2026 NRL – The Prospector’s Pickaxe: Tipping comps – The Good, the Sad and the Ugly

 

 

Welcome to my ‘Goldmine of useless information’. Yesterday, I went to the local footy. It was the ‘Flock buster’ between the Runaway Bay Seagulls and the Currumbin Eagles.  The A grade finished in an entertaining thirty-all draw. That is a story, but I will not put you through that. I always try to arrive as close as possible to kick off so as not to have to endure too much of the ‘Reverse Grade’. If you are getting frustrated watching the NRL, a good dose of local ‘Reggies’ may reignite your passion for the NRL. In the week of ANZAC Day, these men (of all ages) truly embody the ANZAC spirit. Mateship, courage, fighting against insurmountable odds, playing with injury. Unfortunately, the errors pile up like bodies on the Western Front. It is a tough watch.

As I headed for home, I tuned into the footy on the ABC. Parramatta were giving it to the Bulldogs. ‘This is going to be the biggest boilover since Polly left the kettle on’ was my first thought. On second thoughts, ‘it is going to be the biggest boilover since the Bulldogs defeated the Panthers last week’. My thoughts at times like this go straight to the punters and the tipsters. The last game of the round can be particularly cruel, as multis and potential perfect rounds disappear into the ether.

Tipping competitions are a fantastic way to spark conversation, banter and have a laugh with some people you might not ordinarily engage with. If you win, you become something of a minor celebrity, win some handy cash and get your name on the trophy. That is the good.

However, I also think of people like ‘Sir Arthur’, a friend of mine, who seems convinced (and he is not alone in this regard) that there is some sort of conspiracy against him to sabotage his quest for tipping competition glory, and it seems to weigh disproportionately heavily on him. Yes, readers, I know a club just popped into your head. The Sharks often feature in these conversations.

I am not known as a bubbly, effervescent character. In fact, I tend to radiate a ‘leave me alone’ vibe rather than a ‘come and talk to me’ vibe. At the local pub on a Saturday afternoon, the Anglers Arms, or”AA for short, even the raffle ticket seller leaves me alone, a new source of amusement since I pointed it out to the ever generous, raffle ticket buying PBTS.  In my working days, however, on a Monday morning, I was a lightning rod or, should I say, confessional for footy tipsters. I must say I learned a lot about life during these conversations.

It was generally some sort of hard luck story, but that is ok. I usually had my own to offer in return. But more disturbingly, I was stunned how many of them did not actually watch the games. They were being denied their basic human rights, not food, water, clothing, or shelter, but Foxtel and/or Kayo. Some had a sort of vague mark in the middle of their foreheads, resembling a thumb print. Shockingly, some reported households that only had one television and one particularly tortured soul confessed that he was ‘not allowed to watch the Football’. I do not know he managed to cobble together the $20 to enter the tipping comp. I surmised that he had done it covertly, possibly using his once-a-week lunch money that had been allocated to him.

Many offered feeble (in my opinion at least), excuses why they did not watch. ‘If I had Foxtel, I would get nothing done, I would be watching it all the time’. Yes, right. Some referred to their partners, in gallows humour fashion, as ‘the Minister for Finance’, ‘the Ball and Chain’ or the devastatingly repulsive, ‘She who must be obeyed’. We have Rumpole of the Bailey to thank for that one. I always found it hard to laugh along with that one. I would offer something like, ‘please give my regards to Audrey, how is she liking her new Porsche?’

What did we do in the days before footy tipping comps? Not only did they become an easy source of conversation, but they also delivered more than their share of ‘scandal’. Particularly when you had to submit a flimsy piece of paper into a box with your tips circled by the COB on Friday afternoon. There were the ‘not submitted in time’ scandals, the ‘double circled or changed selection’ scandals and ‘tips that weren’t there on Friday afternoon but are there on Monday morning’ scandals, the ‘he/she rang me at home at 7pm on Friday night and I wrote them down on a serviette’ scandals, amongst many others. Do not start me on tipping comps run by local pubs and clubs.

I recall one story from a well-known private school in central Queensland where the person in question allegedly went up to the staffroom on a Sunday afternoon, after the round was finished, and changed his tips or resubmitted them. There was supporting evidence from eyewitnesses. The person in question, of course, vehemently denied the accusations. Here is another strange thing I have noticed over the years, readers. The people at the centre of these tipping scandals are often God-fearing, church-going pillars of the local community, family men or women, known for helping old ladies cross the street, getting cats out of trees, and working for the local charity. Sadly, cheating in footy tipping comp reduces you to the level of a petty ‘white collar criminal’ or a ‘shout dodger’. Your reputation is ruined. You cannot go to the tipping comp break-up for starters, and if you go to the last day’s drinks, well, that is a powder keg ready to ignite. What gets into people when it comes to work footy competitions?

A rhetorical question of course, but that exemplifies the ‘Ugly’. I was going to head down the footy gambling path, when you used to head down to the local TAB on a Friday afternoon and put on your ‘Pick the score’, ‘Pick the Winners’ and your ‘Pick the Margins’ tickets. I think this may have started around about 1993 and was a resounding success with footy fans and punters. Sadly, time and words have beaten me, and I will leave that one for another week. Good luck, punters, and tipsters.

 

 

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