Game, Set, Cash!: Inside the Secret World of International Tennis Trading
Total Page:16
File Type:pdf, Size:1020Kb
Published by Nero, an imprint of Schwartz Publishing Pty Ltd 37–39 Langridge Street Collingwood VIC 3066 Australia email: [email protected] http://www.blackincbooks.com Copyright © Brad Hutchins 2014 Brad Hutchins asserts his right to be known as the author of this work. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior consent of the publishers. The National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry: Hutchins, Brad Game, set, cash! : inside the secret world of international tennis trading / Brad Hutchins. 9781863956598 (pbk) 9781922231598 (ebook) Hutchins, Brad. Tennis – Tournaments – Anecdotes. Sports betting – Anecdotes. Gambling industry – Corrupt practices. Television broadcasting of sports. 796.342 Contents Tennis Trader Glossary Prologue 1. Scoring the Dream Job 2. The Mysterious World of Tennis Trading 3. A Day in the Life 4. Meet the Crew 5. Viviendo el Sueño 6. Keep Your Eye on the Ball 7. Monte Carlo 8. The Cancer of Tennis 9. The Italian Job 10. Crazy Touts and Taxi Drivers 11. SW19 12. God Bless America 13. New York, New York 14. Bangkok Madness 15. Reprieve 16. High Stakes on the Subcontinent 17. Debauchery in Van Diemen’s Land 18. Back in the Game 19. Showdown at the Championships 20. Mission Impossible 21. The Orient Express 22. ничего особенного 23. The Last Hurrah 24. Cash Out Epilogue For Pooch Names, dates, locations and scorelines have been changed where necessary for privacy and security reasons. TENNIS TRADER GLOSSARY I’ve put together a quick glossary to get you up to speed with the terms and phrases tennis traders use. TERM – DEFINITION ATP: Association of Tennis Professionals (men’s tour) Back end: The team member(s) managing bets from the base computer Bagel: Losing a set six to nil The boot: Being caught by security for court-siding and kicked out of a tennis venue. The result can range from a slap on the wrist to trespass orders, legal action or physical threats and violence. Choke: When a winning player folds under pressure and loses the match Con: Wi-Fi or internet connection Court-sider: A consultant who transmits live scores from the court-side to their back end or a computerised gambling system to take advantage of the time delays experienced by the rest of the online gambling community. Dicked: Beaten by a large margin Double bagel: Losing two sets six to nil – the tennis trader’s Holy Grail in terms of quick matches Heat: Pressure from security or police in the venue ITF: International Tennis Federation (Grand Slam organisers) Market: The online gambling population for that specific match Oop: Order of play (the schedule of play for the day) Pos: Our current gambling position on the match Straights: When a player wins a game in straight sets Tennis trader: A person who uses an ‘in-play’ gambling website to make multiple bets on tennis matches in real time throughout the match, with the aim of trading at opportune moments to build a profitable position. TIU: Tennis Integrity Unit (the sport’s gambling-corruption watchdogs) Trainer: An alert to let our back end know when the physio is on court WTA: Women’s Tennis Association (women’s tour) PROLOGUE I’m sitting on the side of court eight at the Championships, Wimbledon. I’m holding my phone in my left jacket pocket and trading a typical Wimbledon battle – five sets. The player approaches the service line. I hit 5 on my phone. He bounces the ball one, two, three, four times – as the crowd watch in silence – looks up, and throws it into the air with concentration and the strain of physical effort on his face. His serve connects and the fuzzy, fluorescent ball zings over the net and skids off the centre service line. Ace! I hit 6. The crowd applauds then returns to its reserved and respectful silence. He serves again. I hit 5 again. This time, he loses the point. I hit 4. The score is 30 all. My phone knows this before the umpire has had a chance to announce it into the microphone, and before half the crowd has realised the point is over. The scoreboard statistician has not even thought about updating this information, but my phone has told the internet server back in … well, I’m not telling you where, that it’s 30 all. Nobody really cares, though; the players care more about points to come, the crowd do too, and the umpire just tells it like it is. It’s just another point. It’s 30 all and nobody really gives a shit … except me. You see, if I screw up and get the score wrong, it could cost thousands of dollars. If I concentrate and get the score right before anyone else, it could win thousands of dollars. I hit 5 as the next point begins. It’s still 30 all when I realise that both the tournament supervisor and director are watching me. They sit on the other side of the court in their formal Wimbledon attire, whispering in each other’s ears, watching me. They’re discussing what to do about my presence on court. In their eyes, I’m a rodent, a rat, a stain on their wonderful game, the cancer of tennis. They know I’m updating scores because they recognise me from the past three days (not to mention previous tournaments). I’ve been on court, alone, watching every point and hitting those numbers on my phone at just the right time. I’m no rat – I’m a court-sider. Misjudged, vilified and hunted is what I am. I travel the world with all expenses paid because I update tennis scores to facilitate lucrative online gambling profits. I’m a twenty-six-year-old Australian guy who has finally found a way to see the world without going broke. It’s June 2012 and what I do is completely legal at this point in time, although the officials on the other side of the court sure won’t tell you that. They like to accuse me of ‘threatening the integrity of the sport’, whatever that means. They think I’m corrupt. They use this facade to eject and ban me from the venues (when they can catch me). I’ve never approached a player with a gambling proposition in my life. I never will either. I know a lot of other traders, and there’s not a corrupt bone among us. Match fixers don’t come to the tennis. They stay away and stay out of trouble. Avoid the scene of the crime, right? I live on the scene, and I’ve got nothing to hide. We traders should be free to do what we do because we have no involvement with illegal or immoral practices. This is where certain people beg to differ. You see, there’s a clause in the ticket-purchase policy that states ‘ticket holders are prohibited from collecting, transmitting or releasing any match scores or related statistical data during match play’. Okay, I’m a rule breaker – but I’m no criminal. Court-siding and cross-border gambling are the prickly issues we’re involved in. Encouraging thrown matches and influencing the outcome of the score are definitely not. Court-siding is not illegal. This is not to say they can’t kick me out, though. I’m on edge, as Wimbledon’s security is second to none. I was ejected from the venue during my first match here the previous year. I returned later that week and, predictably, was caught again, this time by a police officer who slid up next to me and addressed me by name. Strike two was more serious: I was issued with a formal letter from the lawyers of the club, banning me from the venue for life and threatening trespass action if I ever returned. That was last year. It’s Tuesday now, and so far so good, but it’s sketchy. As the head of security said last year, ‘Wimbledon is a very influential club with exceptional lawyers and a prestige to protect.’ The only problem is, this is my job and I want to keep my job. So I queued in the morning, entered the immaculate grounds, ignored my lifetime ban and proceeded to trade away. The crowds are thick and provide good cover. However, my face is too well known. I know they have an exceedingly competent and active security team looking for traders, and I think I’ve now been rumbled. The server cracks a forehand winner down the line and my thumb hits the 6 button, which in turn tells my phone that it’s 40–30. Things are heating up. However, I’m more focused on the fact that the tournament director has just relayed a message into his walkie-talkie. Did he just call security? I’ve got spare batteries and a personal Wi-Fi unit in my bag – enough to sink me if I’m searched. I’ve been trading every point and I need to trade this one. It’s 40–30, they’re mid-rally and I’m on the edge of my seat contemplating my options when I see the blue polo shirt at the side of the court. Alarm bells! I hit 2, to pause my operation. The guy in the blue polo is not a security member, though – he’s the physio. Our server wins the point then walks to his seat to receive treatment for cramps.