BEN’S BLOG: ‘First look at the track’

[dropcap]B[/dropcap]log, I’ve just returned from Ireland, checking in with the guys at Star Bingo, in Cork, and Star Spreads, in Dublin.

Once we’d popped into the bingo, we thought we’d go and check out Cork Greyhound Track. When I was a kid, all family holidays, or days away, had to coincide with a visit to the nearest racecourse, or preferably, greyhound track. And as an adult, that urge has never quite left me. On finding the track, it appeared there was no racing that evening, but we managed to get in and have a snoop about anyway (when I was a kid, and security wouldn’t let me in, at Hove Dogs, I used to jump over the wall. Please note, Blog; I didn’t do that this time). Ireland’s dog-tracks really are superb, with the facilities, completely different class, to those of the UK.

Wandering down to the betting-ring, would you believe it, Blog, if I told you, that when the track was built, there were stands made for no less than 21 bookmakers? Dear, oh dear, how times have changed. Four now. And I can’t imagine they’re knocked over by the rush.

Making our way to leave, a trainer emerged onto the sand track. I thought he must be trialling a dog. Nearly, but not quite. What he was actually doing, was giving a puppy a ‘hand-slip’. This means it was the young dog’s first EVER look at a track, and his trainer would simply release him, to chase the hare, for the first time, from his arms, rather than from the traps (example below). That adventure would come next time. The dog bounced onto the track, pulling at his trainer’s lead. He was in awe of his new theatre of dreams. Without even knowing why, he knew genetically what he had to do. It was simply fantastic to see the hare go into motion, and this young pup start his racing life. He chased well, and wasn’t as ‘green’ as I thought he might be. He reminded me a bit, of myself, when I first went to the dogs! We wish him luck.

In other news:

On the way home, I was sitting next to Star MD, Gaul Wood (right). As we took off, he removed a copy of The Times, from his bag. Something he, as a nicely rounded human being, is more than entitled to do. However, me being the warped, piss-taker I am, immediately pounced on the fact it wasn’t Gaul’s usual; his much loved Guardian. ‘Gaul, is this some kind of move to the right?’. ‘No, I just couldn’t get a copy of the Guardian.’. I simply smirked to myself, quietly laughed, and looked away. (I’M NOT WEIRD THOUGH.)

Over and out, B x