Barabbas …..’a robber and a thief’
By: Barry John Pinnington
Tags: Gambling, Chester, Pinno, Barabbus, Greyhound

Going back to my early days at Chester greyhound stadium and my dads stories told over toasted marshmallows. There was one story that Stute, my father loved to recite and that was the coup he had with a dog called Barabbas at Chester. We all know that gamblers love to tell their stories of winning bets and how clever they were in picking winners, well, for once, this was a story worth telling! For those of you who are not converse with the art of getting a good handicap mark, you should not be surprised to hear that greyhounds (and in most other equine sports for that matter) are ‘bent’ (I don’t mean they are gay😂) on numerous occasions to achieve a favourable mark, so in theory, it eventually gets into a grade of race where it has a few lengths in hand, up it’s sleeve. When an owner or a trainer bends a dog (I don’t mean trying to get it to bat for the other side!) he or she will either feed it before it runs, pill it, not train it or knacker it out down the local fields. Hence trainers try to grade a dog so the handicapper (or the bookmakers) doesn’t know it’s real ability and put the money down when it’s ahead of the handicapper. Looking back on it, my father, obviously had a devious sense of humour as he called certain dogs the following names, Barabbas, Sly Fox, Black Widow, Raffles , Dick Turpin, the list is endless😲. Anyhow, moving onto this particular plot, Barabus was fed, fed and believe it or not fed some more, he looked more like a sausage dog than a greyhound. He had to trial at least 4 times to get in the bottom grade at Chester, no work, no coursing, just pure, unadulterated laziness and putting his paws up. One thing that the handicapper, a guy called Stan Winfield, was aware of, was certain owners, how shall we say it, were economical in how their dogs trialled and were ‘Marked Up’ harshly, that was generally the case with my dad as he was a marked man. To be fair to Stan, he tried to run a straight track and to his credit, did so with an iron fist. His main persona was to grade all 6 dogs in a race to cross the line together, and keep the paying public coming back for more👍. In all honesty he was a super grader but there were always the odd dog that slipped through the net…..in this instance it was Barabbas. Bought cheaply from Ireland, due to an injury to its back, Barabbas slipped under the radar, in fact, I think he needed sonar, as it had sunk that deep😃! The thrill of pulling off a job was always a twinkle in my dads eyes back then and with Barabbas he knew the Chester streets were paved in gold, it was a question of not if but when. I recollect back in those shady days that dads blisters suddenly reappeared after taking Barabbas on unusual, long walks and then exclaiming to my mother, ‘10 miles today love, he is ready for Saturday’. The time has come to raise the anchor, and set sail for victory🤑! As I have eluded to in an earlier blag, Chester was one of the best flapping tracks in the country, some of the main ingredients were a very good running track, which was a combination of grass and sand, an extremely good handicapper and a very, very strong set of bookmakers which plied their trade on the ‘Dear side’ and on the ‘Cheap side’. Prices varied quite a lot between the two lines of bookies, who incidentally were on the opposite sides of the track, and the tic-tac-toe men earned their corn, hedging back bets for a hopeful profit on numerous occasions. I also know from experience, as a bookie, that ‘faces’ (good judges who are in the know or can spot a well handicapped animal) are a big tell in whether an animal is fancied or not and that can reflect the price you put on offer. So, the art is, as a gambler, and you want get plenty on and more importantly, if you want to get a good price (without those nasty bookies smelling a rat!!), secrecy is paramount. Fair play to my father, this particular ‘touch’ was planned with laser like precision. The night before the million dollar race, dad had informed family members and friends, ( who didn’t have a clue about gambling ) to assemble at our modest semi in Kingsway. He gave them all £200 each, told them the race number but withheld the dogs name and only stated the time of the race (he was very trustworthy!). He then told the nervous entourage to watch his movements as he would signal across the track, as the dogs went into the traps, which number the dog was and to have the £200 on with the pre specified bookie. Race 8 came long pretty quickly and the clan were set for the signal on the dear side of the track, dad stood on an old beer crate, gave the signal and the assassins moved in for the kill. Job done, all Barabus had to do was fulfill his part of the bargain. Needless to say, on this particular occasion, Barabbas won from here to Kathmandu and it was certainly hats in the air…..Ei ei, Ei Ei was the cry, ‘4/1 what a price’ was also the cry. Job done👍👍. One of the most poignant memories from this coup was the story I heard from a number of people, regarding one of the main bookies reaction on the dear side after the win. One of the ‘lumper oners’ had a bet with the well established and charismatic bookie ‘Bill Corbett’, upon receipt of the betting slip and passing over a thousand pound to one of my dads stooges, he exclaimed ‘Do you know who Barabbas was in the bible son?’ ‘No Mr Corbett, sorry I don’t’ was the reply, ‘Well, he was a robber and a thief, just like you, now don’t ever bet with me again!!’😂😂

A nice epilogue to this story, the guy who actually put the bet on with Bill Corbett had a bet with me at Bangor last year and stated he was the man who relieved Bill of his hard earned cash……it’s a Small world👍