It was a risky strategy, but risk often maximised returns. And besides, it was fun ‘gaming’ the system.
As an Investment Banker, I read the Morning Brew newsletter religiously. But the routine was starting to bore me. The takeaway latte, sipped as you trudged along cloudy Collins Street. But jees, that newsletter did open up a new, exciting directions.
The MB ran a series of articles on the emerging online gambling industry. It suggested there were regulatory weaknesses in the accounting and auditing systems. Those articles set off an intense reaction; they stirred up old addictions. I did extensive research and reached the same conclusion. Not only weaknesses, but I identified one or two very exploitable openings!
Horse racing offered the most lucrative opportunities, but while still in the banking sector, I trialled a couple of possible systems. They failed, inherent faults: too easy for detection. I went back to the drawing board for the next six months, weekend trackwork, standing at the fence, watching the crowds, looking in particular at the mannerisms of those big, last-minute punters.
That first year I worked trackside and netted $150,000, more than enough to cover expenses. I knew that once I was inside the system, that figure would grow exponentially. I quit banking, leaving the factory in the hands of the young corporate wannabees. I was on a new trajectory!
Computing literacy, programming, data entry, a knowledge of the racing industry and a clean security check landed me a position as ‘Bagman’, or Penciller, in a small online betting agency opening up in Alice Springs. The agency took wagers on the Trots, the Dogs, Steeple and Flat racing anywhere in Australia, as well as on feature, international fixtures. The Flats remained my focus.
I figured a regional base would attract less scrutiny. Hindsight is a wonderful thing!
These new, online betting systems still used the traditional Penciller, the so-called Bagman, to monitor betting levels, and where necessary, to manually adjust the odds. My diddle needed about 10 seconds to execute, focusing critically on those last few seconds before a race starts, and only then, when a false start was called.
A restart throws the computers into a spin. The race is physically rerun, but for us, we are frantically and manually rebooting the systems. In the time it takes for us to get everything back on track, the race is won, and a winning bet can be quietly inserted into the system. As I said, it doesn’t happen often, but enough for me to keep myself in the manner I was becoming accustomed.
Three and a half years, a house in a leafy, gated community, a convertible Merc. These were good times.
But I moved on. I now have a single bed, a small television, my own toilet and wash stand, a bookshelf and access to the library. I am meeting really interesting guys; one young bloke is teaching me Pitjantjatjara. I am also a keen member of the weekly watercolour painting classes.