by AndreaGalli
Varese, a journey between tribes people horse racing. Not just cash bets. The engineering student: “Passion? Dad always brought me, here I relax ». Commentary without rhetoric and the boom in young female riders
But what a strange place, even liturgically, the racecourse. Vintage yet modern, public and even lonely, with no monitors in the central stand – the seats still with the social distancing stickers – to see that better horse race especially when the animals turn on the distant straight line and curve near heights veiled in fog, so that it does not remain obligatory and distracted by the concentrated speaker who however, the comment is devoid of rhetoricStatistics and anecdotes, but essentially, in short, wonderfully anachronistic: «All against Soprano Everest, great surface experts. All to see this test! Go! Lovely Moment tries to take the lead… In fifth position Enger together with Amica mia… First fraction particularly fast… Di Più takes advantage, in second position soprano Everest…».
It’s 1,950 meters for horses from 4 years old and in Varese it’s the 6th race, so the last of the day, which ends with the following placings… But no, it doesn’t matter. Indeed, who cares. Because as we followed viewers across two Wednesdays, December 28th, which had sealed the 2022 competitive year, and January 18th, which opened the new one, we quickly got lost: The compass and even more so the focus are not just bets. And maybe at the end of a total of 12 races, split over two Wednesdays, we found some tracks.
On the pole
Leaning against the fence of the “tondino”, the room intended for the presentation of the participants, a boy stares happily at the horses; They have just completed a competition, they are parading with sweaty coats, tired and forgetting the nervousness of a few minutes ago when they entered the track. We ask who he bet on and he greets the question almost as an insult. “About nobody. It happened as a kid with dad who worked in Switzerland and never went there, poor fellow exploited like an animal on a construction site: We went to the racetrack and hung out together. I have the passion. What am I doing in life? mechanical engineering. Could I have gone to the vet? No, what does it have to do with this; Have you ever fished in the sea? You can also stand there and watch the waves, you don’t necessarily have to catch the fish, do you? Can’t find a link? I mean that for me The circuit is like an excursion where I take a break and have no commitments».
We stalk him. When the horse parade is over, he enters the betting room, examines the machine, has a coffee, avoids queuing with the bettors attached to the screens showing the odds, avoids the cash registers to place bets, goes outside, smokes a cigarette, he snuffs it out in the coffee cup, which he throws into the basket full of betting slips, apparently those without a win, he walks around, meanwhile neglecting the next race, slowly approaching the «Tondino» and waiting for them next horse round. Again, sorry not to bother you, but listen, have you ever deposited any money? «I go to the stadium, I insult the players, I bet on the games, but it’s OK, the stadium empties and the track relaxes. Betting on horses, no, I don’t see any sense in it».
The stables
But now there is a meaning. A notice in the toilets, a large sign saying not to throw diapers down the toilet, suggests that the majority of the racecourse’s residents, ie senior citizens filling the quarter-hour breaks between races, listing illnesses, medications, hospitalizations, funerals and even sophisticated analyzes on horses. Three categories: i “Geneticist” who lose themselves in the past by illustrating the mothers and fathers of the animals and the nature of the breeds they face and relying on this data when making bets; the “Reporter” who explore the stables during the week and gather last-minute information they give out anyway out of jealousy; the “fatalists” who go by intuition, bet in practice how they want, at the moment maybe hoping for the bib, or in dreams or premonitions about the jockeys.
By the way: The magazine that illustrates the racing program presents the drivers’ ranking in the lower corner; well surpassing Dario Vargiu (153 triumphs), followed by Dario Di Tocco (144) and Mario Sanna (86). Two riders in the top fifteen, Sara Del Fabbro and Virginia Tavazzani, in a movement noting the growth of women-owned stables, particularly young people. Sara Del Fabbro wanted to do this job since she was a kid and obviously she did; we saw her win the ostentation on December 28th and we enjoyed the awards ceremony celebrated by the fans, or rather the bettors who earned money thanks to her; The jockey petted the mare and whispered compliments. Back on track the other day, Sara and Ostentation caught up to the disappointment of those assured of an easy encore, prompting inevitable discomfort. Like the protests of this old man who wears après-ski and double bandana and has something intangible, perhaps because he is on the run in his own way.
holy woman
«I had left the house to go shopping at the supermarket. Only that…” That the supermarket is after the racetrack. “No, the racetrack is far ahead, that’s not it. But out of curiosity I said to myself: I’ll wait a moment, maybe there are friends and I’ll stop chatting, what’s that supposed to be?” And what was it instead? “Well, I’ve run out of shopping money”. Did he play her? “I lost her, which is different.” But is it ok for dinner? “No, otherwise I wouldn’t have gone to the supermarket.” And how do we do that? ‘Come on, my wife is putting together a dish. First he scolds me, I apologize, and we meet again at the table without saying a word. Holy woman she, holy man me”. And then there were friends? “They’re not dumb. With this demonic cold they’re already on the same path, they’re gonna have a damn thing. Better put your hat on than it freezes your bald head. What a time, we should emigrate to Albenga». Why Albenga? “There’s the racetrack.”
In the betting room, whose areas with the lights off and the diner closed are reminiscent of the old, buried glorious epochs of the hippodrome mania, which united bourgeoisie and workers, townspeople and provincials, rich idlers and unfortunate subscribers to bad luck, moving the screens the live coverage of the races at the same time elsewhere. In these races, too, the focus is always on the start Minimum fee of 3 euros, a stock which in truth would (and does) seem heretical to real bettors if it did not guarantee some or a minimum self-control of financial spending; a group of friends in their 80’s after they confabulated by mangled horses’ names and got the idea to enjoy them very much – on the other hand, be patient, it’s a list of teatime drinks, wealth of street, please exceed, mystical knight, smiling face, angry Duffy… -, he hands the cashier, protected by the dividing glass, 50 cent coins to reach the sum of 3 euros, and with demonstratively disinterested shooting at random plays the odds blink on the screens.
Bearing investments, mind you, do not imply the absence of Bundle of banknotes which lie in the pockets of the coats of other cautious ladies and gentlemen and which gradually increase or decrease in volume; and likewise there is no lack of cheers listening to the order of arrival of the speaker who has wagered heavy banknotes, with mad shouts at these overwintered and compared to today’s capacities gigantic grandstands housing a superstitious expanse: I get up, take off my glasses and put on a pair of sunglasses, without the sun, untie my shoelaces, keep them on even if I have to run to the bathroom, etcetera etcetera…
The racecourse is populated by alleged tippers who demand percentages on any winnings, they spread messages passed by cassation. Another elderly gentleman begins with a rant against whoever set the odds, giving a very clear résumé for most (“Oh, they put it at 1.40!”) apart from galloping dangerously panting to collect , with the danger of falling under looks of disapproval, or perhaps not: of human envy.
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January 21, 2023 (change January 21, 2023 | 21:07)
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