The Fine Aussie Art of “Punting”

In my last blog entry I mentioned that, if they could get odds on it, Aussie men would bet on which old lady would cross the street first. That was probably a lie. If sports and horse racing ceased to exist tomorrow, what they would do—after they rioted in the streets and looked to the sky for signs of the apocalypse—is make it a trifecta…and include the old man walking behind them. “That,” as they say here, “would be good value.”

I don’t want to give you the impression that everybody wagers here. That would be untrue. Odds are (see what I did there?), there are five or six guys with no money somewhere who can’t afford to place a bet. Now, before I delve into my observations on this national pastime of sports wagering, here’s a brief glossary of the terminology I’ve ascertained thus far:

Have a punt: To make/place a bet. To me, the expression “Have a punt” actually sounds like “Take a guess and throw my money away” when people say it in person. Seriously. Say it out loud. It sounds like, “Awww, what the hell? If everyone else is doing it…”

On the punt: I think this means having a bet on something or spending a day betting. Such as, “I’ve been out on the punt all day and didn’t win shit.”

The TAB: A bar/pub that has betting machines or human cashiers where people can wager on human sports or on quadripedal equine/K9 racing that would be shown on the televisions in said pub. “TAB” stands for Totally Addicted To Betting. Actually it stands for Totaliser Agency Board. (I asked a friend of mine who has placed more than his fair share of bets. He had to Google it.) But that’s of little matter. As I was saying, there are TABs every few miles (or kilometers), even in the suburbs. Closer to the city, you can find a TAB every few blocks. It’s not uncommon for guys to spend most of a Saturday drinking and punting at the TAB for hours on end. Personally, this sounds like a dreadfully boring way to spend one of the two days in which I’m not required to be at work…unless, of course, you win lots of money and that leads to a huge night out. Sometimes the ends justify the means.

“Punted my ass off”: Pretty sure this just means, “I spent the day betting” or “I placed loads of bets.” This would be different from, “I lost my ass on the punt.” Although the two often seem closely related.

Put a bet on: Put a bet on. (It’s not another language, people. These are expressions we’re talking bout, not translations.)

“Lost my ass on the punt”: What it does NOT mean is: “I made lots of money wagering on sporting contests today.” In fact, people hardly ever say that. They don’t tear down casinos because they’re losing money; they tear down old casinos to build bigger, newer more expensive ones.

Personally, I’ve never needed to have money riding on a game to be enraptured by it. I probably watch sports with too much passion as it is. Name a sport, and I will watch it with great zeal and without a dime invested on the outcome. As a resident of Australia, I’ve come to realize that the one exception to all of this is cricket. This may or may not be because “Test” cricket can last five days before ending in—wait for the suspense—a draw. Yes, a TIE. So, yeah, you probably have to “have a bet” on if you’re going to follow cricket. Or you have to be drunk. And, actually, I think most Aussies watching cricket are both placing bets and drunk—like Bobby Valentine was while he was managing the Red Sox.

As a teenager, in my part-time job making food at Patriots home games, I would watch as my boss (who was also my freshman English teacher) bellyached when a “meaningless” last-minute field goal in another NFL game cost him $50 here or there. “It’s all too coincidental, Sweeeens!” he would yell, while rubbing his hands through his graying hair, clearly skeptical of the human element involved. 

When I was about 14, my father brought home a betting card from a guy he worked with. At the time, I knew everything there was to know about college football, college basketball and the NFL. This was going to be easy. Big Ed fronted me the $50 or whatever it was and told me to make my picks and see how it went. If I picked 4 out of six games with the spread, I think I would have tripled my (his) money and he was going to let me keep the winnings. If memory serves, I lost three of the games by a combined six points and all I had to show for my efforts was a smirking father. I didn’t like losing my potential money—which was never actually mine—and it all seemed fishy to me. How could all those games be that close? My father was discreetly instilling an important life lesson, I suppose, on the dangers of gambling. Incidentally, this was eerily similar to the day Magic Johnson announced he was H.I.V. positive. That night, my father came home after work with a poster of Magic in his Lakers garb (not an acceptable wall decoration in suburban Boston), handed it to 16-year-old me, and said simply, “Remember the plight of a superstar.” That was code for, “If it can happen to him, it can happen to you. Don’t be a dumbass. Use condoms.” OK, then. Simple, but effective. If he had to choose, I suppose having his eldest son turn into a gambling addict would be better than having him turn into a prostitute-loving, condom-hating dead man, but clearly his preference was for me to be neither. Mission accomplished, Ed.

I don’t know what most people think of condoms here in Australia (how about that segue!), but if you don’t bet on sports, it seems as if you’re abnormal. People don’t just go to games and cheer. They go to a TAB to see the “bloke at the tote” place a bet with him, then go to the game. Or they pull out their phone on the way into the game and place the bet from there. Or they place a bet in a machine AT THE STADIUM. In the last six months, the guys in my office have staged betting competitions on major golf championships, weekly horse racing, AFL football, and even which player will be named the Australian Football League’s Brownlow Medal winner (basically, the MVP).  This was a BIG DEAL, actually. The MVP voting is sloooowly (painfully) announced in a three-hour show on TV in which viewers get the amazing privilege of watching the players eat dinner and tip back beers with their hot girlfriends and wives. Riveting stuff. The guys in the office put money on who would be voted the winner of an award. Meaning they were betting on the opinions of others. You really have to want to gamble to do this, don’t you? Yes. Yes, I agree.

I’ve never known too many people in the U.S. who were really into gambling—online poker excluded. Probably because it carries such a negative stereotype in the States. You don’t get that feeling here in Australia. It’s a culturally accepted thing to do. No big deal. In fact, it seems like every third commercial during the Aussie Rules Football and horse racing seasons is for a sports betting website. You sit down on the couch and turn on the TV and, at some point, a football game breaks out between the Tom Waterhouse gambling site commercials. (This guy Tom Waterhouse runs TV ads for his sports betting website so often during footy and horse racing seasons, you start hoping he’ll get trampled by a thoroughbred. He never goes away.)

On the heels of all this messaging that overtly encouraging gambling are clearly mandated TV spots in which those with gambling problems are urged to call for help. It’s like feeding an overweight guy an ice cream sundae and giving him the phone number of the closest gym with his receipt. Aint. Gonna. Happen.

I’d put a 10er on that.