If It Moved, I Put Money On It

The sad story of Craig*—his fall into the gambling trap, and his redemption. As told to Anthony Whyatt.

I had nothing to do with gambling until I was about 12 years old. My family weren’t gamblers, but we operated a hotel in Dimboola, in the Wimmera region of Victoria. On Saturdays the pub cook would send me down to the TAB to place her bets. You can’t legally bet until you’re 18, but the lady at the TAB was happy to take the cook’s wagers from a young errand boy.

In my mid teens, I couldn’t go to the hotel for a social life, but when the trots were on at Bray Park, my age wasn’t an issue. It was there that I placed my first bet. It was only small, supported only by my pocket money. This changed when I got my first job at age 18.

In 1987 I became a labourer for a man named Reg. He was building a service station at Warrenheip. He was from Melbourne, so I had the added responsibility of being tour guide and errand boy, as I had local knowledge. Each day he would send me on errands, including to a TAB to place a bet for him.

Reg could really gamble. Some days, I would visit the TAB four times. He would also gamble big. On one occasion he got a tip from a local trainer for a horse running in Maryborough. My instructions were to put $150 straight out for a win, and I was to pick another horse and put $25 on it for the quinella and $20 on another horse for the trifecta.

What was a stroke of “genius” on my part has resulted in my slow deterioration into the life of a compulsive gambler. Reg gave me $170 of his winnings to me just for picking two horses. That was a nice bonus but before I realised this was an isolated event—that Reg was seldom among the winners—I was hooked.

During the next 10 years, I spent more and more time and money playing the horses. I’d get paid on Thursday and be broke by Saturday night. I’d borrow from my parents to tide me over to payday. I would blow more than $300 in 48 hours, every week. Because I had the security of living with my parents, I didn’t realise I had a gambling problem—and it was consuming my life.

At 29, I moved out of home. For the first couple of months everything went well. The rent and bills were paid on time, but my gambling increased and my funds decreased. I volunteered to take the rent money to the agent. But I never got there. The rent money was wagered on horses, the majority lost. I would struggle to pay it back on the next payday and still cover my habit.

My compulsive gambling was accompanied by compulsive lying and after 12 months I moved into a flat by myself. Having no-one to watch over me, I’d bet on the races, the trots, the dogs. If it moved, I’d put money on it.

I led a Dr Jeckel–Mr Hyde existence. In one life I was a good sportsman, held a good job and had friends who respected me. But I had another life where I spent most of my time watching the horses I had backed following other horses over the finish line. Every now and then I would get on a roll, and if I had two wins in a row, I felt invincible.

Some say everyone has a true love, and mine entered my life in 1996. I was as certain then as I am now that Amy was the person for me. We were married and went to Canberra where we embarked upon the purchase of our own house. Amy took charge of the finances and allotted me an allowance each fortnight. A few hours later my allowance was gone, and it just wasn’t enough to quench my thirst for the punt. I applied for a credit card, followed by another. Both were soon at their limits. I was certain my next bet would be the winner that would pay them both.

But I just kept losing and the mounting debt caused depression and anguish. When Amy found out, she was devastated and deeply hurt. I had deceived her and lied to her.

Over the next two years we went from being a two-income family of two to a one-income family of three. Despite the shortage of money, I didn’t stop gambling. I’d plead with Amy to let me have a few hours at the TAB, time that I could have spent with my family. Amy considered it a waste of time and money. She was right—but I was addicted. I wouldn’t and couldn’t listen to her. I couldn’t miss a race—it might be the one where I picked the winner.

On many occasions I watched Amy cry herself to sleep and I would make a pact with myself never to gamble again. If only I knew then what I know now. Compulsive gambling is an illness that cannot be solved by willpower alone.

Then, along with Amy’s parents, we moved to Brisbane to start a new venture. They’d purchased the management rights to a townhouse development and we were going to help them run it. I helped with pool care and maintenance with some book work, but when they took on the management roll of a second set of units, I was entrusted with more office work at the first complex. What happened over the next 18 months led me to rock bottom. Bond and rent money was “borrowed” and, truthfully, always with intention of paying it back. I just needed one winner to pay it and lavish some luxuries on myself and my family, but each dollar stolen deepened the hole I was digging for myself. I was also compromising the faith, trust, loyalty and love placed in me by Amy and her parents.

When my secrets were discovered in 2002, I was both relieved and angered. I was angry with myself for what I’d done to my family, but I was relieved that being caught I didn’t have to live with a heart stunted and blackened by my lies and deception—or did I?
When Amy found out, her heart ached with bitter disappointment. I could see it in her eyes. I felt her pain, but perhaps the worst thing was I couldn’t explain why I’d done what I did.

In May 2002, Amy asked me to leave our family home. Now I’d lost my wife, children, job, personal assets and all sense of self-worth. The next Monday I attended my first Gamblers Anonymous meeting. Since then, I have learned more about my life than I had in the previous 18 years:

I had an illness—one that can never be cured;
Willpower alone is not enough to stop gambling; and,
My story is common among compulsive gamblers—I wasn’t alone in what I’d done, and there is hope that although I can never be cured, I can stop.

Today I say I’ve turned the corner. The road ahead will not be easy, but there is light ahead. Because of my determined effort, my family has accepted me back and together we’re working this through.
I have to pay tribute to my wife, whose compassion, love and friendship I cherish, and by whose inner strength and spiritual harmony I am inspired to conquer this illness.

Life from here can only get better, but people with this illness cannot conquer it alone. They need the help of organisations such as Gamblers Anonymous. They need the help of friends and family, and they need the power of God.

* All names have been changed.