That's all fine, and responsible adults can do what they like as long as they're not hurting or costing anyone else. (Gambling, on balance, is probably not of net social benefit to humanity; then again, neither are alcohol, drugs, or Kyle Sandilands.) BUT WON'T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN. As a Concerned Parent (which is like being a Busy Mum, except you are sometimes allowed to have a penis), you have two options; you can attempt to prohibit your children from being exposed to the saturation coverage of Big Bet's evil marketing arseflaps, by not watching sports (and in particular televised coverage thereof) which are smeared liberally about the unmentionables in gambling sponsorship cash, like Nine's rugby league coverage. Problem is, if you keep going down that path, you're going to run out of sports to watch.
My entire history with gambling goes no further than two buck scratchies and office sweeps on Cup Day. I have never placed a bet on a thing in any formal context - at the races, at the casino, at the cricket, anywhere. Because betting on stuff is stupid. There is a reason the TAB never turns a loss: the odds are always in its favour. As mentioned on #BALLS, there are people who, consciously or otherwise, accept the inevitability of a financial loss as payment for the thrill; I am not among them. The only money I've ever put through the coffers of the Star or the Treasury is over the bar. Much more reliable return-on-investment there, I find. I learned pretty early that betting was a mug's game, because the other guy always has more on his side than you do. The house wins. The house ALWAYS wins.
This story is thirty-some years old and time will have embellished the details. My grandpop - my dad's father - died in the late '90s. He was a kind, gentle, soft-spoken, white-haired old fella. Loved his sport. Bookcase full of stuff on cricket and league, never missed a game. For many years (long before we were around) he'd worked for the transit authority in Sydney for many years, running their rec room for the drivers and crew. This was a full-time job. Part of the gig involved making and taking bets, as basically an on-site, unofficial SP bookie. I didn't know this, of course; that side of Grandpop's history was as unknown to me then as his WW2 service on the Kokoda trail. I knew Grandpop didn't drive cars, but I didn't really understand what it meant when it was explained that he didn't because of his 'nerves'.
So my Grandpop knew sports and he knew betting. He and my Nan were visiting one winter school holidays some thirty years ago - I'd have been seven or eight - and he and I were watching a Sunday afternoon game of rugby league on TV. Let's say it was Parramatta versus Canterbury. It could have been anyone; like I say, this is 30 years ago and what I don't remember I may embellish a touch. Let's say I was barracking for Parramatta and Grandpop, because they lived in Dulwich Hill near Old Canterbury Road, was assigned by my childish insistence to barrack for the Bulldogs. I was very confident Parra would win. So confident, in fact, that I insisted we bet on the outcome. I don't recall the amount; we'll say it was fifty cents. I don't recall where the idea of betting came up; we'll say it was exposure from pre-game FootyTAB odds. But I believed in Parra and I wanted to make a bet and Grandpop wanted to take that bet.
Anyway, I did my dough. Parra lost. It was a teachable moment. I learned then never to bet on sports. Particularly on footy games shown on delay, where the other party has already heard the final score on radio...
The Doctor is OUT.
