A WEEKLY REVIEW: The Good The Bad The Ugly

“If you can make one heap of all your winnings

   “And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

“And lose, and start again at your beginnings

    “And never breathe a word about your loss;

“If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

    “To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

“And so hold on when there is nothing in you

   “Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

For Ray Hopkins, the crown prince of punters, the words of Rudyard Kipling take precedence over those of yours truly, a tabloid hack.

Racing is the epitome of the good, the bad and the ugly. Hopkins, who died recently at 92, resonates for the good on the tight-rope environment that involves character, honesty and style.

Many have the categories but don’t qualify as a gentleman, too, like Hopkins. My League Of Gentlemen includes racehorse trainer Pat Murray, auctioneer John Inglis, and jockey Jack Thompson.

Being a bookmaker and dabbling in greyhounds as well as the turf, Hopkins was confronted with a more demanding balance but the final settling: a reputation unsullied. His word was a bond.

Like so many in racing, Murray, “The Pink Pussycat”, Inglis “The Boss”, and Thompson, “Long Jack”, Hopkins had a title.

The late Bill Waterhouse, one of the biggest and certainly the most controversial bookmaker of our time, tagged him as “Hoppy”.

“All bookmakers were given names,” Waterhouse wrote in his memoir, “What Are The Odds?”, that examined the biggest and best horse players.

“I was known as The Serpent, a nickname coined by Hoppy Hopkins because he said I seemed at the track, biding my time until I was ready for a poisonous pounce.”

Waterhouse related how he, Albert Smith, another bookmaker from Melbourne, and Hopkins toured Europe and the United States.

“Hoppy was about 30, dark haired and extremely good looking,” Waterhouse wrote. “Hoppy was a different kettle of fish, the three of us got on famously, yet Hoppie was our natural opponent at the track.

“He was a punter and probably the most respected judge at that time and very few bet bigger.

‘Hoppy had been my biggest and most regular punter for 10 years. Our fortunes had fluctuated but unlike most clients we rarely settled with each other.

“Rather, we would work into credit or debt.  Hoppy had about the best memory of anyone I knew. He could recall what he had backed 18 months earlier, telling you not only what price but the placegetters and beaten favourite – he was probably the most complete gambler I have ever encountered.

“Hoppy had a credit with me of over $100,000 when we left Australia for Europe, within six weeks of our return he had replaced the credit with a debit of $800,000.”

Consider the worth of the dollar then and the depleted value now.

“Hoppie continued to be one of the best punters to last the distance. No matter where he went in Australia or overseas, he had a knack of finding a winner, even without closely studying the form.”

In recent years I had a drink with Hopkins at Mick Doyle’s Christmas soiree, a wonderful get together for turf old-timers, men and women (apologies to the youthful Barbara Joseph). Hopkins was solvent and remained sharp.

Asked about the best jockey he had seen, after much pondering, Hopkins settled on Melbourne’s Bill Williamson.

Hopkins reflected on “chalk jockeys”, the equivalent of those doing so well in Sydney now with the topliners absent.

Going back, racecourse semaphore boards were used to signify riders with the best, having names painted, readily available. Jockeys from the bush and those with little city action were signified with a hard to identify chalk scribble.

No doubt the ability of Hopkins at the races and greyhounds was linked with bookmaking as well as punting. Unlike many fielders, who thrived on figures, Hopkins liked to back the right horse or dog.

Yet despite his expertise Hopkins could run up a losing streak which is a deterrent for we mere mortals.

Folklore maintains after a nasty trot he handed over the keys to his house, hardly a Matraville fibro, to his favourite bookmaker. It was a mansion overlooking Sydney Harbour.

The punt giveth and the punt taketh away. Presnell, not Kipling.