MY CALL - REKINDLING SOME WONDERFUL MEMORIES

By David Fowler | Tuesday, September 20, 2016

David Fowler is the principal thoroughbred caller for Radio TAB. David, who is a keen form student and punter, has enjoyed a lifetime involvement in the racing media. His personal blog, ‘My Call’, appears exclusively on HRO.

Bookmaker Merv Cooper's passing on the weekend afforded me an opportunity to rekindle some wonderful racetrack memories.

Such was his presence. Remembering Merv allowed me to float back in time to Brisbane racing of the seventies and eighties.

Saturday was the high point of the racing week. Clothes were carefully selected by the fashion conscious.

Others, fashion unconscious, simply treated it as the "sixth" day of the working week because the punt was a serious business.

Acceptances were taken on Thursday, not Wednesday. Phones would then start ringing with tip swapping. A closing line would often be "keep it to yourself". And you did.

And they were landline phones not mobile. The sort of phone you could leave off the hook and not be annoyed on race morning.

And that practice was generally observed as Scratchings were delivered at 8am sharp on 4BC.

Even a young Bart Sinclair would announce official "starters and riders" when declarations weren't made until race morning in the seventies.

A good ear and a workable pen were the only faculties needed. What is an "internet".

Previews followed and then Merv would bark out the prepost prices for the day's card. Fixed odds were a racetrack surprise and a corporate was BHP for example.

A second round of phone calls ensued to discuss the merit, or lack of, of Mervs market assessments.

Hopes dashed that the price was shorter than anticipated or an inner glow developed with your fancy not found in the market.

But either way, there was still a sense of anticipation of what would happen when "the sheets went in".

This was the pre-meeting ritual for thousands of Saturday punters, the order never to be altered or mixed up.

On arrival at the track, gatherings would develop in the betting rings.

A young punter knew his place. Better not to put your head into a discussion where the conversation would suddenly dry up. Hope for the tip to come your way later.

Lines and lines of bookmakers of all different shapes and sizes but, most significantly, personalities.

Characters with monikers on the stand and off it.

It was a simple exercise in those days. Favorites won, punters won. Roughies won, bookies won.

No rocket science there.

And if you were hot to back a favorite you'd hang around Brian Ogilvie's stand, guaranteed he would always be top odds.

If someone ventured to go 6/4, he would go 7/4 and so on and so on. Today he'd be accused of inflating the prices.

The day inevitably ended with a winning or losing result and then it was time to celebrate or commiserate at the various restaurants or watering holes around the suburbs of Brisbane.

Or the Albion Park trots if you were desperate. The same faces often turned up day and night!

And Sunday was rest day.

To reiterate, wonderful racetrack memories and all without a mobile phone, computer and fixed odds. How did we survive?

And Merv was a central part of all that theatre. Thanks for the memories, mate!

David Fowler