein, which was manned/ guarded by Uncle Rowan’s boys. In the morning, Uncle Rowan would give his briefcase to the bookmaker, Uncle Hardy van der Vyver, whose clerk would count the money, usually R20 000,00.

Uncle Rowan would get the result from Turffontein from me, as they crossed the line and would go running off to Uncle Hardy and rush in and lay a bet on a horse that had already won. Uncle Hardy would look at his watch and lay the bet, thinking that it was more or less within a minute or two of the race. In PE, the bookies only received the results from JHB, after the all clear and no live commentaries came through in those years.

Uncle Rowan was a master operator. He would not do this and win every time and he would purposely rush off and back a loser too. At the end of the day, he would have backed about 5 JHB horses, of which 3 would have lost and 2 would have won. He would also back his own JHB fancies or horses which he had heard about, well before the start. Ultimately, he would stay two or three thousand up, at the end of the day. The system came to an end when the course management started locking the spare press box, as it was supposed to be unused.

Ultimately, this was small money. I recall Uncle Rowan putting R20 000,00 on one of our horses in 1977 and getting beaten. He came back, on the day, to walk away square. I also recall him winning R130 000,00 on one day. This was in the late seventies, when a normal family home cost around R25 000,00 and a lavish house in Summerstrand about R70 000,00.

Many years have passed since my youth in racing. I accept and agree with most of the changes which racing has had to undergo in order to survive in these trying times.

But, when today’s racing, at grassroot levels and in its purist form is diluted and decimated and the only concern of the powers that be is the bottom line, we have a huge problem in the long term.

The problem is that we will keep on cutting and diluting to suit the bottom line and the only question which remains is not if, but when will Arlington, Clairwood and Durbanville be sold and/or closed down.

And if I am called a “purist” simply because I refuse to accept the current state of affairs, then so be it. Rather that, than swallow the “bottom line” stories whilst I passively sit back in a semi comatose and deluded state and watch racing destroy itself, its owners and its punters. Expect the facts and the naked truth and nothing else in the next edition of “What’s the Story?”.