Chapter 16 — Tony and the Betting Streak

Leaving forever the felicities of London, which I always thought about but never really encountered, I returned to Leeds and embarked on a career as a student at Leeds University, and although the years of study were pleasing, there was nothing really joyous in them.

I would either cycle to and from University or simply walk if the weather was sunny. To get to the University you had to pass the giant chess boards outside the Central Library: chess boards, which I'm sure every chess player in Leeds knows about. On this summer's day, as I was walking back from a day's study, I met with Tony Parson, a portly chap who forever had a walking stick by his side and a plastic carrier bag on the other side.

I got on well with Tony and enjoyed his wide range of general knowledge. The Doctor couldn't stand him and called him Tony Poison, but I liked Tony, and we shared some good drinking sessions together.

Tony was sat on the small wall next to the chess boards and had both hands resting in front of him on top of his walking stick. I went and sat next to him. The chess boards in town were never serious to me, and I don't think they were serious to any other chess player, either, for that matter. I would play rarely, as would Tony, preferring much instead to adopt the character of a flaneur, an occupation I intend to either undertake in working life – were Fortune to allow – but one I'll definitely adopt in old age if health allows.

'Been to Uni?' Tony asked without any purpose.

'Yea, just walking home. Not having a pint?' There was a pub next to the chess boards.

'No money, Karl. You?'

‘Only a fiver. It'll buy two pints, but that's all.'

'Best save it then, as there’s nothing worse than having a pint and having to go off home. I'm skint, and can hardly afford the bus fare,' he sighed.

We sat there for a few moments, and chess players never have an empty head, and I looked out across the chess boards. There, in blue: William Hill Bookmakers.

'Tell you what we'll do, Tony. Get the paper there, at the side of you, and pick a horse out of the next race to win a tenner, and then we'll have fifteen quid, and that will be enough for a few more pints. If it loses, it doesn't matter, because I'm walking home anyway. You pick out the horse, and I'll put the bet on.'

Tony readily agreed, and the deed was done. The horse won at 9/4 favourite and I collected just over a tenner. 'It's won, Tony.'

'Right, get em in.' Considering that he generally walked with a limp, Tony fairly flew into the pub.

Sean, a big black guy, who never wore a shirt or shoes, even in winter, joined us. Sean was a good chess player, good company, and he didn't drink, which wouldn't put a drain on the newly acquired winnings. He carried a chess board around with him, too, upon which we all played a few games of skittles or speed chess in the pub.

After a couple of pints, and with the alcohol kicking in, I asked Tony to pick another horse, at longer odds this time, and we endeavoured to chance our luck again. Tony picked the horse again, and it duly obliged at 4/1.

More pints were bought, and Sean, being the sober gentleman he was, saw time fit to depart from two developing drunks, leaving me and Tony to place another bet, which, once again, won. One more bet was placed on the last race, and that won, too! We couldn't lose, and, as they say, we were on to a winner.

'Let's go down t' Scarborough Taps, Karl. They've good beer on there,' insisted Tony. The Scarborough was our next port of call. By this time, you could safely say we were drunk, and you wouldn't be wrong.

Tony ordered his pint of finest ale, and I treated myself to black velvet, a mix of Guinness and sweet Merrydown cider.

'We couldn't lose, Karl,' he gloated.

'You couldn't pick a loser, Tony.'

We sat there happy but pissed, and when those two felicitous companions are together, it isn't long before Mischief comes to call.

'Are you a member of the Casino?' I asked.

'Yea. What yer thinking?'

'We've got a little over £150 quid, and we're on a winning streak. We could bet fifty quid on red or black, then we'd have £100 each to go home with.'

'That's a good idea, Karl, but my legs are aching and I can't walk all that way down there. Besides,' he added, 'you've got jeans on, and they won't let you in with them on.'

For the second time in a day: a problem. But we were chess players for God's sake. 'But you haven't, Tony?'

'I never wear jeans.'

Tony, as I've hitherto mentioned, was rather portly, short but portly and sported a stomach to match. I, on the contrary, was roughly the same size but of a much thinner frame.

'We'll swap trousers, and you give me your pass to get past reception. You wait here, and I'll run down and do the deed. Remember, Tony, we're on a roll. We can't lose!'

Tony reluctantly agreed and off we went together into the Scarborough Taps toilets to change trousers. I had no difficulty fitting into Tony's pants, but there was much effort and groaning on the part of my accomplice to fit his body into mine.

'I can't fasten the flies and look at the state of them, Karl. I can't wear these.'

Tony always carried a cheap, plastic carrier bag around with him. 'Just put the bag in front of you, Tony, and sit down at the nearest table. I'll get you a beer in. Put your legs under the table, and no one will be any the wiser.' I was not to be denied.

We emerged from the toilet, and Tony walked with stiffness to the table, and I heard him groan as he sat down, no doubt on account of a pair of twisted and squashed nuts. I ordered a beer at the bar and returned it to Tony, who was now sat with his face somewhat more reddened than when I last looked.

'Right, I'm off,’ I said and left my colleague alone at the table, looking anything but amused.

I hadn't looked at my pants until I got to the Casino. They looked more like a pair of black bloomers than trousers, and I decided to pull them from the back so they appeared flat across the front, and somehow shuffle in to avoid getting noticed.

My fear of being discovered, though, was completely unfounded, and the bouncer at the door wasn’t there. The lady stationed at the entrance desk, which was big and afforded full hiding of my attire, merely glanced at Tony's membership card; she didn't bother to check the photo but waved me on.

I headed straight for the roulette table and placed £50 on black. It duly won, and I left the casino with as much ease going out as getting in.

'Brilliant, Karl,' exclaimed Tony. ‘Get the beer in again and let's have mi pants back.'

'One more, Tony? Let's do £100 this time, and if we lose, which we won't, we'll only be at the point where we would have been should we have lost the first time?'

Tony pondered this complete nonsense, looking rather puzzled, and finally said: 'One last time. Bang it on red.'

And off I ran again to the Casino. The same woman was there, but the bouncer, to my horror, was standing at the side of the counter watching. I shuffled Tony's pants between my thighs again, so that they were tight at the front and shuffled my legs in again. The bouncer said nothing, but merely stared. 'I was in earlier,' I casually told the receptionist.

'Yea, okay,' she answered without looking up.

I'd done it and was in again. I headed straight for the same table, placed the bet and waited. It won, and just as I was picking the money up, the bouncer appeared like Death above my left shoulder. 'Off you go, now, lad, and don't let me see you in here again.'

I can only think I was discovered when he saw the back of those pants, all waving around as I walked away from the reception desk. I returned to my friend, and we shared the money, but only after visiting the toilets and exchanging pants again.

Tony passed away some years ago.

Requiem aeternam, Tony, my friend.