Discarded betting slips at the Cheltenham Festival, which last year drew a record total crowd attendance of 260,579. Photograph: Tom Jenkins for the Guardian

They say there is more Guinness spilt annually at the Cheltenham Festival than champagne quaffed at Royal Ascot. Its a hoary old saw that probably isnt true, but helps add to the sense of chaotic ribaldry with which National Hunt racings annual March jamboree is associated compared to its supposedly more genteel and moneyed Flat equivalent. In the coming days scenes of bawdy triumph and utter despair will unfold in what us hacks are obliged to refer to at least once per year as the great natural amphitheatre of Prestbury Park, where racing enthusiasts from both sides of the Irish Sea will convene for drinking, gambling and high quality sport that is unrivalled in its sheer intensity for those of us who are into those kind of things.

While the Cheltenham Festival is a carnival of top-class racing, it is difficult to get away from the notion that without the attendant vices it would just be predominantly Irish men riding horses around an otherwise very sparsely attended field: a noble but ultimately futile pursuit that becomes a whole lot more fun with the introduction of hundreds of thousands of excitable, liquored-up punters clutching betting slips and roaring their fancies home. When the fun stops, stop, the bookies are obliged to tell us in their promotional material these days although one gets the feeling that were your fun to stop three races in when youve just done your nuts on Tuesdays Festival Handicap Chase, these less-than-rigorous enforcers of what does and does not constitute fun would not be at all adverse to you handing over even more money, money you might not necessarily be able to afford in an effort to recapture that warm and fuzzy glow of carefree optimism in which you found yourself enveloped before the tapes went up for the first race.

While it is all well and good to encourage people to stop gambling when it has become a source of teeth-grinding, potentially life-ruining misery and anguish, the simple fact of the matter is that even when the fun stops, there are plenty of punters out there who just cant resist throwing good money after bad, loading themselves with so much debt that their own lives and the lives of those around them are utterly destroyed by a craven inability to stop betting. Weve all seen the pictures of the former England full-back Kenny Sansom, homeless and passed out in a park or shuffling to and from the bookies that accompany tabloid stories detailing his desperate pleas for help on the grounds that he feels utterly incapable of helping himself. Its probably safe to say the fun stopped for Kenny a long time ago, but still he continues to fill out those betting slips.

The fun almost certainly came to an abrupt halt for Cathal McCarron when he was encouraged by the IRA to leave Northern Ireland for London after gambling so much money he could not afford that he took to stealing from friends and neighbours. A top-level Gaelic football player with County Tyrone in Ireland, McCarron continued with his punting to such an extent that he found himself agreeing to star in a gay porn movie, for which he was paid 3,000 and assured that his debut screen performance would be shown only on pay-per-view channels in a chain of American hotels.

Appalled by what he had done, but with the consolation of a few quid in his pocket to help him try to get his life back on track, McCarron treated himself to a chocolate bar and proceeded to blow every remaining penny of his appearance fee in the betting shop within two days. A short time later, when news of his cinematic escapades had inevitably made headlines in the papers back home, McCarrons life was saved when he received a supportive call from a family member as he tried to work up the courage to throw himself under a London tube train. He has since faced, if not completely conquered his demons and revealed the pitiful depths of self-loathing to which he was reduced by his gambling habit in a harrowing autobiography.

Ultimately it is the problem gambler, not the bookmaker, who is responsible for dealing with their addiction once what bookies label the fun has stopped and it would be churlish to suggest otherwise. However, for all their commitment to tail-ending their increasingly intrusive adverts with a catchy and largely meaningless platitude, the sheer volume of relentless promotion with which the giants of the bookmaking industry assail sports fans on a daily basis suggests that, for all their talk, they are not hugely interested in discouraging anyone from making a regular donation.

During a splendid week of sport in which highlights include an FA Cup tie between Chelsea and Manchester United, several Champions League matches, four days of thrilling racing and the denouement of the Six Nations, sports fans will find themselves driven to distraction by bookies falling over themselves to win the custom of regulars and the all important potential new customers with various adverts, promotions and the usual tediously unfunny stunts that may involve an overweight footballer and a pie. Across the bookmaking industry more than 350m is expected to be wagered on Cheltenham alone and we all know where most of that will end up. The fun never seems to stop for the bookies.

Originally posted here:

Enjoy Cheltenham but the gambling fun never stops for the bookies - The Guardian (blog)