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239 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1963
My story starts one night last year. It didn’t seem a night different from any other. We are carried to the grave on a stream of dead days and nights. We live them and forget them. Yet who knows on which dead day or night a terrible change can come into a life? A disease starts. The seeds of a crisis, a disaster, a great joy, are sown. At the time we are aware of nothing.
What the hell do they know? – the punters who come to the tracks or pop into the betting shops for a giggle? Or the professionals who keep it all on a debit and credit basis? None of them knows what a gambler is. The gambler is the one who goes on with no peace, no release, till he has annihilated himself. I am a gambler.
My chest was full of that tight, hysterical strain of hope, but underneath it was a deep, deep, sickening pit of darkness, the knowledge of destruction. I stood in that shabby crowd against the counters, in thick cigarette smoke, and the unemotional voice on the loud-speaker taunted me.
I sighed. 'I don't know where to start telling you,' I said. 'Look, I have a friend, he is a walking encyclopaedia about dogs. He can tell you the result of every race for the last five years. I heard him the other night at the track, for a half-dollar bet, name the sire and dam of every dog running that night-forty-eight dogs. That man is a gambler. And he is broke. Broke. What do you people think a track is? An orchard with money growing on the trees? My God, you think you're the only one. I see crowds of you pouring down the hill at Harringay, pushing past the turnstiles, all you silly greedy faces. Millions of you. You buy a newspaper and you think you know. For God's sake, a gambler spends his whole day studying form. All day he talks to other gamblers before he makes up his mind. He has been doing this for anything up to thirty years. He bets every way up you can imagine, forecasts, reverse forecasts, place bets, combin-ations, he uses one bet to guarantee him against another, he bets on the dogs and the horses, he bets doubles, trebles, accumulators, he can put on If Cash, Any to Come, Up and Down, Round the Clock, Rounders, Roundabouts, Round Robins, he can bet on owners, he can bet on trainers, he can bet on jockeys, he studies pedigree, he invents systems a professor wouldn't understand. And he still loses. For crying out loud, man, am I making you hear me? He still loses.' For a moment I lost my breath. 'So you, you greenhorn, you babe in arms, you poor innocent nit, you think you can just walk in and win?'
[180–1]