At The Dogs...

Greyhound racing started for me when I was 6. My dad took me to Harold’s Cross for a night and the first dog I backed came second last.

Not winning the race was only a small setback compared to my disgust when I found out it wasn’t even a proper hare it had been chasing around the track. And not only was it a mechanical hare but it was also a bloody coward mechanical hare that disappeared into a box at the end of the race. I wanted to run over to the kennels and tell the dogs not to bother.
Before the end of the night I got a winner. Fairly quickly I learned that not only was Harold’s Cross somewhere I could make a couple of quid if I ignored my dad’s tips but it also meant I got to stay up later than usual. I loved seeing the transition from tranquility ten minutes before a race to the frenzy of bets being laid just before the off. It was and still is a bit scary being stuck in the middle of a bunch of red-faced Irish men charging to get their last minute bets on. Except now I am one of the charging red-faced Irish men.
In America, greyhound racing is losing popularity. At some tracks, they have installed gaming tables to attract more punters. The Irish Greyhound Board has been very clever though. Rather than trying to boost attendances by increasing the number of gambling options (gaming tables), the IGB has spent vast sums developing the country’s greyhound stadia into impressive modern structures with glass-fronted restaurants and bars facing the track. They have spent large amounts advertising a night at the dogs as ‘the complete night out’. The latest newspaper advertising features a large shot of a dog in a disco! Attendances have risen sharply. They have made greyhound racing fashionable. That is almost astonishing.
But probably the IGB’s greatest achievement is that they have overseen this change without knocking the old establishment’s nose out of joint. Because although diners in the restaurant can place their bets from their table, down on the track in front of the row of bookies nothing has really changed; the bookies still scream their heads off, and the non dining punters still swap info, watch the prices, and wait for that last minute to throw in their bets. That little pit hasn’t changed. In other words, the place has not been lost to hen parties. Everybody is happy.
For all my love of dog racing, it wasn’t until last year that I put my money where my mouth was and bought a greyhound. Together with the 3 lads from the band we chipped in and bought Belville Larocca. (In case you’re interested, it costs between €55 and €70 per week to keep a dog with a professional trainer.) Although he has won 4 races and €950 in prize money, he has proved to be a little injury prone. At the moment, he has an injured wrist and faces a long lay off. But he is a beautiful dog and Nick from the band got in trouble earlier this year with his girlfriend when she found that he had only one photo in his wallet – one of Belville Larocca.
To dispel two myths, firstly greyhounds are almost never actually grey. Even on the rare occasions when you do get a grey one, they are called ‘blues’. I’ve never seen one. The ‘Grey’ part is supposed to be derived from the Latin word ‘Graius’ meaning ‘Greek’ hound. Secondly, greyhounds don’t wear muzzles because they are vicious. It’s to stop them harming each other and injuring themselves by trying to eat the mechanical hare at the end of the race. They are very peaceful dogs and most vets will tell you they are a joy to deal with compared to all other breeds. They are classed as a sight hound and their noses are really only good for getting across the finish line first.
You will be probably be surprised by the size of greyhound racing if you have never been. Working north to south, there are tracks in Derry, Lifford, Dungannon, Ballyskeagh, Dundalk, Longford, Mullingar, Galway, Shelbourne Park, Harold’s Cross, Newbridge, Thurles, Kilkenny, Limerick, Enniscorthy, Tralee, Waterford, Clonmel, Youghal and Cork. Twenty tracks in a country of this size perfectly illustrates the size of the sport in Ireland.
If you live close to one of the above tracks and have never been, you should remedy that. Bet small. Even after a successful night at the dogs, you won’t be retiring. Go with a bunch of friends, get there early, familiarize yourself with the betting system, back Belville Larocca and, finally, blame me if you hate it. And even if you get really hooked, you still won’t be a patch on La Rocca. Earlier this year we played a gig in Galway. After soundchecking, we went to Galway Greyhound Stadium and caught six races before going back and playing the gig. Yes, we may have a problem.