Category: The Punt

That’s a Bit Harsh


Jockey Taylor Marshall got called into the Stewards room after race 5 at Ipswich yesterday afternoon for a please explain about his front running ride on the favourite Ready to Chase.

It seemed somewhat over an over reaction.

After all, this is a horse who had lead or sat outside the leader in a fast pace at its previous two starts and kicked on well at a one bat sort of pace, and Marshall had ridden the horse both times. He obviously figured that if he could get a bit of start on the field by riding a mini Cyril on Vo style race it might be able to whack away long enough to pinch it, which seemed pretty fair logic if you’ve watched its replays.

It proved sound too, because the fave was in front everywhere except the post and only got cut down by the winner in the last couple of bounds. You can’t turn a sows ear into a silk purse as they say, but young Marshall certainly tried his best.

You’d have to wonder what would have happened if he’d ridden the horse against its usual front-running pattern and it had been been beaten from coming from the back. Would he have been called in for an explanation then?


Sometimes you just can’t win.

Still and all it was a bit harsh I reckon.

What do you think?

Double Digit Dan Does it Again

Double Digit and Dollar Digit

Double six? – That’d be unders

Double Digit Dan’s been a bit quiet lately, but that’s only he’s been busy at work counting his money, and I’ve been on a month longer bender spending some of it, pretending that I was anyway.

We’re back though, and Dan is there with a vengeance.

D-D-Dan struck a nine leg, near 13 -1 ($14) multi last night, and he had it for plenty.

They were shorties in the main, but if I had a dollar for every multi I’ve been busted in on a $1.20 shot I’d be the richest man in Mt Molloy. Instead I’m just a shitman in Paradise in Port Douglas.

Them’s the breaks.

I reckon Double Digit Dan probably owns the whole joint anyway.

When you win six figures on a bunch of fucking footy games, you gotta spend it somewhere don’t you?

Why isn’t it on me?

What time’s the next hurdle at Ffos Las?

Every Dog Has His Day – But Some Old Bulldogs Seem to Have a Few – Mustang Horrie – Bugger Me Dead if I’m Alive

When I first saw this picture of former Brisbane rails bookie Horrie Flynn’s seven foot tall grandson going to his formal in a flash Mustang, I assumed it was merely a hire car and thought nothing of it, other than wondering where the old Footscray man had got the scratch from to afford the rental fee.

So you can imagine my surprise when I rocked around to his daughter’s joint at the top of the hill in the best street in Cairns where the old dodger lives off the earnings of the fruit of his loins – or at least that’s what I thought until I arrived – and found the Mustang parked in the near vertical driveway that I’d nearly backed off last time I’d been there for a shandy or eleventeen, and bloody Flynn in the drivers seat with EJ in the front, and Maggie and the other sheila in the back.

EJ, Maggie and the other sheila are of course his pure bred bulldogs, which should have made me twig a lot earlier, because after he’d named the latest one after my trouble and strife I’d promised her one too, only to discover upon inquiry that they cost 4k per, which might be alright if you were buying a greyhound, but it far too much to expend on a slow hound you can’t bet on.

“WTF are you still doing with this rental” I boomed, “And what the hell are the dogs doing all over the seat?”

Horrie just grinned, and threw a book at me.

I caught it, and took a Captain Cook.

It was a service manual for the Mustang, and inside it were some rego papers.

I took a closer Captain.

They were in the name of the LG LIFES GOOD Family Trust.

“Who the hell is this LG mob?” I asked, somewhat bemused.

He just grinned.

“I thought you were the researcher” the smiling retired satchel swinger smirked.

“Haven’t you ever looked up who owns the house?”

I hadn’t, but I immediately did.

Bugger me dead.

The LG LIFES GOOD Family Trust owned it too.

I did a couple more searches.

It owned the houses that his sons lived in too, and his ex-wives, and a couple of units in Port Douglas too, one of which I am staying in right at this moment as I write this story.

“You can go and stick that 6 grand I owe you right up your clacker you deceptive old bastard” I screamed. “You told everyone you were broke!”

Know what the old dodger replied?

“It’s not what you know Archibald, it’s what you don’t”

“And you said it yourself. Loose lips sink ships”.

They do too.

I hope they don’t sink his boat before I take the kids out on it this afternoon.

I guess it won’t matter.

I’m sure he’s got another one or three hidden somewhere.

Bugger me dead if I’m alive.

Mustang Horrie.

Who would ever have believed it?

And to think he made me shout rounds at the cubby just the night before.

There’s a sucker born every day.

Today his name is me.

Paul Nolan Jr. – The Training Genius With a Penchant For Pink Shirts and Plunges


Paul Nolan Jr. has never attracted the headlines like his brother Michael who won the Doomben 10 000 with Lottery’s Luck fame, or his nephew Ben Currie did, but the accountant and part-time mentor with the penchant for pinks shirts and plunges at provincial tracks is a pretty handy trainer himself, as he proved again yesterday by landing another one with Spice Trader at Gatton.

A plonk that is, not a pink shirt, although I’m sure he will be able to buy himself a few with the winnings.

Spice Trader hadn’t won in its previous 16 starts pretending to be race horse, and it didn’t look likely to yesterday either.

It was drawn one from the outside on the treacherous, tight-turning track, the same one on which it had gone like a busted banana over the same distance just six weeks before, and despite the gear changes of tongue tie off and blinkers on, it’s chances looked pretty forlorn, so when the money came hard for it from double figures into $7 I’m sure the plonk caught the digital satchel swingers by surprise.

They wouldn’t have been too worried 100 metres after the jump though, not when Spice Trader’s saddle shifted back about six feet and young hoop Minonette Kennedy – through no fault of her own – half lost control of the thing, and it bolted away  six lengths in front of the rest of the field over the 7 furling trip.

Jockey Kennedy did a grand job to keep a semblance of control of the horse, and prevent it from running off on the turns. but it was going so quick of its own accord that it surely had to stop and fall in a hole somewhere along the way.

We waited. And waited. And waited.

But it din’t.

Paul Jr landed the plonk.


I’m buggered if I know how he did it, and even if I suspected I wouldn’t tell.

Not because I backed Spice Trader. I didn’t.

Just because I’m scared of accountants in Pink Shirts.

Paul Nolan with Spending My Time at Caloundra. Picture: Trackside Photography

Maybe I’m Wrong Again – Killer Cross and Rhino Veivers Aren’t the Best Trainers in the World – Gaita Pullicino Is

Harness Racing SA: Gaita Pullicino given licence in SA despite ...

Oops, did I say Gaita Pullicino?

Sorry, that was a slip of the tongue.

Phil Westbury trains the rising 9-year-old South Australian maiden Althegirlsinmylife who went 50m starts without a single win, and boasting only a pair of seconds at Kapunda and Port Pirie to his record doesn’t he?

That’s what the form guide says anyway.

But wasn’t Phil laid up in hospital for some time around the same era that Gaita started becoming involved with the aged mare as her driver? Who was training the old duck while he was away?

I can’t give you a name, but whoever they are is a genius.

Either that or a drug cheat, take your pick, and pick your fancy.

Phil Westbury is a nice bloke everyone who knows him tells me, a good man who has been through a rough trot health wise over the past year, and deserves all the success he gets and has been getting.

I have no reason to doubt this, and wish him well.

But somehow while Phil was ill, Gaita has wormed her way into the stable, and not a soul has a decent word to say about her, outside of her family, and given their track records you would be a fool to believe a word they ever told you.

At its third start with Gaita driving the old 50 start no-win maiden comes out hard from an outside door, does a truck load of work, goes to the death, crosses to the lead, and absolutely and utterly brains them.

It’s like she’s been given a needle and a tube, triple strength, doubt me not.

Just look.


She looks like Ride High.

Backed off the map into $3.40.

This a horse who had averaged a price of $90 plus every run it had before Gaita the Great entered her life.

How the hell did they know?

She ran pretty fast time too.


From a 52 start maiden with a history of being unable to lift her legs, who had never even gone 2.02.0

The reborn aged pensioner mare won next start too, in 2 minutes, then racked up a series of good placings in town, before being smashed into $10 late and destroying them in another one.

Sorry Phil, but this is crap.

It just don’t happen, no matter how nice the fairytale reads.

Nine-year-old mares don’t come out and run 3-4 seconds faster than before, especially ones that have spent more than a single penny in the run.

Gaita’s sorry Phil’s girl did.

With a little help from her friends.



An Update on the Unnamed Bookie Danny Crimmins Tackle Box

122. Billiards - Can help your Snooker. Part1 - YouTube

After I published the news that well known interstate bookmaker Danny Crimmins – who cannot be named for legal reasons – was facing surgery that placed the old fella and the kids at grave danger of permanent consignment to the dole queue, in the line marked redundant, we got a message from a former betting ring supervisor who had a bit to with our old mate back in the day.

It read thus …

Why are we all so concerned about Crimmins balls? 

He didn’t have any when he was a bookmaker.

So why would he have any to worry about now.

It was a fair question I thought, so I gave Crimmins a ding a ling ling on the dog and bone as they were moving into the starting gates for the Slice and Dice Stakes to ask him to send us a Down Under snap to see whether these kids were at home or not.

The phone answered after one ring, but it must have been the inward coming version of a pocket dial, because Daniel de Balls wasn’t making a sound, and all I could hear was what was going on in the background.

“Have a look at this? Isn’t it huge?’ I heard Dr Hung say to the pair of nurses in the ring, clearly referring to the hernia.

Geez, it’s a monster nurses 1 and 2 replied in unison

Then I hear Crimmins voice chiming in.

“Sshh pussycats” he purrs.

“We’re here today to talk about the tumour”

I hung up at that stage.

It was only going to get worse.

They say he survived, and the meat and veg did too.

I tried to ring him six hours after the op to confirm it, but his niece said he’s gone down to the pub to play cards.

Apparently he took his hernia with him in a bottle, to try and shock his way through to win.

It didn’t work.

Sadly, Dr Hung reports that the other thing still does.

Widows of Bagara, beware.

And run.


Doesn’t Danny Crimmins look just like that lovely Rock Hudson?

I’d Tell You About Danny Crimmins and the Imminent Danger to His Balls, But it Might Embarrass the Bookie – So His Name in the Story Will Have to Remain Unknown – I Will Show You the Potential Personal Testicle Transplants Dr Hung’s Earmarked For Him Instead

Pin on Monkey

This mate of mine Daniel Crimmins, who shall remain unnamed because I don’t want to embarrass him, is going into hospital on Monday for a routine bit of surgery to remove a hernia the size of 6-year-old kid’s soccer ball that his causing him a few problems down under. and causing his mates like me who sometimes get an unwanted peek of the thing a whole lot many more.

It will be a joyous occasion so see him dressed like a man again, and able to give you a kick in the head once more. The retaliation free run the hernia’s caused have been most enjoyable, but all good things eventually come to an end.

And therein lies the one and only risk in another seamlessly safe operation.

The hernia’s right next to this unnamed bloke Daniel Crimmins knackers.

One surgical slip, and he’s singing falsetto.

And the surgeon’s name is doctor ……..


Well, well, well.

I wonder whether the patient will be on Monday afternoon?

Never mind though mate, we live in a Lucky Country.

Who else offers public health patients transfers from monkeys?

You will be all grown up then old son.

Just keep hands off the banana for a couple of weeks, will you?

Yellow and blue make green if you mix them together.

They’re not be gunna quite big enough for you to call them the Hulks.

When its a good time to have Blue Balls Here you will find images ...

Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish – Sportsbet and Beteasy are the Worst Corporate Bookies in the World – I’ve Barred the Bastards

At the 2 minute 28 mark prior the jump in race 5 at Newmarket, UK, I attempted to throw away my last $140 from a long, long day on a single race, cos I couldn’t make the decision whether to stop now and write now or not myself, so needed a couple of pommie slaughter merchants to do it for me (Frankie wasn’t riding in this race).

I was on Sportsbet, which I hate, but which was all I had left after early non-cancellable withdrawals post-$26 winners (Maggie says thanks Dean; I say bastard!), and subsequently inconsequential but still frustrating brutalisation for the next 12 hours.

So went 40 on the $9 shot, and a hundred on the $3.25 fave.

Why? Because I could, and I liked their jockeys and their names.

Sportsbet rejected the bet.


I tried it again.

A Red and White sign came up with a notice on it saying BET OPTION NOT YET LOADED, or something like that.

I tried again.

Same thing.


It was only $140 for a max win of $220,and there is now only 2 minutes until the jump.

What the hell is going on?

The market flashes on the screen, and suddenly it has changed.

Now it SP only.


What does that mean in the modern age of the Sportsbet rort, and where the hell did the fixed price market bet go?

The same way as the bookie I guess.

This is automated, individual customer targeted, market adjusted to return a set percentage regardless of size of pool. computer based fraud and rorting designed to slip by the regulators this is.

Sportsbet don’t want to bet me because only desperates or tired don’t care imbeciles like me who are up punting at midnight, and the pool is so small that it makes my collects look huge, so they flash this bullshit up on the screen in lieu of just knocking me back. I’m guessing you get less complaints that way.

I don’t even know what SP is on UK meetings, like I said, and I don’t know if Sportsbet can rort them.

All I I know is that they rorted me.

I took the SP.

I shouldn’t have, but I wanted to clear the account immediately so I could close it, just as I closed my Beteasy account the week before. Five years over there as a VIP client. Didn’t even cop a message or a call. And this mob’s worse.

This Beteasy/Sportsbet merger is a dud.

These two companies have become too big during the expansions that led to them coming together, and the suits in London that run aren’t owners like the BET365 geniuses, just overpaid executives disconnected from the people who pay their way, yuppies without any handle on their revenue streams, who are destined for the bin the day the market becomes a duopoly, and dust when one way or the other 365 turns it all into one.

You wouldn’t bet with these venture capitalist thieved if they hung you by your ankles from the top of Crown Tower.

Bad trees never bear good fruit.

Remember that this soon to me merged new glittery outfit all started with BetEzy, the gutter-feeders of the whole damn grove, and then passed to Jimmy Packer, the man with the anti-Midas touch.

From shit grows, and back to shit it goes.

Sportsbet and Beteasy.

The worst corporate bookmakers in the world.

Author’s disclosure: I am mates with Dean Shannon, the CEO or whatever he calls himself of Sportsbet and Beteasy’s competitors Ladbrokes and Neds. I could have been betting with his mob, but I chose not co cos I figured the bugger had snaffled enough of mine already for one day. This article was not driven or inspired by loyalty to my mates. I don’t have any on race day. This was inspired by a culmination of months of poor treatments as a customer by these clowns, and getting the shits enough to finally decide they can go and get fucked, they’re not getting any more of mine. Who is this guy on the front screen anyway? What punter wants to log on to look at a cop?