Gambling
Gambling should be banned – and I have the ideal pastime to replace it
![Gambling should be banned – and I have the ideal pastime to replace it Gambling should be banned – and I have the ideal pastime to replace it](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/columnists/2024/07/18/TELEMMGLPICT000386022567_17213105359590_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqZgEkZX3M936N5BQK4Va8RWtT0gK_6EfZT336f62EI5U.jpeg?impolicy=logo-overlay)
I am in mourning as I write this, after being booted out of our office Euro sweepstake (thanks for rien, France). But I am also broadly at peace, for the sweepstake is the only good kind of gambling: random, fair, low stakes, just a bit of fun, truly in the ‘Let’s make this interesting, shall we?’ spirit.
I’d happily see all other forms of betting banned, and read that one in three of us now holds this view. That’s unlikely to be enough for the new Government, who wouldn’t know what to do with so many disquietingly ripped horses and homuncular Irishmen suddenly unleashed on Gloucestershire.
People will always like a flutter, so in the instance of a ban, I would replace the industry with one giant sweepstake. Funded by taxing the gambling industry properly for its final year, every person in the UK would be allocated a £100 stake, annually. Then, on 1 January, we would all receive an envelope containing something that may or may not happen over the coming 12 months.
It could be anything. ‘Clare Balding to mutter the phrase, “What a mardy little pixie, even by the standards of Cambridge coxes…” during the BBC’s Boat Race coverage.’ ‘Build-A-Bear to enter administration after a horrific incident involving a real bear – eight [note: must be eight] mauled.’ ‘Lightning to hit your father-in-law.’ ‘Ben Affleck to begin dating Miriam Cates.’
You get the idea. This way, we would all creep through the year with a background noise of anticipation. People would randomly shout ‘YES!!!’ in public, when they hear their event has happened, or ‘F—k’s sake…’ when they come so near yet so far, like hearing only four people were mauled at Build-A-Bear.
The adjudicators would be former bookies, who would require photo evidence of more local incidents, such as the sautéed father-in-law, and would persistently tackle insider betting, such as by a psychotic manager of a high street teddy bear shop – or that wrong’un Balding. But the winnings, divided on Christmas Eve between all the victors, could be vast. And crucially, you’d never be able to get good at it. Life can be dull, you see. So let’s make things interesting, shall we?