Above: A welcoming sign
Today was a day spent at the Armidale Greyhound Racing Club. Most of the photos I took were located in the area that I was working (I was doing the photo finish for the race).
My story with the AGRC starts in 2002 when the family (who had recently moved south to Armidale from Red Range) and it was decided upon to get a greyhound and try our luck. Eight years on we’ve had over twenty dogs pass through the kennels, and have now (for reasons still unknown) become what can only be referred to as a lynch-pin of the club.
Above: The Gate. Straight lines are not a necessity. Below: Dave, an occasional inhabitant of the Gate.
The first thing that you see when driving down the access road (which is covered in ash – a good road base when wet but dusty when dry) you see a collection of what can only be described as a ramshackle collection of buildings. This is the AGRC. The first building is what is referred to as the gate – you pay the people here money to get in and a form guide (if you want). Some of the inhabitants of the gate are a little odd, and many of the people coming in thrive on the coarse banter that Dave provides free of charge.
Above: The Race-caller observing the form intently. Below: The view from the Gate, looking over the horse track and towards the Showground buildings.
Upon paying and gaining some (mostly unnecessary) pearls of wisdom you then enter and find yourself looking at a squat tin and brick building that has no windows or doors to the side you approach. A bit more driving and you’ll find yourself looking through a large glassed section of wall. Upon entering, things seem a little less hostile and a lot more inviting (compared to the shocking weather outside). In here there’s a fireplace, bookmaker, canteen, bar (but in the Australian sense – beer and pre-mixed cans are what is sold) and a pile of greyhound trainers. They may seem a little odd and even threatening at first, but they grow on you. The term ‘The only reason that Greyhound racing still runs in Australia is due to the Dole’ is quite possibly true.
Above and Below: Some of the dog-training patronage
The races start at 1pm, and then every twenty minutes from then on. Today’s card had 10 races in it, and ran almost always on time. It’s a pretty exhilarating 30 odd seconds from when the boxes open to when they close, and picking a winner is sometimes not as easy as it seems.
Above: Folsom Prison, Winner of a 365m race. Below: A small crowd collects to watch a race. It was very cold outside!
At the end of the day the trainers collect their dogs and drive off to their respective homes. It’s not as exciting as when they all arrive, but some are much happier, and many are just a little peeved that their dog(s) didn’t ‘get up’ and win a race for them. There is a another race meeting here next month, and almost all of the trainers will be back for a works burger, punnet of chips and a beer or two whilst having a yarn to their dog-training mates. It’s an odd thing, and it’s difficult to describe. These people can’t be considered to be part of normality – the hours of time and amount of belief they have in this past-time (and more specifically their dogs) is similar to church-goers in the US bible-belt. Many are the conversations that you will hear about great sires and brood bitches from thirty or more years ago, and how the latest pup that looks like it’s parents will be a ‘goer’. For many, reading a book is out of the question but the form guide is interpreted in seconds to show who is likely to do what. It surely is something else – and is under threat of being lost forever.
Above: This dog – Habanero – wouldn’t know his race name if you yelled it at him. Not many greyhounds are given a race name the same or even similar to their kennel name for fear of getting confused in a race – a few hundredths of a second will can win (or lose) a $3000 race here.
